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JACK O'CONNELL as WALTER "LION" KAMINSKI in JUNGLELAND (2019). [my edit gif, feel free to use :]
#[đŁ] bibliotheca (files)#[â
] zstartrixxx#jack o'connell#jack oâconnell gif#lion kaminski#jungleland
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Prompt vii screams Oliver mellors
back to bed

PAIRING: oliver mellors x fem!reader
WC: 878
WARNINGS: none, just fluff with our fav gamekeeper :)
A/N: thank you for the request, my love!! ugh i hate that there are hardly any oliver gifs by himself. i am always happy to write about oliver, and some fluff was long overdue. hope you enjoy!
from this prompt list
vii , slipping thick socks onto their partnerâs cold feet and pressing a soft kiss to their ankle before pulling the blanket back over them
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The vase of bluebells and poppies glowed in the moonlight. It was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes that morning.
A chill ran through your body, from the tips of your toes to your head on the pillow. The snow outside the window had nearly melted completely, and the ice on the far-off road was gone. Spring had come.
Land was green again. The trees were beginning to bloom. Rabbits and moles had made their way into the yard again, leaving Oliver cursing after them.
Even the sun left a blissful kiss on your skin.
Though, the end of winter didnât necessarily mean the end of the cold. Youâd noticed lately that as soon as the moon took its seat in the sky, the air of your cottage suddenly had a little bit to it. Oliver had sealed the windowsâtwiceâand layered three more blankets on the bed, a bearskin and two knitted ones youâd bought at the market.
But most nights, it wasnât enough to keep you warm.
That, and the space between you and him in bed. A natural drift throughout the night as the two of you had shifted for comfort.
But even in your sleeping state, you missed the weight of his arm over you.
You turned to your side and faced the back of him. His shoulder rose and fell with heavy breaths that you heard muffled by his pillow.
You brushed a hand up his spine, fingers curling around the hair at the back of his neck. Even asleep, he leaned into your touch.
âOliver,â you whispered almost inaudibly, scared that anything too loud would disturb his peace.
He only deserved peace.
Then again, a little louder. âOliver.â
You watched him shift in his spot, first his legs and then his torso turning towards you. His eyes slowly blinked open, staggering between wake and sleep, before he recognized you looking back at him.
His brows furrowed, âWhatâre you doing up, love?â
You shivered again, arms instinctively pressing to your chest to conserve your warmth. âCold, again,â you said.
A deep, comforting groan rumbled from his chest. His arm draped over your side and pulled you closer to him so that your cheek pressed against his heart. âItâs almost March,â he offered. âThe coldâll be gone soon.â
âCanât be soon enough.â You tucked your head close to him, listening to his pulse by your ear.
Oliver chuckled, and as your eyes fluttered shut, you felt soft fingers playing with your hair. âSoon, youâll wake up in a sweat. Ask me to go swimming in the stream.â He described your dreams of the summer sun returning. âPatience, my love.â
The heat from his body radiated towards yours so strongly you could almost see it coming in small waves. Your bones practically melted in his hold.
For a moment, your eyes drifted closed again, and the sweet song of slumber began to distantly play.
Until you shivered again.
So violently that it woke Oliver again.
âChrist, darling.â His voice was hoarse. âYou still shiverinâ?â
ââM fine, honey. Go back to sleep.â But your own body betrayed you as you shuddered again, unable to fight the physical reaction to the chilly morning air. You shakily whispered, âFuck.â
Without another word, Oliver sat up in the bed and tossed the blankets from his figure, careful to keep you covered and warm.
âWhere are you going?â You sat up as well, and instantly regretted it. Still bare from the night before, the air felt especially cold against your back.
His feet padded against the stone floor of the cottage, making a direct line towards the dresser beside the bed. He normally started his work before the sunrise. You hadnât meant to wake him completely, now afraid that heâd leave you alone for his day to begin.
âWait, Oliver,â you pulled the blankets to your chest and reached for him. âItâs too early, come back to sleep.â
He rooted through a drawer. âAye, love.â He pulled a pair of soft, wool socks before gently shutting it. From another drawer, he grabbed one of his linen sleepshirts. When he returned to the side of the bed, he peeled the blankets from your hold.
âBeautiful,â his eyes settled on the sight of your bare breasts, his hand caressing the soft sieve of them. âArms up.â You did as you were told and allowed him to slip the linen shirt onto your body.
âThatâs a lass,â he whispered and held up the wool socks. âNow, these.â
You swung your legs to him so they landed in his palms. Carefully and slowly, Oliver stretched the opening of the sock to your foot before sliding it up to your ankle. Wool was usually itchy against your skin, but these were so soft your eyes rolled into the back of your head.
âFeel better?â He chuckled.
âThereâs something missing,â you said, lips forming into a small, cheeky grin. Your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him down back into the bed.
Oliverâs laugh, deep but light, is music to your ears. Taking his spot on the bed againâbecause he belonged next to youâhe tucked your head into his chest again.
His lips press against your forehead. âBack to sleep now, love.â
© faestunna 2025.
#oliver mellors#oliver mellors fanfic#oliver mellors x reader#jack oâconnell x reader#jack oâconnell fanfic#oliver mellors fluff#jack oâconnell
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I'm going to address this one time and one time only because there's discourse happening on Twitter and I wanna get ahead of it in case it leaks over here.
YesâI am incredibly aware that Sir Jimmy Crystal, at least appearance-wise, is drawing visual inspiration from British TV host and DJ Jimmy Savile. YesâIâm also incredibly aware that Jimmy Savile was a monster, a serial predator who committed horrific sex crimes that were covered up for decades. That is not up for debate, nor is it something I take lightly.
However, Jimmy Crystal is a fictional character in a fictional post-apocalyptic world. He is not Savile. Heâs not a one-to-one representation. He exists in a timeline where the apocalypse hit in 2001âmore than a full decade before Savileâs crimes came to light publicly. So in the context of the 28 Days Later universe, Jimmy Crystal, who was only a child when the world fell apart, wouldâve just seen a flashy, eccentric TV personality in sparkly tracksuits and bottle-blond hair, not a predator. He wouldnât have lived to see or even know what Savile really was. None of them would have.
The creators leaning into that visual aesthetic doesnât erase the fact that Jimmy Crystal is a fictional cult leader in a post-apocalyptic dystopiaâsomeone deliberately written to be unsettling, charismatic, magnetic, and terrifying. Heâs not supposed to be comfortable. That tension is the point. Heâs also played by Jack OâConnell, an actor with a long history of playing messy, complicated, morally gray characters who exude intensityâand frankly, some of us find that hot. The danger, the unhinged charisma, the power tripâitâs fiction. And fiction is where people explore fucked up dynamics and uncomfortable archetypes in a safe, creative way.
Being attracted to Sir Jimmy Crystal doesnât mean I excuse or romanticize what Jimmy Savile did. It means I understand the difference between fiction and reality. It means I can acknowledge where an aesthetic comes from without confusing it for what it represents in real life.
If itâs not your cup of tea, thatâs fine. But calling people weird or gross for responding to a fictional character's design and energyâespecially in a genre that thrives on horror, moral discomfort, and dystopian themesâisnât the gotcha you think it is.
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28 Years Later Spoilers
Wow, what a whirlwind. I cried way more than I anticipated I would. The movie had some genuinely beautiful moments. Itâs always interesting when beauty can subvert genres. I think I cared more about Spike than I have the other characters in the previous movies. Iâm very intrigued to see what Jimmyâs cult is like in the Bone Temple movie. He and his cult of blonde weirdos already seem interesting lol. Go Jack for stealing the short amount of screen time he had.
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remmick
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giver (no woman like you)
PAIRING: roy goode x fem!reader
WC: 8.2k
WARNINGS: mentions of parental issues, male violence, misogyny, guns/weapons, sexual insinuation, hunting/killing animals (for food), reader is stubborn and unaware, death, violence (shooting), drinking, pining/yearning, use of âwhoreâ for prostitute, unprotected sex (p in v), fingering, bath/shower sex, dirty talk, praise kink, riding (girl on top), nipple play, creampie, cute cuddling
A/N: wellâŠthis is it, everybody. big thank you to @spikedfearn for a discussion on how royâs praise kink, @amaranthine-enihtnarama, @iceemochaa, @remmicks-salvation for the motivation to write, @fuckoffbard for literally everything, @confetti-cakemix and my lovelyyyy wifey @eternalstrigoii for beta reading! this fic is based off of this request, so thank you anon đ roy goode is my no. 1 jack role so this is long overdue! please enjoy!
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You had a habit of finding yourself in places where you didn't belong. As a child, it was your father grabbing you by the back of your frock after he found wandering near the library. "Girls don't need to concern themselves with books," he'd said. Didn't stop you from reading almost every one of them.
It was back in Courthill when he caught you watching the deputy's target practice.
âYou should be courting the boys, not shooting at âem.â
So, it was no surprise that you found yourself as another lonely wanderer through the vast Western frontier. Youâd slipped out the back door of his farmhouse that had never been a home. And considering there hadnât been a single sign of a search for you in the past five years, clearly, you werenât missed. Maybe youâd been presumed dead.
It was no matter to you now. Courthill was long behind you, and living on your own as a young woman in the West had taught more than your father ever had.
Youâd done bad things, but no worse than any man. Youâd killed, but no more than a womanâs survival called for.
Now, as you found yourself wandering in some forsaken town during the hottest month of the summer, you couldnât help but remember your fatherâs words. There was no telling if you were even in Texas anymore. Your only possessions consisted of a sack swung over your shoulder carrying spare clothes and a canteen.
Your boots crunched the scorched dirt underneath you. This town wasnât yours and you werenât about to stroll around it like it was, but no matter how low you held your head, you felt the glare of cautious, watchful eyes.
It wasnât everyday someone would see an alluring woman like you dressed in her fatherâs trousersâa few sizes too bigâboots that were stuffed at the toe to fit, and a gambler hat faded by the sun. The most noticeable accessory was the silver pistol on your belt. But it wasnât the stolen clothes that gave it away.
It was your hair. Uncut and hanging just above your waist. And the fact you hadnât made an attempt to hide it under your hat showed you werenât trying to be someone you werenât.
You were just another runaway.
There were whispers, none of which you could make out, but enough to know you werenât exactly welcome in this place.
You had to leave. Soon. But the next civilization wasnât for another eight milesâtoo far to go on foot in this heat.
âWho is that?â A young boy asked his mother; she shushed him, and turned him away.
Like the sight of you was a walking sin.
The rim of your hat hid your eyes as you walked past them. A sharp turn to your right led you to another street lined with wooden buildings bent from the Western wind. This road was quieter and emptier; you preferred it that way.
Then, like a miracle, you heard the sound of a deep, throaty snort. Your gaze shifted to an alley between a small house and the telegraph office where a hitching post stood in the dirt. Tied to it was a black mare, standing strong despite the sun beaming down on her.
Bullseye.
You were careful not to make any sudden sounds as you approached the post. She shifted her weight, head hung low just like yours as steam faintly curled from her nostrils.
âEasy, girl,â you hold your hand out gently.
On her back was a worn leather saddle and two sacks hung over her hips. Braided reins wrapped around her snout. This one belonged to someone, and as a stranger to this town, you had no place in taking her.
A girlâs gotta do what a girlâs gotta do, you thought to yourself.
Once you were close enough, you set your hand on her cheek, gently rubbing the soft fur with your thumb. âLong day?â You half-cooed, scratching underneath her chin. The mare snorted in response.
Looking over your shoulder to see that no one had noticed you yet, you began to sort through the sacks. An empty canteen. A couple of golden, shotgun shells. A stale, half-eaten piece of bread wrapped in cloth. A handful of silver dollars. You took the money, but everything else was nothing of value to you. You threw the sacks to the ground so the dust floated in the air like a cloudy sky you hadnât seen in days. A bead of sweat dripped down your cheek as you hurriedly tied your own bag to the saddle, moving to undo the knot around the hitching post.
If your heart hadnât been beating so hard that you could feel it in your eardrums, you mightâve heard the quiet footsteps behind you.
âAfternoon, maâam,â a low, gentle voice called out to you.
You almost gasped, your fingers still fumbling with the reins. Turning on the heel of your boot, you noticed the figure at the end of the alley.
A man dressed in black half-smiled at you.
âAfternoon, sir.â
âIs there, uh,â he began to slowly approach you, and you readied yourself to pull the gun from your side. âsomething I can help you with?â
Perhaps he was just a kind man looking to help a random woman in trouble. But you didnât plan on finding out.
âOh, not at all,â you smiled warmly. âThank you.â
You finished untying the knot of the reins, quick to get out of this town as soon as possible.
But before you could secure it in your hand, the man behind you clicked his tongue against his teeth. In almost an instant, the mare rushed to him, the reins slipping from your hands with a burning sensation. You hissed at the feeling and immediately pulled the pistol from your hip.
The horse stopped by his side. The man looked over to see your gun aimed directly at his chest for his heart.
Roy Goode had met a lot of strange people in his life. Heâd been to a lot of strange places, and never had he met such a woman like youâstanding in your stolen boots and holding your pistol at him; you could take his life in an instant, and he doesnât doubt it. He takes the reins in his hands and twists it around his palm.
âThieves donât do too well here,â he said, though it didnât feel like a threat.
Dust swirls in the space between you. âI didnât know it was yours,â thereâs an edge of defensiveness and even shame to your voice. âIâve stolen worse from worse men.â
Thereâs a ghost of a smirk on his face. The man studies you for a moment and nods once. âThat why youâre out here alone?â
If you had thought of something clever enough to say, you wouldâve, but your mind draws a blank. Youâre fixated on the pair of blue eyes watching you. Without noticing, youâve lowered your weapon to your hips already.
âWhatâs your name?â
You glared at him for a moment. âAnd why should I tell you?â
He smiles. âItâd be kind, at the very least. Wanna know who Iâm talking to.â
â(y/n). (l/n).â
The man nods. âWell, Miss (l/n), horses arenât just toys to be stolen,â he says, gently petting the mareâs chin and running his fingers through her mane. âYou want something that runs, you earn it.â
âAnd how would I do that?â You tilt your head.
The man mounts the horse with an impressive ease. He settles into the saddle like heâd been doing it his entire life. Now, the tilted smirk on his face widens. âDonât suppose youâre any good with a rifle?â
You glance off in the distance for only a second.
You could bolt off right there and then. Itâd probably earn you a bullet in the leg, but you were quicker than you looked.
Most men in the West would have shot you on the spot for messing with what was theirs. Not this one. You clicked your teeth at the realization that your options were severely outweighed.
Any good with a rifle? âGood enough.â
Whoever this man was, he wasnât completely with the law.
Yet, he didnât seem to think himself above it. You nearly objected when he paid a rancher on the outskirts of town for a horse, saddle and all, but who were you to deny a gift? Besides, it had a lovely chestnut coat that you admired.
The town was far behind you as you slowed the horsesâ galloping to a gentle stroll beside one another. To anyone who didnât already know you, the two of you actually made quite a nice-looking pair.
Canyon walls surrounding you stood tall, practically glowing a golden rust in the late afternoon sun. Gravel and dirt crunched underneath the horse hooves; small songbirds gently chirped off in the distance; the dry air whistled a tune. The sweet music of the West.
Neither of you spoke much.
There was a polite âthank youâ for the horse and a brief conversation about sunburn, but other than that, you were complete strangers. Perhaps it was a way of leaving the scenery undisturbed, or maybe it was that you didnât have anything to say until one of you was sick of the silence.
Fortunately, he gave in first. âSo whatâs a young lady such as yourself doinâ in these parts?â
âIâm not a lady,â You had no qualms against this man, but a part of you scowled at him. It wasnât the first time someone thought theyâd figured you out because of what was between your legs. âAnd Iâm from Courthill. Texas.â
He whistled. âYouâre a long way from home.â
âHow long?â
âAbout two weeks that way.â He pointed to the left.
For the past few days, you wouldnât have been able to pinpoint your location on a map if it was laid out in front of you. It was odd to think that homeâa place you never wanted to see againâwas so close yet so far.
He spoke again. âI donât suppose you made the whole journey by foot.â
You scowled, turning your head so he wouldnât notice it. As of now, heâd only shown you kindness. You couldnât shake the stubborn, defensive barrier that came with being a woman on her own.
âI had a horse,â you shifted the reins in your hands to avoid a large rock in the path. âCouldnât keep it fed, so I sold it to a woman who could. A Miss Alice Fletcher.â
A brief silence settled between you before he broke it.
âSurely, thereâre ways for a- uh, woman to, uh,â he cut himself off, gently stumbling on his words. You knew damn well what he was going to say. âYou knowâŠâ
âDo I look like a prostitute to you?â
If your hair had been tied up, or youâd worn a thicker jacket to cover up the curve of your chest, Roy wouldâve fairly assumed you were a thieving, conniving, worn-down man like him. But you werenât. And he enjoyed seeing you in pants rather than a skirt. He didnât even try to picture the latter.
There was dirt on your cheek. Mud smudged over the knees of your slacks. A small, red scar on your collar bone.
âNo, maâam.â
Good. Thatâs that. You thought. But he spoke again, just above a mumble like it was only meant for himself.
âYouâd make good money as one.â
You sighed. A spiteful grin on your face. âSo, would you.â It was meant to be offensive, something degrading and sarcastic. He hardly took it as one.
âWhy, thank you.â He perked. You shook your head at your lame insult.
Then, he motioned to the hat on your head and the boots on your feet. âSo Iâm guessinâ those ainât yours?â
Well, youâd hoped it wasnât noticeable that they were a size too big. Your eyes trailed across the scenery, an embarrassingly obvious way of forming a quick lie. âA farmer from Oklahoma gave them to me.â
Of course, he saw right through it. âThat donât look like a farmerâs hat to me.â
âI didnât realize I was being interrogated.â
âYou did try to steal my horse.â
TouchĂ©, unfortunately. Without a moment to spareâbecause you really didnât feel like opening yourself up to this manâyou changed the subject. âWhyâd you bring me along?â
He cocked his head. âIs it my turn now?â
You ignored the smirk on his face.
With a shrug, he continued, âThereâs a man Iâm lookinâ for, lives down in Tucson.â That nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. You pulled back on the reins and he turned at your sudden halt in the path. âSomething wrong?â
âI donât even know who the hell you are,â you sighed. It mightâve been better to speak a little quieter in a valley where anyone could be hidden, but you werenât exactly aiming for security. âLook, I appreciate the horse, and Iâm sure itâs a lovely ride to Tucson. This has been fun and all, but Iâve got other matters to deal with. You canât even tell me the manâs name and Iâm supposed to shoot him down for you?â
He didnât necessarily smile at you; his lips only tilted slightly. It was his eyes that looked amused at your sudden burst.
The world you lived in wasnât kind to women who used their mouths. Youâd learned that the hard way from your father first. There were plenty of men down the line whoâd shown you as well, mostly with their fist to your cheek. You werenât wrong to feel angry or misled, but you hadnât meant to raise your voice with a stranger.
Maybe heâd shoot you right there. Leave you for dead in the middle of nowhere.
But there was no firm slap across your face nor the ringing of a gun piercing a bullet in your side.
Just the surprisingly gentle tone of his voice.
âNow, thatâs a mighty fine stallion, so youâre welcome for the horse. And yes, it is a lovely ride to Tucson. I think youâll enjoy it. I wouldnât say this has been funâis this what you consider fun?â You scowled. âBut I enjoy the company. And seeinâ that youâve made no attempt to outrun or rob meâagainâI donât think you do have other matters to attend to.
âThe manâs name is Les Moore. Heâs a banker-turned-bandit. Weâve got unfinished business I donât plan on disclosinâ, but I do plan on shooting him myself. I simply need someone to watch my back. And my name is Roy.â
He paused again, but this time, it left a noticeable weight in the air.
âRoy Goode.â
You knew that name. There wasnât a soul throughout the West that didnât know that name. Youâd heard it in folktales and stories around campfires, seen it written in thick, blank ink on wanted posters across a hundred different towns.
Even further, you knew that the man it belonged to had a certain friend you didnât want any association with.
âIf youâd like to go your own way, be my guest.â He continued. âBut you donât seem to know these parts and a lot of men stronger than you have died here. Itâs up to youâŠmaâam.â
A long silence followed.
Your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek because, deep down, you know heâs right. And you hate being wrong. The two of you stood still in the middle of the canyon. Even your horse sighed with impatience, but Roy kindly awaited your response.
âFuck,â you said under your breath.
Then loud enough for Roy to hear, âFine. But know this, Roy Goode,â You clicked your heels against the stallionâs belly. âAinât no man in the West whoâs stronger than me.â
Not a single bone in Royâs body doubted it.
âCareful, now.â
You clenched your jaw so visibly that Roy could see you were in no need of his advice. The rifle rested so comfortably in your hands, he had to wonder how many times youâd done this.
âI know how to shoot, Goode.â
âI believe you,â He dryly chuckled. âSo take the shot.â
He had a point. It only pissed you off more. You shifted quietly enough that the small, dirt-colored rabbit off in the distance never noticed your presence. At this point, it wouldâve been Royâs voice that gave it away.
âShut up,â you hissed.
With your left eye squeezed shut, you focused your sight on the rabbit. Not even your heart could beat hard enough to throw off your aim, but a gentle breeze blew a strand of hair into your face and ruined your line of vision.
âLet me do it,â Roy moved to take the pistol from his side before a shot rang from beside him.
The rabbit dropped to the ground with a gentle thud.
You grinned at your new partner in crime. âYou were saying?â
An hour passed before the sun sat low in the sky, just above the line of the land, casting a golden hue across your surroundings. The rest of the sky was somehow an inky shade of black, illuminated with more stars than youâd ever seen in your life. Strange you thought to yourself. Embers from the small fire Roy had started with spare branches and weeds floated above you, glistening amongst the stars.
He watched you take the blade hidden in your belt, dragging it against the rabbitâs fur and pulling its skin from the meat. The women he knew wouldâve gagged at the sight of blood or ran at the simple thought of killing an innocent animal.
But not you.
âNow, whereâd you learn to do that?â
You chuckled, a faint smile coming to your face, at a memory. âI canât go givinâ you all my secrets.â
There was something about you that knew survival. It was gritty and dark, and though he would never admit it, Roy ached to know more.
He hung the meat above the flames on a spit, gently twirling it so the skin had an even, roasted color all over. Your mouth watered at the sight of it. Once it was ready, the two of you ravaged it with desperate fingers like starving wolves. It was, in no way, a good meal. Dry and flavorless, and split between the two of you, one rabbit was hardly enough. But it was the first time in days that your stomach had been able to settle over anything.
âI lived off of lizards for a time,â Roy said once there were only bones left. The two of you wore soft, tired smiles that came with good food and good company. Youâd licked your fingers clean and now used your leather sack as a make-shift pillow. âCanât shoot the fuckers. I had to chase after them with a blade.â
You laughed softly. Roy enjoyed the way a smileânot a flashy, pretty one put on to appease the men around you, but a distant, reminiscent oneâlooked on you.
âIâve been there. I was near Mexico when all I had were tree leaves and cactus meat. Boiled it with river water.â Roy hummed a chuckle. The horses, tied to a withered tree, shuffled nearby. You glanced over your shoulder at them. âI like to think theyâre talking to each other.â
âThey are,â he said, throwing the last of the bones into the dirt. âJuneâs got a lot of stories to tell him.â
For a brief moment, you thought it odd that be referred to the horses like they were the same as himâor that he was one of them.
You arched a brow, âYou named her June?â
Roy could see that you were amused. âThought it was pretty.â He almost shrugged.
You hummed in fairness. Glancing back at your horse, you realized it didnât feel right to leave him nameless. And despite Roy having bought it, the stallion was yours. âJohnny.â You said plainly.
âCome again?â
âIâll name him Johnny.â
Now you were talking like you were one of them too.
Roy wondered then who Johnny was to you. Or maybe it was someone from a past life. He gazed at the remains of the fire before glancing over at you.
Maybe it was the gentle light in the vast darkness, but there was a newfound softness in your face. He could see the tiniest of imperfectionsâsmall scars won in battle, a minuscule bump on your chinâof which most women would cover with powder.
But not you.
Heâd seen beautiful women before. Plenty of them. And here you were, resting near the flickering fire and under the iridescent moonlight, forcing him to question if heâd ever really understood beauty before he saw you.
âJohnny and June.â He said out loud in thought.
You met his eyes, unaware of how long heâd been looking at you. âIt has a nice ring.â
Roy nodded. âThat it does.â
Three days of riding had taken the two of you to a small town called Tombstone, just a dayâs journey to Tucson. Royâs name was known around here, but, thankfully, his face wasnât.
With a pair of crinkled, ten-dollar bills, he reserved two separate rooms in a lodging above the general store. As he paid, the clerk didnât miss her chance to shoot a half-confused, half-cautious glare your way. âEach roomâs got a tub,â she noted, motioning to the smudged dirt on your cheek.
You gave her a tight smile. âThank you, maâam.â
Roy handed you a key and kept one for himself as the two of you scaled the stairs to the second floor. âHungry at all?â
âYou got the money for dinner?â
He shrugged, âEnough for more than rabbits and lizards.â You reached a long hallway. He pointed to the second to last door marked with a 6. âI think thatâs your room there.â
âThis says four,â you read the engraved number on the key. The correct door was only two away. Roy only hesitantly chuckled to himself. You glanced at his key, âAnd youâre three.â
âRight,â he said, awkwardly but gratefully nodding. He seemed to know numbers well enough when it came to money.
Without saying more, you started to fumble with the keyhole of your door. The lock clicked open before Roy spoke again. âThereâs a saloon on the corner. Meet me there a little after the sun sets? Give you some time to rest up.â
You were surprised to instantly nod at his request. âSure,â you smiled before you went your separate ways.
The room wasnât much by anyone elseâs standards, but it was more than youâd seen in weeks. A wire-framed bed with two quilts and an oil lamp sat to your right; a wardrobe for clothes you didnât have stood tall in the corner. The windows were adorned with dusty lace curtains that filtered the sunlight into the room.
You locked the door behind you and tossed the sack on the ground, immediately collapsing onto the bed. The springs squeaked underneath your body, but the mattress was comfortable enough.
Better than rocks and dirt.
Before you let your eyes close, you watched the ceiling, noticing the slight cracks in it. They began to form a shape, soon morphing into a familiar face. Blue eyes that always seemed to gaze at you when you werenât looking. A pair of soft lips that hardly ever smiled, but on the canvas of the ceiling, they did.
You laid on your side and forced your eyes shut.
But even in the darkness of your mind, a place of purgatory between dreams and wake, you saw him.
When you woke, you swore you could feel something grazing your arm. But you turned over to see that you were still alone in the room. The sweet, golden light of day was gone now, replaced by the ghostly, glowing moon. A gentle hue of purple sat over the horizon.
It hadnât been dark for long. You thought this while mentally praying you hadnât kept Roy waiting too long.
You hurried to grab your hat and leave the room, rushing down the stairs and out the door. Just as heâd said, a saloon stood tall on the corner of the street. A few men grouped together with smoke curling from their mouths watched as you approached the entrance.
âEveningâŠmaâam,â they said hesitantly at your appearance. You only nodded.
With one step into the bar, you seemed to catch the attention of nearly everyone inside. You noticed then that there didnât appear to be a single woman. Even the man at the piano stopped playing his song, only missing a beat before starting again.
Silence. Your boots clicked against the wood floor.
You glanced around the room for your traveling companion before a man with a thick beard approached you. His broad frame seemed to block you from entering further.
âMaâam.â He grinned, revealing yellow teeth and two silver caps. His eyes drifted up and down your figure. âI think you may be in the wrong place. Sallyâs cafe down the street doesnât close for another hour.â
You tightly smiled back. âI assure you, sir, Iâm in the right spot.â
You began to move forward again before his firm hand pressed itself over your stomach. The contact, unexpected and unwelcome, made you suddenly feel trapped.
âGood men donât go puttinâ their hands on young women,â a voice said from behind you.
The man slowly dropped both his hand and his grin. You turned to see Roy standing just as he had back in that alley. He offered you a small smile.
âYou with him?â The man sneered, glancing back and forth between you and Roy trying to discern the dynamic. You shook your head.
âHeâs with me.â
As the man backed away, retreating to his spot at the bar with his friends, Royâs footsteps halted at your side. He pulled out a chair from a table nearby and held his hand out like a gentleman. You kindly took the seat.
Roy sat across from you, placing his hat on the table. âTwo whiskeys,â he ordered once a server came by. âWhatâs your finest meal?â
âIâve got a beef and bean stew.â The server offered.
âTwo of those,â you smiled. He turned away, leaving just you and Roy alone again.
And despite the other men in the room cautiously eyeing you, not a single soul seemed to exist then. The server returned with two glasses of whiskey before the bar guests called him back over.
âThat happen anytime you go somewhere?â Roy asked with the whiskey at his lips.
You twirled your glass, careful not to spill a single drop. âFor the most part,â you shrugged, though you donât appear to be at all fazed from the gentle smile you wore. There was a distant, amused gleam in your eyes where Roy could see a thousand thoughts running in your mind.
âI donât need saving, you should know,â you added a little quieter.
Roy wasnât offended. Not at the very least, but he thought it odd that you hadnât fully appreciated his incursion. Now that he considered it more, he wouldâve liked to see you handle yourself.
âWell, I respect that,â he said. You nodded in gratitude and he blinked.
âYouâre a respectable woman, Miss (l/n).â
Your body froze as whiskey hit your throat like flames. âWhat makes you say that?â
He gave a small shrug. âThere arenât many women out in the West who carry themselves withâŠstrength.â He held his hand up defensively and chuckled. âI mean no offense, I think all women are respectable. More than any man, thatâs for sure. Hell, my mother died when I was young, but I knew she was formidable.â
You knew that kind of pain. Your heart clenched, but your expression didnât change.
âI guess, you somewhat remind me of that about her.â
Youâd been complimented before, much more in regards to your looks, but there were many whoâd commended your skills with a pistol or aptitude for words. No one had gone so far as to say you were formidable.
And deep down, youâd always considered yourself so.
But it was different to finally hear it from someone else. Someone other than your mind who could see you for what you were.
You knew you were strong. And Roy Goode knew it too.
âMy mother died when I was young, as well,â you added. âDonât remember her much, and my father didnât like to talk about it.â
He studied you for a good moment. Then, knowingly, âYou ran away?â
âAs soon as I was eighteen,â you hummed. âShouldâve done it sooner. Woulda saved me a lot of trouble.â
The subject of parents was a risky place to go with someone like Roy Goode, but there wasnât a bone in your body that was afraid of it. âWhat about you,â you amused. âMama died and you come across Frank Griffin?â
His eyes snapped up to yours like a threat, but you werenât afraid of him. At all.
âEveryone knows who Frank Griffin is,â you downed the rest of your drink. A little more would go to your head soon. âIâm not stupid.â
Then, Royâs eyes softened.
âYou can read,â was all he said.
âWhat?â Did he even hear you?
Roy quickly caught himself and shook his head. âNothinâ.â
The server returned to the side of the table and refilled your glasses. Once he was out of earshot, Roy rested his elbows on the table. âI met Frank when I was younger. He and his brother saved my life.â
You arched a brow. âFrank Griffin saved your life?â
âCareful, maâam,â he finished his second glass in one gulp. âDonât go sayinâ his name too many times, or youâll summon someone worse than the devil.â
âGuess he canât be too bad if youâre with him.â
Although you expected Roy to chuckle, or at the very least smile, at your comment, he didnât. He instead thickly swallowed as if heâd suddenly gone nervous. You could see his knuckles tense.
It was maybe a miracle when the server then arrived with two steaming bowls of stew. The smell that it emanated was that of bitter salt and old potatoes, but as you dragged your spoon in it, it looked fine enough to consume. The two of you hesitantly and simultaneously took one mouthful before furrowing your brows in thought.
After a moment, you set the spoon down and shook your head.
Royâs lips curled in disgust. âI think I almost prefer the rabbits and lizards.â
You instantly broke out into a synchronous chuckle, one that almost made your smiles reach your eyes. He tried to take another bite before swearing it was poison. A few other guests at the bar sent some questionable glares your wayâyour laughter was nearly louder than the piano.
But the two of you could hardly notice anyone else when you had the other right across the table.
It was surely late enough to retire back to your rooms by the time youâd finished at the saloon, but the combination of your earlier rest and the whiskey running through your veins left you both awake.
The street lamps had been lit as the two of you strolled down the side, passing by the few townspeople whoâd decided to enjoy the pleasant evening air.
For the first time in a while, it wasnât blistering hot, even with the moon in the sky.
Your conversation from dinner hadnât ended for a single moment during your walk. âYouâre some kind of horse whisperer, then?â You asked after Roy had told you he âunderstood themâ.
âMaybe I am,â he chuckled, hands lazily in his pockets. âMaybe we share the same kind of brain. I can hear them.â
You shook your head with a grin, the whiskey still hot in veins. âYouâre something else,â you mumble. âYou got June well-trained, Iâll say that.â
But Roy tutted. âItâs not âtrainedââyou first mistake.â You nodded for him to continue. âI respect her and she respects me. Itâs a relationship.â
âShe respects you?â You asked in amused disbelief.
He hummed. âItâs a balance, like an exchange.â
Though you can still sense the humor in your voice, you momentarily ponder that what Roy said was deeply beautiful. Youâd never given it much thought, but riding a horse was much more than mounting it and yelling at it until it went.
Roy had a profound tenacity for kindness that you hadnât encountered in very many, if not any, men. In a way, it puzzled you. He was a complicated, tangled string that became a fascinating image in all of its knots. You were vexed by it just like the constellations in the sky as the two of you gazed up at the end of the road.
âI do hope Heaven is real,â you say out loud. You didnât actually mean to.
But Roy knew exactly what you meant.
âMe too,â he said softly, carefully shifting his gaze to you for only a momentâtaking in how perfectly moonlight hit your skin, shadowing and highlighting all of the right parts.
You were the type of woman someone carried a picture of with them for the mere hope theyâd see you again.
He looked down at his boots in the dirt. âDoubt Iâd make it there.â
You turned to him. âYou donât think so?â
âWell, bad men seem to do well enough down here,â Roy smiled softly to himself. âI donât think I know anyone whoâd make it up there. Good, badâŠI used to think there was a difference. Itâs just two ends of the same spectrum.â
âAnd what about me?â
Roy looked at you then, almost puzzled. Bewildered. âWhat?â
âYou said you donât know anyone whoâs good enough for heaven.â The slight tilt of your lips was more intoxicating than the whiskey. âWhat about me?â
Despite the burning in his pulse, Roy held himself back from saying what he wants: Wherever it is, I hope itâs with me.
Instead, he professed, âWell, you just might be an exception.â
And for the first time since you met Roy Goode, you let yourself feel the blood in your body rush to your heart. It moved to your cheeks, and you mentally thank God that it was too dark to see how red theyâd turned.
But there were worse matters on hand than the flush on your face. It was the horrible ache between your legs that hadnât been relieved inâŠtoo long.
âCâmon,â you mused. âWe should get back before itâs too late.â
His bashful smirk matched your own.
Royâs eyes donât pull from your figure for a single second as he follows you up the stairsâŠthe sway of your hips with each step, how you glance over your shoulder to see if heâs close behind.
And each time you look, heâs exactly where you expect him to be.
The sound of your boots comes to a halt as you stop at the door marked four, your fingers brushing over the handle. Royâs presence lingered behind you like a ghost.
âToday was a hot one,â he says quietly, as if anything too loud would have you running away. âLeft me feelinâ grimy.â
Like youâd said: You werenât stupid. âBest to wash it off, then.â
He nods back slowly with a soft smirk you havenât seen him wear yet. You wonder then what itâll be like to undress it.
You push the door open with a sudden ease from Royâs weight pressed against you. His hand graces over your hip as he closes the door witht the heel of his boot. Once his touch becomes firmerâbut still respectfulâyou speak again.
âYouâve helped me an awful lot these past few days.â You didnât expect yourself to speak so softly. His other hand sets his hat on the side of the bed. âBuying me that horse, this roomâŠâ
In the corner, a large metal basin sits empty. Waiting.
âYou treat every girl who robs you like this?â
A quiet chuckle comes from the depths of his chest. âJust this one.â
Your eyes glance at his, before drifting downwards to where your hand ghosts over his belt. A shaky, almost inaudible breath falls from his lips. âI almost feel like I owe you.â
âOh, no,â he drawls. âDarlinâ, you donât owe me nothinâ.â
He tilts your chin upwards so your eyes meet his again. You donât even notice youâve taken your bottom lip in between your teeth, and he nearly moans just at the sight of that.
âIâm a giver,â he says softly, his thumb dragging over your lip. The metal in his belt clanks as you fumble with the buckle.
He leans in even closer. âAnd I could give you something more.â
So close. Close enough that he can undo each button of your blouse, so slowly you swear heâs trying to make your skin crawl. Close enough that he can feel your lips brushing over the corner of his mouth.
Itâs not an invitation. Itâs a seal of approval.
And so with it, Roy lets his body move before his mind can stop himânot that it ever would. You mold so perfectly against his lips like he was made to kiss you and no one else. Itâs warm and wet when he drags his tongue, brushing over your teeth and finding your own.
Youâve been kissed before, but never like this. Never so sweetly yet vigorously. He pulls your top from your shoulders and lets it fall to the ground, your trousers soon after. You toe your boots off before unbuttoning his own shirt.
He pulls from the kiss to drag his lips across your jaw, grazing over your neck.
âBeen wonderinâ what was underneath all this.â.
âYou like what you see?â You giggle.
He stands back, and youâre left vulnerable and naked. The air is cold without his touch. You almost feel unsure of yourself.
Then you realize heâs looking at you with the hunger of a starved wolf.
âDarlinâ, I ainât sayinâ Iâm gonna ruin youâwould never ruin you,â his chest rises and falls with a heavy, steadying breath. âBut you just might beg me to.â
Your knees almost buckle. He moves to switch on the faucet to the tub, and you take the moment to appreciate the parts of him you can see. His belt hangs slightly open, the zipper of his jeans pulled halfway down.
You run your hand through the water once it reaches a high level in the tub.
ââS perfect,â you hum, a warm smile on your face that soon disappears when Roy lifts you from your feet.
He sets you inside the tub, leaning over the edge. Cupping the water with his hands, he runs it over every inch of your body, making sure there isnât a single dry spot apart from your face. When his fingers graze your skin, you shudder.
âArenât you gonna join me, Goode?â You ask with a tempting smile.
âLadyâs first.â He takes a soft rag by the side of the tub and lathers it with a citrus soap, rubbing it smoothly over your figure.
You sigh contently. âNo point in washinâ the sin off me now if weâll be making more later.â
Your eyes meet his. Temptation mounted his face with an alluring darkness settling over his eyes.
A pressure began to build in the space between your legs before you realized it was no phantom feeling, but instead Royâs two digits submerged under the water. Heâd dropped the towel in the water with his mind focused on something else now. His fingertips brushed over your pearl before completely pressing against it.
He acted as if there was no time to waste, setting a consistent, circular motion over your clit. Your eyelids fluttered close blissfully.
âFuck,â Your brows knitted together, a soft, restrained curse fell from your lips.
Then, he pulled his hand away.
Your eyes shot open again to meet his. âDonât hold back from me now, baby.â
You nod as he pressed a little harder against you. You swear his hand is made of ironâhot, smooth metal that knows just how to perfectly work the most beautiful sounds from you.
As you writhe in the water, eyes squeezed shut with your mouth gaped open, Royâs eyes remain on you.
âSomeoneâs gonna hear you, honey,â he presses his forehead against your temple. âThey donât deserve to.â
You instinctively lean against him, grinding your hips into his hand. The pads of his fingers drift down to your puckering hole, but no more than that.
âPlease, Roy,â your hand reaches out of the water to curve around the back of his head, pushing his mouth closer to yours.
He chuckles. âI told you, youâd be begging for me.â
Then, like he was trying to make you cry, he pulled away and rose to his feet so he towered over you. His bottom lip, swollen from your kisses, hung heavy and glistened with your drool as Royâs hands pulled his belt from the loops. It fell to the ground with a loud clatter, his jeans following soon after.
You stood from the tub and reached for him, your hands drifting down to the last thing covering him from you. And once he was fully bare, the two of you stood still for a moment.
Shamelessly, you drifted your gaze down his body, taking in what it was like to see Roy Goode in all of his glory.
Glorious was the right way to put it, for sure.
He smiled as he watched you scan him before taking your lip in between your teeth again.
âCâmâhere,â he says softly, taking your hand in his.
You stepped out of the tub, dripping water on the wood floor. Itâd surely leak through to the ceiling above the poor woman downstairs,
Before you could say anything, Royâs mouth landed on yours again, his fingers running through the dry roots of your hair.
âCanât get enough of you.â His words came out muffled and broken through the kiss.
âItâs yours,â you say, placing your hands on his chest and breaking the kiss. A small, gentle push has him settling on the floor, and youâre quick to take your seat on top of him.
His eyes softly close when your folds envelope his cock with an insatiable warmth.
âIâm yours. From the moment you showed me,â you relax and feel his solid shaft right under that swollen pearl. âKindness when I did you wrong.â Your fingers lace with his. âIâm all yours, Roy. So take it.â
His right hand lifts your hips the slightest bit, allowing him space to take his cock in his left hand. He strokes it gently with a tight fist. The tip of it bumps against your hole, and you can feel it leaking against you.
âYou ainât real,â he whispers, eyes focused on where you two touch. And in a moment, you become connected. âAre you?â
One swift move of his hips pushes his full length past your folds. Your jaw drops open, but itâs the overwhelming feeling of him splitting you open that leaves you surprisingly quiet.
Roy doesnât seem happy at that. He juts his hips upwards at a different angle so a sweet yelp cuts through the air. âFuck, thatâs good,.â He pulls you so close that your flesh nearly melts around the bone. Youâre putty in his hands. âPretty cuntâs grippinâ me like a vice.â
Everytime Royâs hips draw from you, only to vigorously push themselves into you again, you swear you see God.
The skin on your knees splits against the splinters of the floorboards. A pleasurable pain. You steady yourself with your hands on his chest.
ââS my turn, now,â your words slur together, eyelids heavy from how sweetly the tip of him kisses your cervix. âGotta give you something too.â
He doesnât object. His hands settle like a loose weight over your hips as you start to move yourself. Your hips grind against him, letting his cock rub against every inch inside of you. The motion is too familiar. For a second, you swear youâre riding off into the sunset with heaven in your pocket.
Your eyelids flutter close when you begin to bounce. And though you canât see it, Roy can. His chest under your hands lets out heavy breaths as he gazes at how you swallow his entire length like itâs nothing.
But he knows itâs not. âThatâs it, sweetheart,â he feels his body go loose. He lets himself give in to you. âRide it.â
Gravity pushes you down just for you to lift yourself back up again. Your tits bounce in the most mesmerizing way, and Royâs hand reaches up to grab the flesh of them. His thumb rolls over your nipple.
âYouâre beautiful,â he grunts out, bending his legs so you can rest your back against them. But your movements donât stop.
And neither does the way Roy looks at you like youâre the only thing worth living for.
When you catch his eyes on you, you clench around his girth, pulling another sharp moan from him. Suddenly, his hips begin to meet yours in a pleasurable rhythm; the sounds of skin slapping, heavy breaths, and your delicate yet guttural moans make the most beautiful music.
âDonât stop, sweetheart,â Roy pleads.
Your mouth curls, âWhoâs begging now?â
He chuckles. A soft tension around his cock grows into a desperate need to finish off how good you feel around him.
âYou got it, baby.â His drawl leaves your hips stuttering, and he can tell from how youâve tightened around him, youâre feeling just the same as him. âMake yourself feel good on it, just like that. Wanna see you turn to pieces all over me.â
Suddenly, your head is too heavy to hold upright. It lulls back onto your shoulders, all of your energy going towards the way you ride him.
âYou feel it? Gonna make a mess for me?â
You nod, rapidly and loosely.
âWeâll just have to clean you up all over again.â He mutters to himself, and you can hear the smirk on his face. It stays there even as his brows furrow together, a mixture of bliss and pressure.
You feel the pad of his thumb press against your clit again. You instantly break at the contact. He feels your orgasm wash over him, a lush shower of warmth that brings his own release.
It mixes together inside of you like the sunrise bleeding into the remainder of the night outside your window. Itâd be illogical to sleep now, but you canât find it within yourself to keep your eyes open as your cheek rests against Royâs chest.
His hand lazily rubs over your spine. âSâpose Les Moore will have to wait to die another day,â he whispers.
You chuckle, âDonât waste your bullets on that man. Iâll do it myself.â
Roy cocks his head. A few days ago, you wouldâve protested at any mention of doing his bidding. And here you were, now, ready to make yourself a wanted woman.
There were many women heâd slept with. Many women whoâd opened their doors, shared their beds, held him in their arms. Many women whoâd sing him to sleep thinking itâd make him maybe even love them.
And sure, heâd been with whores. Heâd paid good money to see fine women dance like there was no God above. Maybe even paid them off enough so they wouldnât have to suffer under any more men with a heavy fist.
Many women whoâd liked the color of his eyes. Whoâd gasped and shuddered at the sound of his name. Whoâd fawned over the sight of him.
But never a woman like you.
He tells himself to remember that forever as he carries you to the bed.
Youâll wash in the morning he thinks when he pulls the covers to your chin. And when Roy moves to draw his own bath, he hears your tired voice from behind.
âDonât go,â you call out to him.
He hums. âIâm only right here, darlinâ.â
Your eyes are closed shut, lost in a dimension between sleep and wake. âHere,â you say softly, motioning to the spot in the bed next to you.
He ignores the sheer layer of sweat clinging to his skin. He ignores that thereâs still dirt in his hair from earlier in the day. He ignores the grimy feeling underneath his nails and the ache in his feet. Roy carries himself to the side of the bed.
The sheets are cool against his skin as he takes the spot beside you. Then, he feels the warmth of your arm draped over his chest. He stills.
âYou never held a woman, Roy Goode?â you tease with a tired smile.
âSure, I have,â he says. âFirst time itâs felt right, though.â
You move your head so he can tuck his arm underneath it. He feels your soft, mindless clouds of breath against his skin.
This is it he thinks. Heaven.
© faestunna 2025.
#love being fed roy content#roy goode x reader#roy goode fanfic#jack oâconnell x reader#jack o'connell
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For all the homies, girlies, gays, theys - thought yall would enjoy this
This been stuck in my head for days, hopefully it counts as ally, lol
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Hi friends! I created a server for Jack. I ask that you be 18+ to join in case we talk about anything NSFW. I have channels for some of Jackâs characters. Youâre welcome to thirst lol
If the link stops working, please let me know!
#jack o'connell#remmick sinners#remmick#paddy mayne#james cook#roy goode#lion kaminski#oliver mellors#sinners 2025#sinners
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Who would you consider to be Jackâs most popular characters? So far I have Lion, Paddy, Remmick, Roy, and Cook. Let me know if there are any others Iâm missing!
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Thinking about starting a discord server for Jack OâConnell and his characters! Iâm still making my way through his filmography, but Iâd love to know if anyone is interested.
#jack o'connell#remmick sinners#remmick#lion kaminski#paddy mayne#roy goode#james cook#oliver mellors#sinners 2025#sinners#jungleland#war heroes#godless#skins uk#lady chatterley's lover
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CAM BOY JORDAN HEADCANONS PRETTY PLEASE, ABOUT HIS PIERCINGS AND TATTOOS AEGFRHWUK


camboy jordan headcannons enjoyyyy
i need more fics on this man rn
nsfw below you have been warned!!
- he is a show off all the fucking way, he is MADE for that camera and knows how to keep the people happy and coming back
- he first acts dumb and like a complete airhead to get money but once it actually starts OOHH BOY a lot different and its hot as hell
- he knows his "regulars" anytime he does it and sees them he gives them almost "special treatment" saying stuff like "hey gorgeous" or just praising them for being there
- when he touches himself he groans, and swears a ton, mouth agape and his free hand running through his his hair
"fuck oh m-- mmph. shit- aah-" and as he does this he looks in the camera every so often and is sooo proud of himself when the chat goes wild, a big smug grin plastered all over his face
- he likes teasing them knowing they'll stay, he'll slowly take off his clothes, maybe call them dirty and pathetic fucktoys that he could just use at his disposal if he really wanted to, then moves on to touching himself. a stupid ass smirk on his face as he keeps going
- lowkey doesn't mind the parisocial aspect of it. if it gets him veiws? fuck yeah he'll call you baby, gorgeous, stupid, whatever you like. you are there for HIM and him only anyways
- doing this is a huge ego boost, he loves the attention. ATTENTION WHOREE!!! WHOREHWORHWO
mb anyways
- he starts off solo because he loves the attention but he lets you in and once the chat sees all the stuff he can do with you they go BALLISTIC. money back to back so... he brings you back and fucks you til you can think straight. he makes you loud anyone outside of that apartment can hear you clear as fucking day.
all i got if you want more lmk <3
gif creds: ( @delopsia !!
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mr âhey babyâ needs to calm the fuck down and stop looking at me like that
đ€șBACK RACISTđ€șGET BACKđ€ș
#hear me out but also donât#he didnât need to say it like that#sinners#sinners 2025#bert sinners
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Long Distance âïž
Pairing: Bob Floyd x female reader
Rating: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, MDNI
Warnings: Once again, smut with plot. Solo masturbation, mutual masturbation, FaceTime Sex, language. Bob has a filthy mouth.
Word Count: 2.3k
Summary: Bob Floyd is in a long distance relationship and canât stand it. One night, something snaps.
Author's Note: Just a little something I wrote and edited today. Also, I know next to nothing about the inner workings of the military/Navy so please suspend your beliefs for a bit here đ Hope y'all enjoy! (Banner photos are from Pinterest)

FaceTime was a lifesaver when it came to long-distance relationships.
Bob Floyd had always told himself he would never do long distance - he didnât think he could handle it. He wasnât clingy, necessarily, but he preferred to see his girl multiple times a week (okay, okay, every day if possible).
Long distance just didnât appeal to him. But when he fell for a fellow aviator, he knew it would be inevitable.
Their romance was a whirlwind. Shy at first, but once he finally kissed her, they didnât hold back. She was at his apartment more often than her own. Sneaking around wasnât ideal (not that they had to, they just wanted to keep things private), but that was the last thing on his mind when she was curled against him on his couch after a long day. He had never realized how nice it would be to have someone to come home to - someone who understood the weight of the responsibilities the mission carried - until he was with her.
She was one hell of a pilot: sharp as a tack and quick on her feet, a force to be reckoned with. But what really impressed Bob was the person she was outside of work. They quickly became a duo, a team - a picture of domesticity. She felt like home to him.
But, like clockwork, she was reassigned once their mission was complete, along with a handful of their other colleagues.
Two different coasts. Two different time zones. One couple slowly turning into two completely different people.
She was stationed in Pensacola while he stayed in San Diego, his orders extended rather than changed completely. They were beautiful areas with perfect beaches, and the Navy roots ran deep. But neither could quite sow seeds without the other.
Bob knew she was adjusting well after the move. She loved Florida - but she hated the time difference. Two hours might not seem like much to most people, but to them, it was challenging. Sheâd already been at work for several hours by the time he was waking up, which meant no good morning chats. He was usually able to catch her in the evening, when he was eating dinner and she was in the middle of her nighttime routine. But Bob didnât always want to say goodnight at 7:30 p.m.
He wouldnât admit it to her, but he was struggling.
He hadnât seen her in months. Hadnât kissed her. Hadnât felt her skin beneath his hands. He was going crazy.
Sure, he had photos of her - videos, too - but nothing compared to the real thing. Waking up wrapped around her pillow instead of her left him disappointed every morning. And he didnât even want to begin to try to compare her hands to his.
Around noon that day, just as he sat down with a sandwich for lunch, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Baby âïžđ©”
Unexpected day off tomorrow. FaceTime tonight?
Bob stared at his phone screen. An unexpected day off meant she could stay up later with him. She was usually very disciplined during the week, which he respected, but he hated the quiet of the night after they ended their call and she went to bed. At this point, though, heâd take what he could get.
He typed back a quick of course, baby before turning back to his lunch.
**********
That evening, when Bob trudged into his apartment, he was extremely tense. A lot of things had gone wrong for him today, which was unusual. He couldnât concentrate on the tasks at hand - he was tripping over his own feet. He was so wired, it felt like he had jet fuel pumping through his veins.
He knew why he was like this. And he knew there was nothing he could do about it - at least, not yet.
She was all heâd been able to think about. He kept daydreaming about her, imagining seeing her in the hangar, her hair flowing free and her flight suit half unzipped.
It didnât help his current state that, in his daydream, she was wearing absolutely nothing under her flight suit - and she ripped the zipper open as soon as she saw him.
Heâd fantasized about bending her over, right then and there, and railing her like they had no other cares in the world. About how good her perfect pussy (one he hadnât had in months) would feel wrapped around him. He was going insane.
After he washed up in the shower, he stared at the row of products sheâd left behind when she shipped out: shampoo, conditioner, cream body wash, face wash, a body scrub. He grabbed the bottle of body wash and squeezed a dollop into his palm. He lathered it up, closed his eyes, and held his hands up to his nose.
It was like she was there with him - the overwhelming scent of coconut and vanilla enveloping him, affecting all of his senses. He could see her standing under the spray of water, her hair plastered to her body as soap streamed down her curves.
He wrapped his soapy hand around his cock, dragging it from base to tip over and over, his eyes scrunched so tightly shut he saw stars. Just as he was about to cum, his phone rang on the counter and snapped him out of his daze.
It had to be her. How long had he even been in here, wasting their time together? He quickly rinsed off and wrapped a towel around himself before reaching for his phone.
Her name lit up the screen - Missed FaceTime Call. He tapped her name to call back. The phone rang only once before she picked up.
âHi,â she called out.
His phone was still facing the ceiling as he dried off. âHi, baby. Sorry, I was in the shower. Let me pull on some shorts real quick.â
Bob hung up his towel and pulled on a pair of soft sweat shorts. He grabbed his phone and settled onto his bed, forgoing his glasses on the nightstand.
She was also on her bed, dressed in a light gray cropped tank and matching shorts. Her hair was damp, like sheâd just finished a shower too. The sight of her made his chest ache.
She smiled when she saw him. âHi,â she said again, laying back on her pillows. From this angle, he could see a flash of her stomach. He wanted nothing more than to have his hands on her.
âHey, baby. You look cozy,â he replied, propping his phone against a pillow.
She nodded, leaning onto her fist. âJust wish you were here.â
Bob sighed. He didnât mean to sound so dissatisfied. Just knowing they both longed to be together⊠he couldnât wait until things were easier. He stretched an arm behind his head, his bicep flexing.
âIâve been thinking about you all day,â he admitted.
Her eyes flicked up to meet his through the screen. âYeah?â she asked. âWhat about?â
He pressed his lips together, debating whether to tell her about his daydreamsâhis fantasies.
âJust all the things I miss about you. Having you in my bed. Seeing you on base. Coming home to youâŠâ He paused. âAnd God, baby, I miss that perfect body underneath me.â
She watched him, then adjusted her phone again. His breath hitched when he noticed her hard nipples pressing against her thin tank top. He stretched his right hand down and palmed himself over his shorts.
âWhat would you do if I was there right now?â she asked, her fingers ghosting over her breast. âPlease tell me.â
Bob groaned as he gripped his half-hard cock through his shorts. âWell, first,â he began, âIâd have my hands all over you. Gripping that ass. Pinching your nipples.â His hips bucked against his hand.
She nodded, and he could see her chest rising and falling as he spoke. âWhat else?â she asked.
âIâd kiss you. All over. Iâd start with your lips, then your neck, then your chest. Then Iâd suck on your nipples - I know how much you love that, baby. Iâd kiss down your stomach, all the way down to-â He squeezed his cock, stifling a groan. âFuck, Iâd have my mouth on that pretty pussy so fast.â
âIâve missed your mouth,â she whispered, her hand trailing down her body and out of frame.
âAre you about to touch yourself, baby?â Bob asked.
âArenât you?â she countered. Bob smirked.
âI am. Wanna see?â
She nodded, and he pushed his shorts down his legs, tossing them to the side. His dick was practically begging for her, and he fisted it before turning the camera around. He watched her face as she bit her lip, her own arm moving rhythmically.
âFuck, Bobby. I need you. I miss the way you fill me up. Wish you could feel how wet youâve made me.â
He stroked himself for her, slowly. She let out a soft moan, her eyes never leaving the screen.
âTake off your clothes, baby. Please,â Bob begged, his heart pounding.
She sat up, propping her phone against the headboard. When she came back into frame, he could see her whole body. She peeled her tank top off slowly, and he couldnât help the whimper that escaped his throat when her tits were finally on display. She squeezed her breasts, groaning as she pinched and pulled at her nipples.
âFeels so much better when itâs your hands,â she whined. He stroked himself faster at that. She got on all fours before turning her back to the camera. Then she pushed her shorts down, arching her back as her glistening pussy filled his screen.
âOh my-fuckingâŠâ His voice sounded strangled as he gripped his cock. He was a mess - moaning, whimpering, whining. But he couldnât help it. He wanted her so bad.
She turned back around to face the camera, spreading her legs so he had a full view. Her fingers found her clit, pressing circles into it with one hand as she pinched her nipple with the other.
âBobby, I miss you. Miss that cock. I canât wait until you can fill me up again.â She plunged her fingers into her soaking wet hole. Bob could see just how wet she was - her slick pussy glistening in the low light of her bedroom.
âNext time I see you, Iâm gonna be inside you before we even leave the airport.â Bob was fucking his hand now, his hips snapping up. âGonna have you dripping for me again by the time we make it home. Then Iâm gonna spend all night with my cock buried inside you⊠fucking made for me.â
His hips stuttered, and every sound she made sent a jolt of electricity through him. She adjusted her position, lying back so he could see her fully spread, her back arching off the bed. All for him.
âIâve thought about you like this so many times,â she murmured, glancing over to watch him as she touched herself. âThought about your cock in my hands, in my mouth⊠God, I canât tell you how many times Iâve touched myself thinking about you fucking me, baby. Nothing compares to you.â
He could tell she was close by the way her thighs tensed. He clenched his fist around his length, gasping at the thought of her pussy squeezing him as he brought her to her orgasm.
âJust a little bit longer, baby,â he begged with a groan. âIâm so close - please, letâs cum together.â
He watched her eyes roll back as she adjusted her pressure. âIâm not sure how much longer I can-fuck!â She threw her head back with the most desperate whine Bob had ever heard.
âOh, baby,â he panted. âIâm about to⊠Iâm about to cum, baby. All for you, all for you, all for you.â
His hips continued to buck up into his fist as he shot his load all over his stomach. She was fully watching him now, biting her lip like she was remembering the last time she got to taste him - the last time she made him come undone like that.
Both of their chests were heaving, and for a while, the only sounds they could hear were deep, shallow breaths.
âI needed that,â he murmured finally. âGod, I needed that.â
âMe too,â she agreed softly. âDefinitely made a big mess, though.â When she picked up her phone, he could see the wet spot where sheâd been before.
He chuckled, looking down at his own body. âWe both did. Letâs get cleaned up.â
They did so in silence. Bob pulled on a clean pair of shorts, and he noticed she had changed into an oversized T-shirt - one of his. Once they were both back in their beds, Bob sighed.
âI miss you so much,â he said.
âI miss you too,â she replied. âAnd I love you. So much.â
Bob nodded, that familiar ache spreading in his chest. âI love you too.â He swallowed the lump in his throat. âI hope we can see each other soon.â
She was silent for a while. He just watched her - how she snuggled into her pillows under her plush comforter. âWe will,â she reassured him. He wasnât sure that was true, but he stayed silent anyway.
âWanna stay on until we fall asleep?â she asked. Bob nodded, rolling onto his side. Her breathing had evened out - deep, slow, soft. His eyes felt heavy.
âSweet dreams, Bobby,â was the last thing he heard before he drifted off to sleep.
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Rhett Abbott one night stand vibes with accidental pregnancy? Surprise me with how the ending turns out please đđ»âš
Right Here
A/N: I definitely went overboard with this one đ scrapped three drafts before landing here â so this version? sheâs the chosen one. Warnings: soft, protective Rhett coming your way. you're not ready and neither am I. i melt for this Rhett â like full-on puddle. Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated âïž
The baby was asleep when he started talking.
Not that sheâd understand a word of it â all curled up in her cotton wrap, her fingers twitching against his shirt, her breath warm and even where it ghosted over his collarbone. But Rhett liked to think sheâd remember the sound of his voice. The shape of it. The safety.
He shifted in the old rocking chair, boots planted firm on the creaky wooden floor â though the nursery didnât look quite finished. Shelves only half-installed. A mobile still waiting to be hung. There was a paint roller in the corner and a small pile of unopened baby books someone had dropped off weeks ago. Maybe him. Maybe you.
He looked down at her â all six pounds of her â and smiled without teeth.
âYou wanna know how you got here?â
The room stayed quiet. A cricket chirped somewhere near the baseboard heater.
âWell,â Rhett said softly, adjusting her weight in his arms, âThatâs a long story. And not the kind I ever thought Iâd be tellinâ.â
His thumb brushed over the soft edge of her ear. So small.
âSo small,â he whispered. âDidnât think somethinâ so tiny could turn my whole life upside down.â He smiled, barely. âJust like your mama did.â
He leaned his head back, eyes tracing the ceiling fan that never worked quite right.
âShe wasnât supposed to stay, you know. Not that night. Wasnât even supposed to look at me, let alone... God.â He let out a breath âI donât even remember what song was playinâ. Just remember her laugh. It was like drinkinâ somethinâ too fast â made my head spin.â
The baby sighed in her sleep.
âI didnât mean to let her go, kid. I just didnât know how to make her stay.â
The memory tightened in his chest like a rope.
One night. Thatâs what it had been. One stupid, beautiful night. And in the morning â sheâd left. Quiet as sunrise.
No note. No number.
Just the smell of her on his shirt and the shape of her still carved into the sheets.
He blinked. Swallowed hard.
âI told myself not to chase her. Thought if I kept busy, if I stuck to riding and kept my head down, Iâd forget.â
His voice cracked slightly.
âBut I didnât. Not once.â
He looked down again â at her tiny fists, her sleep-pink mouth.
âYouâve got her eyes,â he whispered. âBig and soft. Like you see more than you should.â
He kissed her forehead.
âYou werenât part of the plan, little one. But you sure as hell ainât a mistake.â
The chair creaked as it rocked. Outside, the sky was turning bright over the ridge.
âAnd if she wonât tell you how it happened,â he said, brushing a thumb over the babyâs cheek, âI will.â
â
The music was loud. Too loud for the size of the room, too loud for how late it was, but no one seemed to care â not the old jukebox wheezing out another George Strait hit, not the drunk couple trying to two-step on scuffed wood floors, not the college kids tossing back shots they couldnât afford. The Wabang bar hadnât changed. Not in years. Probably never would.
Rhett didnât come here much anymore.
He was nursing a beer in the farthest corner of the room, half in the shadows, half pretending to care about the pool game in front of him. Someone was shouting about a scratch, someone else laughing too loud. He felt the thud of bass more than he heard it. His boots tapped once. Twice. Then stilled.
And then he saw you.
Across the room. Laughing at something a friend said. Hair tied up, strands falling loose, cheeks warm with heat and liquor and the kind of confidence that made his throat tighten. You were wearing a denim jacket and a black tank top, and for a second â just a second â you looked right at him.
And smiled.
Rhett blinked.
That smile hadnât been meant for him. Couldnâtâve been. He hadnât seen you in years. Not since school. Not since that awkward period where heâd liked you a little too much and youâd barely known his name. You ran with a different crowd. The smart ones. The ones who didnât stay.
But you were here now. And walking toward him.
Shit.
âRhett Abbott,â you said, dropping into the seat across from him without asking. Your voice was soft and surprised, like you werenât entirely sure you were doing this. âI thought that was you.â He stared for half a beat too long. âHey.â
That was all he could get out. Hey.
You laughed again. âDonât sound too excited.â âNoâI mean. Yeah. I justâdidnât expectâŠâ He rubbed the back of his neck. âWhat are you doinâ here?â âVisiting. Friendâs birthday. Thought Iâd stop by the old haunts.â You gestured to the room. âDidnât think Iâd see you. You look⊠the same.â âThat good or bad?â You tilted your head. âThat depends. You still ride?â His mouth quirked. âSometimes.â âStill quiet?â âOnly when I donât know what to say.â You raised your brows. âYou always knew what to say back in school.â âNo,â he said, and this time it came out slower. Truer. âI just knew how to listen.â
You looked at him differently then. Like the game had changed. Like maybe, just maybe, this wasnât a mistake.
âI always thought you didnât like me much,â you admitted, nursing your drink now. âYou were kind of⊠intense.â âThat mean I scared you?â You laughed. âA little.â He smirked, eyes drifting down and back up. âStill do?â
You didnât answer. Just looked at him â like you were trying to decide if this was dangerous, or if you wanted it to be.
The jukebox whirred into a slower song. Something mournful. Something sweet.
You held out your hand. âWanna dance?â
Rhett looked down at it, then back at you.
And for once, he didnât think. Didnât second guess. Didnât play it safe.
He stood and took your hand.
â
The floor was sticky. The music was old. But the way you fit against him, the way your head dipped toward his chest â it felt brand new.
âYou always dance this quiet?â you murmured. âOnly with people I donât wanna let go of.â You smiled against his shirt. âThat a line?â âNo,â he said softly. âItâs the truth.â
The dance slowed, the music fading into something else. You didnât move. Neither did he.
Outside, the air had cooled. You walked together, neither of you saying much. The kind of silence that buzzed between skin and breath. When you got to your car, you paused. Unlocked it. Didnât open the door.
âI donât wanna go home yet,â you said. Rhett leaned against the passenger side. âYou wanna ride?â You looked up at him. âWhere?â He met your eyes. âAnywhere you want.â
â
The truck smelled like pine and leather. You didnât turn on the radio. Just let the wind and gravel speak for you.
He didnât ask where you wanted to go. Just drove.
And you didnât stop him.
The motel was just outside of Wabang. Old sign flickering, vending machine humming near the front desk. Rhett didnât even flinch when the clerk handed him a key â Room 6 â didnât ask questions, didnât offer explanations. Just nodded, paid in cash, and led you up the crooked concrete steps.
The room smelled like stale AC and cheap soap.
One lamp. One bed. One heartbeat between yes and no.
You stood there for a second, keys still in your hand. âI donât usually do this,â you said.
Rhett didnât move. Just looked at you.
âMe neither.â
You turned to face him.
The light hit him just right â tired, tan, a little older than you remembered. The kind of man who looked like heâd seen too much and still chose softness anyway.
He didnât touch you first. You did.
You kissed him like maybe it was a mistake. He kissed you like maybe it wasnât.
There were no loud declarations. No fumbling urgency.
Just a quiet look.
A question in your eyes.
An answer in his touch.
When he undressed you, it was careful. Slow. Like he didnât want to spook the moment.
When you pulled his shirt off, he didnât say a word. Just looked at you.
And you swore â just for a second â you saw something in his face that had nothing to do with lust.
Something like hope.
â
The morning light hit too hard through the cheap motel curtains.
You were already dressed when Rhett stirred, still tangled in the sheets. He watched you pull your jacket on like you couldnât get it done fast enough. Like if you moved quickly enough, you could leave the night behind entirely.
âI wasnât gonna wake you,â you said softly, eyes on the floor. âYou leavinâ?â You hesitated. Then nodded, âThis doesnât need to be anything.â
He sat up slower than he meant to, fingers gripping the edge of the mattress like it might hold him up.
âRight,â he said, even though it didnât feel right. Not at all.
You gave him the kind of smile people give at airports or funerals â polite, distant, already halfway gone.
âTake care, Rhett.â
You left without looking back.
â
He didnât go home. Not right away.
Drove for a while. Long enough to burn through a quarter tank. The day felt dull around the edges, like sound underwater. By the time he pulled into the ranch yard, the sun had barely cleared the ridge.
The kitchen smelled like coffee and something burning. Royal sat at the table, flipping through paperwork. Cecilia moved silently at the stove, frying eggs she wouldnât eat.
Rhett stood in the doorway, unsure why heâd even come in.
âYouâre late,â Royal said without looking up.
Rhett didnât answer.
Royal glanced up, eyes sharp. âYou hungover or just stupid?â âIâm fine.â âYou donât look fine.â Royal leaned back in his chair. âGot that half-glazed look like a man thinkinâ too hard about somethinâ that ainât his to think about.â
That landed. Harder than Rhett expected.
Royal kept going. âWhatever it is, drop it. Youâve got a ride next week and I donât need your head three counties away.â
Rhett didnât answer. Just nodded, slow.
Cecilia set a plate down in front of him. Toast. Eggs. The kind of comfort she never named.
She didnât say a word â just looked at him, once, with something like knowing in her eyes.
Then she walked away.
â
He didnât talk about it again.
Not to Royal. Not to Perry. Not to Amy, who asked why he was quieter than usual and got a headshake in return.
Instead, he trained harder. Rode more.
Got thrown off a bull in Sheridan and got back on like it didnât matter.
Told himself it didnât. Told himself it was better this way.
He hadnât seen her since. Didnât expect to.
â
It was the kind of day that didnât ask much. Overcast sky, wind low and steady, that late-autumn chill sliding down the back of your neck like a warning. Rhett wasnât even supposed to be in town â just running an errand for Perry, picking up horse feed and a new belt buckle he didnât need.
He didnât plan on seeing her.
Didnât plan on freezing in the middle of the grocery aisle, one hand around a can of coffee he wasnât sure heâd even grabbed.
But there she was. By the end cap near the bakery. Reaching for something on a high shelf.
She looked the same, but softer. Hair pulled back in a low knot. Jacket zipped halfway. She turned slightly as she adjusted her footing andâ
His breath caught.
There it was.
Not obvious, not dramatic. But there. A soft curve beneath her coat.
A bump.
She didnât see him at first. He shouldâve walked away. Turned around. Left it alone.
But he didnât.
He took a step forward. Then another. And thenâ
âYou gonna tell me?â
She froze.
Didnât turn right away. Just let the sound of his voice sink in like a stone.
When she did face him, her eyes flickered â surprise, guilt, something else he couldnât name.
âI wasnâtâI didnât expect to see you,â you said quietly. âDidnât expect to see this either.â His gaze dropped to your stomach, then back up. âYou shouldâve told me.â You swallowed hard. âI didnât know how.â âYou couldâve called.â You shook your head. âAnd said what? That I left in the morning and came back months later with a bump?â Rhett didnât flinch. âWouldâve been better than this.â You hugged your arms across your chest, suddenly very small in the wide-open aisle. âI didnât think youâd want to know.â His jaw tightened. âYou donât know me at all if you thought that.â
There was a long silence.
Finally, you said it. âItâs yours.â
He nodded once. No surprise. Heâd already known.
âBoy or girl?â âI donât know yet. I didnât want to find out alone.â
That stopped him. Softened him.
âYou donât gotta do this alone,â he said, voice lower now. Steadier. âI know you think this was nothinâ. That I was just some night you regret. But youâre carryinâ my kid. And I ainât about to be some ghost in her life.â You flinched. âHer?â He shrugged, eyes never leaving yours. âGuessinâ.â You blinked fast. âI wasnât asking for anything, Rhett.â âWell, too bad,â he said simply. âBecause Iâm here anyway.â
You stared at him â not sure if you were angry, relieved, or just stunned.
He didnât look like the boy youâd stole glance at school. Didnât look like he needed convincing.
He looked solid. Real. Like someone whoâd already decided he wasnât leaving again.
âI donât know what this is,â you whispered. Rhett took a breath like it hurt to let it out. âI like you.â
You blinked.
âI donât know when it started. Back in school, maybe. Maybe the night at the bar. Hell, maybe before that. But it wasnât just about the night. You gotta believe me on that.â
Your lips parted, but no words came.
âI didnât say anything because I didnât wanna scare you,â he added. âDidnât wanna break it before it even started.â
He looked down, then back up â eyes steady.
âAnd now thereâs a baby in the middle of this, and I know you didnât ask for me to be around. I know youâre strong enough to do this alone.â
You were quiet. Breathing shallow.
âBut I donât want you to,â he said. âNot just because of herâhimâwhoever they turn out to be. But because of you.â
You looked at him then. Really looked.
âIâm not gonna break you,â he said softly. âEven if I already cracked something that night.â
Then, lower now. Barely above a whisper, but it landed like thunder:
âI want to be responsible for this. For you. For them. I know itâs not simple. I know I messed up by not sayinâ it sooner. But Iâm sayinâ it now.â
You swallowed hard, something in your chest twisting sharp and sudden.
He kept going. âYou donât gotta decide today. But I need you to knowâIâm not runninâ. Not from this. Not from you.â
â
The knock came just before dusk.
Not loud. Not urgent. Just... there. Like he didnât want to scare you off.
You stood at the window for a good ten seconds before opening the door.
Rhett stood on your porch, holding a brown paper bag and a half-flustered expression.
He looked like he hadnât rehearsed this part. Like the grocery aisle had been raw instinct, but thisâshowing up againâthis was commitment.
âI brought you dinner,â he said finally. You stared. âYouâre serious?â He held up the bag like it was proof of intent. âYou need help. And I didnât think âI like youâ was gonna be enough if I didnât show up again.â
You stepped aside wordlessly, letting him in.
The kitchen was small, warm. Lived-in, but tired. Dishes drying by the sink. A plant you werenât sure was dying. Mail on the table you hadnât opened.
Rhett unpacked without asking where things went. Two frozen meals. A loaf of bread. Oranges. Ginger tea.
âYou researched what pregnant people eat?â you asked dryly. He paused. Scratched the back of his neck. âNah. Asked that lady at the checkout. The one with grandkids. Real loud voice.â You snorted. âMrs. Henley?â âThatâs the one,â he said, almost sheepish. âShe said oranges help with heartburn. Scared the hell outta me, honestly.â
That earned the smallest smile from you.
He glanced around, his fingers tapping the edge of your counter. âYou got anything that needs fixinâ? Leaky faucet? Broken hinge? Lights out?â âWhy?â âBecause Iâm standinâ here and I wanna do somethinâ more than just breathe the same air as you.â You folded your arms. âYou canât just show up with groceries and expect that to make this easier.â âI donât,â he said. Quiet. Steady. âI donât expect you to forgive me. Or fall into my arms. Iâm not that stupid.â
You swallowed.
He took a step closer, but not too close.
âI just want you to know that Iâm here,â he said. âThat I meant what I said. I want to be part of this. I donât wanna watch you do it alone when I can stand beside you.â You blinked, throat tightening. âYou make it sound simple.â âItâs not,â he said. âItâs hard as hell. But hard things are worth stayinâ for.â
The silence sat thick between you.
Then he said it. Soft. Unapologetic.
âI never stopped thinkinâ about you after that night. You disappeared, and I told myself Iâd imagined it all â that it was just one of those things. But now... now I know better. And Iâm not walkinâ away from that twice.â Your voice cracked before you even meant to speak. âAnd if I donât know what I want yet?â His eyes didnât falter. âThen I wait. I show up. I do the dishes. I fix the porch. I buy groceries. I wait.â You laughed once â a shaky, wet sound. âThat sounds stupid.â âMaybe,â he said. âBut itâs honest.â
â
You didnât ask him to stay.
But you didnât ask him to leave either.
The sun dipped low outside, turning the kitchen gold. Rhett stood awkwardly by the counter, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops like he didnât know what to do with himself now that the groceries were unpacked and the speech was over.
You broke the silence first. âYou hungry?â He blinked. âWhat?â âYou brought food,â you said, softer this time. âMight as well eat it.â He nodded once, slow and cautious, like the offer might disappear if he moved too fast. âYeah. Alright.â
You microwaved the meals he brought â chicken something for you, beef stew for him. He stood by the sink the whole time, watching the timer count down like it mattered. When it beeped, he jumped a little. You pretended not to notice.
You both sat at the table like strangers trying not to be.
Halfway through dinner, you said, âYou always eat this quiet?â He looked up, eyes warm with the smallest flicker of something â relief, maybe. âOnly when Iâm nervous.â You paused mid-bite. âYouâre nervous?â ââCourse Iâm nervous,â he said, nudging his tray with his fork. âYouâre smart. And strong. And pissed off. And pregnant. And sittinâ across from me after months of not speakinâ. Iâd be an idiot not to be nervous.â
You didnât know what to say to that. So you didnât. But your lips curled, just slightly. Just enough.
After you both finished, Rhett grabbed a paper towel and wiped down the counter. Like it was his house. Like he belonged there.
âYou donât have to do that,â you said, watching him from the table. âI know,â he said. âBut I want to.â
He threw the towel away. Then turned to face you again. Hands at his sides. Shoulders square. Still unsure.
âI donât expect anything from you,â he said. âNot tonight. Not tomorrow. But I want to keep showinâ up. However youâll let me.â
You were quiet for a long moment.
Then you stood. Crossed the room. And leaned back against the counter next to him.
âOkay,â you said. Just that. No fanfare. His head turned, eyes searching yours. âOkay?â You nodded. âOkay. One step at a time.â
He exhaled like heâd been holding his breath for hours.
âI can do one step,â he said. âIâm good at steady.â You bumped his arm with your shoulder. âYouâre also good at falling off bulls.â He smirked. âFalling for difficult things is kind of my brand.â
That made you laugh. Really laugh.
And it felt like the first true thing between you since that night.
â
It started with the screen door.
Youâd mentioned, offhand, that it creaked every time the wind hit it. Not as a complaint. Not even really expecting anything. Just one of those things people say when theyâre tired and trying to ignore the things that bother them.
Two days later, it was fixed.
No note. No fuss. Just... fixed.
And then came the squeaky bathroom faucet. Then the broken fence post near the back gate. Then the step on the porch thatâd always slanted left until suddenly, quietly, it didnât.
You never asked him to do any of it.
But he did.
He stopped by every few days now. Always with a reason.
Brought extra milk once. Said he âaccidentally bought two.â Dropped off a hammer the second time. Claimed he âforgot it last time,â even though you were pretty sure it hadnât been there at all.
And once â just once â he showed up with a tupperware of stew and mumbled something about âCecilia made too much.â You didnât question it.
You started leaving the porch light on without thinking about it.
â
One night, you found him sitting on your steps, your dog curled up next to his boot, watching the wind move through the trees like it was a story worth hearing.
He didnât knock. Didnât call. Just sat there with the kind of quiet you didnât mind.
You opened the door and leaned against the frame. âYouâre just gonna sit there all night?â He looked up, sheepish. âDidnât wanna bug you.â You gestured toward the couch. âYou wanna come in or not?â
He smiled â small, crooked â and followed you inside.
â
The living room felt warmer with him in it. He didnât say much. Just took off his boots, set his hat on the counter without thinking, and leaned back into your secondhand couch like it remembered him.
You brought two mugs of tea and sat beside him, knees almost touching.
âI didnât think youâd keep coming,â you said softly. âDidnât think Iâd be able to stop,â he replied, just as soft.
You looked at him â really looked.
At the faint scrape on his knuckles. At the way his shirt pulled at the shoulders from work. At the way he exhaled like he hadnât had a quiet place to land in a while.
He caught you looking. Didnât flinch.
âYou always stare this much?â he asked, voice low. âOnly when Iâm trying to figure someone out.â
He leaned back on the couch, one arm stretched over the cushion, his fingers drumming lightly against the fabric.
âIâm not that complicated.â You raised a brow. âThatâs what complicated people say.â
He smiled at that. Small. But real.
âI just like beinâ here,â he said. âThatâs all.â You tilted your head. âWhy?â
He looked around the room â at the dim lamp, the mismatched throw pillows, the chipped mug on the table still holding yesterdayâs tea bag. Then back at you.
âBecause no oneâs waitinâ for me to mess it up.â
That quiet landed deeper than you expected.
But before you could say anything, he added, softer:
âIâm not here just âcause thereâs a baby involved.â
You looked up at him. Eyes wide. Still guarded.
âI mean it,â he said. âIâm here because I wanna be. With you. The babyâs justâŠâ He hesitated. Then gave a lopsided shrug. âThe babyâs a happy accident. Youâre the part I was already wantinâ. I just didnât know how to say it.â
Your breath caught somewhere in your chest. He looked nervous now, like heâd gone too far.
But you didnât pull away. Didnât run. You just let your foot rest against his, and this time, you didnât move it.
And he stayed.
â
It came out quiet.
Like most true things do.
You were sitting on the floor in the living room, sorting through the weekâs mail, legs folded under you. Rhett was on the couch behind you, flipping through a hardware catalog he had no intention of ordering from. It was just background noise. Just a way to fill the silence between what had already been said and whatever was next.
You set an envelope down and said, âI found out on a Wednesday.â Rhett looked up. âYeah?â You nodded, eyes still on your hands. âI didnât feel right. Thought maybe I was just tired, maybe stress, maybeâhell, I donât know. But something told me to go pick up a test.â
He didnât say anything. Just sat forward slowly, elbows on his knees.
âI didnât even wait until I got home. I used the gas station bathroom down by that old diner. Locked the door. Waited. Shook the whole damn time.â You let out a quiet breath. âDidnât need to wait the full three minutes. It showed up quick.â
Rhett stayed quiet.
You looked down at your fingers. âI didnât cry. I didnât smile either. I just... sat there. For a long time.â
Still nothing from him. Just presence. Just patience.
âI went home. Put the test in the trash. Took another one the next morning. Same result. And I just⊠kept going. Like it hadnât happened.â You paused, trying to shape it right. Then: âI wasnât scared of being a mom. I was scared of telling you.â Rhettâs voice came out low. âWhy?â âI didnât tell you because I didnât want to blow up your life.â âYou didnât.â âI didnât want it to feel like some trap. Like you owed me something just because I kept it.â
He didnât speak. Just set the catalog aside and slowly stood â not rushed, not dramatic. Walked the two steps over.
Then he sat down beside you on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, knees bent like he was settling into something he didnât want to leave.
He rested his arms on his thighs, voice steady. âI donât feel owed. I feel lucky.â
That stopped you. Fully stopped you.
He glanced over. âIf you hadnât told me? If Iâd never known? Iâd be walking around not even realizing I had this chance. You.â You swallowed, throat tight. âIt didnât feel like a chance. It felt like a mess. And I was already halfway drowning in it.â Rhett nodded. Quiet. âIâm not afraid of mess.â âI am,â you said. He didnât look away. âThen let me be the part thatâs steady.â
You didnât answer right away.
So he added, softer: âIâm not here to fix it. Iâm here to stay. Even when itâs ugly. Especially then.â
You looked at him â really looked â and for the first time, you believed it.
â
You turned to him, slow. Careful.
âWhat if we tried?â
He looked at you. Really looked. Like he wasnât sure if heâd heard right.
âTried what?â âThis,â you said. âYou and me. Not just because of the baby. But... because we want to.â
Silence. But not the bad kind.
Rhett didnât blink. Didnât laugh it off. Just sat still like the moment was sacred.
âIâve wanted that since school,â he said finally. âYou were always...â He trailed off, rubbed the back of his neck. âI donât know. Untouchable. Too smart. Too pretty. Too far outta my league to even look my way.â You blinked, stunned. âI barely knew you liked me.â âI barely knew how to act on it,â he admitted. âBut I never forgot you.â
You swallowed, suddenly breathless.
âAnd now youâre here,â he added, voice dropping. âAsking me what if. After everything. After the mess. After the one night I never stopped thinkinâ about.â He smiled â slow, soft, disbelieving. âThis donât feel real. It feels like a dream Iâm afraid to wake up from.â You shifted closer. âWell⊠what if itâs real?â He reached for your hand then. Fully, deliberately. âThen Iâll do whatever it takes to hold onto it.â
Your fingers curled around his. Steady. Sure.
And for the first time in a long, long while â it didnât feel like you were gambling your heart. It felt like coming home to someone whoâd been waiting for you to find the door.
â
The house was quiet except for the sound of her breath.
Tiny, rhythmic. Almost like wind through cotton.
She was asleep against your chest, her body curled up like a comma, one hand fisted in the fabric of your shirt. You hadnât moved in twenty minutes. Couldnât. Wouldnât.
Across the room, Rhett sat cross-legged on the floor, still in his work shirt, still dusted in hay and dirt from a day he didnât complain about. His eyes were locked on her â your daughter â like she was the sun coming up over the ridge.
âSheâs got your mouth,â he said softly. You looked down. âYou think?â âYeah,â he nodded. âThat stubborn little pout? Thatâs you.â You smiled, exhausted but full. âSheâs got your frown when she sleeps.â He chuckled. âPoor thing.â
The lamp threw soft amber light across the floorboards. Everything felt warm, lived-in, quiet in a way neither of you had known before.
Rhett shifted up onto the couch beside you, careful not to jostle her. One arm draped behind your shoulders, fingers brushing your neck like a whisper.
âSheâs really here,â you said, your voice barely above a breath. âSheâs ours.â He nodded, eyes still on her. âWhole world in one tiny thing.â
You looked down at her â at her sleep-heavy face, the rise and fall of her breath. You still couldnât believe something so new could feel so right.
âShe changed everything,â you said. Rhett let out a quiet breath. âYeah. And somehow made it all make sense.â
The baby shifted, sighing softly, and you both stilled â protective without speaking, already moving in tandem without having to try.
â
The baby in his arms stirred, bringing Rhett back to the now.
She was heavier these days. A little bigger. A little louder when she wanted something. But in that moment, cradled against his chest in the quiet, she was still. Warm. Safe.
The house around them was hushed â not the tense kind of silence he used to know, but the good kind. Familiar. A hum of peace under the floorboards.
The late morning light spilled through the window. Golden, soft-edged. It lit up the room in streaks â caught the dust in the air, glinted off the framed photo on the mantel, and landed square on his left hand where it curled around her tiny back.
The sun shone bright on the silver band on his ring finger.
He hadnât taken it off since the day you slipped it onto him, quiet and teary-eyed at the courthouse, both of you too choked up to make a big deal of it. Heâd kissed your knuckles and whispered, This donât change us. It just makes it official.
Now it caught the light every time he held her. And God, he hoped sheâd see it one day and know it meant safe.
Steady.
Staying.
Rhett rocked slowly in the old chair, voice low and careful.
âAnd that,â he whispered, brushing his lips to her forehead, âis how you came to be.â
He looked down at her â same stubborn pout, same tiny fists â and smiled to himself.
âWasnât part of the plan, sweetheart,â he said. âBut youâre the best thing I never saw cominâ.â
She shifted, one arm flopping up against his chest like she knew she was being talked about.
âI didnât know how to be a dad,â he went on. âDidnât even know if I was gonna be good at any of this. I still donât, some days. But then you cry, or smile, or fall asleep on me like this, and I figure... maybe I donât have to know everything. Maybe just beinâ here is enough.â
A beat.
âYour mama... she gave me a real chance. Took a risk lettinâ me back in. And Iâll spend the rest of my life makinâ sure she never regrets it.â
His thumb brushed gently over her back. She sighed in her sleep. Like she already believed him.
Rhett leaned back a little further, gaze catching again on the wedding band. It felt heavier in the sunlight. Not in a burdensome way â just real. Earned.
âI used to think a win meant stayinâ on the bull,â he murmured. âNow I think it looks more like this.â
Another pause. No rush.
âYou were a happy accident, darlinâ,â he said. âBut youâre the best thing thatâs ever been mine.â
His voice dipped even lower, almost a promise.
âYouâre ours. All the way.â
And outside, the wind moved through the trees, steady and light â as the sun kept shining.
#rhett abbott#rhett abbott x reader#rhett abbott x you#rhett abbott x y/n#lewis pullman#verricherriaskđ
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am i the only one who's a bit confused as to why everyone characterises bob's dynamic with sentry and the void as if they're completely different entities sharing a body?
i feel like people might be taking his memory loss and then generalising him with moon knight's DID system and that's where the mix-up is happening but my understanding was that he's some type of bipolar. sentry is a manifestation of his manic episodes and the void is a manifestation of his depressive episodes. it's the same bob taken to different extremes because of the serum enhancing his pre-existing symptoms
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I need Remmick being so down bad for his human wife pretty please
Work Song



â.ă.:*ă»Â°â.ă.:*ă»Â°â.ă.:*ă»Â°â.ă.:*ă»Â°â .ă.:*
A/N; I needed this too so thank you for this request đ I love a man thatâs down bad and obsessed, those are the best kind ^_^ the title for this one takes after Hozierâs Work Song of course since I was thinking about it while writing this :P I hope you enjoy, and thank you again for requesting!! (Also apologies for me going overboard, I got way too invested in the backstory and couldnât stop myself :âD)
Summary; Remmick comes home to his wife.
Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, human reader, down bad Remmick!!, soft Remmick, possessive Remmick, vampirism, cleaning him up, married to Remmick, soft sex, fingering, piv sex, cuddling, he doesnât know how to handle âI love youâ, fluff
Wc; 6.2k
â.ă.:*ă»Â°â.ă.:*ă»Â°â.ă.:*ă»Â°â.ă.:*ă»Â°â .ă.:*
The house is dark and quiet when the door opens with the smallest squeak, resting on old hinges gone too long without oil.
The curtains are drawn tight, the material thicker than your typical run of the mill, assuring no light can sneak through the cracks. The air is fresh with recent movement, signs of a home well lived in with pictures hung on the wall and shoes in a small rack by the door. Thatâs where Remmick leaves his dust covered boots so he doesnât track red speckled dirt all over your nice clean floors. He tosses his stained button up in the wash bin you set out for him too, just his white tank remaining as his suspenders fall loose around his hips. Stepping inside your place is like a balm on his unsettled, angry soul, letting him leave everything else behind just for a little while.
Your home is the only one heâs allowed himself to become familiar with, the only one heâs stayed at for longer than a couple months. He knows every hall, every creaky wooden floorboard, every small detail at an almost intimate level. He follows the path heâs gone down hundreds of times, the one that leads him right to your bedroom. Your scent brings him there just the sameâsweet and flowery like a perfect spring day, a tantalizing whisper of iron hiding beneath.
Remmick nudges the bedroom door open, his eyes flickering in the dim lighting, red simmering in the blue-gray like the last embers of a dying fire. Itâs strange how instantly something within him is calmed at the sight of you, something deep and possessive and maybe even predatory that finally quiets when it realizes youâre still here. Your form is tucked beneath the sheets, blissfully warm and cozy and utterly perfect. He sees a book tossed aside to the corner of the bed, like youâd tried to stay awake for him but ultimately gave up and fell asleep. He can hear your gentle breaths, the quiet thrum of your heart that taunts him.
His steps are near silent when he makes his way over to you. You lay on your stomach, a pillow hugged between both arms, your pretty mouth parted just slightly. You look serene in sleep, an angel come down to earth just for a devil like him. Remmick reaches forward, brushing a stray curl from your face with a tenderness most would think impossible for himselfâwith his hands that have taken too many lives to count, that are stained with blood every night. But with you theyâre gentle, able to rediscover a mushy part of him that was buried centuries ago.
Your eyebrows pinch and you mumble indistinctly when his chilled hand rests on your cheek, relishing in the feeling of your soft skin beneath his calloused palm. Heâs a little warmer tonight though, with fresh blood still flowing through him, but itâs never enough to completely chase off the cold bite of death. He leans down to pepper kisses across your face, steadily moving to your neck where he pauses, his blunt teeth teasing along your jugular and inhaling your scent like itâs a lifeline.
Under his attention is how you finally wake, shaken from meaningless dreams by frigid fingers and loving kisses. You smile lazily, stretching your arms and twisting so youâre on your back to face him. You paw at him, pulling him in with no resistanceâheâd happily follow your touch wherever you wanted him to go. Your lips meet briefly, a pleased noise rumbling from him before you pull away. âYouâre back.â You say, sleep still edging your words. You breathe him in contentedly, your fingers coming up to run through his short hair. He still has that signature metallic tang on him despite his efforts to clean up before coming home. âWas worried âbout you.â
âAw darlinâ, you ainât have to do that. You know Iâll always come back to ya.â Remmick says, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. One of his hands rests above the covers on your waist now, the weight of it comforting and familiar. He huffs, shaking his head. âShit, thought âbout ya all night.â
Itâs true, he really was thinking about you the whole timeâsomething he finds himself doing a lot recently. He thinks about you from the moment he leaves your house because of the undeniable call of his hunger, all the way to when he finally returns hours later. Heâll think about wishing he could stay around when your eyes start to droop and the mortal need for sleep takes you away, when you subconsciously curl into him searching for warmth that isnât there. He hates having to move you off of him so he can go, so he can step out into the unforgiving darkness of night in search of a life to steal. You do make the cutest little noises though, something like a disgruntled catâs. Heâll tuck you in real nice and kiss you sweetly to make sure you donât miss him too much, and so he can seal the image in his memory to keep him motivatedâa reminder of what he gets to come home to.
âYou were gone for so long.â You say with a small pout, holding his face in your hands, his light stubble tickling your palms. The gold ring you wear glints in the darkness, a twin to his own.
He tilts his head so his lips connect with your hand, nuzzling into your touch that he always seems to crave. âJust got caught up with some things sâall.â Heâd cut it close tonight, the sun appearing like a reckoning seconds after heâd shut the door. âIâm here now, darlinâ.â
You smile at that, pulling him in again to kiss him, enjoying the taste of him. Thereâs always something metallic hiding beneath every bit of him, something too old for your mind to comprehend, something otherworldly. For most it would be unnerving and terrifying but for you, thatâs just your husband, your Remmick. Youâd accepted that when you agreed to marry him about three years ago, opening your arms and home to him and every unnatural part that came with him.
It was two years before that when youâd actually met him, the memory always sitting clear in your mind like it happened yesterday.
Youâd spent the whole day bakingâcookies, pies, cobblers, tarts⊠the list went on as you prepared for the market happening in town the next morning. You prided yourself on your baked goods, and people always bought you out. The whole house smelled of your efforts, the scent carrying out the open windows and into the trees beyond. You hadnât heard it at first, the whispers in the leaves, the way all the animals went silent, the world seeming to hold its breath for just a moment. Youâd been too busy singing a song you knew by heart as you were prone to do whenever working in the kitchen. (Remmick has told you countless times how much he adores your voice, he says itâs like a fine wine).
You were rotating the food left to cool on the windowsill when you saw him, standing out there by the tree line, watching you with eyes that at first gave you the willies. âHey there,â youâd called, watching as he flinched at the sound of your voice, âwhat brings ya over?â
Heâd taken a few curious steps towards the house, letting you get a better look at him. Worn button up loosely tucked into high waisted trousers, a white tank hidden beneath, suspenders over the shoulders, old boots, and a banjo slung across his back. He looked like a man who traveled often, never staying in one place long enough to learn the style of it. His face looked kind, set with strong features on stocky shoulders that suggested he was no stranger to hard work. His short black hair was messy but in a presentable way, curled bangs sitting on his forehead. Still, you knew there was something deeper about him that was off, that didnât belong in your realm of living.
His hands were loosely in his pockets and he shrugged. âSmelled somethinâ mighty sweet, heard somethinâ even sweeter. You got a beautiful voice, darlinâ.â Heâd given you a close-lipped smile, one that made his eyes crinkle at the edges. His southern drawl was thick like syrup, coated across every word with something mixed in that you couldnât quite place.
âOh, Iâve got years of church choir to thank for that.â Youâd joked. Youâd tilted your head. âWould you like to try anything, sir? I could always use a taste tester.â
Heâd hesitated for a moment longer than would be normal, as if debating something serious in his mind, before shaking his head. He chuckled. âNah, Iâm tryinâ to cut back.â
âAw, thatâs a shame. If you change your mind, Iâll be at the market tomorrow. Feel free to stop by.â Youâd said. Heâd smiled back at you in a way that suggested he knew something you didnât, told you that you wouldnât be seeing him at the market or any day after that.
As soon as the sun went down though, he continued appearing in your backyard. He never stayed long at first, only sticking around to strike up a brief conversation. Youâd learned his name, Remmick, and he had learned yours. Your name was always soft on his tongue, like he needed to be careful with something precious. He listened to you talk like you spoke the gospel, reverence in those blue-gray eyes as he never missed a word. In turn he would tell you stories of a time long ago, weaving vibrant imagery that made you feel as if you were standing in the green fields of a country far away. It confirmed things about him that you already suspected, like how he wasnât from here at all, that he came from something hundreds or maybe even thousands of years old.
Youâd sit on your little porch swing while heâd remain in the grass leaning against the railing, never truly breaching the line of your home. The night was warm and muggy, and there was a lull in your conversation, causing your gaze to travel to the banjo he continued to carry with him. âYou any good on that thing?â Youâd asked with a nod towards it.
Remmick huffed. âI like to think I am.â
You smirked. âPlay me somethinâ.â
Heâd given you that signature smile. âWell, canât deny a pretty thing like you, can I?â
He was always quick to flatter you, and you had to admit it was getting to you a little, something foreign fluttering in your chest. Heâd swung the instrument around, resting it in deft hands and idly strumming a string or two as he thought about what to play. Heâd then struck the first few chords and you quickly realized you recognized the song, it being one your family had shared together for years. You couldnât help but sing along, shutting your eyes and letting yourself feel the music within as your body swayed. It meant that you missed the way Remmick looked at you, like you were heaven come to earth, adoration and reverence burning in his eyes like the hottest fire. That was the moment something clicked into place for him, that cemented his need to have you in whatever way he could.
He was downright obsessed with you. He couldnât stay away from you and your sweet voice, your mouth watering smell, your entire being that seemed to be kissed by the sun. He knew heâd do anything to stay in your warmth, in your blessing. He kept coming by night after night, staying as long as his hunger allowed or until you couldnât stop yawning and finally headed to bed with a sleepy goodnight. Part of him wished to follow you inside, thinking of how easy itâd be to take you in the carnal way he secretly desired, to lock you to him for eternity, but Remmick always held back, another part of him not wanting to ruin what you have. After all, he couldnât remember the last time heâd had a civil conversation with someone that didnât end with their blood smeared along his face. He couldnât remember the last time heâd been shown such simple kindness, he couldnât remember the last time heâd felt so human.
You didnât know how much time passed like that, with easy talks and shared songs into the late hours when everybody else would be asleep. You always kept your physical distance, as did he, like some unspoken understanding. The emotional distance was another story, something that was shortening by the day. Feelings were blooming into something out of control, mixing with your desire in order to make a sickly concoction.
You both knew you were onto him, onto the fact he was something unnatural and ancient, but you never bothered to bring it up. Youâd heard enough stories from your momma about things like him, you understood how dangerous they were but⊠you couldnât find it in yourself to chase him off. Youâd grown too fond of him, of his stupid smile and charming words, his endless stories and soothing voice. He felt much the same and yet⊠you were at some kind of mutual standstill, neither of you quite knowing what to do with it.
Until the one night he didnât show up.
Youâd waited. Youâd sat on the porch with furrowed brows and downturned lips, disappointment sitting heavy behind your heart. Had he gotten bored of you? Decided to disappear without a word? Youâd supposed it wasnât a shock, it happened to you all the time. You gave him an hour before you sighed in defeat, heading back inside so the bugs didnât eat you alive for nothing. You tried to ignore the hurt you felt, knowing it was useless to feel it over someoneâsomethingâlike him. He didnât owe you anything, hell, you were lucky he hadnât killed you. Maybe it was some kind of sign. Youâd gone to bed just as thunder rumbled outside, lightning flickering between the clouds.
You were woken hours later by a knock on your back door. Youâd grumbled and wrapped a robe around yourself, trudging down the hall and to the kitchen, eyeing the silhouette hidden behind the mesh screen. There was something whispering to not open it, to protect yourself and just crawl right back into bed. You noticed the silence that had settled around your home, the one that made the frogs quiet and the crickets cease their songs, the one always followed by a familiar figure. You knew something was off, could feel it in your bones, but it didnât stop you from opening that door.
Youâd gasped so sharply that it hurt, your body stumbling back a step. Remmick stood there, blood covering his front half, his eyes gleaming a deep red that reflected in the same way an animalâs did. The whole way he carried himself was different, more predatory and deadly, poised to kill at a moments notice. His clothes were disshelved, his bangs plastered to his forehead from sweat. The wind carried the smell of him to you, ancient earth and leather tainted with the iron of blood. He opened his mouth and you saw the teeth sharpened to fangs, coated with his meal.
He smiled at you, and it was no longer one that made your heart flutter. It sent a cold shiver down your spine. âYou gonâ let me in, darlinâ? Or just keep starinâ?â
He liked the way you looked at him then, like everything finally snapped into place for you. Mixed with your fear was a kind of defiance, like you were trying to tell yourself not to be frightened. He liked you seeing him for what he truly was, liked knowing you still wouldnât cower. Itâs what made you step aside and say those simple words, even though you knew your momma was surely rolling in her grave at your stupidity.
Something heavy shifted when he stepped inside your home. Something that told you it could never be undone and youâd have to bear the consequences, but you found that you didnât care. âSo thatâs what you are,â you muttered, âa vampire.â Youâd heard of them before from your momma, you knew how to kill one. You were pretty sure there was even some kind of emergency kit hidden in a closet somewhere.
Remmick chuckled low and dark, shaking his head. âYou knew this whole time and you ainât ever run or scream or cryâŠâ He smirked, triumphant. âI knew you was somethinâ special, darlinâ.â
He sat in a chair at your dining table like it belonged to him, his eyes traveling around your home as he swallowed down every bit of information he could glean about you. The floral designs on the dish cloths, portraits hung on the walls, keepsakes littering empty spaces, and a thick recipe book sitting on the counterâall of it a testament to you, the woman he didnât stop thinking about night after night. Your scent was so heavy in your home it made it feel like he was breathing in a drug every time he inhaled and fuck- he couldnât get enough. He wanted it to live inside him, he wanted you to make your home in his veins, in the space between his ribs. He wanted you with him forever.
He watched with a predatorâs gaze as you filled a bowl with water, desperate to do something to keep yourself busy. It was brave of you to keep your back to him, but it was like you knew he wouldnât do anything unless you asked. Heâd get on his knees for you if you wanted, heâd beg just to hear his name fall from your lips.
You grabbed one of your pretty little dish rags, setting it and the bowl next to him while you sat in front of him, so close your knees almost touched. He could tell how much you were trying to hide your fear from your expression but he still saw it in your furrowed brows and pressed lips and your eyes that were just a bit too wide. âIâm scarinâ ya.â He said it like a fact, one without room for dispute. His fierce red irises bore into yours, seeing everything you wanted to hide. You went to protest, your trembling mouth opening before he shushed you. âDonât lie. I can smell it.â It was potent and intoxicating, seeping from your pores and making drool threaten to fall down his chin.
âI ainât scared of you.â You said with a false confidence. You dipped the rag into the warm water and suddenly grabbed his face in one hand as if to prove it, shocking the both of you with your boldness. Remmick visibly shuddered under your touch, his eyes fluttering briefly and a small noise coming from him, even as your fingers dug into the plush of his cheeks. Oh, how long heâd waited to feel your hands on him, the warmth of your humanity, the softness of your skin. He couldnât believe heâd gone this long without it, without something that was clearly so vital to his very existence. He knew then he could never go another day without touching you.
âDonât want you makinâ a mess in my house.â You muttered like an excuse, dragging the rag across his upper lip and moving down, taking the blood with it. He was more than willing to relax into your ministrations, letting you clean him as if he was a child. Nobody had ever done it for him before, after all. He watched you all the whileâthe crease between your brows, the determined curve of your mouth, studying every detail and committing it to memory.
âI ainât a stranger to blood, you know. My daddy used to be a doctor.â You began after a good few minutes, talking to keep yourself distracted from the reality of your situation. Remmick didnât mind of course, he loved your voice more than life itself. His attention immediately shifted towards the sound like a dog with its ears perked.
âUsed to?â Heâd asked.
âHe died in the war. Momma went soon after, they basically said heartbreak caused her stroke nâ killed her.â Your head shook. âShe really loved that man to death. Couldnât blame her, he was the kindest soul youâd ever meet. Always helpinâ the poor and needy, bringing âem into the house to heal âem when they couldnât afford their bills. Heâd make me help sometimes, getting fresh water and whatnot. Thatâs why you ainât nothinâ special.â
âHow sweet of ya.â Remmick teased, his fangs showing with his uneven smile.
Youâd ignored him, rubbing the cloth along his collarbones and across the gold chain he wore, clearly beginning to discolor from age. The water in the bowl had long since turned red, your dishrag officially ruined but it was the least of your concerns (and Remmick had gotten you a new one later on).
When youâd deemed him clean enough, you moved to get up and dump the bloody water before his large, cold hand latched onto your wrist, stopping you abruptly. It was like the tension was pulled taught as a bowstring at that moment, some small seedling of doubt in you saying he was about to kill you while he just stared at where your bodies were connected. It was slow and purposeful when Remmick brought your hand up to his mouth and ran his lips along your palm, breathing you in, tasting you with darts of his tongue. You felt the flush crawl up the back of your neck and across your cheeks, watching as he nuzzled into your hand, looking at you with those wide red eyes, every reminder of the last couple months together hanging there. Every shared story, every vulnerability, every song sung together.
âI need ya, sweet thing, shoot- Iâve needed ya since that first day. Iâll treat ya nice and good, I swear it on my dead heart.â Remmick said to you, his words thick, heavy, and gravelly with his desire. âYouâll never want for nothinâ, darlinâ, Iâll give ya everythinâ, I promise. Please, baby, let me prove it to ya-â
He continued to kiss along your arm, so determined to show you the truth behind his words, to make you give in to him with murmured pleas and prayers. He relished in the taste of you, his breaths growing labored from his excitement. You stopped him with your hands on either side of his face to pull him back, his lips parted and shiny with spit, his eyes still glowing red but full of unbridled desire for you. You already knew your answer, had known it the whole time. You were so tired of being alone, so tired of searching for someone, anyone, to love you and understand you. You didnât care that the only one who did was a monster in the body of a manâthere was something about it that made it even sweeter.
So youâd agreed.
There was only a second of pause, like Remmick was processing it, those simple words that tilted his entire world, before he was on you. He kissed you with such ferocity, such possession, his hands roaming all over you, gripping you so tightly you had no choice but to submit to him. Heâd swept you up with ease, carrying you into your bedroom where heâd fucked you stupid until the sun rose, pulling more orgasms from you than you thought possible, pinning you beneath his sweat soaked body and filling you again and again, whispering his thanks and devotions the entire time. Youâd slept through the whole day after that with Remmick cradling you against his cooled body, encasing you in his arms like he was afraid youâd take it all back if he let go.
That was how you fell into the routine of your relationship. Heâd spend the light hours tucked away inside the safety of your house while you went about your day, then heâd leave most nights in search of food before coming back hours later and fucking you senseless, exhilarated from both the hunt and seeing you again. Remmick made you feel more loved and protected than you ever had before, always saying praises and promises into your skin like a prayer youâd hear in church, always giving you everything he had to offer. Heâd sometimes even bring you gifts after his hunts, little things he knew youâd like. Fresh berries he stole from a garden or farm, beautiful flowers to go right on the table, a book or two he was able to snag off somebody.
It went on like this for months, and then it became a year, then two, until Remmick couldnât take it anymore and he decided he needed you in a way that was deeper than what heâd been indulging in. It didnât mean you getting bit, no, not yet, it meant you got presented with a pretty gold ring that matched his own. He asked you to marry him on a warm summers night, when fireflies were dancing outside and the critters of the moon were singing their songs. Youâd said yes without hesitation, flinging your arms around him and kissing him until you both ran out of breath. Youâd spent the rest of the moon hours dancing and singing and making love, too full of joy to do much else.
It was the best way for Remmick to have you forever, for every other man to know you belonged to him. He knew that one day he would bite you, he would drain the life from your body, heâd taste the sweet nectar of your blood that he so craved, heâd make you just like him and truly keep you for eternity. But that day wasnât coming anytime soon.
He refused to be greedy just this once, deciding he wasnât ready to take away your love of sunny days and the warmth of your skin, the thrum of a pulse in your veins. He wasnât ready to ruin the simple pleasures of being a human being. But he knew he could never stand to lose you to something as menial as old age, or stand by and let some tragedy befall you. Biting you is like his sick way of protecting you, of showing you his love and devotion, even if you donât know it yet, even if it takes you time to understand. Itâd happen no matter what, he knew, but heâd let you enjoy those bright days in ignorance a little while longer.
Remmick can smell it on you now, the hours youâd spent in the sun earlier today, selling your baked goods at the market. The coldness within his bones seeks out your heat, desperate to bask in it and take it for his own. You give him a pleased hum as he grips your waist, blankets being moved aside to reveal your body to him. Youâre pliant in his hold, always eager to give in, always eager to let him take control. Itâs nice when you can step outside of yourself and just be, something youâve only been able to do with him.
You can tell that heâs softer this time, his touch more reverent, something about it full of more longing like heâs memorizing every bit of you. He holds you like a man making love to his wife, not a monster clutching his possession so nobody else takes it. His mouth on yours is sensual, a twin to the hands beneath your nightdress, steadily bunching the material up your body so the air kisses along your flesh and leaves goosebumps in its wake.
âShit, darlinâ, yer too perfect.â Remmick mutters, nearly breathless as he looks down at you, your supple curves, the expanse of your breasts and stomach that nearly has him droolingânot from hunger, but from pure want- no, pure need for you. Even after all this time, his attention still makes you squirm, your thighs squeezing together subconsciously. His eyes track the movement like a predator, the burning hue of red steadily consuming his irises once more.
One of his hands moves lower, parting your legs with ease and running his fingers along your clothed cunt. He hums to himself, feeling the way your wetness has dampened your underwear. âMissed me, huh?â He says, his crooked teeth showing in his smirk. He loves that all you can do is nod, a pathetic little noise coming from you. The scent of your arousal hits him like a truck, a guttural groan tearing from his chest as it seems to ignite his blood with desire. You smell so goddamn sweet, like the ripest fruit sitting ready for him to take and sink his teeth into.
Your underwear is moved aside and you jolt at that first contact, his fingers dragging up through your folds and collecting your slick. You whimper as he buries his face in the crook of your neck again, a deep groan coming from him with his inhale. As his thumb rolls your clit, his other hand comes up to knead a breast beneath his palm, the cold metal of his ring nipping at your skin. You can feel the way Remmickâs chest heaves against you, his desperate breaths fanning across your throat between his open-mouthed kisses.
You gasp when two fingers sink into your heat, your hands coming to scrabble at his shoulders. You always take him easily, your body attuned to him alone, like heâs branded into your very essence. It drives him crazy. âFuck, Remmick-â You whine, arching into his touch. He responds instantly to you saying his name; a harsher squeeze to your breast, a little show of his teeth against your neck, his hips rutting against you in search of friction. His name coming from you is like touching two wires together, sending sparks through his rotten veins. Heâd happily walk into the sun as long as your voice is the last thing he hears.
You writhe under his weight, pleasure running like a wildfire beneath your skin. He devours every moan, whine, and gasp he pulls out of you, his erection painful in his pants from his lust and need. His fingers draw in and out of your cunt in smooth motions, pressing against the spots that have you keening, scissoring you open while your slick coats his palm. His thumb traces quick circles over your clit, listening to the way your body sings for him. He knows youâre close, your noises raising in pitch, your nails digging into his back, your pussy clenching around his fingers. ïżŒ
âCâmon darlinâ, give it to me.â Remmick encourages, lifting just enough to look at your face, your expression twisted with pleasure. Tears edging the corners of your eyes, your pretty mouth dropped open, your cheeks flushed. Your hands rest of either side of his jaw, drawing him in and kissing him deeply as your orgasm crashes over you. He groans appreciatively while you moan into his mouth, shudders wracking your body. He rides you through your orgasm, steadily bringing you down from that high as he practically engulfs you with his muscled form like he needs there to not be a singular inch of space between you. âMy sweet girl.â He whispers against your mouth, a string of spit connecting you, his eyes ablaze with his desire.
As your underwear is tossed to some unknown corner, he fumbles with the buckle of his belt, shoving it aside to finally free his aching cock, precum beading at the tip. He runs his slick-covered hand along his length, happily coating himself in your release. He gives a sound halfway between a hum and a moan. âFuck, darlinâ, I need yaâŠâ He practically gasps against your collarbones, his cock slipping between your folds, collecting the remainder of your cum. âNeed ya so bad.â
You both moan in tandem when he at last thrusts into you, his hips flush to yours and filling you so completely in the way heâs done countless times before. His hand suddenly finds yours, your fingers intertwining and gripping on to the other so tightly itâs like youâre scared theyâll disappear if you let go. He draws out to the tip only to then slam back in, ecstasy simmering in his veins now that he can take you. He bites your skin between his blunt teeth, teasing that goldmine of ambrosia waiting just beneath, calling to him. Heâs dreamt of the day he can finally drink from you, can finally have more than just the few drops that bubble to the surface from a cut or him biting too hard. He pushes those thoughts away now, not daring to tempt his appetite and instead focusing on the way your pussy holds onto him like a vice.
Your free hand comes up to card through his sweat-soaked hair, his short bangs plastered to his forehead. You grip at the strands for purchase as he sets an unrelenting, steady pace, his desperate pleas and vows to you a constant in your ear. You know for a fact no manâs ever loved you the way he does, no manâs ever been this desperate for you, so willing to get on his knees just for you to look at him. You welcomed him in, gave him something to hold on to and call his own, some place to belongâand heâll spend the rest of his eternity showing you his gratitude.
You moan loud after a particularly harsh thrust, his grip on you tightening as he hits that sweet spot inside of you, the one that knocks the breath from your lungs and has you seeing stars. âSo beautiful, sweet girl, yâsound so nice.â Remmick pants, his drool thatâs begun to fall smearing along your skin. âFeel so good, so fuckinâ tight fer me.â
You practically chant his name mixed with a slew of curses, voice punctuated by his rutting into you. He has you pinned to the mattress, his muscles flexing against you with his efforts, making sure you stay right where he wants you. He licks up your neck, tasting the saltiness of your sweat, inhaling the drug that is your scent, heightened by your pleasure and mixed with something intoxicating. His groan falls off into a whine, mind overridden by his adoration for you and his lust, chasing the release he can feel building.
He knows itâs the same for you, he can feel your flutters around his cock, that knot within you growing to the point of soon coming undone. His free hand releases your hip to find your clit, rubbing jerky, uneven circles over the sensitive bud while you writhe in an attempt to get away from the overload of pleasure. Remmick never gives you the chance, your body tensing as that second orgasm crashes over you like an angry wave, your noises becoming broken and breathless.
Remmickâs eyes nearly roll back from the way your pussy grips his cock, his forehead falling to your chest as he tries to laugh and fails. âShit, suckinâ me in. Fuck, sweet thing- I canât-â He manages one last thrust before he cums deep inside you, his words breaking off with a wail, your walls painted white with his spend.
You both lay there for a moment, motionless in the aftermath of release, combined sweat covering your bodies and your hands still locked together. You and him shudder when his cock slips out of you, your shared cum beginning to seep from you in his absence.
Remmick is the first to regain himself, as always, his lips leaving gentle kisses on the space between your breasts and up your throat and jaw before reaching your mouth. He kisses you sweetly, then pulling back to bring your hand to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss on your knuckles, on your wedding ring. âMy perfect girl.â He murmurs. âSo good to me.â
You smile tiredly, your arms slinging across his shoulders. âCould say the same to you.â You tease. You then sigh contentedly, bringing him in and encouraging him to lay on your chest. âI love you, Remmick, I hope you know that.â
Those three words, so simple and yet so damning, always make him stop. He has to run them over in his mind, like he doesnât believe they can actually be said to a thing like him. His hold on your hips tightens, his face nuzzling into you as if to hide from that phrase. ââCourse I do. Love you too, darlinâ.â He mumbles, the words still foreign on his old tongue. Your smile softens, your fingers running soothingly through his hair. You pull the covers back up around you both, encasing him in the warmth that he lacks.
Outside, you can hear the familiar early morning sounds of the South; the birds chirping, the bugs buzzing in their swarms, and the occasional car sputtering by. The world wakes up beyond your reinforced curtains, basking in the sunlight that Remmick so violently hides away from. He knows that in a few hours youâll go out and join them, greeting your neighbors and sharing recent news, playing a game of normalcy so nobody asks too many questions about the husband theyâve never seen.
But for right now, heâll enjoy being able to hold you and feel your body right against his, your steady heartbeat drumming in his ear as sleep pulls you away. Heâll enjoy having you all to himself in the safety of the dark before you step out into the daylight and leave him behind.
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Red Hot đ
Pairing: Bob Floyd x female reader
Rating: 18+ ONLY
Warnings: Smut with some plot. Two horny humans with crushes that take over their entire existence. Bob Floyd is lowkey obsessed but so is she.
Word Count: 3.9k
Summary: Bob Floyd canât stop thinking about the bartender with the cherry red nails. Little does he know, she canât stop thinking about him either.
Authorâs Note: Iâve been in love with Lewis Pullman since 2022 and have been watching/rewatching his entire filmography after seeing Thunderbolts* last month. However, this is my first time writing Bob Floyd so hopefully itâs not too ooc. I wrote him as I interpreted him, so probably a mix of canon and headcanon. Also, I wrote this on my phone and proofread it like 5 times but I wouldnât be surprised if there are still some mistakes. Hope yâall enjoy! (Banner photos are from Pinterest)

Bob Floyd was usually very level-headed. He didnât get hung up on trivial things. He was by the book - a master of military precision. But Bob Floyd was also very observant. And right now, he was quietly observing the bartender from across the room at The Hard Deck.
Her nails were painted a bright cherry red, and they flashed through a sea of beige, green, and navy blue every time she poured a drink or grabbed a beer. Hell, he kept replaying the image of her fingers curled around the neck of the beer bottle sheâd handed him twenty minutes ago. She had some length to them, and he wondered how theyâd feel running over his scalp - or down his chest.
Bob was a respectful man, but God, did he want to do disrespectful things with her. Honestly, heâd been spending time daydreaming about how that cherry red nail polish would look wrapped around his cock.
Heâd met her on his first night in San Diego. She was a vision behind the bar - constantly moving, talking, laughing. He was amazed at how personable she was. And when she leaned over the bar and gazed at him with her beautiful eyes, he nearly fell to his knees right then and there.
âWhat can I getcha?â sheâd asked in an easy tone, a smile playing on her lips as she took in his appearance. He blended in, the same beige uniform as his squadmates, but she looked at him like he was the only person in the bar.
Heâd dreamt of her that night.
In the weeks following, sheâd gotten to know him in ways that surprised him. Bob would mention a flight objective in passing one night, and the next time he walked into The Hard Deck, sheâd ask how it went. She remembered his favorite beer and always made sure he had peanuts to snack on. She saw things in him he hadnât realized he let show - and it made him feel things.
Now, he was staring. She was working, and he was just sitting there, staring.
âGod, Floyd. Such a creep,â he muttered. âGet ahold of yourself.â
She looked at him then, with that same heart-stopping smile sheâd given him the first night. He smiled back, feeling like his heart might flutter out of his chest.
Could he ask her out? Would she feel backed into a corner? He thought theyâd grown close, and she knew him well enough to know he wasnât trying to make her uncomfortable. But heâd hate for her to feel taken advantage of.
âYou gonna come say hi, or just keep staring?â
Suddenly, she was right in front of him - looking particularly delectable in a pair of tight jeans and a black tee. His eyes dropped to his lap, and he chuckled.
âSorry, I-I was just lost in thought,â he explained, looking up at her. He propped his leg up on the bottom rung of his stool to keep from bouncing it nervously.
âThinking?â she asked. âDo tell, Lieutenant Floyd. You know I love hearing about the inner workings of your mind.â
She was smirking, and Bob could feel his skin heating under his collar. He just needed to be honest, be bold. And hope he didnât ruin everything before it had even really started.
âI was actually wondering if maybe⊠maybe youâd want to get dinner sometime?â He rushed through the last few words, pushing them out in one breath, afraid heâd chicken out if he didnât.
She looked at him for a moment, then cocked her hip.
âBobby⊠you wanna take me to dinner?â she asked, tone light and borderline flirtatious.
âYes, maâam, I do,â he said coolly, popping a peanut in his mouth as he watched her.
âHow about Friday?â she suggested, flipping her hair to one side.
He watched it fall in a sheet over her chest. She was actually saying yes?
âFriday. Um-Friday actually sounds perfect.â
She smiled again. God, she was going to kill him.
She pulled a pen from her back pocket and leaned toward him, scrawling a number onto the napkin under his beer. Up close, he could smell her perfume - light, airy, an absolutely intoxicating vanilla.
âText me for my address. Seven p.m. alright?â
Bob nodded, eyes following her as she took the napkin, folded it in half, and slid it into his breast pocket. He shivered as her nails lightly traced over his chest, trying not to let her see the tiny cartoon hearts no doubt bursting out of his pupils.
She gave his shoulder a light squeeze and turned to walk away.
âAlright, Bobby,â she called over her shoulder. âSee you Friday.â
Bob raised his hand in goodbye, then pressed it over his heart. He had her number on a bar napkin in his pocket. He was taking her out on Friday.
Life was good.
**********
Friday came quickly - much to Bobâs delight.
His week on base had been a slow one, giving him plenty of time to imagine how the dinner date would go. What she was going to wear. What he was going to wear. Should he bring her flowers?
His grandpa once told him he brought his grandma a bouquet every time they went out. Bob made a mental note to stop by the florist on the way to her apartment that evening.
Heâd landed on a simple button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and a pair of khaki pants. Instead of the fully gelled hair he wore to work every day, he let his natural curl come through. Sheâd noticed it once when he stopped in the bar on a day off and called him âcuteâ - which just about made him combust on the spot. He wasnât sure heâd ever blushed so hard in his life.
Bob thought about that moment on the way to her apartment, a bouquet of daisies wrapped in kraft paper crinkling beside him. He had a lot of specific memories that made their rounds in his daydreams - when she called him cute, when she came to work with her hair piled on top of her head and no makeup on, when she leaned over the bar in a little black tank top and he caught a glimpse of the most perfect skin heâd ever seen.
He knew the moments heâd have with her tonight, especially with those red nails, would be added to the rotation soon enough.
He pulled up outside her apartment at exactly 6:56 and flipped down his visor. He cleaned his glasses, brushed a rogue curl off his forehead, and checked his teeth before grabbing the flowers and heading to her door. By 6:59 he was ringing the bell, and by 7:00, when the door swung open, he was pretty sure his heart stopped beating momentarily.
She was standing there in a white linen dress decorated with little red flowers. It hugged her figure perfectly, showing off the swell of her breasts, the slope of her waist, and the curve of her hips before stopping mid-thigh. Her legs looked soft and smooth, and she wore a pair of white sandals to complete the look.
Bob had never seen anyone look more beautiful in his life.
âHi,â she said softly, a smile gracing her features. âThose pretty flowers for me?â
Bob opened and closed his mouth twice before finally speaking. âUm, yes. I got them for you.â He held them out, and she took them. âYou look-I mean, damn, you look beautiful.â
âYou look pretty damn good yourself, Bobby. Thank you for the flowers,â she said, pushing the door open a bit more and gesturing for him to come in. âLet me just put these in some water, and we can get out of here.â
Bob watched her as she filled an old spaghetti sauce jar and gave the stems a quick trim. She placed them on her kitchen island.
âThere,â she said. âGorgeous.â
âYeah,â Bob whispered. âGorgeous.â
**********
Dinner was going so well that Bob thought he might propose by the end of the night.
He already knew from their conversations at The Hard Deck that she was intelligent, funny, and flirtatious. But tonight, she was all that and more. They had deep conversations, ones that almost felt too meaningful for a first date.
She wanted Bob to describe the feeling of flying, since sheâd never been on a plane. She watched with wide eyes as he waxed poetic about being in a jet, describing the feeling of weightlessness he experienced every time he was among the clouds.
He asked about her dreams and aspirations. She told him her biggest dream was simply to live comfortably, surrounded by the love of a family she could call her own. She wanted to travel eventually, but admitted she was too scared to get on a plane, so sheâd need a willing road trip buddy.
Heâd given her a look then, as if to say youâre lookinâ at him. She laughed, and he smiled. He realized in that moment he never wanted to stop making her laugh.
Her delicate fingers traced the rim of her wine glass, practically putting a spell on him as he watched the cherry red tips circle.
âPretty nails,â he murmured after a sip of his own wine.
She lifted her hand. âOh, thank you. Red is my favorite color.â
Bob gently placed his glass down. âNoted,â he said, tapping his temple.
She giggled.
âFiling it away for later?â
âOh, absolutely,â Bob said with a laugh. âAdding it to your file as we speak. Hoping youâll also mention your favorite flower and favorite candy while weâre at it.â
She smirked. The alcohol had him feeling bolder than usual, clearly. She knew he was on the shy side, and she didnât mind, but she had always been curious about the Bob she saw around his squad: laughing, cracking jokes, sometimes sitting on the outskirts, but never an outsider.
âDaisies,â she replied. âAnd Reeseâs Cups.â
Bob nodded twice. âGood to know, good to know,â he chuckled.
She looked at him then - truly studied him, from the slight curl of his hair to the pure blue of his eyes behind the wire frames of his glasses, to his strong jawline, broad shoulders, the expanse of his chest. She wondered if he had any idea how gone she was for him, how much she always looked forward to seeing him at the bar.
âSo, when do I get to learn all of your deep, dark secrets?â she teased, finishing her glass of wine. Bob was placing his credit card on the table, and the waitress grabbed it as she skirted by.
âI think⊠maybe our second date?â Bob suggested.
She reached for his hand across the table and wrapped her fingers around it.
âA second date sounds perfect.â
**********
She kept her hand in his the entire ride back to her apartment.
Bob was, honestly, sweating. He wanted to kiss her. God, he wanted that more than anything. He didnât want to be presumptuous, but the way sheâd looked at him across the table had him thinking that maybe she wanted it too.
âI had a really great time tonight,â she said from the passenger seat, giving his hand a squeeze.
âOh, me too. A great time,â Bob replied, giving her a quick glance before training his eyes back on the road. When they pulled into her apartment complex, he threw the car in park. He jogged around to her side to help her out, and she took his hand.
âYou know, Bobby, youâre kinda full of surprises,â she said once they reached her door.
Bob chuckled, knitting his eyebrows together. âReally? I feel like Iâm pretty black and white.â
She faced him, clasping her hands behind his neck. Bobâs heart was beating like heâd just finished running a marathon.
âI think youâre the whole package. Smart, hilarious, hardworkingâŠâ She traced a finger down his chest. âAnd sexy as hell.â
Bob gulped as she looked up at him.
âYou think so?â he asked, his voice thick with anticipation.
She nodded. âIâve thought that ever since the first day we met.â
Bob let out a deep breath. âWow, I-â
She cut him off with a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. Before he could speak, before he could even breathe, she pressed her lips to his, and he was sure his knees were about to give out.
When she pulled away, he leaned his forehead against hers. âIâve been thinking about that for months,â he murmured.
She didnât answer - just nodded.
Then she said something that rocked his entire world:
âWanna come in?â
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands finding her hips and pulling her flush against him. She let out a surprised sound, low in her throat. Her hands tightened around his neck, playing with his hair.
âIs that a yes?â she asked against his lips.
Bob chuckled. âItâs a resounding yes.â
She fidgeted with her keys then, struggling to get one into the lock. She took a deep breath, and Bob smirked behind her. She was slightly nervous, maybe even flustered, just like him.
âYou got it?â he asked, glancing over her shoulder as the key slid into the hole and she pushed the door open.
She turned back to him, fisting the front of his shirt and pulling him over the threshold. His hands found her hips again, but he noticed a slight shift in her expression.
âHey, hey, is everything alright?â he asked softly, his hands moving from her hips to her waist.
She pressed her hands against his chest, her nails lightly biting into him.
âI just donât want it to seem like Iâm trying to move too fast, you know?â she said. âIâve liked you for so long, and Iâm afraid Iâll mess it up.â
Bob couldnât help but smile at her. The corners of her mouth twitched up in her own smile after that.
âYou could never ruin this for me,â he whispered, pressing a kiss to her mouth before moving his lips to her jaw. He kissed up her jawline to her ear. âI havenât stopped thinking about you,â he admitted.
Her cheeks burned pink under the low light. She dug her nails deeper into his chest before moving her hands to the buttons on his shirt. She started to pop them open, one by one, with those cherry red nails. Bob slid his hands down her hips, his fingertips skimming her thighs.
âGod, this dressâŠâ he groaned, looking down at her.
âYou like it?â she asked as she reached the final button and pushed his shirt off his shoulders.
The thin tank top he wore underneath hugged his body in a way that made her breath catch. She could see the lines of his muscles through it and couldnât wait to touch him.
âI love it,â he said, gripping the fabric at her hips and exposing the bottom of her ass. He slid his hands underneath, cupping her cheeks and giving them a squeeze. âThe red matches your nails.â
He begrudgingly moved his hands to pull his shirt off the rest of the way. She watched him, her eyes trained on his biceps. She then traced the veins on his forearms.
âThisâŠâ she murmured, not meeting his eye. âThis is the sexiest thing Iâve ever seen.â
âReally?â he asked, flexing his hands.
She nodded, gripping the bottom of his tank top. He sucked in a breath when he finally felt her fingertips against his bare skin.
âDo you know how sexy you are, Bobby?â
She pulled his tank top off, immediately attaching her lips to his collarbone. Bob couldnât help but moan - this was something heâd played over and over in his mind while fisting his hard cock in the shower. And now that it was actually happening? He felt like his body was on fire.
Before he knew it, her hands were popping open the button on his khakis and pulling the zipper down. When she squeezed him, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. He sank his teeth into her bottom lip, and the whimper she let out went straight to his dick.
âBaby, that feels so good,â he whined, his hips bucking into her hand. âI want you naked. Iâve been dreaming about it⊠about you.â
She laughed then - not at him, but at the sheer fact that theyâd both wanted each other so badly for so long, yet continued to dance around it like it could never happen.
âTake me to bed, Lieutenant Floyd.â
They stumbled through her apartment until she took him by the arm and pulled him into her bedroom. The smell of her perfume was overwhelming by that point, and her room felt warm, like her.
His pants hit the floor, and his hand found the zipper on the back of her dress, pressed against her spine. As he pulled it down, she kissed his chest and dragged her nails over his nipples. Goosebumps rose across his skin, and his cock jerked when her dress joined his pants on the carpet.
She wasnât wearing lingerie, but the soft cotton panties and matching bra were doing things to him he couldnât describe.
âI wasnât expecting this. You, wanting me,â he admitted, his knuckles skimming over her breasts. Her chest heaved as she pulled him closer.
âWhy not? I thought I made my interest very clear,â she said, pressing a kiss to his lips.
âMaybe you did,â Bob replied, looking down at her. âBut I didnât pick up on it at all.â
âWell,â she said, smirking, ânow you know.â
She dropped to her knees. Her nose brushed against the bulge in his boxer briefs, her red nails popping against the black fabric as she peeled them down his thighs. And then it happened.
Those fingers, fingers he hadnât been able to get out of his head for the last two weeks, wrapped around the base of his cock.
âOh, fuck,â he groaned, and he saw her head snap up at him in surprise. She gave a small smile as she twisted her fist around him, dragging it from base to tip. When she took him in her mouth, he was sure heâd ascended to heaven.
His hand flew to the back of her head, fisting in her hair. His hips snapped forward, and his cock brushed the back of her throat. She watched him, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill every time she took him deeper.
âYou can fuck my mouth, Bobby,â she said. âIf you want to.â
He looked down at her - mascara running, lips glistening, his cock rock-hard between them.
âI wanna fuck you,â he murmured. âWanna see that body.â
She stood up, her arms twisting behind her back to unhook her bra. Her panties hit the floor next, leaving her fully bare in front of him. She reached for him, taking his wrists and guiding them - placing one of his hands on her waist and the other on her breast, silently pleading for him to touch her. He leaned down and placed wet, open-mouthed kisses across her chest. Her head fell back, and she moaned softly.
âMore,â she whimpered. âPlease.â
Bob licked one nipple, teasing the other with his fingers. He sucked the peak into his mouth, and she arched into him. Every sound that fell from her lips made his cock ache. He craved being inside her, craved feeling just how wet heâd made her.
She pulled away from him abruptly and moved to her nightstand. He watched as she dug through the drawer and fished out a little foil packet. She handed him the condom, and he took it without taking his eyes off her.
âYouâre sure?â he asked.
She smiled. âVery sure.â
She climbed onto the bed, her eyes falling to his dick as he rolled the condom on. He crawled toward her, settling between her thighs.
âI-I donât know if Iâll last long,â he admitted sheepishly, tracing his fingers down her stomach. He dipped them into her pussy, reveling in the feel of her heat wrapped around him. She squirmed beneath him as he slowly pulled his fingers in and out, pressing his thumb to her clit.
âYou keep doing that,â she said, breathless, âand I wonât either.â
He circled her clit twice more before pushing his length into her. He kissed her as he did, moaning into her mouth as he bottomed out.
âGod, babyâŠâ His voice came out in a strangled whine as he fucked her. âYou feel so good. So damn good, baby.â
She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, pressing her lips to his neck as she moaned. âI like it when you call me that,â she drawled, her eyes half-open. She was tight around him, her climax building with every drag of his cock.
He lifted his head from her shoulder, and she cupped his jaw. Her thumb ran across his bottom lip, and he kissed it softly.
âSo sweet,â she whispered, staring into his eyes. She used her pointer finger to gently push his glasses back up his nose.
Bob smiled. She⊠God, she was good. So good. Too good.
âBaby, Iâm close.â
His hands gripped her thighs, and his hips snapped into her, his movements ragged.
âKeep going, Bobby. Please.â
She watched him - the way he bit his lip, the way he concentrated so hard on her pleasure before his own. She almost couldnât believe this was her life. Lieutenant Robert Floyd, who came into The Hard Deck multiple times a week with his squad, who watched her from across the bar, who was so damn cute she practically fell in love with him over beer and peanuts, was fucking her senseless.
And then he pushed her over the edge. Her back arched off the mattress, her climax overtaking every sense. She was moaning so loudly she was sure her neighbors would file a noise complaint. But she didnât care. All she cared about was Bob Floyd.
Once her body stopped trembling, she pushed herself up. âWanna get on top,â she said simply. âPlease.â
Bob moved immediately, rolling them over with his cock still buried inside her. She settled onto him, her hands pressed to his chestâthose damn nails on display just for him.
âGonna make you come like this, Bobby,â she whispered in his ear, gently biting his lobe. âI canât wait to feel you come apart inside me.â
Bob squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted it to last longer, wanted her to ride him into oblivion, but he was so close. She bounced on him, and the noises that erupted from his chest surprised him. It was animalistic. It was hot. It was heavy.
He was done for.
âBaby, Iâm gonna-â
He gripped her hips tightly, holding her against him as he came, his hips jutting up into her. Bob saw stars behind his eyelids; he was pretty sure his soul had just left his body.
She collapsed onto his chest, her hair sticking to the sheen of sweat on his skin. She laughed.
âBobby, that was-â
He chuckled too, taking a deep breath. âI know, I know.â
They lay next to each other on her bed, not touching, reveling in the air circulating from the ceiling fan.
âBob?â
âYeah, baby?â
âIâm really glad you asked me out.â
Bob turned his head to look at her. She was on her side facing him, curled up against her pillow. He smiled.
âMe too.â
#bob floyd#bob floyd x reader#robert floyd#robert floyd x reader#lewis pullman#robert bob floyd#top gun maverick
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