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dixonsdarkelf · 2 days ago

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This was hot as fuck and also so sweet and a goddamn ride from start to finish (no pun intended teeheehee 🤭).

“And then we have to see the barrel racing, obviously. Can’t come to the fair and not watch a bunch of cowboys do their thing. That would be criminal. Oh, and if I don’t get either funnel cake or kettle corn by the time we leave, I will riot.”

LMAO Reader is so cute, I love her.

But Joel saw the woman’s energy shift in real time from sweet to surprised. Her smile faltered like it had hit a pothole, and her eyes went sharp.

You can look away, ma'am. Keep your judgmental eyes to yourself 😤

His chest met your back first, solid and warm, and you stayed still as you let him fit behind you like a puzzle piece, with his legs bracketing yours, close enough that his knees brushed the backs of your thighs. When he bent over you, the hem of your skirt shifted just enough for the soft curve of you to press against the front of his jeans. He clenched his jaw, eyes locked on the clown’s face, trying like hell not to focus on how good you felt against him.

This man is already fighting for his life & we're just getting started.

You wanted this. Not just the fair or the games or the sugar highs. This. Him. His hand on your knee. Your legs over his lap. Your lips on his in front of a crowd that might judge the way you looked at him—an older man, years and miles ahead of you. But you didn’t care. You wanted people to see. Wanted them to know he was yours.

Love that Reader loves to show off her man 😌

You lit up, grabbing his hands and leading him to the floor, smiling wide as you pulled him into place. His hand found your waist and your hand curled into his, small and warm. You were already moving before he had a chance to think. He stumbled through the first few beats, stepping left when he should have gone right, but you didn’t mind. You were giggling, swinging your hips and mouthing the words to the song like it was written just for you.

Please the way he looks at her 🥰 It's all so sweet.

You broke the kiss eventually, barely, breath brushing over his lips as you smiled. “Think they got the message?” you asked, smug and breathless. Joel gave a low laugh. “Not sure. Might need to run it by ‘em again.”

I mean, if you insist 👀 Not gonna say no to you, beautiful.

You lingered, lips warm and sweet, your mouth soft against his, your hand rising to his jaw, nails grazing over the rough edge of his beard, and Joel shivered, a quiet sound catching in his throat.

🎶 It's getting hot in here🎶

Joel didn’t say anything right away. He just leaned in and pressed a kiss to your collarbone, then another just beneath it. Gentle, slow, barely-there pecks, all warm and wet and worshipful. He moved along the slope of your neck, your shoulder, tasting skin, breathing you in.

This is such a hot visual. I need to be put down 😵‍💫

This wasn’t just about convincing you you were beautiful. This was about showing you with every kiss, every touch, every look until you never doubted it again.

This is so sweet I'm fucking melting 😩

“…Did you just—?” You nodded against his neck, laughing, breathless and wide-eyed as you pulled back to look at him. “I think I did,” you whispered, grinning in awe. “I’ve never… I didn’t know I could do that.”

There's a first time for everything 👀

“You looked so damn good today,” he said, pecking you on the lips before breaking away just long enough to speak against your jaw. His voice was thick, hoarse, full of the ache he’d been carrying since the moment he picked you up. “All day, walkin’ around like that, in this little thing... you knew exactly what you were doin’, didn’t you?”

Neither confirming nor denying that one, baby 😉

“You make the prettiest little noises, baby girl,” he breathed against your neck, voice low and rough. His tongue dragged along the damp skin there, catching the salt as you moaned under him. “Pussy’s so wet for me, huh?”

Jesus fucking Christ 🥵

“Such a greedy little girl, ain’t ya?” he muttered, voice rougher than he meant, more strained.

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Your hips rolled again, slower this time, deeper, and Joel’s whole body tensed under you like a live wire. He hissed through his teeth, hands sliding down to grip the plush curve of your ass, thumbs digging in as he tried to ground himself, to breathe, but Jesus, it was like you were made to ruin him. “Fuck, that’s it,” he gritted, watching the way your body moved over his, the way your thighs flexed as you lifted up and sank back down, taking him in inch by inch. “Just like that, baby. You’re doin’ so good.”

Oh my fucking god...

“That’s it, baby girl,” he said, mouth hot against your throat. “Look at you, pretty little thing, ridin’ me so good,”

I'm gonna have to get up and walk away from my laptop for a while because WOW

He groaned from deep in his chest, hips bucking up into you as his cock throbbed inside you. His release hit him hard. His hands scrambled for something to hold, one sliding across your waist and thighs, squeezing hard as his vision blurred. The one in your mouth stayed, his other fingers tightening around your jaw and cheeks. Heat coiled through his spine, thick and hot, pouring into you as every muscle in his body tensed and shook.

I'm okay...I'm okay...I'm so normal about this. So normal.

“Okay,” you said finally, soft and sure, like it wasn’t even a question. “Yeah. I’m your girl.”

Aww yay! They got together!

This was hot with a capital H-O-T. Christ this was so good. Still crazy to me that you once thought about not bringing Joel onto your blog. Keep writing him forever and ever 🖤

I Like it, I Love It

I want some more of it

I try so hard, I can't rise above it

I don't know what it is 'bout that little girl's lovin'

But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it

Summary: Joel Miller knew he was going to hell. And if he wasn't sure before, he knew it for certain now. Especially when he picked you up and you were wearing that tiny denim skirt and your cowgirl boots. You’re half his age, and he’s old enough to know better. But with your fingers laced through his and that bright, infectious smile, he finally starts to forget the guilt and the shame. He might even let himself have fun. || smut MDNI 18+, also fluff, girthy (but legal!) age gap, rodeo / fair date, summer romance, no outbreak, Joel POV, shy!joel, soft!joel, new relationship, reader isn't a virgin but its her first time with joel, reader is afab, smallchested!reader, reader is a lil insecure of her body, slightly angsty!joel, he's feelin' guilty, joel miller is down bad, older!bf, car sex, pinv, praise kink, nipple play, nipple orgasm 👀, fingering, grinding, riding, a lot of kissing (like a lot), picture whichever joel you prefer, 'daddy' mentioned but no daddy kink, size difference || all my love to @littlcdarlin for our filthy discussions of tiny titties and joel miller loving you in a mini skirt. also of course @cavillscurls who has also helped me with ideas for this! y'all are filthy pervs just like me :)

Joel Miller had made peace with the idea of going to hell a long time ago.

The air smelled like fried dough and horses as you scampered ahead, all bounce and bright energy, the summer heat curling around your shoulders. There was a hum of excitement in the fairgrounds even from a distance, something charged and electric that settled deep in his chest, though he knew it had less to do with the lights and music and more to do with you.

You made your way in a tiny denim skirt, cowgirl boots kicking up dust, legs long and golden in the sun. All smooth, soft skin begging to be touched. And Joel figured, yeah, his seat in the fiery pit was reserved and waiting.

And touched you he had, just a little, just a polite hand on your knee during the ride over. He caught the way you glanced at him, the way your fingers twitched like you were tempted to take his hand and move it up your thigh yourself. You wanted more, and he did too. But he hadn’t crossed that line. Not yet.

Because Joel was a gentleman, or at least trying hard to be one. You were only a couple of months into… whatever this was. Dating? Seeing each other? Going steady? You hadn’t defined it and Joel hadn’t asked, partly because he was terrified if he put a name to it, it might fall apart, and partly because he still couldn’t quite believe you were even here with him. That a girl like you had looked his way in the first place. Most days, he felt like a man trying to catch lightning in a bottle, grateful but always expecting it to slip out of his hands.

Still, the guilt sat just behind the thrill. You were young. Young enough that he should know better. He could see it in the way people looked at you, the way they looked at him when you were together. Sometimes he felt himself spiraling a little, late at night when he was alone, wondering what the hell he was doing letting a girl like you anywhere near him.

Up ahead, you grabbed a spot in the ticket line and turned back to him with that familiar light in your eyes, the kind that made it impossible not to smile back. Joel caught up, slow and steady behind you, hands in his pockets, already fighting the urge to touch you again.

“Before I get too distracted, we need a plan,” you said as you moved up a step. You glanced at the handful of people still ahead in line, then turned to face him fully, eyes bright and serious in that teasing way of yours. “What do you wanna see?”

Joel shrugged, more interested in the way your lips curved up than in any of the rides or games. “What do you wanna see?”

You held up a hand, ticking off your demands. “Spray and Race game. I will be kicking your ass at that, by the way.”

Joel nodded, amused.

“Can’t have that,” Joel said, letting a chuckle slip out as he rested his hand on the small of your back, guiding you gently forward with the line.

You looked up at him again, smiling like you couldn’t help yourself. “Okay, but seriously, what do you wanna do?”

Joel shrugged, easy. “I’m happy doin’ whatever makes you happy, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning despite yourself. “Cornball.”

He kissed your hairline gently and you stepped up as the ticket booth opened.

“Two, please,” you said, cheerful as anything, leaning your elbows on the wooden counter.

The woman behind the plexiglass had a kind face, her cheeks round and flushed, oversized glasses magnifying her eyes making them look cartoonish. She gave you a warm, buttery smile as she slid the tickets toward you.

“Here you go, dear,” she said sweetly. “Y’all enjoy the fair now.”

Joel reached into his pocket to pay and slid a couple bills across the counter. Before he could tuck his wallet away, you turned, leaned up, and kissed him on the corner of his mouth in quiet thanks. It was just a soft, grateful thing, casual and comfortable. Nothing out of the ordinary for two people dating.

But Joel saw the woman’s energy shift in real time from sweet to surprised. Her smile faltered like it had hit a pothole, and her eyes went sharp.

Joel flushed to the tips of his ears, but you were already thanking her, plucking the tickets from her hand like nothing had happened.

And just like that, you were off again, sunlight on your shoulders, tickets in hand, skirt swaying as you moved toward the fairgrounds. Joel smiled politely at the woman who was now fully glaring daggers into him, and he turned to follow you.

“This thing is rigged!” you huffed, letting go of the water gun with an exaggerated sigh.

The plastic clown stared back at you with its chipped paint and smug little smirk, like it knew exactly how badly you’d missed the mark. You crossed your arms, glaring at it as Joel laughed behind you, the sound low and warm in his chest.

He wasn’t laughing at you, not really. There was too much affection in it. He was caught somewhere between loving the look of focused frustration scrunched between your brows and fighting off the sudden urge to win you the biggest stuffed animal at the booth, just to see your face light up again.

So he stepped forward, doubts flaring in his gut for half a second before he shoved them down and moved in close behind you.

Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward.

He raised his hands, letting them hover a moment before easing them down, covering your smaller ones with his own. His palms were wide and rough, fingers slipping into the empty spaces between yours until you were surrounded by him, snug in his arms, your hands now steadied on the plastic grip of the water gun.

Your next breath was sharp and audible. He felt it echo in his ribs.

He adjusted your grip on the plastic gun, his hands never leaving yours, “Let me show you how it’s done,” he murmured, voice low near your ear, and he felt the reaction ripple through you.

Your arms tensed at first, then softened, and he could see the goosebumps rising along your skin, catching the light.

He probably shouldn’t have enjoyed that as much as he did. Probably shouldn’t have let his lips graze the shell of your ear. But he was already in it now, already pressed against you, mind foggy as the smell of your vanilla perfume invaded his senses.

“Deep breath in,” he said, quieter this time, watching the way your lips parted as you listened, your chest rising beneath his. “Slow breath out.”

He swallowed hard, trying not to think about how natural this felt. How right. He focused on the target instead. The clown, the ridiculous game.

“Gotta squeeze the trigger like you love it.” he murmured.

You let out a quiet, breathless laugh, but you didn’t pull away. If anything, you moved back into him, and he felt the swell of your ass push into his lap even more.

But before he could react to the feeling of your warm body pushing into his, the starting bell rang, loud and shrill, snapping both of you into motion. Joel pressed his finger over yours on the trigger, guiding the plastic gun with a steady grip. Water sprayed clean and fast, hitting the target right in the center.

You gasped softly, maybe surprised it was working, maybe still recovering from how close he was. Joel kept his focus, eyes on the game, though it was damn near impossible with the way you felt against him.

“Gentle, steady now,” he said when he felt your aim start to slip, adjusting your elbow with a nudge.

The buzzer went off a second later, a shrill little chime of victory as the clown’s mouth filled and your light blinked bright red at the top of the board. You’d won–first place, of course.

Joel eased back, slower than necessary. His hands lingered a second too long on your waist before he finally stepped away, the heat of you still clinging to him even as you turned with wide eyes and a grin that could’ve leveled him.

“I won?” you said, eyes lit up, like you couldn’t quite believe it.

He nodded, watching you, unable to look away. “You won.”

You picked out a prize without hesitation, grabbing the biggest, fluffiest looking stuffed animal on the rack and hugging it tight to your chest. Joel didn’t even care what it was. All he saw was your face, still flushed from the game, eyes shining, mouth curved in that soft, teasing way you got when you were proud of yourself.

The day stretched long in that golden, syrupy way only Texas summers could manage. The kind that made the day feel like it went too fast and too slow all at once. Joel let you lead him from one booth to the next, happy to be tugged along whether you were forcing a cowboy hat onto his head or pressing cotton candy to his lips. It was far too sweet for him, but he still smiled and shared bites with you, watching the sugar dissolve on your tongue. But it wasn’t the thought of his teeth rotting that did him in that day. No, it was the taste of your lips when you leaned into him, sticky-sweet and warm as you kissed him again and again, always grateful for buying you whatever you asked for.

Later, at the rodeo arena, you led him up into the metal bleachers with a half-finished bag of kettle corn tucked under one arm and your stuffed bear you won in the other. The crowd buzzed around you, cheering and stomping as the barrel racers burst out into the dirt, all speed and muscle. Bulls followed, snorting and kicking against the reins, the announcer’s voice booming over the speakers like thunder rolling through a canyon.

At some point, you shifted. Instead of sitting beside him with your legs stretched out straight like everyone else, you turned and draped them across his lap. Your thighs settled on him, warm and bare, boots dangling off the other side of his legs. You leaned back on your palms, smiling up at him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joel rested his hand on your knee without thinking, like it was second nature now. But something in his chest shifted, slow and deep. Watching you watch the riders, your body relaxed and fully at ease in his, he felt it settle into place like a quiet truth.

And Joel wasn’t sure what the hell to do with that. With the quiet, aching certainty that you didn’t give a damn what anyone thought. That you wanted him, plain and simple. Because the truth, the part he couldn’t shake no matter how sweet this all felt, was that he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

He was too old. Not just in birthdays, but in body and mind. Every morning he woke up sore in places he didn’t used to notice. He needed two cups of coffee before his brain even came online. He’d lived more lives than he wanted to admit, made more mistakes than he knew how to name.

And still, here you were. Laid up across him like it was the only place you belonged. Smiling up at him like he hung the damn moon.

He swallowed hard and looked down at your knee beneath his hand. Your skin warm, your body settled into his like you’d been doing it for years.

You were real. This was real.

And maybe… just maybe, he was allowed to want it, too. Even if he was still trying to believe he had a right to.

By the time the sun finally dipped beneath the horizon, the fairgrounds glowed with soft light, strung bulbs swaying between posts and tents, flickering like lightning bugs trapped in glass. The air had cooled, but instead of slowing down, you pulled Joel into a wooden building near the edge of the fairgrounds with a painted sign outside on the windows that said:

Swing Dancing Tonight: Live Band!

Joel followed you inside, the bar buzzing with life as people line danced on the floor, women and men alike to an old honky tonk song. The band was lively and energizing as he ordered you drinks at the bar. But before he could even hand you yours, you were already in the middle of the dance floor. So he sipped his beer, watching you sway and stomp to the song. He could watch you like this for hours, thumbs in your belt loops, hips swaying to the rhythm as the drums beat through his chest. He watched how your legs moved, long and shining in the bar light, the way your skirt hugged your hips so perfectly as you turned, giving him the perfect view of you. You were all confidence and charm, laughter rising over the music as you spun yourself in a circle or stepped just slightly out of time.

Then, the song ended, and another started. One he actually recognized.

Spent 48 dollars last night at the county fair

I throwed out my shoulder, but I won her that teddy bear…

“Joel,” you said, breathless and bright, pointing at him with one hand and waving him over with the other. “You know this one, don’t you?”

She's got me sayin' "Sugar Pie", "Honey", "Darlin'", and "Dear"

I ain't seen the Braves play a game all year

He felt a grin twitch at the edge of his mouth but didn’t move. Just shook his head slightly and kept his arms folded over his chest.

Your face scrunched into the kind of pout that always worked on him. “Aw, come on,” you pleaded, stepping closer. “Come dance. Please?”

Joel glanced around. The room was full of couples—young people, mostly, folks your age with their arms around each other, moving with an easy rhythm. There were a few older couples too, clinging close, still smiling like they remembered falling in love every time the music hit them just right. Joel didn’t see anyone else who looked like you and him. The difference in age stuck out like a sore thumb. He knew how it looked. He always knew.

But then he looked back at you.

The way you were beaming at him, not caring who was watching. Not ashamed or holding back. You wanted him, wanted to dance with him, here, now, in front of all these strangers, like none of it mattered.

I'm gonna get fired if I don't get some sleep

My long lost buddies say I'm getting in too deep

He exhaled slowly, then dropped his arms and nodded. “Alright.”

But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it

I try so hard, I can’t rise above it…

Joel watched you, half focused on the dance, half lost in the way your smile grew wider each time he got it right. And he did get it right, eventually. Something about the rhythm caught him. Something about your fingers tightening just slightly in his hand each time the music swelled.

Don't know what it is 'bout that little girl's lovin'

But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it

He spun you around, and when you landed back in his arms, you pressed in a little closer, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and something soft in your eyes. Joel felt the guilt unravel a little more. It didn’t disappear, but for the first time that day, he stopped listening to the nagging voice in his head that told him he was no good for you.

Then a tap on your shoulder pulled him out of it.

“Excuse me,” a voice said.

Joel turned, keeping one arm around your waist. You paused too, breath catching in your chest from the last spin. A man stood just beside the two of you. Tall, dressed in boots too clean for real ranch work, and smiling a little too confidently.

“Can I help you?” you asked politely, eyebrows lifting.

The man looked between you and Joel, then nodded toward you.

“I was wonderin’ if I might steal you from your daddy for a dance.”

Joel felt your spine straighten where his hand laid across it. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He waited for your reaction. Because, after all, this young man was closer to your age and seemed like someone you should be dancing with if it wasn’t for him.

“No thanks,” you said, sweet as anything. “I’m perfectly happy to keep dancin’ with my daddy.”

And when you turned to Joel smiling, it was with a wink. Surely not very subtle, and not in the least bit shy. His stomach flipped. He might’ve choked on the word if he hadn’t been too focused on keeping his mouth shut and his hands respectful.

The man blinked, frowned, then gave a quick nod before turning back toward the crowd.

Once he was gone, you turned back into Joel, your hands finding his chest again, your grin sharp.

“So rude.” you shook your head with a little grin.

Joel chuckled low in his throat. “Poor kid’s probably off pouting after bein’ turned down by a pretty thing like you.”

You laughed, eyes bright. “Well, maybe next time he’ll think twice before trying to cut in.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “Next time?”

You leaned in, “You think I’m lettin’ anyone else dance with me tonight?”

He didn’t get the chance to answer before you moved in even closer, lips just shy of his.

“Why don’t we make sure everyone in this place knows exactly how much I like my daddy, huh?”

And then your mouth was on his.

Your hands slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck, nails grazing skin, tugging just enough to make his knees want to give. Your lips were hot, certain, hungry, certainly not the casual kind of kiss you gave him earlier in the day, out on the fairgrounds, sweet and easy in thanks.

No, this was all for him, a kiss with weight behind it. With purpose and damn near possession.

Joel’s hands slid around your waist, fingers pressing into the small of your back. He pulled you close, pressed his mouth harder against yours like he was drowning and you were the only air he had left. The music thumped somewhere in the background, but he barely registered it. You were all he could taste. Sugar and sweat and something warm that settled heavy in his chest.

You broke the kiss eventually, barely, breath brushing over his lips as you smiled.

“Think they got the message?” you asked, smug and breathless.

Joel gave a low laugh. “Not sure. Might need to run it by ‘em again.”

And then he was kissing you all over again.

Eventually, the music wound down and the last of the dancers trickled out. Voices quieted, boots scuffed across the old floorboards toward the exit, and the warm hum of the fair outside dimmed to a gentle hush. The tents had started closing down, lights blinking off one by one, vendors packing up what was left of the night. It was quieter now, the energy settling like dust in the air, and Joel walked beside you back toward the parking lot, your fingers looped loosely in his.

The moon was high and clear, silver light stretching over the dirt and gravel. The air had cooled just enough to feel like relief after a day of heat and sun, and the scent of fried dough and hay still hung faint on the breeze.

He opened the passenger door for you, helping you up with a hand at your waist before closing it gently behind you. Then he circled around, climbed into the driver’s seat with a low groan in his knees, and exhaled hard as the silence wrapped around the two of you.

“I had a lot of fun today,” you said, voice soft in the quiet, eyes turned toward him as you set your teddy bear in the back seat.

Joel looked over with a slow, tired smile curling on his mouth. “Me too, baby.”

He leaned across the console and tipped his chin up slightly, looking down at your mouth, just to invite you in. He meant for it to be a quick kiss. A thank you. Something simple.

But the moment your lips touched his, it was anything but a simple kiss goodnight.

You lingered, lips warm and sweet, your mouth soft against his, your hand rising to his jaw, nails grazing over the rough edge of his beard, and Joel shivered, a quiet sound catching in his throat.

He didn’t dare move, not when you deepened the kiss like that, the press of your lips firmer, the way you breathed into him like you were trying to get as close as you could. Your tongue slipped forward, slow and teasing, and Joel swore his heart damn near stopped.

He lifted his hand to cup your cheek, fingers spread along your smooth jaw, and tilted your face to kiss you fuller. Your lips parted for him, welcoming, and when his tongue met yours, you gave the softest little gasp, like it startled something in you.

Then you shifted closer and he barely had time to register it before your hand braced against his chest and you pushed, guiding him back into his seat. His breath caught, pulse thudding in his neck as you climbed into his lap, straddling him like you’d done it a hundred times. Your knees pressed into the leather on either side of him, the denim of your skirt hiking up just enough to make him dizzy.

“Baby, what’re—” he started, voice rough, but the question never made it past his mouth. Because then you were kissing him, really kissing him, and everything else seemed to disappear.

Your hands slid up into his hair, fingers tugging gently, grounding yourself as your mouth moved over his with something between hunger and certainty. You were warm and pliant against him, chest brushing his, thighs squeezing around his hips. His head spun with the closeness, the heat, the soft weight of you in his lap.

You’d done this before, though it was all you’d done together, all the kissing and heavy petting to last a lifetime. Joel was content with it, never wanting to push for more. His hands found your waist, steadying you there, not to stop you, but partially to feel you, partially to anchor himself. You moved with a slow rhythm, your body pressing in, every little shift setting him further on edge. You kissed him deeper and hungrier with each passing moment.

His fingers flexed against your sides. You were already breathing hard, your mouth dragging over his, then down to his jaw, where you pressed a few kisses there too, so soft and addictive. Joel tipped his head back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, and let himself feel it.

The truck windows were already fogging up from the heat between you. Sweat prickled at the base of his neck and your thighs were warm around him, your hands still tangled in his hair, and when you whispered his name against his lips between kisses, he felt the restraint in him begin to fray.

But when you pulled away to press your forehead into his, he saw the furrow in your brows, the pained look across your face as you spoke for the first time.

“Please, Joel,” you breathed into his mouth, lips wet against his, soft and trembling with want. “I’m ready. I want you.”

The words cut through the haze in his skull like a hot knife. He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands rising to cradle your face, his thumbs resting beneath your jaw. His calloused fingers tilted your head gently, angling you toward the windshield where the streetlamp's glow filtered through the dusty glass. He needed to see your face, to find your gaze and to know you were sure. Your eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, lips parted and swollen from his kiss. You looked like sin incarnate, lit up in the dim streetlamps, and it made something deep inside him curl and twist and clench.

“Baby…” he murmured in warning, his voice barely holding together. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep telling you no.

But you didn’t look uncertain. Not even close. Your fingers dug into the front of his shirt, clinging to the fabric like it might disappear if you let go, and then your hips rolled forward, grinding into the hard, aching shape of him beneath his jeans. He swallowed hard, trying to hold on to reason, but the friction sent a jolt through him that scrambled every logical thought.

“I mean it,” you said, voice cracking open with need. “I need it so badly. Need you.”

He studied your face, silent, trying like hell to slow the blood roaring in his ears. There was a flicker of hesitation—one that made his heart stutter—but it wasn’t yours. It was his. Because deep down, Joel knew he should stop this. Knew he should say something responsible, something like let’s wait, this ain’t the place, I don’t wanna rush you. We should wait til we get you home. Something that would make him a better man than the one currently hard and straining beneath your thighs.

He couldn’t stop the wriggling worm in the back of his head that kept telling him you were younger. Too young for him. But you were looking at him like he was the answer to every ache in your body, like you had no idea what you were getting yourself into. That look alone was almost enough to make him want to stop this entirely. Almost.

But then your mouth found his again, and you moaned into the kiss, and whatever was left of his restraint dissolved under the heat of your breath. You sounded like you were made to fall apart for him. You felt like a fever in his arms, your skin hot and soft and flushed. And he wasn’t strong enough to let go.

“Christ,” he muttered, and his hands slid down from your face back to your waist, pulling you tighter into his lap. The denim of your skirt had already hiked up too far, bunched high on your hips as you straddled him. He hadn’t been able to stop looking at you all day. Your legs, the way that skirt clung to your curves, the fucking sway of your hips when you walked away from him. Now, with you on top of him, split open around his thighs, skin warm and trembling, it was like every filthy thought he’d buried was clawing to the surface.

And God, the way you moved against him, slow and teasing, your skirt nearly around your waist, the bare stretch of your skin beneath his hands, the greed built up in him even more than ever before. Not just to have, but to see.

He pulled back, just an inch, his voice low and rough. “Can I… see more of you?”

Your breath hitched as you pulled away, and you didn’t answer, not at first. You sat there, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide, and he was nervous he crossed a line, that this wasn’t what you meant when you said you wanted him. He held his breath, but then, sighing, you nodded, maybe a little too quickly. Reaching for the hem of your top with shaky fingers, you paused as you brought the fabric up halfway, like something caught in your throat.

Joel noticed. “Hey,” he said gently, brushing your wrist with his thumb. “What is it?”

You didn’t meet his eyes when your voice got quiet, “I just… I know I’m not—I mean, I don’t have very big… you know.”

The words barely made it out, and Joel felt something in his chest pull tight. You were still holding your shirt, halfway lifted, frozen.

It was odd, seeing you lose that confidence that you held earlier. He watched you all day, playful and devilish in your flirtations with him. But now, now that it was just you two in the cab of his truck, he was seeing between the lines.

He sat up straighter, his hands steady as he helped you lift it the rest of the way, slow and careful, like peeling back something sacred. He tossed it into the footwell without looking. His focus stayed on the soft curve of your chest rising with each breath, the barest quiver in your chin as you tried not to read his expression too hard.

Then he looked up at you, voice quiet but thick.

“What, these?” he said, quiet and low, barely more than a breath. His hands came up, big and warm, palms open as they slid gently to cup you. He wasn’t grabbing or groping, but feeling. Mapping you out. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen as he let the pads of his fingers learn you one soft inch at a time.

“But look,” Joel cooed, eyes flitting between your eyes and where his hands swallowed you, thumbs brushing lightly along the curves of your breasts. “Look how perfectly they fit in my hands.”

And they did. God, they did. His hands were weathered, rough in a way that made him almost hesitate, but you didn’t flinch or tense under his touch. You watched him, wide-eyed and flushed, your lips parted, chest rising fast beneath his broad hands. He couldn’t stop staring. His big, work-worn hands looked even larger against you, rough knuckles against smooth skin, thumbs grazing tender flesh. The contrast made his pulse spike, his brain full of static.

His hands flexed without thinking, fingers cradling you a little firmer. The weight of you in his palms, the way your body gave under his touch lit something in him that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with awe. Like this wasn’t just about wanting you. It was about having you trust him enough to let him look at you like this. There was a moment, maybe two, where Joel seemed to freeze in it, torn between restraint and reverence, like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going or just stay like this, memorizing the way you felt in his hands.

You made a soft noise in the back of your throat, a breathy, barely-there whimper when his thumbs grazed your sensitive nipples again, and he felt it like a bolt down his spine.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice thick. “You feel how perfect you are?”

You hesitated at first, fingers fisting into his shirt at the shoulders, then nodded, slow and shaky, and he could tell you were trying to say yes, but the words wouldn’t come. Your hands slid down his arms instead, fingers curling around his biceps as you leaned in closer, your back arching into his touch. Joel could feel the way your hips shifted, how you melted into him inch by inch.

He kissed your neck again, slower this time, then your collarbone, trailing heat with every little peck. Then lower, just a little, until he was brushing his mouth across the swell of your chest. Not hungry or greedy, just gentle, open-mouthed kisses that made you shiver against him.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured into your skin, his voice gone hoarse.

You shook your head quickly, and he felt your hands tighten around his arms.

“Not stoppin’,” you whispered, barely audible.

Joel smiled against your skin, and one hand lifted to brush a thumb across your nipple, slow and light, just enough to make your breath catch.

You arched into him then, eyes fluttering shut, your whole body moving without thought, and Joel felt something in his chest crack wide open.

This wasn’t just about convincing you you were beautiful. This was about showing you with every kiss, every touch, every look until you never doubted it again.

He didn’t wait long after you gave him permission, just enough time to kiss his way back up to your jaw, watching the way your mouth stayed slack, your eyes heavy-lidded, drunk on him already. He liked you like this, pliant and sweet and soft. He wanted you out of your head and into your body, melting into his hands and mouth and all the ways he knew how to love someone without saying a word.

Joel dipped his head again, this time without restraint, and took one of your nipples into his mouth. His lips closed around you slow and warm, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak in quick, flat strokes. You gasped, your hands shooting up to grip his hair, hips stuttering forward into his lap as your body twitched under the sudden wave of sensation.

He groaned against your skin, the sound rough and real, because fuck, the way you reacted to him from such a simple touch would damn near ruin him for good.

His hands gripped your waist, steadying you, keeping you anchored as he licked and sucked, teeth just barely grazing before his tongue smoothed over the bite. Your thighs trembled around his hips. You were panting now, your body moving without hesitation, instinct driving you to grind down onto him in slow, desperate rolls.

“Joel,” you breathed, high and quiet, your voice caught between pleasure and disbelief. Your back arched hard, head falling back, spine pulling tight like a bow. “Oh my God—”

He didn’t stop. He moved to your other breast, lavishing just as much attention, his hands sliding up your back to hold you steady while your whole body writhed in his lap. Your hips rolled down again, this time firmer, needier. Joel could feel how soaked you were through your panties, and the friction making his head spin.

You were panting harder now, moaning freely, completely gone, and Joel had no fucking clue how he was keeping his own composure. All he knew was he didn’t want this to stop. He didn’t want to do anything but keep you falling apart right there in his arms. He closed his lips around your nipple again, sucking harder this time, tongue dragging over the sensitive peak before he gave it a sharp, deliberate nip. The sound you made had every ounce of his blood roaring to his cock.

And then he felt you shuddering against him. A full-body, violent, uncontrollable shaking of your limbs as your thighs clamped around his hips, your back arched so hard it looked like it might snap. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as your whole body seized against him.

And then you collapsed forward, burying your face in his neck, breathing fast, chest heaving.

Joel pulled away and blinked, stunned, his hands still holding you gently in place, too afraid to move.

“…Did you just—?”

You nodded against his neck, laughing, breathless and wide-eyed as you pulled back to look at him.

“I think I did,” you whispered, grinning in awe. “I’ve never… I didn’t know I could do that.”

Joel stared at you like you were the most miraculous thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

His heart was thudding like a drum. His whole body was vibrating with adrenaline and want, but more than that—God, more than that—he was absolutely done for. Completely head-over-heels wrecked by the way you smiled at him, still shaking, still glowing, sitting there on top of him like you belonged nowhere else.

He let out a low laugh, forehead resting against yours, the both of you sweaty and flushed and grinning like idiots.

“That was the most amazin’ thing I think I might’ve ever seen.”

You giggled, brushing your fingers through his sweat damp hair, gaze dipping down to his lips, swollen and wet from everything you’d just shared. Your thumb dragged along his jaw, soft and slow.

“I was serious, you know,” you said, quieter now. The words felt heavier, more deliberate. “I’m ready. If you are.”

The smile tugging at his mouth faded gently, not with worry, but with something more careful, something reverent. He lifted his hand, fingertips tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. His eyes searched yours, wanting to be absolutely sure he’d heard you right.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Here?”

You nodded, biting your lip, and he saw it in your face—you meant it. You weren’t offering it out of heat or thrill or to prove a point. You were giving it because you wanted him. Because this was where you felt safe.

Joel exhaled, slow and shaky, and let his hands drift down to your thighs. He started at your knees, broad palms dragging up the delicate skin, every inch of contact slow and unhurried. When he reached the edge of your skirt, his fingers slipped beneath it, warm and steady, thumbs sweeping along the crease where your legs met your hips.

You were soft and warm. His fingers slid further up, curling around the backs of your thighs, then higher, gripping your ass with both hands and pulling you closer into his lap, only your pair of panties and his denim between the two of you. You gasped into his mouth at the sudden pressure, your hips grinding down against him in a way that nearly made him lose his composure right then and there.

He nipped at your skin, lips brushing over your jaw, the curve of your neck. Your breath caught again, your nails scratching lightly over his chest as you rolled your hips, and he swore under his breath.

“Joel,” you whispered, his name cracked open on your tongue, a whine that made his stomach clench. You were so soft over him, so willing, like you belonged there, like you knew he wouldn’t say no.

“I got you,” he whispered, kissing the underside of your chin, then lower, pressing his mouth to the hollow of your throat. “I got you, baby. Just… tell me what you need.”

“Touch me,” you begged, voice breaking into pieces, desperate and trembling. “Please. More. Just—more.”

He should’ve stopped. Even now. He knew that. This wasn’t some clean-cut moment, some perfect night. You were in the front seat of his truck, in some nowhere parking lot, and he was hard as stone beneath you, pulse hammering behind his ribs like a war drum. But the way you said please, as if asking for something as important as the air in your lungs, shattered the last of his resolve.

His hands moved even further up the back of your thighs, kneading your ass in his thick fingers, pulling you closer to him. His fingertips were nearly touching as they brushed the sides of your lace panties and found the heat of you, the fabric clinging to your pussy as your arousal stuck to the cotton. Every one of his rational thoughts disintegrated. A deep, guttural sound tore from his chest, something raw and entirely outside himself, and his mouth found your collarbone, teeth dragging over the skin, tongue smoothing it over.

You whimpered, the sound muffled as you buried your face in his shoulder, and his hands tightened on your ass, holding you steady as his fingers traced over the damp cotton. He could feel everything through it—every ridge and dip, the soft, swollen lips beneath the fabric, the way you pressed into his touch like your body was trying to pull him inside.

“Jesus,” he muttered, breath stuttering, eyes fluttering closed for a second like the weight of it was too much. “Baby... this all for me?”

You whimpered, burying your face further against his neck, your arms wound around his shoulders now, trying to hold on as his fingers moved with slow pressure over the damp cotton, mapping the shape of you.

With a little more pressure, he dragged his middle finger along the center of the panties, right where he knew you needed it. Your hips jolted, a sharp breath punching out of you, and he kissed and bit gently at your shoulder, trying to stay steady while you ground down on him again.

He slid his fingers beneath the lace from behind, his knuckles grazing your ass, and slipped two fingers through your folds, the heat and slick coating them immediately. The angle was tight, but it didn’t matter. He pushed in slow, groaning deep in his chest as you clenched around him, your whole body going taut.

You gasped, your thighs shaking on either side of his, your hips rocking back to meet the thrust of his fingers. He fucked you slow, steady, letting his palm grind against you with each pass, his other hand still holding you tightly, keeping you flush to him. The sound of your breath, the soft, broken moans, the wet slick of your pussy around his fingers was all too much.

You nodded fast, breath hitching as you turned your head, finding his mouth and dragging him into another kiss. It was messy, open, all tongue and teeth. You were already shaking, and then he pushed in a third finger.

You whined, body jerking in his lap, fingers clutching at the front of his shirt like you needed something to hang onto. Your mouth fell open against his, panting into the kiss as he fucked you slow and deep, the stretch overwhelming but perfect.

“Gotta open ‘er up for me,” he murmured against your lips, curling his fingers just right. “Gotta get her ready, alright?”

Your hips rocked harder into him, back arching as you ground your clit into the thick seam of his jeans, chasing friction. The pressure made your thighs tremble. His fingers were thick and relentless, and you were soaked, dripping around him with every push.

“Feels—s-so good,” you mewled, breath broken, voice small and high.

“Yeah, baby?” he smiled, lips brushing your cheek, his free hand gripping your hip tighter to hold you steady. “Tell me.”

“Your fingers are so—god,” you gasped, blinking up at him, tears catching at the corners of your eyes, “so thick, Joel, fuck—filling me up, f-feels so good.”

He groaned, dragging his mouth over your jaw, licking into the curve of your throat as his fingers thrust deeper, curling to stroke that perfect spongey spot. Your entire body tensed in his lap, thighs shaking, your moans getting louder, needier, your hands everywhere now—his neck, his hair, tugging, pulling, clinging.

But then your rhythm shifted. You started grinding harder, faster, hips snapping down against his palm in stuttering, frustrated motions.

Joel felt it the second it changed. The edge in your breath, the heat in your voice.

You whined again, a little sharper now. “Need more.”

His brow lifted, but his fingers didn’t stop. “You got more, baby. Right here. Let me—”

“No,” you cut him off, hips jerking back harder onto his hand. “Not your fingers. I need your cock, Joel.”

His eyes blinked widely at your filthy mouth, but all he could muster was a wrecked groan, low and rough, his jaw locking as he tried to keep himself together. His fingers didn’t stop right away, but they slowed, drawing out the tension just enough to leave you gasping. Your walls clenched around the retreat, your body chasing it even as he pulled away.

“Such a greedy little girl, ain’t ya?” he muttered, voice rougher than he meant, more strained.

He dragged his fingers from you with a wet sound, both of you shivering at the loss. His hands moved to your hips again, gripping tight, dragging you forward until you were pressed flush to him. The thick line of his cock was unmistakable beneath the denim, rock hard and hot through the layers. You gasped as he pulled you against your bare thighs, your panties soaked and clinging.

Even through the denim, it was too much. Your heat, the damp of your panties, the softness of your thighs around him, it all short-circuited whatever thread of self control he was still hanging on to.

Joel’s head tipped back slightly, breath ragged. “Feel that? What you do to me?”

You nodded, a little amused glint back in your eye, though your mouth was still parted and heaving in breaths. You reached down, and he watched as your hands fumbled with his belt, the metal clinking loudly in the truck cab. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, just below where your mini skirt bunched up and he could see the pink of your panties, with white lace trim around them. His mind felt like it was buzzing with static.

Joel felt the tug of his belt give, then the pop of the button, the slow scrape of the zipper. He hissed through his teeth as your hand slipped inside, dainty little fingers wrapping around him. So warm and firm, but your grip wasn’t shy, and neither was the way you stroked him once, slow, before pulling him free.

He let out a low, broken sound, his head tipping back against the seat as his hips twitched into your palm. Jesus Christ, he was already leaking, hard as hell, and your soft hand felt like heaven.

He looked down just in time to see your thumb swipe through the wet at the tip, smearing it along the ridge. Your eyes flicked up, lashes heavy, lips parted, and then your tongue slipped out to wet your bottom lip. His eyes narrowed on the sight.

“It’s so… big,” you said, half breathless, caught somewhere between awe and nerves.

He couldn’t help the twitch of a grin, pride low and warm in his gut, but it faded fast when you licked your fingers and brought them back down to him. Joel’s mouth went dry as he watched, wide-eyed, his cock jumping in your grip as you used that spit-slick hand to spread the moisture, dragging it over the head and down the shaft with slow, deliberate strokes. His head hit the backrest again, a low moan escaping him as your hand wrapped fully around him. He was pulsing under your touch, every vein thick and straining, and all he could do was grip the seat with one hand and brace his other on your thigh.

His breath caught as you lined him up, the swollen head of his cock notched against your entrance, slick heat already soaking him. His hands flew up to your hips, fingers curling into your skin tight. He looked up at you, chest rising hard beneath his shirt.

“Fuck,” he managed, voice shredded. “Baby, take it slow. Alright?”

You nodded, teeth sunk into your bottom lip, and began to lower yourself down on him.

It was hell and heaven all at once.

He’d never felt bliss like this before. You were so tight, so velvety and wet and welcoming to his cock. He forced himself to keep his eyes open even as they drooped heavily, needing to see you. He watched your jaw slacken, your eyes roll back and your lashes flutter shut, the way your neck arched back at the feeling of him filling you completely.

If you didn’t take this slow, he was going to embarrass himself. Two pumps, and it’d be over.

“You okay?” he rasped, voice hoarse and frayed, trying to keep his focus on your face, not the overwhelming squeeze of your walls around his cock.

You nodded, still dazed, still adjusting to the stretch. He watched your hands slide up his chest for balance, fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt.

“So… so full,” you whispered.

Joel groaned, his eyes squeezing shut for just a second. “You feel like heaven, baby. Fuck. Can’t—can’t move just yet.”

He breathed through his nose, short and hard, jaw clenched tight as he fought to stay still. Your walls kept fluttering around him, tightening every time you shifted. He could feel every tiny twitch, every squeeze, and it was sending his brain sideways.

You shifted your hips once, just a little roll of them, and his body jerked.

“Jesus Christ,” he bit out, thumbs digging into the soft flesh above your hips. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You grinned, a soft chuckle escaping, voice high and breathless, and gave another little roll, just enough to make him groan again.

“Not trying to,” you said sweetly, rocking just once more, a little deeper this time, “but you feel so good, Joel. So deep.”

“Fuck, that’s it,” he gritted, watching the way your body moved over his, the way your thighs flexed as you lifted up and sank back down, taking him in inch by inch. “Just like that, baby. You’re doin’ so good.”

You moaned, a soft, desperate sound that made his head spin, and then you started to move in earnest, just slow at first, a grind that let you feel every ridge of him, every twitch and pulse as your slick walls dragged along his cock. His jaw clenched, hips rising to meet yours on every stroke, and then you found your rhythm.

Up, down, harder, faster. Until the sound of skin of skin filled the cab of the truck, your breathless moans and his gritted grunts, all a symphony of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard.

Joel could barely think. All he could do was feel—your heat, your slick, the way you clenched around him tighter with every bounce. His hands never stopped moving, guiding you, holding you open for him, sliding up your back, your waist, gripping anywhere he could find.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he said, mouth hot against your throat. “Look at you, pretty little thing, ridin’ me so good,”

You whined, nails digging into his shoulders as you bounced harder, grinding down between strokes, chasing it now. Joel felt you start to shake, the rhythm turning erratic, frantic, your breath coming faster as your thighs quivered on either side of him.

“My good girl,” he rasped, barely able to get the words out, his lips brushing your jaw, his voice thick with everything you were pulling out of him. “Takin’ your old man’s cock like it was made for ya, huh?”

You cried out, the sound catching in your throat as your head fell forward onto his shoulder.

“That’s it, atta girl,” he growled, hands locking down on your hips now, helping you ride him, thrusting up to meet you with punishing force.

You were trembling in his lap, gasping his name again and again, every breath broken, every moan more high-pitched than the last. He felt the change in the way your walls fluttered around him, the way your legs started to give out, and he knew you were close.

“Gonna come for me again, hm?” he whispered, lips finding your chest as you pushed back up, a look of bliss and agony on your face when his tongue lapped at your nipple before taking it in his mouth, teeth scraping until he let it go with a pop as he said, “Come on, baby girl. Let me feel it. Wanna feel your sweet pussy squeeze the life outta me,”

Your body tensed hard as he took your other nipple between his teeth. Your back arched, your mouth dropped open as you cried out his name.

Joel felt it in the way you clamped around him, how your whole body seized and shook, how the heat of you spread and pulsed around his cock. He didn’t stop his tongue on your chest or his heavy thrusts into you. He couldn’t. He chased you through it, fucking you through your orgasm, his rhythm relentless now.

“Good girl,” he groaned, releasing your breast, head tipping back as you convulsed around him. “That’s my girl.”

It’s all he could say, all he could muster up as his blood roared. He knew he was going to leave bruises on your hips with the way he was holding you, his fingers digging deep, guiding you down onto his cock again and again as he fucked up into you, chasing the tight pull in his gut, the pressure building so fast it burned.

Your body was limp against him, boneless and spent, your forehead pressed to the side of his neck, still clenching around him in aftershocks that made his vision blur. He could feel the way you twitched as he pumped into you, cock filling you to the hilt every thrust. He could hear the wet sounds of your slick coating him, and it was pushing him right to the edge.

Maybe it was the sound of his breath, ragged and uneven in your ear, or maybe it was the way his thrusts had started to lose rhythm, hips stuttering beneath the weight of everything building inside him. Whatever it was, you knew.

You shifted, lifting your chest off his and sitting upright in his lap. His eyes opened, dazed and half-lidded, just in time to see you reach for his hands, pulling them from your hips and guiding them up to your chest. You pressed his palms back against your breasts, dragging a soft gasp from him as his fingers curled instinctively around you, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

And then you started to move.

Your hips rocked in a slow, devastating rhythm. Grinding forward, rolling back, twisting just enough to make him feel every flex and clench of your body around his cock. The new angle let him feel you in full, the grip of your pussy tighter than anything he’d ever known, slick and pulsing and dragging him deeper with every shift of your weight.

His eyes locked on you, chest rising hard, muscles taut, and he could barely keep up. He could hardly even breathe.

“Gonna come for me, Joel?” you asked, your voice breathless, raw, and almost sweet in its teasing.

He groaned, hands tightening around your breasts, his fingers twitching as you ground down harder. Your pace picked up just enough to wreck him, every movement drawing him closer to the edge.

“Come on, handsome,” you whispered, leaning in, your breath hot against his cheek. “Know you can. Know you wanna come inside me, don’t you?”

Joel’s whole body seized, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He could feel you squeeze around him as you said it. The flutter of your pussy gripping him like you were trying to pull every last bit out of him.

“F-fuck,” he gritted out, “Are y–are you sure, baby?”

He didn’t think he could take any more. But then you reached for one of his hands, lifted it gently, and brought his fingers to your mouth.

“Come for me, Joel,” you whispered, and then you slipped one of his digits into your mouth and hollowed out your cheeks to suck, soft and slow, tongue warm and wet.

And Joel saws stars as he came.

As he came down, he pulled his hand from your mouth, bringing your body to him, your chest against his and held you close. His forehead pressed to your shoulder, the soft rise and fall of your breathing the only sound between you for a long moment. You stayed wrapped around him, warm and wet and still twitching with aftershocks.

His breath came slow and heavy, chest rising beneath yours as his eyes slipped closed.

“My god,” he muttered, voice worn raw, scraped down to gravel.

You didn’t say anything right away. Just smiled, fingers combing gently through his hair, your body soft and loose in his arms. He felt your lips brush his temple, then his ear, warm and light, and when you shifted, you kissed the tip of his nose.

“That was…” you murmured, smiling against his skin, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

He hummed, a small sound low in his throat, eyes half-lidded, lips curved with something lazy and content.

You leaned down and kissed him again, soft and slow, and his felt cock stirring faintly inside you, twitching in the warmth he hadn’t pulled out of yet.

“Amazing,” you finished, lips brushing his.

Joel could’ve stayed in that moment forever.

His hands were still resting low on your back, fingers splayed wide, thumbs brushing along your spine. He blinked slowly, gaze flicking between your eyes and your mouth, still a little swollen from kissing him stupid.

You tilted your head, smiling like you knew something he didn’t.

“What?” you asked softly, your voice still a little breathless, lips brushing his again.

Joel wasn’t sure where it came from. His mind was fogged with desire, those damn post coitus hormones and having the prettiest girl he’d ever seen his arms. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But it echoed from the cavern on his mind until it was screaming to be let out.

“Be my girlfriend?”

You blinked, surprised, but your smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew, soft and wide and toothy. Your cheeks warmed, and not just from the heat of the truck cab.

“Joel Miller,” you said, sweet and teasing as you pushed a bit of damp hair from his forehead, “are you asking me to be your girlfriend right after blowing my mind in your truck?”

He huffed a laugh, eyes narrowing in mock offense, his grip on you tightening like he didn’t want to let you squirm away from it.

“Well, yeah, suppose I am,” he said, a little more grounded this time, the words settling deeper in his chest. “I mean it.”

You stared at him for a beat longer, still grinning.

“Okay,” you said finally, soft and sure, like it wasn’t even a question. “Yeah. I’m your girl.”

Joel let out a slow breath through his nose, every part of him relaxing under the weight of those simple little words.

I’m your girl.

The smile that broke across his face was unguarded, wide and real, his hand lifting to cup your cheek as your eyes stayed locked on his. You were both grinning now as you brought your forehead to his, lost in it for a long, quiet moment.

Then he pulled you back in, kissing you again slow and deep, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

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blackpantherismyish · 3 days ago

Text

Uncle Stack’s Wild Day Off. 💰

Modern!Au Elias “Stack” Moore, Elijah “Smoke” Moore X Annie Moore, Jordyn Moore(S&A daughter)

Word count: 1.5k

Authors note: I apologize if the AU description is confusing. 😅 I just wanted to make it clear we ain’t on no Alabama type shit. This is a lil cute fluffy blurb I came up with. As an auntie, I can relate to all of this so I wanted to share. And let me know if yall want more stuff like this.

It starts with syrup.

Sticky, sweet, and halfway across her cheek.

“Unc-leee,” little Jordyn whines from across the table, eyes wide and cheeks puffed like she’s about to explode into laughter. “You said I could pour it!”

Stack wipes his mouth with a napkin and leans forward, brow raised. “And I did. But you said you knew when to stop.”

She looks down at the cartoon pool of maple flooding her pancakes, plate, and a little corner of the table. “I thought I did.”

He chuckles low, that familiar gravel-deep sound that always makes her giggle. “C’mon, syrup queen. Eat up before this place bans us.”

They’re tucked into a booth at Ruby’s Diner—one of the last places in the city with booths high enough to hide from the world and a jukebox old enough to make Stack nostalgic. Jordyn kicks her feet under the table, her tiny black sneakers thudding against his boots.

“You think Mama would let me dye my hair blue?” she asks, mouth full of pancake.

Stack’s fork pauses mid-air. “You ask your mama that, you better be ready to hear ‘no’ before you finish the sentence.”

“Papa said maybe when I’m older.”

He nods, chewing. “That’s code for ‘when you’re thirty.’” Jordyn giggles again, tipping her head like she’s caught on to a secret.

After breakfast, they head to the arcade—Stack’s idea, though he tells her she “wore him down with her big eyes and syrup bribes.” Truth is, he had the whole day mapped out since last week when Smoke casually said, “She been asking about you, man. Wants some one-on-one time.”

Now they’re in the neon glow of the game room, Jordyn’s face lit like a carnival bulb. Stack exchanges a twenty for a fistful of coins and follows her from skee-ball to air hockey to a chaotic driving game she insists she knows how to play. She drives them both off a digital cliff three times and cackles like it’s the best thing ever.

“Uncle Stack, you drive worse than me,” she teases, swinging her little body out of the seat.

“That’s slander,” he deadpans, straightening his shoulders like he’s offended. “I drive like a legend.”

“You drive like someone’s grandpa!”

His mock gasp makes her laugh so hard she hiccups.

Hours pass in a haze of flashing lights and sugar. He buys her a blue slushie—against better judgment—and wins her a giant plush octopus with his precision aim at the basketball game. She names it “Sir Wiggles.” Stack pretends to hate the name, but he buckles the thing into the back seat like it’s a VIP.

They end up at the park just before sunset. Jordyn’s arms stretch wide as she races ahead, spinning in circles through the tall grass like she’s chasing the wind. Stack strolls behind, hands in pockets, smile tucked under his beard.

“Uncle Stack!” she calls. “Race me to the top of the jungle gym!”

He raises a brow. “I’m not tryna break a hip today, baby girl.”

“You said you were a legend!”

He snorts. “A driving legend. Not a monkey-bar legend.”

Still, he jogs after her. Pretends to try. Pretends to lose.

They sit at the top once she’s conquered it, Jordyn perched like royalty on her throne of metal bars, the octopus half-dragging behind them. She looks up at him with quiet wonder in her eyes—the kind that always undoes him, no matter how many walls he pretends to have.

“Uncle Stack,” she says, suddenly soft. “You think when I’m big, I can be brave like you and Papa?”

He leans back, arms stretching behind his head. “You already are.”

She squints, not believing him.

He taps her chest. “Brave don’t mean you don’t get scared. It means you do what needs doin’ anyway. You—” he gently tugs a curl that’s come loose from her puff— “got more brave in you than you know.”

Her smile could break clouds.

By the time they return home, the sky is streaked with lavender and gold. Smoke’s on the porch with Annie, both of them watching with matching smiles as Jordyn tumbles out of the car like a storm, Sir Wiggles the octopus dragging beside her.

“Look what Uncle Stack won me!” she yells. “And I had a slushie! And pancakes! And I BEAT HIM at the driving game!”

Smoke smirks, arms crossed. “That so?”

Stack grumbles, grabbing the last of her wrappers from the passenger seat. “Don’t listen to her. She played dirty.”

“You let her win?” Annie teases.

Stack glances at Jordyn, who’s doing a victory dance on the porch.

“Nah,” he says, grinning. “She earned it.”

Annie kisses his cheek. “Thanks for takin’ her out today.”

He nods, quieter now, watching Jordyn with a weight in his chest that feels like love and something older.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, smiling. “It was good for both of us.”

Smoke tosses him a look—knowing and brotherly. Stack catches it, nods once. No words needed.

As Jordyn runs inside yelling for chocolate milk, Stack leans on the porch rail, sunset cutting across his eyes.

Best damn day off he’s had in years.

The porch creaks beneath them, soft and familiar. The day’s heat is cooling now, cicadas starting to sing in the trees. Stack sits down in the weathered rocking chair, arms draped loose over the armrests, a half-drained beer sweating on the porch rail beside him. Smoke’s got his feet propped up on the step, one hand idly bouncing a tennis ball against the wood post.

Inside, Jordyn is loudly explaining Sir Wiggles’ “backstory” to Annie like she’s pitching a Marvel movie.

Stack chuckles under his breath. “She really said the octopus has a secret twin that lives underground and only comes out when the moon’s full.”

Smoke huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Man, where she get this stuff?”

Stack doesn’t even hesitate. “You.”

Smoke stops bouncing the ball. “What?”

“C’mon,” Stack says, leveling a slow look his way. “You used to swear you had a twin trapped in a mirror that only I could see. Like I wasn’t the damn twin!”

Smoke pauses, grins slow. “Damn. I did, huh?”

Stack just nods like exactly.

They sit in silence for a moment, listening to Jordyn shriek with laughter inside.

“She’s got both of us in her,” Smoke says, voice a little lower now. “Clear as day.”

“Yeah,” Stack agrees. “God help y’all.”

Smoke smirks. “She’s got my mouth and your stubbornness. Worst possible combo.”

“Nah,” Stack counters. “She’s got your mood swings and my bad attitude. That’s the apocalypse right there.”

They both laugh, that deep-chested sound only brothers make when they’re remembering something that hit them sideways the first time.

Annie’s voice chimes in from behind the screen door. “You’re both wrong.”

They turn in sync.

“She’s got your sarcasm,” Annie says to Stack, pointing, “and his unpredictability.” She looks at Smoke. “But she throws shade like both of y’all owe her money.”

Stack raises his beer. “She do that little head tilt when she’s mad?”

Smoke sighs, nodding. “Like a villain in training. Yesterday she told me I wasn’t ‘emotionally intelligent enough’ to comment on her snack choices.”

Annie throws her hands up. “She’s eight, y’all.”

“Eight going on federal indictment,” Stack mutters, and they all crack up.

“I told her to clean her room last week,” Annie says, coming outside and leaning against the post, arms crossed. “You know what she said?”

“Please tell me it wasn’t ‘I’m setting boundaries.’” Stack groans.

“Worse. She said she was ‘centering herself for clarity before engaging in oppressive labor.’”

Stack coughs into his drink. Smoke wheezes.

“She called chores oppressive labor?” Smoke asks between laughs.

“Deadass,” Annie says. “And then walked away humming like a monk.”

“She’s you with better vocabulary,” Stack says to Smoke.

“She’s you with sass and a grudge,” Smoke fires back.

“She’s both of y’all with a dash of me just trying to survive,” Annie declares, shaking her head.

Inside, Jordyn is now narrating a dramatic octopus rescue mission. Her voice rises and falls with theatrical flair.

“She gon’ run the world one day,” Smoke says softly.

“She gon’ burn it down first,” Stack adds, but there’s pride in his voice.

Annie smiles, just a little tired. “Only if we survive raising her.”

They all go quiet for a beat.

The screen door creaks again.

“Uncle Stack?” Jordyn pokes her head out, curls wild, octopus still clutched in one arm. “Can I have more chocolate milk if I promise to do yoga before bed?”

Stack blinks. “What kind of trade-off negotiation is this?”

Smoke narrows his eyes. “Did she just ask you for chocolate milk like I ain’t her papa?”

Stack smirks. “Mmhmm. Like I’m the department of beverages and you don’t even exist.”

“She bold,” Smoke mutters.

“Bold don’t even cover it,” Annie says, shaking her head. “That child been bypassing your authority since kindergarten.”

Jordyn waits at the door, unbothered by the scrutiny.

Stack points a warning finger, sighs. “One cup. One. And don’t tell your daddy what you put in the last one.”

Jordyn’s grin is nothing short of villainous. “Deal.”

Then she’s gone again, sprinting for the fridge like she owns it.

Smoke groans into his hands. “She really just iced me out like I wasn’t sittin’ ten feet away.”

“Stack privilege,” Stack says with a shrug. “It’s real.”

——

Taglist: @bigjh @anniensmoke3 @hdfen2474 @uzumaki-rebellion @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @killmongerdispussy @theogbadbitch @ccwpidsblog @princesskillmonger @blowmymbackout @theethighpriestess @blktinkerbell @steampunkprincess147 @diamondsinterlude @partylikemajima @mhhhhmmmmmmm @coolfoodrunworld-blog @lilchubbs @thebumblebeesworld @mastertia221b @brownskincheyenne @belleofthefloor @c0tt0ncandi @irefusetobeacasualty @cocoxciv-blog @melodyofmbaku @lb-xci

#uncle duties #smoke moore #stack moore #annie moore #smokestack twins #girl dad

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rhettrosunsets · 2 days ago

Text

My Only Girl

Pairing: Bob Reynolds X F!Reader

Category: Fluff! Fluff! And more Fluff!

Summary: When your boyfriend wanders off in the middle of the night when he should be asleep next to you, you go off to find him.

Masterlist

Word Count: 1350

Warnings: Mentions of wearing Bob's shirt, mention of proposal, no mention of Y/N, No mention or description of what reader looks like, Use of pet names like Baby, Sweetheart, My Love, etc. (I think thats it? if not please let me know, so I know for future reference!)

Notes: This is my first time writing a Fan-Fiction since I was probably fourteen, so I hope it's good! I'm getting back into the swing of things, so any and all feedback would be amazing.

"Bob?”

You mumble tiredly, your hand reaching out for where your boyfriend should be asleep next to you, tapping around his side of the bed, only to feel a cold pillow that had shifted in the night, replacing where your boyfriend had been laying earlier that evening.

"Mmm" you whine out softly as you open your bleary eyes, blinking a few times, trying to get your vision to focus.

"Baby..?" You ask softly, your voice heavy with sleep as you sit up, pushing onto your elbow to look around your shared bedroom. You notice his dark blue sweater still hanging off the side of the chair, evidence of the laundry that you have both been procrastinating for a few days, seemingly mocking you every-time you look at it.

You groan softly to yourself, rubbing your eyes as you finally turn to look at the clock on your nightstand, noticing it’s almost four in the morning. With a quiet huff, you slide out of bed, your feet hitting the cold wood floors. You wince at the cold contact, your body still warm and fuzzy from the peaceful sleep you’ve woken up from.

You reach down onto your floor and grab Bob’s oversized shirt that he threw off earlier that night, quickly covering yourself, before opening your bedroom door, hearing the soft creak of the hinges. You tread down the hallway, the floorboards occasionally creaking, as you step into the living area, noticing Bob sitting on the couch drinking some tea and reading a book you had gotten him, your favorite fuzzy blanket thrown over his lap half haphazardly.

Bob looks up as you walk into the living room, his gaze softening immediately as he sees your body still heavy with sleep, your weary but soft eyes looking at him.

"Hey."

You murmur quietly as you walk over to the couch, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere. You sit next to him as he gently tosses the throw blanket over your bare legs, seeing the slight effect of the chill beginning to form.

"What are you doing up, M’love? It's almost four in the morning." You ask as you curl into his side, accepting his open arm as an invitation.

Bob smiles softly, as you curl into him. His large hand absentmindedly beginning to rub over your shoulder in a soothing motion, as he looks down at you. His gaze is filled with a soft gaze, his eyes flickering as they take in your drowsy form, bringing a soft smile to his lips.

"Couldn't sleep." He says, gently tugging you even closer to his chest. “Didn’t wan’ to wake you up, sweetheart. You looked comfortable, and I know you’ve been needing to catch up on sleep yourself. Been working too hard.” he says in a low gentle tone, drawing out his words slightly, in that soft tone of his that you’ve always adored.

You smile against his chest, your hand gently playing with the fabric of his soft t-shirt. Your heart twisting with affection for the man you get to call yours, as he explains his reasoning for being in the living room so late. It was always like Bob to think of your needs first, always letting you know how loved you are, how important you are to him, and how far he’s willing to go to make sure you always know that you're his first priority, never letting you doubt for a moment his affection for you.

"Still, I don't like you being up this late by yourself." You murmur sleepily, your hand now tracing shapes against his chest aimlessly. "You need your rest too. Y’know, invincible or not."

Bob huffs out a quiet laugh “I promise you, I'm fine, sweetheart." He reassures you, his touch tender and careful, as he holds you close to him, his soft smile making it seem like he was holding the world in his arms. “I’ve had my tea, and I've got my best-girl in my arms. It can’t get much better than this.” He says chuckling, seeing the soft glare you throw his way, knowing you don’t mean any malice behind it.

“Better be your only girl, Reynolds”

You huff out, looking away from his soft gaze.

Bob chuckles much louder this time, his chest vibrations gently moving you, as he laughs. "You know you're my one and only, sweetheart." He says looking at you, an amused glint in his eyes. He grabs your chin, tugging on it softly to make you look at him again. "And don't you ever forget it, future Mrs. Reynolds.” He whispers with a soft smirk, a much bolder move from the once shyer boyfriend Bob had been when you had first gotten together.

You blush, scoffing as you bury your face back into his T-shirt, not wanting him to see that he’s won your little battle. “Lotta’ talk for someone who hasn’t put a ring on my finger yet.” you say, softly muffled by his t-shirt, but you can feel the vibrations of his laugh, looking up just in time to see his head thrown back, eyes closed and hair messily tousled from the movement.

Bob peers back down, looking you in the eyes, smiling to himself, a soft glint seemingly appearing in his gaze that you can’t quite make-out the meaning of. “Alright, sweetheart. C’mon.” He says as he sits up, bringing you with him before quickly standing up, and pulling you up, blanket and cup discarded as he begins to walk back towards your bedroom.

"Aren't you still wide awake, m'love?” You ask concerned, not wanting him to go back to bed for just your sake.

He hums softly, as he leads you across the cool hardwood floor, his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulder, pulling you against his side as you walk, his warmth radiating through the thin T-shirt you stole from the floor. The low tone of his voice is soothing to your ears “I think i’ll be able to fall asleep just fine after my tea. And the idea of getting to hold my girl is much more appealing than sitting out there by myself for any longer.”

Your lips softly quirk up, as he pushes your bedroom door open, gently guiding you over to your bed, before laying down with you.

He opens up his arms, whispering a soft “C’mere Baby” beckoning you over, as you happily curl into his chest, resting your head on his chest, hearing the gentle thumping of his heartbeat. He wraps his arms around you, his hands beginning to draw soft patterns and shapes across your lower back, as your breath begins to slow, and you relax into his hold.

“I hope y’know i’m holding you to that future Mrs. Reynolds promise.” You mumble out, your voice heavy with sleep. Bob’s soothing hold making it impossible for you to stay awake for much longer.

Bob chuckles, his eyes peering down at you resting on his chest, his hand coming up to gently run his thumb across your cheek, smiling wide at how you lean into his touch, “Wouldn't've said it, if i didn't mean it sweetheart. Now get some rest sweetheart, you need it.” he whispers soothingly into your ear, watching you drift off in his hold.

Bob smiles to himself as he leans back on his pillow, looking up at the ceiling, his hands still drawing soft shapes on your back. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep for at least a few more hours, but he knew you wouldn’t go back to sleep, and that you’d just be worrying if he didn’t come back to bed with you. Seeing you in his arms, asleep, safe, and soothed by his touch makes up for any lack of sleep he may feel in the morning.

His gaze leaves the ceiling, and as he turns his head, and peers over to his nightstand drawer, where a ring has been sitting for a few weeks now, hidden amongst many other items. Bob lips quirk up in a soft sort of smirk, before he leans down, kissing your forehead and whispering softly

“My only girl.”

#bob reynolds #thunderbolts #robert reynolds x reader #x reader #sentry x reader #Thunderbolts X Reader #marvel #sentry #lewis pullman #robert reynolds

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rafeslvbug · 2 days ago

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CHAPTER 1 - maybank!reader series

brushing the sand from your face and hands, groaning as you push yourself to a stand, you can hear the distant yelling of kie as she argues with ruthie over the turtle hatch she just ran over. jj pulls you towards him, eyes scanning over you for any injuries but you simply push him away, “i’m fine jj, but i think kie’s gonna–“

“kill ruthie? i know, come on,” he grabs your elbow, tugging you along with him as he marches over to the crowd, separated with an invisible line in the sand marking kooks and pogues.

“you drove over a turtle hatch!” kie yells, holding out the poor animal to ruthie, who even though she looks mildly guilty, brushes it off.

“yeah well there were hundreds more! and you know, they probably won’t make it in the sea anyways,” ruthie retorts, looking around for support from her equally dumb friends, while you slip behind jj and kie. trainers sinking into the sand, you pad around the crowd, eyes fixed on the obnoxious monster that’s topper’s car. between their yells, useless back and forths that might end in pushing hands, and jj throwing around some threat that’ll later bite him in the ass, you sneak around to the open car door.

“idiots,” your murmur to yourself, peeking your head for a quick scan of your surroundings.

no one’s watching.

placing your foot on the step, you push yourself up, hands on the leather seat, leaning forward to pluck the yellow sonny angel that ruthie must have stuck to the dashboard. your fingers grasp around the head, before a hand hooks the neck of your shirt and hauls you back. letting out a yelp, your foot slips down the step, crashing into the sand while your back collides with something firm. then you’re roughly spun ‘round, pushed back to the car and faced with none other than rafe cameron.

sunglasses tipped low, bottle of beer in his hand, other arm now crossed over his chest. the arrogant bastard, looking down at you with a scowl, after he’s probably stretched out the neck of your shirt.

“this shirt was new y’know,” you mumble, running your finger over the fabric.

“got the audacity to complain about a shirt, when you just tried to steal ruthie’s…whatever the fuck this thing is,” rafe grumbles, wrenching the sonny angel free from your unwilling palm.

“hey! come on!” you try to stick your hand out and grab it but he holds it out of your reach, almost taunting you.

“it’s not yours,” he stuffs it into his pocket before taking a sip of his beer, eyes calculating under the rim of his sunglasses.

“well it’s not yours either, an’ i didn’t see you putting it back on the dashboard!” you retort, arms across your chest, glancing behind the car to the scene that was still unfolding.

“i’ll give it back to her..” he mumbles, utterly unconvincing, yet you don’t think he’s even trying to hide that. rafe’s always had a double set standard for everything, things pogues can’t do, but kooks can, laws set in place like he’s the justice system, flawed in every way.

“yeah right, think she deserves it anyways, one of those things is less than the price of that turtle she killed,” you say, looking directly at him, almost like a challenge to his prejudice.

“it’s just nature, it’d die eventually, don’t get all sentimental maybank,” he huffs, blowing out a laugh and swinging back his drink again. the idea that you’ve tortured yourself enough by entertaining him this long is sickening, reaching a limit whereby you push past him, shoulder brushing shoulder, though he hardly budges.

indignant footsteps sinking into sand, you make your way back to jj and kie, the latter of which who has now been reluctantly dragged away from the gang of kooks by the former. you spare a glance over your shoulder, meeting rafe’s smug look with an infuriated one as he now stands by his idiot friends, chuckling, tucking new phones away, and acting like the world is theirs in their usual fashion. you snap your head away when rafe mockingly pulls the figurine from the pocket of his shorts, waving it in the air before ruthie can see; you had half the mind to storm right back over, and perhaps would have if it weren’t for cleo slinging her arm around your shoulder, muttering something about “dumb kooks”. and as you always had, you agreed.

apron tied around your waist, you from the bar with a tray of drinks on your hand, settling it down in front of the lady in an obnoxious amount of pink with your biggest smile - after all, she tips well.

as you make your way back to the counter, you hear the hollers of someone, calling you back towards them. you knew it was a mistake to glance back, it always was. topper and kelce had complacent grins on their face, leaning back in their chairs like they’re awaiting some servant. after all, in their eyes, that’s exactly what you were. rafe sat there too, one elbow propped on the back of his chair, looking at you expectantly, which they all did.

this didn’t matter to you, though, because you knew they were trying to torment you after the beach incident earlier today. so you felt no need to entertain them, calling over sofia instead while you slipped behind the bar.

“you have to take table 7,” you whisper-beg to her, keeping your eyes off the group of hardly men.

“who’s– no! not them, i’ve taken them already this week,” she groans, dealing with rafe and his friends is a nightmare every pogue has; unfortunately for you, it happens almost every night and day.

“yeah and i had an incident with them this morning so…” you trail off, cleaning the inside of a glass so your talk session with sofia wouldn’t be docked off your pay.

“what kind of incident?” she leans over the bar, intrigued but trying to hide it as she picks up a glass herself. you notice how impatient topper is growing, clearing his throat every five seconds and rafe waving off other waiters as if he’s only after you.

“topper’s dumb girlfriend ran over a turtle hatch, nearly ran us over, then rafe caught me trying to steal one of ruthie’s things…” you murmur.

“you tried to steal!?” she exclaims, glass faltering in her hands.

“nothing big, it was like a toy, and he took it himself!”

she huffs out a laugh, “okay, then. i don’t think they’ll take me though, looks like they want you,” she comments, even her seeing how they’ve dismissed everyone.

“doesn’t matter, i’m taking my break, i’ll be thirty, and you can tell them that,” you say, pushing off as sofia reluctantly goes towards them. you walk around the back of the country club, undoing your apron so it hangs solely from your neck, leaning against the wall to the parking lot. pulling your phone from your bakc pocket, screen even more cracked after having to jump out of ruthie’s way, you look through the few missed calls :

five missed calls, all from your older brother. letting out a deep sigh, you diall his number, the phone ringing as you hold it up to your ear. “y/n?” you hear his voice break through the other line.

“hey jj?”

“hey listen, don’t go home today, alright?”

your brows furrow, turning the volume up as if you didn’t hear him correctly, “jj what do you mean?”

“dad’s home, go stay with john b, or kie or whoever,” jj explains, and the slight worry in your voice causes concern you’re familiar with.

“have you been home? are you okay?” you ask.

“i’m fine, i just saw him out, so i know, i’ll be with john b too, so just come there, alright?”

“alright..”

“okay, enjoy work,” he chuckles at the other end of the line, knowing work for pogues is anything but enjoyable.

“very funny, hanging up jj!”

“bye!”

“bye!” you call through, hanging up and exhaling slow, tilting your head back against the brick. today would be long.

you throw your bag over the couch in the chateau, sighing as you call out, “anyone home?”

sarah peeks her head out from the door, before stepping out fully, “hey! jj and john b are working, pope’s at home.”

“and kie?” you ask, furrowing your brows as you tug off your zipper.

“also at home..her parents are being a bit strict after the turtle incident,” her bottom lip pokes out before she moves to the messy kitchen. “want something to eat?”

“oh no, it’s okay, i got food from the country club..” you murmur, slipping into the makeshift room you’ve claimed at john b’s house. rummaging through one of the drawers, you pull out the small box, embellished with small flowers and a child’s code lock on it. appearing as child sentiment, you flip the lid open to reveal the stash of cash you’ve gathered from small jobs, and tips at the country club, flicking through the money you earned today and setting some aside for gas and food, storing the rest in a neat pile with the other notes.

exhausted, you then collapse onto the bed, listening to the sound of pure quiet, wind whistling out the slightly cracked window, and sarah’s gentle clinking in the kitchen. most of your things are here, clothes stuffed into a wardrobe and various drawers, books in piles and table brimming with trinkets. you don’t risk leaving anything of value at home, jj tells you not to, and you’ve seen enough bruises on him, and dealt with few yourself to understand him well enough.

jj threw himself on you, jolting you awake from the sleep you had passed out into.

“owh! jj! get off me, man!” you groan, pushing the weight of your brother off your tired limbs while he laughs, hopping off the bed.

“you were in a deep sleep there, sis, long day at the club?” he asks, laying properly next to you, hands over his stomach.

“somethin’ like that,” you mumble, recalling the absolute hell topper tried to give you and your narrow escape, of course there was then how they pestered you after you returned from your break. prolonging taking the bill just to try and holler for your attention, until rafe eventually asked you for the check to silence their nonsense even he was growing sick of.

“well, no more of that! it’s party time!” jj declares, jumping up from the bed, pulling you up with him.

“no no, jj, you go, i’m just gonna call it a night,” you mutter, noticing how it’s already growing dark outside, and lacking all energy.

“oh come on!”

“jj, seriously i can’t today..”

“y/n!” he throws his hands in the air, tilting his head at you in mock disapproval.

“sorry jj..next time, okay?”

“yeah..okay,” he mumbles, making his way out the door before he stops, holding onto the doorframe and saying, “i’m holdin’ you to that!”

“okay,” you chuckle, collapsing back on the bed before he’s gone, ushering the others out of the house and to the so called party…

taglist: @starkeyjoseph @rafesbabygirlx @slut-4-rafey @lanaslushworld @littlelamy @rain-likes-purple @sunny1616 @csturnioloswifey @silkylovey @supasolaa @octoberbxbyy

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haostea · 1 day ago

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seventeen bf headcanons

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: seventeen members as boyfriends

masterlist

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ seungcheol

absolutely boyfriend material

such a cuddle bug

always looking to hold and cuddle you

treats you so well, complete princess treatment

would quite literally do anything for you, just say you want it and it's yours

so attentive too, always listens to you, with undivided attention

will surprise you with gifts, and you're all confused because you only mentioned it once the day before

his money is your money, you will never have to pay another bill

will take you out all the time (totally not just so he can see you all dressed up)

he's actually so obsessed with you

will always try to make time for you, even with his busy schedule, trying to make sure you can see each other at least once per day

opening doors? not on his watch. touching a wheel? honey just sit back and relax. shopping? you are never holding a bag

taking you everywhere you desire, say the word he's ready to drive

and his hand will be on your thigh, quite literally all. of. the. time.

overall very good bf, very much in love with you

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ jeonghan

so sweet but also the most annoying thing ever

i can see him being very cuddly but not to much

first in the morning where he's all sleepy, with the most loving look in his eyes, or at night when you are going to bed is when he is the most cuddly

very sweet during these moments, absolutely clinging to you, and rubbing up and down your waist and back

so giddy when you kiss him or are sweet back to him

loves moments like these, but eventually when he gets enough you will end up with a bite mark on your arm

he does not like you being mad at him, he either finds it cute, or is apologizing and going "aigooo," with a pout on his lips

very playful with you, i could see him randomly tickling you just for giggles

if it becomes to much, just give him a look and threaten to take away cuddles, he will stop immediately

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ joshua

this man is husband. material.

an absolute gentleman

holding doors open for you, driving you everywhere, paying for everything, sidewalk rule

but that is not even all of it, he is the actual definition of above and beyond, bare minimum? what is that? joshua only knows how to make you fall in love and swoon, not even batting an eye

so big on hand kisses, or gestures like giving you his arm when you're walking, or opening your car door holding his arm out to you

is always planning out dates, picnics, restaurants, aquariums, you name it he's making a reservation weeks in advance

so so so domestic, loves waking up with you in the morning, and getting ready to start the day

absolutely self-care nights, propping you up on the counter and you putting a facemask on him

loves to slow dance with you, definitely humming the song into your ear, dipping you then finishing it off with a kiss

big fan of cuddling with you in his arms, probably more traditional with you laying on his chest, but he loves it as he can hum songs and give you little kisses

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ junhi

so so silly, never a dull moment with him

very sweet, and very affectionate

loves coming up behind you and giving you hugs, and loves to hold hands, swinging them, and also doing the thumb thing

loves when he can make you love, seeing your smile makes him so happy

big on little pet names and nicknames, will probably never call you by your name

definitely giving you some chinese names, or some cheesy ones that you can't help but giggle at

you're definitely his safe space, will always go to you when he is feeling down and upset, just pulling you in and laying his head on you

lazy days are some of his absolute favorites, where you guys can just be together all day, dozing off and cuddling

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ soonyoung

this man actually loves you so much, his only goal in life is to make you smile and laugh

babies you so so much, spoiling you until you're sick of it

cannot stand seeing you upset, will do anything in his power to wipe the frown off of your face

he's so random too

be prepared to get little texts and updates about his day

"i just saw this flower and it reminded me of you"

"practice was good, but i miss you :("

"baby, can we make kimchi later?"

lives for kisses, needs at least 5 per day or he will get so pouty and upset

just give him a few when he gets like that, and he will bounce right back

i feel like he would be very giddy when going to bed, but at soon as you run a hand through his hair he is out like a light

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ wonwoo

now this is a very calm relationship

i don't think he is very clingy, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't like to cuddle and be with you

he tend to not need as much physical attention, as he likes quality time more, just being in your presence, but you both are doing your own activities

i could see him coming up behind you giving you a hug and a kiss on the top of your head before he leaves

he is for sure always looking at you fondly, his body language and his eyes will tell you everything you need to know about how much he loves you

also very into shoulder kisses, especially when he sleepy

you cooking breakfast in the kitchen then feeling arms wrap around you waist with kisses and mumbles in your shoulder

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ jihoon

expresses his love for you through his writing

you’re his muse for sure, i mean who else would he be writing all of these love songs about?

we all known he doesn't talk to much, but when talking about music, especially to you, he could go on and on

like wonwoo, i see him having quality time as his love language

meaning inviting you to the studio to just be with you, going out to dinners and being able to talk to you, in the morning both going about getting ready

i feel like he would give good advice, where he can calm you down, with you left wondering why you were even upset

doesn't like fighting, so will always try and talk it out with you, but will respect you if you need some time alone

absolutely loves the simple domestic life, just knowing that you have a shared space makes him very happy

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ minghao

the absolute sweetest relationship

like wonwoo i think this is going to be very calming, but can also be a bit more hyper when needed/wanted

he's definitely more simple and traditional with relationships, where he should be the one paying for things, and you should feel free to rely on him and talking to hi about anything

huge on fashion so would love if you let him pick out some of your outfits or ask for his opinion

his closet is your closet, so i could see some clothing being shared if you are around the same height

he's way more into calling, facetiming, and leaving notes rather than texting, he just thinks it's a lot more personal

getting into deep conversations with him is a nightly occurrence, he loves being able to talk to you about everything and anything, especially with the depth you guys get with the conversation, very intimate to him

very very attentive, always looking at you when your talking with very good eye contact and full attention on you

loves kissing you but also in private, i don't think he likes pda that much, but will will offer you his arm or hand when walking

also a big gentleman, you won't have to pay for anything, hold a door, or ever drive again

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ mingyu

he's the biggest baby omg

he loves loves loves cuddling and physical affection, his love language is 100% physical touch

he's always back hugging you and kissing your cheek

don't even try getting out of his grip in the morning or at night because he will not be letting go, he will cling on to you for dear

he only knows sleeping with you, so when he's away for you it takes him much longer for him to sleep, because he just stays up thinking about you

life, putting all of his weight on you so you can't get up

he definitely loves cooking for you, and will become so shy if you compliment him

a sweetheart, will not move if you are sleeping on him, or if your in bed he is the type to join you, or prepare food for when you wake up

probably doesn't mind pda, but obviously there's an extent, the most he will do is holding hands, a quick hug, or a quick peck on your cheek/head

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ dokyeom

this man is absolutely loves you with his whole heart

literally has heart eyes for you, even if you are just reading a book or making a cup of tea

big on pet names like jun, will only ever call you by one that he makes up, you are no longer known by your name

and he definitely would love if you used some back, especially if they are personalized and special

kissing you is one of his favorite things, he quite literally cannot get enough of it

you will have to pry him off you because he will not stop if you don't

takes pictures of you without you noticing, because he loves saving memories, and he definitely has an album dedicated to you

will take you to the beach, arcade, picnics, walks, just so he can takes some pictures and make memories with you

everything to him has some sort of meaning, so every gift he gives you will hold so much of him in it

he for sure has a shoebox filled with every note, letter, card, etc. that you have ever given him

loves holding you close to him, and admiring you

100% serenades you, will randomly follow you into rooms singing his heart out, will also offer you his hand to dance

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ seungkwan

where do i even start? he is your boyfriend, bestfriend, but also the most annoying person ever all in one

there will never be a dull moment with this man, he's always entertaining you in some way

making things interesting is his specialty, so conversations will always have you intrigued

is so weird, like he'll push you away playfully telling you he needs to sleep, then in the morning he's clinging to you like a koala?

i don't think he's to physically affectionate, especially in public, but if you give him a quick peck on his cheek he will be blushing profusely

very stubborn if he doesn't get his way, but at the end of the day he really doesn't care that much, and just wants the both of you to be happy

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ vernon

your relationship consists of memes and tiktoks being sent to each other

such the type of bf to send you everything he thinks is funny, or anything that reminds him of you

he's so random too, would definitely say something so sweet and personal like "you make me the happiest i've ever been," then continue laughing at random tiktoks about cats

not the biggest on physical affection, just needs to get used to it, one of his favorite things to do is link pinkies, or put an arm around your shoulder

even though he won't really show it, he does love you so much, loves kissing you and giving you little pecks

thinks you are absolutely adorable while you sleep, and he definitely takes a few pictures so he can look at then when he's away :(

he's also the type of bf to just follow you around when shopping, holding your purse, and carrying any bags that you have

his family, especially his sister love you for sure, they know you make him so happy

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ chan

he's literally the biggest sweetheart ever

big big gentleman, will always hold your bags for you, open doors, drive you anywhere (hands will always be interlocked)

amazing at eye contact, has literal hearts for pupils, and gives you his undivided attention

it isn't hard for someone to see how much he loves you as he's always looking at you when your around

he's so whipped for you but he doesn't care at. all.

doesn't care if people tease him for it, or think its embarrassing because he doesn't think so, like haven't they seen you? why wouldn't be be head over heels for you?

absolutely one of his greatest accomplishments is to be able to call you his

he loves seeing you smile and laugh, especially when he's the cause of it

so supportive and appreciative of you, like anything you do for him, he will be thanking you profusely and telling you that you didn't have to do that, even if it was just cooking a meal

biggest hype man, will have you do fashion shows for him, and he will be twirling you around, spitting out compliments left and right

always reminds you of how much he loves you, to the point where there will never be a doubt in your mind that he doesn't love you

ugh he's the best thing ever, he loves you so much :(

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ

244 notes · View notes

guliexe · 1 day ago

Text

—IN HIS NAME 18+

♱ Pastor's Son!Anton Lee x Female!Reader

warnings/tags: slow burn, religious/sacrilegious themes, blasphemy, small town, pastor's son!anton, slight hard dom!anton, sub!reader, virgin!reader, childhood friends to lovers, soulmates, anton has god complex, reader is a softie, reader worships anton, dirty talk, fluff, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, love, possessive anton, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, p in v, choking, marking, crying, creampie, aftercare

♡ you came back home expecting a quiet summer—then saw anton again. the sweet, golden boy, and all yours behind closed doors…the only boy you’d ever worship.

w/c: 17.3k

disclaimer! this content might offend or disturb some people, so if you don’t like this type of content please ignore.

You left the town when you were fourteen. Back then, you swore you wouldn’t miss it—this little town that moved too slow and talked too loud. The heat stuck to your skin like syrup, the neighbors always had opinions they shouldn’t, and everyone showed up to church twice a week like it was salvation itself. You were a kid, and the world outside seemed so much bigger. Better. But now, years later, you’re back. Not for a visit. Not for a funeral or a holiday. For good. Your parents wanted to return, said it was time to come “home.” Whatever that means anymore. You didn’t fight it. You didn’t exactly agree either. You just packed your things, followed the motion of their decision, and watched your life in the city shrink behind you. Now you’re here. Sitting on the porch of the same old house you ran through barefoot every summer, the one with the creaky floorboards and the paint peeling off the shutters. The door still groans the same way when it opens. The porch swing still drifts lazily. Some things don’t change, apparently. You pull one leg up under you, sip your ice tea, and squint into the sun. It’s the kind of sticky late afternoon that smells like grass clippings and pavement, almost too hot to breathe. Everything’s still and quiet. Until you hear it. A low voice carries from next door—gentle, warm, vaguely amused. It’s faint, but enough to stir something in you. A ripple of familiarity you weren’t expecting.

You turn your head, and suddenly, everything inside you stops. He’s standing in the yard next door. Anton Lee. At first, you don’t believe it. Your eyes try to make sense of him, this version of him, the one time has molded into something…different. He’s talking to a pair of old women in wide sun hats and floral dresses, probably fresh out of a church committee meeting. He’s got one hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans, the other gesturing politely as he nods along to whatever they’re saying. You can’t hear the words. You’re not really trying to. You’re too busy staring. He looks…grown. Not in a “he got taller” kind of way—but in the way his shoulders fill out his faded t-shirt. In the sharp angle of his jawline, the curve of his neck, the slope of his nose, the way his hair curls slightly at the ends from the heat. Even from this far, you can tell—he’s beautiful. And he’s still Anton. Your neighbor. Your best friend. The boy who used to chase frogs with you until your mom called you in. Who used to pass you folded notes during service. Who once cried when your parents told you you were moving away.

You’d promised to stay in touch. You meant it. But you were fourteen, and life got loud, and somewhere along the way, the calls and texts stopped. Now here he is. Right there. You sit up straighter without meaning to. Your ice tea glass sweats in your hand. He hasn’t noticed you yet, still caught in conversation. You wonder if you look different—older, prettier, unfamiliar. Would he recognize you right away if he turned? You don’t wait to find out. Your nerves get the best of you. You stand, grabbing your empty glass, and head toward the door. You tell yourself you’re not avoiding him. You’re just hot. Tired. Not ready even. But just as your hand pushes the door open, something makes you glance back over your shoulder. And there he is—Staring right at you. The old women are gone now, vanished as quietly as they arrived. Anton’s standing alone in the yard, one hand shielding the sun from his eyes, the other still loosely in his pocket. His gaze is fixed on you. He looks confused. Not startled, but searching. Like he’s not sure what he’s looking at. Or like he is, and just can’t believe it. You don’t move. For a second, the world narrows down to that look, his eyes locked on yours, brows drawn just slightly, lips parted like he’s about to say your name. And then the door creaks open, and you step inside, heart pounding. You don’t look back again.

♱

The church hasn’t changed. Same tall stained-glass windows. Same dusty hymnals and creaky pews. The same low hum of whispers as the congregation filters in, dressed in their Sunday best. It smells like old wood and candle wax and someone’s too-strong perfume. You smooth down the dress your mom made you wear—soft blue, modest, snug around your waist—and slide into the pew beside her. She’s already smiling and waving at everyone like she never left. You, on the other hand, feel like an imposter. Like a ghost drifting back into a life that doesn’t quite fit anymore.

And then you see him. Anton. Standing at the front of the sanctuary, just off to the side of the pulpit, next to his father—Pastor Lee. His posture is perfect. His hands folded in front of him. His white button-down shirt is tucked in tight, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal his forearms. The warm light from the stained glass glows faintly against his skin, catching the edges of his cheekbones and the slope of his nose. He looks calm. Holy, even. But when his eyes find yours from across the room, he grins. Just slightly. It’s subtle. Private. Like a secret being passed from the altar to the back pew. You feel your lips pull into a shy smile before you even realize it. Your fingers twitch in your lap, and then, almost without thinking, you lift your hand and give a small wave.

He returns it. Barely a flick of his fingers. Then he glances away, face schooled back into quiet reverence. Your mom leans over and whispers, “Is that Anton? My goodness, he grew up so well.” You try not to show how warm your face suddenly feels. The final “Amen” echoes through the chapel, and the congregation begins to stir—hymnals closing, shoes scuffing, greetings starting before people even leave the pews. You trail behind your mom as she makes her way through the crowd, stopping to hug familiar faces and catch up with people she hasn’t seen in years. Everyone’s talking at once. You spot Anton near the front doors, his father deep in conversation with one of the deacons. Anton’s standing just off to the side again, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking toward you every few seconds. This time, you go to him. “Hey,” you say, voice soft, nerves bubbling in your chest like soda.

He turns fully, and when he sees you up close, his whole expression shifts—like he wasn’t prepared for it. Like he’s still piecing together the girl he used to know with the version of you standing in front of him now. “Wow,” he breathes, and then, quieter, “You came back.” You nod, feeling suddenly very aware of how close he’s standing. “We moved back. For good.” His eyes drag over your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize every difference, every change. “You look…” He doesn’t finish. Just offers a crooked smile. “It’s good to see you.” You smile, heart pounding. “You too. You—uh. You look good.”

That makes him laugh under his breath, low and warm. “Yeah? Thanks.” But before either of you can say anything else—“Oh, Anton!” Your mom’s voice slices through the air like a knife, and both of you turn to her. She slips beside you with a bright smile and gently pats Anton’s arm. “It’s been so long! Look at you—such a handsome young man now. You’re the spitting image of your father.” Anton chuckles politely, hands still tucked in his pockets. “It’s really good to see you, Mrs. ___.” Your mom beams. “You’ll have to come over for dinner sometime! You and your family. How about tonight?” Your breath catches. Tonight? Anton’s brows lift slightly. “Uh—I mean, I’d love to. If my parents are free.” “I’ll ask your mother myself,” your mom chirps. “I’m sure she’d love the chance to catch up. You’ll come too, won’t you?” she adds, turning back to you with a wink, as if the two of you didn’t just meet like strangers five minutes ago. Anton looks at you. His voice is calm, but his eyes burn just a little too long on yours. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

♱

The evening sunlight filtered warm through the windows as your mother moved around the kitchen, humming a song under her breath. The table was already set, too neatly and too nervously. Everything felt like a performance. You sat on the edge of the couch, smoothing your dress for the fifth time, your heart fluttering even though you told yourself to stop. They were just neighbors. Old friends. Familiar faces. So why were your hands shaking? You heard the knock on the door, and your mom rushed to answer it, voice lifting in a cheery greeting. You stood slowly, swallowing the tight feeling in your throat as you peeked around the corner. And there he was. He looked like a dream. Soft, navy pullover, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled like he hadn’t even tried, and still, somehow, he looked perfect. He smiled, all warmth and politeness, as your mother pulled him into a hug, then turned his eyes toward you. Something in his expression shifted for just a second when he saw you—something unreadable. His eyes dragged over you slow, then stopped at your face like he had to remind himself to keep it respectful. And then, that gentle smile again. “Hey,” he said softly, walking toward you. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.” Your lips parted, the sound caught in your throat. “Hi. Yeah, me neither.” He looked taller up close. Broader. And his voice had dropped since you were kids—low, smooth, just a little husky when he said your name.

The rest of his family trailed in behind him, greetings flying around the room. But all you could hear was the way his fingers brushed yours when he handed over the pie he brought. All you could feel was his gaze, lingering just a second too long when you sat beside him at the table. Dinner passed with polite conversation, church talk, your mom laughing too loudly at Pastor Lee’s stories. But beneath the table, your knees brushed every now and then. Barely. But you felt them. You felt him. And every time you got a little flustered—fumbling your fork, fixing your skirt—he noticed. Of course he noticed. At one point, when your mother stepped away to grab more wine and the conversation quieted, Anton leaned a little closer to you. His voice was low, just for you. “You look good tonight,” he murmured, eyes still trained politely ahead. Your breath caught, cheeks flushed immediately. “Oh…thanks. So do you.” He tilted his head just slightly, that same soft smile still on his face. “Yeah?” You nodded, biting your lip. He blinked slowly, eyes flicking over your face. Then you felt it—his hand brushing yours again under the table, fingers grazing your palm like a secret. And when dessert was served and your mom asked Anton if he could help you bring the dishes to the table, he stood right away, still perfectly polite and perfect.

The house was full of soft voices and clinking glasses. From the living room came the low hum of conversation, your mom and the Lees laughing about something from years ago, the kind of stories adults always went back to after dinner. But you weren’t in there. You were in the kitchen. Feet swinging gently from where you sat on the counter, hands resting at your sides, cool glass of water in your lap. Anton stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, hands submerged in soapy water as he quietly washed the dishes. The warm overhead light hit his profile just right—sharp jaw, lashes lowered, mouth set in focus. His back was broad beneath his shirt, shoulders flexing slightly with every quiet movement. He looked unfair like that. Domestic. Godly. You didn’t know how long you’d been watching him. He hadn’t said anything since he started washing, just passed you a small smile when you hopped up on the counter, like it was normal for you to sit there, legs bare and tucked beneath you, eyes trained shamelessly on him.

He rinsed the last plate, turning off the faucet. Flicked water off his hands before reaching for a towel. “You always watch people do chores,” he asked, drying his fingers, “or just me?” You smiled, letting your head tilt just a little. “Just you.” That made him laugh softly. It rumbled low, barely audible. He turned slightly to face you, still rubbing his hands with the towel. “You’ve changed,” he said, voice calm. “You’re…different.” Your heart thudded. You looked down at your glass. “Is that…bad?” “No,” he said. Then, quieter, “Not at all.” Another pause stretched between you. You didn’t move. Neither did he. Then, without thinking, you asked, “Do you wanna go on a walk?” His brow lifted slightly. “A walk?” You nodded, eyes meeting his. “Yeah. Just…around the neighbourhood. It’s still warm out.” He hesitated for a second. Not because he didn’t want to—but because it was too easy to say yes. And then he did. “Sure,” he said, smile slow. “Let me grab my shoes.”

The streets were quiet when the two of you slipped out the front door, the summer air thick with warmth and crickets. Porch lights flickered behind doors, and far-off wind chimes swayed lazily in the breeze. The town was asleep. You walked side by side in the dim orange glow of the streetlamps, arms brushing occasionally. Anton’s hands were in his pockets, his sleeves still rolled up to his elbows, his eyes scanning the sidewalk ahead as if he didn’t want to look at you too much. But he did. Every now and then, you caught him. “It’s so weird being back,” you murmured after a stretch of silence. “Everything’s the same. But not really.” He nodded, glancing over. “I know what you mean. I still expect to see you riding your bike down the road with that ridiculous blue helmet.” You laughed. “Hey, I loved that helmet.” I know,” he grinned. You walked like that for a while, laughter trailing into comfortable quiet. Eventually, you reached the edge of a small park—the same one you used to play in together when you were kids. The swingset was still there, creaking gently in the breeze. The old sandbox. The crooked bench. You tugged his arm gently. “Let’s sit for a while.” He didn’t hesitate. You both dropped into the cool grass near the trees, far from the streetlight. The ground was still warm from the day, but the night air had cooled enough to make the moment feel peaceful. You leaned back on your hands, head tilted to the sky. “The stars here are brighter,” you said quietly. “They always were,” he replied, watching you instead.

You talked. About church. About how weird it was being adults now. About the people who’d stayed, and the ones who left. And somehow the conversation slowed—turned softer and deeper. The kind of conversation that only happens when it’s late and quiet and you feel like the rest of the world isn’t real anymore. Anton sat cross-legged now, one arm draped over his knee. He looked relaxed, content. And you…felt brave. Your heart pounded as you turned toward him. His profile looked so serene in the moonlight, his lashes casting shadows, lips parted slightly, breath calm. And before you could stop yourself—You leaned in. A soft kiss. Just a quick, warm press of your lips to his cheek. Barely a breath. When you pulled back, his head turned to you instantly. You looked down at the hem of your dress, fingers nervously twisting the fabric in your lap. “What was that for?” he asked, a quiet laugh under his breath. “I-I don’t know, sorry—,” you mumbled, shoulders curling in a little. He didn’t say anything for a second. Then, he reached out. One hand cupped your jaw, soft and slow, his thumb brushing the edge of your cheek. He leaned in, tilting your face toward his. “Hey,” he said gently. “Look at me.” You did. Big, nervous eyes meeting his calm, unreadable ones. And then—He kissed you. Not rushed. Not messy. Just firm and real, lips warm and sure, like he’d wanted to do it for hours but waited until you asked first, without saying a word. When he pulled back, his voice was quieter than ever. “I missed you,” he murmured. Your heart felt like it could explode.

The kiss lingered on your lips long after it ended. You didn’t speak as he helped you up from the grass, his hand brushing yours gently—barely holding it, but not letting go either. The walk back was quiet, the kind of silence that says everything. The air between you was different now. Warmer. Buzzing. When you reached your front porch, the light was still on. The sound of laughter drifted faintly from the Lees’ house next door, your mom probably inside chatting with Anton’s parents. Anton stopped at the base of your steps. Hands in his pockets again. Looking up at you like he was still memorizing your face. “My parents went home already,” he said softly. “I should head back too.” You nodded, unsure what to say. Still dazed from the kiss. From him “Thanks for walking with me,” you said, trying not to sound too breathless. He stepped up onto the porch now, closer. Just enough to make your heart skip. “Thanks for the walk,” he said, voice even softer. “And the kiss.” Your cheeks burned. You looked down again, fidgeting with the hem of your dress like you had earlier. He didn’t tease you for it. Instead, he leaned in, one hand brushing lightly against your elbow as he tilted his head and kissed the top of yours. “Goodnight.” he murmured into your hair. Your chest ached. “Goodnight, Toni.” you whispered. He lingered for a beat, then gave you one last glance, turned, and stepped off the porch, disappearing into the quiet dark. And you just stood there, frozen in place, barely breathing, fingers clutching your dress. Still tasting the kiss from earlier and trying to make sense of the boy next door—the pastor’s golden son, all grown up and kissing you like that.

♱

Days passed, warm and slow. You kept seeing Anton. Not on purpose, but always like clockwork. He showed up one afternoon with a Tupperware of still-warm cookies, claiming his mom made too many again. The day after that, you bumped into him outside while taking out the trash, and he offered to help like it was nothing—shirt sleeves pushed up, forearms flexing, that same easy smile on his face. There were walks again, too. Small ones. Night air between you, your arms occasionally brushing. The conversation was light—never touching that night. The kiss. The way your heart pounded every time you looked at him too long. But Anton never pushed. Just walked beside you like he had all the time in the world. The church bells rang slow and sweet, echoing through the summer air.

You sat next to your mom like always, her hands clutching her small bag. The usual crowd filled the pews, faces you’d known since childhood, some changed by time, some exactly the same. The windows let in golden light, and the air smelled faintly of old wood and floral perfume. Anton sat beside his father at the front—eyes forward, posture perfect. Button-up crisp, sleeves rolled just once at the wrists. His hands were folded, resting neatly in his lap like some model of quiet discipline. But then he looked over. Just a flick of his eyes at first. But then he saw you, and the shift was subtle but real. The corner of his mouth lifted. You smiled too—small, hesitant. He raised two fingers in the tiniest of waves, the gesture hidden just beneath the edge of the pew. You returned it, heartbeat thrumming. When everyone bowed their heads to pray, you did too. Eyes closed. Hands together. But you could feel him watching you.

The usual bustle followed—hymns fading, churchgoers chatting, children running in the yard. Your mom was pulled into a conversation with some older women near the back, and you stepped out into the hallway for a breath of air. That’s when you heard footsteps behind you. “Hey.” You turned, and there he was, smiling softly. Holding a paper cup of lemonade. Hair slightly messier now that the formalities were over. “Hi,” you said, a little breathless. You hated that he could still do that to you.He looked at you quietly for a moment, then reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear—so gently it made your chest ache. “You look good today,” he said, voice low. “Really good.” Your breath caught. You tried to hide your smile by looking at the floor, mumbling, “You too.” He chuckled, head tilted. “You think?” “Mhm.”“Then maybe you should come over tonight.” Your eyes lifted slowly. “Tonight?”“Just for dinner. Hang out a bit. My parents will be out…for a while.” He gave you a look. One you felt deep in your stomach. You swallowed. Nodded. “Okay.” “Okay,” he echoed, and his smile softened. “I’ll text you.” Then he leaned a little closer—just enough to brush his fingers against your wrist as he passed.

You knocked once—lightly. The door opened almost immediately. Anton stood there in a soft gray t-shirt and jeans, white socks, hair a little messy like he’d been running his hand through it before you arrived. His eyes dropped to your dress, the short, soft one you hadn’t worn in forever. White with a little blue. You saw the flicker in his gaze before he blinked it away. “Hey,” he said, smiling. “Come in.” You stepped past him, blushing. His house smelled like warm food and clean linen. Familiar and still somehow brand new. You slipped off your shoes by the door, glancing around as he led you to the living room. “My parents are out. Church committee stuff.” He looked over his shoulder, voice easy. “You want to eat on the couch?” You nodded. “Sure.” The two of you sat with plates on your laps—chicken and mashed potatoes and something buttery his mom must’ve made. The TV was on low in the background, but neither of you were watching it. You talked about dumb things. Summer. Church gossip. What your moms were probably up to. “I still can’t believe you’re back,” he said suddenly, glancing at you as you licked a bit of sauce from your thumb. “It’s like…I blinked and you turned into a whole woman.” You almost choked on your drink, cheeks heating. “Anton—” “Sorry.” He smiled softly. “Just being honest.” You tucked your hair behind your ear, glancing down at your lap. The hem of your dress barely reached mid-thigh. His eyes kept flicking down, and then back up, every time. He cleared his throat, then stood. “Wanna see something?” “What?”“Old photos. Us.” You laughed, instantly standing. “You still have those?”

“Unfortunately.” He led you up the stairs, your heart thudding harder with every step. His room was at the end of the hall, same as you remembered, but different now. Cleaner. Calmer and more grown-up. He let you sit on his bed while he rummaged through a drawer. You crossed your legs and the dress shifted, rising slightly. Anton paused, back still toward you, but you saw the way his shoulders rose with a breath before he kept going. “Here,” he said, finally holding up a crinkled photo album. You leaned close as he sat beside you, the two of you shoulder to shoulder as you flipped through the pages. “Oh my god,” you whispered, pointing. “You look so cute!” “I was 10.” “And this one! The matching outfits?” “Our moms were insane,” he groaned, grinning. But every time you laughed, every time your thigh brushed his or your shoulder pressed into his arm, you could feel the shift in the air. It was slow, creeping in like heat. His smile softened. His gaze lingered longer. And when you turned your head toward him to say something, your breath caught. Because he was already looking at you. Not laughing. Not teasing. Just…looking. Eyes dark. Jaw tight. Like he was holding something back so tightly it hurt. “What?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. He shook his head a little, but didn’t look away.“You’re just…” He exhaled slowly. “You’re so fucking pretty.” Your breath hitched. “Anton…” He reached up, so slowly, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek. Your cheeks flushed instantly. You could feel the warmth spreading down your neck, across your chest, like your skin knew something was coming before your mind did. Anton’s thumb was still brushing your cheek, and your heart was hammering like it wanted to climb into his hand. “I—um…” Your voice came out breathless. Quiet. Embarrassed. Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your dress, twisting the hem like you didn’t know what to do with your hands.cAnton didn’t say anything at first. He just let the silence stretch—thick, humming, full of everything you weren’t saying. Then, softly, almost amused, “You always this quiet when someone tells you you’re beautiful?” You froze. Your breath hitched, lashes fluttering as you finally looked up again. His smile had softened, but his eyes hadn’t—they were still dark, focused, soaking in every little flinch, every blush. “It’s cute,” he murmured, voice dropping just slightly. “Makes me wanna see what else gets you like this.”You blinked. “Anton—” He moved before you could stop yourself. One hand slid to the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. Not rough, but not hesitant either. His thumb brushed along the side of your jaw, tilting your face up just slightly, just enough for your eyes to lock again. “Can I?” he asked. You swallowed, lips parted, the air between you tight as a thread. And then you nodded, looking up at him with big sparkly eyes. That’s all he needed.

His lips were on yours before you could blink, stealing the air right out of your lungs. His hand stayed firm behind your head, holding you in place like he was finally letting himself taste what he’d been craving since the second he saw you on that porch again. It wasn’t rushed. But it wasn’t soft either. It was deep, and hot, and meant. Like he’d already decided you were his, and this was the first time he let himself show it. You whimpered into his mouth, hands clinging to his shirt, and that was when he groaned—quiet, low, right against your lips. “I swear, you look at me like that and I can’t think straight.” Then he kissed you again, harder.

And for a second, just a second, you felt everything else—church, family, rules—slip away like it had never existed. Just you. Just him. His lips moved against yours with growing heat, still controlled, but barely. You could feel it in the way his fingers curled tighter at the back of your head, the way his breath hitched when your body pressed closer to his. Then you felt his hand slip down, slowly, gliding from your jaw to your waist, and lower. You gasped softly when his fingertips ghosted under the hem of your dress, meeting the bare skin of your thigh. He stilled for half a second, almost like he was asking permission without saying it out loud, but when you didn’t stop him, his touch grew firmer. His palm slid higher, his hand large and warm on the soft skin of your inner thigh.

The kiss deepened. His tongue slipped into your mouth, slow and steady, tasting you like he’d been imagining this forever. You melted into him completely, fingers tangled in the front of his shirt, thighs parting just a little more as he leaned into you. He groaned quietly when you did that. “Lie back,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough, like he was trying not to break. “Please.” You let him guide you down gently, back hitting the mattress, your dress shifting with the movement. He came with you, hovering, his knee slotting between your legs, hand still gripping your thigh as he kissed you again. You sighed into his mouth when his hand traveled up farther, fingers brushing the edge of your underwear, but stopping just short. “Fuck,” he whispered, lips moving against your jaw now. “You don’t get it…” his voice cracked. “I’m trying so hard to be good.” His hand squeezed your thigh, possessive, like he was grounding himself. “But you’re making it so fucking hard.” His mouth found yours again, open and hot, and all you could do was whimper into it, body arching into his like your whole skin was burning for more.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, soft and slow, and he let out the faintest breath, like even your touch could undo him. He was still kissing you like he didn’t want to take too much. Like he was holding himself back even though you could feel the tension in every part of him. And then you looked up at him. Sweetly. Eyes wide, lips parted, your gaze soft and honest like you didn’t even know what that look was doing to him.“Anton…” He pulled back slightly, breath shaky, brows drawn tight like he was trying to read you, trying to figure out if he could survive any more of this. Your thumbs brushed over his cheekbones. You leaned in, barely a whisper between your lips. “You don’t have to be good with me.” The second it left your mouth, you felt it happen. His breath stilled. His eyes darkened. “Don’t say that,” he muttered, voice thick and low, more like a warning to himself than to you. “You don’t know what you’re giving me.” But his hands were already moving, gripping your thighs, pushing your dress up slowly until it was bunched at your waist. You gasped as the night air met your bare skin, and he hovered there for a second, eyes dropping.The sight of you underneath him—flushed, breathing hard, in your pretty little panties and dress—did something to him.

His mouth found your neck first. But this time, he didn’t hold back. He sucked hard, right on the soft skin beneath your collarbone. Then again, higher this time, where he knew it would show tomorrow. A visible claim. You whimpered, fingers tightening in his hair. “Mine,” he whispered against your skin, almost too low to hear. “You’re mine.” His lips trailed down, wet, open-mouthed kisses across your chest, lower, down your stomach. Slow. Worshipful. Possessive. Then he knelt between your legs, hands caressing your thighs like he needed to memorize every inch. And then he saw them. Your panties—soft, soaked through, clinging to your folds just enough for him to make out the outline. He groaned, dragged his palm up your thigh and pressed it right over your center, fingers cupping you through the wet fabric. “Fuck…” His voice was ruined. “You’re already dripping, baby?” You couldn’t answer. Your hips lifted into his touch instinctively, a soft whimper breaking in your throat. He looked up at you, eyes wild now, barely able to stay soft anymore. “Want me to keep being good now?” he asked, thumb dragging along the dampest part of your panties. You shook your head no, and he smiled softly. You could barely breathe.

His thumb pressed gently over your soaked panties, circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your thighs twitch. His touch was slow, like he wasn’t in a hurry. Like he wanted to feel every little reaction you gave him. He kissed your inner thigh again, soft and wet, then moved his lips even closer, brushing just shy of where you needed him. “God, angel…” he murmured against your skin. “You’re soaked.” You whimpered, hands gripping the sheets beneath you. He kissed you again, higher this time, just at the edge of your underwear, and your hips lifted instinctively.He smiled softly. He liked that. You could tell. “You trust me?” You nodded, breathless. “Yes.” “Good.” His fingers hooked into the sides of your panties, slowly, teasingly, and began to pull them down. You lifted your hips for him without thinking, cheeks burning as the cool air kissed your skin. He dragged the fabric down your thighs, your knees, your ankles, then tossed them aside like he’d been waiting years to see you like this. And then he just stared for a moment. Silent. “So fuckin’ pretty…” he said, almost to himself. His hands slid back up your thighs, warm, slow and possessive, and when he reached your hips, he pressed a kiss right above your mound. Then lower. And lower. Until his mouth was right where you needed him most.

You barely had time to gasp before his tongue was on you. Hot. Slow. Unbelievably soft. Your hips jerked. Your back arched. And he groaned like he loved the way you tasted. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging on instinct, and the sound it pulled from him, that low, needy groan, shot straight through your spine. He looked up at you, cheeks flushed, lips slick and red, hair a mess from your grip. And you almost came just from the sight. Golden boy Anton. Saintly, sweet, so polite Anton. On his knees, tongue deep between your thighs, looking up at you like you were heaven. “Anton—” you gasped, nearly overwhelmed. “You—fuck—” He didn’t stop. He didn’t even blink.

His tongue moved faster, more focused now, licking slow deliberate circles over your clit, and when you tugged his hair harder, his grip on your thighs tightened. His eyes never left yours. “You taste insane” he whispered, voice thick and ruined against you. He went right back in, and your thighs threatened to close around his head—your saint of a boy, face buried in your heat, moaning like he was being blessed by every sound you made. His tongue kept working you, steady and deep, your thighs trembling against his big hands. You were falling apart underneath him, whimpering, gasping, one hand clutching the sheets while the other tightened in his hair, holding on like you were about to float away. “Toni—nghh—please~” you cried out, voice broken, eyes fluttering. That name from your lips, so sweet, so needy, made him groan so deep it vibrated against your clit. Then, without warning, he slid two fingers into you. Slow. Deep. Filling. You gasped—head falling back, mouth parted in a breathless moan—as he began pumping them in and out, curling just right, dragging wet, lewd sounds from between your thighs. “That’s it,” he murmured against your skin, voice rough, breath warm. “You sound so pretty like this.”

You couldn’t even think, you could only feel.The stretch of his fingers. The way his palm pressed perfectly against your heat. How his mouth returned to your clit, licking and sucking hard while his fingers fucked into you. You were so close. So close. “Toni—Toni, please, I—” His mouth pulled back, breath warm on your soaked skin. But his fingers didn’t stop. They kept moving inside you, deep and curling upward with every pump, the slick sounds making your whole body burn. You reached for him, desperate, your hand grabbing the back of his head and pulling him up fast. And then you kissed him. Hard, messy and needy. Your lips crashed into his, tasting yourself on his tongue, moaning into his mouth as his fingers kept moving inside you relentlessly. Anton hummed into the kiss, hips pressing forward into the mattress like he couldn’t help it, like he was falling apart just from the way you kissed him back. His free hand grabbed your waist, pulling your body closer to his chest as the kiss deepened—his fingers still fucking you, perfectly in rhythm with the way your body rocked against his hand. Your whole body tensed—hips lifting, hands tangled tight in Anton’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer. And when his fingers hit just right, deep and curling, his mouth finding your clit again, you shattered. “T-Toni—! F-fuck—” You moaned into his mouth as he kissed you through it, swallowing every gasp, every broken cry, as your orgasm ripped through you like a wave. Your thighs clenched around his waist. Your fingers gripped his hair in both hands. Your body shook beneath him. Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes.

Even as your hips bucked and trembled, his fingers kept moving. Slowly drawing it out. Helping you ride it until your whole body gave out in his arms. And when you finally collapsed against the bed, gasping, boneless, lips parted, he pulled away slowly, breathless, mouth red and glistening, cheeks flushed like he’d just sinned and loved it. He looked at you like you were holy. He reached up and brushed his knuckles across your cheek, warm and gentle. “You okay?” he asked softly, his voice rough around the edges. You nodded, barely. Still breathless. He leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your cheek, then one just below your jaw. Then lower to your neck, where your pulse fluttered wildly beneath your skin. His lips stayed there a moment, like he wanted to memorize the feeling of you. His hands moved down, big and warm on your bare thighs. He caressed the soft skin gently, thumbs stroking where he’d held you open, his touch full of something that felt like quiet praise. Then, without saying a word, he reached for your panties on the floor and helped you slip them back on, careful and slow. Once they were in place, he leaned forward again, resting his forehead against yours for just a second, both of you breathing the same quiet air. Then he murmured, “I think my parents’ll be back soon.” Your heart jumped, reality creeping back in, but Anton’s hand was already smoothing over your thigh again, grounding you. He looked at you like he didn’t want you to leave. But he would let you. For now.

♱

The night air was cooler now, soft against your skin as you stepped out into the quiet, still pulling your cardigan around you. Anton walked beside you in silence, his hands in his pockets, close enough for your fingers to brush every few steps. Neither of you spoke much. You didn’t need to. You could still feel him—on your skin, in your breath, between your legs. And he could still feel you too. You saw it in the way he glanced at you when he thought you weren’t looking. That small curve of a smile he couldn’t quite hide. When you reached your front porch, you turned to face him, heart fluttering in your chest. He looked so soft in the dim porch light—hair a little messy, lips still a little pink, his eyes warm and unreadable. He stepped closer. “Thanks for coming over,” he murmured. “Thanks for…everything,” you whispered back, cheeks warming again, your hands behind your back. He chuckled quietly. Then he leaned in, hand gently cupping your waist, and kissed you. Soft and sweet. A stark contrast to the way he’d touched you earlier…but just as overwhelming. When he pulled back, he stayed close. His forehead nearly touching yours, his voice low, “See you tomorrow?”

You nodded. “Yeah…tomorrow.” He smiled, eyes flicking briefly down to your lips again, and then turned to walk back toward his house, hands tucked in his pockets, shoulders just a little looser than before. And you stood there a moment longer, fingers brushing your lips, your heart pounding so loud it felt like it echoed through the quiet street. You tried to blink it away, tried to smooth your face as you stepped inside your house, quietly closing the door behind you. The light from the kitchen was still on. “There you are,” your mom called from the table. “I was starting to think you fell asleep next door.” You let out a soft laugh, cheeks still warm as you stepped out of your shoes. “No… Just stayed a bit to talk.” “Mhm,” she hummed, sipping her tea. “Well, don’t forget—we’re helping set up for the charity event tomorrow after church. Anton will be there too.” Your heart skipped. “Right. I remember.” You turned toward the hallway, trying to keep your voice even. “G’night, Mom.” “Night, sweetheart.” You made it to your room, closed the door softly, and leaned back against it, chest rising and falling like you’d run a mile. Tomorrow. You’d see him again tomorrow. And the worst part? You were already aching for it.

♱

The church was warm with soft chatter and the scuff of shoes on tile. Long folding tables lined the walls, each draped with pale tablecloths and surrounded by open boxes of clothes and canned goods. It smelled like lemon cleaner and faint perfume and sunlight clinging to old wood. You stood at one end of a table, fingers smoothing out the cloth. Your eyes were focused, but your mind wasn’t. Not when he was this close. Anton stood just beside you, setting out trays and centerpieces like it was second nature. His sleeves were rolled up, veins in his forearms catching the light when he moved. He didn’t say much. Just worked quietly, side by side, like he was trying not to draw attention to the way his shoulder kept brushing yours. And then he leaned in. Not much. Just enough that his mouth was near your ear, his voice low, almost lazy. “You look beautiful.” It didn’t sound like a compliment. It sounded like a confession. Your breath caught. You froze for half a second, hands paused on the table, before you slowly looked at him. But he was already turning, lifting another box, acting like nothing happened. Like your heart wasn’t now hammering inside your chest. You swallowed. Lips parted. Eyes burning into the back of his neck.

The church was mostly quiet except for the gentle shuffling of boxes and folding chairs. It was just the two of you now. The sun had dipped hours ago, casting golden light through the stained glass before fading completely into night. Only the warm glow of the overhead lights remained, soft and holy. Anton was stacking donation boxes near the front pew while you tried to make sense of the tangled folding chairs at the back. You were humming softly to yourself—half from nerves, half from the way his presence always made you feel too warm lately. You reached for one of the metal chairs, too quick, and your foot caught on another folded leg. Your balance slipped. “Oh—!”But before you could hit the ground, Anton was there. His hands gripped your waist firmly, holding you upright, pulling you flush against his chest. Your breath hitched. His eyes scanned your face quickly, his hands still steady on your body. “You okay?” You nodded, your hands splayed against his chest now. His pullover was soft. Warm. And under it, he was solid. “Sorry,” you whispered, the tiniest laugh in your throat. Your smile was shy, your cheeks flushed.He didn’t laugh. Didn’t let go. Just looked at you. Like he was thinking something he shouldn’t. And then, his arms tightened slightly around your waist.

His mouth parted just a bit, and his voice came low, “You’re really not making it easy for me.” You blinked up at him. “What?” But he didn’t explain. Instead, he kissed you. Right there, in the middle of the church, surrounded by donation stuff and folding chairs. It was sudden, and deep, and so full of everything he’d been holding back. His lips moved over yours with a kind of hunger that felt like it had been waiting for an excuse. And you—pressed to his chest, hands still curled in his sweater—kissed him back like you’d been waiting too. His lips moved over yours with more urgency now, rougher and deeper. Your fingers curled in his hair as his hand slid around to your lower back, pressing you closer, closer, like he couldn’t get enough. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the quiet growl in the back of his throat every time your breath caught.

You gasped into his mouth, pulling away just enough to whisper, “Anton… we’re at church—” His mouth chased yours, voice low and hard, “I don’t fucking care.” He kissed you again, hungrier, and in one swift, effortless motion, his hands gripped your thighs and lifted you up. Your breath hitched as he placed you on the edge of the long wooden table behind you, the one you’d just been sorting donation envelopes on. Now, forgotten. You looked at him, heart racing.“What if someone sees us?” you breathed. His hands slid up your thighs, firm and possessive, as he stepped between them.“Let them.” His voice was rough, wrecked. A low growl right against your skin. And then his lips dropped to your neck.

He kissed over the faint marks he’d left days ago, soft at first, then deeper. His teeth grazed the skin just below your jaw, and you whined, hands gripping his shoulders. He kissed lower, leaving new marks with every pass of his mouth, like he was reclaiming territory only he could touch. “Toni…” you whispered, breath trembling. He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips—like that. Soft, whiny, his. His fingers pressed into your thighs, thumbs brushing under the hem of your skirt as his mouth dragged down your throat, slow and hot. His hands were everywhere—firm on your thighs, sliding under your skirt, curling around your waist like he couldn’t get you close enough.

You gasped when his hands gripped lower, squeezing your ass, pulling you forward on the table until you could feel the pressure of his hard-on between your legs. “Toni,” you whimpered, dizzy, your fingers tangled in the fabric of his sweater. “We can’t—God’s watching—” He froze for half a second. Just long enough to lift his head, eyes burning into yours. Then he said it—quiet, calm, but full of something dark and unshakable, “I am God.” Your lips parted, breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know if you were shocked or turned on. Maybe both. He watched your face as the words settled in, his eyes hooded, the corner of his mouth twitching up when he saw the heat rising in your cheeks. His voice dropped lower, curling into your chest like smoke. “Right now…I’m the only one you pray to.” And then his mouth was back on you—kissing your collarbones, biting softly where your strap had slipped just low enough.

One hand slipped up your back while the other gripped the underside of your thigh, holding you wide open for him. You whimpered, arching into him without meaning to. “Anton—“ “Say it again.” His voice was ragged now, mouth warm on your skin, dragging against the edge of your bra strap. You barely managed a breath, “Toni…” He groaned, low and deep, fingers digging into your skin. “Mm. Keep saying my name like that.” His breath hitched as he pulled back just slightly, eyes locked on yours. His jaw was clenched, brows tight, voice lower than you’d ever heard it.“Get on your knees.” You blinked. “What?” His hand slid to the back of your neck, gentle but firm, as he leaned in close, lips brushing your cheek. “On your knees, baby.” Your heart practically jumped out of your chest. Heat flooded your face, your stomach, your thighs. You hesitated only for a second, just long enough for your breath to stutter. But then, you slid off the table slowly. Down to your knees. The cold floor pressed against your skin as you settled in front of him. You tilted your head up, shy, lips parted, eyes doe like and innocent, and his entire body visibly tensed. His gaze was fixed on you, jaw tight, chest rising and falling like he was trying not to fall apart. “Fuck…” He reached down, threading his fingers into your hair. Not pulling, just petting. Slow, reverent strokes, like he was trying to memorize the feeling of you like this. His thumb brushed across your cheekbone, soft and possessive all at once. “Look at you,” he whispered. “So sweet for me.” You sighed, eyes never leaving his. He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. “My pretty little angel…”

You stayed perfectly still on your knees, heart thudding so loud you were sure he could hear it. Anton’s thumb grazed your bottom lip slowly, and you parted your lips without even thinking. That’s when his smile shifted, something darker curling at the corners. He dragged his thumb down, then slid his index finger along your lip, tapping it once against your mouth. You let him push his finger past your lips—slow, deep—and your lashes fluttered as the pad of it pressed against your tongue. You wrapped your lips around it instinctively, and his breath stuttered. “Good girl…” His voice was a whisper, low and wrecked. Like just seeing you like this, on your knees, sucking his finger, eyes big and wet—was too much for him to handle. He watched you. Let you lick and suck gently, the corner of his lip twitching when you whimpered quietly around him. His other hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking along your skin like he was soothing you, even while you were on your knees, mouth full, obeying his every move. “So fucking perfect,” he murmured. And still, you held his gaze. Still, you sucked softly, cheeks warm and flushed, knees pressed to the cold church floor like you were praying to him. And maybe you were.

He pulled his finger slowly from your mouth, glistening and warm, a soft little pop echoing in the still air. Your lips were parted, your breath shaky, chest rising with every pulse of heat settling low in your core. And then, he took your hand. His fingers slid between yours, gentle but sure, and he guided it slowly downward. You followed instinctively until your palm landed against the front of his jeans—hot, hard, unmistakable beneath the fabric. Your eyes widened. “Toni—” He didn’t speak. He just pressed your hand more firmly to it, his breath hitching at the contact. And you could feel him. All of him. Thick. Heavy. Straining. A soft whimper escaped you before you could stop it. Your fingers twitched, and then you palmed him. Tentative at first. Just the softest pressure. He groaned. His head tipped forward, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut for just a second. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Don’t stop.” Your cheeks burned, but you obeyed, letting your hand move slow and shy over the thick line of his cock through his jeans. You squeezed gently, experimentally. He hissed through his teeth. “Fuck, baby…” One of his hands braced on the table behind you, the other still cradling your cheek, brushing over your temple like you were the softest thing he’d ever touched, even while you had your hand wrapped around the very thing he’d been trying to hide from you for days.

And then he looked down at you again. “Do you feel what you do to me?” he said softly. You swallowed, thighs clenching where you knelt, and nodded, dazed, completely lost in him. Your palm kept moving, slow, nervous strokes over the thick bulge, until his hips gave the tiniest roll into your hand. That low groan from his throat made your knees feel weak all over again. Then, still holding your gaze, he moved your hand to his waistband.“Go ahead,” he whispered. “Take it out, angel.” Your breath caught. You hesitated, cheeks already flushed deep pink. But your fingers moved anyway, slow and unsure, as they found the button of his jeans and undid it with a quiet pop. Then the zipper. Each slow tug of it felt impossibly loud in the silence of the church. Your hand shook just a little as you dragged the denim down his hips, revealing gray boxers. Tight, and so full. And then, finally, you let your fingers slide past the band. And when you lowered his boxers, his cock sprang free—thick, flushed, leaking already, and standing proud against his stomach. Your lips parted instantly. Your cheeks went bright red. You blinked like you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was just…so big. So pretty. Long, veiny, flushed at the tip and glistening already with need. And it was all because of you. Anton chuckled softly above you, low and rough. “You gonna keep staring, pretty girl?” Your breath hitched. You looked up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted and completely overwhelmed. He smiled. One hand slid into your hair, petting softly again. Thumb brushing your cheek.

Your breath shook as you gently wrapped both hands around the base of his dick, like you were afraid to grip too tight. He was so warm in your palms, heavy and twitching. You looked up at him. He was already staring down at you, jaw tight, breathing uneven, one hand resting on the back of your head. You leaned in slowly, lips parting as you brought your mouth to him. Your tongue flicked out, just the softest lick over the flushed head. He hissed through his teeth. “Fuck…” You licked again. Slow and careful, like you were testing something sacred. His precum hit your tongue, and your lashes fluttered, still looking at him. Big, wide, innocent eyes. Your hands shifted, stroking softly as you leaned forward to kiss the tip, lips plush and pink, leaving a warm breath against his skin. Then your tongue circled it once, barely touching, and he groaned, deep and wrecked, head tipping back for a second before his eyes found yours again. “Jesus, baby…” He looked completely undone. Red-cheeked, hair messy, chest heaving. His fingers threaded deeper into your hair now. “So fucking pretty on your knees.” he muttered, voice hoarse. You whimpered softly and kissed him again, lower. Letting your tongue trail down the underside of his cock, slow and reverent. Worshipping him like he was your god. And he was.

Your lips parted further as you took him deeper, just a little. Just enough to feel the stretch, the pressure, the way he twitched against your tongue. Your hands gripped his base tighter, keeping steady, and your breath fanned hot against his skin as you hollowed your cheeks around him. His fingers threaded deep, gripping at the roots, but still gentle. Still shaking a little. Like he was trying so hard to keep it together. “F-fuck, baby…” His hips rolled the tiniest bit, pushing just a touch deeper, and you moaned around him. Then, a soft whimper escaped him. Your thighs pressed together instinctively. That sound? From him? It was everything. His other hand found your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he looked down at you, breathless, eyes dark. “You take me so well,” he murmured, voice rougher now. “So fucking good for me.” You sucked a little harder in response, tongue teasing the underside of him as you took him just a bit deeper, and that’s when the shift happened. His voice dropped. No more shaky breath. No more awe. Just that low, possessive rasp, “Yeah… that’s it, angel. Keep going.” He started to guide your head now—slow, steady movements. You blinked up at him, breathless, cheeks flushed, spit clinging to the corners of your mouth—and pulled back just enough to speak. Your voice came out soft and whiny. Worshipful.“I’ll take anything from you, Toni…” His entire body tensed. His hand gripped your hair so tight it hurt. Possessive. His jaw clenched, barely holding himself together. “Fuck…”

His voice cracked, like you saying that, looking like that, was too much. “You mean that?” You nodded, lips still brushing against the tip of him, warm breath spilling down his length. You weren’t teasing anymore. You were giving yourself to him. And he felt it. “Yeah?” he said again, voice lower. “You’d let me do anything to you?” Your hands tightened around him, and you nodded once more, eager and desperate. His thumb brushed across your wet cheek, eyes scanning every inch of your face like he couldn’t believe it. “Jesus Christ…” he whispered. “Mine,” he muttered, half to himself. “Fucking mine. Made for me.” And then he pushed. Guiding your head lower, deeper. His hips rolled forward as his other hand braced the edge of the table behind you, his breath breaking in soft, strained groans. “Just like that, angel…fuck.”

You felt his control slipping. His soft-spoken calm replaced with something rougher, needier. He started moving his hips more deliberately, his cock slipping deeper into your mouth each time, and your hands gripped his thighs for balance. And through it all, he whimpered. Soft, broken sounds, raw from his throat. Frustrated moans. Curses. Praise. “Your mouth is perfect—mine—just for me—” He was unraveling. Desperate to cum. And when he did—his whole body shuddered. A high-pitched moan broke from his throat, his hand tightening just a second longer in your hair. When he finally stilled, breath ragged, he looked down. You blinked up at him, cheeks red, lips swollen, tongue out—clean. His eyes darkened. “Holy fuck.” Then, his hand slid from your hair to your throat. Firm. Possessive. He pulled you up in one swift movement, crashing his mouth against yours in a kiss that was nothing like before—messy, breathless, filthy.

His hand stayed on your throat, thumb under your jaw, holding you still as he kissed you like he didn’t care about anything else—not the church, not God, not anyone. Just you. You whimpered into his mouth, body flushed and weak, still kneeling slightly between his legs when—“Anton?” A voice echoed down the hallway. You both froze. It was his mom. Anton moved first—fast. He gently but quickly helped you to your feet, hands smoothing down your dress, brushing your hair from your face as your heart raced in your chest. He tugged up his jeans, zipped them shut in one motion, fingers trembling just slightly. You turned around, fixing your hair in the reflection of the dark window, smoothing the skirt of your dress down like it could erase the heat still buzzing across your thighs. “We’re here!” he called, voice clear, like he hadn’t just finished kissing you breathless with his hand wrapped around your throat. His mom stepped in a second later, holding a tray of cookies. “Sorry for interrupting,” she smiled. “Sweetheart, you can head home now, it’s getting late. I’ll stay and help Anton finish up.” You nodded quickly, heart still pounding. “O-okay. Goodnight, Mrs. Lee.” You started walking toward the exit, but as you passed Anton, he stepped closer. His hand slipped gently to your waist, and he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was softer than ever. Barely a breath. Still warm with what just happened. But sweet. You nodded slowly, biting your lip to hide the smile. “Mhm.” And then you walked out, heart pounding, legs shaky, feeling like nothing in the world could compare to the way Anton Lee touched you like he’d been waiting his whole life for it.

The charity event had gone very well. Laughter floated through the air like music, kids running across the grass with lemonade cups in hand, neighbors huddled near folding tables stacked with donation boxes and home-baked cookies. The sun was high and golden, casting soft shadows through the trees that lined the old church yard. You stood near the donation tent, helping a few older ladies gather envelopes and sort through sign-up sheets. You were smiling, polite, answering questions when asked—but your eyes kept flicking toward the side lot where Anton was helping carry chairs, sleeves pushed to his elbows, arms flexing, the edge of his shirt sticking slightly to his back from the heat. He looked like he belonged here. Everyone loved him. You were surprised they didn’t hand him a halo.

It wasn’t long before he drifted your way again. You didn’t hear his footsteps, you just felt it when he was near. “Hey,” he said, gently. “Everything’s pretty much wrapped up. I think we’re just waiting on my dad to lock up.” You looked up from the papers in your hand and gave a soft smile. “You did good,” you murmured, “It all turned out really nice.” He smiled back, but he wasn’t looking at the tables or the decorations. He was looking at you. “Yeah,” he said. “It did.”His voice was a little quiet when he added, “My mom said your family’s coming to ours for dinner tonight.” You blinked. “Oh…really?” He nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “She and your mom planned it earlier. You’ll come, right?” A hopeful tone in his voice. You nodded, a bit shy, heart fluttering in your chest. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I’ll come.” You glanced around—most of the others were busy chatting or packing up, distracted. Without thinking too hard, you stepped a little closer, rose onto your tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He froze. And then, just as his eyes found yours again, you smiled. “Only for you.” Anton’s gaze lingered on your face for a second too long, and you could see it—he was gone for you.

♱

You couldn’t stop checking the mirror. Your room was filled with golden evening light—curtains swaying gently in the summer breeze, the soft hum of cicadas outside blending with the faint creak of your floorboards as you moved back and forth, barefoot on the rug. Your heart hadn’t stopped fluttering. You curled your hair carefully, setting the pieces with care as the warm scent of your favorite lotion floated around you. You wanted to look nice. Not too much. But still nice. The dress you chose was soft violet—just barely off the shoulder, with a gentle sway to the hem that brushed mid-thigh. You smoothed the fabric down your hips and whispered to your reflection, “Just dinner.” But your heart didn’t believe that. Not really. Your mom called for you from downstairs, and soon enough, the three of you—your mom, dad, and you—were walking the short path next door to the Lee house. You felt like your whole body was humming, warm and restless, as the familiar porch came into view. Your mom knocked cheerfully on the door, calling out, “We brought dessert!” A moment passed before the door opened, and there he was. He looked up, lips parting slightly as he caught sight of you behind your parents. His eyes did a slow sweep—hair curled, cheeks flushed, the soft violet fabric of your dress catching the light. And for a second, he didn’t say anything at all. Then he smiled. “Hey. Come in.” You stepped inside behind your parents, heart hammering. His house smelled like warm food. You slipped out of your shoes and followed the others toward the dining room. Anton walked beside you, close enough that your fingers nearly brushed.

“You look…” he started, voice soft so only you could hear. Then he smiled like he didn’t trust himself to finish it. “Really good.” You looked down, smiling nervously. “You too.” And even as the voices of your parents floated down the hallway, and dishes clinked gently in the kitchen, you could feel it building The air changed when it was just the two of you. The night hadn’t even started yet. And you already knew it wouldn’t end the way it was supposed to. Dinner was loud in the way family dinners always were—dishes passed hand to hand, voices overlapping, stories being told and retold like it was tradition. The Lees had made roasted chicken, herbed potatoes, and something creamy with mushrooms that melted in your mouth. Warm bread sat in the middle of the table, along with a pitcher of juice that never seemed to stay full. You sat beside Anton, of course—because your mom had said, “Oh, let the kids sit together. They probably have so much to catch up on.” And now your knees kept brushing under the table, soft and warm every time, making your heartbeat flutter in your throat. You could barely focus on your plate. He looked good. Too good. His shirt sleeves were rolled again, clinging to his muscles, and the way he kept glancing at you made it almost impossible to eat. “It’s so sweet,” Mrs. Lee said suddenly, gesturing between you and Anton. “Seeing you two back together again.” Your fork paused mid-air. “I know,” your mom chimed in. “You used to be inseparable. I have pictures, remember? Anton, you were always following her around with your little toy guitar—” “Mom,” he groaned, laughing but clearly flustered.

You hid your smile behind your glass. “Well,” Mrs. Lee went on, cheerful and far too pleased with herself, “if this keeps up, maybe we’ll be planning a wedding soon.” Your heart stopped. Your cheeks flushed so fast it almost hurt, and beside you, Anton choked on his drink. “M-Mom—” “What?” she teased. “I’m just saying. You’d be a beautiful couple.” The table laughed. You looked down at your plate, smiling helplessly into your mashed potatoes. And then you felt it—his hand, sliding gently under the table, brushing against yours. You let your fingers shift, brushing back. He curled his around yours slowly, deliberately, lacing them together like it was the easiest thing in the world. When you looked up at him, he was already watching you, eyes soft, cheeks faintly pink, thumb brushing gently across your knuckles. You smiled. And he smiled back.

The night passed slowly. The dining table behind you was still full of empty glasses and half-finished desserts. Your mom and Mrs. Lee had moved to the couch near the window, feet curled up and voices louder than usual, giggling over stories you couldn’t quite make out. Mr. Lee was laughing too, and the scent of red wine lingered faintly in the air, swirling with candle wax and roasted herbs. You and Anton sat on the smaller couch in the living room, just the two of you. A little apart from the rest. Not hidden, but not seen either. The lights were dim, just the soft glow from the lamp in the corner and the flicker of something playing quietly on the TV, long forgotten. Anton’s arm rested behind you on the cushion, fingertips brushing your shoulder every now and then, and your bare knees were pulled up gently beside you. You were supposed to be listening to his dad’s story, something about his youth group days, but all you could focus on was him. The warmth of his body beside yours. The way his lashes curled when he blinked. The tiny scrape of his thumb brushing the side of your arm. He looked at you then, like he felt your gaze. The corners of his mouth twitched, soft and knowing. You leaned in slowly. Your lips pressed to his cheek, quiet and careful. He froze for half a second. You felt him exhale through his nose, like he wasn’t expecting it, but loved that it happened. And then you whispered, sweet and barely above the hush of the room, “Do you wanna go to my house?” “It’ll be more quiet.” He looked at you for a moment, eyes flicking from yours to your lips, then back again. Then he nodded once. Slowly. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Let’s go.”

You both stood at almost the same time. Anton glanced at you like he was checking, making sure you hadn’t changed your mind, and you gave him the smallest nod. Your joined hands slipped apart gently, and he turned toward the adults still laughing behind you. “We’re gonna go for a walk,” he said casually, voice calm, steady. Your mom barely looked up, too caught in a story about a church retreat years ago. “Mhm—be back soon!” “Don’t stay out too late,” Mrs. Lee chimed in, waving a hand in your general direction, her words slightly slurred from too much wine. You and Anton both smiled politely before slipping toward the front door. His hand touched the small of your back as he opened it for you, barely there, but firm. Familiar. Protective. The summer night air wrapped around you the moment you stepped out, warm and soft, with the faint smell of pine and cut grass. The porch creaked beneath your feet as you walked down the steps together in silence, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. Your house was just steps away, glowing faintly under the porch light. You glanced at him once before opening the door, and he followed you inside.

The house was quiet. The TV hummed softly in the corner, volume low enough that it barely registered. Dim lamplight washed the living room in warm gold, flickering gently across the couch where the two of you lay, curled up like you’d been there forever. You were draped over him, head resting on his chest, the soft swell of his heartbeat echoing in your ear. His fingers traced lazy, featherlight lines up and down your spine beneath your dress. You could feel his breath rising and falling under your cheek, steady and warm. The laughter from next door didn’t fade. Your parents probably still telling stories they’d told a hundred times.

But in here, it was just him. Just you. Just this silence that held everything neither of you had said. Your fingers curled gently into his shirt, holding onto the slow rhythm of his breathing. And then, finally, you tilted your face up to look at him. He was already looking down at you. And that’s when you kissed him. Soft. Warm. Just your lips pressed gently to his—like you were testing the way it felt to be that close. Like you already knew it would change everything.

He didn’t hesitate. His arms tightened around your waist the second your mouth touched his, pulling you closer until there wasn’t a single breath between your bodies. He kissed you back with heat and softness all at once, like it had been building in him for years. You whimpered into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, one hand pressing against the small of your back to keep you close. But then you pulled back slowly, cheeks burning, breath caught in your chest. Your lips brushed his jaw as you whispered, barely a sound, “Toni…I love you.” The words hung there. Heavy. Fragile. Sacred. You hadn’t meant to say them tonight. Not out loud. Not like that. But now that they were out, you felt the way your chest opened up with them, like it was relief to finally say what your body had already been telling him. His eyes locked onto yours. And something shifted in them. Not shock. Not hesitation. Just pure, undeniable devotion. He cupped your cheek, eyes warm and focused, and leaned in, forehead resting gently against yours. “Say it again,” he breathed. “Please.” You swallowed, voice trembling as you looked up at him. “I love you.” He kissed you again. Slow and deep. His hand curled at the nape of your neck, anchoring you there like he didn’t want to let you go—not now, not ever. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he whispered against your lips. “I love you too.”

His mouth moved over yours, deeper more sure. Like he wasn’t holding back anymore. His hands slid down your sides, pulling you tighter against him as the kiss grew hot, feverish. You moaned softly into his mouth, lips parting for his tongue, and the sound only seemed to make him hungrier. You shifted in his lap, straddling one of his thighs, and your hands gripped his shoulders, then slid up into his hair. “Let me…” you whispered between kisses, breathless. He leaned back just a little, eyes burning into yours, lips swollen. And you bent down, lips grazing along the line of his jaw, trailing lower. You kissed the soft skin just beneath his ear, your tongue flicking out gently, earning a low groan from his chest. You sucked a mark into the base of his neck. Visible. Yours. His hands gripped your hips tighter instantly. And then, his hand wrapped around your throat. His fingers splayed across your neck, tilting your face up toward him, his eyes locked on yours as his thumb brushed your jaw. “My sweet angel.” he whispered, before kissing you hard, tongue sliding into your mouth, claiming you all over again.

You gasped into him, fingers tugging at his shirt, your thighs clenching around his. In a swift, fluid motion, he shifted, flipping you beneath him on the couch, his body hovering over yours. His knee nudged between your legs, spreading them just enough. You let out a breathy whimper, arching into him, and he kissed down your jaw, down your throat, leaving hot, wet hickies in his path. Marking you his. “So pretty like this,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and wrecked. “So soft…all mine.” His hand slipped beneath your dress, slowly caressing your thighs—fingertips light and teasing, moving higher and higher, his mouth never leaving your skin.

You could barely breathe. And then, you felt his fingers slide under the waistband of your panties. His touch brushed your folds, gentle but sure. He exhaled slowly when he felt how wet you already were. His lips returned to your ear, voice rasped and low. “All this for me?” You nodded, biting your lip, eyes glazed. His fingers moved slowly between your folds, the heat of his hand making your back arch off the couch. His mouth stayed on yours, kissing you through every tiny gasp he pulled from your lips. You whimpered softly, hips shifting, and he groaned quietly against your mouth like he could feel everything you were feeling. Then, he pulled back slightly. He turned his head, eyes flicking toward the window behind the couch. The soft golden glow of the porch light still shone from next door, and through the sheer curtains, he could make out the faint shadows of your parents and his still hanging out. He looked back at you then, breath unsteady, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with a thumb that trembled just slightly. “Can we…” he swallowed, voice quieter now, like the question was heavy. Sacred. “Can we go to your room?” Your heart thudded loud in your chest. You nodded. Softly. Shyly. Eyes wide and warm as they met his.

And that was all he needed. He kissed you again softly, like a promise. Then you took his hand in yours, fingers weaving together, and gently led him off the couch, past the soft glow of the TV and toward the stairs, his hand held yours tight the whole way up. The door clicked shut behind you, the soft sound swallowed by the quiet of the house. The hallway light spilled in for just a second before Anton reached back and flicked it off, leaving the room bathed in the dim, golden glow of your bedside lamp. Your fingers were still laced with his. You turned to him, heart racing in your chest, and rose onto your tiptoes, giggling softly as you pushed him back against the door. “What are you doing?” he murmured, laughing breathlessly as his back hit the wood.

Your hands slid up his chest, tugging gently at the hem of his shirt, and you leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “Just wanted to kiss you first,” you smiled, lips brushing his. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen, like he was overwhelmed that you were here, his, wanting this. “You’re dangerous when you smile like that,” he whispered, voice low. Then, suddenly, his hands gripped your waist tight, and he took over. He kissed you deeper now, stealing the breath right out of your lungs as he spun the two of you around and walked you back slowly, lips never leaving yours. Each step was careful. Controlled. Your knees bumped the edge of the bed, and his hands smoothed up your sides as he leaned down, guiding you onto the mattress. The soft fabric of your dress fluttered as you lay back against the pillows, looking up at him—eyes wide, chest rising and falling like you could barely contain the warmth inside you. Anton stood over you, breathing hard. His gaze roamed your body, drinking in the way your hair fanned across your pillow, the way your dress clung to you in the soft light. “You’re…breathtaking,” he murmured. Then he leaned down again, kissing you slow—taking his time now, one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding up your thigh beneath your dress. His fingers trembled slightly at first. But then you whispered his name, soft and trusting, and that’s when everything inside him shifted.

Your hands slid up beneath the soft cotton of his shirt, fingertips grazing the warm skin of his stomach. You felt the slight tremble in his muscles, the way he inhaled sharply as your palms flattened against his chest. Then you tugged. He pulled back just enough to let you lift his shirt, and without a word, he raised his arms and let you peel it off. The moment it hit the floor, you paused. Your breath caught. His body was lean, toned, broad shoulders and sculpted arms—but what held your gaze was the small gold cross resting against his chest, just above his heart. The chain glinted faintly in the dim light, almost glowing against his skin. You reached up with a shy hand, brushing your fingers gently over the planes of his abs, trailing up toward the delicate charm. Anton’s breath hitched. “You’re staring,angel” he said softly, eyes watching yours. “I can’t help it…” you murmured. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, soft, reverent. His hands came to the hem of your dress, fingers curling into the fabric, voice low against your skin. “Can I take this off?” The question settled between you like a vow. Your heart thudded as you looked up at him, cheeks burning, chest fluttering. And you nodded. “Please.”

Anton’s fingers slipped under the hem of your dress, eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pulled the fabric upward, inch by inch, until it lifted over your head and joined his shirt on the floor. His breath caught. You lay there beneath him, bare from the waist up, soft skin glowing in the golden light, your chest rising and falling with each nervous breath. The dainty lace of your panties and your frilly white socks were all you wore now, and his gaze swept down the length of you slowly, devouring. “Fuck…” he whispered, almost to himself. “You’re fucking divine.” He leaned in without waiting, he couldn’t hold back another second. His mouth found your collarbone first, open-mouthed kisses dragging heat along your skin. Then he kissed lower, just beneath your throat, then lower, lips and tongue marking you up until you were covered in soft, red blooms. You whimpered, hands threading through his hair, stroking gently, helpless to the way his mouth worshipped your chest. Then his lips closed around one of your nipples, sucking slowly. You gasped. His other hand moved to your other breast, massaging gently, thumb brushing your sensitive skin in slow circles as his tongue laved your peak. Every motion was slow. Meant. He wanted to make you feel it, all of it. “T-Toni…” you whispered, hips shifting beneath him, thighs brushing together.

He groaned softly against your chest, the sound vibrating through you. He kissed your breast once more, then moved to the other, treating it with just as much attention, hand still caressing and holding like you were something he’d been waiting his whole life to touch. Your fingers curled tighter in his hair, your soft breaths turning to quiet, broken whimpers. zhe kissed lower, lips trailing a hot, wet path down the center of your stomach. His hands smoothed over your sides as he went, fingers gentle but possessive, like he couldn’t believe you were letting him see you like this—bare, soft, trembling beneath him. When he reached your navel, he paused, pressing a soft kiss, then another, slower one just below. Your thighs shifted restlessly. He smiled against your skin. Then he leaned down and kissed over the delicate lace of your panties, a featherlight brush of his lips, more like worship than lust. “So fucking pretty…” he whispered. His hands hooked gently under the waistband, and he glanced up at you, eyes searching, voice tender. “Is this okay?”You nodded, lips parted, heart thudding so loud you swore he could hear it. “Yes…please.” He slowly tugged the fabric down your thighs, so slowly, like he was unwrapping a blessing, and dropped them to the floor, his hands smoothing along your skin as he did. And then he just looked. Like you were the most godly thing he’d ever seen. His hands wrapped around your thighs, pulling them apart just a little more. He bent down, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of one thigh, then the other.

You whimpered, body arching slightly. Then he started to mark you, again and again. Soft hickies bloomed across your inner thighs, his teeth grazing gently, tongue soothing after each one, until your skin was dotted with faint red love bites, claiming you. “Can’t help it,” he murmured against your thigh. “Want everyone to know who you belong to…” His breath was warm against your skin as he kissed even lower, lips brushing just beside where you needed him most. He groaned softly at the sight of you, already glistening, already so wet for him.“So perfect.” he whispered, voice almost reverent. Then he slid his fingers between your folds—gentle, exploring, just enough pressure to drag your slick along your seam. You gasped, hips twitching as he moved slowly, fingers gliding up and down, barely grazing your clit with every pass. “T-Toni…” you whimpered, voice trembling. He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he lowered his head, mouth parting as he finally licked a slow, deliberate stripe through your heat. Your entire body arched. A cry slipped from your throat as your hands flew to his hair, tugging, desperate, overwhelmed. His tongue circled your clit, then closed around it with a soft suck, and you could feel him moan into you. One of his arms slipped up your body, reaching for your hand, and you instinctively laced your fingers with his, holding tight, grounding yourself.

The other hand curled firm around your thigh, gripping hard, holding you open. His fingers dug into your skin with quiet desperation, a bruise surely blooming beneath his touch. You looked down at him through heavy lashes—his face between your thighs, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and slick, hair messy from your hands. His eyes fluttered open just long enough to meet yours. And you swore—he looked at you like he just saw God. Anton’s mouth didn’t let up, slow licks, deeper pressure, his tongue working you with a rhythm that had your body trembling. You whimpered his name again, fingers buried in his hair, hips beginning to move without meaning to. Then he slid his hand from yours and brought it down between your thighs. You felt his fingers press to your entrance. And then he pushed them in—slow, steady, the stretch making your eyes flutter closed. You gasped as he began to pump them inside you, curling just right, dragging that tight, sweet spot with every thrust. All the while, his mouth never left your clit, sucking gently, tongue flicking and swirling, working in sync with his hand. Your legs trembled around him. “A-Anton—Toni—” you gasped, back arching. His fingers went deeper. His tongue moved faster. “Please—Toni, I’m—nghh—!”You couldn’t even finish your sentence. Your voice broke into high, breathy whimpers, thighs clenching tight around his head as your release hit you. Your whole body shook, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you cried out, hips jerking, his name slipping from your lips over and over like a prayer. And still, he didn’t stop. He worked you through it, licking up every drop, soft and tender now, worshipful.

Anton kissed his way slowly back up your body—your inner thighs, the curve of your hip, the soft skin just under your ribs—until he reached your lips. His mouth met yours hungrily, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, still warm from where he ate you like he was starving. You cupped his jaw as he kissed you, soft whimpers still slipping from your throat, body trembling under his weight. He pressed one last kiss to your lips before pulling back slightly, his breath shaky. Then, slowly, he sat back on his knees between your legs. You watched through heavy lashes, still dazed from your high, as he reached for the button on his jeans. His hands moved with quiet purpose, slow and deliberate. You could see the way his fingers trembled a little as he undid them, and then he slid the denim down his hips. His boxers strained with how hard he was—his arousal obvious, heavy, and thick beneath the fabric. You swallowed softly as he hooked his fingers under the waistband, his eyes on yours the whole time. When he pulled them down, you gasped. So beautiful, just like last time. Your cheeks went hot instantly, your thighs instinctively pressing together, but Anton just reached forward again, gently parting them with his hands as his eyes dragged down your body like he couldn’t believe you were real. His hand wrapped around himself, pumping slowly, a soft hiss of breath leaving his lips as he did. You could see the flush rising on his cheeks, the flex of his forearms, the tension in his body like he was holding himself back—barely. Then he leaned forward again, his forehead pressing to yours, voice low and almost shaking, “Are you sure? Tell me to stop, and I will. I swear.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide and wet, lips parted, skin still tingling from the way he’d touched you and kissed you. One of your hands rose to brush along his jaw, fingertips gentle. And then, with a voice barely above a whisper, breathless, soft, completely surrendered, you whispered, “I’m at your mercy, Toni…” He froze. You saw it—the flicker in his eyes, the sharp inhale that hitched in his throat. Something in him cracked wide open. His lips parted, and for a moment he just stared at you, like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said. Then, without warning, he exhaled a low, broken groan and kissed you—hard. Rougher now. Deeper. His hands gripped your waist tight, possessive, pulling you flush against him as his hips rolled forward, his hard length brushing against your core.“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, voice lower now—gravelly, filled with something dark and desperate. “You say things like that…I can’t stop myself.” He kissed down your throat again, sucking harshly at your skin, teeth grazing, leaving deeper marks. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your hips, your thighs, sliding up and gripping firmly. One hand curled around your throat while the other moved between your legs again, fingers stroking along your slick seam. “Mine,” he muttered, like a prayer.

Anton’s body was tense above yours, muscles flexed as he hovered over you, face buried in the crook of your neck. His lips were soft on your skin—gentle kisses, a contrast to the grip of his hands on your thighs as he guided himself between them. He rocked his hips forward slowly, the weight of him settling against your heat. His length slid along your folds, hot, heavy, teasing, and your breath hitched as your hips twitched under his. “Shh, baby,” he murmured, kissing just below your ear. “Just breathe for me.” You whimpered, your fingers gripping his biceps, legs trembling around him. The warmth, the stretch, the pressure of him right there—it was too much and not enough all at once. Then, slowly, he pushed in, just the tip. You gasped, a soft cry slipping from your lips as your back arched and your nails dug into his skin. “Toni—” you whimpered. He stilled immediately, breathing ragged as he pressed kisses along your throat. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I promise. I’ve got you.” Slowly and carefully he began to move, easing in deeper, inch by inch. Your breath hitched, legs tightening around his hips as you clung to him, your heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears. He kissed your cheek, then your temple, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other squeezing your waist gently. “You’re doing so good,” he whispered, his voice tight with restraint. “Just a little more, okay?” You whimpered, a soft tear slipping down your cheek as the fullness settled in. He wiped it away instantly, thumb brushing under your eye. And then—he was fully inside you. All of him. He stayed still. Both of you breathing hard, wrapped in silence and heat, your bodies pressed together so close it was like you were one.

Your arms came up to circle his shoulders, holding him close. He rested his forehead against yours. “Are you okay?” he murmured, lips brushing yours. You nodded weakly, your voice nothing but a breath. “I just…need a second…” “Take all the time you need,” he whispered, kissing your cheek again. “I’m not going anywhere.”After a moment, when your breathing slowed and your hips shifted ever so slightly against him, he began to move. Slowly. Deeply. Carefully. Each stroke was patient, deliberate, letting you feel everything without rushing anything. Your cries were soft, your fingers tangled in his hair, your thighs tightening around him as you adjusted to the stretch and pressure of him inside you. “You feel like heaven,” he whispered, voice shaking as he moved. “You were made for me.” His movements started slow, every thrust deep and measured, his lips brushing your cheek, jaw, neck. But then, you shifted, hips tilting just slightly, and he slid in deeper. Your breath hitched. A soft, shaky moan left your lips. “T-Toni—”He froze. “Too much?” You shook your head, fingers digging into his shoulders as your eyes fluttered open to meet his. “N-no… it feels—” your voice cracked, breathless and trembling, “feels so good, Toni…” That was all he needed.

His jaw tightened as he exhaled shakily, one hand gripping your thigh tighter, the other braced by your head. He began to move again, faster now, the rhythm gaining confidence, deep, rolling thrusts that made your body shake. The pain was fading—replaced by a spreading heat, a pressure that built with every movement, making your back arch and your legs wrap tighter around him. “You take me so well,” he breathed against your skin, his voice now lower, rougher. “So perfect for me.” Your moans grew louder, your breathing faster, every stroke pulling another soft cry from your lips. His hips snapped harder now, a possessive edge creeping in. His control was slipping, and you could feel it, in the way he kissed you, the way he moved, the grip of his hands on your thighs like he was claiming every inch of you. His thrusts grew deeper, rougher now, his hand hooking under one of your legs—lifting it up, draping it over his shoulder. The angle changed everything.

Your back arched with a gasp, nails scratching down his back as he filled you even deeper. The rhythm was relentless, his breath ragged, your moans uncontrolled, bodies crashing together like waves. “T-Toni—ahh—” He kissed your calf where it rested on his shoulder, eyes locked on you, wild and reverent all at once. His hand gripped your waist, holding you right where he wanted you. “So fucking perfect for me.” You were crying out, fingers clinging to the sheets, your body trembling from the overwhelming pleasure. And then, eyes wide, lips trembling, you looked up at him with all the love you had burning in your chest and whispered, I’m yours, Toni,” you moaned again, breathless but his rhythm faltered. “All yours…you’re all I believe in.” He groaned, a deep, broken sound, like he couldn’t take it anymore, and leaned down to kiss you hard, your leg still high on his shoulder, his hands gripping your thighs so tight it left marks.

His hips snapped forward, thrusts rougher and deeper, angled just right, and when he hit that spot again, your whole body jolted.“T-Toni—! There—right there—” He grunted, burying himself to the hilt over and over, sweat-slicked skin pressed to yours, his lips dragging along your jaw, your cheek, your lips. “So tight—so fucking good for me.” he groaned, almost in disbelief. Your hands trembled on his back, your legs wrapped tight around his waist, and tears pricked the corners of your eyes. “Use me as you please, Toni,” you whimpered, voice broken and full of feeling. “I was made for you.” He stilled for half a second, breath catching in his throat. Then he completely lost it. “Fuck,” he moaned, burying his face in your neck. “Don’t say that—don’t fucking say that if you don’t mean it—” “I do,” you whispered through your tears, stroking his hair, your voice barely a breath. “I do, I do—I’m yours.” His hips drove into you harder, deeper, his rhythm desperate, like he was trying to fuse your bodies together—claim you, fill you, mark you forever. “You are.” he growled against your skin. “My sweet angel. My religion.”

Anton’s hand slid between your bodies,, finding the swollen bud at your core. He circled it with pressure, never stopping his deep, perfect rhythm. Your legs trembled around him, nails digging into his back as your body began to unravel beneath him.“That’s it,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Cum for me, angel.” Your breath hitched, high-pitched and broken, and then it hit you. A rush of heat, your whole body tightening, then shaking around him as you cried out his name, your release crashing through you. Anton groaned deep in his chest, kissing your temple and rubbing your clit gently as you rode it out, tears falling from the corners of your eyes. But he didn’t stop. He was still hard, still deep, and when you finally caught your breath, he leaned back to look at you. His gaze dark, reverent, full of hunger. “You can take one more for me, yeah baby?” he whispered, brushing your damp hair from your face. “Hm, angel? Just one more?” You nodded—quick, eager, breathless. “Yes…yes, Toni.” You clung to him for a second, chest heaving—and then you pulled back, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. “Can I…try something?” His brows lifted slightly, lips parted. “Anything.” You bit your lip, then gently pushed him to lie back. He let you, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you swung a leg over his hips and straddled him, your body still trembling. You guided him to your entrance, your hand shaking slightly as you positioned him, and then, with a deep breath and a soft whimper, you sank down slowly. Anton’s head fell back with a groan, his hands gripping your thighs hard.

“Fuck—baby…” You whimpered, your hands braced on his chest, taking your time as you adjusted to him again, so deep, so full, until he was seated completely inside you. “You’re unreal” he murmured, hands caressing up your sides. “So perfect like this…” You began to move, slowly at first, lifting your hips just enough before easing back down onto him. The stretch still made your breath catch, but the pleasure had bloomed so deeply now that it only made you want more. Anton’s hands gripped your thighs, sliding up to your waist, then down again to squeeze the soft curves of your ass, guiding you without saying a word. You leaned forward as your rhythm quickened, forehead pressed to his, arms wrapping around his shoulders. Your chest brushed his with every motion, soft moans leaving your lips as your body moved in sync with his. “That’s it, baby…” he whispered, voice strained. “You feel so good—so fucking good.” Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently, your other hand on his gold cross, and he groaned into your mouth when you kissed him again—hungry, deep, messy. You rocked against him harder, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting growing louder, more desperate. His hands slid up your back, holding you close like he couldn’t get enough. And then, your lips brushed his ear, voice barely above a breath, thick with emotion and need, “You’re my god, Toni…I worship you.”

The words barely left your lips before everything snapped. Anton let out a low, broken growl, his hands suddenly gripping your hips tight—so tight it might bruise, and before you could brace yourself, he started lifting you up and slamming you back down onto him, hard, over and over. Your gasp broke into a high, helpless whimper, the air knocked clean out of your lungs with each deep, punishing thrust.“Yes,” he rasped, voice low and desperate, lips right against your throat. “Yes, angel. I’m your god. Say it again—say it.” You could barely breathe, clinging to him, your body trembling in his hands as he used your body like you were made for him, because you were. “Y-you’re my god,” you sobbed, mouth against his ear, “I only pray to you.”His hips stuttered at that, a broken whimper leaving his lips as his hand snuck between your bodies again, rubbing fast, tight circles on your clit. “That’s right,” he whispered. “No one else. Just me.” Your body was shaking, your legs quivering as the tension built so fast it stole your voice. You clung to his back, burying your face in his neck, whimpering through your sobs of pleasure.“Toni—S-so close—!” “Me too, baby,” he groaned, holding you tighter, thrusts getting messier, rougher, deeper. “Give it to me…come on.” “In me, Toni—please—I want all of you…” You came with a cry, voice high and raw, as your body locked around him, pulsing so tightly he choked on his own moan. He only lasted a few more thrusts before he followed with a deep, guttural curse, spilling deep inside you, hot and thick, warmth dripping from where your bodies met, streaking down your thighs, pooling on his lower belly as he pressed into you one last time.

You lay there together for a moment, bodies still tangled, skin warm and damp, his heartbeat echoing against your chest as he held you. The only sound in the room was the low hum of your breathing slowly syncing back into rhythm. His hand stroked gently along your thigh, then up your side, then back down again, reverent, calming. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then another to your temple. “You okay?” he whispered, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. You nodded slowly, still dazed, a soft smile on your lips. “Mhm…never been better.” His eyes softened, his hand cupping your face fully now. “I love you,” he murmured, barely audible. “I’ve loved you since we were kids, I think.” Your eyes widened a little, heart skipping, but your answer was instant—quiet, but sure. “I love you too, Toni. So much…” The way he looked at you nearly made you cry again. He kissed your lips gently, slow and soft, then moved down your body, lifting your legs up to his lap. He reached for your panties from the floor, and you blushed, but let him guide them back up your legs, sliding them into place himself with a kiss on your inner thigh. Then he whispered, just for you, “Don’t let it spill, angel.” Your cheeks flushed, eyes wide and dazed, and he grinned softly at the look on your face—still his sweet girl, even after all that.

He helped you sit up slowly, then slipped your dress back over your head, straightening the straps for you and smoothing it down your thighs. He kissed your shoulder, then moved to dress himself, slipping his shirt back on, buttoning his jeans. When he turned back to you, you were sitting on the edge of the bed, hands tucked shyly in your lap, watching him with glassy eyes. “I should let you shower and rest,” he said softly, coming to kneel in front of you. “I’ll go check on our parents. Make sure they’re still alive.” You let out a breathy laugh, and he kissed your cheek once more before pulling you into a tight, grounding hug. His arms around you made everything feel safe again. Like he’d hold you through anything. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmured against your ear. “Okay.” One last kiss, and then he slipped out quietly, leaving your room.

♱

The sun was warm on your shoulders, the church bells quiet now after service had ended. The yard buzzed with familiar voices, congregants laughing, chatting, hugging goodbye. You stood off to the side, just near the corner of the building where the ivy grew thick along the old stone. Not hidden, but not exactly out in the open either. Anton was already waiting there, leaning casually against the wall, hands tucked into his slacks. His white button-down sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his black tie a little loosened from the heat. But when he saw you approaching, he stood straighter, the corners of his mouth lifting into that soft, private smile he only gave you. You looked around once, then slipped into the little pocket of space next to him.“Hi,” you said, quiet and breathless. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes on you like you were the only thing that mattered. “I missed you,” he murmured, voice low. You giggled, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I missed you too.” And then his hands gently found your waist, pulling you closer until your front pressed to his. His touch was light, his eyes flicking between yours. You barely had a second to catch your breath before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips, sweet, tender, warm with everything you’d become to each other. You kissed him back, hands resting on his chest, heart thudding softly. But then—

“OH MY GOD!” You jumped and instantly pulled back, cheeks flushing. “You guys are TOGETHER?!” Anton’s arm dropped from your waist just as two very familiar voices came racing toward you from across the church yard. “I knew it!” your mom practically squealed. “I told your dad last week, didn’t I?” “I can’t believe it,” his mom gasped, all smiles and excitement. “I’m so happy!” “M-Mom!” you squeaked, face burning. Anton’s hand flew to the back of his neck, visibly flustered as he cleared his throat and tried to keep a straight face. “It’s, uh…new.” he said. “Not that new,” your mom grinned knowingly. “The way you two have been sneaking glances all month? Please.”Anton glanced at you, eyes twinkling, and despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t help but smile back. Your pinkies brushed, and he hooked his gently around yours.“Well,” his mom beamed. “I guess it’s time we start planning the wedding.” “MOM!” The four of you burst into laughter, joy bubbling like sunlight. And in that moment, in that ridiculous, love-filled chaos, you knew you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

a/n: yall i had to do research for this story bcs i don’t know anything abt catholic church terms in english LOL and also i hoped you liked this, personally this is my fav thing ive ever written but i know that it can come across as controversial

my other works ➵ masterlist

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d1xonss · 1 day ago

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hiii i’m a new reader of urs but let me just say i loveeeee ur work anyway i have a request if you’re taking any.. i neeeed a lil angsty fluffy moment of daryl x reader finding each other again after everything that happened with terminus and the whole prison debacle. just a lil idea i got while reading one of your works!! thank you!!

Finding You

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 4

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Angst

✧ Word Count : 1.5k

AN ~ @kcundercover4 Hi angel, thank you for the request and the very kind words. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get to writing this, I've been in a bit of a funk when it came to creating new ideas. But rest assured, I'm slowly but surely getting back into the swing of things. I hope you enjoy! xoxox

When the prison fell, there was nothing left. Nothing but crumbling cement, dented fences, and whatever rotting bodies the dead decided to leave behind. The fire that was set took care of the rest, burning down the place you had once felt comfortable enough to call home. In an instant, everything was gone. And the ones from the community who made it out alive, had nearly nothing left to show for it.

Daryl felt nothing. No sadness, no hint of anger, just…nothing. It was a strange feeling that settled in his chest, a kind of emptiness he hadn’t felt in a very long time. A feeling that couldn’t be described. The best way he himself could picture it was like he was on some kind of drug, one that could numb his limbs and his mind, leaving him feeling oddly tired. Like he didn’t have the energy to get up and keep moving. Although he managed to escape with Beth who wanted nothing more than to get up and go, to try and find their people that she was certain were out there, he couldn’t.

He didn’t see much of a point in caring anymore. Whether everyone else really had managed to escape the brutal chaos, or they bit the bullet, it didn’t matter. Neither of them would catch a glimpse of their family ever again. And he’d much rather swallow down the tough pill now rather than hold out hope, only to be even more devastated in the end. He wouldn’t find Rick, or Carol, or…you.

That was a whole other pill he had yet to get down.

Daryl wasn’t one for openly expressing how he felt, but those who knew him well, knew his feelings ran deep. And the things he felt for you…he could hardly put them into words. It was like his whole life he had never known love until you suddenly walked into it, always looking at him in a way that made him feel truly seen. He didn’t have to say much for you to know what he was thinking. He didn’t have to hide his eyes behind his hair in fear you would see a flicker of vulnerability. He didn’t have to put up a front that he was fine…because deep down he knew that you could see when he wasn’t. He loved you. But now as he sat here alone and clueless, not knowing what had happened to you, it was slowly tearing him apart.

Throughout the following days, Daryl wasn’t too keen on talking. He wasn’t much for eating either. Just a dead man walking. The only thing going through his mind was surviving to see another day and to protect the only person he seemed to have left. But the most painful part of it all was every time he looked at Beth, he saw you. Her kindness resembled your own, along with the light she held behind her eyes that could only be described as hope. The same kind of hope you always possessed. It was somewhat of a bittersweet feeling that was for certain, finding himself to be pathetic that he missed you so terribly, he was starting to pick apart someone else in hopes it would somehow bring him back to you. It wasn’t fair; none of it was.

Though just when Beth began to find a crack in Daryl’s armor, getting him to finally begin to bring down his walls…he lost her too. He wasn’t even sure how it happened. One minute they were escaping the small herd of walkers that had somehow gotten into the funeral home, and the next he was watching some car speed down the road with her inside. Driving further and further away with no kind of indication of where they were going or what they planned to do with her. The familiar feeling of grief wasn’t lost on him, but that didn’t make it any less painful. The only way he was able to see it, was that he failed to save someone else. And when he attempted to find her, he only ran into more trouble.

There were the claimers, a group of men that turned out to not be men at all. Instead they were disgusting monsters that just preyed on fear. Then there was Terminus, a seemingly bright light at the end of the tunnel that led him back to his family, only to be revealed they were cannibals. Leading them like lambs to the slaughter.

By the end of it all the group was exhausted and defeated, having to literally fight for their lives to make it out of there and now watching it burn to the ground as an end result. Carol’s unexpected arrival had saved them all. But what came next, no one could’ve predicted. The woman led them back to a small cabin hidden within the trees, only for the door to open to reveal Tyreese holding Judith securely in his arms. Both Rick and Sasha took off in a sprint when they recognized their loved ones, reuniting with them in hugs and tears whilst the rest stood back and watched.

But the wind was suddenly knocked out of Daryl when he caught sight of who stepped out of the cabin next, the harsh blow was enough to nearly bring him down to his knees. It was you.

Your eyes widened greatly when you spotted him from across the way, seeing him safe and unharmed despite the horrible things you heard about the community they walked into. You had been worried to the point of feeling nauseous ever since Carol had left to save them, but now seeing that he was alive, the relief that washed over you was unimaginable.

With a breath you immediately began to rush over to where he stood, watching as he stayed frozen in place and just stared. As if he were scared to move, or even attempt to touch you in fear that you would vanish into thin air the moment he accepted this moment was real. He couldn’t deny the sudden racing of his heart as you got closer and closer, the anticipation almost beginning to be too much for him to handle. And then you touched him, tentatively brushing the hair away from his forehead as you had done a thousand times before. The familiar need to see his eyes.

That’s what ultimately caused him to crumble.

His body all but melted at the feel of your soft fingertips dancing against his rough skin, a shuttering and emotional breath leaving his lips as he leaned his head down to bury his face into the crook of your neck. Making himself smaller. Your hand instantly moved up to cradle the back of his head, keeping him steady while he practically leaned his whole body weight onto you. His legs suddenly felt like jelly, like he could no longer support himself and needed you to help with the heavy burden he carried. Every emotion he had kept buried deep down was now unleashed all at once.

You felt his hands come up to hesitantly hold onto your waist, his fingers curling around the fabric of your clothes in a way to somehow keep him grounded. His breathing grew more ragged as he kept his face tucked away and hidden from view, his nose brushing along your pulse to feel you were alive, to breathe you in. The emptiness he felt was unexpectedly being replaced with a sudden ache, but it wasn’t unwelcomed. It was a reminder of the longing and sadness he had felt all those weeks you were apart, the utter heartbreak he wouldn’t dare let anyone see.

His lips pressed a kiss against your skin, the action being so soft and delicate like he feared of leaving even the tiniest mark on you. He couldn’t even imagine what you must’ve gone through on your own, and he wanted to make it known that he wasn’t planning on letting anything hurt you again. A silent vow only you would be able to receive.

After a few moments of holding him you gently pulled back ever so slightly to really look at him, your heart sinking when you noticed the black eye and scrapes along his face. But those hardly mattered to him, not really. Not when the only pain he could focus on was losing you.

“Are you okay?” you asked quietly, your tone no louder than a whisper.

When he heard you speak he could hardly find the strength to respond. Your soft spoken voice that he was convinced he would only hear in his dreams, now seemed to echo throughout his mind. Soothed his weary soul. His eyes glistened with tears as he simply looked at you, his lip quivering as he desperately tried to hold back the intense emotions he was feeling. As for your question, all he could do was nod his head. His real answer being far too complicated for even him to process.

He saw the sadness etched on your face before you wrapped your arms tightly around him again, not willing to let go so easily this time. And it was clear the both of you found what you had been desperately missing.

~ Thanks for reading!

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead daryl dixon #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus x reader

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zeroseuniverse · 1 day ago

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If you have time!

Would you be able to do a seungmin oneshot? With him being drunk, and going to readers apartment, and him kissing her and then confessing his feelings for reader, and reader having to calm jeongin to get seungmin home,

And reader is absolutely in love with seungmin too, but is still kinda afraid that he doesnt like her, and that it was a bet, and she should give up!

You can give it any ending you want!

And ofc it’s up to yourself if you even want to do it! <33

Take care of yourself!!

Heart In My Hands

Word Count: 987 Sumary: “I told him to text you like a normal human being. Instead, he asked if I thought you liked him back and then threatened to walk here barefoot if I didn’t call a cab.” You blink. “Wait. What?” “Don’t worry,” Jeongin deadpans. “He wore shoes.” Pairing: Seungmin X Reader

Taglist: @zaycie @sh0dor1 @tinyelfperson @lezleeferguson-120 @0-ryolei-0 @torkorpse @stayvillecitizen

Navigation

You’re not expecting visitors—especially not at 1:13 a.m.

The pounding on your door startles you enough to drop the mug you were about to rinse. It thuds harmlessly in the sink, but your heart doesn’t slow. You freeze, straining to hear again.

Then your phone lights up.

Jeongin 🦊

open your door he’s going to wake your neighbors and maybe the dead

You don’t even get a chance to reply before there’s another knock—slower this time, then a familiar voice.

“Y/N?” A pause. “Are you awake? I—I have to tell you something.”

You hesitate for a second too long. The door handle rattles.

You swing the door open just in time to catch Seungmin mid-stumble, the shoulder of his oversized hoodie half slipping off, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy and wide.

“…Hi,” he says, as if this is completely normal.

“Hi?” you echo.

“I missed you,” he says plainly. “Did you miss me?”

“Seungmin—are you drunk?”

“Jeongin made me drink,” he says solemnly.

From behind him, Jeongin scoffs. “He had one and a half beers and cried during a music video. I made him nothing.”

“You let me,” Seungmin insists.

Jeongin looks like he’s aged ten years since sunset. “I told him to text you like a normal human being. Instead, he asked if I thought you liked him back and then threatened to walk here barefoot if I didn’t call a cab.”

You blink. “Wait. What?”

“Don’t worry,” Jeongin deadpans. “He wore shoes.”

“Y/N,” Seungmin says, and it’s like the world shrinks to just you and him in that instant. “I wanted to see you. So I came. Is that okay?”

You pause—then step back and hold the door open.

“…Yeah. It’s okay.”

—

Seungmin sits on your couch like he’s never been more at home, except he’s quieter now, like the walk sobered him up just enough to let the nerves settle in. His eyes flicker over your apartment—your books, your laundry basket tucked in the corner, the blanket he once teased you for hoarding on warm nights.

He smiles faintly at it, then looks at you.

“I said something earlier,” he says.

“You said a lot of things.”

He nods slowly. “Right. But the one I meant was… I said I liked you.”

You don’t speak. You’re too busy trying to hold back the flood of feeling. The way your hands are trembling. The awful, beautiful way hope is clawing its way into your throat.

“I just thought—if I said it, maybe you’d finally say something too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, guarded now.

He laughs once, without humor. “Come on, Y/N. You think I don’t know? I’ve seen the way you look at me. The way you always wait for me to catch up when we walk. The way you remembered how I take my coffee even though I never said it out loud. You like me.”

You do. God, you do.

But you’ve also spent weeks convincing yourself that this wasn’t real. That Seungmin is kind and thoughtful and close to you because that’s who he is. Not because he feels the same. Not because he could ever want you.

“I thought maybe it was a joke,” you whisper.

His eyes darken. “Why would you ever think that?”

“I don’t know. People talk. And you’re—” You bite your lip. “You’re you.”

Seungmin leans forward, slow and steady despite the faint flush still clinging to his cheeks. “Y/N,” he says, voice low. “If this was a joke, I wouldn’t be here with my heart in my hands.”

You swallow thickly.

“Then what was the thing Jeongin said? About a bet?”

He grimaces. “God. That wasn’t about you.”

“Then what—?”

“I told Jeongin I thought you were falling for someone else. He said I was being a coward and made me promise to tell you how I felt before the month was over. And then he said if I didn’t, he’d tell you. So I panicked and said, fine, bet I’ll do it first.” He exhales. “It was stupid.”

Your chest twists. “So you came here to win a bet?”

“I came here because I’ve loved you for months and didn’t know what to do with it.”

The silence hangs thick between you, heavy with all the moments you almost said something. Every time your fingers brushed and didn’t linger. Every time your heart stuttered and you looked away.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Seungmin’s thumb is brushing your cheek.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Don’t cry.”

“You kissed me,” you whisper. “At the door. You don’t even remember, do you?”

He stares at you. “I didn’t—did I?”

You nod, breath hitching. “You said you were in love with me. And I thought, maybe just for a second, that you meant it. That I wasn’t crazy.”

You’re not sure who moves first. But suddenly he’s there, closer than you thought he’d be brave enough to get.

“I did mean it,” he says.

And this time when he kisses you—gentle, slow, trembling—it doesn’t feel like a mistake.

It feels like coming home.

—

You wake up the next morning curled on the couch. A blanket tucked around your legs.

The apartment is quiet—until you hear movement from the kitchen.

You find Seungmin standing there, holding your half-broken coffee machine like it personally offended him. His hair is a mess. He looks like he’s trying to figure out quantum physics with a hangover.

“I was gonna make you coffee,” he says. “Then I remembered I don’t know how.”

You laugh—really laugh, for the first time in what feels like years.

He turns to face you. “Can we talk? Like, really talk?”

You nod.

You’re still terrified. Still wondering if this is too good to be true.

But the way he looks at you—open, warm, honest—it’s enough.

Maybe you don’t need every answer today.

Maybe this is the start of something real.

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viennakarma · 2 days ago

Text

Hope is a dangerous thing (for a woman like me)

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: When you hear Lewis' love grievances, while your own heart breaks, your own secrets spill out.

Word count: 5.5k

Tags: female!reader, best friend reader, unrequited feelings, pining, confessing feelings, reader needs a hug, lewis is a mess, hurt no comfort, complicated feelings, arguing, no happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Note: Oh, look at me, posting twice in a week???? This is full angst, don't ask me how it came to be, I just had to take something off my chest I guess. I'm sorry if it's confusing or all over the place, emotions do be like that sometimes. Comments and feedback are welcomed.

Find me on Twitter! | BUY ME A COFFEE ☕️

You and Lewis had been friends for so many years, more than a decade now. You had met through work, right when he started diving into his musical side. Back then, you were one of the most sought after musical producers and songwriters in America. You had met by chance through a mutual friend, and had gone into a studio right after, writing and recording some songs. The rest was history.

With a consolidated career now, you could afford to pick and choose whatever projects you wanted to work on, enjoying most of what life could offer. You were happy on all fronts, friends, family, career. But there was one single thing that never fixed itself.

Your love life.

Your last real, long term relationship had ended around four years before, after you were cheated on. Back then, you were a wreck. And Lewis, bless his heart, was a true angel throughout your low months after the breakup. That was the exact moment you two stopped being friends, and became best friends. He helped and supported you through the whole suffering after your breakup, and at the end of that year, you were the one supporting him after that god forsaken championship.

That was when everything changed for you.

That was when Lewis’ unwavering support changed everything about how you viewed him. How he became more than just your friend, and you couldn’t help but start to fall in love with his bright eyes and easy smile.

You had promised from the beginning that your friendship with Lewis was as real as it gets, and it was genuine. For a while, you hated yourself for that, for falling in love, for running your own view on that friendship that meant so much for both of you.

Now, now you had to watch him fall in love with someone else…

And the worst part? Was watching that someone not reciprocate his feelings. To break a heart that you’d give everything you could to have in your own hands, to cherish, to love.

Your own heart was in his hands, breaking alongside his, silently. But he didn’t need to know that, right? No, you were the best friend who he’d vent to, for advice, for support. And you would be exactly that.

You kicked the ground under your boots, both of you sitting on swings side by side in an old, almost abandoned park. You had lived in a flat right in front of that park many years before, and whenever you and Lewis wanted to talk, you’d go there, under the big willow tree, that offered some sort of privacy for deeper conversations. You had long moved away from that neighbourhood, but somehow, you’d always find yourselves back there, sitting on the rusty swing under the willow tree.

Lewis was hurting, spilling his heart out for you about the person he’d been pining for was ignoring him. The woman he’d met a couple of months before, who he’d been trying to win over was now ghosting him, and had recently shown up publicly with another famous athlete. You had tried to help, really, helping him find out her preferences, picking gifts and giving ideas on how to proceed. But she had apparently found someone else now.

You had watched all of it, from the first moment Lewis told you about her, eyes sparkling, to now, when the spark had faded into disappointment, heartbreak. As much as it hurt to watch him look at someone else with that admiration, it also hurt to see him hurting. But this is what friends are for, right?

“It’s not that she is busy,” you murmured, placing a comforting hand on his knee as he stared ahead, the rustling leaves of the willow. “She just isn’t willing to make time for you. She’s not the kind of person who’s going to see what’s right in front of her.”

Brutal honesty—that’s what he appreciated about you. No sugarcoating. Just honesty.

Lewis looked over at you thoughtfully, then turned his gaze back to the leaves. “Is everyone’s love that fleeting?” he asked softly, the pain in his eyes as clear as the moonlight.

Your feelings for him refused to fade, no matter how hard you tried to bury them. But you couldn’t tell him. After all, he was your best friend, right? And some things… some things were better left unsaid.

“No…” You paused thoughtfully, staring at the tree too, “not everyone’s.”

Lewis glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, arching an eyebrow at your cryptic response. He knew you were holding back something—something you weren't talking about. He was used to reading people, but you'd always been an exception. Sometimes, it was like trying to decipher a puzzle he couldn't seem to solve.

Lewis exhaled, kicking the ground like you had done under the swing, watching the dust rise and settle again, then gazing away into the still night air before turning to face you fully.

"Care to elaborate?" he prompted, the hint of a challenge lacing his tone.

“No,” You said softly, shaking your head, “there’s someone genuine out there for everyone, I guess. Or better, I hope…” You swallowed thickly. You knew none of that sounded like you.

His gaze lingered on you, studying the way you refused to meet his eyes, how your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve. He knew there was more to this than you were letting on.

“Hope, huh?” He let out a mirthless chuckle, a hint of sarcasm coloring his words. "Since when did you get so damn optimistic, eh?"

He leaned back, hands flexing against the chords of the swing, his expression hardening a fraction.

“It isn’t like me, is it?” You chuckled, shaking your head. You had always been more cynical between the two of you, a realist, Lewis always says. And he was usually the optimistic one, you two balancing each other out on the friendship. Honesty and genuineness had always been a foundation to your friendship. Even if the truth sometimes hurt.

“Damn right it isn't.” He couldn’t help the hint of a smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, eyes softening despite the heavy atmosphere between you.

He seemed to pause and think for a bit, “Why the sudden change of heart?”

He didn't believe for a second that you'd suddenly become an optimist out of nowhere. There was something beneath the surface, a reason behind your hope.

“I didn’t have a change of heart. I just think you’ll be fine, and you’ll find someone better than her…” You shrugged softly, the swing moving a tiny bit with the movement.

He rolled his eyes, the smallest hint of a laugh escaping his lips. “Oh, so you just suddenly got all optimistic about my love life, is that it?”

He watched you carefully, studying your averted gaze. Your words said one thing, but your body language told another story. Something was off.

Lewis shifted closer, his knee just barely bumping against yours. “Come on, spill it,” he said, nudging you lightly. “You’re acting even more cagey than usual. What's really on your mind?”

“Maybe I should start doing something about mine too,” You said, somberly.

“Your love life?” He asked, as if he had misheard you. His eyebrows lifted in mild surprise, and a hint of curiosity crept into his gaze. “So there is a special someone, eh” He leaned in, resting his forearms on his knees. “And here I thought I had all the juicy secrets.”

“No, I… I don’t know.” I laughed at his little joke, kicking the grass absentmindedly, “The other day, Sean asked me out.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by that bit of information.

“Sean, huh?” Sean was a friend of his, merely an acquaintance to you, Lewis himself had introduced you two. He’d always known you were popular among his friends, you had a way of charming everyone you met, despite refusing almost all of them and never really getting into a relationship with any of them. Trying to feign nonchalance, he shrugged casually. “And what did you tell him?”

“I refused, let him down gently. He’s a great guy, and would be a great boyfriend too. But… I don’t feel him like that,” You explained, that part was genuine, you just left out the reason why. The reason sitting right beside you.

He nodded slowly, processing your words and trying to understand the sudden relief washing over him. But a part of him couldn’t help feeling the tiniest bit protective. You’d been through so much together, and the thought of you with someone who wouldn’t value the great person you were...

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and put on a nonchalant facade. “Why not? Sean is a solid pick.”

“I don’t see him like that.”

He studied you silently for a moment, watching the way your expression remained stoic. You wouldn’t look at him, instead staring fixedly at the grass beneath your feet.

His gaze darted from your face to your hands, clenched tightly on the plank of the swing at your sides. Clearly, there was more to this than just “not seeing him that way.”

He tilted his head, his voice quieter as he asked, “Is it because you've got someone else in mind?”

You just shook your head, holding back as always, hiding it, putting those damn feelings deep down, hiding them deep in the place where they were rooted, somewhere between your heart and lungs, fighting to come out like a dam about to break.

Lewis, though, couldn’t resist the urge to push a little further. The fact that you wouldn’t open up made him all the more curious. He shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours again.

“You know you can't keep secrets from me, right?” He said, his tone a mix of playful teasing and genuine concern. “Come on,” he nudged you with his elbow, “just spill it. Who’s the lucky guy who’s got your heart all tangled up?”

Something in your stomach froze. Like a train derailing, you felt the conversation turning to a point that could slip out of your control, so you tried to finish it, to lead it back to him or at least, to end the subject of your love life.

“It’s a mess. You don’t want to know about it. Bottom line is, he doesn’t want me,” You said with an exhale, but it didn’t ease the tightness in your chest.

Damn.

Those words cut through him like a knife, stabbing him square in the gut. It took all his willpower to keep his expression blank, hiding the sudden wave of emotion that washed over him. He was your best friend and he never, ever wanted you suffering for whatever reason. He cursed himself internally for caring so damn much, for feeling his heart ache at the thought of you pining for someone who didn’t want you.

“And how do you know that? Have you asked him?” Lewis continued pushing despite knowing you well enough to catch on your failed attempt to diverge the conversation.

You froze for a moment, staring ahead as you built up the courage. Like hanging from the edge of a cliff, losing grip as you slip down to a fall. This is it. This is the moment you rip the bandaid and change your friendship forever.

But you hesitated.

Years of friendship, years of loving him genuinely as a friend, and more recently, loving him as a man. Were you really ready for the impending change in your dynamic? In the most probable odds, you’d confess and he would say he doesn’t love you like that. In the least probable odds, the one you so desperately wanted to be true, he’d say he felt the same, or at least, he’d be open to try something more.

He noticed the shift in your demeanor, the way you froze in place. It raised a hundred different alarms in his mind. Something was going on, something big. He'd never seen you like this before. Lewis leaned in slightly, his gaze intense on your face, as if trying to read the thoughts silently screaming behind your blank expression.

“Hey…” he said softly, like speaking to a wounded animal, a tone he only used when he knew you were sad, his voice lower than usual. “You look like you want to say something.”

“He’s- he’s pining for someone else,” you said slowly, about the man you were in love with. About the one who, to him, was a faceless figure, and to you, it was the pretty brown eyes looking back at you with such softness, such care, that the knowledge everything was about to irrevocably change tore something in your chest.

Lewis felt for you, truthfully, suffering for whatever reason was the last thing he wanted for you. He let out an annoyed scoff, not at you, never at you, but at the man that dared to break your heart.

“Sounds like an idiot, if he’s chasing after someone else when you're right here.”

You knew Lewis was just cheering you up like he’d always done. The kindness and care he has always had for you, as your best friend.

“Idiot…” You repeated, whispering to yourself, realization that the moment was there, and you had to just- just say it, “The man I’m in love with… He doesn’t see me like that. He’s suffering for someone who doesn’t want him, confiding in me while I break my heart trying to fix his own.”

Finally, you stared at Lewis, your face saying everything your mouth couldn’t. Your eyes, shining in fear, longing that burned bright and the words that were stuck in your throat. Confessing the feeling you were forcing yourself to.

His heart skipped a beat as he met your gaze.

The intensity in your eyes, the raw emotion pouring out of you—it was a punch to the gut. He could see the pain you’d been hiding, the suffering you’d been going through while playing the role of a comforting friend.

It was at that moment that it clicked. He understood the weight behind your words, the silent confession you were making. He swallowed hard, the realization hitting him like a truck. You were talking about him. The man you were in love with was Lewis.

He felt a rush of emotions: surprise, disbelief, and yes, a hint of dread. But that was quickly suppressed by doubt. You were friends, just friends, and nothing more. Had been friends for the longest time, and the fact that you could have feelings for him, never even crossed his mind as a possibility.

He’d watched you date other people, he had seen you being happy, being adventurous, having fun, meeting people. But here you were, confessing your feelings for him, the dumbass who’d been pining after someone else.

You were burning in a new kind of shame under his gaze now, the words you dared to say now out in the open, impossible to take back, impossible to not be under his scrutiny. It was too late to back down now, what was left was just damage control.

“You don’t have to say anything…” You said, voice thick with all the unsaid feelings.

He shook his head, trying to find words, to grasp at what now was his reality. His best friend was in love with him and how goddamn stupid he’d been for chasing after a dead-end romance.

“You can't just drop a bomb like that and then tell me not to say anything,” He whispered, looking confused.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything. I don’t want to lose you, even as a friend...” You whispered, a lump lodged in your throat. Because your feelings for him meant nothing compared to your friendship.

The possibility of losing your best friend, of losing his random hours calls, late night trips to any store you two could get snacks and sweets no matter the country you were in, studio sessions just you and him playing around with music, lyrics and melodies. The thought of losing the man who’d held you when you thought you were going to dissolve in a pool of tears, the one that held your hair when you threw up, the man you held when the weight of the world landed heavily on his shoulders… The thought of losing that was more heartbreaking than any unrequited love.

“I can’t lose my best friend, Lewis…” You whispered and his heart broke in a completely different way.

“You're not going to lose me, you idiot,” he said gruffly, but there was that hint of affection in his tone. “I just... I need to process this.”

He was struggling to maintain his cool, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. This changed everything inside both of you, but he also didn’t want to lose the most consistent friendship he had in a long time.

“It’s okay, take however long you need,” You forced a smile but your stomach dropped with dread. Dreading to lose everything and even your friendship. You stood up, adjusting your coat, “it’s late, we should probably head home.”

He watched you stand up and adjust your coat, a pang of unease shooting through him. He knew you were masking your pain, forcing a smile like you always did. He hesitated for a moment, torn between wanting to pull you back and needing to sort out his own thoughts.

“Wait,” he said, his voice soft as usual, “Can we... Can we talk about this again tomorrow?”

He needed time to process everything, to figure out what the hell he was feeling. But the thought of losing you, of pushing you away, was excruciating.

“Yeah, tomorrow night…” You nodded, taking a step back, “Good night, Lew. Don’t hate me, yeah?”

His chest tightened at your words, the thought of you thinking he would hate you. He couldn’t stand the idea of that, not when you meant so damn much to him.

“I could never hate you,” he said firmly, his voice rough. “Don't even think for a second I could.”

He took a step forward, the urge to reach out and pull you into a hug almost overpowering. But he stopped himself, his hands clenching tightly at his sides.

You nodded for a moment and left.

He watched you walk away, his mind swirling with a million thoughts and emotions. The night felt unbearably long as he tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was your face.

The look in your eyes when you'd confessed your feelings, the hope, the fear, the vulnerability. It was seared into his memory, playing on repeat in his mind.

The next day felt like the longest damn day of his life. He went through the motions, going through his routine, meetings, calls, planning schedules, but he was on autopilot, his mind elsewhere.

His usual sharp focus was replaced by a constant, nagging awareness of you. He found himself stealing glances at his phone hoping you’d text, searching for your number in his contact list, thumb hovering the little call button, hesitating, even though he knew he needed time to process everything.

The hours dragged on, the weight of unspoken words and unprocessed emotions almost unbearable by the time evening finally rolled around. That night, as he drove to the same park, his thoughts were still a mess.

As soon as Lewis arrived, he spotted you from a distance, sitting under the same tree where you’d had your conversation the night before. The sight of you sent a jolt through his chest. He took a deep breath, steeling himself before walking over. His heart was hammering against his ribs, his mind a swarm of nervous thoughts.

He stopped a few feet away and simply stood there for a moment, his gaze fixed on you. "You waited for me."

“I arrived not too long ago,” you told him with a tired smile after a restless night, after your confession had consumed you with guilt the whole night.

He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide the slight trembling. He took a deep breath before taking a seat next to you, on that same swing, settling down with a few inches of distance between you.

The quiet night air was filled with tension, a palpable weight settled over the two of you. He was acutely aware of your presence, hyper-aware of every move you made, every small intake of breath.

“So…?” You nudged him when the silence became unbearable.

He shifted, his eyes fixed on the grass beneath his shoes. The question hung in the air, and he knew he had to address the elephant in the room. He took another deep breath before finally looking up at you, his gaze steady despite the storm of emotions roiling inside.

"I've... I've been thinking about what you said last night."

He paused, choosing his next words carefully. He wanted to be honest with you, to lay his feelings bare, but he was scared of losing your friendship too, his feelings were all over the place and he wanted nothing but to reassure you, reassure you about how much you meant to him.

"It's a lot to process," he continued, his voice rough. "You... you surprised me, you know. I didn't..." He let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't think you'd ever feel that way about me."

“I know. I’ve been keeping it hidden.”

He looked at you, surprised by the admission. He'd had no idea you'd been keeping your feelings secret for a long time. “How long?” he asked quietly, unable to keep the question from his lips. "How long have you felt this way, and I was too blind to see?"

“A few months after my breakup four years ago. The support you offered me through my dark times… it meant so much. You’ve got no idea.”

He was taken aback by that response. Four years… four damn years, and he hadn't had a clue. He thought back to that period, the memory of your darker days, clinging to him like he was your life saving boat, letting him hold you to ease your heartache. He'd had no idea you'd been feeling something all along.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. All this time, you'd been harboring these feelings, and he'd been completely oblivious. It made him feel like an absolute idiot, like he'd missed the most obvious thing right in front of him. He clenched his jaw, his expression hardening with a mix of anger, frustration, and a pang of guilt.

"Four years...?" he repeated, his voice tight. "That's a long bloody time to keep something like that bottled up."

“I’m a pro,” You tried a silly joke, but your eyes watered.

The sight of your eyes watering, the sound of the tremor in your voice—it was almost his undoing. His heart clenched in his chest, the urge to reach out and pull you close nearly overwhelming him. He gritted his teeth, fighting against the wave of emotions threatening to spill over.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" he said gruffly, his voice thick with emotion. "Four years. Why the hell didn't you say something sooner?"

“You never gave any indication that you felt the same. And as of recently, you fell in love with that woman that rejected you… I… I don’t even know why I blurted it out last night.”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration. He hated how damn right you were. He'd never shown any indication of returning your feelings, and then he'd gone and pined over someone else like a moron.

The irony of it all hit him like a truck, the realization of how blind he'd been. Having his heart broken by someone who didn’t reciprocate his feelings while doing the exact same to you.

His jaw clenched, his voice gruff and rough. "You blurted it out because you couldn't keep it in anymore, because it was eating you up inside," he said quietly. And he knew you, god, he did. He knew you well enough to know you were always one to keep to yourself and mature your ideas. He just never expected it to happen about him.

He shifted closer, closing a bit of the distance between you. The urge to reach out and take your hand was almost overwhelming, but he held himself back.

Lewis wanted to tell you everything, to make you understand how damn stupid he'd been. How he'd thrown away years worth of potential with you, focusing on someone who'd never wanted him in the first place. He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

"I was a fool. A complete and utter fool. I let myself get so wrapped up in someone who didn't even want me."

“It’s fine. I’m your friend, you had no obligation to see me as a potential romance,” You tried to comfort him.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw flexing with suppressed frustration. You were being too understanding, too damn reasonable, and it was killing him. He couldn't stand how easy you made it seem, how you were just willing to brush off your feelings and continue being friends, like it was nothing.

"It's not fine," he said firmly, his voice a low growl. "Stop trying to downplay it. You feel something for me. Something more than just friendship."

“I’m not the first and won’t be the last. It’s not a big deal.”

He clenched his fists, his frustration reaching a new level. How could you be so goddamn casual about it? It was infuriating. You were downplaying your feelings like they were insignificant.

"Stop it," he grated out, his jaw tight. "Don't you bloody tell me it's not a big deal. It is a big deal, damn it. You've been harboring feelings for me for four years, and you're acting like it's nothing?"

He wanted to shake some sense into you, to make you understand just how maddening your nonchalant attitude was. He wanted to shout, to tell you that it bloody well mattered. But instead, he forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to rein in his rising anger.

“Four years,” he repeated again, his voice a low, hard whisper. "You've felt like this for several damn years, and you've been bottling it up all this time, pretending it doesn't matter… and you have the audacity to tell me it's not a big deal."

“Why are you angry?”

He clenched his jaw, his irritation flaring up once more. He couldn't fathom how you could ask that question with a hint of innocent confusion in your eyes.

"Why am I angry?" he growled, the words coming out in a tight whisper. "You're asking me why I'm angry? Because you've been harboring feelings for me for four bloody years, and I've been too damn blind to even realize it. Because you've been suffering in silence, hiding your emotions like it doesn't matter."

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched across his features.

"You've been hurting, and what have I been doing? Pining after someone who doesn't want me. I've been chasing after a lost cause, while you've been here all this time, watching and hurting, and you still act like it's nothing. Nothing," he repeated, his tone growing more intense with each word.

“Your friendship means a lot to me, has always meant. And if I get to have a little bit of you through it, then so be it,” you whispered, like you were pleading, like you were afraid he’d end your friendship. But your reasoning only made him angrier.

Angry to find out he wasn’t as attuned to your emotions as he thought. Angry at himself for unknowingly hurting you while he pined for someone else and confided in you. Angry because he knew now things were changing forever.

The words felt like a stab to the goddamn heart. You were willing to settle for friendship, to take whatever scraps of his affection and attention you could get. It was maddening. He wanted to yell at you, to tell you that you deserved better. That he was a damn fool for not seeing what was right in front of him.

But instead, he gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching.

"You deserve more than a damn little bit of me. You deserve it all."

He shook his head, a bitter scoff leaving his lips.

"You're settling. You're settling for friendship when you should be demanding more, expecting more. I can't stand it… the way you're just… settling. Just taking what I'm willing to give you, because you think it's all you can get. It's bullshit. It's absolute bullshit."

You stood up, pacing before him, “I’m doing the best I can with the hand I was given.”

He watched you pace, his frustration growing even more. You were so damn resigned to your fate, accepting whatever scraps he happened to give you. He stood up too, his expression dark as he faced you.

"The best with the hand you were given," he repeated, his tone laced with bitter incredulity. "You're acting like you're trapped. Like you don't have any bloody choice. Like you're just a damn victim, forced to accept whatever I throw your way. It's bullshit, and you damn well know it."

“What’s the other choice, Lewis?!” You snapped at him, “Walking away? Abandoning the man I love?”

He stiffened, the sound of your voice cracking with emotion hitting him like a hammer to the chest.

"Yes! Yes, damn it!" he exploded, the words exploding out of him like a dam breaking. "That's the other option! Walking away, finding someone who would see you for who you are, who wouldn't treat you like a goddamn afterthought. Someone who would love you the way you goddamn deserve!"

You silenced, pressing your lips as his words landed right in your chest like a knife, “Is that it, then?”

The sight of your silent response, the way you recoiled at his words… it made his heart ache. But he couldn't back down now, not when he was finally airing his frustration. He took a step closer to you, closing the distance between you.

"Yes, damn it! Yes, that's it! Stop settling for scraps. Stop accepting whatever bullshit you get from me. You deserve someone who's going to put you first."

“And you won’t?” Your voice was small, the question hung in the air like a goddamn dagger, Lewis’ heart twisting in his chest.

He wanted to deny it, to protest, to say that hell yes, of course, he would put you first. But he couldn't. Not when he'd been such a damn fool, not when he'd been blind and stupid for so damn long. Not when he had already hurt you for so long. He looked away, clenching his jaw for a moment.

“No,” he finally answered, his voice coming out in a hoarse rasp. “I won't.”

You rubbed your forehead, nodding as your lips quivered. He watched you rub your forehead, the way your lips trembled betraying the pain you were trying to hide. Lewis wanted to reach out, to pull you into his arms and take away all your pain. But he didn't. He was the goddamn cause of it in the first place, the reason you were standing there, struggling to keep it together. Instead, he clenched his fists at his sides, silently cursing himself for being such a dumb ass.

The silence was swallowing you both whole, like a black hole sucking the light from your friendship right before your eyes. It hurt like a knife twisting. You had thought your worst heartbreak had been in the past, but now, as you watched your person slip away right between your fingers… that was a new low.

“Hope really was out of character for me, right?” You smiled, looking at the ground. Your attempt at a smile, the way you averted your eyes to the ground… it was like a punch in the gut. It hurt like hell, seeing you trying to put on a brave face when he knew he was tearing you apart.

He wanted to deny it, to say that hope wasn't out of character for you… but he knew it would be a lie. You never lied to each other, that was the rule. He gritted his teeth, the words coming out in a rough whisper.

"Yeah… hope's pretty out of character for you."

“I’m sorry I ruined everything,” You whispered, still holding yourself up, somehow, barely hanging on, “I’ll see you around.”

Lewis watched you walk away, his heart in goddamn shreds.

He wanted to reach out, to stop you before you disappeared… but he didn't. He just stood there, frozen in place, watching the one person he cared about the most walk away. Once you disappeared, he finally let out a ragged breath, grunting to himself in frustration.

And he knew, things would never be the same again. That's what hurt the most.

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 #f1 #formula one #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfic #lh44 #team lh44 #lh44 imagine #lh44 x reader

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nightshade962 · 2 days ago

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I tried to post this earlier it wouldn't f****** post and it didn't save so I'm going to try to redo it dcxdp prompt got inspired by those infection au of different fandoms it's not going to be 100% like that it just prompted me to think of this with those scary/creepy creatures

Okay so the jld and the JL have to work together for a supernatural issue Constantine has a contact that it has more Specialties in this Supernatural area this contact is Phantom and essentially the rest of his team as well they have to go to the forest to investigate something weird is going on disappearances random blood art sprayed around so they call and reinforcements to go investigate

They meet up with Team Phantom because it's in the Midwest I want to say kind of towards like the Appalachian area and they immediately see that these are kids though they do have some more experience then some of the adults that they work with so they're not going to question it they see they kind of joke around they take things pretty lightly in the beginning they're investigating these areas of the disappearances and weird bone and blood art going around this Forest now these creatures I'm kind of picture them as some sort of Native American Supernatural folklore I'm not going to name any of the ones that I can think of I don't know them very well and I don't want to offend anyone with it so really any sort of Supernatural creature in North America will do whether it's Native American or not but just that's kind of what came to my head from the little that I know

All the suddenly Phantom stops and is just staring at this tree line I tracking something one of the the adults that are there trying to tell him that they need to get a move on they need to go in the middle of them speaking Danny puts his hand over their mouth to stop them from speaking his eyes are still tracking something and he has stopped talking he became very serious team Phantom follows his lead they have come to the Revelation that if Danny stops quipping and making these idiotic puns something serious is wrong now the adult that I think he put his hand over I kind of want to be at Superman don't know why but that's what comes to my head Batman sees that this teenager who was quippy in the beginning has stopped and his friends have stopped as well and they're all very serious staring at this tree line tracking something Sam I kind of want to have powers from when she was taken over by overgrowth so she hears the plants talking and they're warning her that she needs to get out of there that they need to get out of there some things there so her and Danny start prompting everyone that we need to leave we need to get out of here Superman removes the hand off of his mouth and starts asking why talking relatively loudly Batman starts backing up the kids that gets the rest of the JL and jld attention because if the bat is agreeing with these kids they need to leave they start making their way back when all of a sudden Danny senses that he is about to be attacked so he starts a swing around and fires an ectoblast at the creature tries to get that the creature to follow him when he sees the creature trying to go after the rest he tries to lead them away Superman jumps in trying to protect the kid and trying to help he's so used to him not being able to be hurt by many things that he was a little bit careless and that carelessness is what caused him to have a wound scratched across his back large gnarly gashes from one shoulder to the opposite hip he is bleeding heavily he's not healing something was on those claws that prevented his healing they don't know what this makes everyone start to pick up their pace on leaving the forest is so dense Danny is using his tangibility so much so he doesn't get hit because of that creature can take that Man of Steel down it can probably take him down and if he can't do a tangibility he is splitting his body and into pieces as much as you can holes removing limbs temporarily like he doesn't some of those episodes where he's like bending his body creating holes through his body The Flash can't get a good running start they still don't know what this creature is it's just Shadows bright eyes and gnarly Claws and teeth they run and they run as fast as they can without tripping without falling eventually there is a straight shot out the Flash grab Superman and runs so they can get him to a med Bay and get his room taken care of he still bleeding profusely they run into the parking lot of the forest that they we're investigating they're all breathing heavy they stop when they realize the creature can't cross the trees it can't cross the tree line they still can't tell what this creature is it is ginormous it Blends in with the trees in height all they can see is shadows and bright eyes staring at them the glow is so eerie it puts everyone on edge

They can tell that the creature is not happy that it can't get to them it hates them absolutely loathe them and if it can get to them it would spray their blood and use it as paint on his nest using their guts as Garland on the trees to decorate his place that creature is filled with hate and despise they don't know what it is Danny is still learning everything being the ghost King and all but he can only learn so fast after all he still has to balance being half alive Constantine and Zatanna have never heard of or seen a creature like this before everyone's going to have to go back and do research because they can tell if that creature can break out of the binds keeping them in that Forest on that land it will hunt them down kill them with no mercy using their own blood as war paint taking souvenirs probably no one knows how to get that feeling from this creature but just looking at its eyes puts those images in your head

They were catching their breath in the parking lot still when Danny suddenly gets a neon green sticky note on his forehead at the writing is written so fast that is out of the normal for a Clockwork this is something that he didn't even see and if you did he would have warned Danny and the fast Chicken Scratch writing completely different from his normal elegant cursive it should not have been awaken in team Phantom that sends a chill down their spines because if Clockwork didn't know that this would happen something is seriously wrong and they need to take a look at it for now though they're going to go check on Superman to make sure he's getting treated and maybe they can get whatever stopped him from healing from his wounds so they can run some tests so you'll be better prepared the next time and there will be a next time there is no getting out of this one rather they go back on their own course or that creature comes to them hopefully they go back first cuz who knows what would happen if that creature got out in the world

This is another one of my Rambles when I originally try to post it it was at 2:30 a.m. but now it's 3:00 so I guess I'm just testing to post at 3:00 a.m. when I do these Rambles feel free to explore on it and make it better and if you do take it to write a fic I just asked you give me a link so I can go read it if I think of more I will add until next time

#batfamily #batman #batfam #dpxdc #danny phantom #danny fenton #ghost king danny #team phantom #justice league #mythology and folklore #justice league dark

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uyinq · 20 hours ago

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THE CONTAINMENT INITIATIVE ☆ B.R

chapter 4 — aggressive evolution

[bob reynolds x AFAB! reader, psychic!reader, empath?reader, slow burn, fluff, angst, slow burn, eventual smut, messy co-dependent relationships]

❱❱ WORD COUNT ﹕3,800

❱❱ SUMMARY﹕ With the Void making itself known, it's time you get serious about your powers. Bucky and Yelena help you find an outlet, while Valentina closes in on you. Bob lets it be known how he feels about everything.

❱❱ WARNINGS ﹕ profanity, violence, trauma, eventual smut, psychological horror, mentions of: needles, injections, torture, and human testing

❱❱ NOTES ﹕ sentry is so UUURGGHH. i can fix him. i like fixing broken men. ill fix him!!!!! no beta read, i apologize for any errors i was half asleep while writing this

(divider from uzmacchiato)

★ chapters ﹒﹒ masterlist

★ tags - @coutureisart @jenneric2003 @tfamidoingwithmylife @disillusioniary @sadslasher13 @chimchoom @lewispullsman @articel1967 @jj-ma26 @hiraethmae @dark-silhouette

(ask to be tagged!) ࿐

“I let it in.”

The silence lasts too long.

Bucky doesn't move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches you–watches the tremble in your fingers, the shallow drag of your breath, the way your shoulders curl in like you’re trying to make yourself small.

“I didn’t mean to,” you say eventually, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t call to it. It just… came.”

He nods. Once. But his jaw is tight.

“Did it hurt you?”

You shake your head once.

“No… no. I– I think it likes me.”

That finally gives him pause. After a few seconds, his eyes narrow. Not in disbelief or concern, but because he understands. He knows what it means when something awful decides you’re useful.

He takes a careful step foreward, gently taking your arm in his hand.

“We’re not waiting until Val finds out,” he says. “Tomorrow, we start. My way.”

“You’re doing it again.” Bucky’s voice is grating. You’ve heard it far too many times in the past hour. He dragged you out of the tower before the sun even came up, didn’t even tell you where you were going. Some construction site in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere.

You thought it was another training session with him. The kind where you sit on the ground and hold hands for half an hour. But no, Bucky has been whooping your ass and knocking your feet out from underneath you, over and over and over.

“Doing what, exactly?”

He circles you like you’re prey–not in a cruel way, but the way someone does when they refuse to let you keep lying to yourself.

“You’re not controlling it. You’re containing it. Big difference.”

You cross your arms. “So what, I’m supposed to let it explode out of me?”

“That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do,” he says, voice flat. “You’re not gonna learn how to use it until you stop being scared of it.”

He comes at you fast– not to hurt, just to pressure. You block. You swing. You fail. He knocks your legs out from under you like Yelena does.

You land hard, breath knocked from your lungs.

And that’s what does it.

The frustration. The weight of everything you’re feeling. The exhaustion, the guilt, the Void’s presence still coiled in your chest.

Your hands twitch.

You reach for the closest thing you can find– a long metal pole, sitting pretty in the dirt. You wrap your fingers around it, sit up quickly, and you swing. Hard.

Something buzzes under your skin, the pole cracking loudly against Bucky’s kneecap.

It all happens so fast you nearly miss it.

A jolt in your spine like lightning, a faint glow in your veins, then sparks shooting up the pole.

Bucky stumbles back, not from the force of the hit–but from the shock. His eyes are wide, one hand gripping his knee, the other lifted like he’s half-expecting you to strike again.

“What the hell was that?”

He breaks the silence first, gesturing at you as you drop the metal pole and move to your feet.

“I– How am I supposed to know?”

“You’re the one that did it!”

Your hands are still trembling.

The glow is gone now, but your fingers feel like live wires–like something ancient and aching just woke up inside you and isn’t ready to sleep again.

“I didn’t mean to do it!” you bark back, a little too sharp, voice cracking on the edges. “It just… it happened.”

Bucky stares at the dropped pole for a beat, then at you. The breeze kicks up some dust between you, but neither of you move to break the tension.

“Okay, okay. Just… walk me through it. What happened?”

You rub at your forearm, heart still hammering against your ribs.

“I was mad,” you mutter. “At you. At everything. And then I grabbed the pole, and it felt… different. Like I was holding a lightning rod.”

“You channeled it,” Bucky murmurs, thinking out loud. “The energy–your power. Through something else instead of your body.”

Oh.

Oh…

Bucky finally relaxes his stance, shoulders still tense but no longer on edge. He steps closer, eyes scanning your face.

“You weren’t just holding that thing,” he says. “You were channeling through it. Like a conductor. And the second you got pissed off enough to stop thinking? It snapped into place.”

You look down at the pole in the dirt like it’s a cursed artifact. “So what? I’m supposed to carry a staff around like some kind of… fucked-up Jedi?”

“If it works, yeah. I don’t care if you swing around a glow stick,” he shrugs. “If it gives your power shape, it’s worth it.”

You let out a breathy laugh. Shaky. Almost manic.

This changes everything.

Because maybe–just maybe–you’re not just some broken empath caught in the crossfire of everyone else’s chaos. Maybe you’ve got a weapon of your own.

Maybe you are one.

Bucky watches you for a long moment. Then:

“We train with it tomorrow,” he says. “Same time. Don’t be late.”

Then he turns on his heel and limps off toward the rusted truck parked a few yards away–still rubbing his knee and muttering under his breath about a “psycho chick with a lightning stick.”

You smile.

And you pick the pole back up.

The gym is quiet–too quiet for how often Yelena curses during sparring.

You’re already on your back again, panting, one wrist pinned beneath Yelena’s knee.

“Again,” she says, voice low, irritated. “You’re pulling your punches.”

“No,” you wheeze. “You just have a vendetta.”

Yelena’s lip curls. She stands, offers her hand. “Get up and hit me like you mean it.”

You take her hand and let her pull you up, but your muscles are screaming. You’ve been at it for nearly an hour, sweat dripping down your temple, the weight of the metal staff in your hand getting heavier by the second.

You lunge.

She sidesteps.

You spin with the pole–clumsy, wide–but Yelena still blocks you with ease, catching the pole with her forearm and landing a sharp jab to your ribs.

Your frustration boils over.

Not just with her. With everything.

With the Void whispering in the dark. With Valentina’s eyes always on you. With this gnawing ache inside you that wants to break free.

You shove her back.

Yelena blinks–just for a second–but that’s all it takes.

Your hands spark again. The pole lights up like a fuse. The air around you cracks.

A pulse of energy blasts off the metal, like a shockwave made of light and raw feeling,and Yelena goes flying back a full ten feet.

She rolls, lands hard on her elbow, grunting.

Silence.

You stand frozen, the pole still crackling in your grip.

The observation window at the far end of the gym lights up.

One-way glass.

You know who’s behind it.

Yelena groans and pushes herself up, eyes locking on you with something close to awe. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one day,” she mutters, breathless.

You don’t answer. You’re looking at the glass.

You can feel her.

Valentina.

Then you remember where you are and wander over to Yelena, offering a hand to help her up.

“I’m sorry.” You mutter, eyes scanning her carefully as she pulls herself onto her feet. She laughs it off and rolls her shoulders back.

“Don’t be. That was good. Hurt like hell.”

That doesn’t make you feel any better.

Yelena notices. Of course she does.

She narrows her eyes at you, brushing dust off her elbow with a grunt. “Don’t do that.”

You blink. “Do what?”

“That face. Like you kicked a puppy. You didn’t hurt me–you surprised me. That’s different.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the gym doors hiss open before you get the chance.

Both your heads turn.

Valentina walks in, heels echoing against the floor like gunshots.

Her expression is unreadable–sharp eyes fixed on you, hands folded neatly behind her back. Too calm. Too calculated.

“Well,” she says, voice light but poisonous, “wasn’t that fun?”

You step back instinctively. Yelena moves in closer to your side.

Val stops a few paces from you both, gaze flicking to the scorched edge of the pole you dropped. “I’d say you’re improving,” she continues. “Though I doubt you even realize what you just did.”

You stiffen.

“I didn’t mean to–”

“That much is obvious,” Val says, smile thinning. “But we’re well past the point of hiding behind excuses, aren’t we?”

She glances at Yelena. “You can go.”

Yelena doesn’t move. She squares her shoulders, jaw flexing.

“I said go.”

There’s a beat. Then another.

Finally, Yelena steps away, brushing her knuckles gently against yours as she passes. You feel the weight of her glance over your shoulder–protective, warning.

Then she’s gone.

Valentina waits until the doors slide shut again before circling you. Slowly. Like a hawk.

“You’ve been holding back,” she says.

You flinch. “I’m trying to learn how to control it–”

“No,” she interrupts, voice cool. “You’re trying not to lose control. That’s not the same thing.”

She stops in front of you. “What I just saw? That was the real thing. That was instinct. Power without chains. You should lean into it.”

You shake your head. “It’s not safe.”

Her voice lowers. “It is if we teach you how to own it. Not fear it.”

Your stomach twists. The Void stirs–interested. Hungry.

Valentina smiles like she knows.

“You’re more than an empath. You’re a weapon. It’s time you start acting like one.”

The air feels stale the moment you walk in. Everyone's already seated in the boardroom. Yelena, with her arms crossed, Walker slouched in his chair, Ava flipping a pen between her fingers. Bob sits the way he always does: hunched over, polite, like someone still pretending he’s not a god under the skin.

Valentina enters last.

She doesn’t sit. Doesn’t need to. Her heels click once as she stops in front of the projection wall, and the lights dim automatically.

She clears her throat.

“We’re changing protocol. Effective immediately, she’s a part of the team. She’ll be field-ready in three weeks.”

You blink.

“What?” Bucky’s voice cuts first, sharp as a knife.

Valentina doesn’t flinch. “We’ve wasted enough time with training wheels. You’ve all seen what she can do now. This team needs something stronger. Sentry can’t always be our first line of defense.”

Yelena slams a palm flat against the table. “No. Absolutely not. We’re not letting you do this again.”

Val raises a brow, the barest hint of annoyance slipping through her practiced calm. “And what exactly do you think I’m doing, Yelena?”

“You’re weaponizing her. Just like you did with him.”

Everyone knows who she means.

You can feel it then–Bob stiffens beside you. Doesn't look up, just clasps his hands tighter in front of him. His shoulders curve in just slightly, like he’s bracing for impact.

Ava looks between you and Valentina like she’s watching a slow-motion car crash. Even Walker straightens in his seat.

Bucky pushes back his chair with a screech of metal. “We agreed,” he growls. “Training, not conditioning. Support, not programming.”

“She’s already stronger than most of you,” Val says. “I’m simply allowing her to prove it.”

“To whom?” Bob’s voice cuts through the room like a wire pulled too tight.

He still isn’t looking at her. He’s looking at you.

“To herself?” he continues, his voice quiet, almost flat. “To you? To the people she’ll tear through if something goes wrong?”

Valentina only tilts her head. “You turned out fine.”

“No, I didn’t,” he hisses.

The word lands harder than anything else that’s been said. Everyone falls silent again.

Bob finally looks up at her.

“I turned out useful.”

The room stills.

“I turned out good at following orders, at destroying what you asked me to destroy. I was useful until I stopped following orders and turned New York into a shadow.”

There’s no venom in his voice. Just the truth.

Then he looks at you again–really looks at you. Like he's begging you to read between the lines. Like he’s asking you to see what he became, and run the other way.

You want to puke. You want to cry. This whole briefing is about you, but you feel completely and utterly powerless. Like nothing you have to say matters.

But you say it anyway.

“I just want to help.” Valentina doesn’t flinch. She never does.

“Then do as you’re told,” she says, smooth and sharp like ice over steel.

It’s meant to be a final word. A dismissal.

But something’s shifted in the room.

You can feel it in Yelena’s stare, in the way Bucky’s jaw ticks like he’s clenching every word he wants to scream. In the quiet ache that lives in Bob’s eyes now, flickering gold at the edges like something just beneath the surface is threatening to break.

The silence stretches until Valentina turns, heels clicking, and the doors close with a hiss behind her.

Nobody speaks after she leaves.

Eventually, Walker mutters, “Jesus,” under his breath, and Ava throws her pen across the table. Yelena storms out.

You stay seated.

Bob’s still next to you. Still hunched, knuckles pale where they grip the edge of the table.

“Bob–” you start.

But he’s already pushing his chair back, already standing.

“Bob?”

You’re moving before you can stop yourself, nearly tripping over the wheels on your chair as you follow him into the hallway.

You’ve never seen him move so quickly, and it’s honestly irritating.

“Damnit, Bob, stop!”

He does–but only after another five strides down the hall. He stops so suddenly that you almost collide with his back.

He doesn’t look at you.

You circle around him, frustrated and breathless. “Hey. Talk to me.”

His jaw is tight. Eyes distant. There’s a flicker of gold at the edge of his irises, faint and fading.

“I told them this would happen,” he says finally. Quiet. Like the words weigh too much. “I told them the second she figured out what you could do, she’d find a way to use it.”

You blink, your heart pounding. “It’s not your fault, Bob.”

“Isn’t it?”

His voice comes out harsh, gold flaring in his irises as he steps forward, sudden and sharp.

You flinch– not because you're afraid of him, but because it’s the first time Bob’s ever raised his voice at you.

He sees it. Sees the way you tense, the way your fingers twitch like they might call your powers without you meaning to.

“You’re only here because of me. Because I needed something, someone to ground me. Now what?”

You know he’s starting to fade even before he straightens up, backing you up against the wall, nostrils flared and jaw clenched.

His voice stays low and controlled, but fraying around the edges. “Now she thinks she can use you the way she used me. Like we’re weapons waiting to be loaded.”

The gold in his eyes burns brighter, and the hallway seems narrower now.

Your back hits the wall. Not hard. Just enough for the tension to crack through your body like a taut wire.

“You think I don’t see it?” he hisses. “The way they look at you in briefings. The way she smiles when you do something new. That smile means you’re already halfway gone.”

“Bob.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. But it lands.

“No,” He replies, face inches away from yours as he holds your gaze. “You don’t get to suppress me right now.”

He takes a shaky breath, like he’s teetering on the edge.

“It’s not just her,” He whispers, a bit steadier now. “It’s Bucky and Yelena, too.”

You stare at him, stunned.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, but the words feel hollow. Because somewhere deep down, you already know.

“They’re watching you,” Bob says. “Every move you make. Every spark of power. Not because they’re worried you’ll get hurt, but because they’re afraid of what you’ll become.”

You want to argue. Want to say they care. That Bucky’s helping and Yelena’s training you to survive, not to cage you. But your throat closes around the words.

Because part of you has seen it, too. In the way Bucky's grip tightens when you lose focus. In the way Yelena’s teasing has turned sharp. In the way they look at you like you’re not fully you anymore.

You glance away. Bob doesn’t let you.

He grabs your chin, redirecting your gaze back to his.

“They're afraid because of what I became,” he says, voice shaking. “They think the same thing’s happening to you. But you’re not going to let them hold you back. Don’t let them hold you back.”

There’s something in his eyes– not cruel, not dark– but bright. Burning.

The golden shimmer behind his irises sharpens, flickers hotter. Like Sentry is rising, not to take over, but to defend.

Because he feels cornered. Because you feel cornered.

Because when Bob is too overwhelmed, Sentry steps in.

You realize it then– it’s still Bob. But it’s the part of him that’s all power and instinct, the part Valentina weaponized before he ever had the chance to choose.

You could stop him, you know that now. You could reach into the space between you and pull. You could say his name like a prayer or a plea. You could break the moment like glass.

But you don’t.

Because some part of you– the part they all keep trying to box in, muzzle, monitor– understands this version of him.

Not the broken soldier. Not the cautionary tale.

The storm.

The shimmer in his eyes deepens as he reads your silence not as fear, but permission. His hand, still at your chin, shifts and slides along your jaw, thumb ghosting your cheek.

He’s not smiling. Not leering.

He just looks.

Like he’s cataloging every crack in your armor and memorizing how to slip through.

“You’re not stopping me,” Sentry murmurs.

His voice is lower now. Steady. Like he’s not just talking to you, but to the echo of Bob inside him…the man who flinches and runs and wants too much.

“I don’t want to.”

The words hang there, heavier than they should be. They sound smaller when you say them. Like a confession. Like you’re scared of how much you mean it.

A flicker of gold catches in the light. Not a threat. Just a reaction. His pupils dilate, soaking you in.

He steps closer.

Your shoulders are still pressed to the wall, heart loud in your chest. But you don’t move, you don’t flinch.

“Stop letting everyone control you.” He whispers. It’s not sinister like the Void, it’s genuine guidance. Like he’s trying to mentor you.

“They’re trying to train you to be safe,” he whispers. “I want you to be free.”

A pause.

And then:

“I’ll never tell you to hold back.”

You should push him away.

You should pull Bob back to the surface, reach for the steadier version of him you know best– the one who whispers comfort into your hair, who makes you coffee when your hands won’t stop shaking. The one who tries so hard to be good.

But this?

This doesn’t feel bad.

Sentry steps in closer, and this time, your fingers twitch toward his. The contact is light, barely there, but it sparks something all the same. The same pulse you felt when your powers flared through the metal pole. That rush of something ancient and electric.

You let your eyes close. Just for a second.

It’s enough.

He breathes you in again, but it’s different this time. Slower. Like he’s grounding himself, not consuming you. Like he wants to feel tethered too.

“I feel you,” he whispers, so soft it almost breaks you. “Even when I’m buried. I feel you.”

Your lips part. But no sound comes out. Your voice isn’t working. Your brain’s too full of static and gold and want and fear.

“I don’t want to scare you,” he says.

“You don’t,” you breathe.

Then he leans forward. Not to kiss you, not quite.

His forehead presses to yours, and for the first time, he doesn’t feel like a weapon. Or a God, or a hero.

He just feels real.

Warmth builds between you, slow and steady this time, not like a flare but a current. The lights in the hallway hum louder. Your palms glow faintly where they touch. It’s not volatile. It’s steady.

Safe, even if it shouldn’t be.

You don’t know how long you stand there, forehead to forehead, tethered by something neither of you fully understand. But it’s quiet now. Charged, yes–but quiet. You can hear his breathing. Feel the tremble still lingering in his fingertips where they rest against your ribs.

Sentry… or Bob… or whatever blend of them this is now–he’s watching you like he’s memorizing you. Every flicker in your expression. Every uneven breath.

“You ground me,” he says, barely a whisper.

It’s not a declaration. It’s a confession. The kind that aches with truth.

You nod slowly, your hand lifting to cup his cheek.

Something flickers in his throat, like he wants to say your name but it might undo him. He leans in–not to press closer, but like he wants to share the same breath. As if you’re the last thread keeping him tethered to this version of himself. Not the monster. Not the myth. Just the man.

“You feel like…” he trails off, then laughs under his breath. It’s soft. Self-deprecating. “I don’t know what you feel like.”

“Then stop talking,” you whisper. “Just feel.”

You guide his hand up slightly, over your collarbone. He doesn't grip, doesn’t take, doesn’t claim. He asks without a word, and when your breath hitches just enough to answer him, he lets his hand settle there–gentle, reverent.

When he speaks again, it’s not Bob. It’s not Sentry. It’s the space between.

“You make me feel human.”

It punches the air right out of your lungs. Not because it’s dramatic, but because it’s honest. And there’s nothing more dangerous than a man with the power of a god who wants, more than anything, to be held.

Your hand curls into the front of his shirt. The fabric is still warm from the briefing room, from the rage he was trying to bury. And now he’s giving you all of it.

Slowly, you tug him forward. He comes willingly. No tension in his shoulders now. Just ache.

And when your lips meet, it’s not hot or heavy–it’s steady. Like something earned.

Like permission.

His hands tremble just slightly against your skin, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to want you. But you stay close enough to remind him he doesn’t have to be sure… he just has to feel.

And he does.

Every second of it.

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #thunderbolts fanfic #afab reader #the sentry x reader #the void x reader

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