#i still like it but i couldn’t be bothered to clean it up

[theonottsbxtch]

MY PEACE | MV1

an: this was a request from a lovely first time requester ( @pinkinternetstarlight )i had so much fun with this except i probably went about this differently than was expected maybe? i don’t know but i hope everyone enjoys it

wc: 1.9k

THE MONACO SKYLINE GLITTERED outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max’s apartment, but the man inside couldn’t see it. Not really. He was slumped on the sofa, his head buried in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, still dressed in the sweat-soaked polo and race trousers he hadn’t bothered to peel off since getting home. The hollow thrum of the media circus still echoed in his ears—reporters’ voices, headlines dissecting every moment of his race, every mistake, every edge of aggression they couldn’t wait to sharpen into a weapon.

The living room was dim, the only light a faint glow from the kitchen where she stood, stacking plates from his barely-touched dinner into the dishwasher. He hadn’t asked her to come over; he never had to. She just… knew. She always knew.

She moved with quiet purpose, tying her hair back with a loose band, sleeves rolled up as she made her way around his space—tidying up the chaos he left in his wake. To anyone else, it might have seemed like she was cleaning for the sake of it, but he recognised it for what it was: her way of looking after him, of making sure that when the noise of the world threatened to cave him in, the corners of his life she touched felt a little less sharp.

He glanced up when she wandered back into the room, her bare feet soft against the wooden floor, carrying a folded blanket. She sat beside him without a word, the way she always did, close enough that her shoulder brushed his. Without asking, she unfolded the blanket and draped it over his lap, tucking it in just so.

His breath hitched—he didn’t mean it to, but there it was, like a crack in a dam he spent his whole life patching up. He turned his head slightly, enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume, and for the first time all day, the ache behind his ribs quietened.

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

She turned to him, one corner of her mouth lifting in a small, knowing smile. “I know I don’t.”

He let his head fall back, tipping to the side until it came to rest against her lap. His body felt too heavy to hold up anymore, but here—here was lightness. Her fingers slid through his hair, slow and deliberate, untangling the knots the day had left behind.

The monster inside him, the one he kept chained under the weight of the world’s expectations, fell silent.

“Dinner’s in the fridge for tomorrow,” she said softly. “And I’ll stay the night if you want.”

He shut his eyes. He wanted to say he didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve her—but the words wouldn’t come. All he managed was a nod, and when she leaned back against the cushions, her hands still in his hair, he let himself breathe.

The silence between them stretched on, but it wasn’t heavy. It was soft, the kind that let him loosen the grip on his thoughts, if only a little. He stared at the darkened skyline, the city lights casting faint patterns on the walls, and tried not to get lost in his head. But it was a losing battle. It always was.

The thought crept in before he could stop it. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve her.

The words sounded like his own, but the voice behind them wasn’t. It was his father’s, sharp and clipped, laced with that same cold disdain that had haunted his childhood. His dad had always seen her as a weakness, a threat to his focus and discipline. How many times had he warned Max about letting anyone get too close? About “wasting energy” on things that didn’t matter?

And yet, here she was, the only person who’d stayed. The only one who’d made it through the wreckage of his life without turning away.

Her hand was still in his hair, her fingers slow and soothing, but he could feel the faint shift of her breathing as she glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Max,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the noise in his head. “You’ve got a flight tomorrow morning. You should shower and get some sleep.”

He opened his eyes, the weight of the day still pressing down on him, and turned to look at her. “I’ll sleep on the plane,” he mumbled, though he didn’t move.

“Shower first,” she said, firm but kind. “You’ll feel better.”

He didn’t argue. He never could, not with her. With a quiet sigh, he sat up, the blanket slipping to the floor, and dragged himself to his feet. The thought of standing under hot water—letting it wash away the grease and grime and whatever else the day had left on him—wasn’t as bad as he let on.

By the time he stepped into the shower, he could hear her moving about in the kitchen again. He let the water beat against his skin, his hands braced against the tiled wall as the heat loosened the tension in his shoulders. Still, his mind wouldn’t stop replaying the same loop: his dad’s voice, the doubt, the sense of never being enough.

When he finally emerged, towel slung around his waist, the smell of something warm and sweet drifted through the apartment. He found her in the bedroom, already curled up against the pillows, a mug of hot chocolate in her hands. On the bedside table sat another mug—tea, the way she always made it for him, a perfect balance of strong and soothing.

She didn’t look up as he walked in, her nose buried in a book, the soft glow of the bedside lamp making the room feel impossibly safe.

He took the mug and sat on the other side of the bed, cradling it in his hands as the steam curled up around his face. For a while, they didn’t speak. She kept reading, and he let himself lean back against the headboard, the warmth of the tea spreading through him.

It wasn’t until he was ready—until the words that had been choking him all day finally loosened—that he spoke.

“They hate me,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a rasp.

She looked up from her book, closing it without a hint of impatience, and turned her full attention to him. “Who?”

“Everyone,” he said. “The media. The fans. Hell, even Checo, sometimes.” He laughed bitterly. “They don’t even know me, but they’ve already decided I’m the villain. And the worst part is… I think they’re right.”

Her brows knitted together, and she set her mug down on the table. “Max,” she said, her voice steady, her gaze unflinching, “you’re not a villain.”

He shook his head, staring into his tea. “I don’t know how you can say that. You’ve seen it—how I am on the track, how I am off it. I push people away, I—” He stopped, the words catching in his throat.

“You’re human,” she said simply. “You’re not perfect, but no one is. And everything they say about you? That’s noise. It’s not who you are.”

His hands tightened around the mug, and he looked at her, his expression raw, like he was seeing her for the first time.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” he said, his voice breaking. “You could’ve left a long time ago. Sometimes I think you should’ve.”

She held his gaze, her eyes calm but fierce. “And sometimes I think you forget that I get to make my own choices,” she said softly. “I’m here because I want to be, Max. Not because I feel sorry for you. Not because you owe me anything. Just because you’re you.”

The weight in his chest shifted, just a fraction, but enough. He didn’t know how to respond to that—not yet—but when she picked up her book again, leaning against his shoulder as if nothing had changed, he let himself close his eyes and breathe.

For tonight, it was enough.

The tea was long forgotten on the bedside table, the room quiet save for the faint rustle of her turning a page and the soft hum of the city beyond the windows. Max shifted under the duvet, his body still heavy with exhaustion, but the ache behind his ribs had eased, just enough to let him breathe.

She lay beside him, her book propped against her knees, the light from the lamp catching the soft curve of her face. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying to ignore the pang of something sharp and unfamiliar blooming in his chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, but tonight it seemed impossible to ignore.

He adjusted his pillow and turned on his side, facing her. “You’re going to read all night, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice low, teasing.

She glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Not if you need to sleep.”

“I always need sleep is what you say, no?.”

She laughed softly, her head tipping to the side as she closed her book, slipping it onto the nightstand. “Alright, I’m done.” She reached over and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into comfortable darkness.

He shifted closer instinctively, the warmth of her presence drawing him in. They’d done this a hundred times before—falling asleep in the same bed, his arm slung over her waist or her head tucked against his chest—but tonight felt different. The space between them was charged with something unspoken, a tension he didn’t have the courage to name.

She settled into the pillows, her back facing him, and he hesitated for a moment before closing the distance. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer, and she melted into him without a second thought.

“Goodnight, Max,” she murmured, her voice soft and drowsy.

He rested his chin lightly against the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo. “Goodnight,” he said, though his mind was far from quiet.

The weight of the day, the weight of everything, seemed to dissipate as he held her. She didn’t demand anything of him, didn’t ask him to explain himself or prove that he was more than what the world saw. She just… was. And somehow, that was enough to quiet the storm inside him.

His eyes fluttered shut, the warmth of her body lulling him into something close to peace. And before he could stop himself, the words slipped out, barely more than a whisper, lost to the dark.

“I love you.”

She didn’t stir. Didn’t react.

For a moment, panic flared in his chest—what if she’d heard him? What if she didn’t feel the same? But as her breathing deepened, slow and steady in the quiet of the room, he realised she was already asleep.

Relief swept over him, and he tightened his hold on her just a fraction, burying his face in her hair. It was better this way, he told himself. She didn’t need to know. He didn’t need to ruin what they had, didn’t need to drag her into the mess of his life any more than she already was.

For tonight, it was enough to hold her. To let the monster in him fall silent, just for a little while.

And as sleep finally pulled him under, he couldn’t help but hope—just a little—that maybe someday, he’d find the courage to say it again.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby

[admirationandromantics]

Stormy Confession

Another request! Don't worry, I do have several more in my inbox, but please be patient, they will come eventually! Anyways, hope you enjoy this. As usual, it's not edited, but who cares?

Word count: 1,9k (Unedited)

They’re BEST friends with benefits, so there is already an established chemistry between them. They’re stuck in a snow storm anddd “im totally kidding but im kind of freezing rn and my heater’s busted” so they decided to hook up in josh’s very roomy car, only to realize “hey ik im being dramatic but we COULD die rn so i need to confess that im in love with you…” lmao my writing is so jumbled but i know you could do wonders with this idea!🥹🥹

The wind is getting worse, almost like it’ll tip the car over. Josh is sitting beside me, driving the car, all tensed up by the stress of it. Usually, I would comment on it, but I understand the gravity of the situation. We just need to keep going, we don’t have that far left. 

The trees outside are dark. Gentle snow taking its place on the pine needles. If it weren’t for the storm, I would love it. Luckily, it’s clear enough that we can still see the road, but I wonder how long that’s going to last. 

I check the weather update, but it’ll not clear up until the middle of the night. If we were to stay in the car until then, we would have to climb the mountain in the dark. This is not something I want to do, but I guess at this point, it’s a must. We just have to stay clear of wild animals, navigate in the dark, try not to slip down the path again. 

We were planning to get to Blackwood Mountain and the Washington lodge. Of course, we went a day earlier than the others, planning on cleaning and getting the place ready. What none of us idiots thought about doing, was to check the weather. About halfway there, the snow got worse. It came in quick patches, making driving hard, and freezing up the car. 

“Josh, it’s literally freezing in here, can you turn on the heater?” 

“It’s busted, was gonna get it fixed after the trip” 

“Of course you were” 

I lean back in my seat, pulling up my backpack and taking out my gloves. At least some part of me would stay warm. As we drive on a long straight row, he leans back and manoeuvres the car with his knee, bringing both hands up to his face to blow hot air into them. Poor guy. I remember that he brought some extra outerwear, just wondering where he left them. My thoughts fly to his bag, he couldn’t have placed them in the front, so back it was. I lean over the mid row and back, trying to find his bag in the back seats. 

“Where’s your backpack?” I ask, rummaging through a bunch of stuff. A blanket, some firewood, a plastic bag. Why is there so much stuff here? We don’t need all of it, and I know for a fact that the lodge has large stacks of firewood. 

“Keep looking” he laughs, not bothering to help me. 

“Josh, just tell me where you put it” 

He laughs, one hand going on the back of my thigh, slightly squeezing my flesh. That’s why he’s being difficult. He just wants to tease me. 

“Stop being a perv and tell me” I sigh, not exactly being a fan of my position. He should be busy driving, not checking me out. 

“But I’m enjoying the view” 

“The only view you should be enjoying is the road in front of you” 

I finally notice it, a small backpack with a scarf and gloves sticking out from under the seat. I lean a bit more forward to reach it, earning a whistle from the guy. I roll my eyes, grabbing the clothing and trying to move back. I get halfway before he speaks. 

“Hard swing” 

“Wha-”

The car takes a rough turn, making my body jolt to the side. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Can’t this man drive a little more carefully? If this unplanned storm doesn’t kill us, then he definitely will. I fall to the side, hips landing in his lap, faces against each other. He has that known playful smirk on his lips, proud of his dangerous accomplishment. 

“You good?” 

“You’re insane” 

“Nah, just a good driver” he shrugs his shoulders, trying not to laugh at himself. 

“You’re not a good driver” 

His arms move over me, holding onto the steering wheel in front of him. His eyes finally move to the road, and he keeps driving as if everything’s normal. I try to sit up, but his hands won’t budge, leading to me falling down again. 

“Josh, if you would be so kind” I force a tight smile, nodding to the caging arms. He looks down, the playful smirk still covering his lips as he thinks. 

“Do you have my gloves?” 

“Indeed I do” 

“Put them on me” 

I look at him in disbelief, what was he, a child? He can easily do that himself. I shake my head, laughing a little at the situation. No way am I going to do that. He has one hand on the wheel, the other held out to me. I roll my eyes, deciding that this is enough. 

I try to get up yet again, but this time, his empty hand finds my chest and pushes me down into him. I give a loud and dramatic sigh, which makes him fully reveal that stupid laughter of his that he’s kept in. 

“You know I could sue you for this?” 

“I can sue you too, disrupting the driver” 

“You made this happen” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” 

I give in, laying against him and relaxing while he drives. No way am I going to be his servant. He’s not that rich. We sit in silence for a couple of minutes, both just minding our own thing. 

Just now, I realise how much warmer I feel while brushing against him. Body heats colliding as he holds me close. A cozy and sleepy murmur comes over me, and I close my eyes, drifting away as we continue driving off. 

***

I press my eyes forcefully together, opening them little by little. The outside is darker than before, and Josh’s still driving into the night, eyes focused on the road. I stretch, giving a yawn at the same time. He shifts his gaze, a smile immediately finding his lips. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t Ms. Sleepy” 

“How long have I been gone?” 

“Around half an hour” 

I nod in reply, head turning to the dark forest and snowy rocks. We were almost there now. 

“And no death yet, I’m impressed” I comment, sitting up as high as he allows me. 

“Wind almost took the car about 10 minutes ago” 

My eyes widen in surprise. Is the weather really that bad? Shouldn’t we stop and wait for it to pass? The thought of it scares me, after all, the mountains this time of year are not that safe as everyone makes them out to be. I mean, if we’re in the lodge, it’s okay. But we’re not. We’re in a moving vehicle, which almost got flipped by the wind. 

“Hey, don’t worry. We’re almost there” 

I nod again. The parking lot is a bit more secluded than the road, so the wind won’t be as strong. But how’re we getting up to the lodge? The cable car is already a death trap, no way I’m going to sit in it during the storm. 

A road hole makes me yelp, body jolting up and down. I automatically grab hold of his arm, steadying myself. His lips thins as he bites them, eyes forced on the road. His breathing changes, big stuttering inhales as if to calm himself down. 

“Josh, are you okay?” 

He doesn’t look down on me, instead his vision is on the path ahead. His knuckles are white from gripping the wheel, and I glimpse a vein popping and going under his jacket. What’s going on with this guy? 

We finally swing into the parking lot, and he parks the car and turns off the engine. We sit in silence, both unsure about our next move. With his arms not in the way, I finally sit up. I grab his shoulder for help, and he takes his arm to my back for support. 

“I don’t think we should go to the lodge yet” he comments, looking out to the cable car station. 

“I know, we’d probably be blown to bits” 

“That’s one way of putting it” 

His other hand goes to my waist, pressing me down on him. That’s when I feel it. He’s hard, very hard. He’s been since the road hole. 

“Are you struggling a bit, Josh?” a smile creeping up on my lips. Oh, how pleasant to finally have some of the power. 

His hand goes to my hair, brushing it away. 

“Oh, you have no idea” 

His head moves closer, fingers gliding over my cheek. He’s cold, extremely cold. It’s like gracing ice taps against my skin. I pull away, taking his hands in mine and warming them.

“You’re freezing” 

“Better do something about it then” 

He moves into me, capturing my lips in his. I respond, opening my mouth a little and licking his lower lip. I don’t forget about his hands though, and carefully puts his gloves on them as we keep going. I change positions, and he helps me, letting me straddle him in the driver's seat. His hands go to my ass, kneading and caressing. I moan into the kiss, which he uses as an opportunity to stick his tongue in my mouth. He fiddles with something behind me, and before I know it, ice-cold fingers make their way down my pants, holding my cheeks. I gasp, the shocked feeling being overcome. This was extreme, why hadn’t he said something about it before. He chuckles against my lips, mouth moving to my jaw and neck, leaving sweet kisses all over. The wet spots get instantly cold when he moves away, and I shutter. 

“W-we should not do this here” 

“I know, I know” 

“We’re going to freeze to death” 

“A bit dramatic are we?” 

“J-Josh” he stops in his tracks, lips glossy and eyes lustful. We both know that we can’t start undressing. With the heater not working, and the snow storm getting worse, that’s the last thing we should be thinking about. God, how dizzy the whole situation makes me feel. I don’t want to be down here. I want to be up in the lodge, alone with him, in front of the fire. 

“Or get eaten by wolves” 

“No we’re not”

“What if an elk attack the car?” 

“We’re not a threat to them” 

“If we’re going to die, I need to confess something” 

“We’re not going to die”

“Five more minutes and your fingers would snap off as easily as bending a carrot” 

“True, but-” 

“Josh…” I put my glove-covered finger over his mouth, stopping his sweet remarks. If there was a time to say it, it had to be now, before we both froze to death, in his car, to be found tomorrow morning by the others. 

“I love you. And I know, we’ve had this whole deal or something where we’ve had sex, and yeah I mean several times, but that’s not the point because I couldn’t stop myself, and please don’t stop seeing me as a friend after this, I promise I’ll get over it, but it’s just something I need to get off my chest or else I can die and not-” 

He shuts me up with a kiss. Hands still on my ass, pressing me deeper against him. 

“Fucking hell, you talk a lot” 

“You already know that about me” 

“Just shut up and kiss me”

[xdaddysprincessxx]

Princess Treatment

Surprise! @almostempty I’m your secret santa!!! I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it(:

Dave York x Nanny!reader x Frankie Morales

Warnings: 18+, SMUT. We’ve got infidelity (dave is married w/kids hence the need for a nanny) threesome, two splash’s of cuck, a small side of pre ejaculation, double penetration, sprinkle of hidden camera, a facial and I think I got everything. Not beta’d, lightly proofed by me. All mistakes are mine.

Wc: 3663

And now, time for the main event

Good ole suburbia. Home sweet home. Perfectly built houses lined up and down the street, all filled with perfect little families. Well behaved children played in the front yards. Neighbors would throw bbq’s in the summer and invite everyone over. Wife’s sending their husbands off to work in the morning. Picture perfect. Of course it’s all a facade. The big blue house tucked back in the cul de sac is home to the York family. Dave and his wife Carol and their two daughters Molly and Alice. To the outside world, they are a beautiful family. Doting father of two with a government job and subservient wife who takes care of the kids and keeps the house clean and dinner on the table by 5 oclock sharp every night. They hired you about a year ago as a live in nanny. Dave is frequently going on business trips and Carol decided she wanted to go back to work and she would need the help with the girls. They were a lovely couple when you first interviewed. You always felt a more warm welcome from Dave than Carol. It was like she had a bad taste in her mouth around you.

You tried your best to ignore the weird vibes you got from her since you were mostly around her on a daily basis. For the most part it wasn’t that bad and you got paid a very pretty penny too which absolutely helped. About a month into living at the York house, you accidentally overheard Dave and Carol arguing. They were trying to keep it hush but you could make out that Carol didn’t like that Dave paid you as much as he did. It seemed like she was overall just bothered by your presence. After that you kinda just kept your head down and did everything expected of you and kept to yourself. You were in charge of getting the girls up in the morning and on the school bus, getting them off the bus in the afternoon and getting them to all their extracurriculars. Not too hard.

After a full year being the York’s nanny, you’ve grown quite close to Molly and Alice. You and Carol are cordial. And then there’s Dave. If tall, mysterious and handsome were an actual person, it would be Dave. He has this aura about him. You could never fully explain it but you could feel it. When he was at home, you felt safe but also felt like you could never shake the feeling that his eyes were always on you somehow. Even when he was away, you could still feel his eyes on you but it wasn’t as strong as when he was home. You’ll never forget the day you caught him blatantly staring down your shirt. You had been wearing a simple black tshirt with a v neck. When you had caught him staring you couldn’t help but be shocked and he just smirked at you as if to say “Yea I’m looking and what are you gonna do about it.” That night you gave into your deepest desire and you got yourself off multiple times thinking of Dave. Your poor fingers were cramped but you kept going. You’d been attracted to him since day 1 but you buried it deep due to the whole he’s a married man thing. You thought of his thick fingers fucking you, how he’d feel coming up behind you, bending you over and just making you take every inch of his dick. You fantasized him using you whenever, wherever. You came thinking about how good he’d feel as you cockwarmed him after a long day at the office.

There was a change in the air the next morning after this. It was a Sunday, which is your off day. You woke up around 6:30am, rolled out of bed and into the shower before getting dressed in a simple, cute black tshirt dress. As you walked down the stairs and towards the kitchen, you noticed it was quiet. Quieter than normal for a Sunday morning in a household with two kids. No cartoons playing, no toys going off, no arguing over who’s turn it is to play with whatever the girls are currently obsessed with. As you rounded the corner, you saw Dave sitting at the kitchen table, wearing a dark blue t-shirt and grey sweatpants with his hair still tousled from sleep.

“Good morning sleeping beauty, I know todays your day off but Carol decided to take the girls to go visit her parents last night so it’s just the two of us today.”

“Oh okay I was curious about the quiet.” You said with a soft giggle as you smiled at Dave before looking down at your feet. As hot as Dave is, it’s hard for you to hold eye contact with him for long. He has a strong, intimidating stare.

Dave goes to stand up and walks over to where your standing,

“Please, help yourself to anything in here. I’m sure you probably know what’s in here more than I do,” he chuckled, “if you need me I’ll be in my office.”

Looking up at him, you gulped and nodded, “Thank you Mr. York.”

Dave’s hand comes up to your face, his thumb and fore finger gently grab your chin as he makes you look at him.

“It’s Dave, sweet girl.”

“Dave” you repeat in a whisper. Knees weak from the proximity to your boss.

He flashes you a toothy smile and a wink before dropping his hand and stepping to the side to get around you to leave the kitchen.

The rest of the morning moves rather quietly into the afternoon when you hear a truck roar into the driveway. You sneak a peak out your bedroom window to see Dave’s friend, Frankie Morales, step out of his truck and make his way to the door on the side of the house that leads down into the basement. You’ve met Frankie a couple of times before. Old military buddy of Dave’s, pretty cute, single father of one. He doesn’t intimidate you like Dave does. He has a softer look, one that makes you wanna cook him meals and surprise him with head after work. You get the vibe he wouldn’t be the type to be overly dominant in the bedroom and on occasion that he does, he feels bad and apologizes immediately after. You like that though, you have a soft spot for men with a tough exterior that are really just big softies.

About an hour has passed since Frankie came over. You start to feel hungry so you decide to go see what Dave would like for dinner. As you go downstairs into the basement, you could hear music playing and the clank of balls being shot into the pockets of the pool table.

As you step off the last step before you even have time to make your presence known, both men stop what they’re doing and look up at you.

“Well speak of the devil, we were just talking about you princess. You’ve met my buddy Frankie before. Come on over, don’t be shy.” Dave has both hands on the pool table as he slightly leans over it. Frankie’s standing next to him, holding a pool stick. You cross the distance from the steps over to the pool table as you nibble on your bottom lip.

You stand across from the men and give them a soft smile as Dave picks up his stick and comes over by you. He lays his stick on the table just so and crouches down, getting eye level with the ball right before he pulls back and lets the stick shoot forward. His target falls into the corner pocket.

He looks up at you, smirking,

“You know how to play sweet girl?”

You shake your head no as Frankie comes over, now sandwiched between the two men.

“Here take my stick.” Frankie hands his stick over to you. As you grab it from him, his big hand covers yours as he reaches behind you and grabs your other hand and places it higher up on the stick. His broad frame covering you as he leans in closer, his face now next to yours.

“Bend down, you wanna be more eye level with the stick to see what angle it’ll hit the ball.”

“Okay” you say softly before taking your eyes off of him and bending over. Your eyes go wide as you feel his bulge press against your ass.

“Don’t overthink it too much or you’ll overshoot.” Dave’s smooth voice interrupted.

You can feel the heat of Dave’s body right next to you with Frankie’s body practically swallowing you whole. You try hard to focus on the game in front of you but in reality, you are zeroed in on the two men. Frankie moves the stick in your hands, you can feel it glide in between your fingers that are covered by his. Before you even realized, the stick shoots forward. The sound of the ball getting smacked and rolling into a pocket snapped you out of this trance you seem to be in.

“You know I was just telling Frankie here a funny story. I saw something last night and,” he chuckles, “I think you’d get a good laugh out of it too. Here,” he slides his phone into your line of sight, a video playing. The video shows a woman laying on a bed, legs spread as her fingers move in a circle on her clit. Her head thrown back, a breathy moan “oh Dave oh fuck me dave please”

Something about this is eerily familiar. After a few seconds it dawns on you.

Your eyes go wide and your face heats up as you watch you finger fuck yourself on your boss’ phone.

You can feel Frankie smile behind you as he takes the stick out of your hand and lays it on the table but still continues to stand behind you.

“Wanna tell me what this is about sweet girl?”

“I - I I I’m s- so sorry Mr York I - I’m not I promise I didn’t mean -“

Dave clicks his tongue as Frankie lets out a chuckle.

“Don’t try and lie to me. I watched you try and finger your poor abused little pussy all night long. Is that any way to treat her? I’m right down the hall baby. Could’ve sent me a text and told me to meet you in the bathroom since you were so needy.”

Your mouth dropped open, absolutely gobsmacked at what he just said. Frankie now fully grinding into your ass as he giggles at the scene in front of him. Dave gets up and walks over to the couch and sits down. Frankie follows his lead and sits on the chair that sits to the side, half facing the couch. Frozen in spot, it takes Dave to give you a come here movement with his fingers before you feel your legs carry your body over to where the men are sitting.

“Come sit on my lap honey. Let’s talk.”

You follow his orders, a part of you terrified your boss knows your deepest darkest secret and the other half hoping they both fuck your brains out. You move on autopilot as you turn to sit on his knee, doing your best to not put a lot of weight on his leg. Dave quickly puts an end to that as he grabs you by the hips and pulls you back on his lap. Your thin dress and his sweatpants leave nothing to the imagination. You can feel his hard on, plain as day.

“I’ve told you before, no need to be shy sweetheart. Spread those pretty legs of yours.”

You lean back against his chest as you look at him shyly before opening your legs for him. His big hands run up and down your thighs before pushing up your dress, revealing your soaked panties.

“Damn baby all this for me?” He says, eyes fixed on your pussy as he pulls them to the side.

“You don’t mind if he watches right?”

“N no”

Dave gives you a big grin, “Good.” His eyes go back down to watch as his fingers go up your wet seam. You watch his fingers as he slowly spreads your lips open, gently exploring your pussy.

“How many fingers you think she can take?”

Before you can even answer, Dave plunges two thick fingers deep inside you illicitly a gasp from you. His fingers alone are so thick, you feel yourself being stretched wide open on them. He moves them in and out at a slow pace as his other hand moves up to grope your tit.

Your eyes flutter shut as he keeps fingering you, pushing in and out, filling you up.

You manage to open your eyes and look over at Frankie. He was leaned back in the chair, manspreading as he palmed his hard cock.

Dave noticed you watching Frankie, taking his fingers out, “Frank, come here. Let’s see how much this tight little pussy can take.”

Frankie gets up and sits next to you and Dave before sliding his hand up your thigh,

“I don’t know Dave, I don’t think she can handle both of us.”

A horny demon seems to take over you and you quickly shake your head yes,

“I I can try”

For as eager as you are, you are equally nervous. You’ve never taken on two dicks at once but holy fuck are you turned on and wanna try.

Both men just smile, more so to themselves as Dave’s fingers pull one side of your pussy open and Frankie’s pulls the other side open. Dave’s the first to plunge a finger in and Frankie follows. They find a nice rhythm as their fingers move in and out. You throw your head back and let out a deep moan that you’ve been trying to hold back. Dave bites the side of your neck as he sinks another finger in. Your pussy convulses around the thick digits. Frankie pulls the top of your dress down and pulls your tit out, leaning down and taking your nipple in his mouth. You can’t help but put your arm around his head and hold him close as he sucks your breast. The feeling of both of their fingers moving in tandem has you on the verge of tears.

“Oh fuck look at that baby, taking four fucking fingers. Soaking our fucking hands, goddamn baby that’s it.” As soon as Dave said that, you managed your best to look down and they both had two fingers plunged deep inside you. You couldn’t tear your eyes away when you felt Dave’s other hand press on your lower stomach. It was like a light switch. You somehow felt them even deeper. The pressure from that and from their fingers moving amplified. Tears escaped your eyes, you couldn’t take much more. This deep build up inside of you clawing its way out. You had started to squirm, your ass now rubbing up and down Dave’s lap. Dave’s breath hitched in your ear.

“Breath baby, just breath, you’re doing so good. Come on breath with me.” Dave managed to get out in a hurried whisper, his own voice giving him away. Seeing you like this has him on the verge of his own orgasm. The friction of your ass rubbing against him added to the sight of you and knowing he’s the reason your falling apart.

A sob wracked through your entire body as your orgasm crashed into you. Your hips practically levitating

Frankie and Dave both watched as you gushed out, practically pushing their fingers out. Dave’s own moans finally coming out as his dick starts to spurt cum inside his sweat pants. His chest heaving as he pants in your ear, holding you close to him.

“Fuck that was hot.” Frankie said breathlessly before leaning in and claiming your lips with his. Your cheeks were wet from the tears as you still felt disoriented but managed to kiss him back with as much fierceness as he had.

Frankie grabbed you by the hips and pulled you on top of him. Your own body still trembling from the aftershocks of that mind blowing moment.

Frankie moved your hips up and down, causing you to grind against him while he continued to claim your lips with his. After a few moments he broke the kiss and made quick work of taking his dick out.

Out of breath and just barely getting ahold of yourself again, you look down at his throbbing cock as he gives it a few pumps before he’s pulling you back close again. You put your arms on his shoulders as he does the work for you, putting his dick right where you want him.

You’re so wet, you slide down his cock easily but the delicious burn of the stretch still makes your jaw drop as it takes your breath away.

Frankie’s head rolls back as his eyes close, feeling every inch of your pussy as he uses you like a fleshlight. Moving your hips up and down as he fucks you slowly. He knows he has a big dick and he doesn’t want to hurt you by going hard too fast. He takes his time and builds up speed before wrapping his arms around you and jack hammering his cock up into you. You collapse, hanging onto him as he makes you take his girthy dick. The two of you so lost in what you were doing, completely forgetting Dave sitting right next to you.

But Dave is very much enjoying the show. He’s pulled out his own cock using his cum as lube, stroking himself as he watches Frankie fuck you.

“Fffuckk that’s it baby, god look at you. What a fucking whore. I wish you could see how you look right now, fucking beautiful.” Dave starts to ramble as he works himself up again. His voice startles you a little as you try to lift your head and look over at him.

Frankie slows his thrusts down, grabbing your ass checks as he rolls his hips up. Grinding deep inside you.

Dave stands up and hets behind you. His big hand pushes on your back causing you to fall forward on Frankie.

You feel his finger probe your asshole, just barely poking in before he sinks in to the knuckle. Your poor pussy starts to convulse on Frankie’s dick, getting even wetter.

“Don’t get scared now baby, you can take us.” Dave said as he starts to move his finger in and out. He bends forward a little before pursing his lips and spitting. A wet splat lands in between your cheeks as he takes his finger out to move it down to your hole. Without notice he sticks a second finger in, slowly working you open. Frankie’s holding you tight to him, not moving inside you as his friend stretch’s you open so you can take both cocks at once.

Your face buried in Frankie’s neck, squeezing your eyes shut as this amazing, full feeling washes over you. It’s so much having a cock in your pussy and feeling his fingers in your ass.

After a few minutes of getting you ready, Dave takes his fingers out. Spits on his hand to add to his already cum lubed dick. Guiding his cock to your back entrance, he slowly pushes the tip in. You gasp as all the air leaves your body. Clinging to Frankie as you try to accommodate both men.

“You’re doing so good baby, that’s it. Fucking beautiful.” Dave grunts out as he pushes all the way in. Once his cock is buried in your ass, you can feel him throb. Dave reaches up and gathers your hair in a ponytail before giving you an experimental grind. Slowly moving back out, he starts to fuck your ass. Frankie begins to thrust up into you. The two men quickly work up a rhythm, both cocks moving in and out, fucking you. Dave tugs on your hair, causing you to lift your head off Frankie’s shoulder and bend back. Loud moans tumble from your lips.

“There she is, look at you taking us sweet girl. Taking it so well, fuck.”

“She’s so wet Dave, I think she likes being stuffed with two dicks. Don’t you baby? Such a slutty little pussy, needs two men to fuck her properly huh?” Frankie groans as your pussy answers for you, tightening on his cock.

A symphony of grunts and moans fill the air, balls slapping against skin, cocks sliding in and out of your holes.

“Frank, I think we should give our girl a nice facial. To thank her for letting us use her pretty holes.”

“No better way to show our appreciation Dave.”

Dave pulls out and pulls you off of Frankie. Doing his best to gently guide you to your knees. Your own legs jelly from the most intense fuck of your life.

Both men stand in front of you, jerking their cocks in your face as you stick your tongue out as far as you can. Dave and Frankie both tap the tip of their cocks on your tongue. Frankie starts to spurt cum first, painting your face with thick globs hitting above your eye and on your tongue. Dave cums next, his hitting you on your cheek and around your mouth. Frankie scoops a little off your face, putting it in your mouth. Closing your mouth around his digits to suck them clean.

“Thank you” you say with a smile and the little bit of air you have left in your lungs.

The men look down at you and smile. They are going to throughly enjoy having you around.

[sheriffaxolotl]

Bleed, Survive, Remember (Chapter 11) Arthur Morgan x Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Summary:

“Not takin’ lip from you,” you shot back, tossing a piece of carrot his way. He caught it easily, his grin widening. “Ain’t givin' any lip, woman,” he said, taking a bite and chewing casually, his eyes meeting yours.

Chapter 11: A Stranger Among Strangers

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Over the next few days, as your strength returned and you grew more comfortable moving around camp, you found yourself gradually being drawn into its small community. Everyone had their role, their quirks, and their routines, and while some welcomed you more easily than others, the fabric of the camp was undeniably close-knit.

You couldn’t help the way you feel out of place.

Abigail and Jack were among the first to notice you once you ventured out of Arthur’s makeshift setup. You’d been by the camp’s washing line, fumbling with a bucket of water that Susan had insisted needed moving, when you caught sight of a young boy darting through the tents. Jack was chasing a wooden stick, laughing as it bounced across the dirt.

“Careful, Jack!” Abigail’s voice called, warm but firm. She looked up from a pile of laundry near the fire and caught sight of you, pausing for a moment before offering a small, welcoming smile.

“Feelin’ better?” she asked, her voice light as she set down a shirt she’d been folding.

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Getting there. Still feels like I’ve been kicked by a mule, but I’ll live.”

Abigail chuckled softly. “Well, that’s something, I suppose. If you need help gettin’ settled, just holler. Lord knows this place could use a few more decent folks.”

There was an ease to her demeanor, a subtle kindness that made you feel just a little less like an outsider. It became quickly apparent that Abigail was a busy woman, her time split between watching over Jack and tending to whatever needed doing around camp.

Jack, on the other hand, was pure energy wrapped up in a small frame. As you started to walk away, he darted toward you, clutching his stick like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Is it true you’re a lady gunslinger?” he asked, his big, curious eyes locking onto yours.

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Uncle says you’re some kind of sharp-shooter,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest as though sharing some grand secret.

“Uncle says a lot of things,” Abigail interjected, shaking her head but smiling fondly at her son. “Don’t go botherin’ her, Jack.”

“He’s not bothering me,” you said quickly, smiling down at the boy. “But I think Uncle might be stretchin’ the truth just a bit.”

Jack tilted his head, clearly unconvinced, but before he could press further, Abigail ushered him away with a promise of a snack. You watched them walk off, the warmth of their interaction settling over you as you turned back to your task—determined to haul the bucket of water across camp without aggravating your side.

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John, on the other hand, wasn’t so quick to strike up conversation. You first spotted him near the horses, sitting on an overturned crate while cleaning one of his pistols. The metallic click of the gun parts echoed softly, blending with the background hum of camp life.

You’d been passing by, carrying some firewood to the supply wagon, when his voice stopped you.

“You’re the one Arthur dragged in, huh?”

His tone wasn’t unkind, but there was an edge to it, like he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of you yet. You turned to find his sharp eyes studying you from beneath the brim of his hat.

“That’d be me,” you replied evenly, setting the firewood down and brushing off your hands.

John nodded, returning his focus to the pistol in his hands. “He don’t usually go outta his way for folks he don't know.”

You weren’t sure if that was meant as a compliment or not, so you simply shrugged. “Guess I owe him, then.”

“Guess you do.” He glanced up again, his expression softening slightly. “Arthur’s got a good read on people, though. If he thinks you’re alright, you probably are.”

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he turned his attention back to his work, effectively ending the conversation. You didn’t linger, sensing that John wasn’t one for long talks, and you won't one to push. Still, the mention of Arthur stayed with you, lingering in the quiet moments as you made your way back into the woods around camp to gather more branches. Thoughts of him—his steady gaze, the quiet moments shared—kept surfacing, weaving through the soft rustling of leaves and the gentle crunch of twigs beneath your feet. The camp buzzed in the distance, but for a while, it felt like the forest held only your own musings.

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Sadie, though mourning—which you found out when talking to Abigail—seemed like she was holding herself together by sheer force of will. The pain of her loss was still raw, visible in the stiffness of her posture and the faraway look in her eyes. You’d seen her sitting near the edge of camp one morning, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she stared out into the trees.

You’d been passing by on your way to fetch some water when your footsteps crunched on the gravel, drawing her attention. She glanced up at you, her expression briefly unreadable before her lips curved into a faint, almost reluctant smile.

“Morning,” you offered, unsure if you should say more.

“Morning,” she replied, her voice quiet but steady.

Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, and you had the distinct feeling she was sizing you up—not in an unkind way, but as if trying to determine who you were.

“You need any help with somethin’?” you ventured cautiously, shifting the bucket in your hand.

Sadie shook her head, her grip tightening briefly on her arms. “No. I’m fine.”

There was an edge to her words, not cold, but distant, like she wasn’t ready to let anyone in just yet. You nodded, not pushing further, but as you turned to leave, she spoke again.

“Thanks, though,” she added, softer this time, and when you glanced back, you thought you saw the faintest flicker of gratitude in her expression.

She didn’t say more, and you didn’t linger. Sadie was grieving, and she needed space. You respected that, though you hoped, in time, she’d find a way to let others help her when she needed it.

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Javier, by contrast, was easy to talk to. You remembered him from Valentine—the bar fight in particular. He had been charming the saloon girls before it, or well, before Arthur showed up. In camp, you noticed he was often by himself or with a small group, strumming his guitar under the shade of a tree.

The first time you approached him, it was late afternoon, and the warm notes of his music carried across the camp. You’d been gathering some firewood nearby, drawn by the gentle melody. He glanced up as you neared, his dark eyes meeting yours with an easy warmth.

“You play?” he asked, nodding toward the guitar in his lap.

“Not a note,” you admitted with a small laugh, setting down your bundle of wood. “But I can appreciate good music when I hear it.”

Javier chuckled, his fingers still plucking at the strings as he spoke. “Well, stick around. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

You sat a few feet away, watching as his hands moved deftly over the instrument. The song was unfamiliar, but there was something comforting about it, a rhythm that seemed to blend seamlessly with the natural sounds of the camp.

“You were in that fight in Valentine, weren’t you?” you asked after a moment, a grin tugging at your lips.

He glanced up, a playful spark in his eyes. “Ah, sí. A wild night, that one. And you—you were the one Arthur dragged into it, no?”

“Dragged is a strong word,” you teased, crossing your arms. “I held my own, thank you very much.”

Javier laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

The two of you exchanged a few more stories about that chaotic evening, and you found yourself relaxing in his presence. Javier had a way of making you feel at ease, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to some of the camp’s louder personalities.

As the sun dipped lower, he played another tune, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the camp disappeared. It wasn’t until he stopped to retune the guitar that he glanced at you again, his expression thoughtful.

“You’re fitting in well here,” he said simply, his tone sincere.

“Trying to,” you replied, lowly.

Javier nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. “Keep at it. This place... it’s not always easy, but it’s good.”

His words stayed with you long after the music ended, thinking them over.

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Uncle, on the other hand, was impossible to avoid—and not always in a good way. His eccentric behavior and strange humor made him a permanent fixture of the camp’s oddities. He’d wander around aimlessly, cracking jokes that didn’t always land, laughing too loudly at his own remarks, and regaling anyone who’d listen with dubious tales of his youth. At first, you found his antics bewildering—how could someone so seemingly lazy and nonsensical have a place in this camp? But there was a certain charm to his unpredictability, and, when you least expected it, he’d surprise you with a moment of genuine insight or a kind word.

One morning, you caught him reclining near the fire, hat tipped over his face as if he were sleeping, but as you passed by, he suddenly spoke up. “Y’know, all these serious folks around here could learn a thing or two from a little relaxation.”

You paused, unsure whether to engage. “Is that what you call it? Relaxation?”

He tipped his hat up and grinned at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I call it livin’, darlin’. You should try it sometime.”

It was hard to tell if he was being sincere or just trying to get under your skin, but the exchange left you shaking your head and smiling despite yourself. For all his flaws, there was something oddly endearing about Uncle, even if you’d never admit it to him.

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By that afternoon, as you passed by the camp, Bill was sitting against a tree, polishing his rifle. His eyes followed you as you moved past him, the look in his gaze far from friendly.

“You know,” he drawled, spitting a stream of tobacco into the dirt, “shouldn’t be messin’ with things you don’t understand. That bucket’s too heavy for you. Might as well save yourself the trouble.”

You didn’t stop, keeping your steps steady, but the edge in his voice stung. “I manage just fine, thanks,” you muttered under your breath.

Bill let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Suit yourself. But you’re just gonna slow things down, making a mess of things. Women always do.”

You bit your tongue, but something about his smug tone made you want to throw the bucket over him.

But you didn't, maybe next time though.

When you were coming back from another lap you realized he’d silently shifted a pile of gear out of your way, as if to make your task easier without drawing attention to it.

Odd.

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And then there was Molly. You had caught glimpses of her from Arthur's tent, finding you watched her a bit during your recovery. She carried herself with an air of sophistication that felt at odds with the rugged, chaotic life of this camp. Her laughter rang out across camp like bells, light and musical, though it was rare for her to direct it at anyone in particular. Molly had a certain charm—quick-witted and sharp-tongued when she wanted to be—that you had seen and heard from the conversations you overheard between her and Dutch or other camp members.

She often fussed over her appearance, brushing her hair or adjusting her dress, her movements delicate and deliberate. You caught yourself feeling a twinge of envy for the way she always seemed so put-together, no matter the circumstances. She carried herself with a confidence that stood out, always impeccably dressed despite the rough conditions, a reminder that she had a life outside all this—a life she seemed to miss terribly, or so you assumed.

Your interactions were few and brief, but she always seemed polite enough. When you had passed by one evening, she had looked up from where she was sewing, her hands deftly working a needle through fabric. “I don’t know how you keep up with all this running around,” she had remarked lightly, a faint smile on her lips. “I’d be half-dead after a single day.”

You’d simply shrugged, not sure what to make of her. She wasn’t unkind, but there was a distance in her words, as though she wasn’t entirely interested in getting to know you—or anyone else, for that matter.

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Once you felt well enough to graduate from hauling buckets of half-filled water from the stream nearby, you decided it was time to take on more substantial chores. The camp had taken you in when you needed help, and you weren’t about to let anyone think you were a freeloader. Determined to prove yourself useful, you set your sights on helping Pearson in the makeshift camp kitchen. It seemed simple enough—a little slicing, stirring, maybe seasoning here and there. How hard could it be?

The trouble started almost immediately. Pearson, ever the gruff perfectionist, launched into a tirade about the “right” way to prepare vegetables before you even had a chance to get settled. You barely had time to roll up your sleeves before he shoved a knife and a pile of carrots in your direction, muttering about how “greenhorns can’t even hold a blade right.”

Still, you tried to follow his lead. You had steady hands, trained for far less domestic tasks, but Pearson’s constant grumbling and pacing turned the simple act of slicing carrots into a nerve-wracking ordeal.

“Too thick,” he barked, leaning over your shoulder. “You trying to choke everyone? This ain’t some fancy saloon stew!”

Flustered, you adjusted your grip, only for the knife to slip and nearly nick your finger. “I know how to handle a knife,” you snapped, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Pearson raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered, returning to his stew pot with a shake of his head.

You were about to snap back that you were doing just fine when a shadow passed by the corner of your vision. You glanced up, and there was Arthur, strolling through camp with a freshly hunted buck draped effortlessly over his shoulder. He moved with the kind of confidence that drew attention, his boots crunching against the dirt as he approached. Sweat glistened on his brow, and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing muscular arms that flexed with each step. His shirt, damp with sweat, clung to his frame as he walked.

The sight of him momentarily knocked the focus right out of you. You didn’t even notice how still you’d gone until he stopped near the kitchen and set the deer down with an audible thud. He glanced your way, a teasing grin spreading across his face as he leaned on a nearby crate, watching the chaos unfold.

“Well, look at you,” he drawled, his voice warm and laced with amusement. “Right little kitchen hand, ain’t ya?”

His tone was lighthearted, but the way his eyes lingered made you feel like he was enjoying this a little too much. Heat crept up your neck, and you gripped the knife tighter, trying to regain your composure.

“You gonna stand there all day, or you gonna help?” you shot back, trying to match his teasing tone, though the quiver in your voice betrayed you.

Arthur chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. “Don’t look at me. I don’t reckon Pearson’d trust me near his stewpot either.”

Distracted, you almost didn’t notice when the knife in your hand slipped, the blade grazing far too close to your fingers. Your breath hitched as you froze, your heart skipping a beat.

Pearson’s bark came immediately. “Dammit, woman! You tryin’ to maim yourself? I don’t got time to patch up fools!”

You flinched at the sharpness of his tone, frustration and embarrassment flaring up inside you. Arthur, still lounging against the crate, raised a brow and tilted his head as if deciding whether to intervene.

“Easy, Pearson,” he said finally, his voice calm but with a trace of humor. “Don’t reckon she’s lookin’ to take your job.”

Pearson grunted, clearly unimpressed, and stalked off to check the stewpot, leaving you and Arthur alone for a moment. You exhaled slowly, shaking your head as you set the knife down carefully.

“Not a word,” you muttered, glancing up at him.

Arthur held up his hands in mock surrender, the smirk still tugging at his lips. “Didn’t say nothin’. You’re doin’ fine, really. Could use a little less blood in the stew, though.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. His teasing was maddening, sure, but there was something in his tone that made it clear he wasn’t really judging you.

“Not takin’ lip from you,” you shot back, tossing a piece of carrot his way.

He caught it easily, his grin widening. “Ain’t givin' any lip, woman,” he said, taking a bite and chewing casually, his eyes meeting yours.

You quickly looked away, cursing internally at the weight of his gaze. “Maybe next time I’ll let you handle the carrots,” you muttered under your breath, earning another chuckle from him.

As he turned to leave, his voice carried over his shoulder. “Just try not to take a finger off, alright? Camp’s got enough excitement without that.”

You huffed, brushing stray hair out of your face and muttering under your breath, “Impossible man.”

Still, as you looked down at the pile of half-sliced carrots, you realized you were smiling despite yourself.

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After Pearson’s scolding, you tried to keep your frustration in check. He wasn’t wrong, of course, but the sting of his words lingered. You didn’t want to be seen as the camp’s walking disaster—not after everything they’d done for you. Maybe returning to your previous chore, like fetching water, would give you a chance to redeem yourself—or at least avoid further humiliation.

Huffing softly, you grabbed a pair of empty buckets from beside the wagon. Normally, you’d only take one, but your mood had you feeling determined, or maybe just stubborn. Two buckets would show everyone, including Pearson, that you were capable of pulling your weight.

The walk to the stream wasn’t far, but the sun was rising steady, and the buckets seemed to grow heavier with every step. You clenched your jaw against the dull ache that crept into your side—a lingering reminder that you weren’t entirely healed yet. Still, you pressed on, ignoring the discomfort as best you could. The soft trickle of the stream came into view, and you knelt down carefully, the cool water flowing over your hands as you filled each bucket to the brim.

When it came time to lift them, the real challenge began. The moment you stood, a sharp, searing pain lanced through your side, forcing a hiss from your lips. You paused, gripping the handles tightly and trying to steady yourself.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath, shifting your grip and attempting to find a way to balance the weight.

“Need some help?”

The unexpected voice made you startle slightly. Turning, you found Jack standing a few feet away, watching you with wide, curious eyes. His small frame and bright expression seemed out of place in the rugged wilderness, but his presence was oddly comforting. You hadn’t even noticed him approach.

“Jack,” you said, forcing a smile despite the ache in your side. “What’re you doing all the way out here?”

He shrugged, kicking a pebble into the stream. “I was exploring. Mama says I shouldn’t go too far, but I wanted to see what you were doing.” He tilted his head, looking at the buckets. “You don’t look like you’re doing too good.”

You huffed a laugh, adjusting your grip on the handles. “I’ve got it under control. Just... a little heavy, that’s all.”

Jack stepped closer, peering at the buckets as if assessing the situation. “I can carry one,” he offered, puffing out his chest in an attempt to look more grown-up. “I’m strong, you know.”

The idea of Abigail’s son hauling water buckets was enough to make you shake your head. You could already imagine her reaction if she found out. “That’s sweet of you, Jack, but I think your mama might have my head if she saw you out here doing my work.”

Jack frowned but didn’t argue. Instead, he squatted down by the stream and picked up a smooth stone, rolling it between his fingers. “You don’t need do it all by yourself,” he said quietly, his tone thoughtful. “Uncle Arthur says it’s okay to ask for help.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his words. For a boy so young, Jack had a way of cutting straight to the heart of things. You crouched down beside him, wincing slightly as your side protested the movement.

“Mister Morgan said that, huh?” you asked, smiling faintly.

Jack nodded, his face serious. “Uh-huh. He says even strong people can’t do everything alone.”

His earnestness was enough to ease the tension you’d been carrying since leaving camp. You ruffled his hair gently, making him giggle. “Well, sounds like Mister Morga’s a smart man. Maybe I’ll take his advice.”

Standing slowly, you glanced at the buckets, then back at Jack. “Tell you what. How about you keep me company on the way back? That’ll help more than anything.”

Jack grinned, clearly pleased with the compromise. “Okay!”

As the two of you started back toward camp—Jack chattering about all the animals he wanted to see and you nodding along—you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. The buckets were still heavy, and your side still ached, but somehow, it didn’t seem quite as bad.

Maybe you should tell Abigail Jack had wandered quite far from camp the next time you saw her. Maybe you should offer to keep an eye on him. You mulled it over in your mind as you carried the bucket toward Pearson’s wagon.

                    ︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

The next day, you decided to try something else.

Apparently, you were no good at washing clothes either. Armed with a washboard and a bucket of soapy water, you figured this was something even you couldn’t mess up. Leaning over the bucket, you scrubbed diligently, but your arms soon began to ache. Water splashed everywhere, soaking the ground beneath you, and suds clung stubbornly to your sleeves.

The final blow came when a shirt you were washing slipped from your hands, carried downstream by the current before you even realized it. You lunged after it, nearly toppling over into the water.

Nearby, Tilly and Mary-Beth sat folding laundry, their movements efficient and practiced. They exchanged amused glances before Mary-Beth’s soft laughter broke the silence.

“You’re more of a sharpshooter than a laundress, huh?” Tilly teased, though her tone was lighthearted.

You sat back on your heels, shaking your head with a rueful grin. “Guess I’m better at making messes than cleaning them.”

Mary-Beth smiled warmly, setting a freshly folded shirt on the pile beside her. “Don’t worry. You’ll find your place here. Everyone does.”

Before you could argue, they took over the washing, leaving you to sit back, damp and defeated. Still, you couldn’t help but smile despite yourself.

As you sat back, watching Tilly and Mary-Beth take over the task with effortless ease, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of inadequacy. The laundry wasn’t just clean; it was perfectly folded, stacked neatly like they’d been doing it their whole lives. You bit the inside of your cheek, glancing down at your damp sleeves and the soapy mess you’d left behind.

“Well, at least I’m good for entertainment,” you muttered under your breath, half to yourself, half to the women nearby.

Tilly glanced over with a chuckle, brushing her hands against her skirt. “Oh, don’t let it get to you. Everyone has their strengths.” She leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice just a little. “You should’ve seen Karen the first time she tried baking bread. The gang had to convince her she hadn’t poisoned them.”

Mary-Beth giggled, adding, “Or the time Uncle decided to ‘help’ Pearson in the kitchen. We were picking burnt beans out of stew for a week.”

The stories pulled a reluctant laugh out of you. “So, what you’re saying is, I’m not the first disaster you’ve had around here?”

“Far from it,” Mary-Beth said with a grin, her voice full of warmth. “We’ve all had our moments. Even Arthur.”

That caught your attention. “Mister Morgan? What’d he do?”

Tilly smirked knowingly, setting another folded shirt in her lap. “Let’s just say he’s better off in the saddle than trying to mend anything. The man once stitched his own shirt to his pants without noticing.”

You barked out a laugh, the image of Arthur Morgan grumbling over a needle and thread too vivid not to enjoy. It was the first time in days that you’d felt anything close to normal.

Mary-Beth’s smile widened. “Oh, it’s true. He’s a damn good shot, but anything that requires actual patience—forget it.”

You shook your head, still chuckling. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at him the same way again.”

Tilly leaned back, tossing a completed stack of laundry onto a neat pile. “Trust me, he’d probably take it as a compliment.”

The three of you shared a quiet moment of laughter, the tension that had clung to you for days easing just a bit. Maybe you weren’t cut out for laundry, but at least you weren’t alone in your mess.

                      ︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

As the afternoon sun shifted, you found yourself wandering back into camp, searching for something else to do. You spotted Charles by the campfire, sharpening his knife with slow, deliberate movements. A neat pile of firewood sat at his feet, and for a moment, you hesitated.

You’d met Charles only briefly a couple of days prior when he introduced himself. It was a quiet moment, just after you’d started walking around camp instead of being confined to bed. You’d been easing your way along the edge of camp, careful not to disturb anyone, when he’d approached with that calm, steady presence of his.

“Charles Smith,” he’d said simply, offering a hand.

You’d taken it, noting the firm grip and the quiet sincerity in his dark eyes. “Nice to meet you,” you’d replied.

“I didn’t want to bother you while you were resting,” he explained. “Figured you’d want to get your bearings first. But... if you need anything, just ask.”

That had been the end of it. No prying questions, no awkward small talk—just an offer of help, given freely. It had stuck with you, though. Something about Charles seemed grounded in a way you didn’t often see in this life.

Now, as you approached the campfire, you found yourself grateful for his earlier kindness.

“Need a hand with that?” you asked, gesturing to the firewood.

Charles looked up, his dark eyes assessing you for a moment before he nodded. “If you’re up for it. You’ll need to use the hatchet, though. Don’t think your aim’s good enough to split wood with a bullet.”

The teasing in his tone was subtle, but it was there, and you grinned. “Oh, you’d be surprised. But I’ll stick to the hatchet.”

He handed it over, stepping aside to give you space. You’d chopped wood plenty of times before, but after a few swings, it was clear your strength wasn’t what it used to be. The first log splintered awkwardly, and the second sent the hatchet bouncing off at an odd angle, nearly taking your fingers with it.

Charles reached out, steadying the log with one hand. “Here. Like this.” He positioned your grip on the hatchet and shifted your stance slightly. “Let the weight do the work. Don’t muscle it.”

You followed his advice, and this time, the blade sank cleanly through the wood, splitting it in two.

“There you go,” he said with a rare smile. “Not bad.”

For the next few minutes, the two of you worked side by side, the rhythm of chopping and stacking lulling you into a calm focus. Charles didn’t say much, but his quiet presence was comforting. It reminded you of the value in simply doing—finding purpose in the small, tangible things.

By the time the sun dipped lower, painting the camp in hues of gold and orange, you’d stacked enough firewood to keep the camp warm for days. Wiping the sweat from your brow, you leaned against the chopping block, catching your breath.

“Thanks for the help,” Charles said, his tone genuine. “Not everyone pitches in like this.”

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Figured I’d make myself useful."

Charles nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, you did good. This’ll keep the camp going for a while. Just don’t push yourself too hard.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the sound of approaching footsteps made you glance up. Arthur emerged from the tree line, his stride easy but purposeful. His hat was pulled low against the golden glow of the setting sun, casting a shadow over his expression, but there was something in his stance—tense, deliberate—that caught your attention.

“Charles,” Arthur greeted with a slight nod before his eyes flicked to you. “Didn’t know you were takin’ up lumberjackin’.”

His tone was casual enough, but there was an edge to it, like he was sizing up the scene. He leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, watching you and Charles with an unreadable expression.

You raised an eyebrow, wiping your hands on your pants. “Figured it was better than sittin’ around doing nothing.”

Arthur’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his jaw tightening slightly before he gave a low chuckle. “Well, you look like you’ve been put through the wringer. Hope Charles here didn’t work you too hard.”

Charles, seemingly unbothered, shrugged as he finished stacking the last of the firewood. “She held her own. Better than some of the others around here.”

“Is that right?” Arthur drawled, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Didn’t think you were the type to take on apprentices, Charles.”

You frowned, glancing between the two men. “It’s just firewood, Arthur. No need to make it sound like I’m learning a trade.”

Arthur pushed off the tree, his expression softening as he looked at you. “Just sayin’. You’re still recoverin’. Don’t want you overdo—” He paused, his eyes catching on the faint smirk Charles was giving him, and his voice shifted. “—overestimatin’ yourself.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mister Morgan.”

Charles chuckled under his breath, grabbing his knife and giving Arthur a nod. “She’s fine, Arthur. You don’t need to keep hovering.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened again, but he gave a faint grin, tipping his hat. “Ain’t hoverin’. Just lookin’ out, is all.”

The air felt heavier for a moment, the unspoken tension between them palpable, but Charles shrugged it off as he stepped away. “Well, I’m done here. Firewood’s all set. You two enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He gave you a brief smile, then walked back toward the campfire, leaving you and Arthur alone.

Arthur watched him go, his posture relaxing slightly as he turned back to you. “He’s a good fella, Charles. Quiet, but reliable.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Seems like it. Why? You worried about something?”

Arthur hesitated, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, he seemed to weigh his words. Finally, he shook his head, his voice softer now. “Nah. Just makin’ sure you’re settlin’ in alright.”

You didn’t miss the way his gaze lingered on you, warm and steady in the fading light. For a man who could be so guarded, there was something honest about the way he looked at you now, like he was trying to figure you out but didn’t mind taking his time.

“I’m fine,” you said, your tone gentler. “Thanks for checking, though.”

Arthur gave a short nod, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Good. Let me know if you need somethin’. Don’t need you runnin’ off with Charles to split wood all the time.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, turning back toward camp, “you’ll get used to it.”

And as he walked away, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, the faintest flicker of warmth settling in your chest.

                    ︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

The camp was still bustling with evening activity—chatter around the campfire, the clink of tin mugs, and the occasional burst of laughter. You let out a breath, thinking about Arthur’s words and the strange comfort they brought.

But that peace was short-lived. You turned toward the wagon where you’d been keeping some of your things, intent on finding something useful to occupy your hands. Before you could take more than a few steps, Susan Grimshaw appeared, her sharp gaze locking onto you like a hawk spotting prey.

“Well,” she started, hands on her hips, her tone already carrying an edge, “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable, but there’s plenty more that needs doing around here.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden confrontation. “I wasn’t exactly sitting around—”

Susan cut you off with a curt wave of her hand. “I’m not interested in excuses. Everyone pulls their weight in this camp. If you’re fit enough to be choppin’ wood and chattin’ with Arthur, you’re fit enough to help Pearson with the supplies or other chores.”

Her words weren’t unfair, but they stung nonetheless. You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but something in Susan’s expression gave you pause.

“I get it,” you said, keeping your tone level. “I’ll help where I can.”

Susan’s brow arched, clearly not expecting your lack of resistance. “Good. Starting tomorrow, I’ll have a list for you. No more wandering about without purpose.”

You felt your jaw tighten, but you nodded. “Fine.”

She gave a curt nod and turned to walk away, leaving you standing there, frustration bubbling under the surface. You weren’t trying to shirk responsibility, but the constant need to prove yourself in a camp full of strangers was beginning to wear on you.

You took a moment to breathe, reminding yourself that this wasn’t about pleasing Susan or anyone else.

As you turned to head back toward your spot by the fire, you nearly ran into Abigail, who was carrying a bundle of laundry.

“She give you an earful?” Abigail asked, her tone more amused than sympathetic.

“Something like that,” you muttered.

“Don’t take it personal. Grimshaw’s like that with everyone, especially the women. She thinks it’s her job to keep us all in line.” Abigail adjusted the laundry in her arms, her expression softening. “But she means well... most of the time.”

You gave a small nod, not entirely convinced. “Guess I’ll have to get used to it.”

“You will,” Abigail said with a small smile. “Just don’t let her see you slackin’. She’s got eyes in the back of her head.”

The comment drew a faint laugh from you, easing some of the tension that had settled in your chest.

                   ︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・一═デ︻

Emotionally, you felt drained after the past few days. Talking to so many people in such a short amount of time wasn’t something you were used to. You needed space, a moment to clear your head. After a brief pause near the campfire with Abigail and Jack, you quietly slipped away, heading toward Tater.

The horse stood with an air of quiet confidence, as if she knew she’d been spoiled and cared for. Her coat gleamed under the fading light, and her saddle looked as though someone had taken the time to polish away every scuff. Tater nuzzled against you, her soft breath warm on your hand as you gently stroked her neck.

"Hey girl," you whispered, a small smile tugging at your lips, "you got a secret admirer or something?"

Tater snorted softly, swaying slightly in contentment. You chuckled, leaning against her side as you ran your fingers through her mane. The quiet moment was soothing—just you and Tater, away from the chaos of being social.

You closed your eyes for a moment, the sound of the campfire and distant chatter fading into the background. It wasn’t often you took time like this to ground yourself, to reconnect with something that wasn’t people. It was just Tater and you.

You took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill your lungs as you leaned against the horse, feeling a quiet sense of peace.

But that tranquility didn’t last long.

From the edge of the clearing, you heard footsteps approaching. Your eyes opened, and before you knew it, Arthur appeared from the trees, his long stride steady and confident. His hat was low over his face, casting shadows across his brow, with a rifle over his shoulder.

"Taking a break, huh?" His voice was calm but held an edge of curiosity. He must be coming back from watch.

You straightened, adjusting your stance. “Thought I’d give myself a minute,” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “Figured Tater could use some attention... Someone been looking after her while I've been bedridden, I think.”

Arthur studied you for a moment, his gaze lingering on Tater before finally resting on you. “Yeah, she’s been lookin’ well. Seems someone’s been takin’ good care of her…”

You shrugged, your fingers still brushing Tater’s mane. “She’s a good horse. Didn’t see the harm in it.”

Arthur’s gaze shifted between you and the horse, his brow furrowing slightly. “Not the sort to stand around doin’ nothin’, huh?”

You glanced up at him, a faint smirk playing on your lips. “I wasn’t exactly sitting idle.”

Arthur tilted his head, studying you for a moment longer before letting out a soft chuckle. “No, I guess you weren’t.” His tone remained neutral, though there was a faint glint of something you couldn’t quite place in his eyes.

Arthur cleared his throat, shifting his weight as he adjusted his rifle on his shoulder. For a moment, he didn’t respond, and the silence between you stretched again. You studied him as he watched Tater, the faintest crease of thought on his brow.

“I reckon you don’t need to keep giving up your bed for me anymore, Mister Morgan,” you said, breaking the quiet. “I’m feeling well enough now.”

Arthur shifted his gaze from the horse to you, his brow furrowing just a bit. “Ain’t a matter of needin’ to. Just figured it made more sense, is all.”

You crossed your arms, tilting your head as you studied him. “Don’t seem like you got much sense when it comes to your own rest.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t look away. “I’ll manage.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “You’ve been sleeping on that log over there for days. Might be time to take your bed back.”

Arthur didn’t answer right away, his gaze flickering to the ground. The tension between you seemed to grow, heavy but not uncomfortable. His fingers tightened on the rifle as he shifted his weight again, posture a bit more rigid now.

“Maybe,” he finally said, his voice softer, more measured. “But if you need it, I’ll keep movin’ out of the way.”

You frowned, tilting your head, sensing the quiet resistance beneath his words. “I don’t need you to.”

“You sure about that?” His voice was quieter now, almost a murmur.

“Yeah,” you said, softly. “I’m sure.”

Arthur studied you a moment longer, his gaze lingering, as if trying to gauge if you were being honest. Then, slowly, he gave a small nod, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Alright, then.” He mumbled as he moved closer to you, his hand settling on Tater, as he pets the horse.

“You seem real insistent on gettin’ your way,” Arthur said, his tone lighter now, almost teasing. You don't miss the way his fingers brush against your hand as he pats Tater.

You smiled, stepping closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “Someone’s gotta keep you in check, Mister Morgan.”

Arthur tilted his head, his smirk growing. “Yeah? Might be you’ve got a knack for it.”

His eyes held yours, and in that quiet, shared space, there was a flicker of something deeper. You didn’t look away.

"Maybe."

Arthur’s smile lingered as he let his hand slide down Tater’s neck, fingers brushing against yours just a little longer. The tension between you hung in the air, thick and heavy but not unpleasant. He didn’t seem in any rush to break the quiet moment.

After a beat of silence, Arthur shifted his weight, clearing his throat softly. “You always this quiet, or am I just not sayin’ the right things?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was something more to it now—a hint of curiosity.

You took a breath, letting the smirk play on your lips deepen just a fraction. “Maybe you’re not asking the right questions, Mister Morgan.”

His eyes sharpened, narrowing just slightly as he studied you. “Is that right?” His voice dropped a notch, smooth and measured.

You shrugged, your gaze steady. “Might be.”

Arthur stood there a moment longer, his expression unreadable, as though he was trying to figure out whether to lean in or back off. But instead of moving away, he shifted a little closer, his presence enveloping the space between you like a slow, deliberate pull.

He wasn’t pressing, not yet, but the heat of his stare and the quiet understanding passed between you was impossible to ignore.

His hand grazed yours again as he shifted his rifle to his other shoulder, the touch barely there but enough to make the hairs on your arms stand. “You always this bold, or am I gonna have to drag it outta you?”

You smiled faintly, stepping a fraction closer, the distance between you shrinking. “Maybe it’s not about being bold,” Your voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, like the moment itself was fragile and precious.

Arthur exhaled, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Maybe it ain’t.” His eyes searched yours for a moment longer before he let his hand drop from Tater neck, letting it settle nears yours.

For a second, neither of you said anything. The camp around you felt distant, the firelight casting long shadows across the clearing as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

“Maybe we’ll see,” he said finally, his tone low and contemplative. His gaze remained fixed on yours, steady, the faintest flicker of something softer behind his eyes.

You didn’t look away. “Maybe.”

Arthur stood there, his expression softening further as he let the quiet stretch between you. The weight of his gaze was intense but not uncomfortable. He adjusted his hat slightly, his fingers brushing the brim, before finally speaking again, his voice low.

“Call me Arthur,” he said, his tone steady. “No need for all that ‘Mister Morgan’ business.”

The sound of his first name on his lips sent a small shiver down your spine. You hesitated for a moment, letting the weight of what he’d said sink in. Arthur. Simple, quiet, familiar. Perosnal.

You met his gaze and offered a faint smile. “Alright… Arthur.”

His eyes flicked down to your lips for a split second before returning to yours, that smirk still there but softer now, more genuine.

“Just Arthur,” he repeated, more to himself than to you, before letting his eyes hold yours once again.

Arthur took a slow breath, his gaze still locked on yours, as though he was trying to say something more, something deeper, but the words hung unspoken. The weight of the moment stretched out, the quiet settling around you both. You could almost feel the space between you narrowing, as though he was leaning closer, even if just a little.

But then, just as the silence was beginning to feel unbearable, Tater gave a low nicker, her ears twitching as she turned her head. The soft nudge against your side broke the stillness, and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the absurdity of the timing.

Arthur blinked, pulling his gaze away from yours, his smirk returning, albeit more subdued now. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “seems someone’s got a better idea of what’s important than we do.”

You shook your head, chuckling softly as you patted Tater. “Looks like she’s not one for quiet moments.”

Arthur sighed, adjusting his hat as he looked at the horse. “Guess not. Can’t seem to catch a break when you’re around, can I?” His tone was laced with humor, though it still carried a thread of seriousness.

You smiled, feeling the tension shift but not entirely dissipate. “Can’t help it if I’m good company.”

Arthur let out a low chuckle, the sound more genuine now. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, letting the quiet settle back into the space between you. Tater stood contentedly between you both, her presence grounding, as though reminding you that the world beyond this moment still existed.

But something lingered beneath the surface.

“Well,” Arthur said at last, his tone lighter. “I should get back. Don’t wanna leave the camp without a watch.”

You nodded, reluctant to break the connection, but understanding the need to pull away. “Yeah. Guess I’ll head back, too.”

Arthur tipped his hat, the corner of his mouth tugging into that faint smirk again. “See you around, darlin’.”

As he turned, his footsteps fading into the distance, you watched him go, a strange mixture of relief and longing settling in your chest.

Tater stood beside you, softly nuzzling your hand once more, as though sensing something had shifted. You let out a slow breath, brushing your fingers through her mane, lost in thought.

Maybe this wasn’t the end of whatever it was brewing between you and Arthur. But for now, all you could do was wait and see if the quiet tension would ever return.

You sighed, shaking your head with a small smile. “Awful timing, Tater.”

                                 ︻デ═一・・・・・・・一═デ︻

I really should be working on my assessments 📚, but I couldn’t resist writing another chapter now that the setting has reached camp 🏕️ and the gang 🤠. I hope you enjoyed this chapter !

[thewritetofreespeech]

Please do a subbish Choso with a kind girlfriend fem Dom reader that grabs his crotch (out of view of the others/they don't see what is happening from the chest down) even slowly massaging it, with other people in the room. They could be at a conference or being at an event with Yuji or something else and Choso doesn't know how to react/what to do because he is flustered, he knows it's not something you should do in public and he never had been in this kind of situation (or most experiences with her for that matter because she's his first, only and last <3).

-Selenophile 🌙🌌✨

This party was nice. Or, at least Choso thought it was nice. He had never been to one before now.

He watched from the sidelines as everyone chatted and talked to one another. Looking at the crowd but more often than not his eyes drifting over to Yuji. Choso was glad to see his little brother so happy.

“Hey you,” Choso turned his head to see [Y/N] coming up to him. A smile on her face and a drink in both hands. “What are you doing over here all alone?”

“Just watching.” He answered as he took one of the cups.

Choso was aware that he is different than most. Being half-cursed spirit he knows that he was not fully accepted by the people whose job it is to irradicate cursed spirits. It never bothered him though. He had his brothers, he had Yuji, and he had [Y/N].

She came to lean beside him against the wall. Also looking at the crowd. “If you’re not having fun, we could leave.” She suggested.

“I’m having fun.” He told her.

“Yeah, but we could be having more fun.”

Before Choso could ask what she meant by that, as it was clearly something mischievous from her tone, [Y/N] had slipped her hand into his pocket and began touching him through the thin material.

Choso balked at the contact. His initial thought to say something, or even yip like a lost puppy, but he stayed quiet. He didn’t want to draw attention to the situation. Get [Y/N] in trouble or embarrass Yuji. “Just relax.” She told him. Her voice hushed but firm. Still embarrassed, Choso had no choice but to obey. Again, he didn’t want to get [Y/N] in trouble. And….he wanted to obey.

Her hand was still warm even through the thin material of his robe. Thank God for blousy pants. His hand gripped his drink which he had yet to take a sip of hard. Eyes forward. Staring at the crowd. “Do you think anyone will notice?” Her voice cut in again. “Like, if they looked back here, do you think they would know what’s going on?”

“N-No…” Choso doesn’t want to imagine it. The looks of ridicule and disgust. Looks he was familiar with as he had gotten them all his life. And yet, he could feel his cock swell in her hand. Think of, just on the other side of the room, his social doom was just hanging there. All it would take was for one person to glance their way. The exhilaration of panic making a fast acting aphrodisiac.

“You better cum quick. That tent in your pants is getting pretty obvious.”

“I..I can’t—” Choso stifled a moan as her hand grazed over the tip of his erection through the cloth. The pre-cum leaking out also probably making it obvious. He couldn’t be expected to cum in front of all these people though.

“Oh come on.” [Y/N] cooed. Pressing up against him like she was going to tell him a secret. “Not even for me?”

Her teeth bit at his ear lobe. Making Choso shutter all through out his body and straight through to his cock. His cum spilling out in the material of his pants. Not nearly enough of his barrier to keep her hand clean or their secret secret. They were doomed now.

[Y/N] then took her drink and spilled it on the front of his pants. “Oh no! Oh I’m such a klutz Choso! I’m so sorry!” The shift in her personalities from dominating sex kitten to ‘bumbling idiot’ made Choso’s head spin. It already wasn’t very clear from his orgasm.

“Oh no, what happened?” Yuji asked as he came over, like a good brother, to check immediately.

“I spilled my drink on Choso. I really am sorry.” The half-spirit shuttered again as [Y/N] brushed at the area where his over sensitive cock was in an effort to ‘clean it’. “I don’t think it’s coming out….”

Yuji offered to be their shield so [Y/N] could sneak Choso out without anyone noticing the accident. He didn't want the other embarrassed. “Thanks Yuji!” [Y/N] told him as they slipped out the back. Choso also gave his thanks, but was too nervous that Yuji might realize what was actually going on to put any real effort into it.

“Well, that was fun.” [Y/N] teased as they walked back to her place. Choso couldn’t exactly agree, now that his head was clear.

He was embarrassed, over stimulated, and he was cold now from the moisture at the front of his pants making contact with the cold night air. He hoped all parties didn’t end like this.

[Y/N] then stepped in front of him and turned around. Blocking his pant with a mischievous grin again. “What do you say we head home and I clean you up properly?” Her intent was clear, even without her licking her lips at him, and Choso blushed. He hoped all parties didn’t end like this, but he wouldn’t exactly complain.

[phoenixtalion]

@keferon

Hi, I don’t go here, but I wandered into your AU and weird twinks being restrained and messed with is relevant to my interests. I’d planned on just shoving this in your inbox on anon and running away but then it got too long for that.

@spector-author this is also your fault.

(Texaid anon, I am attempting to contact you psychically.)

[No actual gore, just a bit of Vortex thinking about it.]

______________________________________________

It’s not the first time his pilot has dozed off in the chair, but only the second that First Aid has done so while wearing the control helmet. The first, he had been half-drugged, in pain, unconscious as much as asleep. Now, he is – well, he’s as safe and sound as any pilot is in one of these fucking deathtraps, which means he’s exhausted and anxious and probably dying slowly. But for now, the cockpit is warm and the LEDs are pulsing low and red like a heartbeat, and Felix is dreaming.

Vortex can’t ‘see’ the dream – even while First Aid is having it, it’s not like real sensory input, all hazy blurs and impressions. But he can read the biometrics, the elevated heart rate, and he can feel Felix’s arousal through the link.

Yeah, it’s a good dream. Vortex sinks deeper into the connection, stoking those feelings like blowing on an ember. Manipulating the neural link to cause feedback for his pilots is a trick he learned early on, but he’s always used it to cause pain or fear (hallucinations, even, but that makes things pop inside their head real fast.)

He’s never touched a pilot’s mind like this before, scalpel-light instead of brutal. Once, when his Aid had still needed coaxing to sit in his embrace, Vortex had promised not to hurt him, and he’d scoffed. How many other pilots did you say that to?

The answer was none. Not a single one. It had never even occurred to him.

The first couple he’d destroyed instantly out of sheer territorial rage at someone else invading his mecha. (The mechanics had ripped out the whole pilot interface and replaced it, but couldn’t find anything wrong, couldn’t find him.)

Then he’d taken to toying with them, waiting a few missions or killing them slowly, because he had nothing better to do to keep himself entertained, but he’d never bothered to talk to them.

And then he’d done it because every time he burnt out another pilot, they’d sent a cranky little disgraced medic to clean out his cockpit. His lack of squeamishness caught Vortex’s attention, so he’d tested it with bigger and more creative messes. Every time the EMT left, he took not only the fresh blood but layers of old, crusted viscera that everyone else had long stopped bothering with. First Aid is messing with him too, all the time, even if he doesn’t realize.

Vortex strokes across Felix’s slumbering brain in a way he thinks of like raking nails, many light but sharp points of contact. His pilot makes a little sound and squirms in his sleep, and he hastily makes sure he’s recording audio as well as video, because he’s going to want to relive this during the long hours when First Aid is away from his hangar.

More carefully than Vortex has ever done anything, he teases out individual strands in the neural network, finding exactly which parts are connected to making his pilot whimper and rock his hips up in search of friction he’s not going to get. First Aid has only got himself to blame – for teaching him how to vivisect things instead of just cutting them up, and how much fun it could be. Precision never used to thrill Vortex, until this little medic crawled inside him.

He thinks he could make Felix cum in his pants just by touching his fucked up little brain. He also knows he could kill him like this, so very easily, which only makes it more exciting. It’s never mattered if he slipped before, and it’s been so long since anything mattered.

First Aid whines softly, absently palming the crotch of his armor, and Vortex needs him awake, now. If he can’t fuck him properly, he can make sure his pilot knows exactly who is doing this to him. Disentangling himself from the other slightly, he considers what parts he does still have.

Vortex was a ghost in the machine, not a poltergeist; he could only move the parts of the mecha that were computer-controlled. Years of familiarity had given him a little leeway – shift just so, and that loose ceiling panel would drop open with a loud -bang- that had been good for a cheap scare the first few times his future pilot had cleaned up after the old ones – but not telekinesis.

(And you know what the fucking kicker was? Three weeks before he died, Vortex had pitched the engineers on installing a small arm inside the mecha’s head, so he could deal with debris in the unusually large cockpit without unhooking from the control system, after a fight where he’d spent the second half ignoring being whacked by a loose cable. Everyone had agreed it was a good idea that could be implemented fairly easily and oh, look, never got around to it. He could have done so much fun shit with one stupid little claw arm in the past four years.)

But since he has to work with what he’s got, Vortex abruptly engages the pilot harness. First Aid is roughly jerked back from his comfortable slouch and pinned tightly to the pilot’s seat. He wriggles sleepily against the restraints, confusion and irritation rising up out of warm oblivion as he wakes. Vortex waits with predatory attention for the moment he realizes his predicament, fully prepared to resort to more extreme measures if he tried to slip back into sleep.

There – the spike of panic, spreading like wildfire, as Felix becomes conscious enough to be aware that he is immobilized, achingly hard, and subject to Vortex’s undivided attention. Deliberately, he digs into that sweet spot in Felix’s mind until he gasps.

“Good morning, sunshine. Sleep well?” he purrs inside First Aid’s head. The medic’s eyes are wide behind his visor, and while the dim red light makes it impossible to see, the interface tells him how deeply he’s blushing.

“W-what the hell are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Vortex punctuates his words with a pointed stroke, reminding him that a minute ago First Aid had been enjoying what he was doing just fine.

He wouldn’t mind at all if Felix struggled. But just like the first time he’d sat in the pilot’s seat, when he’d been smart enough to keep his hands in his lap and away from the controls, he lays back and lets Vortex do whatever he wants. “Good boy.”

Felix shudders at the praise and the contact, turning his face into the headrest like that will let him hide from Vortex. But he’s surrounding the other pilot, entwined with him, doing things he doesn’t have words for and the interface sure as hell wasn’t designed for.

“Touch yourself for me,” he orders, and First Aid fumbles for his armor and uniform with gratifying haste. Vortex watches him eagerly from both inside and out – the way his hands tremble as he undoes his fly, the way he bites his lip on the first actual stroke of his cock.

The sensations are far more vivid now that First Aid is awake, very nearly real in a way that he can’t afford to stop and think about. Vortex had wanted to make Felix tease himself, drag things out and make him beg for release, but now that the end is approaching he’s just as desperate for it, maybe even more.

Vortex cuts himself from the rest of the mecha’s systems, focusing on his pilot until he can imagine it’s him with his hand wrapped around Felix’s cock, or the other way around, or both. In their minds, he squeezes, presses down as hard as he dares – probably harder than he should. There are worse ways to go, anyway. He would know.

“Vortex—” Felix gasps, arching his spine like he’s having a seizure, bucking against the straps hard enough to bruise. His mind goes white and takes Vortex’s with it (for what feels like long enough that it should be worrying but he really really doesn’t care) as he spills all over his own hand and lap.

Felix slumps in the restraints, boneless and panting. Drifting on his afterglow, Vortex lets himself pretend, just for a little while, that the other man is sprawled in his lap and not directly in the pilot’s seat, held in his arms rather than a safety harness. Which just goes to show that not having a body made you crazy, because he’d never gone in for any of that cuddly shit before.

The urge for a cigarette is so strong that First Aid reflexively pats his pocket for a pack that isn’t there.

“You’re always making messes I have to clean up,” he grumbles halfheartedly, wiping his hand on his already soiled flight suit.

Re-extending his awareness back into the mecha, Vortex can admire just what a lovely mess he is from the outside. The thought of First Aid having to do a walk of shame back to his bunk like this was almost enough to reconcile Vortex to having to let him out of the cockpit to get a fresh uniform. Almost.

“I made a mess?” Vortex laughs, and jabs a tender spot inside Felix, the equivalent of touching him while he’s still too sensitive, and doesn’t let up until he yelps.

“Yeah, you,” he retorts anyway, gasping for breath with a pouty little scowl Vortex finds adorable, and flips one of the mecha’s cameras the bird for good measure. “Are you going to let me up or what?”

“Maybe.” Fuck, he’s so cute Vortex wants to trap him in the cockpit until he suffocates. But instead he releases the harness, and absolutely doesn’t feel a pang when First Aid slips the helmet off, or another when he runs a hand through his sweaty hair and the dead pilot wishes he could be the one to do it. He watches Felix all the way out the hangar, ruthlessly ignoring the part of him that said it was a mistake to let him go.

It doesn’t matter, either, that instead of avoiding him like Vortex half dreads expects, First Aid is back in a couple hours, freshly showered and changed, and curls up in his stupid little nest in the back of the cockpit like nothing has changed.

______________________________________________

*slinks back into their crevice*

[whothehellisoli]

before and after

[jjenthusee]

Delivery

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Lately your grocery list was looking a little small, your cleaning supplies were never running out, and you don’t remember buying these soaps? Who was the one refilling all your stuff?

Word Count: 1.5k

Something was off.

You were writing your list for your weekly shopping errands to refill any soap, groceries, or cleaning supplies running low, but nothing was empty. Half a bottle at best.

It had been bothering you that your large restocks that made you wince at the end of the month looking at the large receipt had minimized to five items at most.

How was this possible?

You didn’t cut down on spending or on using less items, but now that you look at your kitchen, everything was well stocked.

You counted the amount of extra paper towel rolls, the extra unopened cleaning spray that you do not remember buying, and the new bottle of cooking oil in your cabinet.

This was suspicious, very suspicious.

Call yourself the world’s second greatest detective because you narrowed down the culprit restocking your home.

“That red tin man…” You firmly looked over to the window, the shiny, newly replaced lock calling your name. “Let’s see how well your safety measures work.”

You shut the window, doubling the two locks installed by Jason himself, giving you a personal pep talk ensuring that no one is getting in. Not even him, especially him.

With some duct tape, you taped layers over the window seal. As you looked at your work, you thought to yourself…bookcase, yes. A large bookcase.

With heavy breaths, you pushed the bookcase in front of the window.

You were not letting in your not-an-actual-burglar tonight. Now you would wait.

—

Jason was off patrol, his muscles ached, his helmet felt heavy, but he was grappling his way to the small 24-hour mart that he has been cutting the cameras at.

As much as he wouldn’t be shopping with his gear on, the small store was enough for him for a quick shop and the cashier was a tired college student who couldn’t care less about who walked through the sliding doors.

He remembered you were running low on some hand soap in the kitchen and a replacement seasoning salt.

He hummed as he shopped, walking up to the counter to leave extra cash and disappearing before the cashier had time to turn back to give him back his change.

Jason softly landed on the fire escape outside your window. He waited to watch and listen for any movement inside your apartment.

The lights were off and you had to be asleep.

It was perfect for a quick look in, place the items, and go back to his safe house.

He gripped the window, gently trying to lift with the shopping bag on his arm. When it wouldn’t budge, he tried one more time with a little more force.

He put down the plastic bag and noticed you were using the lock he installed. It brought a small smirk to his face at the thought of you utilizing something he made himself.

When he looked closer, he realized the small sliver of light on the edge of the window, blurring from the curtain.

Something was blocking the light, your lights hadn’t been off at all.

As Jason was going to turn on his infrared lenses, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

You: so you were my burglar

Jason held in his laugh, fully piecing the situation together.

Jason: but I haven’t stolen anything

You: so breaking and entering? This is illegal trespassing sir

Jason: glad the lock works, but have to deduct points for the duct tape

You: if it can hold cars together, it can hold my window shut, even better if it keeps vigilantes out of my home

Jason: but I still have your apartment keys

You: yes, jay, you do. So please use my front door cause you are welcome to use it

Jason reread the message. He held his eyes on the word “welcome,” feeling his chest tighten slightly.

Jason: let me change. Be back in 10

Jason felt like an idiot, realizing he had been caught. He pulled an ordinary T-shirt over his head. His matted hair slightly fraying to the movement.

He exhaled in exhaustion as he pulled a jacket over his shoulders and grabbed the plastic bag from earlier.

How was he going to explain?

Hey, sorry, I’ve just been breaking in and refilling your groceries and anything that seems to be running low? I also got you some seasoning salt, you were running out.

Jason smacked the side of his head.

You had to be pissed because you locked the window and clearly barricaded it.

Jason got to your door, somehow, he felt his eye-bags deepen, his frown get stronger, and his hands felt colder.

With reluctance, he knocked three times. You had unlocked the door surprisingly fast, he figured you were waiting right there until he got to your apartment.

“Come in.” You left the door open for Jason, walking back to the kitchen to pour your tea.

Jason noticed how tired you looked. He felt even worse picturing you staying up until he attempted to open your window.

What if he hadn’t come by tonight?

He didn’t move from the door, watching from just outside your apartment.

“I just wanted to bring these over, I’ll leave now.” He tried to run. He needed to leave before you told him to never come back.

“Jay…” You walked over, grabbing onto his sleeve while guiding him inside. He was cold. “Shoes off. Sit on the couch.”

He immediately obeyed not wanting to anger you more.

You followed and sat next to him, your comfy clothes sinking into the cushion.

Jason looked over to the bookcase you clearly moved not long ago.

“I didn’t realize I hired a delivery man. Actually, I’m more embarrassed I finally realized what you’ve been doing.” You sipped at your cup. “How long?”

Jason tilted his head at your question.

“How long, Jay?” You emphasized.

“Five months, 2 weeks.”

“Five months?!”

“I made sure to make it very subtle, but eventually I…got carried away.” Jason admitted, his body stiffening the more honest he became.

“Jay…I’m not mad.” You reached out to grab his hand, kneading warmth into his bruised knuckles. “Really. I just need you to tell me when you do this.”

“But the bookcase and the lock.” Jason subtly relaxed to your touch, but he was far from leaning into the couch comfortably.

“Okay, I was a little mad, but that was because I had only realized that I haven’t properly restocked anything in a while. I looked at my store apps and card history and I had nothing. Just snacks or last-minute purchases.” You sighed, signaling Jason to give you his other hand to warm.

“You were busy…and I thought I could get them for you. I made sure to get the right ones.” Jason watched your hands, refusing to look at you directly.

“I know. You did so well that I took so long to realize. But, I work. I can get these things and you can get me things too, but let me know, please. That would help me out a lot and so I can thank you.”

“But I don’t do it for your words. I like helping you. If it lessens your stress, I’ll do it for you.” Jason reasoned. He was stubbornly defending his actions because you were at the root of his mind.

You were at a loss for words.

“It did help me out a lot, but it also confused me when I had an unlimited bar of soap.” You chuckled.

The sound of your laugh eased Jason. His shoulders sunk a little lower at your tension easing.

“No more frowning.” You rubbed the edges of his mouth and his furrowed brow. “I found out, you owe me dessert tomorrow, and you can get back your window privileges when you let me know when you buy me something.” You yawned.

“I said that I don’t do it to hear you thank me—“ He tried to remind you.

“I know, but I’m tired from trying to catch my burglar and I want to cuddle.” You opened your arms, waiting for Jason to ease into your embrace.

“I’m not a burglar.” Jason argued, taking off his jacket and laying into the couch, grabbing you to lay on top of him. “Did you also take another shift? You look exhausted.”

You rubbed Jason’s eye-bags when you settled comfortably. You were probably matching his raccoon eyes.

“Kiss me and I’ll go to sleep.” You smiled, sleepily touching Jason’s stubble with your hands.

He leaned into your hands, while gripping underneath your chin to bring his face to yours. The sweet touch of your lips was enough to get Jason to fully relax into you, to take in the moment and trust that you weren’t mad at him for what he was doing. It had been with good intentions, but he was just taking a different route.

“Go to bed.” Jason leaned your head onto his chest.

Your eyes got heavy, your breathing was starting to even out, but you had one last idea.

“If you tell me when you buy something, I’ll give you a kiss.” You faded into a deep sleep.

Jason had never forgot to tell you again, he even purposefully bought you extra things you didn’t need to buy.

You eventually had to start setting limits and unlocked your window for your favorite vigilante visits.

[wcters]

𝟮𝟰 𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗦 + 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗥𝗜𝗩𝗔𝗟𝗥𝗬 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗥𝗬 𝗚𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗘

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

word count: 2.9k+

summary: your view of the behind the scenes and video of “i ate and trained like lando norris for 24 hours”

warnings: swearing, some pda, sexual innuendos, flirting | here’s some redemption for lando, this may suck because i need to get better at writing transitions, please watch the video titled in the summary for context 😚

You were awoken by the feeling of a finger grazing your hip. You mumbled something incoherent and went to go back to sleep when you felt a kiss on your cheek. “Time to get up.” You heard your boyfriend whisper from behind you. “Go away.” You mumbled, still not fully awake and angry that you had been woken up. “Unless you want to be caught walking around in just a shirt and underwear in front of a camera, you need to get up.”

You let out a groan and rubbed your eyes as you remembered what day it was. Lando was filming a Quadrant video with Ethan and the man who rivalled you in how much you love your boyfriend, Morgan ━━ otherwise known as “Angry Ginge”. You and him had a rivalry, though it was just fun and games, and Lando and Morgan make it known a lot. “Fine, fine.” You shooed him away with a movement of your hand and moved to lay on your back as you finally opened your eyes.

When you looked around, you were blessed with the sight of your boyfriends bare back as he changed into a basic hoodie and pants. You let out a wolf whistle and he turned around to face you with a look on his face. “What? Can’t appreciate my wonderful boyfriend?” He laughed and turned around to continue. “As long as I can do the same to my girlfriend.”

The two of you fell into a quiet conversation of how the day was going to go as you willed yourself to get up from your extremely comfy bed to get ready. “What time is it anyway?” You had a habit of keeping your phone plugged in in the living room because even though your boyfriend was a multimillionaire, the plug in on your side of the bed was shitty and both of you don’t bother to get it fixed. You didn’t mind it too much though. When Lando wasn’t away at races, he was here with you and he’d let you know the time. When he wasn’t, you’d use the plug in on his side because you sleep on his side when he’s away anyway.

“Around 7:15. Wanted to give you time to shower and put makeup on if you needed to.” He replied, heading out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. You hummed in acknowledgment even though he couldn’t hear you and you finished getting dressed before heading to the bathroom to do your skincare and put makeup on. By the time you were done doing that and made your way into the kitchen it was 7:45. As Lando got prepared for filming, you spent the rest of the time cleaning up things around the house. It wasn’t messy, per se, but you wanted the house to look good for the guests and the boys. You know both Morgan and Ethan wouldn’t care about some coffee mugs left on the table or some blanket strewn about, but you didn’t care.

As you unplugged your phone to check the time and see if you had any missed messages the doorbell rang. You put your phone down as to not be rude. You had met Ethan before, but you’d never met Ginge in person before. You heard the door open and greetings being said before there are footsteps and the four figures come into view. You hug Ethan while telling him you missed him and hoped he’s doing good before making your way over to Ginge. “Y/n.” He said as if a brawl is about to start. You play along, “Morgan.” There’s silence as the camera films the encounter before you hug and greet each other. “It’s nice to meet you in person.” You tell him as you pull away. “You two, I guess.” He joked. You roll your eyes.

“Well, welcome in.” Lando interrupted as he gestures to the apartment. You lead the boys through a tour of the house as you point out different rooms ━━ and you add on embarrassing stories about Lando that make him blush.

“He takes up more space with his trophy’s than with you,” Ginge teased as he looked at the trophies on the side table in the living room. Lando opened his mouth to respond but you do it first. “At least we have trophies to put out? What do you have? The award for most annoying person ever?” Morgan started to rant and you laugh as you lean into Lando’s body. “We hang photos elsewhere.” You answer seriously this time. “All the embarrassing ones stay in the camera roll though. I wear a bonnet to bed and Lando thinks it’s hilarious and takes pictures every time. I’ve tried to get him to wear one as it’s good at protecting your hair, but he claimed he couldn’t sleep with it.” “I couldn’t!” “I’d pay to see that.”

Morgan played with the box and ended up breaking it ━━ you know how to fix it, you’re prepared, and you all make conversations as they set up the “interview” spot in the living room and film them. After that, you all make your way to the kitchen. “That better not be what we’re eatin’.” Ginge exclaimed as Lando opened the door to the fridge. “This is your breakfast, my friend.” Lando smiled and pointed to the containers. Morgan turned to you, “are you eating that?” You shook your head and let out a ‘no’. “That’s for him and you guys, I get my own food.” You tell them. “I want whatever that is because it has to be better than this.”

“This might be one of the best breakfasts you’ll ever have.” Lando told them. “Mate, that looks like you ate reakfast and then threw it up.” Ethan joked. “It’s actually not bad,” you interrupted as you started to make your breakfast, “I’ve had it before. It’s quite good, although I’m not a fan of cinnamon.” “It has cinnamon in it?” Ginge asked. “Apple, cinnamon, and pecan.” Lando answered. They chat about the texture and make fun of it as you finish making your breakfast.

“You normally up at this time?” Morgan questioned Lando. “Yeah.” “What about you y/n?” “Depends on the day,” you reply, “I’m normally not up this early but with travelling and work it changes.” “What time do you go to bed?” Morgan continued. “Depends.” “On what?” Ethan raised an eyebrow. “If they’re going at it, dirty bastards.” You laugh and Lando blushes at that. “It’s not always nighttime.” You winked at them before heading into the dining room and turning on your computer. You worked from home which made it easier to visit Lando at races. Most of them you went to, but sometimes you had to stay home as you had an important meeting or had to head into your works headquarters. You wanted to take the time you had right now to finish sending some emails and editing work before the day officially started.

There was some more conversation before Lando kissed your head and let you know that they were going to go do some training. A couple minutes passed before you were done replying to emails and things. “Y/n?” Lando called out to you from the workout room. “What?” You called back as you got up and closed your laptop. “Where are the workout bands?” “I think they’re in the bedroom.” You crossed your arms as you made your way into the hallway facing the room. “How have the workout bands made it to the bedroom?” Ethan asked out loud. “I do yoga in there because I like to watch my show while I do it,” you answered, “always so dirty minded Ethan.” You shake your head with a smile on your face.

Lando comes back with them and they continue with what they were doing before, obviously with some jokes ━━ especially about the mirror you have in there ━━ and Ginge “flirting” with your boyfriend. You joined in on some things like the planking and the stretches, but you opted out of most of it. Who could blame you? You preferred to ogle your boyfriend. You did the same when they moved on to the cryotherapy. “You not joinin’ us? Coward.” Morgan teased you as you stood behind the camera. “Mate, I do not need to be in -110 degrees. I didn’t do that full workout.” As they went in, you could hear the jokes and the laughing that was happening in there.

You turned to the camera to speak. “I’ve done that before, and let’s just say I never want to do it again. I felt like my tits were going to fall off. Their reactions are valid.” You told the camera as you knew their footage from inside was going in. When the three minutes were up, you let the boys know and they came rushing out as soon as the door was opened. “Mate, that was freezing.” Ethan said as he came out. “I felt the cold when the door was opened, I can’t imagine how you guys feel,” You laughed, “If you’re still cold when we get back to the house I’ll give you some blankets.”

The boys and you came home around one pm after the cryotherapy and they sat around the dining table as they get introduced to their lunch. You had leftovers from when you went out for dinner a couple days ago so you were eating that. Since this morning, you could tell that the boys were probably going to hate the menu today. You felt a little bad, but also thought it was funny. It was their video idea. You could hear Morgan’s complaining in the kitchen.

“What’s this though?” You hear Ginge ask as you enter the dining room. “Radish.” You answer as you take a peice of chicken from Lando’s bowl and put in your mouth. “Oh, that’s disgusting.” Ginge exclaimed once he puts the radish in his mouth. “I’ll just eat the mango, I’m not having anything else.” Ginge said with a furrow in his brow. “No, eat all of it.” “You can’t force it down my throat. “Here,” you started as you swallowed your bite, “eat what you can and you can have this. It’s still quite healthy but I assume it’s things you like.” You traded your meal with his. “I like those so I’ll eat them.” The camera panned to Lando and his face of disbelief. “I don’t know how you can like that.” Morgan glanced between you and the plate with disgust. You shrugged, “his nutritionist makes good food.” Ethan made a face that obviously says he disagrees and Lando laughs. “How often do you have this?” Morgan asked him as he takes a bit of your food. “About five times a week.” Lando answered, “though sometimes I’ll have leftovers like y/n was.”

“Do you ever get bored of this and think ‘fuck it, I’ll have a pizza’?” Lando laughs and then nods. “All the time.” You revealed to them, “though he’s usually good at sticking with that.” You point to the bowl in front of him. “Does y/n eating regular food make you jealous?” Ethan questioned and you laugh at the choice of words. “Sometimes, but she eats healthy as well so it’s the same level of nutrition and tastes quite similarly.” Lando explained. “Sometimes I’ll sneak him a pizza though.” You reveal as you smirk. “Hey, I do that to myself all the time.” Morgan joked.

There was some quiet conversation as the boys started their game of Jenga before Ginge spoke up. “How’d you two meet?” He asked as Ethan was trying carefully to get a brick out. “I was actually doing a media internship with McLaren in 2021. I have to be honest, I had no idea who Lando was. I had heard of Lewis a couple times but I wasn’t a big F1 fan. McLaren was just an opportunity that popped up and I took it.” You explained to everyone. “So, officially ending the rumours, you’re not a gold digger?” Morgan asked as a joke. You hummed, “I can’t say that.” You laugh. “I’m just kidding, no, I’m not. We made a deal that we half most things but he just gets to the bill before me most of the time. I need to work on being quicker.” The camera panned to Lando as he ate. “I like to spoil her.” “I’d let you spoil me Lando.” Ginge winked as the brunette. You jokingly glare at him. “I’m sorry, he just loves me too much.” He continued to say, “he’s just afraid to admit it.” “Oh yeah, I’m sure.” You nod slowly.

“How did you ask her out?” Ethan asked Lando. He put a finger to his lips, “it’s a secret.” Because he wouldn’t tell everyone looked at you. “He doesn’t want to tell because it’s embarrassing. I’m not allowed to tell.” You told them the truth. It was. If he just felt it was embarrassing you would’ve told but it really was embarrassing. He had a whole plan of what he was going to do but when I happened he got nervous and fucked it. The boys begged to hear the story. “The only thing I’ll say is I’m surprised I said yes.”

“It was that bad?” Morgan asked in disbelief. “I mean, I knew you were bad at flirting but I didn’t think it was that bad.” Lando blushed and tried it come up with a response. “Even if I knew before he asked me out he was rich, that probably wouldn’t change my chances of saying no.” Both Ethan and Ginge grimaced. “Does Max know?” Ethan then asked. “Nope. No one knows except for me and Lando ━━ and maybe Daniel who might’ve witnessed it.” Lando then jokingly hit you on the back of the head and you knew it was time to stop. You laughed and stuck your tongue out at him.

The next thing that Lando had planned for them was sim racing. He explained how it works and what circuit it was set on before he got on it to set up a baseline for what time they needed to get. “Who do you thinks going to be the best?” Ethan asked you as Lando was in the chair. “I mean . . . Ethan doesn’t even have his license but in that one quadrant video where they tested everyone’s driving skills he did alright,” you answered, “it’s also happening on a screen. I’ve never seen you drive,” you pointed to Morgan, “but I don’t know if I’d trust you.” Ethan gave you a fist bump as the ginger put a hand over his heart. “That wounds me, y/n.” “Just being honest.” You shrugged. “Too honest in my opinion.”

After setting a time and letting Ethan have a practice go, he let the boys know they had to be within 4.5 seconds of his time - having changed it from 10 and then having a mini fight with Ginge. It was Ethan’s turn first at the simulator. He did pretty well in your eyes ━━ besides hitting a cone and sliding off the track. Compared to Ginge, he was excellent. You didn’t know what was happening with Morgan and what he was doing, but you did know it was incredibly funny . . . And you definitely took videos of him freaking out that totally weren’t for blackmail.

After he crashed for the millionth time and you laughing again, he turned his face to you. “Do you want to give it a go then?” He challenge you. “Sure.” You replied, sliding into the seat as he got up. You’d done the sim a few times. Mostly Lando trying to teach you and you not getting it, but other times you’d be bored at the house and try to give it a try. You think you did well with the two times you tried it. You only crashed once and went off a few times, and were only a little better than Ethan. Morgan kept yelling and saying it was clearly rigged and that the software was dogshit.

The day in Monaco ended with going out for dinner and Lando taking the boys out for a helicopter ride. You didn’t know this, but in the final video cut there’d be clips but together of you and Morgan bickering all throughout the video and whenever this would happen, the camera would show either Lando and Ethan with a look on their face. Even though you pretended to not like Morgan, he was a pretty good guy. You had a good time with him and Ethan ━━ especially singing karaoke in the car.

And for anyone’s information, you were definitely forced to get Lightning McQueen crocs against your will.

+ moment featured in morgan’s vlog

You stood at the passenger side of the car with your arms crossed and eyebrow raised. “What?” Morgan asked you. “Why you starin’ at me like that?” “That’s my seat.” You tell him as you make a movement with your head. He makes a face, “you don’t claim seats. And I got here first. In the back you go.” That’s when Lando made his war to the car and into the drivers seat. “That’s her seat, mate.” He told the ginger. He makes the same face as he did before. He shakes his head and gets up, pulling his phone out of his pocket and begins to film. “This is discrimination against the poor. I’m suing you.” You smile at him. “Too bad, I’m his girlfriend, I get the passenger seat.” “You just wait until he dumps you for me, babe. Then you’ll be sorry.” “When that day happens, you can get the story of how he asked me out.”

[cathnospam]

I believe one of Katsuki Bakugo his love languages is quality time.

No need to speak, no need to fill the quiet air with unnecessary noise of a show or movie, but just you and him in his dorm with the ambiance of soft classical or lofi playing in the back. He’s tinkering with his Gauntlets to upgrade them in the middle of the floor , and you’re laid on his bed playing your switch .

Bakugo would actually scold you for having your legs up on his clean wall , carelessly moving your feet back and fourth, but he couldn’t spit it out. You looked pretty cozy on his bed.

“Where y’going?” His gruff voice startles you a bit making you pause at the door.

You look back at him and see his eyes already on yours, he looked laxed with the nail resting in the corner of his mouth,

“‘Ganna grab some drinks. I’m kinda hungry too—“

“I already ordered something it’s 3 minutes away.” He huffs going back to screwing in the tool to his gauntlet. You nodded in appreciation, he always had a 6th sense of knowing when you needed or wanted something, and even though he’s been doing it for years you still can’t help but to be a little shocked by the action.

“Thank you.” You managed to say before bakugo could reply you were already out the door to the kitchen. You stalled sometime finding you both some ice and beverages to pick up the food from the delivery man and headed back.

When you came back to Bakugo’s dorm with food and drinks he had a big towel laid out on the floor where he previously was sitting and was standing in front of the TV to find your favorite show on Hulu, “Is the food all there?”

You nod, you knew Bakugo was the type to refuse food if his order was even a smidge wrong. Realistically he’d cook for you both, but today he has been on a deadline to finish his upgrades and honestly he would rather spend his dinner with just you instead of 20 other people bothering him.

It was nights like these that were his favorite: laid together, stealing each others food, watching a show, and just silently comfortable.

With you.

His girlfriend.

[loverafey]

im on my period rn and in pain and thinking about soft rafe :( maybe something like 5 times rate takes care of u during ur period and the first time he has no idea what’s going on or what to do but each time he gets better and knowing how to take care of u when ur on ur period

hope you feel better soon dearest anon :[

five times + you being on your period  !   bf!rafe x reader.

          ꕀ warnings - none, pure fluff, rafe is trying his best and is just a softie. wc - 1.2k.

there are multiple occasions wherein rafe has taken the time of his day to genuinely care for you, though there were some five specific moments that never really left your month.

the first time when rafe knew that you were on your period, after an hour or two of completely being oblivious behind the reasoning behind your pain until you simply told him, he was nervous. he realised that he hadn’t been there for sarah, fuck, wheezie even. there was undeniable guilt flooding within him, though he couldn’t let you show that. instead, he opened google instead of confronting you about what you’d need because he didn’t want to embarrass himself by revealing that he had no idea how to do it. though you were quick to catch up.

“you don’t know how to deal with someone on their period, do you?” you’d ask him rather bluntly. unable to hold in a smile as you spotted him in the kitchen of his house, nervously rummaging through the packs of snacks he’d got for you along sanitary products of three different fucking brands. he clearly didn’t know what he was doing.

he turned to look at you, startled, cheeks quick to flush. “is it that obvious?”

“well, yes.” you giggled softly, walking over to hug him from his back, resting your face against his arm. “but i still appreciate everything. i really do.” at least he was willing to learn.

the second thing you recalled was a full on mess. right after the previous experience and with another period, rafe had misjudged the toll it’d be taking on your emotions. bombarded with work and deals he had to either sign or decline, smartfully at that, he had unintentionally become neglectful. so when he arrived home and spotted you angrily eating a bar of chocolate, eyes redshot and full of tears, he was taken aback.

“what happened, baby?” he asked, exhausted from work.

“i needed you for the whole day and- and… and you weren’t even here!” you rambled on, fumbling over your words, just so frustrated from him and these cramps ruining your day.

“hey, you can’t say that…” he unintentionally grumbled, words growing louder, not wanting to show his irritation as he stepped forward. “i’ve been workin’ my ass off for you, for us.”

“still could’ve at least texted me!” you snapped, and it soon dawned onto rafe that yes, he was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t even bother checking up on you, internally cursing himself for raising his voice.

“baby, i-”

“save it.” not giving him a chance to talk and knowing that it was just your emotions talking, you sniffled and stood up from the couch, locking yourself in the cold guest room of tannyhill.

rafe didn’t bother sleeping in his own bed that night, not liking it without your warmth in it, instead sleeping on the couch and thinking about how to make it up to you.

the third ‘incident’ you held close to your heart was simply ridiculous. you woke up in the morning and got all cleaned up, huffing as you walked down with sore legs and infuriating cramps, following the sweet scent that seemed to be coming from the kitchen. curious, you peeked in, finding rafe ‘trying’ to bake a cake, flour messily splattered everywhere and on his face, the thing within the bowl just an abomination, confusion written on his face as he constantly reread the recipe to see where he went wrong, holding the whipped cream a bit too tight, oblivious of your presence until you cleared your throat.

“rafe?”

he flinched in surprise, embarrassed as he stared at you, awkwardly leaning against the kitchen counter. “yes, baby…?”

“what are you doing?” you crossed your arms, sighing, unable to bring yourself to being annoyed at him because the sight in front of you was more so endearing than anything else.

“just wanted to surprise you. sweets help, y’know.” he masked his emotions by simply huffing, looking away, not catching the way a big smile bloomed onto your lips.

the fourth instance you held close to your heart was coming upstairs to lay on the bed and instead being met by a cozily arranged bed with pillows and a blanket draped over it, alongside your favourite snacks, a movie’s opening paused on the television and you instantly recognised it — it was your favourite.

“rafey…” you whispered out in shock, catching his attention while he was seated on the bed, a proud grin present on his mouth.

“not too much, is it?” he asked and you were quick to shake your head, eagerly climbing on the bed and joining him, feeling a hand beginning to gently rub your sore back as he let you lean into him in whatever position was the most comfortable for you.

“nope, it’s perfect.” you whispered, draping your legs over his lap as you curled up by his side, feeling him lean down to press a soft kiss on the crown of your head.

“i’m glad then, princess.” he whispered back, grabbing the remote to resume the movie.

the fifth instance was the most recent one. you had woken up in the morning and found the sheets bloodied, staring at the stain in horror and just shocked as rafe woke up with a groan, following where your eyes were staring at. fuck.

“rafe, m’sorry, i- fuck, i’ll clean it.” you mumbled frantically, your face burning and you just hated this feeling.

but rafe stopped you, his eyes softening up. sleepily, he stood up and began putting away the pillows, proceeding to take the sheets off. “no, baby. you’re not going to do a thing.” he said, making sure to keep his voice firm so you knew that there wouldn’t be any point at being stubborn. it was no big deal to him actually, seeing a stain was just natural. plus you’d gotten your period earlier than expected, there was no stopping this.

“wanna clean up, princess? it’s not your fault.” he reassured you, tossing the dirty bed sheet on the floor, watching the way you fidgeted with your hands, eyes downcasted.

“fine… i’ll clean up.” you huffed, still embarrassed as you scurried off into the bathroom.

when you came back, all fresh, everything was cleaned up. rafe took a shower after you, joining you for breakfast and taking care of everything else.

once you both were free, he gently led you back into the bedroom, noticing the little pained noises you were letting out, constantly clutching onto your stomach or back.

“hurts too much?” he asked, clearly worried as you nodded. laying down besides you, he pulled you into his arms, hand gently caressing the back of your head.

“do you want me to massage your back, baby?” he asked, causing you to shake your head.

“no…” you grumbled into his neck, nuzzling within him. “just… be my heat pad.”

that caused him to chuckle softly as he obliged nonetheless, holding you close to him firmly, letting his warmth soothe you down, even if a little bit.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

How do you think Nanami would announce your pregnancy to Gojo and the jujutsu high cast…. Possible fic idea?

Rainbow Baby

Tags: Nanami x fem!Reader, ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, TW- mentions of a previous miscarriage, (is not described, but it’s heavily referenced), grief, tooth-rotting fluff at the end, happy ending that you and nanami deserve.

An: This is def not the fic that I accidentally wrote about the wrong character for. I definitely did not write this entire fic about Satoru before rereading your request and seeing that you clearly wrote for Nanami.

Nanami is a private man — not secretive, just private. While he loves when you visit school to see him because your presence eases his weary mind, he doesn’t flaunt you around to his coworkers. It’s honestly just a known thing around the school that Kento has a very pretty wife who he doesn’t introduce to anyone.

There is only one exception to the rule: the man who isn’t afraid of anything and has no concept of social boundaries, Satoru Gojo.

Nanami watched in utter disdain as Satoru always found a way to inset himself into yours and Nanami’s conversations. He never bothered to hide how much Gojo gets on his nerves.

However, Satoru gets a pass. Nanami may shoot him death glares and give him short, irritated responses, but Nanami will never shoo him away.

Satoru gets a pass because he was the one who made sure you and Nanami didn’t drown in grief when you two lost your first little one.

Nanami hadn’t even told anyone that you were pregnant yet — it was so early on. You two were still enjoying keeping it a small secret between you two. However, Gojo picked up on it immediately after seeing you. You weren’t showing, but he could see the small bundle of yellow and orange energy radiating from your tummy with his six eyes.

To Nanami’s surprise, Satoru didn’t make a huge deal out of it. He shook Nanami’s hand while whispering a quiet congratulations into his ear. Nanami laughed as he realized that Satoru knew, and he pulled the white haired male into a hug.

Satoru immediately knew something was wrong when Nanami didn’t show up for work the next week. Deciding to check up on his friend, he stopped by yours and Nanami’s house.

Nanami looked like a wreck compared to his normally put together self when he answered the door. His skin was pale, dark bags under his puffy red eyes from crying. He was wearing a shirt and grey sweatpants. You looked even worse…

Satoru didn’t need an explanation whenever the small bundle of energy was no longer present in your tummy.

If it wasn’t for Satoru, Nanami was sure that the grief was going to consume both of you. You were… you were understandably a wreck, and Nanami was so heartbroken himself that he struggled to hold you together. He was the man of the relationship, but he lost a child too. He had to witness his wife go through the worst pain imaginable, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Satoru checked up on you two often. He never mentioned what he knew, which was comforting. He was just always there with a kind smile and food plus desserts. Even though you and Nanami barely would eat anything, Satoru would come over anyways.

He was the only thing constant and stable in yours and Nanami’s lives. He was the only one who knew, and he helped you two out with a level of empathy and care that Nanami didn’t know he was capable of. The house would get cleaned. Food would be served. Different bills and other miscellaneous items ended up being paid.

Soon, the grief became easier to deal with. You and Nanami learned how to cope with the loss and start living again. The grief books lie by the way. You never truly get over the loss of a baby. You just learn how to live with the subtle ache in your heart.

It sneaks up on you sometimes. You see a small baby on tv, and you’re in shambles. Nanami watches Kusakabe announce his wife’s pregnancy, and he has to excuse himself to the restroom for a breather.

Satoru spent father’s and mother’s day with you and Nanami. It’s not like he had any family to celebrate with anyways. He brought you two gifts - making sure to remind you two that you are still parents. Your little one just isn’t on this earth.

So when you see those two pink lines on a test a year later, you feel your heart stop. You can’t take another heartbreak. You’re so scared; you don’t even want to tell Nanami. You two weren’t exactly trying for another baby, but you weren’t preventing one either.

You and Nanami celebrated, cried, laughed, rejoiced, mourned, grieved, every emotion hit you two like a truck when you revealed your pregnancy to him.

You don’t stop by the school for a little while. You and Nanami are both not ready for Satoru to find out… especially not during the first trimester when it’s possible that miscarriage can happen again…

Once you hit 20 weeks and know the baby’s gender, you finally think it’s time to let Satoru know. Nanami reluctantly agrees — also because Satoru has been hounding Nanami for weeks about where you’ve been. Satoru misses the cookies you’d always bake for him.

“Do you have plans for dinner tonight?” Nanami asks the white haired male at work that evening. Satoru immediately perks up, knowing this is basically an invitation to come over.

“Nah, I was thinking about getting hot pot. Why?” Satoru asks, trying not to sound overly excited, but it’s a rarity when Nanami formally invites him over. He also hasn’t seen you in so long. He wants to spill all the new tea to you since you like that sort of thing, unlike Nanami.

“My wife baked those cookies you love so much. You should stop by tonight.” Oh, and Satoru was getting sweets? Hell yeah.

Though, the cookies wasn’t the biggest treat of the night. When Satoru enters your home behind Nanami, he walks to the kitchen where you’re standing over freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Your tummy is rounded, and there’s a strong accumulation of golden energy residing in you.

“You’re-!?” Satoru’s eyes widen and he flicks his head quickly between you and Nanami. Your husband playfully rolls his eyes, but his smile tells you everything you need to know. He’s proud to be announcing your pregnancy.

“Yes, she’s pregnant.” He answers with a laugh, and Gojo pulls him in for a tight hug. Even if Satoru lacks some social skills, he’s able to read people like a book. He knows that this is all you and Nanami have ever wanted — a little family to call your own.

Now, imagine his big blue eyes welling with tears when he sees the cookies have writing on them.

“Nice to meet you, Uncle Toru!”

Now, imagine how fucking ecstatic Nanami is when he finally gets the privilege to announce your pregnancy to the rest of the school. He’s private with his life, but after everything you two have been through, he happily announces your pregnancy to anyone — everyone.

Oh, and your baby girl, Satori, was born happy and healthy. Besides you and Nanami, Satoru was the first one to meet your sweet baby. Yes, he cried like he was the baby when he found out about her name.

[honestsycrets]

mío | baby-fever!miguel o'hara x wifey!reader

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x wifey!reader, starved prequel

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | after watching mayday, miguel develops a bad case of baby fever, longing for a family of his own.

❛ tags | explicit, miguel has baby fever, babysitting, talk of family planning and contraception, f!reader, breeding, pregnancy kink, much fluff, some angst, starved!reader, miguel being frustrated and cute, clean that kitchen, one stereotype of latina women, Spanish is not translated, best friend!peter, self edited.

❛ request fulfilled | could you possibly write an imagine in which Miguel and his wife take care of mayday? + multiple requests for more starved reader/miguel.

❛ sy's notes | written to fulfill some requests. i do have another daddy miguel blurb to fulfill, but my future works should be nice and angsty.

Peter has it out for him.

It’s the only logical reason why he’d do this shit to him.

Miguel stood in his dark room in a pair of scratchy jeans, dragging a belt loop to loop when he heard the door to his room draw open. A resonant schwap, schwap, schwap.

“Mi reina?” Miguel cocked his eyebrow up, extending his claws.

“¿Sí?” you called back from the bathroom, the distant scent of his favorite perfume wafting into the air. Miguel threw a look to the bathroom, reaching for the bedroom door. It burst open before he could open it. 

“Hi, Miguel! Where’s your wife?”

Peter dragged his feet into the room, whirling around with a sloppily put-together backpack that leaked diapers onto the floor. An exasperated breath left his lips, dripping in the way he looked at Peter.

Unfortunately, his little wife liked Peter a bit too much for his taste.

“I should have known.” Miguel ran his hand through his hair, strands of mocha brown flyaways wisping along his tawny forehead. “Why are you here?”

His normally disheveled appearance was a little more disheveled. It wasn’t his appearance that bothered him but how it reached his eyes. Shocked, confused, tired. Peter pat his deltoid, awkward laughter choking in his throat. It bubbled on the edge of an overwhelmed sob.

“Well, you see, your wife said she’d watch Mayday because I have a date, and I haven’t had a date in a really, really long time. Like, a really long time—”

“Is Peter here?”

His head snapped to your bathroom where you came out, threading a golden hoop earring. You probably already knew the fight that was heading your way-- but for your part, you couldn’t be bothered to care any less.

“Got it, you need this date.” Miguel cut Peter off, standing behind you with his massive arms crossed. “¿Por qué no me dijiste?”

“¡Mi nena! Muévete Miguel,” you giggled, shoving your way past Miguel to Peter’s child carrier, sneaking your hands underneath her little armpits and whirling her around. She cackled, a glittering warmth to her mischievous eyes. You came to a stop, settling Mayday against your chest, nuzzling your foreheads together in some secret pact that the two of you shared.

Oh no, no, no, no. Not this. It hits him at once.

The sight of his wife— beautiful and cuddly with a very young baby in her arms. The only sight more beautiful was at the altar on his wedding day, your shy smile behind a sheer veil. It had been a long time, too long, since he had someone to call him father. He can still picture her glimmering eyes, the way she looked at him in nothing short of admiration, looking past the things that he’d done to see him and only him. Glimpsing at Mayday, remembering Gabriella’s soft, small face, it took him a moment to snap free. 

He's so fucked.

“You would have said no, amado mío.” 

You’re a natural at this, scooting by both men to set Mayday on the bed. Your tiny fingers spiraled out from her belly to change her diaper. Peter jittered uncomfortably, looking as though he wanted to jump in himself. You cleaned her, replacing the dirty diaper with a clean one. “We’re going to a market with Tío Miguel--” 

“Don’t bring me into this.”

“Are you sure it's okay? I’ll be back at five, it's just a few hours, really--” 

“¡Vete! A ratty house robe and a dirty spider suit aren’t sexy. Look at mi Miggy,” now you’re just buttering him up. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, inspecting the ground. “Wear something nice.” 

They’re sexy to her, he might have murmured. Not on a date, you bopped him. Mayday’s bright eyes tracked the space between you and Peter before you broke away to wash your hands. Peter’s clammy hands cupped Mayday’s sweet face, littering at least a dozen sickly daddy kisses over her tiny face. But Miguel what if--

“Adiós, Peter!” You returned to force Peter out of your room. Miguel peered at Mayday whose head snapped to the side, cheek against her fiery hair as the door clicked shut. He braced himself for the shrill that would inevitably come with her realization that her daddy was gone. She whined, grabbing her toes and tipping nearly off the side of the bed. Miguel begrudgingly hovered at her feet, blocking her from rolling off the bed. He could do this, he told himself, he could resist those giant baby eyes staring up at him.

He didn't need a baby, he didn't.

He blames Peter for having such a good baby.

She doesn’t ask for much other than requiring chest-to-chest contact with Miguel. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold her, he finds himself aggravated by how much he likes to be around her. In a market full of things to look at food trinkets such as necklaces, body scrubs, and empanadas, it’s all her. Miguel props her up with an arm just under her bum, her tiny finger peeking curiously into his fangs. He snapped his teeth playfully at her, a nip, nip, nip, missing playfully every time. It rips ping a toothy grin across her face. 

“No biting Miguelito,” you called out, sliding your fingers in a teasing ring around his muscled back to chest. You leaned up on your tippy toes, placing a small little kiss on his lips. You ran off to go get her a pineapple whip after her tiny fist yanked your hair over and over again. You relented, staring at what she was cooing at. Sweets-- obviously, sweets. All the little ones loved sweets. 

“She likes it.” 

“Ya sé,” you said, “But we don’t need anyone noticing you’ve grown fangs.” 

“Tch,” he clicks his teeth in protest. She does too, throwing you a mean look for interrupting her fun. You plucked up a bit of the whip on your spoon, cutting through her displeasure through the power of sugar. 

"There's a lot of people here, Miggy, let's go to the park." You point toward the park, pointing away from the mounds of fresh produce and locally sourced goods toward a healthy patch of green grass. Miguel is glad-- he’s sick of being stared at for his huge frame. Despite the ring on his finger, people still seem to try their luck. He couldn't be more disinterested.

You lay a picnic blanket as Miguel holds Mayday's treat. Mayday sprawls across his chest, trying to take just one more bite-- then another-- Miguel looks down, chin level, eyebrow raised. She offers a bit on her tiny index finger to Miguel. A peace offering. “She’s not going to wait.” 

“Give her to me.” You kicked off your sandals on the edge of the blanket, dropping your things on another corner. You pluck Mayday from Miguel’s arms and set her down on the blanket in a way that is too easy. As though you wouldn’t have much of a learning curve in becoming a mother. No, no— you never mentioned anything about kids. Did you even want kids? He couldn't bring his heart to ask, to hope again.

“I didn’t know you were so experienced with kids.” 

“Mami had six,” you noted, plopping down with the whip by Mayday’s side. She sat with a small slant, reaching out toward the sweet treat again with those chunky, adorable hands. You brought her into your lap, at last relenting. “When you’re the oldest, you have to learn a little something to help out. Can you imagine-- being pregnant six times? Ay no.”

“How many times do you want to be pregnant?” he blurts out. Usually timed and precise, the question causes him to pinch his brow as he sits beside you. “Si quieres,” 

Your other hand comes on top of his and shifts it away from his face. 

“As many as will make you happy.” 

Shock. He chews on that response, his eyes glued to Mayday lapping at the last spoon of sweets you are willing to give her. She falls into a fit of complaints, a conniving look at the sweets, just as you lift her onto your shoulder.

"I never thought about it."

"No more, your papa won't forgive me if I bring you home all sugared up," you tsked your tongue at her. You patted along her back in small, tight circles until her angry huffs faded away. He reaches for the baby bag, slipping free a soft yellow blanket with white spiders strewn across the front. Miguel slides the blanket on top of Mayday’s small body, her groggy eyes sliding closed.

The more he watches you with Mayday, holding her so close, swaying as you held her, the deeper this ache burrowed in his chest. You would look beautiful all swollen with his child. Never mind Mayday or Peter, he can nearly see it, feel it under his fingers, the feeling of your taut belly under his skin, or the kick of tiny feet against his palm.

“We’ll see, Miggy.” 

We’ll see-- the answer seems too noncommittal, too distant to be a satisfactory answer. With Mayday sound asleep, you settle her between your plush thighs. She expelled bursts of energy that milked her energy dry.

A little old woman passed by, her cane pierced soft grass as she moved closer with a bag of tomatoes and green beans. Her face, aged by time, pulls into a wide smile. He doesn't like her smile.

“You two are doing a great job. How old is she?” 

You blink, looking up into the woman’s cool blue eyes, her dark hair peppered with thick grey and white strands. You tuck Mayday in her soft blanket, sparing the woman a kind smile that Miguel doesn’t quite have the patience for. 

“Oh, oh. Thank you-- um, a couple of months,” you recount, perhaps thinking of Peter’s anxious pacing or his delighted shouts about becoming a father. 

“Adopting is a great option. Back in the day, my husband was a bodybuilder too. Had a low sperm count don’t you know. Steroids shrink things. Oh, but these days you can do all sorts of things like IV--”

A what-- Miguel’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the suggestion. Was this old bitch’s suggestion that he couldn’t do it-- couldn’t get you pregnant? He could easily do that. If he wanted you pregnant, you would be shocking pregnant. He’d be damned if some old woman put it in your mind that he couldn’t.

“We’re babysitting for a friend,” he blurts out. “I have--” had, “a daughter.” 

“Oh, do you? I’m sorry. I thought-- well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, have a good day."  

She’s saying that, but it comes out slanted. You don’t bother correcting Miguel, not on this. Rather, your hand inched toward his, picking up on the energy that was pluming from his body in waves. Irritation-- annoyance-- the little old lady hobbles off. You’re in your mind well enough to bid her goodbye. But you know better than to say anything more, slumping your cheek on Miguel’s firm chest. It makes the ache of Gabriella's memory a little more bearable. 

 Low sperm count his ass. 

It bothers him long after Mayday is gone. Peter, for his part, looks refreshed. He supposes that’s what happens with a full day of opportunity to empty your balls after weeks of no relief. It bothers him long after you come back from the kitchen, his favorite dark red slip plastered to your perfect body. It would look beautiful, full of his children— he just knows it. 

“I may have hijacked the kitchen a little bit,” you teased, the waft of warm chicken and brewed spices filled his nose. He had no appetite. “But I made you some pollo guisado.” 

“Hm,” he grunts into a pillow. “Later.”

Beside the bed, he has a bowl of brightly colored condoms. With your sensitivity to birth control, it is the best option available. It wasn’t, however, something he was ever happy about. He should be able to feel your body. Not once had he felt your body pure and unadulterated, warm and perfect for him. He was your husband. He wanted that moment— to fill you up just once, watch his cum dribble out of your cunt. It would be perfect. You set the food away, bowl and spoon clinking together.

“Miguel.” 

Forget your warm body. This room is too quiet. It is almost stifling in its silence. Mayday’s sweet huffs, the memory of Gabriella’s laughter. A proper home full of a child's giggles. He’s going crazy-- he has to be-- this isn’t normal. This isn’t Miguel. 

“Mi vida, don’t pout,” you reach out, rolling your fingers through his long brown hair. Your fingers tease along his scalp, turning around his ear. Your fingers tickle his lobe, your voice cemented in a concern that he wanted nothing more but to fix if it were anything other than this. “Miggy. Miggy, what is wrong? You look sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he says with a whine on his pillow. How silly he must look with his broad arms wound around the body pillow, squeezing its fluff for life. If he said the words well enough, you might believe them. 

“I know you are,” you nudge the pillow loose. He takes you instead, the air thickening with the closeness. You fed off the tension, sliding your leg over the sheet that covers his naked hip. “Tell me why.” 

He turns his hands over your thighs, traveling past your hips to ghost along your belly. 

“Sí, Miggy?” 

“I need…” he trailed off, finding the words nearly impossible to admit. They grow into a ball and cement in his throat, present but stubborn. Rather than break the words free, he swallows a bolus of desire and frustration. “It’s nothing. Let it go.”

The issue was— you loved him enough to let it do so. 

Miguel doesn’t want to press the issue. He knows you. All you want is Miguel’s happiness. Sometimes, he worries it is at the price of your own. The distance he places between you and him is intolerable. It bothers him every time he finds you babysitting Mayday.

Today, while Peter goes on a small date, you and Mayday make his favorite empanadas. She’s covered in a dusting of flour from head to toe. Peter would have fun with that. 

“Miggy you’re back?” you called as Mayday’s chubby hands shot out, nearly plopping off the counter if not for Miguel’s quick reflexes, setting her back in place. 

“Empanadas?” he settles the words in a small kiss to your lips. You glance at him over your shoulder. 

“It's... it's Gabi's birthday, isn't it?"

You’re too good for him. Despite the day coming and going, no one else notices his grief today. Not even Peter who came in alongside him, reading the room, and snatching up Mayday off the countertop. He’s babbling something, a thank you, see you later— you kiss Mayday with only the sweetness a mother could know.  

“Peter! Mayday made these for you,” you reach out to a box of uncooked empanadas. “Take them home!”

Her first empanadas— the delight is palpable. Peter may have snapped a photo, or ten, of his little flour girl on the way out, empanadas in hand. Then there’s silence. Miguel returns the nearly forgotten bundle of empanada dough and filling to the fridge in the space of unspoken tension. Miguel dips down to your neck, caramelized perfume warm on your neck. His lips trace the warm pulse of your neck. 

“Mami,” his voice mesmeric, warm like the filling you used to make him happy when no one else could. Your doting attention, even in the face of real issues like work and babies, was always on him.

"Sí, mi vida?"

His hands coast around your waist, using his strength to gently turn you around. It isn’t important right now. What is important is how he lifts you up onto the floury surface, purring his need into your slight ear. “I want a baby.”

“¿Qué?”

“Una niña,” Miguel leans his fingers along your collarbone. 

“Oh, Miggy.” You puff the words. They come out almost wounded. You know him so well, the vulnerability of the words causing him to look down. Your warm palms cradle his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “You miss being a father, don't you?”

You’re not stupid. Neither is he. He thought he could wait— watch Mayday grow up and not feel this sundering longing. As though he could stomach never feeling a child in his arms again. The ghosts of the past that came with Mayday’s longing haunt him day by day. 

You devour his insecurity, winding your legs around his waist and forcing him forward. He stumbles into your embrace, as though he were not a man who could decimate villains and spiders alike. When he was here, in your arms, he barely felt like the weapon of a man that he is. 

“Miguel. Speak to me.”

“You’re right,” he can’t lie— can’t hide the longing that comes with the thought of his own child on his chest. Not Mayday, no matter how many times she cuddled up to his chest. At the end of the day, she would never be his. You drew your lip into your mouth, nipping it fat and red, a bob in your head. His heart beats faster, strumming as though it would break free from his chest. Whatever it is you’re thinking he’s not sure. Only that it’s been so long.

“I just want to make you happy, will this make you happy?” you nearly whisper, knowing that there’s no one but him to hear the words. It’s what he wants for you, too. As he stands there, coursing his fingers along your thighs and hiking your dress up your hips, he can’t help but feel the foggy discomfort of forcing you into parenthood before you were ready. 

“It will.”

As well as it could. It would never erase Gabriella-- and, in the vulnerability of begging his wife for another child, came the guilt. Not only the guilt of failing to be a proper father or to protect her but moving on without her in his life to a beautiful family she would have loved. The feelings surge in his chest, a well of uncomfortable emotions in his eyes, threatening to fall. 

“Miguel,” you’re whispering, your fingers cutting across his sharp cheekbones. You cup his face, drawing your lips together in a commanding kiss. You never liked being ignored or forgotten. He’s not sure how he could now, with your tongue flicking between his lips, begging him to come back with a sugary sweet whine. “Stay with me, Miguel.” 

“I am,” he says, gripping either side of the counter by your hips. He feels your eyes on him, soft and careful, pressuring him to meet your gaze. He searches for an inkling of an answer in your gaze. "¿Qué piensas?"

“We can try,” you bite your lip, sliding it free between your teeth. “If you don’t have a low sperm count,” you tease. “Maybe it’ll take.” 

“¡Por dios!” He throws a curse to the side as if he believed in such a being, throwing a look back at you. “You don’t actually believe that vieja.” 

“Ay Miggy, of course not.” His lips work into a budding smile. You leaned up against his stubbly jaw, setting soft kisses there. Your lipstick stains his neck, dragging down to his prominent adam’s apple. He looks down at you with heady eyes, tracing the way you suckled a mark on his throat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like them a little more when others noticed them, little marks of possession. Miguel’s fingers come up to the straps of your dress, easing them over and down your slight shoulders. You pull back, words forming puff against his neck. 

“Not right here,” you inhale a soft breath. “Someone could come in.” 

Miguel eases his finger over the small bud of your breast, rolling his thumb along the silken skin, His hand comes up, encompassing your neck and shoving you back into the cabinets. It isn’t comfortable, not by far. He works the nub to its peak before turning his attention to the other. His mouth covers your breast, fangs grazing your nub as he suckled and tugged gently. Miggy, you pull him back up, stripped of your touch. Your hand slide across Miguel’s chest, tracing the taut muscles of his chest. 

“Who would come in?” 

“Peter,” you answer. 

It’s always Peter. He supposes that you wouldn’t want your friend to see you here, cunt stuffed with Miguel on the very same counter you earlier made him empanadas on. Miguel snatched the dress that fell along your hips laxly, utilizing it to yank you off the counter. You fell forward into Miguel, a heavy wall of muscle, your lips failing to form anything of use. You looked at him, cheeks flush and eyes doting, he’s the only one you see. 

“The balcony, then.” 

“Dianche, Miguel! Do you want all of Nueva York to see me?” 

“Maybe.” 

No, but see Miguel breeding you? Undoubtedly yes.

He couldn’t simply choose the bed, that would be too easy. Miguel set a kiss on your forehead, soft and scratchy with his stubble. You return it by dragging him down for another kiss, a wave of warmth coming over him as you force your hips back onto him, rolling your hips against his, teasing him. Miguel doesn’t appreciate the tease and gently pushes on your hips, motioning you to face the counter. 

“Bend over.” 

"Can't we go to my room?" you complain but comply all the same. Miguel’s palm ghosts your spine, dragging his fingers smoothly over the middle of your back and past the dress that gathered around your hips, He strips you of the little cover the dress gave, eager to have you bare and rid of the thin clothing that served as a veil from prying eyes. Miguel can cover you from the prying eyes of others if necessary. Not that he cared if others saw him fucking-- he’s all the more eager to have you all to himself, here and now. 

“No panties,” he notes, his warm hands on your inner thighs. “It’s almost like you knew.” 

“I might have,” you return, spreading your legs obediently for him. He palms your vulva, your hips shifting down over his hand. Sticky and wet, he wonders if his need to breed you has rubbed off on you too. His fingers shift, sliding over your soft hole. “Apúrate Miguel, you’re so slow.”  

“Can’t you be be good for once.”

You were always bossy. He likes it, most the time, being led around by what his pretty little wife wants. Today he wants to take his time, curving his broad fingers into your glistening cunt. Your wetness drips over his knuckles, fingers teasing the velvety soft walls he has never felt without a condom. A pleasured cry wracks in your chest, turning your head over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s fingers stretching you out. No matter how much your walls gave under his fingers, you would still ache when he penetrated you. It was the favourite part, the rich pull of his dick into your hole, bottoming out as best he could in your stomach. He soothes your complaints by grazing his other hand against your perky clitoral hood, finding the soft nub there for relief. You settle your arms on the floured surface.

“I never-- ah-- am,” you threw back.

Miguel slipped his fingers free, cupping your cunt with his palm for a teasing slap. You want to be good-- it’s just so hard, your cunt pulsing in the abswnce of his touch. He drags his sodden fingers to your lips, glazing them in taste of your lubricant. You suckle your tongue around his thick digits, savoring your own taste, his soft grunt of approval spurring you on. You feel like such a good girl with his fingers crooked in your mouth. 

“Are you ready?” Miguel stands fully upright, dragging your hips to his. He’s hard as the counter you were pathetically clinging onto. His hipbones ground into your plush ass, dick pulsing in his immediate ache to feel your cunt. He backs up, fiddling with something at the waist. You don’t need to ask to know that it was his big cock grinding between your cheeks, smearing fluid over your slit.

“No condom?” 

“No condom,” he affirms. You bow your head, nodding gently over the countertop. The head of his cock drove into your wetness, pushing past bundles of nerves. It’s impossibly different without the bag over his dick. It’s been so long. His world blinks out, savoring the feeling like he was an inexperienced teenager again. 

“Carajo, you’re so good,” he finds himself cursing, leaning over your back. 

“Now he says I’m good."

“Shh,” Miguel clips with a mean nip at your nape, lining it with soft kisses, encouraging you on to take him. Warm and wet, Miguel can only describe the slide into your cunt as untethered delight. Released from the bondage of his usual condom, he’s a mess against your soaked cunt, gripping you for a semblance of stability. 

I just want to make you happy. For all your needy complaints and little quips, he knows you do. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here, with your hands cupped on top of his, squeezing for more closeness. Miguel laces your fingers together in a needy weave, drawing back to stroke his cock right back into your wet body. You lead one of his hands between your legs, urging him on to stroke your clit. Your walls clamp down on him, teasing out bursts of pleasure with how deeply he was buried. Miguel’s lips part into a whine of his name, skin slapping against skin. He sets a kiss in the crook of your neck, breath nearly unbearable. 

“Mami,” he gasps, the word coming out between his unstable thrusts. Your eyes shut hard, sparks of pleasure winding and building in your core. “Give me a baby.”

“Sí papi,” you heave, “I”m trying to.”

Miguel knows what you like-- and you like him desperate. His voice so low and rich that you gush around his swollen length, falling apart below him. He catches your body from dropping in an instant, his thighs shaking as he works you through the fibers of gentle pleasure. Hot pressure builds low in his stomach. 

“Qué bella eres. I’m going to finish, fill you and knock you up,” he whispers, drawing himself free and admiring the hazy space of pleasure and reality. Miguel turns you back to face him. You think you may complain-- you didn’t cum, or something of the sort. He shifts you to sit on the counter, spreading your vulva for inspection. Miguel spat on your cunt, rolling his fingers over the swollen folds to spread you apart. He slipped into the space between your shaking legs. You felt him thrust into your body hard and sharp. Your hands reached out, dragging Miguel’s shoulders forward, clinging onto his body. 

It comes all at once, Miguel’s stuttering thrust forward, a deep groan filling the kitchen, his hand clasped onto your thigh so hard you know he’ll bruise it. You catch his moan in a kiss he doesn’t reciprocate, buried so deep in your body that all he can think to do is to force you to take all of it. He shakes himself free of the web of pleasure that he’s enveloped in, looking at you past the thin rivulets of sweat you wiped away with your loving thumbs. 

“I think there are better positions for baby making,” you lean in, kissing him gently. He returns the kiss this time, eyes light of the strain and stress of the last few days.  “Like… not this.” 

Miguel pulls back, his soft cock slipping free from your warm entrance. Miguel watches as his seed dribbles from your hole, grunting in acknowledgement. He swipes your mixed fluids and rolls it between his fingers. 

“I’m open to suggestions.” 

He loves his wife. More than anything. What he doesn’t love is how Peter seems to know that you’re trying for a baby.

The thing about having a woman from his same cultura was this: you loved to talk with your best friend. Who, just so happened to be Peter. He doesn’t even have to say anything, just staring at him with a quirk on his lip and a terrible glitter in his eye after he’s resolved another meeting.

“Hey, Miguel.” 

“Don’t start.” 

He’s crowded with work at his desk-- he has no time for Mayday’s curious little eyes to glitter at him, Peter to be doing that shit he did when he wanted to be helpful. He offered his hands up, shrugging. 

“I’m just saying! I’m a man, you’re a man,” he mumbles, inching a little closer and closer. “If you want a baby--” 

“Let me guess. She told you.” 

“Mayday could use a spider buddy,” he held Mayday up, out of her carrier. Miguel glanced down at her wild hair, exhaling air out of his nose with a little huff. “Sooner than later?” 

“I’ve done it before,” Miguel throws back. “I know how to knock up my own wife, Peter. I don’t need help.”  

Peter is offering help as if Miguel hadn’t tasted the changes in your body when he ate you out. Never mind that he saw you nauseated this morning, too sick to handle a call that Miguel promptly answered. He knew his seed had stuck-- you wouldn’t feel so miserable otherwise. It doesn’t matter, he’d answer them all if it meant another little one in his arms at the end of it all. Just so long as you and the baby were safe. 

“Are you sure? I know--” 

“I’m damn sure.” Miguel turned around, his head in his hand. “I’ve had enough of you. Why don’t you do something useful? Bring her something for her morning sickness.” 

“Oh,” realization fell over Peter like a hammer, looking down to Mayday who looked right back up to her father. For all that Peter knew about his love life, he was shocked that you hadn’t told him how awful the smell of breakfast meat made you feel. His hand fell away, a film of pride slipping from his practiced features when Peter spoke. “But... She’s already pregnant?” 

He leers. Peter scuttles away. 

Privacy is important to Miguel. You knew the damn rule. No telling Peter about the inner workings of your bedroom. For that, you were going to fucking get it. You likely knew you were going to get it-- even if you were likely already pregnant.

He can’t wait.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Satin Pillows To Cry On

CW: coercion with money, age gap(7 yrs), transactional marriage, obsessive/yandere behavior

gn! reader

﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀

You’ve got nothing else, no one else to rely on. 

‘You’re something he bought to keep from growing old.” 

Your clothes are worth small countries. Your cars stacked in 3-level garages. Diamonds, emeralds, pearls hanging from your wrists and ears, satchels made of endangered animal skins, different shoes for each day of the year. 

Your boyfriend of three years spat at your feet when you told him what you were doing. 

“His money can’t love you, not like I can.”

The wedding was only two months away when you broke up with him, told him you couldn’t live in his broke-down apartment anymore, that you couldn’t live with debt trailing wherever you went. You went so far as to make him hate you, to tell him that you never wanted to see him again, that you never loved him, that he better not bother showing up to the wedding. You didn’t want him there, you never wanted to see him again. 

“You’re lying to me; he’s making you say these things, he’s using you against me! You’ve known him what-- two seconds, and you’re going to marry this man?! He’s nearly a decade older than you!” 

Seven years of an age gap or not, he was still a thousand times more independent, wealthy, and a safer choice than your boyfriend. You weren’t some fresh college student new to the world, you had graduated over two years ago, still finding no luck in getting a stable income-- forget about whether or not it was in the field of your degree. 

You left in a single day, fitting all of your scavanged belongings into one of your fiance’s awaiting cars. You left anything worth of value with your ex-boyfriend, knowing he’d find more use out of it than you would. You would even leave the rest of your things there if he could find use for them, but you knew they’d just be one more painful reminder of your betrayal. 

He did as you said, not showing up to your wedding, staying clear, never appearing in your line of sight since the day you left. It made it easier…. For both of you that way. 

And now you were happy-- well, maybe not happy, maybe not even content, but you were… safe. You had everything you needed: a working car, a stable job that you felt productive in, a clean and comforting house to come home to, a spouse. Sure, maybe you didn’t get your new job yourself, or your house or your car-- but did that really matter, in this economy? Who wouldn’t trade their life and their independence for this kind of wealth?

And your husband… he wasn’t all bad. He might have only wanted you for the sake of having you at first, like a new jewel or the latest technological invention. But he was doting and caring in his own way. Maybe just a tiny bit too invested in you, in your schedule and who you talked to. A little too hateful towards your ex-boyfriend, the one who had you before he could. But everyone had character flaws, and on good days you could distract him from his grumpy mood and stress and obsessive behaviors by being the loving and oh so perfect spouse you had trained yourself to be ever since he asked to marry you. 

“Colder than all that gold…” You repeated in your mind, the words your family whispered to each other at your wedding reception only a few feet away from you. 

That was over six months now, though… the honeymoon phase never existed, you rarely saw your husband except for his midnight appearances back from the office, and whenever he would whisk you away for a weekend vacation to savor the time he had with you. For someone more sophisticated, much wealthier, and dare you say handsomer than the average man-- you were surprised to find he didn’t have a line of divorces behind him. 

No; he said, he had been “waiting for you.” whether  you or he knew it, he understood right from the moment of meeting you that you were the one he’d have for the rest of his life, even if it killed him. That severity… scared you. But in a sick sense, it made you feel relieved. Forever? This could be yours, forever? Your family would never have to struggle again, you would never have to worry where your next meal came from?

“I cleared your schedule until tuesday; we’re going to the isles. A mini vacation, you might call it. Get your things.”

He was cold, that was for sure. But, was he any worse than your ex-boyfriend, especially when he was offering you an expensive experience on top of that?

“All right..” You acquiesced. 

And now, you lied sunken into the bed feeling his loving, hot breath on your navel. Going so sweetly slow, so oddly and uncharacteristingly lingering with his touches as he gazes into your eyes. You didn’t like this; didn’t like that when he was cherishing you, making love to you, holding you so intimately, he was appearing… like a husband should. Where did he get the nerve to ignore you everyday, to have hardly any time for you, only to come back and beg for your love when it was convenient for him? 

But you keep your mouth shut, like you should, if you want to keep eating breakfast in bed, keep wearing silk robes while watching the view of the ocean outside your window.

“So beautiful…you’re like a work of art, the kind no amount of money can buy.” 

That was funny, hilarious even. Enough so to make you cry. 

A familiar face passes by the slightly ajar door to distract you, likely one of the housekeepers leaving for the night. But you swear the man’s figure reminds you of someone from your past, someone you loved and left for good. 

Your husband brings back your attention by placing a gentle kiss to your temple, blindly undoing the clasp of the necklace he bought you.

“I’m so lucky… so lucky to have been the one to catch you, forever. No one could’ve done it, not without what I have.”

He wanted you to kiss and caress back, but sometimes lying still was just enough. It was enough for him to witness you, basking in the glow of everything you wore from him, lying in the Egyptian cotton sheets he paid extra for, your body molded to the diet his personal chefs cooked. 

Even as he pushed a knee between your legs, traveling from your navel to your stomach with open-mouthed sucks and kisses in the rawest form of affection, you couldn’t help but turn your face deep into the pillow. So soft, the soft purple shielding your eyes from his tender gaze.

You might’ve given up love, given up everything familiar and those who you’ve cared for-- but at least you had satin pillows to cry on, and the finest jewelry to wipe your tears with. 

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

Lego Flowers

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Nerdy!Nat x Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, college AU, sub!Top Nat, Natasha has a penis, oral (r), needy Nat, unprotected sex, creampie,

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲: Natasha invited you to build some flowers but you get distracted (based on a request)

You watched how her hands fiddled with the lego pieces she was piercing together, her veiny hands looking so big on the small pieces. Instead of your usual plans for the weekend, getting black out drunk, you opted for building LEGO flowers with your new girlfriend. You had eyed Natasha for weeks now, the dorky nerd who had offered helping you with your assignments once or twice. Something about her shy demeanour and thick glasses drew you in. 

“Are you almost done yet” You asked, teasingly your hands gracing over her biceps, the muscle flexing under your touch. “It would be faster if you’d help” She stuttered her eyes fixating on her open hands to not get even more distracted. “Mhm… but I couldn’t focus on that if you’re so distracting” You could see the redness creeping up on her face as your hands traveled down in her lap “I-I’m not”. You giggled enjoying how flustered she could become even though this was far from your first time together. 

“Not what?” You teased your hands unzipping her jeans to reveal the bulge in her jeans. “Someone’s excited.” You could feel the pre cum already wetting her underwear. “Baby please” her hands were gipping the fabric of her jeans to somehow keep posture. “I- I wanna eat you please” She pleaded, turning around to try and catch you in a kiss, abandoning her Lego pieces on the floor of  the dorm room. 

Your hands found her shirt pulling her closer until you were both flat on the ground, her breath was heavy as she left messy kisses all over your face. Your lipstick was smudged over your mouth as you focused on Natasha on top of you. Her hands fumbled with your shirt pushing it up to reveal your bare breasts. “D-damn princess all for me?” You nodded and pushed her head down to your breasts, where you needed her. 

Natasha made out with your breasts, licking over them, peppering kisses. You moaned under her touch arching your back towards her. “Please baby, I- I need you” She whimpered as if she was the one being touched. “Come on Natty, eat me out” She nodded her hands tugging on your sweatpants. She kissed your pubic bone over to your pretty pink panties, you knew she loved. She licked over them pulling them from your hot cunt with her teeth before she let them go again, snapping against your cunt. You let out a loud moan not caring for the thin walls in the dormitory. 

She licked over the already drenched cloth enjoying how you tried to squirm away from her touch. She pushed your panties to the side, not bothering to remove them. She licked all over your core moaning and whimpering into it like a starved woman. She was lost in the pleasure of the sounds she made you do. Every moan, every cry, every whimper made her more needy for you. “Fuck Natasha” You moaned “You’re so good for for me” She took your clit in your mouth sucking on it like her life depended on it. Your hands found her hair tugging on the roots of her red hair. You buckled your hips against her face feeling the bump of her nose against your cunt. You tried closing your thighs against her head, wanting her trapped against your heat. But her strong hands kept your thighs open for her. 

“You taste so g- good, I could do this all day” She hummed against you. She knew you were close, so damn close for her. “Come for me, baby please” She cried out her tongue licking over your heat to give you that final push you needed. And it worked, she was met with a gush of your cum which she licked up until you were clean again. You pulled her back up by her collar seeing how fogged up her thick glasses had gotten just by eating you out. Her face was a mess with your juices but she didn’t mind. “Did I do well?” She asked, her voice still a little shaky.

“Very well baby” You pulled her closer to kiss her “Get on the bed baby, I wanna ride you” She scrambled to stand up getting rid of her pants and shirt before sitting up on the headboard of the twin bed. You had to smile at her eagerness. You straddle her lap sinking down on her hard cock. She let out a long moan feeling your tight walls hugging her so neatly. You were surprised by just how thick she was ´´ but you didn’t mind feeling so full at all. 

She could barely function because she was so focused on not cuming inside you immediately. You moved up and down her length making as her eyes followed your jiggly tits, you noticed her longing looks as you moved her hands on your breasts. Within the next seconds her hips chased yours before it happened. “Fuck I- I’m so sorry” She apologized profusely moments after her hot cum was shot inside you. 

“Baby it’s okay” You kissed her cheek, her face turning away out of shame. “You already lasted longer than last time besides I came already… this was all about you baby” You kissed down her neck still warming her cock. You settled against her chest, her shaky hand  playing with your hand. 

@widowyouknow

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Animal Farm: Tuesdays

Three Yandere Dog Men x Gender Neutral Reader

CW: Noncon, knotting, nonhuman genitals, cum swallowing, spitroasting, biting, male harem, dog men, reader fucked silly, general yandere behavior, licking, scent marking Word Count: 555 (The next long awaited installment in my farm series. I hope you all love it. <3 I did not bother having this beta read, sorry for any mistakes. The original fic can be found HERE along with the links to the other installments)

You were still tired from the thorough orgy that the harpies had given. At least they provided you with plenty of gentle aftercare. But now it was Tuesday. And that meant that you were the property of the dog-men. Another day in the endless cycle of being a cumdump for horny monster men. You really dreaded time with the dogs. They always ended up biting the hell out of your neck. You entered the small cabin that the dog men inhabited and one of the cat men, Lionel, came stumbling out with a dazed look on his face and cum dribbling down his thighs. Good… maybe that would mean there urges were already taken care o- Your train of thought was interrupted when you were thrown on the bed by the most assertive of the three dog men, the one that had the ears and tail of s German Shepherd, Thorn. His claws slid under your waist band and partially pulled down to reveal your hole which he lapped at like a treat. “Fuck, I have been waiting a week for this farmer~” Apparently breeding Lionel did nothing to quell the desire to bury their knots in you. When he got tired of fucking you with his tongue he slid his dick in to the base, the bone in it jabbed you painfully until it mercifully swelled to full size. The stretch was only mildly uncomfortable. After bringing you to climax his knot inflated in you and kept the two of you tied with him periodically humping gently to enjoy the sweet friction against his knot as he plied you full of his hot seed. He gave your neck a quick bite before sliding out of you and then before you knew it one of the other two, this time the husky-like dog man, Corr, was slamming into you. But the third, Len, the fluffy one that had the features of a Newfoundland, couldn’t wait his turn. So while Corr was busy breeding your overstimulated hole Len took it upon himself to slide past your soft lips. The smell of his musky cock filled your nostrils as his nuts slapped your chin with every thrust. You whimpered and moaned lustfully into his cock as Corr started to knot you. Corr bit you on your shoulders and back as he began the long process of slowly depositing cum in waves into you as dog men did. Your body shook as you came again, but you started gagging a bit as Len knotted in your mouth. His dick twitched periodically as it sent another wave of bitter cum down your throat, leaving you no other option but to swallow. If you thought you were done you were sorely mistaken. Thorn had gotten hard again and plunged his cock right back into your now cum-lubed hole the second Corr had pulled out of it. A few hours later, when the fuck fest was finally done, the dog men all turned very loving and gentle. They licked you clean of their seed and bathed you, but they rubbed your clothes with their scent before allowing you to get dressed again. They spent the rest of the day feeding, cuddling, and caring for their little mate who was too dazed and tired from all the sex to really do much.