#grumpy pants chase | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kaiser1ns · 10 months ago

Text

#. CATS AND CUDDLES

featuring 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ıllı. kaji ren, takiishi chika, sakura haruka, umemiya hajime, togame jo, kiryu mitsuki, suo hayato, endo yamato

fluff. and you thought your boyfriend couldn't get any more cuter, but him with your cat was another definition of the word adorable.

KAJI REN

Kaji arrived at your house while you were still at school, his hand reaching out to his hoodie on the chair. He needed it since all his others were in the wash. But as he turned to open a new lollipop, he glanced back at the chair—and the hoodie was gone.

“What the...” he muttered, looking around in confusion. He saw the hoodie again, this time on your bed. As he approached, it seemed to move of its own accord, sliding off the bed and onto the floor. His eyes widened as it began to scuttle around between his legs.

He rubbed his eyes, certain the lollipop's ingredients must be playing tricks on him. But there was no mistaking it—the hoodie was running away from him! “Just what candy did you give me, Y/N?” he muttered, shaking his head as he took off after the ghost.

He chased it through the apartment, his heart racing with both confusion and amusement. The hoodie darted around corners and through rooms with surprising agility. Kaji, determined to catch it, stumbled and finally managed to grab it. Panting, he looked down, only to see your cat emerging from under the hood, stretching lazily. "Meow."

Kaji blinked at the cat, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Don’t tell Y/N about this,” he said, knowing full well that the cat couldn’t talk. But in a world where hoodies could run away, he wasn’t taking any chances.

TAKIISHI CHIKA

You invited him over, hoping for a quiet evening indoors away from everyone and everything, especially away from Endo. The mood was perfect until your cat decided to make it's presence known.

Chika had always claimed he hated cats, but yours was determined to change his mind. Circling his legs, brushing against them and meowing softly. Each time, your boyfriend would gently push her away, his expression growing more annoyed by the second.

"I'm just going to grab some drinks. Be right back," you said, kissing his cheek and leaving the room.

When you returned five minutes later, you stopped dead in your tracks. The red-head sat on the couch, his usual grumpy face adorned with slightly narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows. Yet, his hand was gently stroking your pet who purred contentedly in his lap.

"Having fun?" you teased, a smile tugging at your lips as as your eyes were filled with adoration, your boyfriend and your cat were so cute. Chika's eyes flicked up to meet yours, "She wouldn't leave me alone," he muttered, but the way his hand continued to pet the kitten told a different story.

"Sure, she wouldn't," you replied, setting the drinks down on the coffee table. "I wouldn't leave you alone even if you wanted me to."

"Really," he insisted, but there was no venom in his tone. Instead, there was a hint of something softer, almost fond. You sat down next to him, reaching over to give your cat a scratch behind the ears. "Looks like she's warming up to you." Chika huffed, but his fingers continued their gentle movements, running through the soft fur. "She's persistent..."

"Just like someone else I know," you said, nudging him playfully. He rolled his eyes but didn't stop petting the cat. "Don't compare me to a cat."

You chuckled, leaning your head on his shoulder. "Why not? You're both stubborn and adorable."

SAKURA HARUKA

You wrap your arms around Sakura, feeling him stiffen slightly before he relaxes into your embrace. He’s still getting used to your hugs and the physical affection you shower on him. His pale cheeks tint with a soft pink as he turns his head to look at you, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

One evening, you introduce him to your cat. The fluffy creature eyes him curiously before sauntering over, rubbing against his legs. Sakura hesitates, then gently kneels to pet the cat, his touch delicate as if not to hurt it.

As the days pass, he starts spending more time with your cat. He notices how it follows him around the apartment, always seeking his warmth and presence. Whenever he sits down, the cat immediately curls up in his lap, purring contentedly as he strokes its fur.

You lay together on your bed, your cat nestled between you, Sakura looks at you, with an expression you will never mistake — he is in love.

“You know,” he begins softly, “you and your cat are a lot alike.” You tilt your head in curiosity, signaling him to continue.

“Both of you always search for me, wanting to be close, to cuddle. You both make me feel... wanted.”

His words make your heart flutter and your eyes water with small tears. You smile, reaching out to hold his hand. “We both love you, Haru. How could we not want to be near you?”

Sakura’s eyes soften, and he squeezes your hand gently. The cat purrs louder, as if in agreement, and Sakura laughs quietly, the sound warm and tender.

In that moment, surrounded by the gentle presence of your cat and the warmth of your love, Sakura feels a sense of belonging he never knew he needed, he was loved and wanted. And he will be forever thankful that you chose him over anyone in this world.

UMEMIYA HAJIME

You watched him from the doorway, holding your phone just out of sight, trying to capture the scene without disturbing its delicate peace. Umemiya sits comfortably on the couch, absorbed in his book, while the soft glow of the late afternoon sun filters through the window, casting a warm, golden hue over everything. On his lap, your cat snoozes peacefully, a contented purr vibrating from its small body, a slight smile on its face.

Hajime absentmindedly strokes the cat’s fur, his fingers moving in a slow, rhythmic pattern that seems to soothe both the cat and himself. His expression is calm and focused, his lips occasionally twitching into a smile as he reads a particularly interesting book about plants. The entire scene looks like it’s been lifted straight out of an old movie, every detail perfect and impossibly charming.

You can't resist whispering, "You're like something out of a dream, you know that?" He looks up, slightly startled but quickly relaxing when he sees you. A soft smile spreads across his face, his eyes holding their undying affection for you. "Oh? And what makes you say that?"

"Just look at you," you say, stepping closer, still recording. "The book, the cat, the sunlight... it's all too perfect. I feel like I’m in a classic romance film."

He chuckles, a low, warm sound that makes your heart flutter. "Well, as long as I get to be your leading man, I don't mind."

You sit beside him, the cat shifting slightly but not waking. "You’re doing a great job so far," you tease, resting your head on his shoulder. "Can I join in on this perfect moment?"

Hajime leans over and kisses the top of your head gently. "You already are," he murmurs. "This moment wouldn’t be perfect without you."

You close your eyes, savoring the warmth of his words and the serenity of the scene. The cat's purring, Hajime's presence, and the soft rustle of pages turning — wishing this could last forever.

TOGAME JO

You stepped into the house, and for the first time it's too quiet, you could only hear your own breathing and footsteps until reaching the bedroom as you catched your boyfriend sprawled across the bed, his chest rising and falling with his deep, peaceful breaths. Curled up on top of him is your cat, purring softly.

Standing in the doorway for a moment, you were just watching them. It's a sight to behold, perfect picture—one that fills your heart with so much love and adoration. Carefully, you move closer, trying not to disturb them but as you step forward, the floor creaks ever so slightly.

Togame stirs, his eyes fluttering open. He doesn’t say anything at first, just blinks sleepily at you. Then, with his lazy smile, he reaches out, his hand warm as it finds yours and pulls you gently into his arms. You melt into his embrace, your head resting on his shoulder, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breath beneath you and the cat adjusts itself, purring louder.

"Sweet dreams, angel," he whispers, his voice a soft murmur against your ear. You feel his lips brush your forehead, a gentle, comforting touch that makes your heart flutter even more.

From the outside, the scene is simple as it can be. You, Togame, and the cat—together, you look like a small family, and maybe some years later you will be one.

KIRYU MITSUKI

Your boyfriend is going to be over at your house for a first time since you guys started dating. He has scene your room from video calls during game nights but he was more excited to see your cat because you have been spamming him like crazy in the dms with cute and silly photos of your pet.

As you step back into your room, cradling your cat in your arms like a baby, you see Kiryu sitting on the edge of your bed, looking at his phone. His face lights up the moment he notices you. He puts his phone aside and his eyes sparkle with excitement.

"Hey, there she is," he says with a warm smile, his voice soft and affectionate. "I've been waiting to meet this little star."

You walk over and gently place your cat in his lap. She looks up at him with curious eyes, and he chuckles, stroking her fur gently. She was just like you, melting and relaxing at his touch, maybe ita true that the pets behave like their owners.

"She's even cuter in person," he murmurs, looking up at you with a grin. "Just like you." You blush, feeling your heart flutter at his words. "I'm glad you think so. She's been looking forward to meeting you too."

Kiryu continues to pet your cat, his touch tender and careful, "I've seen so many pictures of her, but ... It's nice to finally be here with you both." and the reason for your death is going to be your own boyfriend with his cute face and honey like words — what a sweet death indeed.

SUO HAYATO

The soft hum of birthday music filled the room, mingling with the occasional meow from your cat, who was delightfully eyeing the small, cat-friendly cake you’d made just for him. You had planned this little surprise to make the day special, and it was the best desicion ever.

Your boyfriend was the heart of this adorable celebration, well he couldn't outdo the birthday boy. He had a party hat perched jauntily atop his head, and he looked utterly irresistible with it. And the cat was nestled comfortably in his lap and seemed to be enjoying the moment just as much.

You couldn’t resist the urge to capture this perfect snapshot. Your phone was out in an instant, your finger tapping the screen to snap a photo.

“What’s with the sneaky photo-taking?” Suo asked, glancing up to look at you, his voice warm and affectionate. His fingers gently scratched behind the pet’s ears, making the cat purr contentedly.

You grinned, stepping closer to him. “Just wanted to capture this moment,” you said, showing him the photo. “You look adorable with that party hat and he is enjoying his birthday bash. It’s perfect.”

Hayato chuckled softly, dropping you his iconic eye smile. ”I have to admit, this is the cutest party I’ve ever been to.” He adjusted the party hat slightly, making sure it was sitting just right. “Though I have to ask—what’s my prize for being the best-dressed guest?”

You raised an eyebrow playfully, pretending to ponder his request. “Hmm, let me think… how about a dance with the most charming guest of honor?” You extended a hand, and Suo’s grin widened as he took your hand, standing up and gently shifting the cat to a cozy spot on the couch, like a King watching his princess dancing with Prince Charming. “A dance with the host? Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse. After you, my lady.”

ENDO YAMATO

Endo wakes up to something soft and fluffy tickling his mouth. As he blinks his eyes open, he finds your cat nestled comfortably between you and him, its long tail flicking gently. He chuckles softly, reaching out to pet the cat, who responds with a contented purr.

You stir beside him, your eyes fluttering open just enough to catch the heartwarming sight. The big, bad-tattooed wolf, as you teasingly call him, is gently stroking the cat, his rough exterior contrasting with the tender moment. You can't help but smile, your heart swelling with affection.

“Morning,” you murmur, your voice thick with sleep. Endo’s eyes shift to meet yours, and a soft, loving smile tugs at his lips. “Morning, beautiful,” he replies, his voice as warm and comforting as the embrace he keeps you in.

Your eyelids droop again, heavy with lingering drowsiness. But before sleep can claim you once more, he carefully scoops you and the cat closer, wrapping his strong arms around both of you. You nuzzle into his warmth, a contented sigh escaping your lips.

“I will be late for work,” you mumble, voice still laced with that morning haze when your boyfriend hums, a deep, soothing sound that vibrates through his chest. “Call in sick,” he murmurs against your hair. “I want you to myself today.”

You smile, eyes still closed, basking in the peaceful moment. The cat purrs louder, as if in agreement, and you feel Endo’s lips press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Alright,” you whisper back, snuggling closer to him. “Just today.”

Endo’s arms tighten around you, and you feel the rumble of his satisfied chuckle. “Good. Now go back to sleep. We have all day.”

With that, you let yourself drift off again, feeling utterly safe and comfy in his embrace, your cat’s purrs lulling you back into a peaceful slumber.

A couple of hours later, you wake up again, this time to the sound of soft murmuring. You open your eyes to find Endo on the phone, his voice low and soothing, as he scratches the cat behind the ears.

“Yeah, she’s not feeling well today,” he says, glancing down at you with a wink. “She will see you tomorrow. Thanks.” He hangs up and looks at you with a playful grin. “All taken care of.”

You stretch. “You’re too good to me, Endo.” He leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a sweet kiss. “You deserve it, baby,” he whispers “Now, how about breakfast in bed?”

1K notes · View notes

barnesonly · 1 month ago

Note

grumpy bucky x sunshine reader? angst with smutty ending?

this is going to be my first smut on here, kinda nervous 🙈 i’m not sure If this is angsty enough, let me know xx

─ ⊹ ⊱ Touch-Starved ⊰ ⊹ ─

grumpy!bucky x sunshine!reader

tropes: post-mission, rainy night, one-bed situation (obviously…), annoyingly cheerful reader who just wants Bucky to relax.

word count: 711

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, fingering, PIV, rough sex, unprotected sex.

You were soaked, bruised, and exhausted — but somehow still smiling.

Bucky, on the other hand, looked like a storm cloud with legs as he slammed the motel room door shut behind you.

“Goddamn mission…” he muttered, pulling off his jacket and tossing it with a wet slap. “Should’ve left you in the van.” You watched him carefully. He was like a ticking bomb who was just about to explode. A very sexy ticking bomb.

“Rude.” you said cheerfully, peeling off your own soaked shirt. “I saved your ass back there.”

He shot you a glare as he wrung out his hair over the bathroom sink. “You also disobeyed direct orders.”

“I improvised.” You flopped onto the bed — the only bed — grinning. “You’re welcome.”

“Don’t push me tonight, doll.”

That was new. The pet name. You filed it away for later.

Instead, you watched him from where you laid on the bed, head propped on your elbow. His red henley wet from the rain only made his muscular form pop out even more. Not that you were complaining. “You know what your problem is, Barnes?”

“Please enlighten me…” He deadpanned.

“You’re touch-starved and pissed about it.”

He froze, knuckles white on the sink.

“I’m what?”

“You heard me. You’re all clenched jaw and scowls because no one’s touched you like you deserve in years.” You stretched, letting your towel slip just enough to expose your shoulder. “Bet you’d fall apart if someone kissed you soft.”

He turned slowly, eyes locked on yours, dark and dangerous. “Keep talking like that and you’re not gonna like what happens next.” You could feel his gaze scanning you, taking in the sight of you only in your bra and soaked from the rain jeans.

You smiled sweetly and wrapped the towel around your chest, covering yourself teasingly. „Oh, I think I would.”

You didn’t have to repeat yourself.

One second he was across the room — the next, he was on you. Your back hit the mattress, a gasp caught in your throat as Bucky loomed over you — wild-eyed, hair falling into his face, chest heaving, towel falling off your body as his mouth crashed against yours. His dog tags brushed your bare skin, cold metal trailing heat in their wake. His hands were everywhere — one pinning your wrists above your head, the other sliding down to grip your thigh and yank it over his hip.

“You want soft?” he growled against your mouth. “I’ll give you soft. Right before I fuck you hard enough to forget your own name.”

You gasped, breathless, heart racing.

“Do it.” You whispered.

He chuckled — low, dark, dangerous.

He shoved your jeans and underwear down and spread your legs with a firm grip, cool vibranium fingers digging into your thigh while his flesh hand slid between your folds.

“So wet…” He muttered, almost in disbelief. “You want this that bad?”

You nodded, your hips arched up into his touch, chasing his fingers.

He shook his head and chuckled darkly.

„I need you to be more vocal, doll.”

„I want this… Please…” You sounded almost pathetic.

His breath hissed out through his teeth as he sank two fingers inside you, curling them just right — and when your head tipped back with a moan, his mouth was on your chest, sucking a bruise just above your heart.

“You feel like fucking heaven.”’ He groaned, working his fingers in and out of you, rough and perfect. “Gonna stretch you out before I ruin you.”

“Bucky—” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulder, but he was already tugging his pants down, eyes dark with need. When he finally lined himself up, thick and hard and aching, you both stilled.

“Last chance.” He rasped, voice breaking. “Say stop and I’ll walk away.”

You pulled him down and whispered against his lips, “Shut up and fuck me, Barnes.”

He sank into you with a growl that was half-curse, half-worship — slowly at first, inch by inch, until he bottomed out with a deep, guttural moan.

“Fuck.” he hissed, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel so good, doll…”

He started to move — hard, deep thrusts that had your legs shaking around his waist, hands fisting in the sheets. One of his hands slipped under your ass to pull you closer, the other tangling in your hair to hold your mouth to his.

“You take me so good,” he grunted, sweat dripping down his chest. “Fucking made for me.”

You were barely coherent, gasping his name, your body a livewire.

„P…Please…” You cried out.

He kissed your jawline, smirking against it as he heard your plea. He pulled away slightly, just enough to look into your dazed eyes.

„You wanna cum for me, doll?”

You nodded quickly, desperately. Your mind too dizzy to form a coherent sentence —not even a single word.

„Say it.” He demanded.

„I… I wanna- Please…” You managed to say through moans, your body arching.

Bucky grabbed your legs, putting them on his shoulders, adjusting the position, allowing him thrust deeper into you — just how you needed it. You felt your body tensing, ecstasy taking over you.

And when you came — stars bursting behind your eyes — he followed you over the edge with a growl, spilling inside you as he buried his face in your neck, trembling.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing, tangled together like there was no space left between you.

Then he kissed your forehead. Gently. Almost shy.

“You’re so annoying sometimes…” He murmured.

You smiled, boneless beneath him.

„I love you too.” You whispered.

#marvel #bucky barnes #barnesonly #james buchanan barnes #mcu #writing #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #fanfiction #beefy bucky #grumpy!bucky x sunshine!reader #grumpy!bucky #one shot #smut #bucky barnes smut

325 notes · View notes

eudaimaniacs · 9 months ago

Text

quite an animal (logan howlett x female reader)

warning/s: dead dove do not eat, noncon, implied earlier noncon, mentions of kidnapping, etc. please proceed with caution.

You don't know how long you have been running away from him. Logan. The crazed man who took you a month ago, promising he would take care of you. If taking care means getting constantly hit by beer bottles, almost killed by his claws, and servicing him, then you're well taken care of.

You've had enough of Logan's abusive grip on you. So, you waited for the perfect time to escape this place you deemed hell. Logan would go out to buy some groceries by himself since he doesn't trust you going with him. You didn't attempt to escape before since you wanted to catch him off guard. You packed the little things Logan hadn't destroyed when he brought you to the cabin. You stole some money he had hidden and waited for your kidnapper to be far away.

The freedom you had wished for ever since greeted you when you opened the door. When you took your first step, you have never felt this happy. With your bag at the side, you began walking through the vast forest to escape this demented place.

After treading for about seven minutes, you finally saw the road. You smiled and thanked whatever divine being blessed you with this opportunity. You were free. You didn't have to suffer Logan's tight grip on you anymore. A few more miles and you could taste the sweet-

"Princess, what are you doing?"

Your body shook at the deep voice calling your attention. The universe had betrayed you, like a blunt knife getting sharp at the last minute and stabbing you in the heart. You didn't dare to face Logan. You didn't want to see his face or feel his presence.

"I asked you something, princess. What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" The grumpy man continued to question and make you more vulnerable.

You don't know if it's instinct or the desire to escape Logan, but you start running. You felt your eyes building up water as the reality dawned on you. Logan was keeping you here no matter what. He's going to use every method to cage you here forever.

The forest seems enormous now that you're in a life-or-death situation. The trees were never-ending, and there was no sign that you would get out anytime soon. You heard the heavy footprints of Logan chasing you. You didn't look back and see the furious, animalistic look he had. He didn't scream your name or command you to do anything.

He was catching up to your slow, almost tired running. You didn't bother to hold a weapon near you since defeating Logan was nearly impossible. Your legs were burning from the endless running. You wanted to give up, but the price of your freedom relied on it.

Your curiosity kills you as you dare to look at Logan behind you. He was fuming. His claws were out, and he discarded the flannel he wore earlier. Logan was determined to get you back. He looked like a predator hungry for prey.

As you focus on the path before you, a large rock suddenly makes you lose balance. You yelped at the force tripping you to the ground. You tried getting back up but felt Logan's foot stomping your back. You cried at the reality of not escaping this hell hole anytime soon.

"L-Logan, please, I'm s-s-sorry!" You pleaded to the feral man above you. He growled and turned you to face him. You went wide-eyed as you heard him huffing and threatening you with his metal claws.

Logan grunted and scolded you, "You escaped, [Y/N]. I won't show you any mercy even when we're in the middle of the forest." Before you can beg for forgiveness again, his claws rip the sheer dress that offered you little protection. You cried out and tried stopping Logan from doing this to you.

He hungrily bit and kissed your neck as he unbuckled his pants. The angry penis aroused by your attempt to escape him. You shook your head and promised that you wouldn't do that again. Your endless whines annoyed Logan, so he grabbed your neck to shut you up.

Without warning, his large member entered you, making you scratch his arm to fight him with little effect. Your voice was weakening as you pleaded and begged him to stop. However, Logan was an animal and chased his pleasure at the expense of hurting you. Your body betrayed you more as you felt your pussy hugging him tighter.

"You can't deny me, princess. Your wet pussy is so fucking tight. It's a perfect match for me," Logan groaned as he quickened his pace. You close your eyes, hoping you'll wake up from this nightmare. A monster taking advantage of you in the forest he held you captive in. You prayed to the gods to rescue you from this hell.

You felt your stomach twisting, indicating that you were close. Logan smirked as he saw the imprint of his cock on your stomach. You let out a weak moan that you didn't bother to suppress. After all, Logan won over your body even if your mind tried to disagree.

His thrusts falter as your orgasm crashes over you. You want to sleep and try to forget everything when you wake up. You knew you were returning to the cabin where you would live with an animal for the rest of your life. Logan retracted his claws and stayed inside of you, making sure that every drop of his cum painted your walls.

Like a switch, Logan suddenly became warm and softly whispered, "I'm going to clean you up, princess. Let's cuddle and eat something at the cabin." He kissed your forehead and carried you. Like a predator bringing his prey back to his cave, you surrendered and embraced Logan's sweetness. You weakly hold his chest, seeking comfort at the man who had and will always violate you.

eudaimaniacs - 2024

546 notes · View notes

brunchable · 9 months ago

Text

Super Uncle Bucky || Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Pairings: Uncle Bucky Barnes x Auntie reader.

Themes: Chaotic humor, Babysitter Bucky

Summary: Bucky, out of his element, struggles to handle three mischievous kids who put him through a chaotic tea party, leaving him covered in stickers and glitter as you laugh and document his defeat.

A/N: You guys are just eating up my Bucky oneshots with kids so here's another one.

"Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation. . ."

Bucky stood in the middle of the living room, his once immaculate hair now a wild mess of tangled locks. His shirt was soaked, clinging uncomfortably to his skin, while toy cars, Legos, and what appeared to be mashed-up cookie crumbs surrounded his feet. His metal arm gleamed brightly in the overhead lights, decorated with an assortment of glittery stickers — unicorns, dinosaurs, and rainbows — courtesy of the tiny hands that had attacked him earlier.

A cacophony of laughter and squeals filled the room as three tiny terrors, dressed in various superhero costumes, ran around him in circles. Bucky’s gaze shifted from one child to the next, his brow furrowed as if he was assessing a battlefield — and, honestly, this might be more dangerous than any fight he’d faced.

One of the kids, Chloe, with braids and sparkling blue eyes, clambered up onto the couch, raising her arms in victory like she’d just conquered Everest.

“You can’t escape, Uncle Bucky!” she declared proudly, giggling uncontrollably as Bucky tried to carefully pick his way through the minefield of toys.

Another child, Chase, with a Captain America shield as big as he was, lunged at Bucky’s leg.

“Gotcha! You’re under arrest for being grumpy!” he shouted, his voice filled with the determination only a five-year-old could muster.

Bucky sighed deeply, glancing at the living room monitor cam with a look that screamed, Send help.

— Two Hours Earlier —

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” you asked, hovering by the front door with an amused smile tugging at your lips. “I can always call Nat—”

“I’m fine,” Bucky grumbled, rolling his eyes. “I’ve faced HYDRA agents, alien invasions, and Steve’s 1940s music tastes. I think I can handle a few kids.”

“Three kids,” you corrected with a grin. “Under the age of six. And they all think you’re ‘Super Uncle Bucky.’”

He smirked, crossing his arms confidently. “Piece of cake.”

With a lingering, somewhat skeptical glance, you blew him a kiss and slipped out the door, promising to be back in a couple of hours. Bucky watched you leave, his smile fading slightly as a sudden sense of unease crept up his spine.

“They’re just kids,” he muttered to himself. “How bad can it be?”

He turned around—three sets of wide eyes stared up at him, glinting with mischief. The youngest, Charlie, barely two years old, clutched a half-eaten cookie, crumbs tumbling down his chubby cheeks.

“Are you gonna fight monsters with us, Uncle Bucky? OH! Can I make your left arm look pretty?” Chloe asked sweetly, holding up a toy sword.

Bucky blinked, glancing at the sword, the cookie, and the Captain America shield in the Chase's hands.

“Uh...”

“Roar!” Charlie suddenly screeched, charging at his leg.

“Or... tea party?” Chloe suggested, a sparkly tiara slipping over her eyes.

Bucky let out a breath. “Yeah, sure. Tea party sounds—"

Chase threw his shield at Bucky's head with surprising force. “I wanna fight!”

“Tea party!” Chloe insisted.

“Bear hug!” Charlie latched onto Bucky’s leg like a tiny Hulk.

Oh boy.

— Present —

One of the children tugged on his pants, drawing his attention. Bucky looked down to see the youngest of the group — a chubby-cheeked little boy with a tuft of dark hair and bright green eyes, holding up a stuffed bear.

“Bucky bear!” he squealed, thrusting the toy up at Bucky’s face. “Hug!”

“Right, yeah, of course,” Bucky said, gingerly accepting the plush bear and giving it an awkward pat on the head. The boy beamed up at him, seemingly satisfied with Bucky’s less-than-stellar performance.

“Uncle Bucky!” Chloe on the couch shouted, bouncing excitedly. “Can we play tea party now?”

“Uh…” Bucky hesitated, looking around the chaos of the room. “Tea party sounds…calm?”

“Yeah, yeah! But you gotta dress up!” she insisted, hopping off the couch and rummaging through a pink box that looked suspiciously like it belonged in your closet. She pulled out a lacy bonnet and shoved it in Bucky’s direction. “Put this on.”

Before Bucky could even think to protest, the other two kids joined in, eagerly shoving various frilly and sparkly accessories at him. With a resigned sigh, Bucky crouched down, letting the kids pile hats, scarves, and bracelets onto him until he looked like a very unfortunate cross between a Victorian-era duchess and a Mardi Gras parade float.

“Uncle Bucky is so pretty!” Chase declared, clapping his hands in delight.

Bucky glanced at his reflection in the living room mirror, nearly did a double-take, and then grimaced. He looked like a walking nightmare in pink.

Maybe the super-soldier serum could help me survive this, he thought wryly.

“Okay, tea party it is,” he muttered, his dignity hanging by a very thin thread.

— Thirty Minutes Later —

Bucky sat crammed into a child-sized plastic chair, his knees nearly touching his chest, as he held a tiny teacup between his fingers. The kids sat around him in a semi-circle, their eyes bright with excitement.

“Would you like some more tea, Your Highness?” Chloe asked in her best impression of a British accent.

“Yes, thank you,” Bucky said solemnly, holding out his teacup. Chase with the Captain America shield delicately poured imaginary tea from an empty plastic teapot, his face set in serious concentration.

“You know,” Bucky mused, taking a pretend sip, “you kids aren’t so bad.”

That’s when the tea toy kettle started “whistling.”

Confused, Bucky turned his head — and was promptly doused with water as one of the boys squeezed the kettle’s handle, a gleeful grin on his face.

Bucky sputtered, wiping water off his face, and the room fell silent. Three pairs of wide, innocent eyes stared up at him, waiting to see how he would react.

A slow smile spread across his face.

“Oh, you little punks are so going down.”

What followed was a blur of tickle attacks, high-pitched giggles, and Bucky chasing the kids around the room with his “super-speed” (read: exaggerated slow-motion running while the kids darted around him like over-caffeinated squirrels). By the time you returned, Bucky was pinned to the ground by three wriggling bodies, all of them shrieking with laughter.

You leaned against the doorway, raising an eyebrow, trying — and failing — to suppress a grin. “Having fun?”

Bucky looked up at you, his hair sticking up in wild tufts, his face smeared with cookie crumbs, his shirt a sticky mess of juice stains, and his metal arm glinting with a rainbow of unicorn stickers. To top it all off, a frilly pink bonnet sat crookedly on his head, held in place by a giant bow under his chin.

“Oh, you know,” he drawled, deadpan. “Just living the dream.”

You snorted, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You look like you’ve been to war.”

“Worse.” He held up his hands in mock surrender, showing off chipped, glittery nail polish on his fingers. “I’ve been to a tea party.”

You burst into laughter, doubling over as the kids cheered triumphantly. “I’m getting the camera. No way we’re not documenting this.”

“Wait, no—” Bucky tried to stand up, but a small hand grabbed his bonnet’s bow, yanking him back down with surprising force.

“No escape, Uncle Bucky!” Chloe squealed, and the other two chanted, “More tea! More tea!”

Bucky slumped in defeat, sending you a pleading look.

But you were already gone, the sound of your laughter echoing down the hall.

He sighed deeply, glancing at the trio of tiny humans who had somehow become his overlords. Chloe climbed onto his back, using him like a jungle gym. “Uncle Bucky, it’s time for the royal dance now!”

Chase picked up a feathered boa and tossed it around Bucky’s shoulders. “And you have to wear this!”

Bucky sighed, closing his eyes in resignation. “Yeah… maybe I did have it easier fighting HYDRA.”

579 notes · View notes

nemisuki · 1 month ago

Text

𐔌✧.* ᗷᖇᗩᗯᒪ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ೀ⋆ || Your boyfriend is a little mean to others, but never to you, after all he’d fight your enemies ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

. ♬ ݁˖ || inspo song : spotify version & yt version ᯓ★

ᝰ.ᐟ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, acts of service, 1.0k word count •°. *࿐

To say Katsuki had a bad reputation was an understatement.

You suppose it wasn't a shocker that so many students found his ruff demeanor off-putting — his constant yelling and brash way of speaking — leaving many to form feelings of distaste towards the hot head.

So naturally, others began questioning how your relationship with him even lasted for so long, given he's still the same angry student attending UA, that somehow managed to grasp the heart of his bubbly classmate.

He never once batted an eye towards the pesky rumors about him, after all, he couldn't care less about what anyone else thinks.

All topics were on the table, except for one — you.

It was known ever since the first altercation, when he overheard your name from someone else's lips, conversation unknown, that no one else is allowed to speak of you in such ill manners.

Anyone could hate him but... you? The girl who doesn't have a single bad bone in her body? The girl saying a little "excuse me" or "thank you" even when not needed? Hate that girl? His girl? You?

Yeah not happening. Not on his watch. As if he'd let any lowlife spoil your name.

"HAH?! WHAT DID YOU SAY?! GET BACK HERE YA' EXTRAS!"

You groan at each one of his squirms, trying to hold him back to put some distance between the blonde and the very much frightened duo that he confronted out of nowhere.

I mean, one second he was by your side and the next... he was storming over in their direction!

"Katsuki, c'mon just let them go!"

He attempts to escape your grasp in hopes to chase them down — maneuvering around like a rabid animal — glaring absolute daggers at the two retreating males in the distance.

Who nearly piss their pants as they successfully escape sudden death.

"DAMN COWARDS—"

Seeing no way out of Katsuki beating them into a literal pulp, you wrap your arms around his waist, fighting off inner humiliation at how you probably looked like to everyone else, your smaller form clinging onto his for dear life.

Frankly not being too useful in this scenario... or so you thought.

He freezes in place.

And given your current position, face tightly pressed against his chest, you're unable to see the way his eyes slightly widened, how his brows raised upwards, the previous glare melted away in an instant.

The familiar touch sending shivers down his spine.

He halts his movements, secretly not wanting to accidentally hurt you, huffing and averting his gaze elsewhere.

"Tch, you can let go now dumbass…"

He tries to hide the creeping shyness in his demeanor, the involuntary blush that casts over his cheeks, fingers clenching into tiny fists at his side.

Slightly embarrassed that he reacted on instinct, he just couldn't help himself dammit!

You smile softly, reluctantly releasing him from your grasp, looking up to see his face, those pretty features now covered with a soft pink, hidden behind the infamous frown he always wears.

"You don't have to fight every person that talks bad about me 'suki, I really don't mind—"

He scoffs, cutting you off while taking your hand in his, ignoring all the stunned stares from passing students as he practically drags you to class.

"Yeah, well I fuckin' mind. Those damn bastards... how could they hate you just because yur' dating me? Fucking extras don't know what their talkin' 'bout…"

You sheepishly mumble apology after apology as he shoves past anyone in the way, listening to his frustrated rambles while he clears a path for you.

He glances at the onlookers with a grumpy glare, daring anyone to stand in his way. As if anyone would be stupid enough to mess with him but still...

Your eyes soften as he adjusts his grip, slender fingers slowly intertwining with your own, gently caressing the back of your hand with his thumb, a tenderness that's only available to you.

His gaze wavers.

"Does it really not bother you?"

You blink.

"Hm? What does?"

His grip on your hand grows less firm, more hesitant, ultimately vulnerable. Crimson eyes filled with uncertainty, rough voice losing its usual pitch, almost growing too quiet. Almost.

"...I don't exactly have the best reputation ya' know? People will continue judging us... judging you."

Your heart aches at the faint whisper, his subtle concerns immediately making you shake your head.

You knew about the judgement, knew about the whispers when you walked by the halls, knew about the backlash you'd no doubt receive.

But did you care? Of course not.

They didn't know him like you did, the true hero underneath all those glares and empty threats, the hero you hopelessly fell in love with.

You smile up at him, the two of you reaching the classroom in a matter of seconds, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I would choose you all over again if I could."

He studies your expression for a moment, gaze examining every pretty feature, trying to gouge any uncertainty behind those glossy orbs.

And once he finds absolutely nothing, his eyes snap away from yours, unsure of what to say, eventually clearing his throat as he reaches for the door handle.

The blonde didn't know why he got so tongue-tied every time you give him those eyes, full of love and devotion, so unapologetically open with your adoration while he's merely reduced to a flustered mess.

"You idiot..."

Unable to resist, he reluctantly gives your head a little pat, knowing you'd love nothing more then to receive some form of affection, a small exchange for your sentimental words, his own way of showing appreciation.

His own way of loving you.

You visibly brighten with newfound joy at his touch, smiling happily as you follow him inside, now with a little kick in your steps.

He didn't have to say anything else, you knew how he felt, especially when he continued to publicly defend you the next day... despite your continuous protests.

Because a few fights are nothing, after all, he'd win — every. damn. time. — anything for you, his choice in every lifetime.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

ᴀ/ɴ ||| hi my beautiful flowers! i'm sorry that i lowkey went MIA last week, i got massive writers block and went into hiding. but in that time i drew some mha fanart! and ofc i did bkg duhhhh, so stay tuned bc i might post it soon hehe... now time for me to go, plus ultra! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ ᴛᴀɢꜱ ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 @qyuin @sunnyalmighty (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

293 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 3 months ago

Text

Cranky doll

Summary: He’s getting on your nerves.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Grumpy!Reader

Warnings: sunshine & grumpy trope, cranky reader, language, a hint of naughtiness

Written for @yenzys-lucky-charm Cranky, Grumpy, Stabby! Oh, My! Challenge

Trope: Cranky + Stabby + Chaotic + Sleazy

Prompts: 🗡️ “Oh, what the fuck…” + 🗡️ “Stop talking.” + 🗡️ “I’m not smooth. I’m just trying to impress you. OK?” + 🗡️ "If you were a door I'd bang you."

You should have totally stabbed him.

I mean, he came to your bakery, uninvited, and it was almost the Ides of March—death to the patriarchy and shit.

You were never the one starting a fight, but you’re not a little miss sunshine either.

Steven Grant Rogers. Captain fucking America, dared to storm into your little world, demanding your attention, only to order you around.

All he did was tell you what not to do for almost half an hour.

“Don’t talk like that to people.” “You shouldn’t be angry and unfriendly all the time.” “A smile costs nothing.” “I know you’re not a bad person.”

You recall all the stupid things he said while standing in front of you, his hands on his ridiculously perfect waist.

While he talked, you took your time to look at him. Steve Rogers wasn’t too bad to look at. He had the looks and even carried a huge package in his pants, you were sure about it. – Talking about big-dick energy.

He lectured you for what felt like an eternity until you finally snapped.

“Oh, what the fuck…” You groaned loudly, stopping Steve from saying another stupid line. (You bet he memorized them all to lecture people here and there.) “Stop talking!” You harrumphed and glared at Steve. “I threw a cupcake at that bitch for telling me it tastes like old socks.”

“Exactly,” he said and nodded eagerly while pointing at the bitch standing a few feet away from you and Captain too-tight-pants. “We do not throw food at people in this town.”

You snorted. “Dude, I threw food at people all my life. If you come here, to my bakery and tell me my cupcakes taste like old socks, you will get punished. If anyone should hear your ass-long speech, it’s her. She refused to pay after wolfing down five cupcakes.”

“She ate five and refused to pay?” Steve turned his head to look at the bitch, who chuckled nervously. “Miss, is that true?”

“Well…at first I believed they taste good,” she lied to Captain fucking America’s face. “After I ate five, they started to taste odd.”

“It’s called food coma, bitch,” you snapped at her. “Pay or I’ll call the cops. Captain America won’t save you from my wrath.”

“Whoa, whoa—” Steve raised his hands to stop you from attacking the woman. “How about she pays for the cupcakes, and you apologize for throwing food at her?”

You gritted your teeth and glared daggers into his skull. If only you had a knife to stab his perfect face. “Free food.” You said instead of knifing him.

“What?” He asked.

“She got free food,” you repeated a little louder. “She should thank me for giving her another cupcake for free.”

Steve laughed at your comeback. Somehow, he liked your attitude and cranky personality.

“You’re something else,” he said, earning a grunt from you. “What if I pay for her cupcakes, and you can tell me everything about your bakery and the incident while we share a slice of cake?”

You hummed; eyes glued to his stupidly perfect face. “Smooth.”

“I’m not smooth. I’m just trying to impress you. OK?” He gave you a half-smile before turning toward the woman. “And you, pay for the cupcake and never come back here.”

You watched him grab the money from the woman and chase her away. Maybe, you didn’t have to stab him after all.

“You know,” you said when he handed you the money. "If you were a door I'd bang you..."

Steve looked flustered, but there was something in his eyes telling you he wouldn’t mind.

You locked the door, turning the little sign, telling everyone you’ll be busy for an hour – or in Steve’s words, all day…

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#Cranky doll #CrankyGrumpyStabby!#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you

386 notes · View notes

meet-me-backstage · 2 months ago

Text

༺ 🐑 ༻

𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ☼ Rancher!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ☼ You, a headstrong—bubbly ranch-hand, form a close bond with the reserved ranch-owner, Joel Miller, through two seasons of hard work, warmth, and unspoken longing. You leave to chase your dream, but circumstance brings Joel back into your life. A storm rolls over your land, something between you stirs—unresolved and waiting to burst.

𝑭𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇, 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ☼ a no outbreak au loosely inspired by Far From The Madding Crowd but it’s set in modern day/Texas, rancher!Joel (🥵), protective!Joel, grumpy x sunshine, bad language, light angst, mention of vomit & there’s blood after an incident with a hammer, age gap (reader is in her 20s & Joel is in his 50s), kinda slowburny, unresolved feelings (until they aren’t hehe), yearrrrrning and SMUUUUT so you must be 18+ to read this story‼️

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 ☼ 10.9K

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 ☼ bad language, mention of vomit & blood, ranch-owner!Joel, light angst, Joel being a little moody, smutty thoughts, allusion to female masturbation, Joel wearing glasses and unresolved feelings. I think that’s all for today folks.

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲! 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚 ‘𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 & 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨’ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! <𝟑

⇜ 🐑 ‘𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 & 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨’ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 🐑

The Texas sun pours over the hills like golden syrup, unhurried, draping the open land in a haze that shines with the sprightly sounds of spring. Wind ripples through the grass — a breath of the earth itself, bending the wildflowers, stirring the cottonwood trees to whispering.

Joel Miller stands at the edge of his field, one boot heel hooked over the bottom rail of a wooden fence, calloused hands resting on top. The brim of his hat shades sharp eyes, and beside him, George — his loyal old Border Collie — panting in the heat. The sheep are quiet today, specks of white scattered across the pasture, lazy under the sun.

It was shaping up to be another uninterrupted day on the ranch — just how Joel liked it.

That is until a horse appears at the ridge.

Joel’s brows furrow.

A rider — you — sprawled back-down across the broad back of a palomino mare, arms dangling like you were half-asleep. Your boots bounce with each step the horse takes. Sunlight catches on you, wild and free as the breeze. You look… peculiar — to say the least.

Joel narrows his eyes and mutters under his breath. “What in the hell…”

The mare picks her way down the slope, nimble and sure-footed, until you come into full view. You don’t move, staying stretched out — sunbathing. Joel straightens up, arms crossing as he waits.

When you are close enough, you slide off the side of your horse — an elegant sort of flump — and you land with a gasp.

“You Joel Miller?” You ask, brushing dust off your thighs. You are wearing a button-up shirt underneath denim overalls — donning a smile full of mischief.

“Depends who’s askin’,” Joel answers, voice gravel-smooth.

“I’m your new ranch hand.” You stick out a hand. “Well. Hoping to be.”

He blinks at you. Dumbfounded. Making no effort to lift his hand to shake yours. “You’re — lookin’ for work?”

“Mhm.”

“Don’t look like you’re hurtin’ for it.”

“I’m not. I’m just goin’ where the sun takes me, and it took me here.” Joel’s eyebrow quirks up in a sort of ‘don’t give me that bullshit’ sorta way. You awkwardly clear your throat, dropping your hand down to your side. “Fine — I might’ve seen your ad at Troy’s feed store. If you’re still lookin’ for help I’m handy with sheep, and I know my way around horses. Chickens, too, but I don’t take kindly to roosters.”

Joel’s mouth twitches upwards. “That a dealbreaker?”

“I think I can make an exception — just this once.”

You can see that he’s trying to keep up his mean facade, despite his amusement, by looking you up and down. “You ride like that all the time?”

“Only when it’s hot.” You giggle. “It’s the best way to soak up the sun without gettin’ saddle sore.”

He stares a moment longer, then sighs through his nose. George comes to sniff your boots.

You crouch and ruffle the dog’s ears with delight. “Who’s this handsome boy?”

“George,” Joel responds nonchalantly.

“Well hey there, George. You’re a good boy, huh?” You look up at Joel. “So, how ‘bout it? You gonna let me earn my keep?”

Joel hesitates, then nods. “Try not to scare the livestock.” So he has got a few jokes up those worn sleeves of a shirt that had clearly seen better days. The grass stains all over it are camouflaged by the green and red tartan pattern — it’s also littered with straw that had woven itself in the material.

You give a short, meek nod, then look out over the land like it is already yours to explore. “Looks like a fine place to stay a while.”

Joel doesn’t tell you that he’d forgotten he’d even put a goddamn poster up, that he only did it on a whim of loneliness—weakness… after a fleeting thought of how much easier it’d be if he had an extra pair of hands to help with the monotonous jobs that weren’t a waste of time, no, but took up a lot of time. He was adamant that nobody would dare actually come here anyway. Everyone local knew Joel Miller to be a man of few words—tough to negotiate with. He’d convinced himself that he had been just fine on his own out here… and now you show up, laying on your horse like some desert-wild myth… he isn’t certain the ranch will ever be so quietly empty again.

༺ 🐑 ༻

Your lodgings are small — clean. A cabin that Joel offered to you without much fuss, and you settled in like you’d lived there forever — unpacked a saddlebag full of tattered notebooks, a harmonica, and a few jars of preserves you’d bartered from the last place you worked.

By your second day, George was following you around like a pup. Joel saw, bemused, as the dog would nudge your leg until you gave him a fuss. You talked the dog’s floppy ears off. Truth be told, you talked to everything as if it might talk back — the chickens, the wind, your horse, the rusted tools in the barn.

“I think this shovel’s got a mean streak,” you said one morning, examining a fresh blister on your palm. “Keeps tryin’ to teach me a lesson I don’t wanna learn.”

Joel, beside you, chuckled low under his breath and kept stacking fenceposts.

You turned at the sound. “Did you just — laugh, Mr Miller?”

“Nope.”

“You so did.”

“‘M not gonna make a habit of it — trust me,” he muttered, voice dry as cedar.

You grinned and kept talking. You talked about the constellations you used to track while sleeping under the stars near San Angelo.

“You ever just pack up and ride?” you asked him once too, while the two of you leaned against the fence at sunset, watching the light fade orange and pink over the sheep. “No plan, no map?”

“Why would I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Joel shifted his weight. “Land needs keepin’. Animals need feedin’. That kind of freedom don’t come easy.”

You were quiet a second. Then you smiled, wistful. “Don’t come easy, but it comes — you just gotta let it.”

He didn’t say anything, but then the next morning, he noticed the sunlight catching in your hair when you leaned over the water trough, the way your lips curved around each word when you talked to your horse, the nurturing tone of your voice when you thought no one was listening.

Joel was though.

༺ 🐑 ༻

By the second week, Joel had learned three things about you.

One: you really did not stop talking. Not in an obnoxious way—just constant, your voice naturally one of the many sounds of the ranch. Like wind through grass, or the ‘baas’ of sheep. You filled the silence the way sunshine fills a room, uninvited but welcome.

Two: you worked like hell. Stubborn, proud, reckless at times. You’d hoist feed bags bigger than you should, would chase stray lambs clear across the pasture without thought. You cursed under your breath when a horse stepped wrong, and you sang while shoveling out the barn.

And three: you loved this place like it was yours already. Spoke to the land like an old friend. Walked it barefoot occasionally, liking the feel of the earth under your soles. “Grounds me,” you admitted, squinting at a storm cloud on the horizon. “Reminds me I’m as real as that storm approachin’.”

Joel was beginning to wonder if he was more real when you were around, too. Not just a ghost wading through his land in solemn solitude.

You still weren’t quite sure what to make of Joel Miller.

He wasn’t rude, not exactly. Just moody — the equivalent of a thunderstorm stuck behind a mountain. You were his opposite — all bubbles and chatter, full of questions and stories and observations… Joel barely answered them — keeping himself to himself, but he had sunken eyes that held so much — you could see that, but you settled for his nods, grunts, smirks — didn’t stop you from filling his silence either.

You told him about Dixie, your horse, who you’d had since she was a foal. About how your ma used to sing to you under the stars, and how your favorite color was the gold of wheat just before harvest.

Joel never asked, but he listened. He always listened.

Days on the ranch fell into rhythm.

Mornings started before the sun. You’d rise, hair loose and boots scuffed, coffee steaming in two tin mugs. George behind you as you made rounds—chickens first, then the sheep, then the slow inspection of the irrigation lines Joel had pieced together.

Together, you and Joel moved through fields, wind and dust on your horses. When the two of you rode out on the lake trail you let the land do the talking. Sometimes you’d catch him looking at you. Heat would flood your cheeks, and when that happened you had a habit of word vomiting… you rambled about your old jobs, the ones you didn’t mind and the ones you hated — then the first horse you ever broke—a gray roan named Myrtle with one blue eye and a spine of spite.

Joel never interrupted. Just let your words sink into him. He told himself it was easier to work while you talked—it kept his mind off the years creeping up on him.

Sometimes he’d catch himself listening too hard.

Like the morning you stood in the sheep pen with your boots soaked in dew, and announced, casually, as you had a sheep bundled in your arms while Joel sheared it. “One day I’ll have my own place. Not too big. Just mine. Some sheep. A few horses. Maybe a milk cow if I’m feelin’ brave.”

Joel’s stone heart jolted. He placed his spare hand over the organ to soothe the pain of your confession.

“Been savin’ for it since I was sixteen,” you added. “Every odd job, every penny tucked away. I’ve got a map, too. Marked the spots where I might buy. This land’s good, though. Yours.”

He clasped the shearers tighter. “It’s old land. Dry.”

“Dry’s not bad,” you mumble. “‘S long as you got lake Isabella.”

Joel didn’t trust his voice so he just grunted and focused on expertly removing the sheep’s fleece.

༺ 🐑 ༻

One evening, you were stacking hay, sweat slicking your neck, arms aching, when Joel came over with two homemade lemonades from lemons you’d picked from the lemon tree behind the ranch-house.

You blinked at him, surprised. “Well, look at you. Bringing gifts. That your way of sayin’ I’m doing a good job?”

He handed you a glass. “You haven’t scared the sheep off yet.”

You grinned, taking a large gulp. “My my - was that a compliment, Mr Miller?”

“You been doin’ good is all.” Joel leaned on the fence, looking out over the field where George was keeping a watchful eye on the sheep. The sky had turned that deepening blue that came just before stars began to poke through.

“Pretty night,” you stated absentmindedly.

Joel nodded.

You looked at him, sideways. “You ever dream of leavin’ this place?”

He thought for a while. Then: “Used to. Not so much now.”

You tilted your head in the manner of a curious puppy. “Why not?”

“I gotta keep this place goin’ for my pa — he put so much’o his time into it, wouldn’t want it all to go to waste — ‘s what he wanted too, f’me to take over after he passed. B’sides, I always liked this life for myself.” Joel looked at you — really looked — and then to the neon sky. “‘Nd — some things are worth stayin’ for.”

Your heart thudded. He didn’t say anything more, and you didn’t press. But you sat there with him, the glass of lemonade slipping due to the sweat forming in your palms.

༺ 🐑 ༻

As the months rolled by, summer deepened. The heat got lazier, the work no easier. But Joel changed. Slowly.

He started talking more.

Not a lot — never a lot. But you’d hear more of that voice, steady and warm like the crackle of a campfire — and you could never get enough of it. He told you about Sarah, his daughter, who was long gone. The ranch was no place for her big dreams — she got herself a job in the city and she was way too busy to give her dad a visit (he never complained about it though, he was too proud of her to ever do that, and figured it was no surprise that she didn’t make more time to travel over for days filled with tumbleweed and chores with her grumpy old man when she could be galavanting about the thriving streets and flashing lights with her friends).

You listened, and didn’t disturb. He heard you, and didn’t judge… he did tease you about how many words you managed to utter in a minute sometimes though, and you’d tease him right back for how few he uttered.

Sometimes you worked side by side in companionable silence. Sometimes he found himself asking you what you were rambling on about, just so you’d keep talking… something you thought he’d never do, not a man who appreciated the sound of silence more than anyone you’d ever crossed paths with.

༺ 🐑 ༻

You’re already in the barn by the time Joel shows up, working a brush through Dixie’s blonde mane.

“You’re early,” Joel announces his presence abruptly, stepping into the dusty light.

“You’re late,” you tease.

“Bullshit.”

You glance over your shoulder and grin toothily. “Gotta go check the lake trail - make sure it hasn’t dried out in all this heat.”

Joel pauses at that. “You goin’ alone?”

“I’ve done it alone before.”

“Not since June you ain’t. Trail might’ve — changed since then.”

Yeah, right — he internally convinces himself that his poor excuse was the truth and not because he’d rather bask in the glow of your rambling, or your humming as you rode Dixie, than to hear nothing but the melodious sounds of bird calls amidst dead silence while he worked alone.

You try not to read too much into the worry laced in his tone, like he’s afraid that if you go on your own you’ll never come back to him. You lift a brow. “You offerin’ to come with me?”

He meets your eyes for a second longer than he typically does when you’re looking at him. Then: “Saddle up Clint. I’ll get the rest o’ my gear.”

“Don’t forget the buckets!”

༺ 🐑 ༻

Clint’s steady gait set the pace, Dixie prancing beside him, hooves light and eager. Somewhere along the trail, Clint found a rhythm all on his own, and Joel let him drift ahead, leading the way through the hills and scattered trees that the stallion knew like the back of his hooves. You don’t mind. Not one bit.

Dixie snorts, flicking her ears as you lean forward, chest pressed against her neck, one hand resting easy on the reins. You start humming — low and tuneless, just something half-remembered from a childhood lullaby or maybe some old country radio song that always played in your granddaddy’s truck.

George sprints in front too, tongue lolling out, ears alert and tail wagging with contentment. Every now and then he checks you’re still following, then returns to his canine patrol up ahead, shadowing Joel’s horse like it’s his duty to protect you both from wayward jackrabbits.

Your eyes are on Joel’s back.

His denim shirt clings between his shoulder blades and he sits in his saddle like he’d been born in it — all quiet control, every movement economical, second nature. His hair catches the breeze now and then, and you gawk at the nape of his neck far longer than is proper. Not that propriety ever mattered much to you.

Your humming trails into a softer murmur, something half between singing and sighing.

Joel hears it— not just the hum, but something in it. Something that tugs at his attention. He pulls on Clint’s reins, slowing him until you come up alongside.

You straighten slightly in your saddle, but your tune doesn’t stop. Joel keeps his lips sealed. But you see his jaw relax, his eyes cutting sideways at you — just for a beat.

Maybe he doesn’t mind the noise, you wonder. In fact... maybe he likes it.

You keep humming — raising the volume a little.

The trail narrows into a small path through tall grass that sways in waves — a green-gold sea. Wildflowers paint the edges in smudges of bluebonnet and goldenrod. In the distance, the low sparkle of water waits — lake Isabella. The lake that kept Joel’s ranch thriving, the one nestled in a little valley like it didn’t want to be found.

The sun has risen higher now, drenching everything in pastel yellow. You can’t help stealing another glance at Joel — at the smooth slope of his nose from the side, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when George barks at a bird and runs even further down the path.

He catches you looking — of course he does.

He notices everything.

“You hum like the world ain’t botherin’ you.”

“That’s ’cause it ain’t,” you answer easily, twirling your pointer finger in Dixie’s mane. “Not when I’m out here. Not when it’s quiet and I’m not being told to hush.”

He gives a small nod, feeling a little guilty for all the times he’d begrudged you in the early days for disrupting the stillness of his ranch because you say it like you’d been told to hush many times — not by him, but by others.

“You don’t like quiet,” he assumes.

“I don’t like empty,” you correct. “But quiet, with the right people... that’s different. Quiet with you? That’s not so bad — I guess.”

Joel’s brow twitches. Not quite a smile, not quite a frown — just that thoughtful crease that meant he was chewing on your words like tobacco, letting them sit under his tongue until they softened.

And the truth is — he’s realizing it too.

That your noise isn’t just noise at all. It fills things… the barn — the long stretches of vibrant greens and yellows alongside outside noises he used to think peaceful, but now just feel hollow when your mouth is closed or you’re elsewhere.

He looks at you again.

You don’t look away.

You don’t need to. There is something about being on horseback under the big sky — the land stretching endless in every direction, the lake glittering a mile in front, George barking joyfully into the wind — it made everything feel simple—truthful.

“We’re close now,” you state, tapping Dixie’s reins.

Joel nods toward the break in the trees. “Mhm — ‘s just down there,” he confirms.

You rode the rest of the way side by side, your knee grazing his every so often when your horses drew too close, your humming quiet now, like a secret between the two of you. The kind of sound that would stick in his head hours later when he’d lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep.

༺ 🐑 ༻

Lake Isabella’s water stretched out like velvet under the sun. The surface is butter-smooth and shining, a perfect mirror of blue sky and swaying pines, dappled with the shadows of dragonflies dancing above it. A faint breeze rustles the grass, making your hair blow backward under your bandana. It smells like damp earth and wild mint.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“I thought it’d be dried up,” you murmur, sliding off Dixie with a soft grunt, boots landing in the grass.

Joel swings down beside you. He brings a hand up to block the sun from beaming into his eyes and squints toward the water. “Me too,” he sighs.

You glance back at him, raising an eyebrow. “You kinda sound disappointed.”

“I ain’t,” he murmurs. “Just relieved. Guess my mind went straight to the worst — ‘s been a while since we’ve come out this way.”

“It has,” you hum, recalling the last time you and Joel came here — how you gasped at the sight of the water, how you threw off your clothes until you were left only in your underwear and set a beeline straight for the lake. You remember running into it, the feeling of cold droplets of water splashing onto your feet, then your thighs until you were swimming in it, consumed by it while Joel just watched you floating at the surface from a distance… after he’d gotten over the initial shock at the sight of you happily frolicking about in the water half-naked instead of collecting it in the bucket he gave you (leading him to the realization that the whole reason why you came had gone through one of your ears and flown out the other)… He oozed a protectiveness that made you feel safe enough to do it, somehow you knew that if you suddenly forgot how to swim, he’d be diving in and saving you in a flash.

You also remember trying to persuade him to join you but to no avail. He seemed content enough just to vicariously enjoy it through you.

You walk towards the lake’s edge, grass tickling your legs, the air cooler near the water. The horses follow, their tails flicking lazily at flies.

“You ever swim in it?” you ask, crouching to run your fingertips through the shallows. The water is freezing cold—clear. You can see smooth pebbles lining the bottom.

“Years ago,” Joel admits. He and his little brother, Tommy used to take a dip many times before he left to set up his own contracting business. Last Joel heard from him was he’d found someplace for himself and his wife, Maria, to settle down and start a family. “Back when my bones didn’t click every five goddamn seconds.”

You glance over your shoulder. He’s standing a few feet back with his arms crossed and a wary look in his eyes, just as you suspected. You smile — slow, teasing. “You’ve still got it in you I’m sure.”

He grunts. “I ain’t twenty anymore.”

You slip off your boots, one by one, setting them neatly on a flat rock. “So?”

Joel narrows his eyes at you, but there’s no bite in it. “So what?”

You strip off your socks and your overalls, leaving you, once again, only in your bra and panties. Joel’s throat bobs up and down — awkwardly shuffling on his feet and suddenly finding his boots really interesting to look at. “Sooo are you always this uptight when there’s fun to be had in a perfectly good lake to swim in — especially when the sun is shinin’ down on us so nice?”

“You call this fun?” He mumbles, still avoiding eye contact with you — part of you wonders if he just doesn’t want to look at you, that he sees you only as his ranch-hand, a worker and nothing more.

“It is fun — clearly you thought so too once upon a time.”

He lets out a huffed laugh, shaking his head — you’d got him there.

“Georgie’ll join me then — won’t you, boy?” You glance down at the dog, as always he’s ready to be at Joel’s beck and call, but you notice his head tilting at the high pitched tone of your voice. “Won’t you, Georgie? You know you want to!” You keep beckoning the dog, bending over to pat your knees until you’ve cracked into his loyalty, his tail is wagging and he excitably barks before running in your direction, past you and catapults himself into the water. “That’s the spirit, boy!” You laugh, ignoring Joel’s grumbles under his breath about the smell of wet dog he’ll have to endure in his house later on.

“You gonna join us then or what, Miller?” You ask in a playfully serious tone, spinning on your heel to face Joel again and crossing your arms.

“Think I’m good just watchin’ from ‘ere—” his eyes subtly flicker down to your tits cupped so perfectly by your bra—your nipples poking at the thin fabric…he can’t help it, he internally curses at himself and looks elsewhere a millisecond later before his cock strains too uncomfortably in his jeans to ride back to the ranch… he’s already half-hard as it is, “if that’s er — alright with you.”

“Hm — suit yourself, scaredy cat.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re scared — duh.”

That gets him. His strong jaw ticks.

You feel the urge to soak yourself in the cool water before you melt into a puddle at Joel’s feet. You don’t wait. You step in — a sharp inhale at the cold, the bottom silty and soft beneath your feet. The lake swallows your ankles, then your calves. It jolts you awake. You go in deeper, up to your waist until… “Geronimooo!” You shout, copying Georgie’s movements and cannonballing into the lake.

The uncomfortableness of water bubbles invading your ears and the smacking sensation of water on skin becomes refreshing — addictive once you get used to the sudden drop in temperature. You kick your legs and flail your arms around at lightning speed til your head rises above the surface, causing an avalanche of water to splash not so elegantly as you’d have liked onto you and poor George (although he doesn’t seem to mind one bit). You blow raspberries and wipe the water away from your eyes to see Joel staring, “how was that?!”

He’s hardly moved a muscle — but his hands are on his hips now, the same stormy expression clouding his features — except there’s hint of something almost… fond. “Real nice, sunshine,” he answers, shaking his head and trying real hard to stop the smile pulling at his lips.

‘Sunshine’ — his sunshine — you could get used to that.

“Come on, Mr Miller!” You call.

He continues to observe you. His gaze heavy. Shy and confused even. You’re doing that thing again, having that effect on him — an unusual one that doesn’t come natural to him. He doesn’t know how to act — or what to do with the version of you in front of him: wet, laughing, alive — demanding he remember what it’s like to feel good.

“You’re gonna catch a cold.” He’s unbuttoning his shirt after that, drunk on the fumes of your lust for kicking back and enjoying the quiet life every once in a while.

You float—spreading your limbs—feigning nonchalance at how slowly his hands work down the buttons with practiced ease. You try not to stare at the way the muscles move under his skin, the hair peeking from the hem-line of his jeans and shirt-collar — or to picture those pale scars decorating his shoulders that you’d daydreamed tracing with your fingertips countless times. It’d become a habit of yours to not so discreetly ogle him as he, shirtless and soaked in sweat, worked on the fields with a pitchfork in hand… an image that also plagued your mind when you dipped your fingers in the wetness pooling between your thighs at night.

He peels off the shirt and tosses it onto the same sun-warmed rock you chucked your clothes onto. “Could you—” he clears his throat and you can’t see it from where you are but blood floods his cheeks, “could you — er — turn around f’me?” He gestures a circling motion with his pointer finger. You give him a bemused expression and a subtle side-smirk — he fights the urge to roll his eyes, “please?”

“Sure,” you shrug — saying it more to yourself than to him, swivelling so that you’re facing the tall line of trees looming at the opposite end of the large body of water. You distract yourself from the unbuckling sound of his belt and the grunt that leaves his lips when he chucks his jeans to the side.

The lake laps at his shins, then thighs, until he sinks down with a low hiss. “Christ—” he breathes, “alright — y’can turn back around now.”

When you’re face to face with him again you’re grinning from ear to ear.

He shoots you a look — one part irritation, two part proud exasperation that stems from his own disbelief that he’d actually done what you’d told him to. He runs a hand through his dark hair, slicking it back — the gray speckles in it twinkle, standing out more when it’s wet. He then shakes the water from his face with another grunt. “Bet you’re real proud o’ yourself, huh?”

“Shouldn’t I be?” You tilt your head, all innocent. “Got you to do what I said, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t get me to do nothin’. I was bein’… generous.”

“Never seen generosity look so much like defeat.”

“Don’t push it. Might start thinkin’ you enjoy bossin’ me around.”

“Who says I don’t?”

He wants nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off your lips right now. He can think of a few ways to, one being capturing your lips with his, the other being slowly — steadily feeding his thick cock into your mouth inch by inch until he’s balls deep. The latter he’s ashamed to admit to himself because he swore he wouldn’t succumb to the way his cock hardened—ached and his heart pounded, threatening to break out of his ribcage even at the faintest touch of your hand on his forearm.

Maybe his reasoning for hiring you had been selfish. Good company for a lonely man more than two decades your senior had hardly been a part of your resume but you were a quick learner, better and more dedicated than most ranch owners he’d met.

He swipes water in your direction and you dodge, laughing, spinning away. He smiles. A genuine one. Wide and crooked. It has a similar effect to the sun peeking out through clouds in fluorescent beams.

“You’ve got a pretty smile,” you confess. Breathless. Taken aback by your own boldness. You let your feet drift up behind you in the water.

“Shut up,” he chuckles, displaying his crow’s feet and dimples all the more.

You swipe some water, sending a small wave his way but, like you, he dodges and sends you an arrogant smirk. You instantly retaliate, bringing your arms out as wide as you can and sending a mega wave over him — another loud laugh leaves your lips. “Gotcha!”

“You’re gonna pay for that’,” he mumbles gruffly while he wipes at the water streaming down his face.

You meet his eyes, and it’s there — the hush, the weight of suggestion. The cheeky glint in his dark eyes is evident as his gaze drops to your mouth, then back up, trying to be discreet and failing miserably.

You’re so close now, so close that you can smell the whiskey on his breath that sat beside him last night on the porch while he strummed his acoustic guitar — you’d watched and listened from afar. The water is rocking you both toward one another. One more push and you’d be touching.

Then he swallows, clears his throat, and realization crosses his features at just how near you are to him. He examines the ripples around your body colliding with the ripples around his.

He splashes you.

You splash him.

It becomes a back and forth of crashing waves.

Both of your faces are scrunched up. Laughter bellowing from your mouths - it gets louder and more uncontrollable when George jumps inbetween you and Joel, bouncing and barking to catch mouthful after mouthful of water.

Joel wraps his arms around George, pulling the dog into his chest and messing up the black fur at the top of his head with his knuckles— he keeps going until the laughter fades into synchronized pants, coming out as rapid as the constant droplets of water falling from your chins back into the lake — back to where they belong.

“I’m gonna go — dry off. You comin’?”

You shake your head. “Think ‘m gonna stay here a little while longer.”

“Sure—” he nods, “I’ll wait.”

The moment slips as quickly as it comes. Joel turns his back to you and sheepishly glances over his shoulder, whistling for George to follow — but it’s not lost, just tucked away.

༺ 🐑 ༻

Joel peeks at you over Clint’s saddle before he pulls it off and hangs it over the stallion’s stall. You watch the roll of his shoulders as he goes to pick up his hammer.

“What’re you doin’ now?” you call after him.

He lifts a hand — a lazy wave, dismissive. “Just patchin’ that loose post by the feed pens. Won’t take five minutes.”

You frown. “You always say that.”

He glances back, mouth twitching. He tips his chin and disappears around the corner.

Five minutes, of course, becomes ten. Then fifteen.

༺ 🐑 ༻

An hour passed.

You find him fixing the eastern fence — the opposite end of where he said he’d be — his sleeves rolled up, sweat at his brow, hammer swinging with the precision of a man who’s done this kind of work for decades.

“You’re gonna wear yourself into the dirt,” you say as you approach, boots crunching through the grass — one of your favorite sounds.

Joel doesn’t look up. “Fence won’t fix itself.”

“I brought you water,” your eyes light up and Joel’s eyebrows quirk up a bit, briefly stopping his work to give you an expectant look, which you very quickly translate and add, “aaand some bacon for Georgie.”

That earns a satisfied noise from him. He sets the hammer down long enough to take the water from your hand, fingers brushing yours. Fleeting. Rough. Enough to make the area where they touched to buzz and your stomach to flip.

He drinks, then tips the bottle toward you in a silent ‘thank you’.

You lean on a fence post that Joel had already fixed after dropping the bacon strips onto the ground in front of George’s white-socked paws. You give his head a pat, to which he looks up at you with those big brown eyes — his nose twitches curiously at the treats, then he eats them all in one quick bite. Your eyes feast on the land — a visual lullaby. The sheep are grazing on the freshly cut grass in the field, a picturesque front with the perfect orangey lighting above it.

Bang!

A groan.

Another bang.

Another groan.

A call and response.

“You’re not the only one around here who can swing a hammer y’know — let me help,” You offer, your hands on your hips.

Joel grunts. Keeps hammering.

You arch a brow. “That your way of sayin’ I can help? Or your way of tellin’ me to go do one?”

He glances at you again, squinting against the light. His voice comes as dry as he likes his whiskey — although you don’t miss the amused undertone in it: “Figure if I ignore you long enough, maybe you’ll stay still for once.”

Joel’s arm raises for another swing when you stride right up to him and, without ceremony, snatch the hammer right out of his hand.

He blinks, caught off guard. “The hell are you doin’?”

“Taking over.” You flash him a challenging grin. “You’ve been at this for aaages. Those poor old arms o’ yours need a break.”

“They’re not even tired.”

“Well, mine aren’t either,” you shoot back, already turning toward the fence. “And I’m not made of glass.”

Joel exhales through his nose and takes a step back, arms folding across his broad chest, watching you with that tight-lipped look he gives when he’s debating whether or not it’s worth arguing.

“Y’ever fixed a fence before?” he asks.

“I’ve watched you fix a fence. Same thing.”

“That’s not—” He stops. Shakes his head. “Alright. Go on, then.”

You set your boot against the bottom rail and lean in, pressing a nail into the cracked board with your thumb and holding it steady.

“You’re holdin’ that nail too close.”

“I know how to hold a damn nail,” you mutter, lining up the hammer.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t push you any further, though you kinda want him to — he’s so hot when he’s irritated.

You start rambling as you raise your arm, your voice half teasing, half stubborn: “Back home, I fixed a chicken coop by myself with nothing but a bent screwdriver and an old tire iron. I think I can handle one busted fence board.”

The hammer swings.

Your hand slips.

WHACK!

You go still for a second, blinking down at your hand in shock.

Then: “Goddamn—SHIT!” You drop the hammer with a clatter and double over your hand. “Shit. Shit. Shit. That’s not— that’s not good — you didn’t — you didn’t see that.”

You try to hide it but Joel is already at your side.

He crouches, hands reaching for yours, but you pull away instinctively, cradling your pinky finger.

“Lemme see,” his voice calm but firm.

“I’m fine.” You insist at the same time you’re desperately sucking back the tears pooling in your eyes.

“Uh huh — sure — you know I might’ve actually believed you if you hadn’t been swearin’ loud enough to scare the sheep halfway to fuckin’ Tahiti.”

“I hit it one time. It’s just a little throbby.”

“A little — throbby?” His brow lifts. “Tell that to your little finger.” He gives you a warning glare, “let me see.”

You hesitate, biting the inside of your cheek, and reluctantly offer him your hand. Joel takes it carefully, tilting it so that it’s facing the light.

Blood wells beneath your nail, a bruise already blooming.

He whistles low. “You got one helluva swing, sunshine — I’ll give you that.”

“Oh will you shut up,” you bicker. The mixture of the pain pulsing, your blood boiling over your face and the vulnerability of being under your mentor’s scrutinizing stare frustrates you all at once.

A forced chuckle leaves Joel’s lips. “‘S rich comin’ from the girl who ain’t shut up in her whole goddamn life,” the words spill out like the punch-line of a joke. Unconscious. Harmless. He’s too busy exploring every minuscule detail of your pinky finger to notice that his joke had fallen flat.

You scowl. You’re so fired up that you’re sure there are flames in your eyes and you have to look away — anywhere but at the man whose kind touch contradicted his harsh words, sending your brain into a spiral. “You’re such an asshole,” you whisper — tutting when a tear you’d been too weak to hide trails down your cheek, following the line by your mouth.

Sweet George whines at the same time you sniffle.

Joel finally glances up at you, doing a double take when he sees your glossy eyes. “Hey—” he instinctively reaches up to wipe the tear away, but before he can you do it yourself, messily smearing it with your unharmed hand. “Was just a stupid joke — didn’t mean nothin’ by it, darlin’ — ‘m just impressed you didn’t take your whole damn hand off.”

That pulls a small, forced chuckle from you — it’s better than nothing.

It’s enough for him to resume playing doctor.

He presses lightly on your knuckle, and you instantly hiss through your teeth. “Fuck.”

Joel winces with you. “Yeah, alright. You’re officially banned from fence duty for forever. I tol—”

You shoot him a glare. “I swear I’ll stick that hammer where the sun don’t shine if you start with the ‘I told you so’ bullshit,” you do your best, most moody impression of him.

He stops himself.

At first his cheeks are puffed up, holding in a laugh, but the amused glint in his eyes fades. Instead he looks at you with that unreadable expression — the one in-between stern and soft.

“You don’t gotta prove anything to me — y’hear?” he speaks quietly, only loud enough for you to hear.

You avoid his eyes. He can see that you’re still trying to mask the pain in your finger with a nibble of your bottom lip. “Didn’t realize I was trying.”

Joel doesn’t call you out on the blatant lie.

He just sighs. “C’mon. I got a kit at the house. Let’s get you patched up before you start swingin’ at nails with your other hand.”

You roll your eyes, but when he offers you his hand, you take it.

༺ 🐑 ༻

He leads you back to his ranch-house, his grip on your hand loose but steady, thumb unconsciously brushing your palm every now and then.

You don’t speak.

You let the silence speak.

Joel’s ranch-house is simple but attractive in that weather-worn way. White siding, the paint sun-faded and chipped in spots. Blue shutters frame the windows, cracked and dulled from summers spent in relentless heat. A wide porch wraps around the front, a table and rocking chair sitting idle on one end, a coiled rope and muddy work gloves forgotten on the other.

The screen door creaks open under the hand not holding yours… but to your dismay he drops it anyway to hold the door open. You falter for half a second, then step inside.

The air shifts when you cross the threshold. You’d never stepped foot in his house — you never expected to either.

It’s cooler, darker, and stiller than outside. The scent of tobacco lingers in the walls, mingled with old leather, woodsmoke, and something distinctly Joel. Not cologne, but a combination of pine, earth and coffee beans.

The floors are hardwood, the constant tread of boots visible on them. A runner rug stretches down the hall — its edges frayed. The warm yellow walls are lined with shelves and framed photographs. Most of the furniture is handmade, solid and practical: a sturdy kitchen table with mismatched chairs, a worn leather couch in the next room with a crocheted blanket slung over one arm, and a wood-burning stove tucked into a corner, its iron belly long gone cold.

What draws your eye are the details — the kind of things Joel keeps close to his chest.

There’s an old horseshoe nailed just above the front door’s frame — a stack of old mail held down by a half-carved piece of antler and a row of boots sits to the side of it — Joel’s, a smaller pair that must’ve been Sarah’s once, and a third pair with soles holding onto the rest of the boot for dear life. In one corner, a tall shelf holds paperbacks with cracked spines: westerns, survival manuals, some old copies of Thomas Hardy novels.

On the mantle above the fireplace are family photos — Joel, younger, less gray, his arm around a girl who looks just like him. It must be Sarah. They’re smiling — love written all over Joel’s face, captured even in stillness. Another one shows the pair with Tommy — the trio sitting on a gingham blanket, plates full of barbecue and coleslaw, George as a puppy sitting between them with a floppy ear over one eye. One of Sarah sitting atop a horse with her arms spread wide. The last is of Joel with an older couple — his parents maybe — standing in front of this very ranch-house. The exterior’s walls looked to be freshly painted. It looked like a house where loud laughter was a given.

You don’t realize you’re smiling til Joel’s voice pulls you back to present time.

He’s carrying a dented green metal box in one hand and a damp cloth in the other.

“I said sit.”

You drop onto the wooden chair belonging to the dining table that Joel had already pulled out for you.

Joel is standing tall before you, staring down intensely — your breath hitches — he then kneels so that he’s almost eye level with you and pats your bare knee — your heart pounds so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

“Give your hand over.”

You lay your hand out palm-side up, settling it so that your injured pinky is rested on your kneecap. “You don’t have to make—” you gulp, “such a fuss.”

“My hammer — my problem,” he has a deadpan expression on his face when he says it.

When he takes your hand in his and turns it over again so that he has a clearer view of your injury — you brace for the sting, but he’s handling you with so much care, it never comes.

He holds your hand like it’s made of porcelain, cleaning the cut with the cloth first, wiping away the blood in slow circles. His brow furrows in concentration as he works, mouth pressed into a line like he’s angry at the wound, at the hammer, at himself. “You shouldn’t’ve grabbed it from me like that,” he mutters.

“I just wanted to help.”

“I know.” His jaw tenses. “Still.”

You flinch when he accidentally brushes a sore nerve under your fingernail a tad too quickly.

“Sorry.”

“‘S okay,” your voice small. “You’re — good at this.”

Joel snorts, “that’s ‘cause this ain’t my first rodeo — had to do stuff like this for my little brother all the time — myself too.” Part of you wishes you had been here then to nurture Joel’s wounds, to have the excuse to carefully touch his cuts and bruises. He briefly glances up at you before continuing to attentively tend to you like one of the lambs he’d helped deliver this spring. “Doubt it’ll be my last either — with you around,” he adds fondly, not minding the likely possibility at all — in fact, he welcomes it.

You don’t answer back, which is unlike you, but Joel thinks he knows why.

His spare hand blindly searches for the bandages messily in the first aid kit — it frustrates you to watch it so you grab it yourself with your spare hand, passing it to him. “Thanks.” He eyes you briefly, then works the bandage slowly, wrapping the gauze around your pinky, anchoring it in place with light tugs. When he’s done he smooths his thumb over the edge of the wrap, once, twice—then doesn’t let go right away.

You’re watching him closely — admiring the low light spilling through the curtains catching in his irises, the odd gray hair in his patchy beard, the worry lines etched deep in his brow. His lashes are thick, casting pretty shadows under his eyes. His mouth is ajar.

Joel’s in the midst of having an internal battle between two parts of himself — the part that refused to acknowledge the truth and the other, which wanted you to achieve your dreams — no matter the cost for him… losing you. “You’re gonna be real good at it, y’know.”

You blink. “At what?”

He swallows, jaw tensing before he looks up at you fully—honestly. “Runnin’ your own ranch.”

Your face breaks out into the toothiest grin he thinks you’ve ever given him, causing his heart to palpitate. “You think?”

“I know.” he states assuringly. “Ain’t just the work you put in. Though that’s plenty. ‘S the way you really live ‘nd breathe this way of livin’. The way you talk to the animals like they talk back. The way you take care in noticin’ every little thing about the land — like where the creek bends, which field dries fastest, how the clouds hang when a storm’s comin’.”

Warmth rises to your cheeks, and a pain that only Joel can heal twists in your chest.

“You ain’t ever needed to prove anythin’ to me—” He gently sets your hand back down on your thigh. “This work comes natural to you.”

You don’t even think about it before you're moving. It’s not calculated or careful. It’s just instinct. You lean forward and wrap your arms around him. Joel stiffens under your touch for all of half a second, not at all expecting it — or for him to embrace it as quickly as he does — no one’s touched him like this in a long, long time. He exhales — slow and deep — and he melts into you — blaming it on the infectious toothy grin that drew him in before you physically pulled him in.

“Thank you, Mr Mill—”

“Joel.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

His arms come up around you, folding across your back in that strong, protective way that makes you feel like the world could completely fall apart and you’d still be safe, in his arms. One hand curls around your shoulder, the other presses against the back of your ribs, his thumb sliding slowly up and down your spine like he’s memorizing the shape of you — just in case your dream comes true sooner rather than later… afraid that you’ll vanish any second.

You do the same — resting your cheek against his shoulder, breathing him in — sweat and the subtle scent of soap that had lingered from his morning shower. There’s a beat of silence where neither of you speaks. The world shrinks down to the slow rise and fall of your chests, the creak of the old floorboards under your boots and the distant hum of cicadas through the open window.

“Dinner’s on me tonight, sunshine.”

༺ 🐑 ༻

When the summer began to wane, the light changed. A richer gold — anticipating longer nights.

You started spending more time with your notebooks, sketching land plots, scribbling numbers. You showed Joel your map, interrupting his daily morning ritual consisting of coffee and reading on the porch.

“This one’s up for sale. It’s rough land. But I think I can make it work.” You peeked curiously at the man through your eyelashes, “what d’you think?”

Joel flicked his glasses down from the top of his head, the pads nestling over the tiny scar across the bridge of his nose. He squinted, studying it longer than he needed to. “It’s good dirt. Clay base, though. Think you’ll need someplace with better irrigation.”

“Hm—” you nodded in agreement. “Thought you might say that — maybe you’re right.” Or maybe you wanted to delay your search a little while longer — what was the harm in that?

He wanted to say ‘don’t go’.

He wanted to say ‘stay’.

He resorted to: “don’t worry — you’ll find somewhere that ticks all the right boxes.”

You nodded with pursed lips.

And when you walked off to feed the chickens, humming again, he realized the worst thing wasn’t that you would be leaving one day.

It was that he’d gotten used to you staying — he’d forgotten what it was like not to have you around… and he didn’t want to remember.

༺ 🐑 ༻

The first time you told Joel the land was yours, it wasn’t even yours yet.

You’d just come in from checking the south fence line, dust all up your legs, a ribbon of sweat down your spine, George following you — your second shadow. He loved you as much as he loved his owner — maybe even more, but you’d never tell Joel that. You dropped the newspaper on the porch table between you and Joel, who barely looked up from sharpening his knife.

“There,” you said, pointing. “That one. ‘S mine.”

He glanced at the listing through his glasses.

‘Twenty acres. River access. Needs clearing.’

Joel leaned back in his chair. “Bit wild, ain’t it?”

“Yeah but — that’s what makes it mine I think.”

He didn’t smile, but his eyes lingered on your face. “You’re — serious about it — this land?”

“Yup,” you pop the ‘p’ with a sure nod of your head. Determined and unwavering. “This one’s the one.”

Joel was stuck in his usual state of silence — except he didn’t want to be, he wanted to bust out of it and just tell you how he felt about you — he couldn’t though, not when he was so adamant you didn’t feel the same way. The birds sang high in the cottonwood trees. George was already snoring beside him, tail twitching — probably dreaming of herding sheep or his first litter of puppies. You were too excited — too distracted with thoughts of fence lines, soil testing and crop cycles you could try out on your land to feel the coldness radiating from Joel.

The closer your dream came, the more the silence stretched between you.

You’d still talk of course—about feed, about the horses, about the weird habits of sheep—but the quiet between words grew heavier than Joel’s Texan drawl. His hands lingered when he passed you tools. His sad eyes held yours for what felt like an eternity when the wind blew hair across your cheek.

He couldn’t say anything.

Neither could you.

༺ 🐑 ༻

The night you told him you’d be leaving before sunrise, he cooked dinner again.

You watched him move back and forth from the kitchen countertops and the porch table with bowls of food stacked on his forearms. By the time he’d finally lugged it all outside and sat himself down opposite you on his rocking chair, holding two empty plates, you were salivating, having had to endure the delicious mixture of smells invading your nostrils for way too long — you’d offered to help but he insisted you stay put on the chair he’d brought out for you. “What’s with the all you can eat?”

He handed you a plate without meeting your eyes — whether it was on purpose or not you didn’t know but you don’t question it. “‘S a special occasion, ain’t it?” The words come out cold. Distant.

“Guess it is.”

The two of you stayed on the porch afterward, your plates still balanced on your knees long after you’d finished eating — George laid on his back, his head on Joel’s feet and his tail on yours. The moon was a sliver in the sky — promising change.

“I’ll miss this,” you admit.

Joel stared out across the dark pasture. “What part?”

“All of it.” You timidly glance at him. “Mostly the lake — the animals — Clint — George… The quiet.” What you wanted to add was ‘you’.

He gave you a half-hearteded amused look, patiently waiting for you to say more… you don’t. “You’re the one who breaks it every ten minutes.”

You giggled, but then your voice softened to a mumble. “Yeah — but you don’t mind.”

“No,” he confirmed, nervously shifting in his chair — discreetly admiring the way you beautifully blend into your surroundings — into his land. “I don’t.”

You’d guessed as much, but he’d never said it. The solidarity of his words linger dangerously near your heart… you had to go before you did anything reckless.

༺ 🐑 ༻

Joel Miller’s ranch had been the closest thing to belonging that you’d known in a long time. But it was never meant to last.

Joel told himself over and over again last night as he tossed and turned in his bed, that if it was what you wanted, he had to accept it and let his dedicated ranch-hand, his companion — his sunshine — go.

He had to let you go.

What he didn’t know was that you would’ve stayed — would’ve given into your silly little crush on your boss — without a doubt — if your bones weren’t already pointed somewhere else. If you hadn’t always imagined yourself in a place of your own making, hands in your own soil, sky pressing down on your own roof.

You wake up at sunrise just as you’d told Joel you would, and make your way to the stable straight away. You pre-packed your things before you slept. You didn’t want a fuss or farewell — your eyes were already sore from crying… but the large entrance door creaks as you push through — and there he is. Joel. Slouching against Dixie’s stall with George at his heel, like he’d been waiting for you for hours.

“Didn’t think you’d try to leave without sayin’ goodbye,” he speaks, his voice raspy from sleep, or maybe a lack of it judging by his bloodshot eyes.

You look down, awkwardly bouncing on your feet. “I’ve only been here half a year — I just — didn’t think you’d — care all that much.”

“I care more than you think.”

His words freeze you, forcing you to face him.

There is a wooden crate by his feet. It shakes.

He clears his throat, sheepishly following your eyes until they land on the same wooden crate. “I er — brought somethin’ for you.”

Inside, burrowed in a gingham blanket, is a puppy. A Border Collie. All fluffiness and black and white fur, ears too big for her head, a tiny pink nose and bright brown eyes… trusting and kind. Warm too — just like honey when the sun hits them… just like Joel’s. They’re blinking sleepily up at you.

“She’s one o’ George’s,” Joel tells you. “Only female o’ the litter. She’s adventurous ‘nd stubborn as hell — already caught her runnin’ around the sheep’s pastures... reminded me o’ you in the early days.”

You’re rendered speechless. You kneel and lift the crate—she pops her head up—her paws dangling over the crate’s edge. She jumps at you—her heartbeat quick and strong against your chest. She whines, then nestles into the crook of your arm.

You’re her human and she knows it.

“I ain’t named her,” he adds. “Figured you should have that job.”

“Thank you so much, Joel,” you drag your eyes away from the cutest sight you’ve ever seen.

He shifts his weight and nods. He looks out over the fields, then back at you. “‘S nothin’ — thought you might appreciate havin’ a little company on your travels. B’sides, you really oughta have a sheepdog — can’t be ownin’ a ranch full’a sheep without one.”

“No—” You take a baby step toward him. “I mean — yes — thank you for Juno — but also for — everythin’ else.”

“Juno?” He scoffs. “Like the goddess?”

You shake your head with a soft laugh. “Nah not the goddess or the Sabrina Carpenter song. Juno was the name of this old pickup truck — which I did name after the goddess. I learned to drive back when I was fifteen. The truck belonged to a neighbor who let me run errands on his land. It always rattled like crazy and smelled like oil, but it never broke down. She was tough and went through every kind of weather without complainin’—”

“Hang on.” Joel’s blinks, his face blank — he huffs a chuckle. “You’re namin’ the puppy after a damn truck?”

You playfully roll your eyes, scratching behind the puppy’s ear — she yawns. “Not just any truck. The first thing that ever gave me a taste of freedom. Pretty fittin’ if you ask me.”

“Hm. Juno,” he repeats with an approving nod.

The silence that follows is unusually awkward. Thick with brooding tension—more unspoken words that hadn’t found their way out, no matter how long they’d sat on the tongue. You don’t try to fill it either—not with your usual chatter that Joel is craving to hear — not even with a joke to lighten the mood. It isn’t the time for it.

You turn your back to him after reaching down to pet George, bidding him a hasty farewell before he starts whining, knowing you’ll never leave if he does. You step toward Dixie, already saddled and waiting — Joel must’ve done it for you. The mare bucks her head as you approach.

You can feel Joel watching behind you.

The way your shoulders squared like armor—like if you stayed strong enough, you could ride through this and not look back. There is dust on your coat and mud on your boot heel—details so mundane, so ordinary… they gut him now.

You aren’t graceful in the way movies make women look on horseback—you are better than that. You’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen—known. You’re solid. Real — you move like you’ve adjusted reins and cinches a thousand times. Who’s weathered storms, heartbreak and uncharted land. Who’s clawed her way toward a future built on the backbone of sheer grit. And he’d had the privilege of seeing it—every inch of it.

You mount Dixie, settling Juno back in her crate and comfortably in your lap.

You’re ready to ride out into the horizon.

Joel isn’t, however — not quite.

“You sure this is what you want?”

“It’s not about want,” you answer, just above a whisper. “It’s about need.” You bounce in the saddle, fingers fiddling with the reins — more to steady yourself than Dixie. “I need to know I can do this. On my own.”

Joel’s teeth clenched. His eyes dropped to the dirt, then rose again, and for a moment he looked like he might say nothing at all. Like he’d let you ride off just like that.

But then—

“Any chance you’d — stay?” His voice full of hope. “Here. With me.”

The question hits you—a kick to the ribs. You stare at him, heart thundering in your ears. “Joel…”

“I know it’s selfish,” he adds, almost defensively, taking a hesitant step to Dixie’s side. “I know you’ve worked so damn hard for this dream. Hell, I watched you bleed for it. So I ain’t askin’ to take that away. I just—” He stops himself, fists balled in his jacket pockets. “Just don’t want to let you go without askin’.”

Your throat constricts. You can’t breathe — seeing him look so sure and unsure. Like he really wants to have the strength to let you go, but has crumbled and is begging you to stay. “I — I can’t.”

“But would you — if it wasn’t about needin’?”

“I’d stay.” The two words he needed to hear. You look down — away. Feeling so exposed. Vulnerable. “Please don’t hate me.”

“I could never hate you.” It damn near breaks him to hear you say something like that. It breaks you when you hear him sniffle too — but before you can start sobbing all over again — before you can shatter and scatter into pieces in front of him, Joel reaches up and encases your hands with his — holding you together.

You dreamily gaze at his thumbs caressing over your fingers—accidentally prodding Juno too, who licks his hands incessantly—causing both you and Joel to erupt in harmonious, shaky laughter.

“I’ll write you,” you promise.

He gives your hands a tender squeeze. “You better.”

You share one last look—one last moment to stash away for keeps. Then you click your tongue, nudging Dixie forward — Joel’s hands slip from yours back down to his sides at the same time a tear falls… you don’t see it.

You rode off, heart heavy but certain, leaving behind the man who has come to mean more to you than you ever intended. You don’t look back — but when the fence line and the ranch-house are shrinking with the distance put between you — only then, just once, do you turn in the saddle. Joel is frozen on the spot — watching with tears blurring his eyes as you disappear into the dust like someone who’d just watched the sun set for the last time.

“So long, sunshine.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨 ⇝

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 (𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞) 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆!!!!! 𝐈𝐭'𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 <𝟑

𝐒𝐨 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 ‘𝐅𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝’ 𝐛𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈’𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥 𝐎𝐚𝐤 (𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐨)... 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐨𝐮𝐭 — 𝐈’𝐦 𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 (𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞??? 𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐭).

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 ‘𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 & 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨’ 𝐨𝐫 ‘𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫’ 𝐭𝐚𝐠-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ↯

𝑂𝑓 𝐷𝑢𝑠𝑡, 𝐷𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑠 ＆ 𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑜

@dugiioh @monicasblues @millennialeldar @urlivingdeadgirl @julesispunk

𝐽𝑜𝑒𝑙 𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟

༺ 🐑 ༻

284 notes · View notes

bluemotifofsleep · 3 months ago

Text

✮ Good things CUM, to those who wait! ✮

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

satoru gojo x fem! reader

MDNI!

Content: smut, fingering, orgasm denial, p-i-v sex, plot what plot, porn without plot, reader is depraved in this, but tbh so is satoru, horny idiots in love, fluff, satoru is a tease

likes, comments and reblogs appreciated!

-—— ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ——-

with a growl of frustration, your arms flop tiredly next to you in defeat. your chest heaves in exertion and irritation, the high you’ve been chasing for what feels like hours now drifting away from you for the nth time, like a hundred dollar bill in a gust of wind.

so annoying.

and no, your annoyance isn’t directed at your weak wrists or the insistent cramp in your left calf, but at the true cause of your inability to get off;

satoru gojo.

because truly, before you started dating him, you could rub one out when you needed to just fine. something you really, really wish you could do right now.

fucking asshole.

your phone chimes next to your head on the mattress, the sound overstimulating in your irritated state. you check your screen only to find a notification from- hm, the asshole himself. shocker.

man-child <3:

- hey, baby! you didn’t forget about movie night, did you? :(

you jolt upright from your sprawled, defeated position on your bed, glancing at the time in the corner of your screen.

ugh. you totally had forgotten. you’d had a shit day at work dealing with grumpy costumers and in your haste to relieve the tension, the plans with your boyfriend had totally slipped your mind.

pookie-pants <3:

- of course i didn’t. when are you heading over?

a lie but a necessary one at that, because if he knew you’d forgotten about him he’d go on some tangent about how all your time is used up by work and that you “should really just let me pay the bills, sweetheart.”

honestly, as you wipe away stray hairs stuck to your sweaty forehead, it’s getting harder to say no to that idea.

man-child <3:

- great! omw! :D

you sigh and roll out of your bed, the dull ache in between your thighs persistent and uncomfortable, souring your mood further. if that was even possible, at this point.

you feel icky and gross, the tension in your body causing a shaky tremor in your movements. what you really need, is a cold shower to get rid of the residual heat from your pathetic masturbation attempts. something to jolt you out of the haze clouding your thoughts.

but you don’t have enough damn time before satoru arrives.

your apartment is kind of a mess. your alarm hadn’t gone off that morning so in your haste to get out the door on time, clothes had been thrown on the floor and dishes still remained in the sink. honestly, the whole day had been a mess from the start, all adding to the annoying buzz under your skin that an orgasm would have eradicated.

if your stupid boyfriend and his talented fingers hadn’t ruined you, of course.

it’s all his fault, you think as you toss dirty clothes in your hamper, doing a half-assed job of making your apartment look less like a bomb went off.

you should have known the second he sunk those long, dexterous fingers into you that very first time, that you were fucked from the start. your stupid, traitorous body was spoiled now, turning a prissy nose up at your pathetic attempts to relieve stress when it knew just how good satoru could make you feel.

he can never know- just the thought has you shuddering while you slide washed dishes into the dry rack. he’d never let you live it down, if you told him he was the only person, including yourself, who could make you cum.

with the disturbing thought on your mind, you don’t even notice that he’d let himself in with the spare key he’d outright demanded he have. “it’s for protection, baby! what if you hit your head in the shower or something and i’m locked out of your apartment, unable to rescue my sweet, sweet girlfriend?” you’d known it was a stupid justification then just as much as you know now that it’s an excuse to break in whenever he wanted to and scare the living shit out of you.

just like he does now- you jump out of your skin with a squeak when warm palms descend down onto your shoulders, and he’s fucking lucky you don’t have a plate in your hand or you most certainly would have broken it over his head.

“oh, sorry baby. didn’t mean to scare you.” and even if you didn’t already know him well enough to know that’s not true, the smug grin on his face would have given him away. he just loves to watch your body react to his presence, even if it’s through scaring the shit out of you.

freak.

“sure you didn’t, asshole.” you shimmy his hands off your shoulders, ignoring the pout he sends you to dry your hands on a dish towel.

“awww, what’s got you in such a mood today?”

pfft. he doesn’t know the half of it.

“don’t worry about it. did you pick a movie yet?”

said movie is lost on you, the plot going in one ear and out the other as you sit on the couch in your boyfriends lap where he- of course- demanded you sit.

you’re trying- really, you are- not to squirm. but, listen, you’d just spent the better part of an hour essentially edging yourself with no pay off, so with satoru’s warm breath on the side of your neck and his large palms squeezing your thighs, it’s virtually impossible to sit still.

it’s crazy, you feel closer to an orgasm now than you had with your own fingers inside you just half an hour ago, and he’s barely even touching you.

the though makes you scowl, and you know that you have to try your best not to let him notice your flustered state or you’ll be found out for sure, because the sheer amount of slick you must be pouring into your underwear right now has to be unusual, even for you.

of course, your stupid six-eyed boyfriend notices anyway despite your desperate attempts at keeping still, like he always does.

and of course, he’s going to make you suffer, anyways. like he always does.

lazily, almost passing as just an attempt to get more comfortable, he shifts his hips underneath you, grinding his clothed cock right against your thin sleep shorts, right against your overly-sensitive clit begging for stimulation. your lashes flutter shut and your head tips sideways onto his shoulder as you bite your cheek hard enough to taste blood to keep from making any noise.

satoru smirks, because he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, even if he doesn’t know the extent of your desperation in this particular moment, the way you’re clenching your thighs together hard just to relieve the almost painful pressure between your legs.

the characters from the movie he’s put on drone off in the background, forgotten to both of you in the little game of chicken you’re both inadvertently playing.

satoru decides to fire off his next move while you’re still reeling form his first, bringing a hand down to brush your hair behind your ear, a seemingly innocent gesture fuelled by nothing but bad intentions.

your eyes flutter shut completely, the feeling of his fingers dragging through your hair momentarily blinding you to the true intention behind the action. a soft, placated sigh leaves your lips as you settle further into his lap, some of the tension leaving your shoulders until- oh.

he drags his hand down onto the sensitive flesh of your neck, his digits digging in there softly as he tilts your head back to meet your heated gaze with his own.

if eyes had teeth, satoru’s would devour you completely. you get lost in them momentarily, the ache in your pussy turning into a throb at the pure desire burning in his retinas.

and then in one swift move, one strike into the goal post, he wins a game you didn’t even know you were playing.

satoru always kisses like he knows something you don’t, like he knows what you need before you do. he already knows exactly how to lick his tongue into your mouth to make you mewl out loud for him, and you just have to sit there and take what he gives you.

and you do.

you can already feel yourself slipping, your earlier reservations flying out the back door of your mind with a flick of his tongue. a hand flies to the back of his head to steady yourself, your fingers tugging lightly at white strands of silk, and he groans into you. the sound straight gasoline on the fire burning inside your guts.

he pulls back slightly, seemingly unaffected by the kiss besides the flush on his cheeks and the hooded way his eyes gleam at you.

but you- you’re a mess. you pant into the air between you two, your face on fire and your brows tented in desperation. all of the failed orgasms from earlier are rearing their ugly heads, clawing at your insides because they know, the answer to your problem is right in front of you. literally.

satoru raises a brow at your clear desperation, because sure, you were usually a mess when he got his hands on you- he was just that good- but he’s barely touched you and you’re squirming in his lap already, that hazy look in your eyes like you were almost about to cum-

“baby, what’s gotten you so worked up, huh?” his words are mostly teasing but somewhat genuinely questioning, because he’s never seen you so fucked up so quick.

and- oh, shit. your lip straight up wobbles, tears springing to your eyes and a surge of worry springs past the horniness in his brain.

“hey, hey. it’s okay, sweetheart. what’s wrong? you can tell me.” there’s worry in his voice now and for some reason it just makes you feel even more overwhelmed, the whole day crashing down on you and firing your already sensitive nerves.

you try to face away from him to hide your frustration but he just grabs your face in his big hands, turning you towards him as he inspects you like he’s looking for the problem in your eyes.

ugh!

“i- i can’t cum, toru!” you cry, all the frustration leaking into your voice, almost coming out like a whine. “your big, stupid hands wrecked me and now i can’t cum without your help! and- and i’m so frustrated.”

oh.

your breath catches in your throat as you open your eyes you’d squeezed shut in your tangent. you almost regret your outburst, when satoru’s pupils dilate, black eating away at bright blue until it’s all dark, like a predator locking in on prey.

you’d never seen him look so hungry before.

before you can even blink, you’re flipped onto your back, the cushions underneath you springing you upwards at the sheer force used. you don’t have room to bounce though when satoru’s weight settles on top of you, the heat of him brushing against your sensitive skin like wildfire.

“fuck, my baby needs my help?” he’s tearing your shorts and panties down your legs roughly, his trimmed nails dragging against your legs deliciously, making goosebumps rise in their wake. “shoulda just asked, sweetheart.”

he wastes no time in diving his hand between your legs once your shorts are gone, his mouth dropping open at the sheer amount of wetness you’d gathered between your legs just from a little kissing.

“shiiiit, this all f’me?” he’s not even looking at you, transfixed on the way your pussy is leaking into his hand.

your hips shift into his fingers as you mewl, the friction you’d been craving all day finally getting delivered to your poor, aching pussy.

satoru watches as you grind against his knuckles, completely in awe at how damn needy you are. not that he’s in any better shape, his cock straining against his pants painfully the second you told him he was the only one who could make you come. fuck, it was like something right out of his wettest dream.

deciding to put an end to your suffering (even though he was enjoying it more than he’d care to admit) he slides his fingers down and presses them into you, the push made easy with how soaked you are.

your eyes roll into the back of your head, because no matter how many times you fingered yourself, how long you took trying to find that spot inside you, satoru hit it with point-blank accuracy, instantly. every damn time.

“fuck, you’re really worked up, huh?” he marvels at the way you grind down on his fingers, the way you whine into the open air when he rubs his thumb against your clit the way you like.

“sh- shut up- oh!” a wolfish smirk splits satoru’s face when you writhe against the couch cushions, his fingers sliding out just to push right back in again, harder.

“you were saying?” and really, you wanted to slap that goofy grin off his handsome face but you were too busy reeling because he just added a third finger and-

“-oh, fuck.” your hips lock up, your head tilting back against the cushions and your eyes rolling back as white hot pleasure sears through you, wracking your whole body in the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. it’s sweltering, you don’t even think you’re breathing as your nerves fire and your vision goes black.

when your soul lands back in your body, you open your eyes to a starstruck satoru, his mind reeling because he just made you cum in three thrusts of his fingers.

you’d tried for an hour and he’d made you cum in three. thrusts.

bastard.

you try your best to be angry at him but it’s hard when he leans down and starts peppering kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, your lips, whispering sweet praise like it’s all he remembers how to say.

“fuck, baby. i think that was the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.” your body is stilly shaking in the aftershock of your mind-blowing high, and you haven’t even caught your breath yet, but still he asks- “think you can do that again for me?”

a squawk of protest is all that has time to leave your lips before he’s sliding a strong arm under your knees and one behind your head, picking you up and carrying you to your bedroom. he sets you down gently, and it would almost make you think he’s calmed down a bit until you look into his eyes and see the fire burning there.

fuck. you’re really in for it.

two palms land on your waist and drag up against your bare ribcage, taking your shirt along with them and pulling it over your head. almost as an afterthought, he seems to remember he’s fully clothed and quickly discards his shirt and pants, finally bare in his boxers, cream skin on display for your greedy eyes.

before you can stare for too long, his mouth descends on your neck, drawing a breathy wine from you when he sucks on the soft skin below your ear. he drags his teeth down your neck like a segue to your tits, sucking a nipple into his mouth as you mewl, the fire in your belly returning with a vengeance.

“you sound so pretty, sweetheart.” your unfocused eyes peer down into his loving ones, his head rested on your chest while a hand plays with your other nipple.

you’d almost think it was a sweet moment until he brushes his fingers through your folds again, teasing your clit until you’re writhing beneath him once more.

annoyed by his teasing, one of your hands snakes into the back of his hair, dragging his head away from you so you can look him in the eyes and say “just fuck me, already.”

he tuts, his fingers moving with more purpose against you and you can’t help the way your hips grind in retaliation. “now, where’s the fun in that? gotta get you alllll worked up again.”

and, really, you shouldn’t be surprised at the ease in which he does just that.

before you know it, your second orgasm of the night is barreling towards you, so close you can feel the heat of it’s flames on your cheeks. satoru’s still got one hand playing with your tits as his other pushes deft fingers in and out of you, a thumb on your clit.

“fuuuck! gonna- ah- cum!” and just as the spark of pleasure starts to unfurl in your lower half, the stimulation is pulled away from you like goddamn candy from a baby. and you whine like one, too.

“nooooo! i needed that! dickwad.” you squirm underneath where he has you pinned to your bed, your hips writhing in search of any kind of stimulation to push you over the edge he stole from you.

“hey now, don’t be mean or you won’t get anything tonight.” you know he’s bluffing, he knows he’s bluffing, but he still grins down at you meanly like he isn’t. “i told you, baby, had to get you aaaall. worked. up.”

he finally drags his leaking cock out of his boxers, grinding the tip against your entrance slowly, teasing you for the billionth time that night and you know what? maybe you’ll take another shot at your own fingers if all he’s going to do is play with you-

“-shit!” the thought is knocked from your head as he finally- finally pushes in. the thick length of him stretches you better than you could ever dream of doing with your own fingers, and a choked moan spills from you when he bottoms out right against your cervix.

the groan he lets out is filthy, because the whole time he’d been teasing you, he’d inadvertently been teasing himself too. but the sweet, sweet feeling of your walls stuttering around him was well worth the wait.

“you’re so perfect.” the veins wrapping around his cock drag against you deliciously when he pulls his hips back, only to slam back into you. “feel so- shit!- so fucking good, baby.”

not as good as you feel, you want to tell him, but his already large ego has probably had enough boosting for one night, so you just moan brokenly instead.

once you’re well and truly stretched around him, he starts up a bruising pace against you, clearly done with all the teasing just as much as you are.

and when he reaches down to play with your clit better than you ever can, who can blame you when you clench down on him and cum, right then.

“fuuuck!” satoru’s eyes roll back into his head with a groan at your sweet, blissed out expression and the euphoric moan you give him. with the way your pussy clamps down on his dick, who can blame him when he comes, right then.

your chest is heaving, all the worries from the day officially fucked right out of your brain. satoru isn’t in much better shape, his arms shaking beside your head where he’s propped himself up, barely able to keep from collapsing onto your blissed-out form underneath him.

and still- of course- he grins down at you through hazy eyes and says “got one more in you?” because he wouldn’t be your ‘toru if he didn’t.

and still- of course- you kiss him on the lips and you love him anyway-

- even if he is an idiot.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

319 notes · View notes

avidfics · 11 months ago

Text

giving into sevika's advances

summary: Sevika has been chasing you for weeks and you finally give in.

warnings: Grumpy sevika, bratty reader, suggestive topics, light touching, reader takes charge

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Fidgeting. During interrogations, Sevika has had plenty of macho men fidget under her weighted glare. It was one of her favorite hobbies afterall.

But for her to be fidgeting? Disgusting. Yet, sure enough, her thumb was reflexively flicking her pocket knife open and closed repeatedly in a flash as her eyes kept catching any movement from the bar’s swinging doors. Waiting.

“Does my eyes deceive me?” Finn, one of the flunkies on her team shout loudly to the other people on her team in the otherwise empty bar. “Is the great terror of Zaun nervous?”

A chorus of ooohs echo around the room, ignoring the heavy ‘thud’ of Sevika spearing the wooden table with her knife. “If you like being able to move your jaw I suggest you shut your mouth. Or I'll do it for you."

“Do it” he tosses right back. A cocky smile bright as he swags over and proudly offers the side of his face. “But 50 bucks bets that you won’t, cause your sweet little assistant will be here any minute and you don’t want her to see the monster you really are.”

The fucking idiot hit the nail on the head, and boy was that annoying. Two months ago you showed up, looking like a vision out of one of her dirtiest fantasies. You strolled into Silco’s main base, ass clad in black jeans that hugged you like a second skin and a blouse, though modest enough, had a few buttons loose at the top that provided a peek at your cleavage if someone looked down hard enough.

And sevika did look. She wasn’t ashamed. Your tits were fucking glorious and made her clit so sensitive her eyes crossed.

Jinx- the wacko- loved your confidence immediately and after an extensive background check, and minor threatening, Zilco hired you.

And Sevika had been trying to get in your pants every single chance she got, even though you weren’t her usual easily submissive type. You were prissy, stubborn, and had a stick up your ass that she desperately wanted to take out and replace with her silicone cock.

She was pussy whipped and she hadn’t even had a taste. Even her team had noticed.

Which is why she had to work double time to keep them in check and why her fist slams into Finn’s metal jaw with a satisfying crunch. The pain in her knuckles felt good and a bloodthirsty smile slicks across her face even as she presses the pocket knife to Finn’s neck. “Pay up fucker. And let it be a reminder that I could give a fuck about some assistant’s sweet ass.”

“Good to know.”

+++

The topic of your sweet ass was not what you were expecting to hear walking into Silco’s bar to handle some paperwork.

Especially not from the Sevika. Who looked dumbstruck at you even with Finn’s collar bunched in her bruised fist and the tip of a knife to his neck.

Crap she looked good af. A black muscle shirt clung to her frame and cuffed at her biceps. Her hair was in a half hazard ponytail with loose pieces falling into her eyes. Giving her a slightly crazed look that made your face heat.

But once again, this was a reminder that Sevika was not someone to mess with. She was the second scariest person in Zaun, and the blood on her knuckles served as an excellent reminder not to fraternize with your superiors, no matter how delicious they looked in a fitted tee.

“Please continue.” You swivel away from her stunned look in your high heels. “My ass and I will be making the rounds.”

Mumbled curses and the distinct sound of Finn’s goan of pain follows you as you strid away, a purposeful swing in your hips, to another member of the team to get details on inventory. They give you an easy grin and answer your questions but clam up as a shadow falls over the table.

“Scram.” It wasn’t a question and they hurried away.

You huff a sigh and plop a seat on the now forgotten stool. Crossing your legs just to see dark whiskey colored eyes fasten to your legs for a heated minute. “Sevika, feel free to leave. I wouldn’t want you to worry about my ass and I.”

A hefty groan leaves her lips, and she drags her hand down her face. “That’s not what I meant.”

Whatever. You begin your work on your clipboard. “That’s what you said.”

A whispered “smart ass” is muttered before you jump at her taking your clipboard out your hands and invading your space. “Believe me.” Dark eyes stare down at you with an intensity that makes you shift uncomfortably on the stool in an attempt to alleviate a budding tingle.

“Your ass is very much a concern of mine.”

‘Prove it.’’ Is on the tip of your tongue but you hold back. Provoking Sevika would not end well for you or your ass. Get in, get the job done, and get out. Those were the rules.

You reach your hand out. A demanding arch in your raised eyebrow to convey a bravado you truly didn’t possess. “Hand it over. I’m sure there’s a face you need to pummel in an alley somewhere.” A mocking smile plasters across your lips. “Better get to it.”

One step. That’s all it takes for her to encroach closer in your space. So close you can see the way her nostrils flare. “Face pummeling is on Friday’s.” A heat was simmering between the two of you, and the more time you spent in her presence, the more you wavered on deciding if you wanted to cool it or let it go unchecked. Especially as she hid your clipboard out of your reach so her hands were free to grab the wooden legs of your chair and scoot you closer to her.

“Ep!” You were so startled that you wrapped your hands around her wrist and immediately regretted it. Her skin was a contrast. One wrist was so warm to the touch, while the other held a stark coldness. You wondered what the duality would feel like wrapped around in clean sheets, preferably naked.

None of this escaped Sevika’s notice. The mocking smile that once graced your lips is now mirrored back at you. “I like the sound of you bossing me around.” The words trail as her eyes fasten to your lips. “Do it again.”

The irony that she was the one making commands wasn’t lost on you. “Leave me alone, Muscle-head. I’m way too much for you. Better stick to your usual simpering type.”

A smirk, the one she wears before charging head first into a fight, emerges. “You don’t think you're my type?” An eye roll in return has her releasing a small chuckle. The unexpected feel of a warm, calloused hand gripping your bare calf makes your facade of boredom slip as you frantically look behind sevika to check for wondering eyes. Luckily, you had seated in a secluded nook of the bar, where a wall partially hid you both. But all it would take is someone popping their head in the entryway to see the inappropriate way your boss was holding you and how much it was turning you on.

And those damn hands just won’t stay still. Your legs were crossed, one over the other, but that didn’t pause Sevika’s frisky hands moving up and down your exposed legs, her thumbs circling around your knees and in a soothing way that hinted at how they would move against your clit. “Think you’re mistaken babe. You might be a bit more brattish than other girls I’ve had, but I guarantee when I get you under me, I’ll have you whining for my touch just like the others.”

A scoff gets choked in your throat with the new caress against your sensitive skin. There was no hesitancy in her touch, just a heavy grasp that urged you to ease your tightly crossed legs so her wonderful fingers could be closer to where you needed them.

But you needed to come to your senses. Taking a chance, you lean back and feign falling off the stool, and are satisfied by the speed of sevika hoisting you back up to safety. But it gives you leverage to fist her shirt by the collar and fold her massive body over to your seated height.

With the new vantage point, her macho act was so transparent you snickered at what you now realized. These past weeks you were sooo apprehensive when it came to Sevika’s blatant advances because you’d have to be insane to entertain the enforcer of Zaun. The fierce enforcer of Silco who made men taller than you piss themselves with just a sharp stare.

The same woman, who harshly gripped your waist to make sure you were safely seated, didn’t have her usual malice in her eyes when it came to you. In fact, when it came to you, she was oddly docile. Still demanding, but with a gentleness that you never noticed.

Perhaps, you could have some fun afterall. She’s still leaning over you as you take a chance to goad her. “Strange, from my observation you’re the one doing all the begging.” The noticeable way her jaw tightens is almost humorous. “And it sounds so good coming from your lips.”

You both were in a trance as you dare to cover her hands with yours. And the way her eyes flare totally made it worth it. “Maybe I was too hasty to turn you down all those times.” you murmured against check.

“Ya think,” she saids with a grumpy attitude but the way her hands are frantically palming your exposed flesh under your direction is a dead giveaway of her need. “Made me chase your ass for weeks.”

“Poor baby.” you coo against her sensitive ear. “Let’s make a deal.” Both pairs of hands move up your legs and reach past your skirt and to your upper thighs, scrunching up your skirt so much your panties are surely peaking through. You can feel the tightly held restraint it was taking Sevika to not overpower your hands. Just that knowledge made a delicious shiver shoot up from your core. “We’ll continue with whatever this is but with one condition. I get total control of everything while we’re together.”

A rough scoff rakes up Sevika's chest, yet she presses herself even closer to your body. Her nose dragging up and down your collarbone. “Babe, ya know who you're talking to right? Think I’m that whipped that I’ll follow you around as if you have beer-flavored tits? Why would I when there’s a brothel right down the street?”

Asshole

“That’s up to you. But let’s test it out first, yeah?” Her quick head nod is the only green light needed as you smile with satisfaction. Slowly you remove your hands off hers. “What do you want?” you whisper in her ear.

The answer is immediate. “Need to get between your warm thighs.” The second after you murmur a concession your legs are spread wide to accommodate Sevika’s bulky form that was now pressed against your panty-covered pussy. A tiny moan leaves your lips as she presses you even closer so you need to depend on her to avoid tumbling out the chair.

You dodge the hungry kiss she tries to plant on your lips. “Uh uh, musclehead.” You pry up in the chair, pressing slow, wet kisses along her neck. “I didn’t give you permission.” A slew of curses are tossed from her impatient lips as she throws her head back. Which is perfect for you as you continue to attack her neck. The image of her tortured face will be in your memory forever. “What’s your choice, love? Me or the brothel?” It takes effort but you reach your lips to her ear and suckle her earlobe.

“Shit. You fuck.” she groans.

“Good choice baby. Go ahead and taste me.” A hand holds the nape of your neck as her full lips takes over and devours you with the most desperate kiss you ever experienced. All you can do was sit there and take it with the knowledge that you were still in full control.

It was over too soon but Sevika wore a goofy overly confident wolfish grin. “Knew you’d give in eventually.”

The eyeroll was inescapable as you give her a patronizing pat on the chest. “Sure musclehead. Follow me to your office, your going to finish my paperwork while I take a nap.”

She grumbles but is right on your heels. Taking the clipboard in one hand and your hand in the other. “Guess this makes me your obedient lap dog now, huh?”

“You said it not me.”

#sevika x reader #sevika x y/n #sevika x female reader #arcane sevika #arcane x reader #sevika #sevika arcane

857 notes · View notes

zhelin-thames · 6 months ago

Text

Danny, Dex-Starr, Cujo, Hope Corgi, and a Playdate

here you go bianca-hooks123

Masterpost

Danny, Dex-Starr, and Cujo are joined by Hope Corgi in an intergalactic park designed for Lantern Corps members and their animal companions. The park is vibrant, with floating platforms, glowing fields, and zero-gravity fetch zones.

Hope Corgi: [Bounding over to Cujo and Dex-Starr, his blue aura glowing brightly] “Friends! Friends! Playtime!”

Cujo: [Barking excitedly, tail wagging] “Woof woof!”

Dex-Starr: [Rolling his eyes] “This is ridiculous. I’m a Red Lantern. I don’t play.”

Hope Corgi drops a glowing blue ball in front of Dex-Starr and barks happily.

Hope Corgi: *“Everyone can play! Even grumpy kitties!”

Danny: [Grinning] “Go on, Dex. Don’t make the space dog sad. You don’t wanna be that guy.”

Dex-Starr: [Glaring at Danny] “I hate you.”

Danny: *“You hate everyone. It’s fine.”

Reluctantly, Dex-Starr bats the glowing ball with his paw, sending it flying across the park. Cujo and Hope Corgi immediately chase after it, barking and yipping with excitement.

Danny: [Watching the chaos unfold] “See? Isn’t this better than being mad at everything?”

Dex-Starr: [Sitting down, his tail swishing lazily] “Hmph. I’ll admit… it’s less boring than usual.”

Cujo returns with the ball, dropping it at Dex-Starr’s feet. The glowing green ecto-dog barks excitedly, and Dex-Starr can’t help but smirk slightly.

Dex-Starr: *“Fine. One more time.”

Dex-Starr launches the ball into the air with a plasma-enhanced swipe, and the game continues. Danny grins as he watches the three glowing animals tear across the park, their auras blending into a dazzling display of green, red, and blue.

As the playdate wraps up, Hope Corgi curls up next to Cujo, both dogs happily panting from the exercise. Dex-Starr perches on a nearby ledge, licking his paw and pretending not to care.

Danny: [Leaning against the ledge] “You know, for someone who doesn’t play, you seemed to have a good time.”

Dex-Starr: [Snorting] “Don’t get used to it, ghost-boy.”

Cujo trots over and plops down next to Dex-Starr, resting his head on the cat’s back. Dex-Starr tenses, then sighs, his red aura dimming almost entirely.

Dex-Starr: *“…Fine. He’s tolerable.”

Danny: [Laughing softly] “Yeah, yeah, you’re a big softie. Admit it.”

Dex-Starr growls halfheartedly but doesn’t move as Cujo starts snoring. Danny smiles, realizing he’s just witnessed a miracle: the angry Red Lantern cat letting his guard down.

252 notes · View notes

storiesaplenty · 6 months ago

Text

Right person, wrong time (18+)

Seong Gi-hun x reader

Hwang Jun-ho/Oh Young-il x reader

Lee Myung-gi x reader

Kang Dae-ho x reader

Miscellaneous Masterlist

This has not been proofread. Please enjoy though.

Warnings: swearing. Smut below the cut. Oral (m receiving) cum swallowing. Unprotected sex. Coming on face. Riding.

WC: 1023

Seong Gi-hun:

I couldn't help but be drawn to the grumpy older man, who insisted that he has been here before.

That he won the game, but lost so many people because of it. I didn't believe him at first until he after the first game, and then I was hooked, in more ways than one.

At first, I offered my alliance to him. Offered my food, my drinks, then my body, which he just scoffed at and told me no over and over again.

That was until tonight. He told me to meet up in the male washroom whenever everyone was eating.

I was so excited that I ate as fast as I could.

Gi-hun didn't say anything when I walked in, just placed both of his hands on my shoulders and pushed me down to my knees.

I watched as he pulled the sweat pants down just enough to release his aching cock and my mouth watered at the sight of hard, thick cock.

The tip glistening with precum that I so desperately wanted to taste.

"Open." Was all he said, and when I opened my mouth, he grabbed the back of my head and thrust into my mouth, not even letting me get used to the size of him.

Gi-hun fucked my face and I took it, staring up at him as he barely made a sound as his balls smacked off my chin.

He didn't even make a sound when shoved his cock down my throat for the last time and came.

I quickly swallowed it all, not wanting to miss a single drop.

Gi-hun, once he was done coming, pulled out my mouth and tucked himself back in his pants

Walking out of the washroom, with me still on the floor, wondering how I can get him to fuck me.

Hwang Jun-ho/Oh Young-il:

"Quiet." Young-il groaned from behind me, his hips slamming off my ass as he fucked me.

I couldn't help but squeal every single time he bottomed out in me, stretching me just beyond my limit that there was a bit of pain, but I am loving every single second of this.

His name falling from my lips, getting louder and louder until he shoved two of his fingers in my mouth, to shut me up.

I wrapped my tongue around his fingers and sucked on them, wishing I had a cock in my mouth at this moment.

But my mind seemed to go blank when he picked up his pace, chasing his own high after already making me cum.

Young-il finally stilled, his cum filling my clenching hole as he grunted in my ear, not moving until the very last drop was inside of me, before pulling away.

"Wish I had my phone." Was all he said to me before walking away, leaving me to clean up myself.

Lee Myung-gi (Player 333):

Myung-gi mouth was hanging open as I took inch by inch of his cock in my mouth, him looking down at me

I couldn't help but wink at him as I smiled around his cock.

The poor guy has been so stressed with everything that I just had to help him out, so almost every day, his cock has been down my throat, me swallowing it all, and tonight is no different.

Myung-gi hands were just gently touching the back of my head as he moved his his hips back and forth a few times before I am running my tongue up and down his cock, waiting for him to cum.

But this time, just as he was about to cum, he pulled out of my mouth, wrapping his hand around his cock and jerking it off over my face.

I closed my eyes just as the first rope of cum landed on my face.

I kept my mouth open just in case he wants to finished in my mouth again but he didn't.

Once he was done coming, I felt his finger on my face, swiping up some of his cum and placing it on my tongue.

I opened my eyes to watch his face as I sucked his fingers clean. His breathing picked up a bit as he watched me sucking his fingers clean.

I stood up, cleaning my face off at the sink. I turned around to say to Myung-gi, "You know where to find me."

Leaving him there, his half-hard cock still out of his swea

Kang Dae-ho (Player 388)

My hand was over Dae-ho mouth as I rode him.

His cock feels like it is my stomach with how long and thick he is.

I had to blow him just to give him some lubricant so he can fuck me with as little pain as possible, but the moment my ass met his thighs, I was done for.

Biting my own lip to keep my moans at bay as I shook above him, already coming before I even had the chance to ride him.

My hole squeezing his cock so tight that he had to clench his teeth to stop from alerting everyone around us what we are doing.

I raised my hips, slamming back down over and over again, not fully believing that this is actually happening, but the whimpers from behind my hand made this all to real.

I can feel his cock twitching inside of me, already so close to finishing. "Cum for me Dae-ho." I quietly demanded, making him raise his hips a few times, fucking up into me before he grabbed my hips and held me in place as he came, loudly.

I gasped as he filled me, my hole clenching around his cock, trying to milk him dry. I collapsed against his chest.

Dae-ho wrapping his arms around me and held me there, as we are coming down from our high together. I got off of him quickly, as I heard someone coming out way, his juices leaking out of my hole as I ran to my bed.

#squid game s2 #squid game #squid game imagine #squid game smut #seong gi hun #seong Gi-hun smut #Oh Young-il smut #hwang jun ho #Hwang Jun-ho smut #Oh Young-il #Lee Myung-gi smut #Lee Myung-gi #Kang Dae-ho #kang dae ho smut

175 notes · View notes

authorscurse · 1 year ago

Text

Too Protective

[L.C Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] Requests are OPEN Synopsis: Having a protective younger brother is one thing but now you know where he got it. Pairing: Luke Castellan and Poseidon's child reader Warning: Luke does not become bad, chaotic family, teeth rotting fluff, Poseidon and Percy being protective W.C: 2.5k

You knew that Percy could be a protective brother at times, you've seen it multiple times. You found it quite endearing how he's half your height but willing to jump in front of you to protect you. However, there are times you find it very annoying. You never really thought where he got it from. Not until now at least.

Here you were, sitting in the big house with none other than you, your boyfriend Luke, your younger brother Percy, and your Godly father Poseidon. Percy and Poseidon were both sitting across you and Luke with their arms folded across their chests. Both of them were staring straight at Luke and the poor boy could only smile awkwardly.

Okay, let's rewind that a bit to give you a little bit of context. It all started one beautiful day in Camp Half-Blood.

"PERSEUS JACKSON!" Or maybe not..

"Why did you soak Luke with paint?" You furiously asked the younger blonde while chasing him around the whole Poseidon cabin. "It was accidental! He ran into me and Grover's trap!" Percy explained, heavily panting because you've been chasing him around the whole cabin for 10 minutes now.

The whole cabin was an absolute mess. Bed sheets and pillows were on the floor from being thrown or used by Percy to block you from grabbing him. "Accidental? Campers heard you and Grover saying how it was meant for Luke!" You yelled stopping for a moment to breathe. Percy released a sigh of relief but knowing you long enough he did not put the protective pillow down. "Go apologize to Luke, Percy," You instructed him sternly, running a hand through your hair to fix it.

"No, he deserved it," Percy replied stubbornly making you glare at him. He flinches and raises the pillow to his face in fear you'd hit him. "Go, apologize to him, Percy. Now!" You ordered and pointed towards the door of the Cabin. Percy only rolled his eyes and left mumbling about how it was unfair and why should he apologize.

After cleaning the mess you both made in the cabin you left the cabin to do your duties as a camp counselor. You spent your morning training the younger campers sword fighting and helped out the Dionysus and Demeter cabin by plucking strawberries from the bushes.

You were busy cleaning up the arrows from archery class when suddenly two pairs of arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you. You let out a squeal and turned around to see your curly-haired boyfriend Luke.

A wide grin plastered on his face as he placed you down and gave a kiss on your forehead. "Well hello handsome, I hope you didn't have a hard time cleaning the paint off of you," You jokingly said while playing with some of the curls on his head. He lets out a chuckle and shakes his head, "Wasn't much trouble. I hope you didn't scare little Percy too much, heard from some campers you chased Percy around the whole cabin," He says tucking a loose hair behind your ear.

"He deserved it," You say placing a kiss on his cheek and smiling at him. "If stares can kill I think I'll already be serving Hades in the underworld by now," Luke joked. You turned around to where he was looking and saw your little brother Percy glaring at Luke. Once the poor kid saw you looking at him his eyes went wide and turned away and almost tripped making you and Luke laugh.

"I was shocked when he came up to me earlier and said sorry," He chuckled while leaning against one of the targets while you removed the arrows from it. "Told him to do so, glad he obeyed me," You said placing the arrows in their respective quivers. "He startled me, he was a bit grumpy about it but still apologized," He recalled making you laugh at your little brother's actions.

"Little protective Percy, wonder where he got it from," You say letting out a sigh. Luke helped you pick up more arrows before you both heard some campers running and yelling. "What's happening?" Luke asked, confused to see multiple campers running towards one direction. "We should see what's wrong," You tell him. He nods in agreement and takes your hand in his before running towards the scene that seems to have caught the attention of the campers.

You and Luke were both shocked to see about 30 campers gathered at the entrance of the camp. Both of you tried to squeeze between the chaos to get a full view of what was happening. The two of you were shocked to find out what got the attention of the campers. You both saw Chiron, Percy and...your FATHER?!

"There's my daughter!" Poseidon says loudly and grabs your arm to pull you in a hug. You could hear campers whispering around you about how lucky you were and how shocked they were to see the literal sea god in Camp Half-Blood.

"What are you doing here?" You asked still shocked to see your dad. He released you from the hug and it was then you only saw what he was wearing. He was wearing his Birkenstock sandals, khaki Bermuda shorts, a shirt with coconuts and parrots, and a fisherman's hat on his head. "Is it wrong to visit my kids?" He asked with a wide smile.

"What about Zeus—" You try to say but get cut off by Chiron saying the three of you should talk in the big house instead. The walk to the big house was extremely awkward, to say the least. It was rare for a godly parent to visit Camp Half-Blood, let alone one of the big three gods to visit their child. You were wondering how the actual Hades did your dad get to visit you and your brother in Camp. Zeus should have blasted him by now!

You and Percy sat across each other while your father roamed around the Big House and pointed out artefacts and paintings. "Dad, what are you doing here?" You asked gaining the attention of your father. He places the vase of flowers down and sits beside Percy. "Well—" Your father starts but you quickly cut him off "Straight to the point please, Dade," Poseidon winces at your tone and finally gives a serious answer. Who would have thought that the literal sea god winces and is somewhat afraid of his daughter? Well, dear reader, even your author is shocked.

"Percy told me you have a boyfriend," He answers quickly. Your gaze falls on Percy and the poor kid's eyes widen like saucers and look down on his lap. "Out of all the demigods you could have chosen you chose the son of the messenger?" Poseidon asks dramatically waving his hands around. "A thief's son? Really?" Poseidon asks completely in shock. You let out a sigh and massage your temple. Your father was quite the dramatic person now and then.

"His name's Luke Castellan," Percy says in a small voice making you glare at him. His eyes widen again and looks down in his lap immediately afraid to meet your gaze. You reminded him of a Medusa however you didn't have a snake for hair and wouldn't turn him into stone, maybe only murder him but still.

"I want to meet this boyfriend of yours," Poseidon says. You try to convince him not to but he wouldn't hear any of your excuses. You could only sigh in defeat and look for Luke. That's how you both got to where you are now.

"So, you're the son of Hermes, correct?" Poseidon asks still glaring at Luke. "Yes, sir, yes," He says politely. "What do you want from my daughter, son of Hermes?" Poseidon asks placing his hands on the table and leaning closer. "Power? Fame? What do you want, boy?" Luke denies all questions. "I love your daughter, sir," Luke says and laces his hand in yours from underneath the table making a small smile appear on your face.

Poseidon and Percy lean back in their seats not entirely convinced. You glare at both of them making them clear their throats and sit straight in their seat. "How long have you liked my daughter, son of Hermes?" Poseidon asks trying not to catch your eye and turn his full attention to Luke. "His name is Luke, Dad," you say between gritted teeth. "Well, how long have you liked my daughter, Luke?" Poseidon rephrased. "Ever since she got into camp, sir, 3 years ago," Luke answers.

"How would I be sure that you wouldn't break my daughter's heart?" Poseidon asks. Luke straightens his posture and clears his throat but never removes his hand from yours. "I can't exactly promise that I'll be the best boyfriend because I know there will be times that I won't be able to make the best decisions, do the things that would make her happy, and say the things that won't break her heart. However, what I do promise to do is that I'm willing to do my best to be the person she needs and rely on. I am aware that I'm not the best but I'm willing to do my best, for her and only her," Luke answers truthfully while squeezing your hand tightly.

You felt tears forming in your eyes at his words. For all your life so far you've never been treated with so much care and love before until Luke came. Not even your mother wanted you and the people around you kept thinking you were out of your mind. A demigod's life is not exactly the best. When you first arrived at Camp Half-Blood you still felt out of place but Luke made you feel more comfortable around Camp. He introduced himself first as the son of Hermes and tour you around the whole Camp. He never left your side ever since then.

Never once did he ever make you feel unloved and unwanted, unlike the people you've had in your life before. He became your rock, the person you could always lean on whenever you needed to let your guard down. Before you knew it, you were in love with your best friend.

"I love her, sir," He says to Poseidon, but his attention and eyes aren't on the sea god. It was on you. His soft brown eyes were staring at you and only you. You felt him squeeze your hand 3 times. I love you. A smile appears on your face. No, it wasn't the forced smile you would always give to people. It was a genuine smile. The smile only Luke can make you do.

Poseidon watches the two of you and he can't help a small smile to appear on his face. His daughter was in love and he can't help but deny he likes the guy for her. Poseidon lets out a sigh and gains the attention of both you and Luke. Luke clears his throat and opens his mouth to say more but Poseidon raises his hand to stop him.

The god stands up making you, Percy, and Luke stand up as well. Poseidon smiles and extends his hand forward. Luke's eyes widen and takes Poseidon's hand and gives it a firm squeeze. Poseidon gently tugs Luke forward and says a few things that only he and Luke can hear. You and Percy look at each other wondering what your father might have said to Luke.

"Keep her safe, Luke, remember what I said. I'll be seeing you kids during the summer solstice," Poseidon gives you and your brother his famous wink and becomes a form of light. The three of you look away to avoid disintegrating and when you look back your Father is gone. Only the faint smell of sea breeze remained.

You and Luke walk out of the Big House hand in hand while Percy still has his arms crossed against his chest. "Wait up little man," You grab a hold of the the back of Percy's shirt and pull him back in front of you and Luke. Percy kept his eyes on the ground and you smile at his antics. You pull him in a hug which he quickly returns. "I love you, little idiot," You whisper in his ear. "I love you too, big idiot," He says back.

When you both release each other from the hug Luke ruffles Percy's hair. "If Dad likes you that means I should too, but that doesn't mean you could get to eat my sister's face in front of me!"

"I promise to make sure you're not looking next time," Luke promises making Percy nod slowly. "You go finish your chores, little idiot before Mr D whoops your ass," Percy nods and gives you a salute before running off to his chorea and annoys Annabeth. "So, your Dad knows me," Luke says wrapping his arms around your waist.

He looks down at you with a big smile on his face. A big love-sick smile. "Mhmm, so, mind telling me what my Dad told you?" You ask him playing with his collar. "He tells me to take good care of you and make sure you don't hurt yourself." Luke's fingers lift your chin and make you look at him. It seemed as if the whole world was fading into the background and you both could only see each other.

Luke tilts his head slightly to the side and leans in closer but suddenly thunder goes off making him tighten his lips into a thin line making you laugh. The curly-haired boy hides his face in the crook of your neck and sighs. You pull him away from your nack and make him look at you, a pout seen on his face making you giggle.

You tilt your head slightly and connect your lips. Thunder going off in the distance but you and Luke couldn't care less about it. Both of you pull away with smiles on your faces. "He also said that if I were to break your heart he'll take me in my sleep and drown me and make sure sharks devour me," Luke says making you roll your eyes and look up. "Dad?" You ask and thunder goes off again. "I think it's only proper," Luke jokes making you roll your eyes again.

"I hate you both," You say walking away from your boyfriend. "Hey! I was joking, angel. Come back!" Luke says walking towards you. You look back and sprint away with him hot in your trail. "Come back here, angel!" Luke shouts running after you. You could only giggle and run ever faster away from him.

Percy, Grover, and Annabeth watch you both from a good distance, with wide smiles on their face. "I've never seen them so happy before until now," Annabeth says and Grover nods in agreement. "I think Luke's great for Y/n— don't tell them I said that," Percy confesses. "You better convince me not to, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth smirks and run away. "Hey! Annabeth come back here!" Percy yells running after Annabeth.

"Love birds," Grover smiles watching four of his friends.

744 notes · View notes