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daryltwdixon · 2 months ago

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Joel Miller meeting your parents

this is just a stupid little thing from seeing this gif of him in this post ok thank you and goodnight. Been having writers block so if an idea can get this far on docs I’m posting it

|| fluff, little bit nsfw, daddy kink, old man joel, peepaw joel meets your parents, reader's dad is kind of a hard ass, I suck at flirty banter tbh, cracking up at some of the shit I put in here, enjoy ||

“Baby, I’m serious—” Joel said, but his hands betrayed him, gripping at your hips like he couldn’t help himself as you climbed into his lap. Your knees framed his thick thighs, still clad in worn denim, while his green plaid shirt had come untucked and bunched around his waist. A sliver of soft, tanned stomach peeked out as he leaned back against the bed frame.

“I’m serious too,” you murmured, voice thick with want as you pressed your mouth to his neck. Your fingers wove through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. “Need you, Joel. Been thinking about this all day.”

“We’re gonna be late if you keep this up,” he rasped, even as his head tipped back to give you more of his throat, groaning low when your teeth grazed the scruff along his jaw.

“Don’t care,” you breathed, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “They’ll be fine.”

You hiked your skirt higher, rocking down against him, already expecting to feel that familiar ache of him beneath you—but instead, your hips stilled at the softness of his lap. You blinked, confused, pulling back just enough to search his face. But Joel wouldn’t meet your eyes. His gaze darted everywhere else, over your shoulder, to the wall behind you, the damn nightstand—anywhere but you.

“…Joel?”

He still wouldn’t look at you. You moved your hands to his chest, flattening them against the flannel, feeling the heavy thudding of his heart beneath your fingers.

“You okay?” you asked, softer now, studying him. He looked nice tonight with his hair slicked back, beard freshly trimmed, and his shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to show off the veins in his forearms.

You cocked your head, more curious than concerned now as you really looked at him. “Are you…” You reached up, cupping his jaw, gently turning his face until his eyes finally met yours. “Joel Miller, are you nervous?”

He let out a long breath, his voice low and a little rough. “Course I’m nervous, baby.”

“Why?” you asked, easing back in his lap. You could still feel the warmth of his hands on your hips, thumbs sweeping slow, steady circles. It was more soothing for him than you now, grounding himself in the feeling of you.

“Any man’d be nervous meetin’ his girl’s parents for the first time,” he muttered, eyes flicking away again. Then, quieter, “Even if they weren’t his own damn age…”

You smiled softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips—gentle, unhurried. He let you, kissing you back with a quiet sigh, the kind that said he was trying not to get pulled under. You hovered close, noses brushing, before pulling back just enough to meet his eyes again.

“They’re gonna love you,” you whispered.

Joel gave a dry huff, eyes flicking away. “They’re gonna think I’m a damn pervert.”

“You are a pervert.”

His gaze snapped back to yours, narrowing just a bit, the muscles in his jaw tightening. You didn’t miss the way his brows dipped or how his eyes darkened, heat stirring just beneath the surface.

You bit back a grin, fingers tracing along the collar of his shirt. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

He rolled his eyes, still glaring up at you, and you let your shoulders drop, giving in. “Okay, so you’re older than me, who cares? You’re also respectful. And kind. You’re a good man. You even built my cat a window catio.”

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, though he still wouldn’t look at you.

“And you didn’t have to say yes to any of this,” you added, quieter now. “But you did.”

He let out a breath, one hand tightening just slightly at your waist.

You leaned in, your nose brushing his. “And if I thought for one second they wouldn’t like you, I wouldn’t be dragging you into this.”

Finally, his eyes flicked to yours, unsure but searching.

You gave him a small smile. “You’ve got nothing to prove. Just… be yourself. Maybe with slightly less scowling.”

His lips twitched into even more of a smile then, and you kissed the corner of his mouth, lingering there a moment. “But if it helps…” you murmured, lips grazing his jaw now, “I can think of something to get your mind off it for a minute.”

Joel let out a slow breath, one he’d been holding in the entirety of your reassurances, his head falling back against your pillows again.

You smiled against his throat, lips curved with mischief. “I mean… if you really want me to stop…” you murmured, pressing your mouth to the spot just under his jaw. “I could get off your lap.”

Your hips shifted like you might, and his grip on you instantly tightened.

“But then…” you went on, voice all innocent and sinful at once, “what should I do about all this?”

You reached down, took his hand in yours, and guided it between your thighs, right over your panties, where the heat of you was unmistakable. His palm pressed flush against the soaked fabric, and you felt his breath catch sharp in his chest.

He hummed low in his throat, something dark and approving, and as your fingers slipped away, his own pressed harder. His touch was firm, possessive, like he’d been dying to do it but holding back until now.

“This’s all for me?” he finally muttered, voice rough as gravel. “Just from sittin’ in daddy’s lap, huh?”

You whimpered, rocking into his hand, desperate for more friction as you nodded. He gave it to you, slow circles with his fingers that had your breath stuttering, your thighs trembling around his. Even with the fabric between you, you could feel his rough calloused pads of his fingers perfectly against the heat of you.

“Joel,” you whined, barely even meaning to say it.

With a grunt, he shifted, and suddenly your back hit the mattress with a soft thud. He was over you in a flash, his body heavy and hot as he settled between your legs, looking at you like he was starving.

“You got me all worked up now,” he muttered, voice thick and low as his hands dragged your skirt higher, exposing more of your thighs. “Can’t let you walk out that door like this.”

He dipped his head to your neck, lips brushing over your pulse point before suckling gently. The scrape of his beard followed, rough and hot, as he worked his way lower, mouthing at the curve of your collarbone. Then down further, pushing your shirt up as he went, lifting it just enough to mouth at the soft skin of your chest.

“Let me take care of you,” he rasped, dragging his tongue over the top of your breast, nipping at it like he couldn’t help himself. “Let me take care of this little problem, huh, baby?”

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Knew I’d get your mind off it, old man.”

His hands were everywhere now—palming your thighs, gripping your hips, pushing your panties aside just enough to slide his fingers back where they belonged in your wet, glistening entrance. His mouth returned to your skin, kissing and suckling until your back arched and your breath hitched in your throat.

Joel finally lifted his head, eyes dark and hungry as he hovered over you.

“You gonna be the one tellin’ your parents why we’re late?” he quirked his eyebrow with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You smirked, hands sliding up his shoulders and onto his neck, tugging at the nape of his hair, “I’ll say I had to help you calm your nerves. Blow off some steam. Pretty sure I’m doing everyone a favor.”

Joel huffed a low laugh, shaking his head as he looked down at you. “That so?” he murmured, his smile pulling a little wider. “You’re real proud of yourself, huh?”

You grinned up at him, eyes sparkling. “You’re welcome.”

He chuckled again, the sound low and warm in his chest. But then something shifted, his gaze lingering a little longer, smile easing into something softer. His eyes flicked around your face like he was locking it into his memory. The mischief faded, replaced by something deeper, something heavier.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t playful anymore. It was deep and unhurried, messy and slow, full of everything that had led up to this night, where you were finally taking this next step, where things became even more real. One hand braced beside your head, the other deep inside you between your trembling legs, dragging you closer to the edge with every slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

Your breath caught. He pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he murmured, barely audible, like it had slipped out before he could stop it.

“Love you too, big guy,” you whispered, smiling as you pulled him back down to you.

The porch light flickered on above you as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the worn steps. Joel stood just off-center in front of the door, fingers loosely laced, jaw tense, shoulders drawn up like he expected to be called into a principal’s office.

You watched him for a moment, the way his eyes kept scanning the darkening yard, how his foot tapped once, then twice. He was wearing that soft brown light jacket over the green flannel, the one you loved so much. His hair was smoothed back now, but you could still see the faint tousle where your fingers had been tangled in it less than an hour ago. There was something boyish about how nervous he looked.

You stepped in close and laid a hand flat against his chest.

“Hey,” you said gently. “You’re okay.”

His eyes finally met yours, soft and searching, and you offered him a small smile as your fingers smoothed out the front of his shirt, pressing down a wrinkle that wasn’t really there.

“You’re gonna be fine, Joel. It’s just dinner.”

“Do they know that I’m–?” he mumbled.

You leaned up, brushed your lips over his, cutting him off. It wasn’t hungry or rushed, just soft, sweet, and steady.

When you pulled back, your voice was quiet. “Relax. Like I said, they’re gonna love you.”

He exhaled through his nose, a little shaky, and gave a small nod. His hand came up to rest gently on your waist, thumb brushing over your hip like he needed the contact to stay grounded.

Then, behind you, the front door creaked open with a slow, familiar groan. You turned just enough to see the porch light glint off your dad’s glasses.

Joel straightened like he’d been caught doing something criminal. “Sir,” he greeted, stepping forward to shake your dad’s hand.

Your father was stone-faced, giving Joel a single nod as he returned the handshake. He stood in the doorway, quiet and watchful, eyes moving between the two of you without a word.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

“Are they here!?” came a familiar voice from just inside. A second later, your mom popped her head around your dad’s shoulder, her hands clutching his arm. Her eyes lit up the second she saw you.

“There she is!” she squealed, practically barreling into you for a hug.

You let out a soft laugh as she wrapped her arms around you, warm and overwhelming in the best way. She pulled back just enough to hold you at arm’s length, eyes flicking over your face like she was making sure you were really here.

Then her gaze shifted.

“And you must be Joel!” she said brightly, stepping toward him with a big smile.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied politely.

“Oh, don’t call me that,” she waved him off, offering her name instead.

You caught the twitch of a smile on Joel’s face as he repeated it, his voice soft with that drawl you knew so well.

She reached out and placed her hands on his arms, eyes roaming over him with zero subtlety. “Well, aren’t you handsome,” she said with a wink.

“Mom…” you groaned under your breath.

“Come inside, you two. Dinner’s nearly ready.”

Joel glanced at you, his jaw tight but his eyes softer now. There was still a flicker of nerves there, but beneath it was something quieter. Maybe even grateful. Like he couldn’t quite believe he got to be standing here, hand still warm from your dad’s handshake, your mom’s voice ringing with welcome, your hand just a breath away from his.

You offered him a small smile, one he returned without thinking, and the two of you stepped inside together.

You leaned up to kiss your dad’s cheek as you passed, and he returned it gently, one hand settling on your arm in a quiet, welcoming squeeze.

“So,” your dad’s voice carried from the head of the table, “what is it you do, Joe?”

“It’s Joel, dad.”

Your father raised his eyebrows like he hadn’t noticed the correction, even though he absolutely had.

“I own Miller Contractin’,” Joel said, calm and steady. “We build houses, do commercial work, though mostly stick to residential these days. All across the county.”

Your dad nodded, still not looking up from his plate, chewing a little harder than usual. “Miller Contracting… That just you, or you got a crew?”

“My brother and I are partners, we got a good crew of guys.”

“Hmm.”

A long sip of iced tea later, your dad’s voice pipes up again: “What kinda permits you gotta pull for that subdivision on the west side?”

You blinked. “Dad—”

Joel didn’t miss a beat. “Depends on the parcel. New builds gotta go through the county first, then the town for inspection sign-off. If it’s remodels or additions, we skip the land survey.”

Your dad finally looked up, eyes narrowing. “And your license number?”

Joel raised an eyebrow right back. “You wanna write it down?”

That earned a chuckle from your brother across the table, who quickly masked it with a bite of roll.

Your dad gave a grunt that could’ve meant anything, then pointed his fork across the table. “You hunt?”

“Not in a while,” Joel said. “Used to. Mostly just keep a few rifles around now, in case somethin’ needs shootin’.”

Another nod.

Then, after a long pause, your dad took another bite and mumbled around his food, “Built that deck out back myself, y’know. Back in ’98.”

“Yeah, when I was 8 months pregnant and bout ready to burst from stress,” your mom quipped with a little scoff.

Joel, bless him, didn’t so much as smirk. “It’s a good build. Still holdin’ up well.”

Your dad’s fork hovered in the air, then he gave a small, barely-there nod like Joel had just passed some pop quiz of his.

You finally started to relax until he opened his mouth again.

“One last question, Joel,” your dad said casually, sawing through his steak.

Joel’s shoulders tensed slightly. “Yessir.”

Your dad glanced across the table. His eyes flicked to your neck, then to Joel. Then back to you. With his knife, he gestured loosely toward your collarbone.

“That a hickey on my daughter’s neck?”

You nearly choked on your water.

Joel froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

There was a beat of stunned silence before your mom smacked your dad’s arm.

“David.”

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence, still chewing.

Joel cleared his throat. Loudly. “I—uh—must be… a-a nasty bug bite or somethin’.”

You stared down at your plate, cheeks on fire, absolutely refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

Your dad just grinned around another bite, like he’d just scored the winning point in a game no one else knew they were playing.

Later, the two of you ended up shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, trading off dishes and bumping hips as you loaded the dishwasher and tackled the giant roasting pan your mom had insisted was “vintage, not ancient.”

Joel rinsed a plate, set it in the rack, and glanced at you with a sly grin. “You always this bossy with kitchen duty?”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “I’m not bossy. I’m efficient.”

“You barely let me step up to the sink before you were shovin’ the dryin’ rag in my hand.”

“I did not.”

“Reckon ya did, sweetheart. And to think I’m just tryna be a good guest.”

You laughed, nudging him with your hip. “I just know where our strengths and weaknesses lie is all.”

“Uh-huh.” He held up the rag and dish in hand dramatically. “Well, I’m puttin’ it on my résumé.”

“Oh yeah? Skills: contracting, firearm safety, surviving dad interrogation, and above-average dish drying?”

He turned to you, eyes playful. “You forgot exceptional boyfriend.”

You pretended to think about it. “Jury’s still out.”

He gave you a mock glare. “Keep talkin’ like that and you’re gettin’ another one of them hickeys on your neck. Right on the other side. Bet your dad would love that.”

Your eyes widened. “Joel.”

“Symmetry,” he said with a shrug, like it was the most reasonable explanation in the world.

Joel stepped back from the counter, towel still in hand, and playfully flicked it toward your backside. You squealed, swatting at him with your sudsy hand, and nearly bumped into the oven.

You were both laughing when the kitchen door creaked open and your dad leaned inside.

Joel straightened like he’d been caught red-handed again, shoulders stiff.

Your dad gave a long look at the two of you, then cleared his throat. “Joel.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You drink beer?”

Joel blinked. “Sure do.”

Your dad nodded once, like he’d already made the decision before asking. “Come out on the porch. I got a few in the cooler.”

Joel shot you a quick look, like he was trying to read if this was good or bad.

You just smiled and mouthed, go.

He followed your dad out, wiping his hands on a dish towel as he went. You watched him go with a little flutter in your chest.

“Oh,” a sudden thought crossed your mind, “daddy?”

Both men turned.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Yes, honey?”

The silence that followed was crippling.

Joel went stiff as a board, like he’d just realized he’d stepped off a cliff and was waiting for gravity to finish the job. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. He looked between you and your dad with eyes wide as saucers, face draining of color.

Your dad was staring at him. Hard.

You turned crimson, choking on air. “I—I was just... I was gonna ask if you wanted some—Mom said there was pie for dessert. Or maybe it was cheesecake? I don’t–I don’t know. Actually, let me go ask her.”

You slapped the sponge onto the counter and bolted, eyes on the floor, muttering something that might’ve been English as you fled the kitchen.

You sat curled into the corner of the couch, a slice of pie balanced on your lap and your second glass of wine halfway gone. The living room was dim, lit mostly by the lamp beside your mom’s armchair and the soft flicker from the TV, playing some home renovation show you weren’t really watching.

Your mom leaned back, swirling her wine. “So… he’s cute.”

You smiled behind your fork. “Mmhm.”

“And polite. Little stiff.”

“He was a little nervous. Bein’...” you shrugged, “You know, same age as you guys and all.”

Your mom raised her eyebrows, taking another sip from her glass. “Please. Age is but a number these days. The amount of older men I dated when I was your age…” she chuckled to herself at the memories.

You snorted, shaking your head as you scooped another bite of pie, the quiet of the house settling in around you like a blanket.

She tilted her head, watching you with that knowing, mom-look. “He seems like a good man, honey.”

“He is,” you said softly, nodding.

Your mom’s gaze softened as she looked at you over the rim of her glass. “I see the way he looks at you. The way you two laugh together. It's nice… seeing you like this.”

You felt your smile pull a little deeper, the warmth in your cheeks not just from the wine. “Yeah,” you murmured. “It feels nice, too.”

The moment settled between you, quiet and soft until your thoughts drifted to the porch. You tried not to let your mind wander, but it crept in anyway. Whatever conversation Joel and your dad were having out there… you hadn’t wanted to hear it. After the fiasco in the kitchen you just hoped he was alive. But then you heard the back door open, the low rumble of Joel’s voice, and your dad laughing about something involving backyard irrigation, you knew whatever happened, it hadn’t gone badly.

Joel and your dad stepped into the living room, their voices trailing off mid-conversation.

“—and I told him if he tried to DIY those stone steps without checking the grading, he was gonna bust his ass in the first rain.”

Your dad huffed a laugh. “You’re not wrong. Maybe I’ll call your company in spring.”

Joel just gave a polite smile, his eyes finding yours immediately.

Your mom rose to her feet and crossed the room to kiss him on the cheek, then turned to wrap her arms around you. “Thank you for comin’ tonight. Come back anytime, you two.”

You smiled, hugging her tight. “We will.”

“You picked a good one,” she whispered in your ear, giving you a little squeeze before she headed toward the hallway, bidding you goodnight.

You turned just in time to see Joel and your dad shaking hands. It looked firm, respectful, less like a test this time and more like an understanding.

You crossed the room and kissed your father goodbye, and while he didn’t say much, his hand on your back lingered for a second longer than usual. That was about as close as you were gonna get to a blessing.

You and Joel walked out to the truck in the cool night air, his hand brushing your lower back, just enough to feel steady.

Once inside the cab, he pulled the door shut and let out a massive exhale, sinking into the seat like he’d just survived a firefight.

You grinned at him, cheeks warm from the wine and your heart even warmer.

“You did good tonight,” you said softly.

He looked at you like you’d just handed him a ribbon at the county fair. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Really good. You survived my dad. Didn’t insult his deck. Kept it very buttoned up.”

He huffed a laugh, “It is a nice deck.”

You leaned your head back against the seat, looking at him through your lashes. “Kinda hot, actually. Watching you all nervous and respectable.”

He gave you a look. “Few times in there I wasn’t so sure. Thought he might shoot me right then and there when he asked about your neck. And don’t get me started on your stunt in the kitchen.”

You groaned and covered your face. “I didn’t meaaaan it.”

Joel chuckled, the sound soft and low as he reached over and gently tugged your hand away from your face. “Still nearly gave both me and your old man a heart attack.”

You grinned at him as he kissed your hand gently, one knuckle at a time, “But you’re my old man.”

He let out a breath, shaking his head as his smile tugged wide and helpless. “Jesus,” he muttered. “You’re gonna be the death of me, darlin’.”

You leaned in, bumping your nose against his. “Worth it.”

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #tlou #the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller #joel tlou #joel the last of us

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hellfirebarnes · 15 days ago

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A Touch Of You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!thunderbolts!reader

Contains: Angst, touch-starved Bucky, fluff, slow-burn, platonic Bob-reader, your hair is described to be long enough to braid and it's also descibed as silk once

Sum: Physical affection and touch comes easy for you, and it's making Bucky wish for the ability to be more like you

10k+ words (I went overboard with this shit)

I have a serious obsession with slow-burns and platonic Bobxreader being clingy besties, sue me.

(I cannot find who created the divider, if you know please tag them so they get credit)

NOT PROOFREAD

Enjoy :)

The Thunderbolts Tower was rarely quiet.

Not because of the chaos; although Alexei belting out 80s Russian rock in the kitchen or Yelena wrestling John over breakfast cereal certainly didn't help - but because it was full of life. People laughing, living, healing. A kind of noise Bucky didn't mind.

He sat in his usual chair on the far end of the room, worn leather, tucked into the shadows like a spectator watching a play where everyone else knew their lines.

And there you were again. Center stage. Sunshine incarnate.

You were cross-legged on the couch, giggling so hard your nose scrunched and your eyes nearly disappeared in the crinkles of happiness. Bob was beside you and you were leaning up against him without a second thought; arms wrapped loosely around one of his, your cheek resting on his bicep.

Bucky watched. He always watched.

It wasn't creepy, he told himself. Not in a leering way. It was just... fascination. You moved through the world like the rules didn't apply to you. You touched people like they were meant to be touched - casually, kindly freely. No tension or hesitation. No fear.

You tousled John's hair like he was your annoying little brother, clung to Ava's arm when you were bored, made faces at Alexei during movie nights, and once kissed Yelena on the cheek for winning at Uno. You were always smiling, always glowing, always warm.

But never him. Not out of avoidance. No, you were never unkind to Bucky. You greeted him with the same energy as everyone else, your laugh just as sincere, your banter just as quick. But it always stopped just short of a touch. A hand wave instead of a hug, a wink instead of a squeeze to the shoulder.

And now, as he sat in his quiet corner, watching Bob shift a little so you could get even more comfortable against his side, something hollow twisted behind Bucky's ribs.

It wasn't jealousy. Not really. Bob was a friend, a soft-spoken powerhouse who loved puzzles and kittens. And it wasn't like Bucky wanted you to lean on him like that. Except...maybe he did.

What he wanted- no, what he missed, was that kind of affection without expectation. Touch that wasn't calculated or careful. No mission, no seduction, no pity. Just... closeness.

He blinked. You were laughing again, eyes shining, and Bob had just placed a hand on your head in that absent-minded, affectionate way people pet their dog without even realizing it. And you leaned into it. Let it happen like touch was a language you spoke fluently and everyone else just stuttered through.

Bucky hadn't been touched like that in... He didn't know. He really didn't.

The realization hit like a whisper, cruel in its softness. It wasn't that you hadn't touched him like that. It was that no one had, not in a long, long time. He could still remember how it felt, though. A hand through his hair, a lazy cuddle on a rainy afternoon. Arms slung around his shoulders, not for protection, but for comfort. But now people touched him like he was either a weapon or a wound.

He shifted in his seat, the leather creaking softly. Ava glanced over at the sound but didn't say anything. She was on the floor, legs stretched out, balancing a tablet on her knees. Your laughter trailed off slowly, and you looked up just in time to catch his eyes across the room.

You smiled. He didn't. Not because he didn't want to, but because he wasn't sure how. You had a thousand-watt smile, the kind that could make flowers grow in winter. His was more... dusty. Like an old light switch that hadn't been flipped in years.

But you didn't flinch, didn't falter. You just gave him that same warm look you gave everyone else. Like he belonged in this room, in this team, in this strange, patchwork little family. And then you turned back to Bob, reaching for a blanket and tossing it over both your legs. Cozy and casual, like touch was no more complicated than breathing.

God, he wanted that. Not even you, not like that. He just wanted someone to lean against him like that. Wanted to be touched without flinching. Wanted to relax against another body without wondering if it would be the last time he ever did.

Later, when most of the team had filtered out, Bucky was still sitting there. Alone in his corner. You passed by with a yawn, blanket still draped over your shoulders.

''You should sleep,' you murmured as you walked past. ''Or at least stop brooding. You'll get forehead wrinkles.''

He didn't answer. Just raised an eyebrow in response.

You paused at that, eyes flickering to his. Something unreadable danced across your face for a second. Concern, maybe? Or understanding? But then, with the gentlest flick of your fingers, you reached out with just a brush of knuckles on his vibranium arm, Barely there. Like asking a question without saying a word.

''Goodnight, Bucky.''

And just like that, you were gone. He stared at the spot where your hand had been, no more than a ghost of contact, and felt something tight and quiet unfurl inside him.

Bucky was a student of war. Tactics. Movement. Survival. But lately, he'd started studying something entirely different: affection.

More specifically - how people touched you.

It started small. A passing observation. The way Ava brushed your arm when she walked by, Yelena leaned into you on the couch like it was second nature, how Alexei let you play with the ends of his beard while he grumbled but never pulled away.

But mostly it was Bob. Always Bob. It was effortless how you two fit together. How you moved around him like you were in your own orbit. How his hand would rest lightly on your shoulder during conversations, how you'd slide under his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. He gave you piggyback rides in the hall, and you played with his fingers absentmindedly while reading on the couch. You were close in a way that made Bucky ache.

Because he wanted that. And he didn't know how to ask. So, he watched. He watched the patterns, the rhythm, the openings.

He noticed that Bob always smiled first, open and unguarded, and you responded like it was an invitation. He noticed the pauses too, the way you always gave people the space to say no, the flick of your eyes that asked ''is this okay?'' before leaning in.

Bucky started mentally rehearsing those small things. Little touches. A guiding hand to the lower back, a light graze on the wrist when handing you a mug. Not big things, not all at once. Just something.

But he couldn't do it. He'd get close. He'd raise his hand, and then his brain would flood with every warning it had ever learned. Not you. Not yet. Not like this. You'll mess it up. You don't know how. So he'd shove his hands back in his pockets and let the moment pass. Because you deserved better than someone who needed to rehearse basic closeness like a goddamn speech.

So he watched some more.

You first noticed being watched when Bob teased you at dinner. Something about the way Bucky looked up from his plate. Not irritated, not amused, just watchful. Your elbow had been pressed into Bob's side as you leaned over his tablet, your laughter easy and loud. And when you leaned back again, a flash of something flickered in Bucky's eyes. A breath too long, a blink too slow.

He looked like someone trying to memorize the moment. Just... what it looked like. What it felt like, to see it.

You weren't oblivious. You just didn't push. Didn't ask. Bucky wasn't the kind of man you cornered with feelings he hadn't invited yet. He operated like a tide - pulling away before he let anything close.

So you waited. And you watched, just like he did.

The mission was rough. Nothing catastrophic, just... messy.

Bucky took the brunt of it, as he usually did. No complaints, no calls for backup, just relentless movement until the job was done. You admired him for it. Always had. But you also hated it - how he treated his body like it was still someone else's to throw into war zones.

He slipped away afterward, as expected. No one really noticed. John was patching up his arm with Ava's help, Alexei was bragging about his kill count, and Yelena was already raiding the fridge. But you noticed. So, you gave it a few minutes, just enough time for him to think he'd gotten away with, before you padded into the lounge, barefoot and quiet.

And there he was. Facing away from you, shirt off, arms raised as he tried to stretch the tension from his back and shoulders. You could see it - all of it. The stiffness, the tightness, the way his body moved like an old machine that hadn't been oiled in years. He didn't hear you right away.

You stood in the doorway for a second longer than you meant to. Not staring, not quite. Just... seeing. The way he rolled his shoulder with a grimace, the muscles twitching under scarred skin, the metal arm glinting in the low light like something out of mythology. He was strong, yes, but he looked so tired.

''Bucky.''

He turned a little too fast, like he thought you'd caught him doing something shameful. You saw the flicker in his expression - the mask dropping into place. That same unreadable look he wore like armor. You didn't comment on it.

''You okay?'' you asked softly, stepping further in.

He gave a grunt that wasn't quite a yes.

You tilted your head, arms crossed loosely over your chest. ''You look like you lost a wrestling match with a garbage truck.''

''I won,'' he said, deadpan.

Your lips twitched. ''Barely.''

He huffed. Maybe a laugh, maybe just air. You moved a little closer, enough to notice the fine sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin. The tension in his shoulders was visible, like tight ropes drawn too hard.

''Sit,'' you said.

He blinked at you. ''What?''

''Sit,'' you repeated, nudging the back of the couch with your foot. ''I'm giving you a shoulder massage.''

He hesitated. A long beat of silence passed. You could practically hear the war happening in his mind. The part that didn't trust comfort, the part that didn't know how to accept it.

''I'm not gonna charge you for it,'' you teased gently. ''And it's not a trap. I'm just not a monster and I hate seeing you look like you've been folded in half and left in the sun to dry.''

That got the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. And he sat. Stiffly, cautiously. Like the couch might bite him.

You stepped behind him, already rubbing your hands together for warmth. But you didn't start right away, gave him that last window to change his mind. He didn't move. Just exhaled slowly, like he'd decided to let the tide roll in. Your hands touched his shoulders and God. You felt the jolt before he even reacted. Like the contact itself was something he hadn't expected to feel. Not like that. Not innocent. Not kind.

You didn't speak. Just worked quietly. Gently. Your fingers kneading into muscle and scar tissue, slow and careful, no agenda, no teasing. Just... touch.

Bucky's jaw clenched. His eyes were closed now, head tilted ever so slightly forward. You could still feel the effort it took him to stay still, to not flinch. Like every cell in his body was trying to not run away.

But you kept going. You worked over one knot at a time. One shoulder. Then the other. Your thumbs dug into the curve of his traps and you felt the smallest, tiniest exhale escaped his lips. Relief, or surrender, or maybe both.

''You don't have to be made of steel all the time,'' you whispered. Still not pushing. Just offering.

His voice, when it came, was rough. ''It's not about being steel. It's just...hard.''

''I know.''

He shifted slightly, just enough to lean a little more into your hands, and it felt like trust. It felt like an entire chapter unwritten. And you didn't need him to explain it. You already understood. And even though he hadn't said a word, it was all there.

You pressed your palm flat against his shoulder blades, heat seeping into him. ''You're allowed to want this, you know,'' you murmured. ''To be held. Even without reason.''

He didn't answer. But his hands unclenched in his lap. And that was enough.

Ten minutes passed. Maybe more. When you finally stepped away, you did it slowly. Gave him space to rise again, if he needed to. But he didn't move. Just sat there, like the couch had claimed him.

You didn't ask if he was okay. Didn't need to.

''Get some sleep,'' you said gently.

He nodded. Still quiet.

You turned to leave, but just before you crossed the threshold, his voice caught you.

''Thank you.''

And when you looked back, his eyes met yours; unguarded. Just for a second. The door cracking open and the warmth finally starting to seep in.

Movie night was always a disaster. Loud, chaotic, half the team arguing about genre and popcorn flavors, and Bucky stuck in the corner, pretending to mind the noise when secretly he didn't. Not at all.

Tonight was no different. You were already curled up on the couch, head in Bob's lap, your legs stretched across Yelena's. Ava was on the floor beside you, leaning back against the couch. Alexei was dramatically recounting the story of the time you once braided his beard into a Viking pattern, and Bucky had to bite back a smile when you proudly confirmed it, already digging through a box of hair ties and clips.

And that was how it started. First, Alexei. You pulled him in front of you, knees to your chest, and with your tongue poking out in concentration, you began weaving his beard with surprising speed. He looked like a grumpy Norse god by the time you were done.

Then Bob. ''Ohhh it's your turn, you big beautiful labradoodle,'' you sang, tugging him down by the hand.

He didn't protest. Just sat cross-legged in front of you with the dopey smile of someone being completely adored. You started working small braids into his hair, murmuring nonsense as your fingers moved expertly, occasionally swatting his shoulder when he moved too much.

Bucky watched from his usual spot. Quiet, still, fascinated. You weren't just touching, you were focusing. You were being deliberate. This wasn't just casual affection - this was attention. Care. The kind that said: I want to do something just for you. He wanted that. Badly. Desperately. Not even for what it would lead to, but just for that. To be someone you focused on. Someone you chose, even just for five minutes, to pour softness into.

You finished with a flourish, tied off the last braid in Bob's hair, sat back with a pleased grin, and then - without fanfare - you pointed across the room. Right at him.

''Your turn, Barnes.''

The room went dead silent. All eyes turned to him.

You didn't flinch. Your smile didn't even waver. You just tilted your head and gave him that same sunlit warmth you always carried, like it had never once occurred to you that he'd say no.

Bucky blinked. What. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He gestured vaguely to himself like he didn't understand the language you were speaking.

''You've got hair,'' you said, as if it was obvious. ''You've got a good head for braids. Longish, soft, a little tragic. I can work with that.''

''Tragic?'' he muttered before he could stop himself.

''Emotionally,'' you replied, already patting the floor in front of you. ''Now come on, don't make me beg. I'm on a roll.''

Bucky hesitated again. Not because he didn't want it But because the moment was so fragile. So bizarrely, heartbreakingly normal. Like if he moved wrong, it would shatter and you'd realize what you were asking. For him, not just some teammate, not just a body in the room, and you'd take it back.

But you didn't. You just kept smiling. So slowly, he stood up. Crossed the room, sat down, back straight and stiff as a board.

''Relax,'' you whispered behind him. ''I won't break you.''

You ran your fingers through his hair once, and he nearly forgot how to breathe. It wasn't just the sensation. It was the care, the softness, the quiet focus. You smoothed his hair gently, like it was worth something. Like he was worth something. And then your fingers started moving. Slow, practiced, weaving warmth into every inch of him.

The room around him faded. It was just your touch. Your hum under your breath, the warmth of your knees and either side of his back, the way you occasionally brushed a thumb over his scalp to settle a strand.

You didn't tease, you didn't rush, you just touched.

And Bucky sat perfectly still, his eyes closed, letting the door inside him creak open just a little more.

He wasn't in love with you. But in that moment, with your hands in his hair and his heart so soft it almost hurt, he thought: maybe I could be.

Bucky wasn't a man who touched first. He could take a punch without blinking, disarm a bomb with minutes to spare, and walk into a firefight like it was a coffee run. But reaching out to you? Terrifying.

Especially now that you'd touched him. Really touched him. Not on a battlefield, not in passing. But on purpose. With care.

You'd braided his hair like he was something worth decorating, worth sitting with, worth smiling at. And for the first time in years, he hadn't wanted to move. Hadn't wanted to retreat. He'd just wanted... more.

He thought about that moment for days. The warmth of your fingers, the way your voice softened near his ear, the lack of expectation. You hadn't asked for anything. You hadn't tried to pull him out of himself. You'd just sat with him, and for Bucky, that was almost more intimate than anything else.

So now he watched you even closer. Not just to learn - though, yes, he was still studying you like he might someday earn a master's in ''How To Be Near You Without Dying'', but because now... he was looking for openings. Tiny ones. Like the way you greeted Bob with a forehead bump and a grin, or how you'd slip your fingers into Yelena's sleeve when she was anxious. You didn't cling to people. You anchored them, And God, did Bucky want to be anchored.

So he tried. Tiny experiments. He started holding the door for you. At first, it was mechanical, just something to do, but you'd always smile and touch his shoulder on the way past. Every time. Like a thank you, like a secret handshake.

Next, he started handing you things. If you were sitting and someone tossed you a water bottle or remote or snack, Bucky would intercept it. And instead of just tossing it to you, he'd hand it. Palms brushing a second too long. Once, your fingers lingered. Just a beat. It nearly leveled him.

He started sitting on the couch instead of in his corner. Not next to you, not yet, but closer. Close enough to hear your breathing change when you laughed. Close enough to hand you the blanket when you curled up.

But what really broke him, what cracked something clean open, was when you fell asleep on Bob's chest again.

Movie night, a lazy rom-com. You'd started upright and within fifteen minutes had curled up under Bob's arm, your cheek pressed against his chest like you belonged there.

And Bucky? He didn't even feel jealous. He just felt cold. Not bitter or angry. Just... cold. Because now he knew what that felt like; your hands in his hair, your voice at his back, and he was starving for more.

He decided to try after the next mission.

Something low-risk. A simple retrieval, in and and out. You were paired with him this, which was rare, and he tried not to let it mean anything, but it felt like the universe had handed him a cheat code.

The mission went fine. A couple of close calls. You handled yourself like usual - confident, lethal, laughing through it all. And he admired the hell out of you for it. On the way back to the jet, you reached out instinctively and grabbed his wrist to yank him behind cover.

That one moment. That touch. He felt it in his teeth.

Once back in the tower, you peeled off first, stretching and yawning, calling goodnight over your shoulder with a lazy smile.

Bucky stood there in the hallway, still half-armored, heart thundering. Try now.

He walked to the kitchen and found the snack you always reached for after missions - those weird, spicy chips you claimed tasted like ''victory and regret''. You never bought them for yourself, said they were a ''reward food'', but you always lit up when someone remembered. So he took a bag. Bribery. Weak, but a start. Then he walked to your room.

He stood outside the door for at least a full minute. What am I doing? What if she's asleep? What if I look insane? But he made himself knock. Softly.

''...Come in!''

He stepped in like he was walking into a temple.

You were on the floor, stretching, dressed in soft shorts and an oversized hoodie he tried not to notice was Bob's. You grinned when you saw him.

''Well, hey Barnes. What's up?''

He held up the chip bag like it was evidence. You blinked, then beamed.

''Holy crap, you got the good ones!''

He nodded. ''Figured you earned it.''

You sat back, crossing your legs, tearing the bag open with a happy hum. ''You wanna stay?''

His brain short-circuited. ''If- yeah. If that's okay.''

''Duh,'' you said, patting the carpet next to you. ''I don't offer this floor to just anyone.''

So he sat, and you shared and talked. Then finally, he decided: now.

You were laughing at something he said. Your hand was on the floor beside you, his was a few inches away. Just do it. He slowly, carefully, let the side of his hand brush yours. And then... rested it there. Just barely touching.

You didn't look down, didn't call it out. But you did move your pinky until it hooked his. And Bucky forgot how to exist. You didn't say anything about it. Just kept talking, like nothing had changed. But your fingers stayed. Light, soft, reassuring.

And Bucky sat there beside you, pinky to pinky, the contact small enough to be missed by anyone else, but monumental to him. Because he'd finally done it. He'd reached out, and you'd reached back.

Bucky had a plan. Sort of. He'd been replaying that pinky-touch moment for days now. The smallness of it. The deliberate sweetness. How you didn't tease him or pull away. You just let it happen, and he didn't have to explain why it meant so much.

Now, he wanted to try something more. Not huge. Just... bolder. A tiny step forward. He wanted to initiate something. Not because it meant love or romance, but because his body was beginning to crave it. Crave that soft connection. Crave you, in the most innocent, desperately human way. He wanted to know what it felt like to hold you, even for a second.

So he planned for it. Not out loud, not with words, but with a thousand little hypotheticals in his head.

After a mission, maybe. Or in the hallway when you weren't looking. You'd be laughing, or tired, or just there, and he'd go for it - a simple hug. Arms around you. Quick, no pressure. But every time the moment came? He choked.

He was so close tonight.

Mission done. Exhausting but not dangerous. Everyone was filtering into the tower one by one, and you were the last to come in; suit half-zipped, hair stuck to your cheek, laughing at something John said before he peeled off down the hall.

And there you were. Worn out, but happy. Still glowing like you always did. You turned to him, smile softening, and said, ''You did good today, Barnes.''

That's all it took. The moment presented itself like a gift. Do it. Just reach out. He took a breath, stepped forward, his hands hovered awkwardly at his sides. Just a hug. Just a hug. But his body locked. What if she pulls away? What if it's weird? What if it ruins everything? His hands jerked back down.

Too late. You saw. Your eyes flickered to his. Quick and quiet. Understanding dawned across your face like a sunrise. You didn't make it a thing. Didn't joke or ask or tilt your head like are you okay? You just took a small step forward and opened your arms.

''C'mere, tough guy,'' you said.

You stepped in and wrapped your arms around him. A real hug. Chest to chest, face to shoulder. Warm, present, soft.

Bucky stopped breathing. He didn't move. Didn't know how to move. His hands hovered behind your back, unsure, trembling slightly like they'd forgotten what to do. And then you gave the smallest squeeze. Gentle. Safe. That did it, his arms came around you. Slow, careful. And then... all at once. They locked behind you, strong and tight and desperate, like he'd finally given up the fight and was clinging on for dear life.

He didn't mean to hold you so hard. He didn't mean to breathe you in like that. But he couldn't stop. Because your body was real. Warm, solid. And you weren't backing away, you weren't treating him like glass. You were just... holding him.

You shifted slightly to lean into the hug more, and he swore he could feel your smile against his neck. ''See?'' you murmured. ''Easy.''

He could've laughed at that. It wasn't easy, not for him. It was terrifying, dizzying, earth-shaking. But it was also the first time in years that someone had wrapped him up like this without blood or death or adrenaline. No life-or-death panic. Just arms, just warmth. And for the first time, he let himself sink into it. His heart was pounding - slamming, really, and he was sure you could feel it. He didn't care.

You didn't let go until he did. And when he finally eased back - slowly, reluctantly, like his arms had been superglued in place - your eyes met his, steady and bright. No teasing, no awkward silence.

Just, ''Anytime, Bucky.'' And a little smile. The kind that wrapped around his ribs and pulled tight.

He nodded. Couldn't speak even if he tried to. Could barely breathe. And as you turned and padded away down the hall, humming softly under your breath, Bucky stood alone in the hallway like he'd just come back from war. Except this time, someone had brought him home.

Bucky didn't sleep after that hug. He laid in bed, eyes wide in the dark, heart still thundering against his ribs like it hadn't gotten the memo that the moment was over.

You had held him. No flinching or pulling back, you let him cling like he needed it. Because he did, and you made it feel like it was okay. Like it was normal. You never said another word about it. And Bucky walked around the tower for the next few days like someone had filled his veins with warm honey and static electricity.

But with every inch you have him - every smile, every brush of a hand, every shoulder lean or passing touch - Bucky found himself wanting to give something back. He wanted you to know what that hug meant to him. Not in words. He wasn't there yet. And not in touch, his body still rebelled at the idea of starting something again. So instead, he watched again. Carefully, obsessively. And started to notice things about you. Little things.

You hummed when you were nervous, you always pulled your sleeves over your hands when you were cold even though you owned about sixteen hoodies, you liked your tea with honey instead of sugar, and you made up nicknames for everyone. He still wasn't sure if ''Ice Cream Soldier'' was supposed to be a compliment.

But most of all? You loved weird little things. Knickknacks, trinkets, gimmicks - stuff that made everyone else roll their eyes. You kept a plastic dinosaur on your nightstand, and you used pens with flitter ink. And you once got into a thirty-minute debate with Alexei about whether a wind-up chicken toy should be considered ''practical combat gear''. Somehow, you won that debate.

So Bucky made a decision. He couldn't hug you back. Not yet. But he could give you something.

A little mission in Eastern Europe. A side errand in Dubai. A stakeout with nothing to do but sit and watch. And right there, buried in a dusty antique shop next to a faded deck of Soviet playing cards and a pair of rusted brass knuckles, he found it.

A tiny, worn metal figurine. A cat. Its tail curled into a spiral, its ear too big, one eye slightly chipped. It looked hand-forged. Utterly ridiculous and useless. Perfect.

He bought it without hesitation. No one saw, no one knew. He brought it home and sat with it for an hour in his room. Just turning it over in his hands, wondering if this was stupid. If it made him look childish. If you'd even like it.

But then he remembered the way you looked when someone gave you something with no strings attached. He remembered your smile. And that settled it.

He didn't give it to you directly. He couldn't. So, he waited until the next movie night. Same couch, same usual crew. Everyone loud and sprawled and tangled up in a pile of popcorn and dumb banter.

You were curled up in your usual spot with Bob, your legs across his lap, a bowl balanced on your knees, laughing so hard you snorted. And Bucky sat one cushion away. Close enough to hear your laughter, far enough to not panic.

You got up halfway through to refill drinks, and Bucky slipped the little metal cat into the space you'd just left. Just where you'd see it. Not wrapped, not labeled... just there. And when you came back, you saw it immediately. You blinked. Picked it up. Held it up in the light with the kind of gentle curiosity that made Bucky want to crawl under the couch.

''Hey,'' you said aloud, holding it up, ''who left this little guy?''

Bob shrugged, Ava didn't even look, and John made some joke about it being cursed. Yelena grabbed it from your hand and examined it.

''It's ugly. I like it.''

You laughed and took it back, fingers closing around it protectively. ''Well, whoever left it - it's mine now.'' And then you smiled. That kind of soft, knowing smile, and your eyes flicked to Bucky. Just a second. Just long enough.

He didn't say a word. Didn't have to. You tucked the cat into your hoodie pocked and curled up again. And Bucky let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

The next morning, you passe him in the hallway. No one else was around. You didn't stop him. Just walked by, slow and casual, and bumped your shoulder into his with a quiet, ''Thanks, Barnes.'' And kept walking like it was no big deal.

But he stood there in the hallway for a full minute, stunned stupid by how good that felt Not the thanks. The shoulder bump. Small, warm, and his.

From then on, it became a thing. You never asked for more, but Bucky... he started giving it anyway.

A protein bar slid across the table on mornings you looked too tired to grab one yourself, a spare set of hand warmers in your tac vest before cold missions, and a weird sticker he peeled off a vending machine that said ''KICK BUTT, GLITTER GIRL'' that he knew you'd absolutely slap on your laptop.

All of it anonymous, none of it subtle. And every time, your eyes would flick toward him with that soft little grin. You'd touch his arm when you passed, or lean your head briefly against his shoulder, or bump hips when no one was looking.

And Bucky... he thrived on it. Still unsure, still hesitant. But opening, inch by precious inch.

The team didn't mention it aloud. Not once. Not to him, not to you. But they noticed. They noticed that Bucky stopped bracing when someone walked behind him on the couch. That he started answering more questions with actual words instead of shrugs. That he let you rest your head on his shoulder once and didn't move a muscle the whole time.

They noticed how he watched you when you weren't looking. With that quiet awe of someone who's been in the dark so long that the sunlight still hurts, even as it heals.

And on a quiet afternoon when rain still misted against the windows everyone was off doing their own thing - Bob reading a fantasy novel upside down on the couch, Alexei asleep with a magazine over his face, and the rest scattered through the tower. You sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, twirling the end of your braid between your fingers, frowning.

''It's coming undone,'' you muttered.

Bucky was seated on the end of the couch with a cup of tea he didn't remember making, and glanced over. ''Want help?''

You blinked. Then your eyes lit up, slow and warm. ''Yeah. Will you braid it for me?''

Silence. Utter, world-shattering silence. Bob looked up from his book like he'd just heard a hun go off and Bucky froze mid-sip.

Your tone had been casual, like asking someone to hand you the remote. But Bucky felt his spine lock up like a snapped wire, his pulse suddenly very loud in his ears. His brain full-on short-circuited.

You tilted your head back to look at him, smiling. ''You don't have to if you don't want to-''

''No- I mean-yeah-no, I'll-sure,'' he stammered. ''I can try.''

You turned back around, still grinning like you knew exactly what you were doing to him. Bucky set his tea down, his hand was already sweating. What the hell did he just agree to.

The moment your back was to him, Bucky realized how close you were. Your bare shoulders peeked out from the loose neckline of your oversized shirt, and the soft scent of your shampoo drifted up to him like a punch to the senses. He reached toward your hair, paused, and immediately pulled his hands back.

''I-uh-I don't know how to braid,'' he said, voice strangled.

''That's okay,'' you said easily, not turning around. ''Just do your best.''

That was not helpful.

Bob, mercifully, looked up from his book again and took pity. ''Hang on, Sergeant,'' he said, reaching for his phone. ''We're gonna get you through this.''

Bucky shot him a look.

Bob raised both eyebrows. ''You wanna bail now or impress the girl with your incredibly subpar braiding skills?''

''I'm not trying to impress-'' Bucky began, but Bob had already opened Youtube.

''There are hundreds of tutorials on this. Oh! Here's one: ''How to braid your girlfriend's hair without making her leave you for someone who owns a comb''. Seems fitting.''

''I hate you.''

''You love me.''

The video started playing - hosted by a chipper woman with perfectly braided hair and way too much optimism, and Bob propped the phone against his knee, narrating helpfully.

''Okay, part it into three sections. Three, Barnes. Not two. You're not tying shoelaces here.''

Bucky narrowed his eyes. ''I know what three is, Bob.''

''Do you, though? Because you're holding two and looking confused.''

''Shut up.''

You were definitely holding back laughter now, your shoulders trembled with it. He finally managed to divide your hair into three semi-even pieces.

''Now cross the right over the middle,'' Bob instructed. ''Wait. Your right. No, her right. Shit- that's the same right. Okay... look, follow the lady in the video.''

Bucky glared at the screen. The woman made it look so easy, the braid just formed like magic. Meanwhile, his hands felt like they were wearing boxing gloves. He tried once. Fumbled. You laughed under your breath.

''Sorry,'' he muttered, fingers clumsy against the silk of your hair.

''No, don't apologize,'' you said, voice light and warm. ''This is the most fun I've had all week.''

He tried again. And this time, the strands twisted more like a loose knot than a braid.

Bob squinted. ''That's... something.''

You snorted. ''It's fine. Just keep going.''

And somehow, despite the odds, the braid started to form. Wobbly and uneven. Your hair curled under his fingers like it belonged there. And Buckt didn't realize he'd started smiling. When he tied the braid off with a small elastic you handed him, you reached back and touched it, beaming.

''It's perfect,'' you said, even though it absolutely wasn't.

Bucky looked away, ears pink. ''Glad I could help,'' he said, voice a little hoarse.

You leaned back slightly, head resting against his shin now, looking up at him with bright, grateful eyes. And Bucky carefully, shyly, reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Not because it needed fixing. Just because he wanted to touch you again. And this time? He didn't panic.

Bob watched the whole thing from behind his book and just smiled. Didn't say a word. Didn't need to.

Gala nights were always chaos wrapped in satin. Everyone was too dressed up, the champagne was too expensive, and the music was more noise than melody. Somewhere between government posturing and forced socializing, it was easy to forget the mission was just to show up and look like you weren't going to level the place.

You, of course, were having the time of your life. Your gown, shimmering and slinky, dangerously backless, drew eyes across the room. But you didn't give them a second glance. You were too busy spinning in circles on the dance floor with Alexei, barefoot now, laughing so hard you nearly tripped over the hem of your dress.

''Is that-? Oh god, is that the cha-cha?'' Valentina muttered from the sidelines, looking scandalized. ''Tell me that's not the cha-cha. In front of the senators.''

''Mm,'' Ava hummed beside her. ''Technically, I think it's the drunk uncle version of the cha-cha. But yes.''

Valentina groaned, lifting her wine glass as if to drink away the embarrassment. ''She's going to give me a migraine.''

''She's not the one doing the shoulder shimmy,'' John said dryly, nodding toward Alexei.

And sure enough - there he was, twice your size and grinning like a man who had never known shame, twirling you dramatically and nearly taking out a waiter's tray in the process.

You didn't care. You threw your arms up, laughed like it was the only thing that mattered, and kept dancing.

Ava turned slightly, her gaze catching on the tall figure lingering near the edge of the ballroom. ''Barnes,'' she said, low enough that only he could hear. ''You gonna sit there forever?''

Bucky didn't look at her. He was too busy watching you. His tie felt too tight, his palm was clammy, and his heart was beating like he was in combat. He hadn't been able to look away from you all night. Your laugh, your touch, the way your eyes sparkled under the chandeliers like you belonged there more than anyone else in the room.

You'd already danced with Bob, who kept spinning you like he'd just watched Dirty Dancing. Then John, then Alexei. You flowed from one person to the next like it was nothing, like joy was just something that spilled out of you onto anyone willing to catch it.

And Bucky wanted to catch it. He almost stood. Almost let himself go to you like Ava was silently urging. But then the music changed. Soft strings. A slow waltz. Couples began to pair off, the lights dimmed slightly, warm gold flickering over crystal and silk. And Bucky panicked. Too intimate, too close. He sat back down, jaw tight.

Missed my chance, he thought bitterly. Typical. But then you were there.

Your voice gentle, like the music itself. ''Dance with me?''

His head jerked up. You were smiling. Hand out, hair a little wild from all your earlier chaos, eyes impossibly soft.

He blinked. ''Me?''

You tilted your head. ''Unless you know another hundred-year-old war criminal with a metal arm in this room?'' That started a laugh out of him, sharp and short. You stepped closer. ''Come on. One dance. I won't even try to spin you. Promise.''

His brain screamed run. But his heart? His heart stood.

Eyes drifted toward you and Bucky as you walked to the dance floor. He didn't look at them. He was too busy not tripping over his own thoughts.

You took his hands in yours and guided them to your waist with a warmth that had no edges. No agenda. Just you, radiant and calm, like you had all the time in the world to teach him what safety felt like.

''Just sway,'' you murmured. ''That''s all you have to do.''

So he did. You led, really. Kept the rhythm soft, let him find his footing. And Bucky was panicking. Because you were right there. So close. Too close.

Your cheek was nearly against his collarbone, your perfume was like summer and sugar and sunlight. Your hands were draped around his neck. And he was certain you could feel his heart pounding.

''Bucky?'' you whispered, barely audible. He grunted in acknowledgment, throat too tight for words. You looked up at him, the corner of your mouth tugging up. ''You're doing great.''

His breath stuttered. I'm not. Because it was too much. The warmth, the softness, the utter lack of fear in you. You danced with him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he hadn't spent years pushing people away. Like he hadn't built an entire life around silence and distance.

You didn't ask to be let in. You just walked through the door. And Bucky had no idea what to do with that. He kept waiting for the tension to snap. For someone to step in. For you to pull away. But you didn't.

The song ended slowly, fading into something else. And Bucky felt the loss of it like a pulled stitch.

You stepped back just slightly and smiled up at him. ''Thank you,'' you said, voice as soft as velvet. Then you leaned in and kissed his cheek. A brief press of the lips, barely a breath long.

But it dropped like a bomb in his chest. Your smile didn't fade. You just slipped away, walking off with Yelena toward some obviously doomed scheme involving the catering table and the rooftop.

And Bucky stood there. Absolutely still. A hand on his cheek like the world had just tilted sideways. He barely noticed Ava join him a minute later, champagne glass in hand.

She didn't speak at first, just stopped and looked where you'd gone. Then it came, ''So.'' She glanced at him. ''You okay?''

''No.''

Her mouth twitched. ''Realized it, didn't you.''

Bucky didn't answer. Didn't need to. Because holy fucking shit, he did. He didn't just want affection. He didn't just want safety. He wanted you.

He didn't sleep the night after the gala. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, fully clothes, jaw locked and heart loud, your kiss still pressed to his cheek like a brand. Because it had just been a thank you, right? Just a soft, casual thing. You did that with everyone.

You kissed Ava on the head when she gave you the last slice of pizza, you curled into Bob's side during movie nights like it was your assigned seat, you ruffled John's hair when he was being a sarcastic little shit, and you let Alexei carry you around like a sack of potatoes whenever he pleased. You gave affection like it cost nothing. And maybe it didn't. But to Bucky it cost everything. And now he wanted more. God help him, he wanted you.

It got worse the next day. You were still you - sunlight in human form, skipping around the tower in mismatched socks, humming a tune no one recognized.

You found Bucky in the kitchen, your hair a little damp from a shower, eyes sleepy. ''Hi, soldier,'' you said, bumping your shoulder gently into his arm. ''How are your feet after that dance? Did I bruise you?''

He blinked at you. Then blinked again. Because you were wearing his shirt. Not like, his shirt - but the same Henley brand he wore all the time, one of those oversized soft cotton ones in a color that made his brain hiccup. And he couldn't breathe.

''I-fine,'' he croaked. ''You didn't. I mean. It was fine.''

You beamed. ''Good. Then you can dance some more with me next time.''

He nodded dumbly.

You reached for the cereal box above him, your arm brushing across his chest. He flinched, but not away, from surprise. From the way even the most accidental contact with you lit him up from the inside. You poured a bowl, hummed again, and wandered off like you hadn't just leveled his entire nervous system with a smile.

Later he sat on the couch while you tangled yourself into a pile with Bob and Yelena. Legs over laps, arms slung around shoulders. Bob played with your fingers absentmindedly while Yelena used your stomach as a pillow. You were laughing at something stupid Bob said, glowing with ease, and Bucky watched.

Not like a creep. Just like a man trying not to fall apart. Because every time you touched someone else, something in his twisted. Not jealousy, not quite, just a raw aching hunger.

You're not mine to touch, he reminded himself. You weren't. But God, he wanted to be yours.

And the team noticed. Not loudly. Not with teasing. But they saw.

Yelena caught him watching you over the edge of his book. She didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow when he looked away too fast and pretended to care about page 62. Bob lingered in the kitchen one morning and passed Bucky a mug of coffee with a quiet, ''You know, she really likes it when people play with her hair without asking first.'' Bucky nearly broke the mug. Alexei gave him a firm, understanding nod once when he caught him staring at you. Didn't say a word just nodded like a man who'd once been there and survived it. And Ava? She said it best.

''Don't rush him,'' she told John one afternoon when the he scoffed at Bucky choosing to sit beside you instead of his usual armchair.

''I'm not rushing him,'' John snapped, adjusting his sunglasses. ''I'm just saying - either kiss her or don't, Barnes. This isn't high school.''

Ava, who had been watching you patiently teach Alexei how to play Go Fish, shook her head. ''She doesn't know,'' she said softly.

John scoffed again. ''She's not blind. She kisses that man on the cheek like it's a Hallmark movie.''

''She kisses everyone. But she's patient with him. Slower. Gentler. More careful. And I don't think she even realizes it.''

John looked unconvinced. ''She's affectionate with everyone.''

''Yes,'' Ava said. ''But she waits for Bucky. She reads him. She's been loving him in a language he can understand.

That shut John up for a full three seconds. ''...Disgusting,'' he muttered. ''You should write poetry or something.''

Ava only smiled.

It was a rooftop night. Cool breeze, blankets, and pizza boxes spread out across mismatched furniture like a half-hearted picnic.

You were leaning over Bob's arm, laughing too hard at something Ava said, and Bucky was trying very hard not to be annihilated by it. You wore shorts and an old hoodie that definitely wasn't yours, hair pulled up with strands curling at your temples. Your bare legs were tangled over Bob's your hand casually resting on his chest while you picked a fight with Alexei about movie trivia.

No one else thought twice about it. They were used to you - your sunshine, your warmth, the way you radiated affection like a second skin. It was just you, untamed and fearless. But Bucky? You were shattering him. Every time you laughed at Bob's stupid joke, every time you reached over to adjust John's hoodie string, or brushed Yelena's hair behind her ear. Every time your eyes sparkled and your hand stayed just a second longer than strictly necessary... it burned.

And it wasn't jealousy. It was a need. Please look at me like that. Please lean your weight against me. Please laugh into my chest. Please, please, choose me, without even realizing it.

The ache was getting harder to hide. He'd tried. God, he'd tried. He still sat closer to you now. Still let you rest your head on his shoulder sometimes. Still awkwardly and terribly braided your hair when you asked. But there were limits he didn't know how to cross. Like now.

When you leaned over Bob and mock-whispered something into his ear, giggling when he gasped and dramatically clutched his heart, pretending to faint. It was nothing. A joke. But Bucky felt it like a sucker punch to the ribs. And you didn't even notice.

''You okay?'' Ava murmyred from beside him.

He didn't look at her. ''Fine.''

She didn't push. She never did. Just handed him a beer and let the silence fill in what he couldn't say.

I'm not okay. I want to be the one she teases like that. I want her hand on my chest. Her eyes on me like I'm the reason she's smiling. I want-

He swallowed he cracked the beer open.

When the wind picked up and everyone started packing up, you wandered over to him. Hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, cheeks rosy from the cold. ''Hey, soldier,'' you said softly.

He looked at you, and God help him - he melted. You gave him that smile. The one that made his lungs forget what to do. The one that used to feel like sunshine but now felt like the slow pull of a tide trying to drown him.

''You looked a little quiet tonight,'' you said, gentle, concerned. ''Everything okay?''

He nodded too quickly. ''Yeah. Just tired.''

Your hand reached up, brushing a leaf from his shoulder. He froze. ''Okay. Well, if you need to not be okay sometime, you know I'm here, right?''

Do you know what you're doing to me? He wanted to ask. Wanted to grab your hand and keep it. Just hold on to something warm for once. But instead, he just nodded. And watched you walk away.

The rooftop cleared, but he stayed behind. Alone, now. Just him and the wind and the echo of your laugh in his ears. And for the first time, the truth didn't whisper. It roared.

I don't just want touch. I don't just want softness. I want her.

In and out. Secure the intel. Light resistance. It was supposed to be simple. It wasn't. And when the explosion went off - too close, too sudden - it was your name that ripped out of Bucky's throat. He didn't see the flash. Just felt the shockwave. And then you were gone from his side.

You weren't dead. You weren't even seriously hurt. Just thrown, bruised, scraped up where you'd hit the wall, comm crackling as you cursed and coughed and told them you were fine.

But Bucky wasn't. He couldn't breathe. His fingers wouldn't stop trembling on the trigger of his rifle. He kept his body moving, eyes scanning, instincts in full soldier mode. But his heart was gone, back there, with you.

He didn't remember finishing the mission. Didn't remember getting on the jet. Didn't remember sitting beside you in the medbay while a nurse patched you up, your voice stubborn and playful as always. What he remembered was the sound of the blast. And the way his entire world collapsed for a second.

He didn't talk on the ride back. You kept glancing at him, frown between your brows, but he didn't look at you. Couldn't He just sat with his hands clenched between his knees, eyes blank, jaw locked like he was holding back a scream. The others noticed, but they knew better than to push.

You knocked on his door that night. Three soft raps. No answer, but you opened it anyway.

Bucky was sitting on the floor beside his bed, back against the wall, breathing hard. Still in his gear. Dog tags clenched in one hand, shaking. He looked up... and shattered.

''You shouldn't be in here,'' he rasped.

You stepped in anyway, gently closing the door behind you.

He shook his head, almost violently. His breath hitched and he pressed his palm to his chest, like he could physically hold something in. ''I thought you were gone.''

You paused. And then moved closer, sinking to your knees in front of him. ''I wasn't.''

''I thought you were.'' His voice cracked. ''I saw that explosion and I thought-I thought-'' He couldn't finish. Just closed his eyes, chest heaving. And then he reached. Arms out. Not confident or practiced, but desperate. Like he couldn't stand another second not touching you.

You moved into the hug without hesitation, and he broke. He held you like a drowning man. Like you were oxygen and he hadn't breathed in weeks. His arms crushed you to him, face buried in your shoulder, fingers twisting into your hoodie like they were terrified you'd slip away again. It wasn't soft, or gentle. It was fierce. A hug with everything he couldn't say.

''I'm here,'' you whispered, hand smoothing up his spine. ''I'm okay.''

His voice was low and hoarse, almost childlike. ''I can't lose you.''

You froze, just for a second. Then melted against him, curling into his lap like you belonged there. You didn't speak. Didn't need to. Because you felt it, now. The weight in his arms, the panic, the relief, the need. You'd hugged Bucky before, but he had never held you like this. And something changed inside you. Because suddenly all the times he'd flinched away, all the walls he kept up - it all made sense. He was afraid of it. Afraid of needing it. Afraid of losing it.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. ''I'm not going anywhere,'' you said softly.

And his eyes- God, his eyes. Like he wanted so badly to believe you, but didn't know how. You cupped his cheek and pressed your forehead to his.

You didn't say anything else. Didn't have to. Because the next day, Bucky sat a little closer on the couch. He lingered when you leaned into him. And when you rested your head on his shoulder? He leaned back.

And you started giving him more. More of your touch, more of your time, more of you. And the others noticed.

It was a quiet change. Not a thunderclap, not a confession, just... little shifts. Like how you still curled against Bob during movie nights, but now your feet somehow always ended up in Bucky's lap. Or how you'd still lean into Yelena's side, tug on John's sleeve, braid Ava's hair while teasing Alexei - but Bucky was the one whose hand you reached for when you needed comfort.

And Bucky... God, Bucky was changing. Subtle things. To anyone else, probably invisible. But not to the team. He never flinched now. Not when you brushed your knee against his, not when you tossed a blanket over both of your legs. Not when your head dropped to his shoulder and stayed there through an entire episode of Jeopardy.

He even initiated things, once or twice. A hand on your back, a squeeze to your arm. The kind of touch that was casual from anyone else, but from Bucky Barnes? It was a goddamn declaration.

Ava watched the way Bucky's eyes always found you first. Not just when you entered a room, but when you laughed, when you moved, when you fell quiet. She saw it like a pulse - how in tune he was with you now. Like he was always listening for your heartbeat.

Alexei didn't understand it in so many words, but he stopped teasing Bucky about being grumpy. Just gave him a single, hearty slap on the back one afternoon and said, ''You are less haunted now. Good. Keep petting her hair, it seems to be working.''

Bob never said a damn thing. He just started sitting a little farther away during movie night, with a small, knowing smile.

John was the only one brave enough to ask: ''So... is this a thing now?'' and got and simultaneous death glare from Yelena and you that promptly shut him up for a week.

And Bucky felt it all. Not just your hands, not just the way your affection lingered now - longer hugs, softer looks, quiet touches that felt like they meant something. No. He felt the way you chose him. You still loved everyone. That hadn't changed. You were still sunshine, still chaos, still a tangle of hugs and shoulder squeezes and kisses on the cheeks and tangled limbs. But when it came to him? You were gentler. Like you were holding something sacred. And it made his heart ache in the most beautiful, terrifying way.

You never talked about it. But one night, when everyone else had wandered off, you padded up to Bucky's room and knocked twice. When he opened the door, you were already stepping in, hoodie sleeves over your hands, bare feet quiet on the floor. You didn't say anything. You just curled up next to him on the bed, on top of the blanket, side pressed to his - cheek on his shoulder. And Bucky wrapped his arm around without hesitation. Like he'd been waiting. And maybe he had. Because something had shifted. You weren't just affection now, or just comfort. You were something that scared the hell out of him. Something he wanted.

You and Bucky were in the common room long after everyone had gone to sleep, arguing about which of you could win in a game of ''sneak tag'' - a stupid version of hide-and-seek Alexei had invented with suspiciously complex rules and the very real possibility of someone getting a concussion.

You were giddy with exhaustion, barefoot and wrapped in a blanket like a cape. Bucky was stretched out on the rug, shirt untucked, hair messy, smiling that quiet way he didn't even realize he was doing now.

''You forget I used to rob people,'' you'd said, gesturing dramatically with a Snickers bar. ''I'm a ghost in socks. A phantom.''

''You tripped over a chair yesterday.''

''That chair moved, Barnes.''

He chuckled, and you decided then and there that the sound was your new favorite thing.

Somehow, between laughter and whispered trash talk, the game actually began. You set the timer. Ten minutes to sneak from one end of the tower to the other, tagging your opponent before they reached the kitchen. Simple.

Except Bucky was fast. And quiet. And probably cheating.

You darted through darkened corridors, ducked behind furniture, and nearly screamed when he appeared out of nowhere beside the elevator. He didn't tag you, just grinned - wild and sharp and boyish - and ran. You chased him like a storm. By the time you skidded into the kitchen and cornered him, breathless and flushed, your laughter was nearly silent. So was his. You had him trapped against the counter, both of you panting, noses inches apart in the dark. He was smiling. But his eyes were wide. Almost awed.

''You lost,'' you whispered.

''I let you win.''

''Liar.''

He didn't argue.

You were both still catching your breath when you looked at him. Really looked at him. The way the moonlight hit his face, the way his hair stuck to his forehead, the way his chest rose and fell like he'd just run through something much more dangerous than a hallway. And it hit you. How much you wanted him. Not affection, not comfort. Him.

And before your brain could catch up to your body - you kissed him. Soft. Barely more than a breath. Your lips pressed to his like a secret. Like a question you didn't mean to ask. And for one perfect second - he kissed you back. Then he blinked, and he was gone.

No words. No anger. Just... retreat. Like he couldn't breathe. Like he had to escape before he shattered completely. And you were left in the quiet dark, your fingertips and lips still tingling from where you'd touched him.

You didn't sleep that night.

You knocked on his door at 7:04 a.m. No blanket, no jokes, just you.

The door opened slowly, and there he was. Hair wet from a shower, hoodie pulled on inside out, eyes tired - but calmer.

''I'm sorry,'' you said, voice small. He stared at you. ''I didn't mean to do that. I mean- I did, but I didn't think, and you panicked, and I get, I just-''

''Don't apologize.''

Your mouth snapped shut. Bucky stepped back, letting you in.

''I wasn't mad,'' he said softly. ''Just... scared.''

You nodded, stepping inside. ''I know.''

''I didn't want to run.''

''I know.''

''I've just never wanted something this much and not known how to have it.''

You looked up at him, something tender folding open in your chest. And Bucky didn't think this time. He just moved. Closed the distance, tilted his head, and kissed you. Not soft. Not unsure. But with all the weight of what he'd been trying to hold in. Days, weeks, months of trying to bury a feeling that refused to die.

You melted into it, hands finding the collar of his hoodie, lips curving into the kiss even as his hand cupped the back of your neck like he was still afraid you'd slip away. But you didn't. You stayed.

And when you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, foreheads pressed together in the quiet...

He whispered, ''You didn't steal that kiss.''

You smiled. ''Did I not?''

''No,'' he murmured. ''I gave it to you.''

And just like that... Bucky Barnes stopped running.

#bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes slow-burn #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes angst

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pandapetals · 27 days ago

Text

Sunset On The Fenceline

Summary: In a world still haunted by old dangers, Joel and you have built a quiet life together on a farm outside Jackson. Between playful banter, shared chores, and tender moments by firelight, they hold tightly to the love they fought so hard to find.

Pairing: joel miller x fem!wife reader

Word count: 11k

Content warnings: domestic married life, farm life, soft joel, fluff, oral/p in v smut, flirting, banter, teasing, imagined reader in her 40s (but it's not mentioned), no y/n used, Joel lives and makes amends with Ellie and nothing bad ever happened, Ellie/Dina/JJ appearance

A/N: divider by @/saradika-graphics. I just want a domestic life with him. Okay, had to add...I am a weirdo and do research for my fics a lot. When looking at Google Maps for Jackson…I found out there is a historical cabin called Miller Cabin. So, this is where Joel and Reader live. Headcanon now. ^ middle photo is the real place.

Before the sky transformed into a vibrant blue-gray, Joel was already at the fence line. A loose board, likely knocked askew by an elk during the night, had him muttering softly under his breath. The steady thunk of the hammer against the wood echoed through the crisp morning air. His hands moved with the assured, unhurried grace that comes from a lifetime of building and dismantling things.

Chickens murmured and scratched in the dirt, feathers ruffling as they stirred from their roost. The old dog — a mangy mutt Joel always claimed wasn’t worth a damn, though he snuck scraps to it after every meal — stretched out on the porch in a patch of weak sunlight, one ear twitching at the sound of your footsteps.

You stepped outside, the chill biting at your skin through the worn fabric of Joel’s flannel you’d pulled on. In your hands, his coffee mug, a brown owl printed on the side, the glaze cracked, and a chip missing from the rim. The scent of the coffee curled up in the air between you.

“Joel?” you called, voice soft but carrying in the stillness.

He glanced up, a small, crooked smile flickering across his face. He gave you that look, the one that meant I hear you. I’m not done yet, as the hammer in his hand didn’t pause.

You sank into the rocking chair with a quiet sigh, setting the mug on the side table. The wood was rough and sun-bleached beneath your fingertips. Joel’s guitar rested nearby, strings catching the light like spider silk. You reached for it, the weight familiar and comforting.

A tentative strum sent a warm, uneven chord into the morning air. You tried to recall the chords Joel had shown you the week before, your hand stumbling over the frets. It was hard to focus when your eyes kept drifting back to him. The way his hands gripped the hammer, strong and steady, veins like old rope beneath sun-darkened skin. Those hands had carried you through storms, patched roofs, and pulled you close in the dark.

Even now, they distracted you.

You shook your head, chasing away the images of Joel’s hands—rough, scarred, so impossibly gentle when they held the guitar. But it was no use. The memory of his fingers moving over the frets, coaxing out soft, aching notes, settled stubbornly in your mind.

You exhaled, glancing down at your clumsy and uncertain hands. The guitar felt heavier now; its neck was too broad, and the strings bit into your fingertips like always.

Still, you tried.

Your fingers fumbled for the shape of the chord he’d shown you days before. A rough pluck, then another. The opening notes of Make You Feel My Love drifted thin and uneven, snagging on missed strings and hesitant pauses. It was a ghost of the song, fragile and unfinished, but it filled the quiet morning.

You grimaced at a wrong note, muttering under your breath, “Shit.”

From down by the fence line, the steady thud of hammering stopped.

A beat later, you heard the crunch of boots over the leaves, and Joel’s silhouette appeared leaning against the porch railing, his expression softened by the early light.

“Didn’t mean to distract you,” you teased, setting the guitar in your lap like it might hide the heat rising to your cheeks.

He huffed a quiet laugh, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his back pocket. “Sounded like someone was tryin’ to murder that poor guitar.”

You shot him a look, but his grin was fond, the kind that melted you down to your bones.

“Here,” he said, crossing the porch and lowering himself beside you. His hands covered yours, guiding your fingers to the right frets. The scent of cedar and earth clung to him.

“Like this,” he murmured, the words threading through the still air. His thumb brushed the strings, and the note rang out clean and sweet.

You swallowed hard, your gaze fixed on his hands as they moved yours, calloused fingers coaxing the right shape out of yours. The steady warmth of his skin against yours made it impossible to concentrate, and you didn’t even try to pretend otherwise.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart,” Joel murmured, the pad of his finger hooking gently under your chin, tipping your face toward him.

Your eyes met his, heat rushing to your cheeks like you’d been caught doing something scandalous. “Sorry,” you muttered, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips.

Joel chuckled, the sound curling around you like the morning chill. “You make an old man like me feel downright irresistible,” he teased, a crooked grin settling.

“Joel,” you huffed, nudging his knee with yours, “you’re my husband.”

He shrugged, his thumb still tracing lazy circles against the back of your hand. “Yeah, well… still. You’re sittin’ here blushin’ over my hands like we’re a couple’a teenagers behind the bleachers. It’s weird.”

You laughed, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. “Can’t help it,” you said, leaning your shoulder against his. “You’ve got good hands. And I happen to like the way you use ‘em.”

He snorted at that, shaking his head, but his grin softened, his gaze lingering on you a little longer. “Keep talkin’ like that, darlin’, and I ain’t gonna be much help with your playin’.”

“Was hoping you’d say that,” you whispered loud enough for him to hear.

Joel groaned good-naturedly, leaning in to press a quick, scratchy kiss to your temple. “Troublemaker.”

“Alright, alright. Just help me,” you finally relented, the words slipping out on a breathy laugh.

Joel’s grin spread across his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached for you without a word, his hands settling at your waist. You barely had time to react before he plucked you right out of the rocking chair like you weighed nothing.

A surprised little gasp escaped you, your hands catching at his shoulders. “Joel!”

He huffed a laugh, sinking into the chair with you cradled against him. The old wood creaked beneath his weight. His arm looped around your middle, pulling you close.

“Oh yeah, that’ll help me focus,” you snorted, wriggling slightly in his lap, the corner of your mouth twitching.

“Quit your squirmin’,” Joel said, his voice low and warm against your ear. “Or I’ll find a better way to distract you.”

You laughed, leaning back against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. The world felt quieter like this, the morning sun brushing over the porch, the faint cluck of chickens in the yard, and Joel’s familiar, steady presence wrapped around you.

“Now,” he said, reaching for the guitar and settling it across both your laps, “let’s see if we can’t keep you from murderin’ this poor thing.”

You grinned, your fingers brushing against his as you both found the strings. “If I mess up again, you can’t make fun of me.”

“No promises, darlin’,” Joel murmured, kissing your temple before guiding your hand to the first chord.

Joel’s hands covered yours, his calloused fingers guiding yours along the strings as the melody stumbled back to life. It was shaky, a little uneven, but better than it had sounded when you’d been struggling on your own.

“Just relax,” Joel murmured, his thumb brushing slow circles against the inside of your wrist. The warmth of his touch chased away some of the tension coiled in your shoulders.

“I’m tryin’,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut for a second, savoring the quiet kindness in his touch.

Joel chuckled under his breath, his voice brushing the shell of your ear. “Maybe Ellie oughta be the one teachin’ you. You wouldn’t be actin’ all—”

“No!” you cut in too fast, your voice sharper than you meant. His brow arched, a crooked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked down at you.

“Oh?” he drawled, teasing laced in every syllable.

You huffed, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “I like you teachin’ me,” you admitted, your voice softening, “I just… get a little distracted by how handsome you are.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he heard, but the pink dusting his ears betrayed him.

“Jesus, woman,” he muttered with a grin, nudging his nose against your temple. “You’re somethin’ else.”

You grinned, leaning into him, letting the moment settle around you like a favorite old quilt — frayed at the edges but warm where it counted. His hands tightened gently around yours, guiding your fingers back to the strings.

“Alright then,” he said, his voice rough and fond. “From the top. And quit makin’ googly eyes at me while we’re at it.”

“No promises,” you shot back, smiling as you let him pull you through the notes again, your fingers clumsy but eager.

Somehow, you managed to focus, obedient under Joel’s steady hands. He guided you through the chords, his touch gentle, patient in a way only he could be. The notes came softly and unevenly, but they came, and that was enough.

You’d never been able to play without singing. The words found their way out even when you barely knew the notes. Quiet at first, more of a hum than a song as it filled the space between you.

Joel let out a soft sigh, sounding more like contentment than exhaustion, and lowered his head until it rested against your shoulder.

The melody drifted over the porch, catching in the cool morning air. Your voice was unsteady, but Joel didn’t seem to care. His arm slipped around your waist, holding you closer, and you could feel the curve of his smile against your neck.

“You sound real pretty, sweetheart,” he murmured, like gravel warmed by the sun.

Your fingers faltered for a beat, your heart stuttering at the words. You turned your head slightly, your cheek brushing against his. “Only ‘cause you’re helpin’ me,” you whispered.

Joel chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest against your back. “Nah. You’d be somethin’ special with or without me.”

The porch, the rising sun, the whole vast, broken world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you — the old guitar balanced across your laps, your voices tangled together in a half-remembered tune, and Joel’s steady warmth anchoring you to the here and now.

You kept playing and singing, just for him.

And he stayed right there, head on your shoulder, like he belonged nowhere else.

“Quit fussin’, it’s just Ellie—” Joel started, his voice carrying that familiar mix of fondness and exasperation as he leaned against the doorframe, watching you pace the kitchen.

You glared at him over your shoulder, though there wasn’t an ounce of real heat behind it. “It’s not just Ellie,” you huffed, gesturing wildly with the dish towel. “It’s Ellie, Dina, JJ, Tommy, and Maria coming over. So no, I won’t quit fussing. I’m a host, Joel—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Joel crossed the room in a few unhurried strides, slipping his arms around your waist from behind. His chin came to rest on your shoulder, stubble scraping lightly against your skin, and he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your face.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, “you’re actin’ like the goddamn Queen of England’s comin’ over.”

You sighed, your body instinctively leaning back into his, the tension bleeding from your shoulders a little at his familiar weight. His hands settled against your stomach, rough palms warm through the thin fabric of your shirt.

“It’s family,” he went on, swaying you both slightly in place. “Ain’t nobody comin’ here to judge the state of the house or whether you baked enough pies.”

You let out a reluctant laugh, dropping your head against his shoulder. “I just want it to be nice. It’s been a while since we had everyone here at once.”

Joel’s fingers gave your waist a gentle squeeze. “It’s already nice, darlin’. ‘Cause you’re here. And I’m here. And there’s gonna be food, bad jokes, and probably Ellie makin’ fun of me at some point.”

You grinned at that, turning in his arms to face him. “She is ruthless.”

“Downright cruel,” Joel agreed, his grin lazy and fond as he leaned in to brush his nose against yours. “Now, how ‘bout you let me finish settin’ the table while you stop rearrangin’ them biscuits for the third time?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest when he stole another kiss, his thumb stroking lazy circles against your hip.

“Okay,” you breathed, the word soft as you finally let the biscuit drop from your fingers onto the plate. Joel squeezed your hip before releasing you, moving easily around the kitchen to help.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to fall into your old, familiar rhythm — him chopping vegetables while you stirred the gravy, the clatter of dishes and the low hum of the wood stove filling the space between you. Joel hummed under his breath, some old tune you half-recognized, and you found yourself relaxing into its simplicity.

But your ears kept flicking toward the window.

The sound came slowly at first—the faint, steady rhythm of hooves on hard-packed earth. Your pulse kicked up, just a notch, as it always did when they came down the road. It wasn’t far from Jackson to here, but every trip made your stomach twist in the same anxious knot. The world was quieter now, safer in some ways, but old habits died hard.

Joel must’ve heard it too, because he straightened up, wiping his hands on a dish towel as his gaze shifted toward the porch.

“They’re here,” he said, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You moved to the door without thinking, pushing it open just as Ellie’s voice rang across the yard.

“Y’all better have food ready!” she hollered, perched high on her horse, Dina behind her. JJ was cradled in Dina’s arms, bundled tight against the cold, cheeks flushed pink from the wind.

The tightness in your chest eased at the sight of them.

Joel stepped up behind you, his hand settling on the small of your back like it always did. “There’s my girls,” he murmured, voice rough with fondness.

JJ spotted you and let out a happy little squeal, wriggling in Dina’s arms and waving a mittened hand. The sound made something warm and aching bloom in your chest.

“Hey, potato,” you called, waving back, already reaching for the spare quilt draped over the porch rail. “Bet you’re frozen solid, huh?”

“Mom’s been riding like a damn maniac,” Ellie grumbled, but she was grinning.

Dina laughed. “Kid loves it. Don’t let her fool you.”

Joel chuckled, heading down the steps to help them unload. “You all drive your old man to an early grave, you know that?”

“Too late for that,” Ellie shot back. Joel answered with a mock scowl, the kind meant to cover how goddamn pleased he was to see her in one piece, and it didn’t fool a soul.

You glanced past them, scanning the tree line, as if maybe Tommy and Maria would come riding up any second, but the road stayed empty.

“Where’s Tommy and Maria?” you asked, shifting JJ in your arms as he reached up, tiny gloved fingers curling around the collar of your shirt. You tucked the quilt closer around him, his nose cold against your neck.

Ellie swung her leg over her saddle, boots hitting the dirt with a soft thud. She exchanged a glance with Dina, something quiet passing between them before she spoke. “Y’know how it is,” she said, voice a little softer now, less sharp around the edges. “Maria’s got a town to run. Tommy wanted to stick around and help out.”

Joel’s jaw ticked, and you felt his hand brush against yours as he took JJ’s little mittens off, rubbing warmth into the boy’s tiny fingers. Neither of you needed it spelled out — it was code for they’re still working through it. The same way people said she’s just tired or he just needs space—small words for heavy things.

You exchanged a glance with Joel, and both nodded. It was the kind of shared understanding you didn’t need to speak aloud. You hoped they’d find their way back to each other. It was a hard world to stay soft in, harder still to hold on to the ones you loved.

Joel cleared his throat, shaking the tension off with a practiced ease. “Alright,” he said, jerking his head toward the house. “Let’s get inside. Food’s ready, and it ain’t gettin’ any hotter.”

JJ squealed at the sound of food, not knowing what the word meant, and you laughed, kissing the top of his head.

“Bet you made that cornbread I like,” Ellie teased, stepping beside Joel as they headed for the porch.

“Made two pans,” he grunted, side-eyeing her. “One for the rest of us, one for you, since you eat like a damn wolf.”

Ellie smirked. “Guess that makes you the old dog, huh?”

Joel shot her a look, but it was all warmth. Dina chuckled, and you cradled JJ a little tighter, feeling the old porch boards creak under your feet as the house filled with voices, laughter, and family.

After dinner, the lot of you settled into the living room, the last of the evening light giving way to the glow of the fireplace. The scent of woodsmoke clung to the air, mingling with the lingering warmth of cornbread and roasted vegetables.

JJ was perched happily in Joel’s lap, his tiny fingers tangled in the buttons of Joel’s flannel as he babbled nonsense words, occasionally punctuated by an enthusiastic slap to Joel’s chest. Joel bore it patiently, one big hand keeping the boy steady while the other cradled a half-full glass of whiskey.

Ellie was sprawled across the floor in front of the hearth, one leg stretched out, the other bent, picking at a loose thread on her sock. Dina sat cross-legged beside her, leaning into Ellie’s shoulder as they swapped stories about Jackson’s latest gossip. Who was sneaking out after curfew, which old timer claimed he’d seen a clicker near the old mill, and a petty feud over who had the nicest tomatoes this season.

“I swear to God,” Ellie snorted, tossing a peanut shell into the fire, “if I hear one more argument about whose chickens lay better eggs, I’m movin’ to another town.”

Dina grinned. “Sure you are. You barely leave your house unless there’s food involved.”

“I leave for important things,” Ellie shot back, smirking. “Food. Booze. Threatening people.”

Joel grunted, taking a slow sip from his glass. “Sounds like a hell of a role model for this kid,” he muttered, jostling JJ gently.

JJ let out a happy squeal, and Ellie pointed a finger at Joel without missing a beat. “You’re one to talk, old man. Kid’s already learning how to scowl just like you.”

“He’s got my charm, too,” Joel drawled, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin.

“God help us all,” you teased from where you sat curled up on the couch, a warm quilt draped over your lap.

Joel’s gaze flicked over to you, the firelight catching the soft curve of his smile. “You love it,” he said, voice quieter, meant just for you.

You smiled, eyes soft as they lingered on him, the flicker of firelight catching in the lines of his face. “’Course, I do,” you murmured, the words easy and sure, like saying I love you without needing to.

Leaning forward, you reached your arms out, palms open. Joel gave a mock sigh, shaking his head like it was the greatest burden in the world, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed him.

“Alright, c’mere, you little traitor,” Joel grumbled good-naturedly, lifting JJ from his lap.

The boy let out a delighted squeal, wriggling excitedly when Joel passed him over. His tiny hands immediately latched onto your collar, tugging with surprising strength as if you’d been gone for hours instead of minutes.

“Hey, little man,” you cooed, settling him against your hip as he giggled, his face nuzzling your neck. His skin was cool from sitting near the window, and he smelled like woodsmoke and cornbread crumbs.

“Already got him spoiled,” Joel teased, leaning back in his chair with a smug little grin. “Can’t stand to be five feet from you.”

“And yet you pretend like you’re not the same,” you shot back, raising a brow at him.

Ellie groaned dramatically from her spot by the hearth. “God, you two are worse than a couple of teenagers.”

“Don’t start, kiddo,” Joel replied without missing a beat, earning a laugh from Dina.

You just shook your head, rocking JJ gently in your arms as his giggles turned to soft, contented little sighs, his weight settling warm and steady against your chest. With the fire crackling low, the room bathed in soft, flickering light, and your family gathered close. You thought — this, right here, might be what peace feels like.

“Would you stop squirming?” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. Your words slurred a little as you reached blindly across the bed, fingertips searching for him in the dark.

Joel grunted, the soft, rough sound you’d heard a thousand times — equal parts irritation and tenderness. He batted your hand away with little force, and when you opened your eyes, you found him sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand kneading at his knee.

The room was dim, and the dying fire cast a faint orange glow across the worn wooden floorboards. The wind rattled against the window panes, reminding you of the cold biting at the world outside.

Your expression softened, the haze of sleep falling away as you took him in. The tight line of his shoulders and thumb worked over the same spot as it might undo years of aches.

You shifted closer, the quilt dragging with you, and reached out to touch his shoulder, your hand warm against the chill of his skin. “C’mere,” you coaxed softly, your thumb brushing the curve of his neck.

“I’m fine,” Joel grumbled, though the rasp in his voice and the way he lingered beneath your touch said otherwise. “It’s just goddamn cold.”

“Stubborn,” you muttered under your breath, catching the faintest twitch of a smile from him.

Before he could argue, you gave his shoulder a nudge and tugged him gently back down. He sighed, a little huff of resistance that didn’t stick, and let you guide him onto his back.

“You could’ve cuddled up to me for some warmth, y’know,” you teased, shifting so you could settle against him, one leg draping over his, careful of the knee you knew gave him hell.

“Mmm,” Joel grunted, but he didn’t move away. His arm slipped around your waist, fingers curling at the curve of your hip, holding you like he always did.

You reached for the salve on the nightstand, the little tin cold against your fingers, and without a word, you pulled back the covers just enough to bare his knee. The scars there were old, pale against his skin, but you knew them like you knew the lines of his face.

He hissed softly when your fingers brushed over the tender spot.

“Easy,” you murmured, working the salve in slow, practiced circles. The scent of eucalyptus and pine filled the space between you. “I got you.”

Joel let out a long, quiet sigh, the tension leaving his shoulders as he closed his eyes.

“Dunno what I’d do without you,” he muttered.

“Good thing you’ll never have to find out,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss his shoulder.

Outside, the wind rattled against the side of the house, making the windowpane shudder in its frame. You glanced back at it instinctively.

“Don’t worry about it,” Joel whispered, his version of a promise. You knew that tone — it meant he’d be out there first thing in the morning with a hammer in hand, probably cursing under his breath the whole time.

You nodded, stifling a yawn behind your hand, then reached over him to tuck the tin of salve back into the nightstand drawer. The quilt slipped down your shoulder, cool air brushing your skin. You moved to pull away, but Joel’s hand shot out, catching you by the wrist.

You paused, hovering above him, a sleepy chuckle slipping from your lips. “What?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted from your face down to where the neckline of your nightgown had dipped, a bit of cleavage visible in the low light.

“Just admirin’ the view,” he drawled, one brow lifting, that unmistakable smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes as you swatted lightly at his chest. “Old man,” you teased, but there was no bite.

“Hey,” Joel murmured, catching your hand in his again, holding it against his chest. His voice softened. “Lucky old man.”

Your smile returned, slower this time. You kissed him softly before pulling the quilt around you both.

“Go to sleep, Miller,” you whispered against his lips.

Joel let out a low, contented grunt, sinking deeper into the mattress as his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you snug against him. The moonlight’s glow painted soft silver lines across the room, flickering over the weathered planes of his face.

“Can’t sleep,” he whispered, voice rough and lazy, “when I’ve got a beautiful wife lyin’ next to me.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, the sound small and fond in the hush of the room. You opened your mouth to toss some teasing remark back, but the words caught in your throat when Joel’s hand slid lower, settling at the curve of your butt, his palm warm through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut at the easy, familiar touch.

“One who takes care of me,” Joel went on, voice barely above a whisper now, “even when I’m too damn stubborn to deserve it.”

Your heart tugged at that, the quiet sincerity in his words weaving through your chest like thread. You shifted, lifting yourself just enough to lean over him, one hand brushing through the soft, graying hair at his temple.

He tilted his face toward you instinctively, and you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the scar that cut across the bridge of his nose. The old wound was a rough line beneath your lips, a story you didn’t need retold because you already knew it by heart.

Joel let out a breath, his hand flexing against your hip. “You always do that,” he murmured, a little wonder in his voice.

“Do what?” you asked softly, resting your forehead against his.

“Kiss that ugly thing,” he said, the faintest trace of a smile playing at his lips.

You smiled too, fingers tracing down the side of his face. “Ain’t ugly to me.”

The wind rattled against the window again, and Joel’s other hand cradled the back of your head, holding you there like he couldn’t quite bear to let go.

You closed your eyes, your words catching in your throat, settling somewhere deeper than speech. You kissed him again, slow and lingering, savoring the taste of him, the scrape of his stubble, the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“Gettin’ me all warm now, darlin’,” Joel rumbled against your lips, that lazy grin you could feel more than see.

You smiled, dragging your teeth lightly over his bottom lip before pulling back just enough to whisper, “Maybe that was the plan.”

Your hands roamed up his chest, fingers threading through the soft hair dusting his skin, the heat of him under your palms chasing away the last of the chill. His muscles tensed under your touch, a low sound catching in his throat.

“That so?” he muttered, and before you could answer, his hand slid down, fingers digging roughly into the curve of your ass. The sudden squeeze made you gasp, your body arching into him, a spark of arousal pooling low and thick between your thighs.

“Joel,” you breathed, as his mouth moved to your jaw, then lower — hot, wet kisses trailing down your throat, teeth grazing just enough to leave your skin tingling.

In one easy motion, he rolled you onto your back, settling between your legs, his weight delicious and solid above you. His mouth found your collarbone, where the strap of your nightgown had slipped down, and he followed it with his lips, pressing hot kisses to every inch of exposed skin.

“Oh, fuck, Joel,” you whimpered, your hips shifting restlessly beneath him, desperate for more.

That earned you a smirk, the kind that made your stomach flip. “Such a dirty mouth,” he teased, voice rough against your skin. “Oughta put it to good use.”

He kept kissing lower, his stubble scraping a path down your chest as his hands found the straps of your nightgown, tugging them down your shoulders, dragging the thin fabric with agonizing slowness.

“But,” Joel murmured, his mouth trailing over the swell of your breast, “I wanna make my beautiful wife feel good first.” His gaze flicked up, locking with yours filled with warmth and hunger.

You bit your bottom lip, a whimper catching in your throat, your body already trembling beneath him. “Joel… please,” you whispered, the ache inside you sharp and sweet.

He groaned softly at that, clearly savoring the way you begged for him. “Mmm, what a good girl,” he rasped, his breath hot against your sensitive skin as he kissed over one nipple, his hand kneading the other, rough palms and gentle touches making you shudder.

“Don’t have to beg, honey,” he murmured. “Just relax… let me take care of you. You’ve earned it.”

Joel’s mouth drifted lower, leaving a heated trail of kisses from the swell of your breast to the edge of your nightgown. His stubble scraped over your skin, a delicious contrast to the warmth of his lips. You shivered beneath him, your fingers threading into his hair, clinging just enough to make him smirk against your skin.

Without a word, he shifted down, settling between your legs. His big hands slid up your thighs, rough palms coaxing the nightgown higher, the fabric bunching around your hips until you felt the cool air of the room kiss against your bare skin.

Joel stilled momentarily, his gaze locking on the sight of you lying open for him. A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest, his thumb grazing along the soft inside of your thigh.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice rough. “So goddamn pretty.”

You let out a soft whimper, your hips tilting instinctively toward his touch.

His hands spread you open with practiced, careful ease, thumbs pressing into your skin, the pressure just enough to make your breath hitch. Joel leaned in, pressing a slow, unhurried kiss to the top of your pussy, the heat of his mouth making you jolt.

“Been thinkin’ about this all damn day,” he groaned against you, his breath hot, the gravel in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “You always get me like this.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair as he kissed lower, teasing, taking his time like he wasn’t in any rush to let you go. His tongue flicked out, a light, maddening touch that had your thighs trembling around him.

“Joel—” you gasped, your head tipping back into the pillows.

He chuckled, and glanced up at you from between your legs, his eyes heavy-lidded and hungry. “Patience. Gonna take my time with you tonight.” His hands smoothed over your thighs, thumbs pressing gently into your skin.

You barely managed a nod, your fingers threading into his hair, the strands warm and soft under your touch.

Then Joel’s mouth was on you again. His tongue moved with maddening precision, every flick and stroke drawing out a fresh wave of heat that made your back arch and your breath break apart. He wasn’t in any rush, savoring every sound you made, every tremble in your thighs, the way your hands tightened in his hair when you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Christ,” you gasped, a soft, helpless sound you didn’t mean to make.

Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, holding you steady as he looked up at you again, his lips slick and curved in the faintest smirk. “That’s it, honey,” he rasped. “Lemme hear you.”

Joel’s mouth never relented, his tongue and lips working you open with devastating precision. His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs stroking soft, soothing circles against your skin even as he kept you pinned in place. Every flick of his tongue, every careful pull of his lips sent another pulse of heat through you, winding you tighter and tighter until you felt like you might come apart.

And then you did.

Your body arched, a choked cry slipping from your lips as release crashed over you. Joel groaned against you, the low, rough sound sending another shiver through your spent body. He didn’t stop — his mouth gentler now, but still savoring you, lapping up every last tremble, every aftershock, until you were breathless, your voice wrecked from the way you gasped his name.

“Joel… please,” you managed between shallow breaths, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly as the overstimulation made your thighs twitch around him. “I can’t—”

He chuckled, a satisfied sound that rumbled against your skin. Pressing a tender kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another a little higher, his scruffy beard grazing your sensitive skin in a way that made you shudder.

“Alright, alright,” he murmured, voice rough and full of affection. “Wrecked you good, huh?”

You let out a shaky laugh, your chest still heaving, as he kissed his way up the length of your body, savoring every inch like it mattered. When he finally reached your mouth, he paused, cradling your jaw as his thumb brushed your cheek.

Joel kissed you, deep and warm, tasting you and lingering with want.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath in the hush of the room.

“Love seein’ you like that,” he whispered, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “Ain’t never get tired of it.”

You smiled, fingers still tangled in his hair, your touch gentle, affectionate even in your haze of want. “Wanna make you feel good,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure.

Joel let out a soft groan, the sound thick with need. His lips brushing your jaw, he lowered them to the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “You do, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and uneven. Every damn time.”

His hand cupped your cheek, holding you there for a beat, his thumb stroking over your flushed skin. His voice dropped, rough and tender all at once. “Gonna let me have you now?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your body arching toward him, trembling with a fresh wave of need.

That was all he needed.

Joel wasted no time, rising onto his knees, shoving his boxers down just enough to free himself. His cock was hard, thick and already leaking, and your mouth watered at the sight of him. He stroked a hand down himself, eyes locked on yours, watching the way you shivered beneath him.

“Been thinkin’ about this since dinner,” he confessed in a gravelly murmur, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips.

You bit your lip, reaching for him, your touch making him hiss through his teeth. “Then stop takin’ your time, Miller.”

Joel chuckled, leaning down to steal a slow, heated kiss, his hand sliding between your thighs, parting you with the same care he always took.

“You got me,” he whispered, lining himself up, the head of his cock nudging against you. “Always.”

Joel pushed the tip inside with slow, steady pressure, and the moment he breached you, both of you let out a low, broken moan. The stretch, the heat, the sheer ache of having him fill you made your head fall back against the pillows, your fingers gripping at his shoulders, needing something to hold onto.

“Oh, Joel,” you whimpered, your voice catching on the way your body opened for him, already trembling with the desperate need for more.

He groaned at the sound, leaning over you, his lips finding your throat in a series of open-mouthed kisses. His stubble scraped your sensitive skin, a rough contrast to the softness of his mouth as he murmured your name against your neck.

“Goddamn… you feel so good,” he rasped, his voice thick with hunger and something deeper beneath it. Something that sounded a little like awe.

His hands slid down your sides before guiding your legs around his waist. His touch was unhurried but sure, as if he were fitting you exactly where you belonged. You locked your ankles at the small of his back, and he let out a shaky breath, bracing one hand beside your head while the other gripped your thigh.

“Hold on to me,” Joel muttered, his voice a low promise as he pushed in deeper, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, the stretch making your body arch into his.

A gasp tore from your lips, your nails digging into his back. Joel cursed under his breath, his lips brushing your ear. “That’s it, honey. Just like that.”

His body blanketed yours, his skin hot and slick against yours. Joel’s hand slid up your side, rough fingers trailing over your ribs before cupping your breast, his palm warm as he kneaded the soft flesh. His thumb brushed over your nipple, teasing it into a tight peak before rolling it between his fingers, and the jolt of sensation made you arch into him.

His hips rocked against yours, deep strokes that filled you perfectly, each one hitting that spot that made your toes curl. It wasn’t rushed — it never was with him. Joel fucked like a man who meant every movement, like he could live in the moment forever if you let him.

A breathy moan slipped from your lips, your head tipping back as pleasure coiled tight in your belly, building with every unrelenting, perfect thrust.

“Feels so good,” you panted, your voice breaking on the words as his fingers tugged and toyed with your nipple. Your thighs clenched around his waist, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into sun-warmed skin.

Joel groaned low in his throat, ducking his head to press his mouth to your collarbone, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin. “Yeah? Can feel you squeezin’ me. So fuckin’ perfect.”

Sometimes you wished he could stay like this, buried deep inside you, his body over yours, the world outside forgotten.

You let the thought slip past your lips in a ragged whisper, “Wanna keep you like this… always.”

Joel’s pace stuttered briefly, a rough, wrecked sound leaving him before his mouth found yours. The kiss was all heat and tenderness, tongues tangling as his hand cradled your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Joel rasped, breath hot against your ear. “Wanna feel you make a mess on my cock.”

The words hit you like a jolt, a needy moan slipping from your lips as you buried your face against his neck, your teeth grazing his skin. Joel groaned at the sensation, his hand sliding down from your jaw, fingers trailing over your flushed, sweat-slick skin before settling between your legs.

His thumb found your clit, circling maddening patterns in time with the steady, deep thrust of his hips. The friction sent sharp sparks through your nerves, the pleasure building too fast, too much, but you didn’t want him to stop.

“Oh, Joel… fuck,” you gasped, your voice breaking, your whole body trembling beneath him.

Joel smirked against your shoulder, feeling the way your thighs tightened around his waist, how you clung to him like you might fall apart if he let go. His gaze stayed on you, drinking in every flicker of pleasure that crossed your face, the way your lips parted in a soft, helpless cry.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he growled, his thumb pressing just a little harder, his cock driving deep and slow. “Let go for me. Lemme see you.”

Your fingers dug into his back, nails leaving faint crescents in his skin as your release finally tore through you, your body arching into his. A raw, breathless sound escaped you — a mix of his name, a gasp, and a whimper.

Joel’s pace slowed, his hand steady on your hip as he rode you through it, watching you fall apart like it was the best thing he’d ever seen. “Atta girl,” he murmured, his thumb easing up but never leaving you entirely. “Just like that. So goddamn beautiful when you come for me.”

Your chest heaved, the aftershocks making you shiver as you clung to him, the warmth of his body anchoring you to the here and now.

Joel’s lips brushed your temple, his breath hot and ragged against your hair as he slowed, his hips stuttering. He started to pull out, muscles tense like he was holding back, when your eyes flew open and your hand shot out, catching his wrist in a firm, desperate grip.

“No,” you breathed, voice trembling as you looked up at him, your gaze locking on his. “Come inside me.”

Joel’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as his brow knitted. His eyes searched yours as a storm of desire, hesitation, and tenderness flickered across his face.

“Sweetheart—” he started, his voice rough and uncertain in that way he rarely showed.

“Please,” you whimpered, your legs tightening around his hips, clenching around him as if your body could keep him there on its own. Your fingers traced up his arm, over the tense line of his shoulder, to cradle his face.

Joel groaned, the sound breaking low and deep in his throat, his eyes fluttering shut like he didn’t stand a chance against you. “Christ, honey…”

His restraint shattered.

He rocked back into you with a sharp, shuddering thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and your body welcomed him like it was made for it. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as his release hit, his whole body trembling as he spilled inside you.

You felt him tense, felt the warmth flood through you, and the sound he made — a low, wrecked groan into the crook of your neck — left you almost desperate for him again.

“Fuck,” Joel whispered against your skin, his breath uneven, his hold on you unyielding. He stayed buried deep, like he couldn’t bear the space between you.

You pressed your lips to his temple, your fingers gently carding through his hair as you both came down, your bodies still tangled together.

Eventually, Joel moved to lie beside you, one arm draped heavy and warm across your stomach, his fingers absentmindedly tracing lazy circles against your damp skin.

Your chest still rose and fell in uneven breaths, the aftershocks of sex lingering in the ache of your muscles and the pleasant haze behind your eyes. His scruffy cheek brushed your shoulder as he shifted closer, pressing a kiss beneath your collarbone.

You let your fingers card through his hair, tugging gently at the damp strands. Joel hummed low in his throat, that rumbling sound you loved, and nestled his face against your neck like he was trying to soak up every last trace of you.

“Hell of a way to warm a man up,” he said, voice thick and hoarse but threaded through with a rare, unguarded sweetness.

You smiled, your eyes closed, and the ache in your limbs was welcomed. “Told you it was the plan,” you whispered, your palm sliding over his broad back, the ridges of old scars familiar beneath your touch.

Joel huffed a quiet, contented laugh, his hand smoothing over your hip and pulling you impossibly closer. The quilt had slipped to your waist, the cool air brushing against overheated skin.

Outside, the wind had quieted, leaving the night still and heavy with the scent of rain in the distance. The world beyond the walls felt far away. The steady beat of Joel’s heart beneath your palm, and the deep, bone-deep peace that followed a storm.

He shifted enough to press another kiss to your temple, lingering there like he wasn’t ready to let the moment go.

“Love you,” Joel murmured so softly it was barely a sound, his lips brushing your skin as the words slipped out.

You didn’t say it back. You didn’t have to. Instead, you turned your face to his, caught his mouth in a tender, unhurried kiss, and let him feel it.

And in the quiet, with nothing but the steady rise and fall of your breathing, Joel smiled against your lips.

The morning had passed in the slow, easy rhythm you’d come to love. Feeding the chickens as the sun climbed over the hills, collecting a handful of stubborn eggs from beneath their nesting boxes, and brushing down the two horses you and Joel had kept since settling on the farm.

Dusty and Apollo — named with Ellie’s enthusiastic help — shifted lazily in their stalls, the scent of hay and earth hanging thick in the air. The old barn was cool despite the warmth rising outside, beams of sunlight slipping through the weathered slats to stripe the floor in soft gold.

“There you are, darlin’,” Joel’s voice carried through the space, low and familiar, like a song you knew by heart. You glanced up to see him wiping his hands on his jeans as he stepped into the barn, a crooked little grin on his face.

You offered him a smile, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “That window give you any trouble?” you asked, lifting a brow in challenge.

Joel huffed, shaking his head as he came closer. “Please. I've been fixin’ worse than that since before you were walkin’.”

You snorted, though warmth bloomed in your chest at the easy way he teased you. He reached for your hand, the one still holding the brush, his calloused palm covering yours. Without a word, he guided your stroke lower along Dusty’s dark coat.

“Start from the bottom,” Joel said, his voice soft as his thumb brushed your knuckles. “Work your way up. Feels better for ‘em.”

You glanced at him, catching his gaze on your face before flicking back to the horse. The years had etched themselves into his skin, but his eyes — warm and impossibly kind when he let you see them — made your heart flutter.

“Gentler, too,” Joel added, his lips curving into a fond smile as he watched you follow his lead.

You bit back a grin. “I can be gentle.”

“Oh, I know you can,” he drawled, a glint of something playful in his voice. “Just like teasin’ you about it.”

You rolled your eyes, bumping your shoulder against his as you worked the brush through Dusty’s coat. Joel let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, but said nothing, content to fall into the quiet rhythm of the barn. The scrape of a hoof against straw, the muted clatter of chickens pecking outside, the steady rise of warmth as the morning stretched on.

After a while, you glanced up at him, brushing a hand down Apollo’s nose as the big chestnut gelding nuzzled against your palm. “Ellie told me someone in Jackson’s has coffee to trade.”

Joel grunted, hauling a bundle of hay over to Dusty’s stall. “Yeah? What they askin’ for?”

You smirked, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “Chickens.”

He paused mid-toss, brow arching. “How many?”

“Four.”

Joel straightened up, scoffing under his breath. “Christ. Four chickens? What kinda coffee we talkin’ here? Magic beans?”

You bit back a laugh, moving to stroke Apollo’s flank. “Don’t act like you’re not tempted. We both turn into miserable assholes without it.”

Joel gave you a sidelong look, a crooked grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Speak for yourself, sweetheart. I’m delightful.”

You snorted. “Sure you are. Real ray of sunshine before your first cup.”

He stepped closer, hand reaching out to tug playfully at the loose tie of your braid. “If I give up four chickens for some half-assed coffee, it better be strong enough to put hair back on my head.”

“Too late for that,” you teased, grinning as you reached up to smooth a hand over his graying hair.

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re real funny, you know that?”

“I try,” you shot back, leaning in to brush a quick, affectionate kiss to his cheek before moving toward the feed bins. “We’ll talk about it later. You know you’re gonna cave.”

“Might,” Joel muttered, grabbing another flake of hay. “But you’re pluckin’ the damn birds.”

“Deal.”

“C’mon,” you murmured, brushing hay from your hands. The sun hung lower now, casting long golden streaks through the slats in the barn. “We’ve worked hard enough for one day.”

Joel looked at you, one corner of his mouth tipping up in that slow, familiar way, and gave a slight nod. Without a word, he reached out, his calloused hand slipping easily into yours.

Neither of you spoke as you walked back toward the house, the worn path beneath your boots soft with dust, the last of the chickens clucking softly in the yard. The quiet between you was filled with little touches. Joel’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand. Your shoulder bumping his. The occasional glance traded like secrets.

Inside, the house smelled faintly of woodsmoke and something sweet from the pie you had made earlier. You slipped into the kitchen while Joel stoked the fire, grabbing ingredients with practiced ease.

“Hope you washed up good,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder as he came to stand beside you, sleeves rolled up, hair mussed from the wind.

Joel snorted, holding his hands up. “Clean as I’m gonna get,” he drawled, though you caught the faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“Uh-huh.” You reached for his wrist, pulling his hand toward you to inspect it like you might catch a stray bit of dirt. “Hmm. Debatable.”

He stepped in close, hand slipping to your waist, his voice dropping low. “You wanna check me head to toe, darlin’, just say the word.”

You laughed, swatting at his chest with the dish towel, but your heart ached a little at the easy, worn-in affection of it all of having him here, cooking dinner like any other ordinary night in a world that hadn’t offered many of those.

“Maybe later,” you whispered, giving him a smile that held a little more than teasing.

Joel’s gaze lingered on yours a moment longer, something quiet and certain in it, before he turned to start chopping vegetables. The two of you moved around the kitchen with ease.

After dinner, your mind was already drifting toward a hot bath and a quiet night in bed — a book in your hands, Joel’s arm heavy around your waist, the world kept at bay. You started up the stairs, stretching your arms above your head, when a warm, calloused hand caught you gently by the wrist.

“C’mere,” Joel said, his voice a little rough, but soft in that way he saved just for you.

You turned, one brow lifting, a smile tugging at your lips as you took in the look on his face — part mischievous, part tender, eyes shining in the room's low light. “What’s that look for?”

He didn’t answer; he just tilted his head slightly. “Just… c’mere.”

Curiosity bloomed in your chest as you let him tug you along, following him toward the living room. The fire there burned low, casting warm, flickering light across the old wood floor. Joel moved to the corner, crouching by the old record player he’d scavenged years back on some long-forgotten patrol. The thing had scratches on the wood and a crack in the lid, but it still functioned properly.

A worn copy of Otis Redding’s These Arms Of Mine sat beside it, the vinyl already resting in place.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your brow furrowing as he dropped the needle. The soft, familiar crackle filled the room before the first notes hummed through the air.

Joel didn’t say a word. He just turned to you, held out a hand, and waited.

Your heart gave one of those quiet, aching stutters in your chest, and you crossed the room without thinking, slipping your hand into his.

His other hand settled at your waist, pulling you close, your bodies fitting together. The music wrapped around you both, the gentle sway of the melody guiding your steps as Joel led you in a slow, unhurried dance.

His thumb traced soft circles at the small of your back, his breath warm against your temple. You closed your eyes, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart syncing with the song's rhythm. The world outside the house, the years of danger and loss, all slipped away in the quiet safety of his arms.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” Joel said against your hair, his voice a little hoarse, like maybe it caught in his throat before it made it out.

You smiled, tilting your face up to his. “Takes one to know one, Miller.”

He chuckled before kissing your forehead.

“Since someone’s in a good mood—” you started, a teasing lilt in your voice.

Joel shook his head before you could finish, a knowing grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”

“C’mon,” you coaxed, tipping your head back to look up at him, eyes shining with mock-innocence. “Just once. Please?”

“I’m too old for that shit,” Joel drawled, though his hands stayed firm at your waist, his thumb brushing soft circles against your hip. “You try jumpin’ on me, we’ll both be flat on our asses before you even leave the ground.”

You pouted, leaning into him, arms looping around his neck. “Alright, fine,” you sighed dramatically, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “But a woman can dream.”

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he dipped his face close, his stubble scratching against your cheek. “You keep dreamin’,” he said, his voice teasing, but full of affection. “Ain’t no way I’m recreatin’ some damn Dirty Dancing scene.”

You grinned, swaying in his arms as the record crackled on. “You’re no fun.”

“Mm,” Joel smirked, pulling you closer, his hand sliding down to the small of your back. “That so? I seem to recall you weren’t complainin’ about my kind of fun last night.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks as you laughed, pressing your forehead to his chest. “Point taken.”

He hummed, content. The two of you were still swaying long after the song faded out, the world narrowed down to the steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms around you.

The ride to Jackson wasn’t far. Just a few miles of winding trail through dense trees and open fields, but it never felt easy. Even with Joel at your side, the moment you crossed beyond the fence line of your land, a familiar unease crept in like a second skin.

You rode atop Dusty, his ears flicking with every distant sound, while Joel kept pace beside you on Apollo, his rifle slung over one shoulder. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. The only sound was the soft clop of hooves against the dirt path and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.

It was always quiet on these rides — a silence born not from peace, but necessity. Both of you scanning the tree line, eyes flicking to the shadows, muscles tensed in that old, familiar way you never quite unlearned.

Joel rode like a man still expecting the worst. He never admitted it or spoke it aloud, but you saw it in the tight set of his jaw, how his broad shoulders stayed stiff beneath his jacket, how his gaze never stopped moving — left, right, behind, and always watching, counting.

He hated leaving the farm. Hated stepping away from the safety of what you'd built together. But he wouldn’t leave you to ride in alone either. Not a chance in hell.

You nudged Dusty a little closer, your knee brushing his for a fleeting second. Joel glanced over, and for a beat, his face softened. That quiet look that only ever seemed meant for you. A flicker of warmth in otherwise storm-weathered eyes.

“Should be an easy ride,” he muttered, though you both knew it wasn’t about the distance.

You gave a small nod, your fingers tightening around the reins. “It better be,” you replied, a wry smile tugging at your lips.

He snorted, a sound more habit than humor, but the tension in his shoulders eased by a hair.

Eventually, Jackson's worn timber walls came into view, rising from the trees like a promise of safety. Smoke drifted from chimneys, the faint clang of metal on metal carried on the wind, and the murmur of life happening just out of sight.

You and Joel approached the gates, the patrolmen up top giving curt, familiar nods as you passed beneath. One of them tipped his hat, and Joel returned it with a lift of his hand. His expression was unreadable, but his posture was a touch looser than it had been on the trail.

Joel swung down from Apollo with practiced ease, boots hitting the packed dirt with a soft thud. He tied the reins to a post, his movements quick and efficient, like he couldn’t shed the tension of the ride fast enough. Before you could swing your leg to dismount, he was already there, one hand steadying Dusty’s bridle while the other reached up for you.

“C’mere,” he said, his voice low but roughened by the morning’s quiet.

You let him help you down, your hands briefly finding his shoulders as his firm grip circled your waist. When your boots touched the ground, you muttered, “Thank you,” a small smile tugging at your lips.

He gave a soft grunt, the corner of his mouth twitching as his hands lingered at your waist a beat longer than necessary. “Course, darlin’.”

You reached to brush a bit of dust off your thigh, suddenly remembering. “Dammit, I forgot—”

Joel cut you off with a slight shake of his head, already anticipating you. “I remembered,” he said, a faint grin pulling at his mouth as he tipped his head toward the stables. “Told Ellie last time she was by to bring four chickens back for that damn coffee trade.”

You huffed a laugh, leaning closer as you stepped beside him. “You’re a good husband, Miller.”

Joel slung an arm loosely around your shoulders as you made your way toward the town square, the scent of fresh bread and woodsmoke filling the air around you.

The trade went through without much trouble — four chickens handed over, a large sack of precious coffee beans in return — though Joel grumbled about it the whole damn time.

“Can’t believe we’re givin’ up good layers for this,” he muttered, eyeing the beans like they might disappear before he could get them home.

You just chuckled, shaking your head in quiet amusement as you looped your arm through his, steering him toward the rest of your errands. “You’ll be singin’ a different tune when you’ve got a hot cup in your hands tomorrow morning.”

Joel grunted, but the corner of his mouth twitched, the hint of a smile breaking through his usual gruffness.

The two of you spent the next hour wandering Jackson’s main street, gathering what you needed — extra nails from the smithy, a spool of thread from Susan’s store, dried herbs Dina swore would help settle JJ’s fussy nights.

By the time you stepped into the dining hall, the warmth from the fire inside wrapped around you like an old quilt. The scent of stew lingered in the air, mixing with fresh bread and something sweet baking in the back.

“Heard from Ellie y’all were comin’ into town,” a familiar voice called, and you looked up to see Tommy striding over, a wide grin splitting his face.

Joel met him halfway, the two men pulling each other into a rough, back-patting hug.

“Tommy,” Joel grunted, patting his brother’s back twice before stepping back, though the warmth in his eyes lingered.

You smiled, watching the easy way they fell into step together. It wasn’t always like this between them, but lately, it was better. Softer around the edges.

“Good to see you,” you said, squeezing Tommy’s arm.

“You too,” Tommy grinned. “C’mon, Maria’s around here somewhere. And Ellie’s been talkin’ about that coffee since sunrise.”

Joel rolled his eyes with a huff, but his hand brushed against yours as he moved to follow Tommy. You laced your fingers with his without a word, and Joel didn’t let go.

It was simple. Easy. Cozy in a way you never took for granted anymore — a full meal, the warmth of good company, and the quiet comfort of knowing you belonged to this small, stubborn patch of world.

By the time you, Joel, Tommy, and Maria stepped out of the dining hall, the evening light had faded to a dusky gold. The air had cooled, lanterns flickered along the street, casting soft pools of light as folks made their way home for the night.

“Y’all should stay here,” Tommy offered, leaning casually against the porch rail with a hopeful grin. “We’ve still got that extra room fixed up. Warm bed, decent mattress. Better than ridin’ back in the dark.”

Maria gave a slight nod, folding her arms, her gaze slipping between you and Joel. “Wouldn’t hurt to stay in town now and then.”

Joel shifted his weight, his hand instinctively finding the small of your back. “Nah,” he said, his voice low but kind. “We need to get back. Y’know I don’t like leavin’ the farm alone too long.”

You gave a soft smile, leaning a little into his side. “Yeah. It’s a quick ride. We’ll be fine.”

There was a brief pause where you could feel unspoken words hanging in the air. Tommy let out a breath, shaking his head like he knew better than to push. Maria’s mouth twitched in reluctant amusement.

“Stubborn as ever,” Tommy muttered, a grin tugging at his lips.

Joel gave him a look — half fond, half warning. “Runs in the family.”

That earned a quiet laugh from Maria, who stepped forward to press a hand to your arm. “You two be careful.”

“Always,” you promised with a soft squeeze of her hand.

Joel tipped his chin at Tommy. “We’ll be by the end of next week with those tools you wanted.”

Tommy clapped a hand to his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll hold you to it.”

You and Joel made your way toward the horses, the quiet hum of Jackson winding down behind you. Lanterns glowed in windows, soft voices fading as folks headed home, and the cool night air settled gently against your skin. The path back to the farm stretched ahead.

You caught Joel squinting as he adjusted Apollo’s reins, his brow furrowed, eyes narrowing toward the shadowed trail beyond the gate.

“Should’ve worn your glasses,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips.

Joel huffed, shooting you a look as he swung into the saddle. “Don’t need glasses. It’s dark.”

You mounted Dusty, leaning slightly in your saddle to smirk at him. “That why you’re squintin’ like an old man tryin’ to read fine print?”

Joel’s glare wasn’t the least convincing. “Keep talkin’, woman,” he grumbled, though his voice was thick with amusement. “See how far that gets you.”

“Probably about halfway home before you admit I’m right,” you teased, nudging Dusty forward with a light kick.

Joel clicked his tongue at Apollo, riding up alongside you, his posture loose now, some of the tension from earlier replaced by the easy banter between you.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered, giving your reins a playful tug as he passed.

You grinned into the darkness, heart warm in your chest. “I know.”

Together, you rode out into the night, the stars scattered above like pinpricks in velvet, the world around you hushed and still. The only sounds were the steady clop of hooves on packed earth and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. The cool night air brushed against your cheeks, carrying the scent of pine and distant woodsmoke.

For a while, neither of you spoke; it was the kind of easy, companionable silence you had both grown accustomed to over the years. But as the trail stretched and the landmarks shifted in your periphery, a faint prickle of doubt worked under your skin.

You glanced around, frowning as you recognized a familiar old tree, crooked and leaning with a wide, twisted branch that reached out like a bent arm.

“Joel,” you called softly, pulling Dusty closer. “You’re headin’ the wrong way.”

Joel grunted, squinting ahead as he kept Apollo moving. “No, I ain’t. I know this path like the back of my hand.”

You raised a brow, nudging Dusty so you rode side by side. “I know you do, but we just passed that big split oak instead of the hollow stump by the fork. Which means…” You gestured ahead with a chin tilt, “We’re headed toward Flat’s Creek. Not home.”

Joel slowed Apollo to a stop, turning his head just enough to glance at you. His brow furrowed in mild irritation.

“You wanna say you don’t need glasses again?” you teased, a gentle, knowing smile tugging at your lips.

Joel let out a sharp breath, shaking his head as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Goddamn trees all look the same in the dark.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, leaning in a little. “I can lead us back, old man. No shame in lettin’ me take point.”

Joel gave you a flat look, but the affection in his eyes softened it. “You’re enjoyin’ this way too much.”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, unable to keep smiling as you reached out and let your hand brush his arm. “C’mon. I’ll get us home.”

Joel sighed, a low, fond sound as he let you take the lead. He muttered something you didn’t catch, falling beside you as you turned Dusty toward the right path.

You stirred, furrowing your brow at the emptiness beside you. The bed was still warm where he’d been, but the absence of his steady weight made the room feel too big. You blinked up at the ceiling, the faint glow of dying embers from the hearth down the hall casting a soft flicker of light across the walls.

It wasn’t the first time.

Joel had nights like this. Nights where old ghosts kept him restless, where the quiet pressed too close. Sometimes it was bad dreams, other times just that wired, sharp-edged instinct neither of you had ever truly shaken. He’d slip out of bed without a word, wander the house, check the locks, listen to the night.

You lay there a while, eyes tracing the shadows on the ceiling, hoping you’d hear the floorboards creak and feel him settle in beside you again.

But he didn’t.

With a sigh, you slid out of bed, bare feet brushing the cool wood floor. You grabbed his flannel from the back of the chair, pulling it over your shoulders, the scent of him wrapping around you.

The house was quiet, save for the soft pop of the last logs in the stove. A lantern on the kitchen table cast a faint, wavering light, shadows dancing across the walls as you padded through the hallway.

You caught a flicker of movement through the window.

There he was—Joel, sitting in the old chair on the porch, the rifle leaning against the house nearby. His shoulders were hunched, one hand wrapped around a half-forgotten mug of coffee gone cold, his gaze fixed on something far beyond the dark tree line.

You hesitated, your hand resting on the window frame. You knew that look. He wasn’t really seeing the night, not anymore. He was someplace else.

Grabbing a blanket off the couch, you pushed open the door, the night air cool against your skin.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked softly, not wanting to startle him.

Joel turned his head, his eyes meeting yours in the low light. Unsurprisingly, he’d heard you coming before you stepped onto the porch. He reached a hand out toward you, palm open in silent invitation.

You smiled faintly, moving toward him and settling yourself in his lap without a word. His arms came around you automatically, pulling the blanket over your shoulders, tucking you in against his chest like he’d been waiting for you to do just that.

Your eyes drifted to the rifle, propped against the house within reach. “You hear somethin’?” you murmured, your brow creasing as your hand brushed his forearm.

Joel exhaled, the sound rough and tired. “Just a few elk movin’ through,” he muttered. But his eyes didn’t leave the treeline.

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the tension still coiled tight in him.

“It’s not them,” you whispered, because sometimes you both needed to hear it.

“I know,” he said, and you felt it in the way his arms tightened around you and his lips brushed the top of your hair. “Doesn’t stop my head from goin’ there sometimes.”

“Mine too.”

You both sat in the quiet, the night pressing around you, familiar and heavy but softened by the warmth between your bodies. The wind rattled the branches in the distance, but here on the porch, wrapped up together, it felt a little safer.

A little easier to breathe.

Joel sighed, tipping his chin against your temple. “Guess neither of us’ll ever fully shake it.”

“No,” you said, your voice barely more than a hush between you. “Ain’t easy lettin’ your guard down. Not after all this time. But I wanna be here… with you. Always here.”

Joel said nothing, but his hand found yours under the blanket, fingers threading together as he held you closer.

You closed your eyes, savoring the simple weight of his hand in yours and the warmth of his body against your back. The old ache—that restless worry, the quiet fear that one day the world might come for what you built—lingered. It always would. You both knew it. The ghosts never stayed buried for long.

But here with Joel’s arm around you, and the steady sound of his breathing, it was enough. You wouldn’t trade this life with him for anything else.

The night stretched quietly around you, the wind carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. Joel shifted, pressing a soft, unhurried kiss to your temple.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he murmured. “Let’s head in. Reckon it’s cold as hell out here.”

You smiled against his chest. “Not so bad, long as you’re here.”

Joel gave a soft chuckle, the sound rumbling through you as he helped you to your feet. The blanket was still wrapped around you both as you stepped inside. The porch light flickered out behind you as the old house settled with a sigh.

taglist: @probablyreadinsmut @lowrisemiller @millersdoll @daddypascal17 @mystickittytaco @risingwolf97

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #joel tlou #the last of us #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller fluff #pixel joel #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n

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sammigrll · 11 months ago

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deadpool!

….as your boyfriend.

description: deadpool as your boyfriend!

pairing: deadpool x you!

contains: 18+, mentions of sex!

|an: just saw deadpool & wolverine.. couldn’t help myself.

- awful with emotions but always finds a way to make up for things whether through humor or sex.

- speaking of humor you’re never not laughing with him, or bickering, or fucking

- you’re the only person he can actually feel vulnerable and comfortable with, he cherishes that and he loves you so much for that.

- you’re his person, he would genuinely kill for you if it meant he would lose someone so important in his life.

- if someone makes you sad, mad or uncomfortable ooo…not his babygirl.

- he usually doesn’t keep people or friends in his loop often, they could find him annoying or over the top but not you.

- you love absolutely everything about him, his outlandish humor, his extroverted personality, his big ol’ mouth. you think it’s so hot.

- so hot when he’s mean to you so hot when he’s soft with you

- you literally bicker like two teenage girls all the time and he always somehow clocks your tea it’s ridiculous but you also find it impressive that he always has something to say that you cannot come back from😭

- god you need to pray that no man ever even has the thought of coming on to you… he’ll experience some banter with your boyfriend before it’s lights out.

- not only are you his but he’s yours! he’s super loyal and if he can’t get someone to back off , you sure will!

- you’re always having fun with him date nights are some of the best times of your life, he always finds a way to entertain you no matter what you’re doing.

- always gotta hand somewhere, your ass, a singular cheek, a titty, somewhere. how could you expect him not to! you’re all his.

- you literally have him wrapped around your finger, he’d do absolutely anything for you.

- also always bullying you he is so straightforward😭

“hon that has got to be the ugliest shirt i’ve ever seen on you”

“wade-“

“i know you got better in that closet that i snoop through and try on all your clothes when you aren’t home now go!”

- he’s so tall so if you’re short oh wow…you’re never catching a break

“soooo how’s the weather down there.” wade said, placing his elbow on the crown of your head.

“prick…”

…

“yeah that’s enough of that dirty mouth!” your boyfriend had announced before bending down and wrapping an arm around your behind, throwing you over his shoulder and positioning his palm on your ass.

“god, wade put me down!” you’d laughed playfully hitting his back.

“don’t make me have to spank you!” he said, lighting pinching your ass.

- do not get an animal bc it will quickly become his center of attention and he will defend it over you.

“wade, we’re having my mom over please put it in the room”

“ugh…she’s so mean isn’t she sugar?” he’d said stroking your pet, followed by a “yes she is yes she is!” as the animal licked his face.

sigh.

- good lord we got a cuddle monster on our hands!

- absolutely adores any type of affection and practically begs you for it 24/7. he loves being little spoon specifically. also loves it when u scratch or message his back, bc that also gets him going..

- speaking of, you got this guy rock solid 24/7

“hungry for seconds?” he joked, hugging you from behind and pressing his hardened cock against your ass.

“we literally jus-“ you’d started just to be interrupted mid sentence.

“so! cmon baby throw a dog a bone.” he muttered, hand already gripping your inner thigh.

you’d sighed, god you can’t resist him.

- it doesn’t matter what you’re doing he finds anything you do hot i stg

- a M-U-N-C-H! for life, literally came in his pants from eating you out once! he loves making you feel good.

- a goofball during sex he cannot do shit seriously😭 he be talking you and your pussy thru it!

- again, if you’re petite god help you bc he is large.

- babe, you better match his freak because yall doing anything.

- trying a new thing every night multiple times bc that sex is never vanilla and that dick is never tired! at some point he’s just making positions up😭

#deadpool x reader #deadpool #wade wilson #deadpool and wolverine #ryan reynolds #deadpool x you #marvel #mcu #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson x you #deadpool headcanons

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sp0o0kylights · 5 months ago

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Sometimes I think of a Steve Harrington that is absolutely exhausted by all the horror and bullshit and trying to keep the kids alive through said horror and bullshit, who watches Eddie rock up to him at the beginning of S4 with a dead eyed, flat stare.

"Steeeeve Harrington." Eddie taunts and peacocks and twirls around him, and all Steve wanted was for a couple months to process the trauma, maybe feel safe enough to start thinking about the future instead of stuck in a never ending anxiety loop of what might happen to Dumbass Near-Deatherson, should Steve go to college or move out of Hawkins (bc all the bad nicknames in the world won't erase the fact that Dustin's family, now. They're all family. And when they need help, they go to Steve.) and now he's suffering the unjust ordeal of being haunted by the high school drug dealer.

"His highness has come down from his castle!" Munson will crow, making a show out of Steve picking up the kids like this is a great battle of wits, a scoreboard between them and not like Steve is half dead on his feet, head aching, dreams full of too many teeth. "Quickly hide behind me, he'll try to cut off your heads!"

"Wouldn't he just cut yours off too?" Lucas asked, though the tone was slightly timid, Sinclair unsure if his joke would be well recieved.

(Steve doesn't care if the kid outright insults him. He still recalls the junkyard, the fight with Billy, the blood staining the kid's headband. Lucas lived, therefore, he can be a shit if wants.)

"Mine? Oh, the King wouldn't dare." Munson tosses his head, full of cartoon energy, too big for his body and grin both. "Many have tried you see, but no one had ever succeeded!"

Steve, equally, does not give a single shit that Eddie Munson has decided to play these games with him--until he realizes he's maybe been a little too exhausted and depressed and morose around the kids.

Watches them getting worried over him, whispering urgently and making dramatic gestures and talking to Robin and suddenly, playing a little tug of war over them the way Munson seems to want feels like a good idea. A way to hide all the rough edges, a way to be fine so they can be fine.

"How about you guys skip the dork brigade tonight," Steve taunts back the next time they're all together, standing like the man he used to be, wearing a dead personality. "And we go do something actually fun instead?"

Eddie laughs, lights up, is all too happy to match him tit for tat, and it's so easy to fake this kind of interaction, rolling his eyes and snapping his gum. Steve could match this energy in his sleep, and never once does Munson catch on that Steve's not doing this for him.

That he's not even looking at him half the time, eyes askew, locked on the kids. Seeing them relax as he banters, seeing Dustin glow as he returns to his favorite position, being the center of attention.

So long as they think he's okay, Steve will be okay. If that means putting up with Munson, then so be it.

Its not like he'll catch on.

Eddie doesnt.

(Or rather, he does--but Its months and several deaths later, when they're in the RV, chasing what feels like literal demons, does it dawn on Eddie what Steve is doing.

Has been doing, the whole time.

Steve, sassy, ridiculous, jock- brained Steve makes the mistake of doing it again, using the same trick he had on the kids to convince them he was fine on Eddie. To further convince Eddie that they were fine as a group.

That they'll survive, they'll figure it out, they'll make it.

Loudly bantering with dead eyes, smiling with a mouth robotically locked in. Jokes on jokes on jokes and all of them making the kids take their minds off VecnaHenryOne to screech ineffectively at their babysitter. Winks tossed to the girls, who both roll their eyed at him. A sly look given to Eddie, to include him.

Its then, that Eddie decides to cement his life with Steve's. Because this loyal bastard of a paladin is too good hearted to die, too protective to not try it anyway. The idiot is cutting himself to ribbons to tie them all together and Eddie can't undo the damage but he can grab all the pieces he can, loop them together.

He can make those dead eyes light up again.

And he does.

This time when things are over Steve finds himself unable to pull those little tricks of his. Every time he slides the mask over his face Eddie rips it right back off again.

They fight, a lot, until they start kissing instead and for a while that also, somehow, feels like fighting but Eddie's real good at this. The emotional part, not so much the kissing, but he knows how to draw Steve out. How to break down walls, and annoying his real personality out.

The kissing was just an odd little side benefit.

A thing they don't talk about.

There's a benefit to it, one he doesn't look very hard into, until strangely, one day, Eddie wakes with Steve's head pillowed on his shoulder and comes to the abrupt conclusion that he's screwed.

Or so he thinks--until bright, loving eyes blink awake, and turn on him, and Eddie realizes just how long it's been since they looked dead.

He wonders, vaguely, how long it'll take for Steve to catch on, that this just got serious.

Will laugh at himself when he learns that Steve already knew.

Guess that's what he gets for finally paying attention.)

#steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #0o0 fanfics #stranger things #idk what this is #im having emotions

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2hightocare · 1 year ago

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APOCALYPSE!

“I could go a fair bit crazy over you.”

Synopsis: In which your boyfriend loves doing corny things with you… he also loves doing you.

Genre: established relationship.

Pairings: boyfriend!jungkook x fem!reader

warnings: smut.. car sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up bro) creampie, praise, size kink, belly bulge, cussing, fluff at beginning and end, banter between couple, oral, overstimulation, squirting, making out, reader crying out of pleasure, choking, spanking, dirty talking, reader fucked ‘dumb’, mentions of ot7, they’re so corny it’s sickening.

author note 🗒️: wrote majority of this shit being faded as fuck so forgive me if it’s ass and ignore the mistakes (I’ll get to them eventually) js wanted to thank everyone for 3k🤍… writers block has been an thing these pasts months so sorry that I haven’t posted anything new. Here’s more of kuwtb oc and jk dating era 🤍

“I should’ve brought my glasses,” you whisper, a loud laugh ripping out of Jungkook's chest. “I can’t see anything, baby.” You turn to your side before swatting him on the chest— a pout displayed on your face, before going back to your original position, looking up at the dark milky way.

“We were having a cute moment, and you just blurt that out,” your boyfriend quips, his eyes focused on your side profile. A small smile tugs on his lips as he sees you scrunch up your nose, shaking your head slightly.

“You’re so right, we are so corny.” You playfully stick your tongue out with a small “yuck,” before bursting into a giggle when Jungkook tickles your side.

“‘Can we lay on the grass and look at the stars?’” Jungkook mocks your voice, changing his tone into a much more high-pitched version to match yours.

“Stop! I wanted to have a moment like Noah and Allie,” you puff, a smile threatening to come out.

“Baby, you know they look at the traffic lights and not the stars, right?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow at you.

“Of course I know, but I feel like we would actually get run over. Plus, I like you too much to just let you get run over.” You shrug, your fingers pulling on the grass on the floor. Your eyes connect to the sky as Jungkook stares at your side profile— taking in every imperfection and turning it into another reason why he loves you.

“Like?” he asks, his thumb running over your bottom lip before tilting your head to the side by your chin, making you look at him.

Your heartbeat skyrockets as he stares into your eyes, the twinkle in them prettier than the stars you were just trying to see. Your stomach lights up as if millions of fireworks exploded in heart-shaped sparkles.

“Love.” You correct yourself, rolling your eyes playfully.

“That’s better.” Jungkook clicks his tongue, pursing his lips out. You let out a giggle, dropping a small chaste kiss on his lips before turning back to the sky with a goofy smile on your face.

“You believe in aliens?” you ask, cracking a smile from Jungkook's face— his dimple carving into his skin as he bites his bottom lip, trying to contain the biggest smile.

“Fuck yeah.” Jungkook nods excitedly.

“We are literally a rock when it comes to the whole universe. There’s gotta be something out there.” Jungkook explains, expanding his arms and pointing to the sky, as you nod happily beside him.

“I agree, my mom said she saw one of those spaceships or whatever they’re called,” you pipe in, turning to your side to face your boyfriend.

“You mean a UFO, baby?” Jungkook's face scrunches in adoration.

“UFO?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Unidentified flying object,” he explains, scooting closer to you— dropping his head to your bare stomach.

“I like spaceships better.” You shrug, and he laughs, adjusting himself slightly. Your fingers find their way into his fluffy hair, combing through it. He moans slightly, melting into your touch, closing his eyes, and dropping a gentle kiss on your abdomen.

“What would you do if an alien kidnapped you?” Jungkook asks, his voice muffled.

“Funny for you to think I would allow it,” you say nonchalantly.

You both could hear a hairpin drop from how quiet you both went before breaking out into a fit of laughter. “Smartass.” Jungkook laughs, jokingly biting your stomach and earning a small squeal from you.

Your laughs die down after a while, replaced by silence, the only sounds being your guys breathing. Your eyes flutter shut with a smile, small goosebumps raising on your arms as Jungkook runs his fingertips on your belly— outlining ‘mine’.

“Tell me about your books,” Jungkook murmurs against your bare skin.

“Wanna know about my current read?” you ask, your fingers tugging softly on his hair, making him look up at you.

“I wanna know everything about you, baby,” Jungkook coos.

“Corny.” You scrunch your nose, placing a palm over his face and pushing softly backward, making him laugh. “Tell me about the thick-ass book I bought you two days ago.” Your boyfriend drops kisses all over your stomach.

“The dragon one?” you poke his cheek, before letting your finger play with his lip ring.

“There’s dragons?” Jungkook gasps, looking up at you.

“Yeah, and they have sex,” you say with a smothering giggle, whispering the last words in a hushed tone, making Jungkook's eyes widen.

“That’s enough, baby.” Your boyfriend raises an eyebrow before shaking his head, changing the topic to the latest drama, including Eunbi and Yoongi.

“Lora and I saw them coming out of the guest room while you were doing cartwheels with Taehyung,” Jungkook chuckles, the amusement on his face rubbing off on you.

“You’re lying,” you gasp, your jaw dropping open.

“I honestly didn’t see it coming.” Jungkook bites his lip, containing a smile. “Do you think Yoongi is the sub?” he continues before bursting out in a laugh, you following along.

"It's going to rain," you observe after a while, noticing a lightning strike in the dark sky. Jungkook hums in agreement before sitting up. He holds out his palm for you to take, which you do, and pulls you up onto his lap in a quick, soft motion.

You immediately wrap your arms around his neck, adjusting on his lap and straddling him. His thumbs rub circles on your bare thighs.

"I want another tattoo," Jungkook murmurs, his lips pressing kisses along your collarbone and neck. You nod slightly, enjoying the sensation of his lips against your skin.

"Where?" you ask, holding his head in place with your palms. He bites his bottom lip, looking up at you with dilated pupils.

"My forehead, and it'll be your name," Jungkook says with a grin, making you roll your eyes playfully.

"You're annoying," you retort, pushing his head backwards, making him gasp dramatically.

"I think it'll look good, you know? Just got to pick a cool font," Jungkook jokes, poking your side, sending you squirming on his lap.

"You're never ever getting my name tattooed on you," you shoot him a glare, which he only responds to by sucking in his lips and widening his eyes before shrugging.

"I think your lips tattooed on my hip bone would be hot," Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows.

"You're crazy," you pout, scrunching your nose as he gives your cheek a kiss.

"Yeah?" Your boyfriend smirks, his hands gripping the sides of your waist, squeezing softly, pulling you closer to him.

"I could go a fair bit crazy over you, baby." His lips brush against yours.

Suddenly, the air is knocked out of your lungs when his lips crash against yours. It doesn't matter how many times he has kissed you; you just can't control the utter madness of butterflies swarming your stomach. The fuzzy feeling fills your senses with every touch of his fingertips on your hot skin. The warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips against yours, all conspire to make your heart flutter with the same giddy excitement as the very first time.

His touch is electric, sending shivers cascading down your spine as his fingers trace the curve of your jaw, his hand gently cradling your face. With a tender yet insistent pressure, he deepens the kiss, his lips parting yours in a silent invitation.

You can feel the heat of his body pressed against yours as you move your hips against his. A soft moan slips past your lips into Jungkook's mouth as he guides your hips on his hardened length.

Jungkook's hand travels up, tangling in your hair, small, light rain drops start to fall down from the dark sky.

"Car?" he says in between kisses. You nod, moaning at the sensation of his lips on your collarbone, leaving purple, reddish marks.

You could never get tired of the way Jungkook looked at you, his eyes shimmery with a mix of love, need, and adoration. It was intoxicating, making you forget all your problems. The universe could have collapsed around you, and you would only care about his mouth on yours.

Everything about him was perfect, his scent, his touch, his voice, those beautiful lips, the way he looked at you, as if you were the only one that mattered in his world.

"Yes, car," you agree, breathy and disheveled.

In a swift motion, Jungkook stood and lifted you, carrying you to the car as you wrapped your legs around his waist. It wasn't until you reached the car that he broke the intense kiss, leaving your lips tingling with desire.

With a wicked grin, Jungkook, laid you on the backseat of his car. Jungkook’s fingers found the hem of your crop top, lifting it up, and you helped by throwing your hands over your head- revealing your lacy black bra.

A soft moan fell from your lips as he freed your breasts from the lace, by tugging downwards.

Your soft moans echoed within the car when your boyfriend cups your tits, massaging and kneading, your nipples hardening.

His lips found your jaw, kissing your neck— his eyes darted up to meet yours before his lips met the peak of your nipple, hot breath, then suckling gently, keeping his gaze locked before shifting his attention to the other breast.

Moaning, you bit your lip, head falling back from the sensation. Jungkook loved how responsive you are, the way your nails dig into his upper back.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Jungkook moans, his calloused hands grip your waist in place to stop you from squirming on the leather seat.

He leaned in close, planting a trail of soft kisses along your neck and shoulders. “Mine.” Your boyfriend whispered into your skin.

You licked your lips, not able to find the words to say what you wanted, as all your thoughts were consumed by lust. Your back arched, encouraging the caresses he was giving. His hand grabbed the back of your head, pulling you closer. His lips met yours, deep and hungry, claiming your mouth as his. You let out a soft moan, your hands finding their way to his face.

“Spread your legs princess.” Jungkook says, his voice deep and gentle— he taps on your inner thigh.

You hum softly, watching your boyfriend work on the zipper and buttons from your denim shorts. Jungkook pulls down your shorts down your legs— your panties following quick after.

“Look how pretty this pussy is,” Jungkook chuckled, his eyes making contact with yours raising an eyebrow. He runs a finger down your slit making you choke out a desperate whine.

“Feels good baby?” He says, he adjusts himself— pushing your legs back, giving him more space to be face to face with your dripping core. You only moan in response when he drops a soft kiss on your clit.

You couldn’t help the whimpers that escaped your lips, He smiled against your heat, He licked his lips as he slowly parted your folds with his thumbs, revealing your glistening clit. He took it into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. You let out a desperate moan, your hips bucking in desperation.

He started flicking his tongue against your clit, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your back arched, grinding your pussy against his tongue, feeling it flick deep inside your folds.

“Ngh, right there,” You dug your nails into his hair, your toes curling.

“Right here baby?” Jungkook smirked, inserting two fingers into your sopping hole. You couldn't help but moan and nod, as his fingers curled inside you, hitting your sweet spot perfectly.

“Ass up, princess.” he ordered. Without needing to be told twice, you did as you were told, with wobbly legs you flip around. He roughly grabbed one cheek, squeezing it and spreading you, giving him a view of your tight, puckered hole.

Jungkooks cock twitches in his pants as he watches your holes clench over nothing. “Feeling empty?” He chuckles, a rough hand makes contact with your ass with a hard smack— your back arches. You let out a loud squeal, pleasure and pain mixing together.

He lets out a low growl, his cock straining against his pants, Jungkook moans as he watches your wetness begin to drip down your thighs onto his seats.

“Actually, do you want to tell me about the dragons you were reading about?” Jungkook jokes behind you making you snap your head backwards with a glare.

“You’re annoying.” You pout, Jungkook eyes twinkle with amusement— he bites down on his bottom lip containing the smile that is threatening to spill out. “Annoying? I have you spread out in front of me baby… your pussy is literally dripping.” Jungkook tilts his head to the side cheekily.

Your boyfriend taps on your ass for you to turn around.

He didn’t have to tell you twice as you flip around, before reaching for the waistband of his sweatpants. You pull down on the waistband, alongside his boxers. His cock springs out, the head red and aching.

Jungkook watches you wrap your hand over his thick length, giving a slow pump causing him to blow out a sigh. Jungkook stops you before you connect your lips with his cock.

“As much as I want you to give me the head of my life, I fucking need to be inside your pretty pussy right now baby.” Jungkook rushes out, tugging on your loose hair backwards.

You pout at him. “Let me fuck you.” Jungkook whispers, the grip on your hair tighten pulling you upwards— his lips milliliters away from your face.

“Fuck me.” You whimper.

The moment the words left your mouth jungkook is picking you up and placing you on top of his lap. You’re leaning your back against Jungkook's chest, your legs spread open on each side of his big thighs. His arm is snaked around your waist pulling you closer into him.

“Cramps?” Jungkook whispers into your neck, “not yet.” You joke, he shakes his head with a small laugh before you wrap your hand around his cock aligning it to your entrance.

“Going to take my cock like a good girl?” He guided your hand, aligning it to your dripping entrance. He rubbed the tip of his cock against your pussy before pushing his cock inside you. You feel the familiar pressure as he slowly slid his length inside you, your pussy sucking him in.

“So big.. fuck.” You moan, your pussy clenching around him making him moan against your ear. “If you keep doing that I’m going to cum.” He chuckled.

You dipped down onto his cock, his cock hitting your cervix when you completely sat down on it. Your legs shake beside you, his hands fastly grip underneath your thighs.

“All up my belly.” You moan, arching your back against him.

The sight of his cock inside you, buried up to the hilt, made him moan. "You're so tight," he half-whispered, half-growled against the shell of your ear, the roughness of his voice only fueling the intense passion that already burned through your veins.

He wove his fingers into your hair, guiding your head with an almost possessive need as he tilted you to give him better access to your lips. Jungkook crashed his mouth against yours, his tongue invading, claiming. His eyes closed for a moment as he savored the sensation of your wet, tight pussy engulfing him completely.

He groaned as you lifted yourself, his cock popping out momentarily before sliding back in when you slammed down on it, your cervix meeting his tip with each movement. It was a merciless, primal form of pleasure, your wetness coating his length with every thrust.

His eyes remained locked on you as you got lost in the sensation of his thick length filling you up, throaty moans leaving your lips as you moved on top of him, grinding down onto his cock, your hips moving in a circular motion. Jungkook couldn't help the low growl that left his throat

He pulled you back up, forcing you to bounce on his rigid cock, watching as your full lips parted in an ecstatic moan. The sway of your hips in time with the motion of his cock sliding in and out of you was so fucking erotic it was almost a crime.

You gasped, leaning back just enough to give Jungkook better access to your exposed neck. His cock hitting your g-spot repeatedly which each bounce.

Jungkook's hips bucked up, meeting your bounces, desperate to get as deep as he could, to fill you up completely. The sensation was almost overpowering. A familiar heat was building inside you, a sweet ache that craved release.

Your eyes rolled back, waves of pleasure overwhelmed you.

His hips pumped faster, his cock buried deep inside you, stretching you in the most exquisite way. Jungkook took your lips in another deep, greedy kiss, muffling the sounds of your cries as you rocked your hips wildly, trying to take him as deep as you could, desperate to reach that peak that felt so tantalizingly close.

“I can’t.” You cry, "That's it, baby, feel every inch." He urged you on.

The thrusts grew rougher, deafening the world around you except for the sound of your moans, his grunts, the soft squelching of your bodies coming together and the rain pouring outside.

The pressure built and built, coiling tighter and tighter until you could no longer contain it. Your entire body trembled as you came undone, shattering the quiet of the car with a lustful cry. Your pussy clamped down around Jungkook's cock,

"Cum for me, baby," he whispered, his voice hoarse with lust.

You let out a loud whine as his cock slipped out of you. Your body continued to rock back and forth, the ache of denial from not having his cock buried inside you being too much to bear. You glanced down between your legs, flushed when you noticed the stickiness that coated your inner thighs.

Jungkook picked up your trembling body and placed your back onto the leather seat. “Gon’ fuck you missionary so I can see your pretty face when I fill you up with my cum.” Your boyfriend growls.

Jungkook wasted no time, returning home, his cock sliding inside you once more as you let out a needy moan.

His thrusts were relentless, deep, and hard, driving himself into you. The way your pussy immediately clenched around him, took him in so greedily, made him groan, his eyes locked on yours.

A hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to keep you eager for air. “H-harder,” you pant, your voice growing hoarse as his grip tightened.

The car rocked beneath the force of his thrusts, the sounds of wet slaps echoed, mixed with your cries of pleasure, your head tossing back, your eyes rolling back at the ferocity of his thrusts, the sensations building once more, the climax burning beneath your skin.

"Harder...fuck, harder," you cried out, your voice high-pitched and desperate. Jungkook chuckled, releasing his hold on your throat, you gasp as you inhale deeply for air.

Jungkook fingers find their way to your clit once more, his thumb rubbing it in circles while he continues to thrust into your soaked cunt.

The mix of the insistent pressure on your clit and the rough thrusts was too much, a wave of pure pleasure crashing over you, your pussy gripping his cock, your body pulsing around him. Jungkook pulled out, watching with a devilish grin as your pussy squirted all over the two of you.

Jungkook slapped his cock on your swollen clit— watching your pussy spasm with spurts of juices, before pushing his cock back into you.

The sensation of being filled once more, the echo of your screams, bouncing off the car roof, and the overwhelming orgasm had left you lightheaded. You clung to Jungkook, panting, drool sliding down your chin.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me..." He groaned in pleasure, the sensation of your slick walls gripping him, almost drowning him.

"You... fuck me so good, baby," you panted, the words slurred, your voice bordering on sounding completely fucked-dumb. Your body shuddering, your pussy spasming around his cock, your orgasm brewing fast. Jungkook's hips sped up, his cock pulsing inside you.

Suddenly, your back arched, your vision filled with a white haze as another orgasm crashed over you. The delicious agony coursed through your body, your pussy clenching down on his cock, Jungkook grunted, feeling you contract around him, the sensation sending him over the edge. His cock pumped inside you, the warmth of his seed filling you up completely. He moaned against your neck, his heart pounding, lost in the sensation of having you completely wrapped around him

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, his jaw clenching, his eyes closed as he rode out the intense wave of ecstasy. His breath hitched, his hips jerking, before he collapsed against you, his cock still throbbing inside you, spent.

Your body continued to tremble, the aftershocks of the powerful climax lingering. Your heart raced, your breaths coming in ragged pants, sweat beading on your forehead.

With a low growl, Jungkook slowly pulled out of you leaving you feeling impossibly empty. The slick sound of his withdrawal accompanied by a heated chuckle of his.

Jungkook looked down, the sight of your pussy dripping with his cum— your wet pussy gaping, waiting for him to fill you once again.

Jungkook watched, captivated by the scene, as you reached down to collect his cum, watching as you pushed it back inside.

“Fuck.. that was hot.” Jungkook groaned, his lips landed on your face, trails of wet kisses from your forehead, down to your nose, your cheeks, and finally landing on your lips. The storm outside, the rain and thunder providing the soundtrack to your post-coital bliss.

Your limp, spent body sprawled over his car seats, your heart still racing, your breaths coming in shallow pants. You gazed up at him, the sweat on his forehead, the flush on his cheeks, the lust still in his eyes, his breathing heavy. A hand cupped your cheek, his fingers gently stroking your jawline as his lips moved against yours in a tender kiss.

Jungkook traced his fingers along your jawline, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

"You good, baby?" He asked, the tenderness in his voice, an unexpected warmth to the intensity of what had just happened.

Your eyes fluttered open, looking up at him and giving a slow, lazy smile. "Yeah, just a bit sore," you responded, blatantly referring to the aching between your legs.

"You're cute, baby," Jungkook whispered into your lips, the simple remark warming you, leaving your heart fluttering. You hummed in content.

The two of you lay there, naked, your skin still glistening from sweat, the weight of the storm outside more comforting than daunting. Your breaths slowly returning to normal.

A beat of silence permeated the car until Jungkook finally broke it, his voice brimming with mirth. "So... do you think we fucked better than the dragons from your book?"

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myiliterallyhavenolifegoals · 1 year ago

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look here's the thing:

"hey there demons, it's me, ya boi" "i've connected the dots/ you didn't connect shit" "rock n roll buckaroo!" "we're here for the cult stuff, we saw an ad on craigslist" "(wheeze)"

those Iconic Quotes? all from buzzfeed unsolved!! when has watcher/ghost files, with their stylized graphics and higher production value, ever churned out this kind of banter!!

#buzzfeed unsolved #watcher #watcher entertainment #shane madej #ryan bergara #steven lim #yes the $6 to watch any of our content is so stupid #but who tf cares how shiny your shows look if you don't have the sauce!!!#ghost files

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jadegrey711 · 5 months ago

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Wally Clark x Reader Drabble

Just a quick little drabble about Wally and reader trying out some thigh riding. Really more banter than smut, but enjoy!

*NOT MY GIF*

If you like my stories you can check out my sideblog @jadegreywriting to see all of them and my masterlist without filtering through my main blog.

I own all rights to this story and do not give permission for my stories to be published, translated or reposted anywhere else. The only places I have published my stories is here on Tumblr and on my AO3 account (LadyAuthor711)

This story is for 18+ ONLY. It contains sexual themes that are not suited for younger audiences so if you’re under 18 my blog and this story is not for you. Please make sure to read at your own discretion and remember that you are solely responsible for your content intake.

"I really don't understand why you wore shorts on top of the grey sweatpants?" you teased as you sat in Wally's lap. "I mean you died after the movie Rocky came out and he was just rocking the grey sweatpants."

"It was the style!" Wally groaned.

"This is why the 90s were WAY better than the 80s."

"Excuse me?" Wally gasped. "The Goonies? Stand by Me? E. freaking T! Not to mention Dirty Dancing, which I know you love. So don't even try." He acused pointing a finger at you. "As well as MTV. The 80s were the shit."

"The 80s had great movies no doubt but fashion please! The 80s will forever be the spandex era, and you my wonderful Wally, are a victim of that." You said making your point, and trying to get up from Wally's lap.

"You think I'm a fashion victim?" Wally gaped, and pulled you back down to where you were stradling his thigh, the heat of his strong thighs radiating through the grey sweatpants he always wore. "Please I might have been dead but I watched everyone go through the 2010s, all that galaxy print still makes me shudder." He made an exasperated shivering motion which made you laugh as he wrapped his arms back around your torso.

"I never said that the 2010s fashion wasn't shit either. I think that galaxy print and spandex go hand in hand with the fashion victim department."

"Oh you're going to pay for that comment, baby. I ain't nobody's fashion victim." The grip on your waist tightened just a fraction.

"Oh yeah? And whatcha gonna do...Wallace?" You sassed staring those dark brown eyes down. And watched as they flicked down to your precarious position, straddling his thigh.

"Hmmm. Let's see what this will do." He said as he grabbed the hem of your jeans, and brought you forward on his thigh. You let out a small gasp, as the seam of your jeans hit just right on your clit as he brought you up his thigh.

"Wally!" You gasped.

"Did it feel good baby?"

"That's not the point." You said softly still trying to sound stern. "People will hear us." Wally leaned in close for a kiss.

"I promise I'll keep you quiet." He smirked, then pulled you back down his leg and back up again. You let out a reluctant moan and Wally was quick to cover your mouth with his, hushing your moans.

"Wally." You tried again, but he was having fun now and there's no stopping Wally not until he's made you cream your pants.

"You're so sensitive baby. We're going to have to do this more in the future." He growled, as he brought you back down and up again. "Do you think I could make you cum like this? It's going to be fun trying." He chuckled, kissing you again and deepening it this time, his tongue invading your mouth, eating the small moans he pulled from you.

"Maybe next time, I'll do this when you've only got your panties on, see how fast this fashion victim can make you cum, huh?"

You couldn't help the giggle that escaped, you and the heat that the thought of you two doing this again brought to your core.

#wally clark #wally clark x you #wally clark x reader #wally clark fanfiction #wally clark smut #school spirits season 2 #school spirits #milo manheim #jade tries writing #jadegrey writes

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jjuniko · 4 days ago

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turn it down | ponytail 예쁘지만 흩트리면 난 더 좋아

PAIRING : academic rival!sunghoon x male!reader

SUMMARY : mid-terms are coming up and of course you're caught up cramming the last bit of information that your brain can hold. the only thing is the loud ass music coming from the room next door, park sunghoon's room, causing your mind to reel. a simple confrontation should do the trick. right?

CONTAINS : top sunghoon, bot reader, hate sex, reader is lwk a brat, (light) degradation, rough handling / manhanding (hair pulling), dacryphilia, lots of banter, kinda dubcon?

WORD COUNT : 3.4k

tuesday, november 9th. 3:12 a.m.

your desk looks like a war crime. highlighters everywhere, loose-leaf paper threatening to slide off the edge, half of an energy drink you forgot to finish. your eyes sting every time you blink, and your brain’s working at maybe twenty percent, if you’re being generous.

and then it starts again. that low, rock shit that vibrates through the wall like it owns the place. not even loud, just annoyingly persistent. subtle enough that you can’t exactly justify banging on his door, but annoying enough to ruin your concentration completely.

you sit there for maybe a minute. two. waiting to see if it stops. it doesn’t. you know it won’t.

because sunghoon’s a habitual asshole. you’ve known that since orientation week, when he made some smug comment about your test scores like it was a joke. ever since then it’s been non-stop competing GPAs, half-smiles across classrooms, TA praise you’re both too proud to share.

you’re not friends. you’re not even enemies. you’re just locked in, semester after semester, orbiting each other with a kind of mutual contempt that no one else seems to notice.

he plays this loud ass bullshit every time there’s a deadline coming up. maybe it helps him study. maybe he just likes fucking with you.

either way, you’ve had enough. you shove your chair back hard and head into the hall barefoot, too tired to pretend to be polite.

your knuckles hit his door. once. twice. harder than necessary.

there’s a shuffle. then the door cracks open like it’s been weighted shut.

sunghoon blinks at you.

he’s doesn't appear tired at first. not even disheveled in the way you’d expect from him. just... rumpled. and after just a second you notice his hoodie pulled over his head, sleeves pushed to his elbows, collar a little skewed. his hair looks like he’s been clawing through it all night. eye bags for days. skin a little pale under the dorm lights.

he’s clearly not slept either, but he still manages to look irritatingly composed. like even his collapse is well-curated. he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t even bother with a fake smile.

“turn it down,” you say, arms crossed, voice deadpan.

he drags a hand over his face, slow and lazy. doesn’t look surprised. just exhausted.

“it’s not even that loud.”

there’s a long silence after that. the kind where the air goes still and your jaw tenses involuntarily. you hate how good he is at this, at being unbothered. like you’re the one making things difficult, even though he’s the one fucking around at 3 a.m. like he doesn’t have the same exam you do in eight hours.

you could push it. argue. threaten to call the resident assistant. but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

he shifts a little, gaze skimming over you once. then he steps aside.

“if it’s that distracting,” he mutters, tone unreadable, “come figure it out yourself.”

you hesitate. just for a second.

it’s not an invitation. it’s not even a dare. it’s... something else. a weird, tired challenge. like he doesn’t actually care whether you do or don’t.

you step in.

his room is a mess in the specific way only a midterm collapse can cause. open textbooks on the bed, extra hoodie draped over his desk chair, two half-empty coffee cups on the windowsill. the music’s coming from his laptop. some endless loop that sounds like it’s trying to mimic a guitar on steroids.

he closes the door behind you with a soft click. the sound feels louder than it should. you don’t sit. he doesn’t offer. he sinks back into his chair like he’s too tired to hold himself upright.

“you always this inconsiderate?” you ask, arms still folded.

he shrugs, not looking at you. “you always this dramatic?”

you roll your eyes. this is what it’s always like. dry comments, eye contact held a second too long, something mean simmering just under the surface. and yet you never stop. neither of you ever stops.

he reaches over and finally closes the music tab. silence drops over the room like a blanket, too heavy for comfort.

you hate this. being here. standing in his room like you’re in some kind of mutual standoff. like something’s about to happen but neither of you wants to be the one to start it.

he rubs his temple, exhales through his nose.

“you done?” he asks, not quite irritated, just bored. resigned.

“you don’t sleep either, huh.”

he snorts softly. “not since midterms started.”

you glance at the open book beside him. finance. same class you’ve got the exam for in the morning. of course he’s studying late. of course he’s doing exactly what you are, just louder, messier, and with worse time management.

you look at him again. his hood’s fallen back, hair semi-sticking out in wild directions. his sleeves are bunched at the elbows. he looks like the personification of burnout.

and still, still, he’s got that same flat expression. like even now, even like this, he’s unbeatable.

you swallow the comment that rises in your throat. something petty. something about how maybe if he spent less time pretending to be cool and more time working like a real person, he wouldn’t need caffeine and rock music to survive midterms.

but you don’t say it. not yet. you just lean against the edge of his desk and stare at him.

“you look like shit,” you say, finally.

he huffs a laugh. doesn’t look at you. “you always say the nicest things.”

and then there’s silence again, not awkward, not charged, just... thick. heavy with everything you’re not saying.

you should leave. but you don’t. not yet. you definitely didn’t plan to stay.

but you do. because you hate how he gets under your skin and makes it look easy. because he barely even asked you to come in, just stepped aside like he knew you would.

and maybe you hate that he was right.

now you’re standing in the middle of his room while he sits back down like nothing happened. like you didn’t just march over here two seconds from combusting.

he’s not pretending to be calm. he is calm. scrolling on his laptop, half-slouched in his chair, music still playing at that irritatingly low volume. like he’s immune to you.

you say nothing. neither does he.

you sit on the edge of his bed eventually, more out of annoyance than comfort. the frame creaks and he doesn’t look.

“your notes are a mess,” he says, not looking up.

you blink. “what?”

“your handwriting’s dogshit. i saw it in a lecture.”

you scoff. “maybe if you paid more attention to the lecture, you wouldn’t have to read mine.”

he hums, not denying it. “figured you’d take notes and be desperate to prove you’re better than me. two birds.”

you shoot him a glare he doesn’t see. you wish he would. it’d be nice to have him flinch for once.

“you’re such an asshole.”

“and you’re such a try-hard. works out.”

you stare at him. the bitterness in your throat is dry, sharp, familiar.

“you think you’re clever.”

“no,” he says, finally glancing at you. “i think you’re predictable.”

there it is. that look. the one he saves just for you, half bored, half challenging, like he wants you to crack.

and maybe you’re close to cracking.

you breathe through your nose and look away. you’re not going to play his game.

but then—

“you’re shaking.”

you glance down. your knee’s bouncing, unthinking. you stop it.

“midterms. caffeine.”

“sure.”

he spins a little in his chair, back to scrolling, like the conversation’s already over.

it should be. you should go. you don’t.

“what happened to your face?” you mutter.

“what.”

“you look like shit.”

he snorts. “you said that already." he glances at you, now facing you. "no sleep. not that it’s your business.”

you shrug. “was just wondering how you’re somehow uglier when you’re human.”

“funny,” he says. “from someone who only looks tolerable under library lighting.”

your jaw tenses. you meet his eyes.

“fuck you.”

“you wish.”

that stings more than it should. maybe because it hits too close to something you haven’t admitted even to yourself.

you glance around the room again. papers everywhere, water bottle on the floor, a faint smell of citrus and sweat and whatever expensive crap he uses on his skin.

you hate how easily he can exist in chaos. you hate that he’s still better than you in half your classes. and you hate that even now, sitting in his room, watching him blink slow and lean back like he owns the night, you can’t stop looking at him.

your skin feels too tight.

“you gonna stare all night?” he says without glancing up.

“just trying to understand how someone so average is so arrogant.”

he finally turns to you again, lazy but direct. the corner of his mouth lifts, barely.

“maybe because i keep winning.”

you laugh. sharp, mean. “you haven’t ‘won’ anything. you just skate by with minimal effort and let everyone assume you’re too cool to care.”

“and you care so hard it’s embarrassing.”

“you think it’s embarrassing to give a shit?”

“no. i think you are.”

there’s a pause. neither of you blinks.

and that’s when it hits, the understanding. quiet and mutual and completely unspoken.

you both know too much. too much about each other. too much about what words to use when you want them to cut. too much to pretend this is just a rivalry anymore.

he stands up. just one slow step forward. enough to close the distance.

you don’t move back. you don’t break eye contact.

the tension doesn’t spike, it thickens, draws tighter between you like a pulled wire. not sudden. not dramatic. just inevitable.

he stands in front of you now. close enough to smell his shampoo, his skin, the faint edge of cheap cafeteria coffee on his breath.

you could push him. you could leave. but you don’t.

“you’re exhausting,” you say quietly.

“you said that so many times.”

“doesn’t make it less true.”

his hand doesn’t touch you, not yet. but he’s there, standing like he might. like he’s waiting for a sign.

you don’t give him one. you just tilt your chin up and say,

“well? got something to say or just gonna hover like a freak?”

that’s what breaks it.not romance. not longing. not want.

irritation.

his hand comes to the side of your face, not soft. not rough. just firm, and his mouth meets yours in a kiss that’s not born of affection but frustration.

it’s not sudden. it’s slow. intentional.

he kisses you like he wants to shut you up again. like this is the only language he knows how to argue in now. you don’t kiss him back at first. then you do.

not because you like him. you don’t. you just want to win.

and this? this is winnable.

his tongue drags across your lip, your teeth scrape his. he groans low in his throat, more breath than sound, and you yank him down by the strings of his hoodie like he’s yours to drag around.

he stumbles forward and pushes you back into the bed. you don’t resist.

the kiss breaks, but the tension doesn’t. you breathe in sharp and fast, meeting his eyes.

there’s no going back from this. you’re not sure you want to.

his mouth is still on yours, rough and steady like he’s trying to end an argument with tongue and teeth.

you tug his hoodie off. he shrugs it away like it was pissing him off to begin with. his chest appearing more sculpted than you would like to admit. there’s tension in his muscles, irritation in the way he holds his arms like he doesn’t even want you seeing him. and yeah. he looks good. unfairly good.

“quit staring,” he mutters, breath against your cheek.

“get over yourself,” you shoot back. “you’re not that hot.”

he smirks, but it’s bitter. “says the one drooling on my bed.”

“in your dreams.”

“nah,” he breathes, close to your mouth again. “not even in those. too annoying.”

he kisses you before you can respond. just to shut you up again. it works. only for a second.

the kiss breaks when he pushes you back, hands at your shoulders, shoving you flat against the mattress.

“gonna keep talking shit?” he says, voice low.

“probably,” you say. “unless you finally manage to make me shut up.”

that gets a twitch from his lips, halfway between a scoff and something darker.

he climbs over you, knees on either side of your thighs. not with care. with intention. you feel the press of him even through his sweats, and you try not to squirm. fail, maybe. he tugs your shirt off, barely looking as he does.

“no wonder you’ve been a bitch all semester,” he mutters, eyes raking down your chest. “been dying to get fucked.”

“please,” you sneer. “if i wanted to get railed by a know-it-all with a superiority complex, i’d just jack off thinking about your presentation in econ.”

“yeah?” he says, leaning closer. “bet you did.”

his mouth drags down your neck, no softness, just the press of lips and teeth grazing enough to make you twitch. and then his fingers tangle in your hair. yank. hard.

not playful. not cute.

“try shutting up now,” he mutters, breath hot against your jaw.

“fuck you,” you snap, eyes watering from the pull. “you think this proves anything?”

he jerks your head back another inch, eyes on yours now, sharp and mean and way too calm.

“yeah,” he breathes. “proves you’ll take whatever i give you.”

you hate how your whole body reacts to that. his hips grind down against yours once and you can’t help the breath that escapes. it’s humiliating.

“god,” you mutter. “you’re so full of yourself.”

“and you’re so easy when you’re pissed.”

“you haven’t done anything yet.”

“don’t worry,” he growls. “you’ll be crying about it in five minutes.”

he moves down. you don’t expect him to go down on you with lips and all. but he does. and it’s not sweet, or sensual, it’s calculated. tongue curling just right, lips sucking where they should, but without the heat of affection. it’s good. annoyingly good. and that only makes it worse.

you fist the sheets. bite your lip. don’t give him the satisfaction.

a “fuck—” slips out of you anyway, and he pulls off with a smug flick of his mouth.

“thought so,” he says. “mouthy, but easy.”

“suck a dick.”

“just did,” he says. “you’re welcome.”

he stands just long enough to shove his sweats down, he grabs the lube from the drawer and tosses it to you. and just like that, you start work yourself open quick, sharp fingers, no eye contact.

he watches like it bothers him. like he hates how much you know what you’re doing.

“you always this desperate?” he says.

“only when i’ve got something to prove,” you shoot back.

“prove what?”

“that you’re not the only one who can take control.”

he blinks, dark eyes narrowing.

“you won’t last five minutes.”

“then shut up and fuck me.”

and he does.

pushes in slow, even though his jaw’s tight and his hands are trembling from holding back. you’re tight, slick, burning around him, and the way he groans, low and caught in his throat, makes something in your chest twist.

“already whining,” you say, gritting through the stretch. “fuck, and i thought you had stamina.”

“god, you never shut up,” he growls, and thrusts hard, dragging a gasp out of you.

“make me,” you manage.

his hand goes right back to your hair. this time rougher. he fists it and pulls your head back against the bed, forcing you to look at him while he fucks into you.

“look at you,” he hisses. “you talk like you’re better than everyone. but you’re just a brat who needs to get ruined.”

“still better than you,” you gasp, lips curled, even as your whole body jerks from the next thrust.

he changes the angle. your mouth falls open. no sound.

“say that again,” he says.

“fuck you—”

his grip on your hair tightens. your neck arches. he doesn’t let go.

“you are,” he mutters. “right now.”

he ruts into you harder now. controlled. fast, but not sloppy. every thrust makes the bed creak, every sound too loud, too close. your nails dig into his shoulders and he hisses like it stings. but he doesn’t pull back. if anything, he chases it. chases the pain. the fight.

“moan for me,” he mutters. “go on.”

“not giving you that.”

“oh, fuck off. you’re shaking.”

you are. and when he leans down, grabs your jaw with his free hand and forces your mouth open, not to kiss, but just to see, you almost do.

“you’re so fucking desperate,” he says, panting. “pretending you hate this.”

“i do hate it.”

“but you’re loving it.”

you don’t answer. you can’t.

his rhythm’s faltering now. he’s close. and you’re not far either.

“don’t stop,” you whisper, finally, barely audible. “fuck—just like that.”

he groans, loud this time, and leans over you, hips stuttering once, twice, and then he pulls out fast, finishing hot across your stomach.

you finish right after, jerking yourself with a sharp gasp, biting your lip hard enough to sting.

your hair’s a mess. jaw aching. neck stretched. whole body trembling. he watches you for a beat, chest heaving. says nothing. cleans up without fanfare. tosses you your shirt like it’s routine. like it’s nothing.

“you kiss all your enemies?” you say eventually, voice rough.

“only the ones who beg for it with their eyes.”

you scoff, yanking your clothes on. don’t look at him.

“this never happened.”

“sure,” he says, pulling his hoodie back over his head. “never.”

you leave without looking back. but the sting in your scalp and the bruises on your hips?

you’ll feel those for days.

and for some reason, you don’t mind.

days pass. nothing really changes. not in a way you can name. you’re still in the same classes. still pass each other in the halls like you’re both too busy to care. still roll your eyes when the other one talks in discussion.

except... some things are different.

he doesn’t snap at you anymore. not right away. your comments still come sharp, passive, cut with dry humor, but he stops biting back. just raises an eyebrow. or looks at you too long. like he’s hearing something under what you said.

and you notice things now. stuff you shouldn’t care about. the way he fidgets with his pen when he’s thinking. how he mouths parts of the lecture to himself when he’s focused. the way his hoodie sits too neatly across his chest. not oversized. just fitted. unfair.

you catch him looking at you once. when you're mid-sentence. talking to the TA, barely paying attention to him and his eyes are fixed on your mouth. it lasts all of three seconds before he looks away like it didn’t happen.

you don’t mention it. but you don’t stop thinking about it either. it’s not like either of you brought that night up. it happened. full stop. you left. door shut. silence since.

but it’s there. in the way his gaze lingers a fraction too long when you sit near him. in the fact that he hasn’t told a single person. you know, because your mutuals would be assholes about it if they knew.

he doesn’t flirt. not even subtly. doesn’t wink or tease or make innuendos like some post-hookup cliché. if anything, he’s colder. calmer.

you kind of prefer it that way.

when he sees you coming out of the library late, you’re both too exhausted to play whatever game this is.

“still alive?” he says, voice low, hands in his pockets.

“barely.”

“your notes still better than mine?”

“obviously.”

he doesn’t fight it. just smirks, short and dry. you walk in the same direction without commenting on it.

“you owe me,” he says suddenly.

“for what?”

“distracting me before econ. ruined my quiz grade.”

“you were already failing.”

he scoffs.

“you’re insufferable,” he mutters.

“you’re still walking with me.”

“unfortunately.”

but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t speed up. doesn’t cut across campus like he’s trying to get away from you.

you don’t say goodbye when you split paths. just glance. nod. some vague, unspoken truce hanging in the air.

it’s nothing and it doesn’t mean a damn thing.

probably.

jae's note ! sorry i'm so ia. might get into writing more soon :))

#enha x reader #enhypen #enhypen x male reader #enhypen x reader #enha x male reader #sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x male reader #sunghoon x male reader #kpop x reader #kpop x male reader #enhypen sunghoon #kpop smut #enhypen smut #sunghoon smut #enhypen hard hours

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aomiiine · 3 months ago

Note

I just read your works and god you write Caleb so well😫 So..with all due respect,my head is filled with Caleb doing..hole inspection after a frat party because duhhh

It’s a crime that I responded to this so soo late but I come w a peace offering ☝🏼AND thank you so much for loving the way I write Caleb!! it means a lot w how reluctant I am to write ab him nowadays 🫶🏼 🫶🏼 newayyss, here’s my long awaited 2 cents on fratboy!caleb <3

frat boy! caleb, pussy inspection?, jealous caleb, banter, sweaty, messy & uncoordinated pussy fingering in the car🧍🏻‍♀️ ‘pip-squeak’ once!!! wc. 733 turned out longer than expected but that’s okay :’)

A frat party.

Nothing special. Just same old loud music and even louder people. Caleb had no idea why you insisted on going to one of these parties with him. Sure, he came here often, but only because he was practically lured out to it by his mates who covered it up as an ‘emergency’.

so now, Caleb’s forced to watch you socialise around with these vultures. As much as he wanted to snatch every drink you gulped, he knew better than you restrain you of your own fun—and suffer being accused to be a hypocrite by you later.

Minutes passed and yet he stood as still as a rock at one of the many corners of the room, arms crossed and jaw clenched tight. His eyes were sharp and intent on staring at you from afar, holding a conversation with a few other guys. Socialising. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Except, it was the type of ‘socialising’ he loathed to see you doing—dating or not.

and when the heat burned too hot, his jealousy spilled from it’s pot—overflowing.

“Getting with someone else right in front of me, huh? Not bad, pip-squeak,” Caleb spat, uttering the ever-so-endearing name he used for you in such a condescending manner that it made you shiver.

His wandering hands between your collided bodies in the cramp space of his car only made it harder for you to protest, every word dying in your throat and changed to a pathetic mewl or moan that just spurred him on his possessive streak.

“I barely knew the damn guy, Caleb,” you whined, hand held on his shoulder drifting down to his firm bicep in the dark of the vehicle. His big hands mauling on your thighs made you squirm further, frustration at his control over your body that refrained you from shifting on his lap in the position you wanted.

“Oh and he definitely wants to get to know you though. You and dirty panties,” he retorted with a humourless scoff, curling his fingers beneath your crotch to cup your sex, insistently delving past the thin fabric of the damp panties you wore. Your brows furrow at the slightest show of a smirk on his lips, knowing he could feel your arousal seep through and smear the pads of his digits already.

“Don’t say a fucking thing,” you warned, tightening your grip on his muscular upper arm, nails burying crescent-shaped indents on his skin.

“What? Like you’re gonna do shit to stop me with that drooling cunt,” Calen refuted, hooded eyes looking down at you, finding your threat as feeble as a kitten’s hiss.

Before you could open your mouth to return his wit with your own, he decided slide your panties to the side, a finger finding your slit with ease before sinking it deep within your depth without warning. A second finger followed suit, stroking your fluttering walls immediately after entering.

The sudden invasion made your breath hitch, lips parting open in a silent moan then crying out his name in a whine that sounded little like complaint. Your thighs seized, muscles flexing and quivering in an effort to stay kneeling on the carseat over one of his thighs.

caleb’s fingers were relentless, plunging in and out of your warm channel languidly. His movements were effortless, but so damn effective still. And as if he hadn’t caught you by surprise enough, his thumb snuck near between your parted folds, finding your clit and adding just enough pressure on the sensitive bud to make you get louder, uncoordinated, needy like he wants you to be.

“Don’t be tease—fuck me proper,” you mumbled between pants, eyes narrowing at the careless way his fingers were moving inside your wet pussy, eager to suck him further inside to the spongy spot that he could’ve reached so easily if he weren’t so damn sloppy.

“Nah, I’ll do that later.. Need to make myself sure this pussy belongs to me first.” Caleb’s reply only annoyed you further, leaning in to him and grinding your hips in vain to plea for his mercy. But he remained firm, spreading your pussy open until you hissed at the burn of the stretch, his thumb circling and flicking on your swollen clit repeatedly.

When recalling his words, you realised he truly was serious with inspecting your depths all over again. Just to assure himself—and you especially.

734 notes · View notes

quizzicalwriter · 2 years ago

Note

dally winston x virgin!reader who asks her boyfriend dally to be her first time

Sweet Thing

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: Intimacy, intimacy, intimacy.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI. Kissing, touching, fingering. Inexperienced and slightly innocent reader. Loss of virginity.

A/N: Thank you for the request!

Word Count: 2.8k (I got carried away.)

You’d always been Dallas’s favorite preoccupation, distracting him from everything else in life. The sweet thing he carted around whenever he hung around with the boys or found himself in the drunken den that was Buck’s on a Saturday night. You’d be there, propped on his lap with his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

Not that you didn’t have anything to say besides sitting there, hell, the guys loved you. You could hold your own when it came to their wit and it made you a worthy companion for Dallas in their eyes, not to mention your inexplicable ability to put up with his shit when nobody else had before - or seemingly nobody else had been given the chance.

Normally Dallas would’ve gone for girls at the drive-in, greaser girls, or any woman he could get his hands on or who could handle his banter for longer than a minute without giving him the back of their hand. You weren’t one of them, and frankly, that terrified Dallas. There was a part of him that wanted to pull away, push you away in hopes that he’d save himself the pain of heartbreak later on he’d convinced himself he’d suffer. But he always stopped himself whenever you found yourself in his arms, gazing up at him with your doe-like eyes.

It was a difficult thing, Dallas being intimate. He was born and raised in a constant battle for survival, not showing love or producing it, but you made it easy. The longer you two had been together the longer he found himself wanting to keep you close, protect you from dangers he seemed to see everywhere. The worries you once had about him leaving eventually faded, the look in his eyes as he gazed at you whenever you laid in his arms far outweighed any ill thoughts you’d suffered with.

The only way you could describe it was ardent, laced with a deep desire that you’d never seen before in his brown eyes. A deep desire that would show itself in the bounds of the night after the two of you had disappeared together, culminating in you on his lap in his bed, hips rocking together as he kissed along your throat and down onto your chest. Or with your legs wrapped loosely around his hips, him grinding into you, you whispering sweet moans into his mouth spurring him on to do more, touch you more, please you more.

Dallas never pushed, he was always understanding whenever you pulled away. Of course, he’d have to adjust himself in his jeans, but he’d quickly pull you to his chest and press delicate kisses along your face, murmuring how much you mean to him, something he didn’t dare do in front of others. That side of Dallas was for you, nobody else, so you treasured it whenever he showed it.

On one particular Saturday night in the midst of autumn, you found yourself propped up against Dallas’s side on one of the couches in Buck’s bar, legs bent up at your chest as you fiddled with frayed denim at the end of your pant leg. Dallas was in a debate with a random man, someone he seemed to know well enough to bullshit with, talking about how the two had snagged something good off a rich man’s car not too long ago.

If it hadn’t been for the incessant country music Buck played when it rounded two in the morning you’d likely have fallen asleep against Dallas, but the occasional jump of a new song kept you jerking awake, a tired pout situating itself on your features as you rested your cheek against Dallas’s shoulder.

“Looks like your miss is real tired.” The man stated, taking a long puff from his cigar before gesturing toward you with the end of it, a snicker following his words as he propped himself up against the end of his pool cue. Dallas quirked a brow, looking down at you where you were tucked into his side with a hidden smile.

“Guess she is.” He murmured, not saying anything more beyond that before moving to prop himself up straighter, hand smoothing down your back as he looked down at you. “Tired?”

You weren’t tired, tired. More so bored, the constant scent of smoke and alcohol wasn’t helping the boredom or the budding headache in the back of your skull. But knowing if you said anything other than ‘yes’ at that moment would result in another hour downstairs, you nodded, feigning a yawn as you let your eyes flutter deceptively.

Dallas caught on, but he didn’t say anything. Instead choosing to click his tongue against his teeth as he played along, shrugging as he moved to stand. “I’ll see you later, man.” He stated, causing the older man to shrug himself before dispersing off into the crowd. Dallas turned to you, helping you to your feet before leading you up the stairs.

“Lyin’ is a sin, y’know that right?” He chuckled out, quiet enough for only you to hear as he nudged open his bedroom door with the toe of his shoe, causing you to laugh yourself and avert your gaze from his as you moved into the familiar room.

“Didn’t lie.” You mumbled out, another pout crossing your lips as you kicked off your shoes, making your way to his bed. “Real tired, Dally.”

“Sure, doll.” He snickered from the corner of the room as you made yourself comfortable on the bed, the familiar metallic clang of his belt hitting the wooden floor echoing throughout the room soon after.

He moved beside you then, letting out a sigh as he wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling your back flush with his chest. The sound of country music and clattering pool balls still echoed from downstairs, but the only thing you could bring yourself to focus on was the feeling of Dallas’s knee between your legs.

It was an innocent move, both of you slept with your legs intertwined, it felt comfortable given how small his bed was. As he shifted to get more comfortable his knee pressed harder against your clothed cunt, causing your cheeks to flush red as you choked back a whine. Dallas stiffened, breath catching in his throat as he took a moment to gauge your reaction before moving his knee again.

“Dal-“ You whined, hand moving down in between your legs as you buried your face into the pillow you two shared, his scent lingering heavily on the fabric doing nothing to quell the growing ache between your legs.

“What, doll? Feel good?” He whispered, words ghosting across the nape of your neck, causing your back to arch involuntarily as you slowly nodded. His hand smoothed down your front, bumping over the fabric of your shirt and jeans as he slowly moved to cup your sex, ever so gently applying pressure as he rocked himself against you.

You felt yourself soaking your underwear with arousal the longer he rutted against you, his fingers pressing against your cunt through your jeans as he did. A familiar sensation bloomed in your lower stomach, one that left you clenching your thighs around his palm as you tried to quell the growing ache.

“Gotta tell me what you want.” He whispered against the shell of your ear, trailing a litany of open-mouthed kisses along the curvature of your throat, pressure from his fingers increasing against your cunt. “Need to hear you say it.”

“Fuck, Dallas, just fuck me.” You whined, embarrassment over the prospect of voicing your needs soon being overweighed by the sheer need you felt for him, your hand moved to grasp at his forearm as you begged. “Please, Dal.”

That seemed to be all he needed as he moved to sit up on his knees, pressing another kiss to your jaw before pulling his shirt up and over his head. You laid there, lips parted as you watched him undress, feeling your blush spread from your cheeks to the top of your chest. You wanted to touch him, feel him, kiss him - so you did. You moved to sit up, folding your legs underneath yourself as you moved to press a kiss to his lips, hands moving to cup his jaw, only pulling away when you felt that familiar pull to touch him elsewhere.

You’d seen him without a shirt, but you’d never truly been able to admire him until now. Your hands wavered over his body, fingertips dipping in between the rivets of his toned skin, along healed scars, a faint bruise that still lingered under the left side of his ribcage. Above it all you found yourself fascinated with the way his chest rose with each breath and the small freckles that lined his skin. They reminded you of the ones he’d gotten from his time in the sun that plastered themselves against his cheekbones and upper shoulders.

Dallas let you look, eyes fluttering whenever your hands would drift farther south than before. You could hear him taking in shuddering breaths, chest catching every few minutes as though he were teetering on the edge of self-control. He raised his hands then, looking to you for approval before he lifted your shirt up and over your head, bundling the soft fabric in his hands before letting it fall to the floor.

You reached your hands behind yourself, unclasping your bra, letting the straps fall down your shoulders until your bra collapsed into your lap, exposing your breasts to him. Dallas had seen women before, he’d seen plenty, but none of them had ever had the effect you currently had on him. He felt his throat dry, brown eyes flickering between your chest and your eyes before he moved to gently lay you back against his bed, situating himself over top of you.

“You want this?” His words were hushed as his hand drifted down over your bare stomach, slowly unbuttoning your jeans as he kept his gaze locked on your face, watching for any sign of discomfort or worry. When you responded with a nod and a quiet, “I want this.” He smiled, a soft laugh leaving him as he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips.

You’d envisioned losing your virginity hundreds of times, a perfect encapsulation of what sex had to be painted in your mind, vivid and blaring. But this was so different, the way Dallas was so gentle, not afraid to laugh if something awkward happened, both of you sharing the pure moment of intimacy with smiles on your face. Nothing could’ve ever prepared you for it and that somehow made it all so much better.

As he slid your jeans off your legs he smiled up at you, a soft look on his face as he tossed the denim to the floor, moving back up to place another languid kiss to your lips. His hand moved between your thighs, fingers splaying against your cunt through your underwear, a groan passing his lips when he felt just how wet you’d become.

“Dallas, please-“ You begged, thighs trembling as he continued to tease you through your underwear. He relented, placing a gentle kiss to your jaw before moving to sit back up, slowly sliding your underwear down and off your body before discarding them to the floor as well.

“So beautiful.” He murmured, eyes wandering over your form laid in front of him, hands smoothing up and down your sides as he took it all in. “So fuckin’ beautiful, doll.”

You watched with bated breath as he slipped his jeans off, kicking his boxers off along with them. His length was bigger than you’d anticipated, only having felt the shape of it when you’d ground down against him during your frequent make-out sessions. As if sensing your apprehension he moved back over you, hand moving to cup your cheek as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“It won’t hurt, alright? We’ll take it slow, real slow.” He whispered, voice soothing as he helped you to wrap your legs around his hips, your heels subtly digging into the flesh of his lower back. He smiled down at you, eyes voicing a silent question if you were alright to which you quickly nodded back, a smile upon your face as well.

He braced himself on his arm, face close to yours as he slid a hand down between you, helping to guide himself inside before sliding his fingers up to slowly circle your clit. A moan left you at the feeling, leaving you clenching around his tip, the feeling causing him to bite back a grunt as he slowly began pushing in.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He groaned out, brows screwing together as he pushed himself to the hilt inside of your welcoming cunt, pausing in his movements to give you a chance to grow used to the feeling. “Doin’ so good, baby, so good.”

You’d heard horror stories from your friends, tales of how their first time had been painful and rushed, but this felt the complete opposite. While it took you a moment to grow used to the feeling of him inside of you, it was an incredibly welcome feeling. You could feel yourself clenching down around him, his fingers circling your clit only adding to the feeling building in your stomach.

“Dal- Dal, move.” You whispered out, voice hoarse as you grasped at his shoulders, desperate for him to move. He snickered at your pleading tone, slowly pulling himself out before pushing back in, slowly and deeply fucking you as he whispered words of praise into the crook of your neck, pressing kisses against your damp skin whenever he couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of your warmth surrounding him.

You could hear your wetness coating his cock with each thrust of his hips, his fingers slick against your clit. The room was filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, broken-off moans, and whispered words. Your thighs tightened against him as he adjusted himself, lifting himself a bit, unknowingly brushing against a spot within you that you’d never known existed - one that pulled a drawn-out moan from your chest.

“Yeah?” He asked through a smirk, hand moving down to cup your hip as he pushed back into you, hitting that very same spot. You could hardly think, let alone breathe as he fucked himself into you, fingers working at your clit as he angled himself to hit that spot over, and over. “Taking me so good, doll.” He grunted out, grip tightening on your hip as he picked up his pace.

Your hand shot down to his wrist as he continued toying with your clit, eyes fluttering shut as you felt your orgasm building to its peak in your lower stomach, the feeling causing you to rock your hips in tandem with his thrusts. The look on your face was enough to make him groan, his hand moving from your hip to your jaw as he tilted your face to look at him.

“Look at me when you cum on my cock, baby.” He murmured, voice soft yet authoritative as he slammed into you. As soon as you opened your eyes he moved his hand, pressing it against your lower stomach as he continued fucking himself into you. It felt as though he were pushing you down onto him, that spot that nearly blinded you with pleasure constantly being rutted against by his cock.

All you could muster was a weak, “F-fuck,” as you came undone, back arching off the bed as you whined out his name. He didn’t stop, stifling a groan at the way you writhed beneath him as he felt his orgasm building. Once you started swatting at his fingers that still circled your clit he moved his hand, choosing to grab the other side of your hip, effectively propping you up against him as he fucked you.

The pace was near brutal, moans forced from your body as your breasts bounced with each thrust. You couldn’t focus, still reeling from your last orgasm as he continued fucking you into oversensitivity-fueled bliss. You could feel his thumbs pressing into your hipbones, short curses slipping past his lips.

“Gonna cum, baby.” He grunted, pulling out of you a second later, spilling his cum across your lower stomach. His chest heaved, cheeks flushed red as he pumped himself through his orgasm. You could only watch in a haze of your own, still catching your breath as he looked up at you, that familiar crooked smile taking over his features as he moved on top of you once more.

“Did so good, doll. Real good.” He murmured against your cheek, pressing a kiss to your skin between each sentence. “You feel alright? Need me to get you something?” He asked after a moment, a hint of concern evident in his tone that made you smile as you shook your head.

“It felt perfect, Dal. I’m alright.” You whispered back, turning over onto your side to face him, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek, leaning up after to press a kiss to his waiting lips. “Perfect.”

A/N: Thank you for reading if you made it this far, or even if you just skimmed it over - either way I appreciate the interactions! As always you can find my work over on my ao3 under the user “Unscriptural.” Thank you anon for the request! (Sorry for the late posting, or early? Wherever you are? I finished editing it and didn’t want to queue it, so here is your daily scheduled reading material.)

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