#if ya'll want the AN you need to get on AO3

[megamindsecretlair]

Can you please write an Aaron Pierre smut fic or love story? 🙏🏽

A/N: Ya'll don't get me started on this man. Just don't. I'm obsessed.

Wild

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, fingering (female receiving) teasing, size kink, dirty talk, degradation kink if you squint, rough sex, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some, I'm rushing, just let me know.

Summary: You went on a small camping trip with Terry, who graciously helped to introduce you to hiking. After a critter destroys your tent, you stupidly volunteer to share his. Shouldn’t be too bad, right?

Word Count: 5,859k

AO3 Link

A/N: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DRABBLE. Don't ask for him no more! (kidding, kinda) I will never be normal about him. It just kept going. My shoulder has been on fire for the past two weeks so I'm taking a much needed break. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You stepped carefully along the ground. You made sure not a twig nor rock slipped beneath your shoes as you picked your way through the thicket of trees. Terry gave you a head start, closing his eyes and turning around with a smug look on his face.

You’ll show him though. There was no way he could track you this time. The ground was dry, you didn’t step on anything, and you worked with intention. The goal was to get to the river before he could catch up to you.

So far, it had to have been at least fifteen minutes since he started counting. That was a good enough lead, right? 

You were distracted. But something had to keep your mind off of your pursuer. You and Terry had formed an easy friendship, seeing each other around the gym. When he mentioned hiking was a hobby of his, you mentioned that you wanted to get into it but wasn’t sure where to start.

You should have kept your mouth shut. Spending nearly every week up close and personal with him was a new level of personal hell. He was so damn pretty. You didn’t often call men pretty, because…well…but he was!

The most striking eyes ever rimmed in dark eyelashes as if he were wearing eyeliner. Wide nose and even wider lips. An adorable, incredible smile. You stepped behind a tree and paused for a moment, bending over to grab your knees. 

Fuck you were out of shape. And trying to keep up with Terry’s tall ass was a struggle. Beyond a struggle. For every step he took, you had to scurry behind. And he didn’t believe in breaks. Fuckin’ ex military. 

You breathed through your nose though that only made breathing difficult. Didn’t help that you were horny as hell either. You leaned up and pressed your back against the bark of the tree, hoping no critters tried to ride home with you.

You took off your hat and wiped your brow, looking at your surroundings. The woods itself had thick trees, fluffy leaves, and branches that stretched high in the sky. Dots of sunlight slanted, giving you a peek at the bright blue sky. Terry would call it quits soon. You pouted. This was the second mini camping trip you’d been on with him and you hadn’t been able to escape him.

You replaced your hat on your head and risked a glance behind you. No sign of Terry. Good. You grinned and took off again, picking carefully through the woods. The water was close. You could hear the current from where you were. 

Almost there, oop around that rock, and ahhh, almost stepped on a rock. Ha. In his gorgeous face. 

You almost laughed but it would give away your position. You pressed your hand to the nearest tree as you swung around it just as strong arms pushed you into the tree.

You screamed as Terry moved in behind you, pressing his chest against your back. “Found you,” he said. His voice was low and deep, emerging from somewhere deep in his wide chest.

You groaned and slapped the tree. “How the hell did you find me?” You asked.

Terry chuckled and stepped away from you. You missed the heat of his body already. You schooled your features and turned around with a smirk on your face. You folded your arms across your chest so he couldn’t see how hard you were gasping for air. For more than one reason.

“You’re loud as hell,” he said. 

“Was not! I was being quiet! I made sure I was!” 

Terry looped his fingers through his hiking backpack and tilted his head at you. “I’ve been following you for ten minutes,” he said.

You looked away, back the way you came. Shit. What did he hear? What did he see? You may or may not talk to yourself to get yourself through shit. You ran through the past ten minutes, trying to think of what you said or did or if you drew any attention to the horrible crush you had on him.

He had to know his appeal. But you didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. You weren’t only friends with him because he was hot. That was loser shit. You genuinely valued his opinions, his outlook. You loved that he had a way of making everyone at ease with just a few quiet words or a playful look. 

But that goddamn body. You looked back towards his face, because if you looked at his shirt, dripping with sweat, you’d combust on the spot. Terry smirked as if he could read your thoughts and pointed the way you came.

“You have to be aware of your surroundings if you do find yourself in a situation like this. It’s not about being quiet. It’s about moving fast, moving smart, and trust nothing,” he said.

You put your hands on your hips and pouted. “One of these days you’re not gonna be able to catch me,” you said.

He chuckled. “I’d still catch you,” he said. He smirked and turned around, heading into the woods, away from the water. 

You’d just have to train when he wasn’t around being a distraction. You sighed, trying to not let the sting of failure drag you into the dumps. You walked behind him, your consolation prize being his nice, gorgeous ass. 

He wore camo pants and a gray t-shirt, hiking boots, and tall thick socks. The pants really showed off his assets. You bit your lip imagining what it’d be like pressed up against all that piece of man. 

“Keep up!” He barked out. You huffed and whined, jogging to catch up to him.

“You do know you’re like, eight feet tall right?” You asked.

He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, giving him an animalistic side eye. His eyes were lethal. Your breathing stuttered and you hoped he didn’t hear it because god. “And you must be part lion? Part tiger? Yo ass ain’t natural,” you said, hoping to diffuse whatever spell he managed to weave whenever he trained those eyes on you. 

Terry chuckled. “You trynna say I’m not human?” 

You didn’t answer right away, only because you were trying not to huff and puff as you talked. You needed your inhaler, but you also left it in your tent. Yes, yes, you knew it was a dumb move. But hell, there was nothing more embarrassing than having to stand there and use it.

“I mean…” you said, letting the sentence dangle.

Terry gave you that side eye again, his mouth twisted in a frown. You gave him an innocent smile back, batting your eyes all innocent-like. Terry only shook his head, the corners of his mouth drifting down as he tried to hide a smile. 

You walked together in silence, grateful if only because your lungs were burning. When you decided to go on this journey of getting in shape and getting your mind right, you never thought you’d be in the woods. Let alone with someone like Terry. 

He was competent, knowing so much about living off the grid and being prepared. He carried all kinds of tools with him. You had a thirst for knowledge, asking him a million questions. He answered every single one too. If you could clone him and pass him out like candy to your friends, you would. There needed to be more men like him. 

A trail of ripped paper littered the ground like patches of snow in the middle of fall. “No,” you gasped.

You sped up as Terry’s hands shot out to stop you, but you pushed past him, running towards your campground. Your tent was on the far left, torn to pieces and ripped apart. Your journal had been shredded, ripped apart by some kind of animal. Your clothes were thrown about.

You were only out here for a day and night, getting a tiny taste of camping thanks to Terry. You’d never been. Growing up an inner city kid, Black parents didn’t play that shit. The school yard was your jungle. You were threatened with going to stay out in the woods if you didn’t like living under their roof. It wasn’t a regular occurrence for you or your friends growing up. 

The small fire pit had been picked over as well. You made a wailing sound as you tried to gather up the ripped pieces of paper. All those memories gone. All those feelings torn up. Some pieces flew with the breeze and you took off your own backpack, trying hard not to cry.

“You can’t run ahead like that. What if it was dangerous?” Terry scolded you. His voice got deeper, eyes narrow. He bent down to help you pick up the pieces of paper.

“Please, don’t! I got it,” you said. Perhaps a bit harsher than necessary. You weren’t going to cry. It was a minor setback. Things happened. You play stupid games and you won stupid prizes. 

Perhaps your parents were right. You should’ve kept your ass inside. Without all these damn bugs, and twigs, and fucking leaves tangling in your braids. 

Terry busied himself with picking through your tent, analyzing what may have happened. Home. When you got home, you would be able to break down. Not here. Not with Terry right there. His ass didn’t skip a beat.

“Might’ve been a bear. Or something similar looking for food,” he shouted over his shoulder.

You nodded but weren’t sure if he saw you. You only wanted to clean up your mess. You had so many ideas you wanted to jot down when you got back. So many observations, thoughts that raced through your mind on your hike. Now those thoughts would be gone too. Terry’s one rule this morning was no cellphone. 

You could do a day without it. Boy, were you wrong. You made a mental note to keep your journal with you from now on. Or start carrying a smaller notebook for bullet points and then journal at home, like a sane woman.

“You can take my tent. I’ll sleep out here and make sure nothing circles back,” he said.

You stopped from grabbing the last piece of torn paper from a bush nearby and turned to face him. “I won’t make you do that,” you said.

Terry stood up and dusted his hands, unstrapping his back from across his chest. “I didn’t ask,” he said.

You snagged the last piece and carried your pathetic pile to your ruined tent. You liked that tent. You just bought that tent. Did the fucking bear think money grew on trees? You kicked at the black and orange heap and faced Terry.

“I didn’t either,” you said. 

Terry watched you with those deadly eyes as he dropped his bag to the ground. He used the bottom of his shirt to clean his sweaty face. Damn. His words drew your attention back to his face. “I’ve been trained to survive outdoors. You haven’t.” 

You tucked the pile of paper into your ruined tent and then faced him once more. Terry was about to meet a hard rock. “Don’t start with the macho act, okay? We’re adults. I’m not making you stay outside while I’m tucked away all nice and toasty in your tent,” you said.

A smile curved his lips as he stepped closer, using his height to his advantage. You had to look up otherwise you’d just be staring at his chest. You stood your ground and tilted your head. He may have the advantage. He may be just as stubborn as you were. But you did not back down. Ever. Some called it a toxic trait but there were other ways to survive. Everybody had something.

Terry’s eyes were even more dangerous up close. Not quite blue. Not quite brown. Some mix of the two that was hypnotizing in the way he coldly assessed you. You didn’t know what he was thinking. His poker face was lethal. Not a hint or a clue.

“What do you suggest, then?” He asked.

A hotel, a shower, a bed, twenty four hours, and a bottle of lotion. But that was neither here nor there. You licked your lips and blinked at him. “We can share. Or do you not want my cooties in your tent?” You asked.

That surprised a laugh out of Terry. He shook his head. “Fine. But I snuggle in my sleep,” he said. 

His jaw flexed. He looked expectantly at you, lifting an eyebrow like he expected you to back down. You only raised your chin. “Good, I get cold at night,” you said.

He blinked slowly and nodded, rocking back on his heels before stepping away. “I’ll help with your tent then, before we lose the light,” he said.

When he turned around, you sighed quietly. Shaking out your sweaty palms. Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod. What the hell did you do that for? 

You berated yourself as you and Terry worked as a team, removing your items from inside and rolling up your tent. He secured it with rope from inside his backpack and you had a wayward thought that made you laugh out loud.

Terry had knelt on the ground, one knee up, as he secured your tent. He looked up at your laugh and you waved him off. 

“What is it?” He asked, a small smile on his lips.

“Nothing, it’s stupid,” you said.

“I want to know,” he said.

You pinched your lips, wondering if you should say. Aw hell, you had to get it out now otherwise you’d be giggling in your sleep all night. “You kind of remind me of Dora,” you said.

“The kid’s show?” He asked.

You nodded and tried to hold in the laugh, but your stomach cramped from trying. His expression only made it worse as he stared at you like you were crazy. Maybe you were. Maybe you didn’t need to be in a tent with him all night. 

Terry chuckled and shook his head. “Magic backpack?” He asked.

You nodded and burst into laughter. His eyes narrowed but he smiled at you. “Come on, giggles, we’re not done,” he said.

“Work, work, work, is that all you think about?” You asked.

“No,” he said, his voice low and soft. You tilted your head at him and he gave you a funny look. Assessing you again. He didn’t elaborate further as he moved your sleeping bag inside of his tent.

“I’ll roll mine in a bit. Let’s clean this up some more before we hit the stream,” he said.

You thought about look on his face as you cleaned up around the campfire. There was no food to be found, so whatever creature or critter that did it, just made a whole lot of mess for nothing. 

You threw away your journal pages into the small trash bag Terry had tied high in the tree above your campground. He secured it back in place after getting it down for you, gifting you with a side view of his abs. Good god, the man was built in all the right ways. God took his time with this one.

Nice and clean with only one tent now, Terry let you go to the stream to freshen up first. The woods lacked fresh amenities but it was one of those parks that did have strategically placed rest areas. You handled business and then went down to the small stream a ways down from the campsite.

It was within shouting distance and you used the fresh water to clean the sweat from your body. You returned, feeling much better now that your skin wasn’t so sticky. Terry went next, disappearing from view and already lifting his shirt.

You took a risky glance over your shoulder, admiring the cut of his back as he stalked through the woods. His narrow hips moved with ease, ass in full view. Your mouth watered as your canine caught on your lower lip. You’d eat that man alive if given half the chance.

Terry’s head was on a swivel, looking around just on GP. You hurriedly looked away, grabbing your inhaler from your pocket. You retrieved it during clean up but was too nervous to use it in front of him.

Lot of good it did you now, but you took two deep puffs to clean all this fresh air from your lungs. The one thing you did not have in common with your ancestors was a major love of the outdoors. Fuck the air and nature. Give you a hot bath and TV any day of the week. 

Terry returned and you eased into conversation, talking about your families as the light disappeared. Terry started a fire, stoking it with a stick. You talked about life goals, hobbies, or anything really. Watched as he moved, talked, or the way he laughed. Listening to his voice was soothing. Welcoming. Terry caught fish in the river earlier and cooked it over that fire when it was good and ready. 

You yawned one too many times and Terry chuckled. “Head inside, I’ll do one last check,” he said.

“We didn’t get to tell any scary stories,” you said.

Terry shook his head and smiled. He was already dimming the fire, carefully stamping out hot rocks in the pit he built. Watching that man build a fire shouldn’t have got you that hot and bothered but it did.

“Next time, if you’re up for it.”

“You never stop, huh?” You asked, sleepily. 

Terry shrugged. “Not much to slow down for,” he said. He looked at you over the fire. The light from the flames danced across his skin, making him seem even more otherworldly. An understanding passed between you and you nodded, getting up without issue. 

You patted his shoulder, understanding the note of loss in his voice. You’d been there. You didn’t understand his pain, but you understood loss all the same. You took a deep breath before heading inside his tent.

It smelled like him. Like all, pure male. You whimpered, climbing on top of your sleeping bag. He had a nice tent. Much nicer than yours, even though his was well used. It had been folded and unfolded so many times, the grooves were permanent at this point. 

His sleeping bag was brown and looked more like a blanket compared to yours. Did his big ass even fit inside of a sleeping bag? How did he normally sleep? Did he have a bed big enough to hold him? Did he sleep sideways?

You were only half sure that he was playing when he said he snuggled in his sleep. He never mentioned a girlfriend or a wife. Did he have big pillows to snuggle? You stared at the domed ceiling of the tent, picturing what Terry looked like at rest. 

It only made your pussy flutter picturing his smooth, dark skin. Eyes closed. Mouth slightly parted. Did he snore? You probably should have asked that before volunteering to share a tent with him.

The rustle of Terry entering the tent made you shriek and sit up, like you were caught with your hand in a cookie jar. Terry stopped at the entrance and looked at you. “Just me. Do you want me to stay outside?” 

“No. Um. I was just thinking,” you said. Thinking about sucking that –

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” you said, quietly. 

You couldn’t see his face now that the fire was out. He was just a solid wall of black, crab-walking into the tent and then zipping it up behind him. You were acutely aware of every move he made. Every sigh. Every huff of breath.

“Go to sleep,” he said.

“How the hell do you know I’m still awake?” You asked.

“You’re too loud,” he said. 

You could hear the smile in his voice and you rolled your eyes. “Heard that too,” he said.

“Oh, shut it!” You said, rolling over to your side. Terry chuckled as he climbed into his sleeping bag. 

You shut your eyes and focused on your breathing, focused on falling asleep. Terry made it surprisingly easy. His gentle breathing was its own type of sound machine, lulling you to sleep along with the crickets outside. The soft hum of the water nearby. Before you knew it, you were out like a light.

Rustling jerked you awake. It was hard to truly knock out in the middle of nowhere, next to someone like Terry, and not still be keen to every single sound. You were feeling hot as hell, like you woke up in a sauna.

Terry’s arms were wrapped around you and you were snuggled up under his neck, inhaling his deep masculine scent. You cracked an eye open, though you still couldn’t see. Pitch black outside and inside the tent.

Terry hummed as more rustling turned your attention from the fact that he really did snuggle in his sleep. The noise made your heart speed up, clogged up your throat, made it hard to breathe.

Terry tightened his arms around you and drew his face down until his mouth was against your cheek. “Shh,” he said, too quiet. You didn’t think him capable.

He extracted himself from you, moving in a way that didn’t make noise at all. He even managed to unzip the tent without making a sound. He only unzipped it far enough to peek out.

You weren’t a damn damsel in distress. So you rolled over, not as quiet as him, and joined him at the entrance. There was enough light from the moon to cast a low glow over the campsite. There was nothing truly out there, but the rustling continued. The sound increased, and got closer and closer.

Your hand flew to Terry’s exposed knee, gripping on for dear life as an actual deer walked out of bushes and sniffed the air. You sighed, deflating against Terry’s side. Terry sighed as well, unzipping the tent more to get a good look. 

The both of you watched the deer nose around the campsite, likely following the smell of Terry’s good cooking. It’s ears swayed back and forth, picking through nothing as Terry was meticulous about cleaning up after himself.

“You were scared,” he whispered, shaking his head.

“So were you!” You fired back.

“Nah, I was good,” he said.

“You liar,” you said, with a chuckle.

“It’s okay if you were scared, you know,” he said. 

“Ain’t nobody scared of no damn deer. And ain’t nobody need your protection,” you said. You poked him in his chest. When did he find a chance to ditch his shirt? You had been snuggled next to that hunk of meat and he didn’t have a shirt on?!

“No?” Terry leaned over, his lips grazing your ear. “Go out there and say hi.” He tried to push you out of the tent and you fought him, trying not to spook the deer. One wrong move and the deer took off.

You giggled as you wrestled with Terry. He was so big, you didn’t stand a chance. It didn’t take much effort to subdue you, but you bucked and wrestled for control. No dice. Terry laughed as he pinned you beneath him, legs spread wide as he scooted in and leaned down close to your face.

“Give up?” He asked.

“Like hell,” you said. You had siblings. You knew how to scrap. Yet, all you did was rub your body against his growing bulge. 

You stopped wrestling for control. Your breaths were harsh and loud in the stillness of the tent. Terry’s chest rose and fell but he wasn’t as loud as you. You stopped struggling against his hold, letting him pin your wrists to the ground above your head.

“Hmm,” he hummed, a rumbling sound low in his chest. “Ain’t that better?” 

“Terry?” You asked.

“Mhm,” he said, leaning down to rub his stubble across your chin. 

“Kiss me,” you said.

Terry leaned up and kissed you. You moaned into his mouth. His lips were just as juicy, just as lush. Soft to the touch. And he was an expert. Kissing, retreating, licking, retreating, biting, retreating. He drove you wild, not giving an inch. Not giving you any wiggle room.

He completely caged you beneath him. Beneath the heaviness of him. He still had your wrists pinned, so you weren’t able to touch him like you wanted. You weren’t the type to be agreeable for agreeable’s sake.

Terry growled at your attempts to shake his hold. Shake his control. He bit your lip, hard, and you cried out, ending on a moan. He licked the sting away, kissing down your jaw and to your neck.

“Fuck do you do to me?” He asked, more to himself as he kissed and explored your skin. He ground his bulge into your pussy and you whimpered, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Just as he showed you in training, you managed to buck your hips and flip him over. You wailed in triumph, not actually believing that would work. Your breaths were harsh, wild, as you finally got to touch him. Your hands roamed over his broad, warm chest. He took great care of his body.

In a lightning quick move, Terry grabbed your arm and flipped you over to your stomach. He grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them behind your back. You cried out from the force, but it was welcome. Inviting a rush of heat to flow through you, straight to your dripping pussy. You moaned as Terry dropped his weight on top of you.

His dick aligned with your ass and you tucked it higher. He grunted and slapped your ass. “Ow!” You yelled, more from surprise. Though the fucker did hurt. With hands as large as his, he managed to cover a wide area of your ass. Leaving behind a burning sting that only made you wiggle your ass against him.

“Fighting only turns me on, princess,” he said. He leaned down to your ear and growled. He sounded damn near like a lion. “Give up?” He nibbled on your ear.

“Fuck no,” you said and giggled. 

Terry moved your wrists to one hand, then used his free hand to pull your joggers down over your ass. You whimpered as he caressed your booty, intentionally missing the heated core of you. 

You moaned, trying to wiggle your ass where you needed him most. All these months of pining, of wanting, of yearning, were coming to a head. All those times training, working beside him, tangling with him were catching up to you, Making you feel like you were going to burn to a crisp.

“Use them big girl words and tell me what you want,” he said.

You arched your back. Begging, crying whimpers escaping you as his big fingers skirted the outer edge of your pussy. The smell of your arousal permeated the tent. There was no way to deny how turned on you were. If you could just, wiggle, and move a little to the left–

Terry slapped your ass. “What did I say?” He asked.

You groaned. “Fuck me!” Your horniness won this round.

Terry chuckled evilly, plunging his fingers into your dripping wet hole. You both moaned at the contact. He went knuckles deep with no resistance. He wiggled two fingers inside of you, making you moan loudly like a slut. 

“Was that so hard?” He asked, whispering in your ear as he continued to finger fuck you. He fingered you with all the precision he was known for. Immediately making you grind on his fingers. 

“You can do better than that. Get that shit you want so bad,” he said. He mocked you, he teased you. Every cry or whimper that came out of your mouth, he responded with an evil chuckle or a moan of his own in your ear.

It was always followed randomly by a growl in his chest. The intimacy of the dark and the wet sucking of your pussy drove you closer to that climax. Barreled into it. Crashed into it. You screamed, loud, calling his name as that climax slammed into you like a truck.

“There it is. Shit feel good, don’t it?” He asked.

You nodded your head, forgetting for a moment that it was dark and he couldn’t see you. He released your wrists and then grabbed a handful of your braids, yanking your head back. “Don’t it?” He asked.

“Yesss,” you moaned, biting your lip and rubbing your ass against him. “Oh, fuck me, baby. Now.”

Terry chuckled, smacking your ass. “As much as I want to, I don’t have a condom,” he said. 

“I’m clean. On the pill,” you said. Thank god for that. There was no way you’d be able to sleep tonight without the feel of him inside of you. 

“Are you sure?” He asked.

You nodded, feeling your braids pull as it was still trapped in his tight grip. Terry chuckled. There was the sound of sucking. He moaned. “Taste good. Can’t wait to get back home and spread you on my bed. Hmm, maybe my dining table. Eat you like the good fuckin’ meal you are,” he said. 

He moved behind you, lowering his pants. He groaned, rubbing his dick against your folds. Oh shit. He was working with a third leg. “Oh shit, Terry,” you moaned. Your belly ached. Hollowed out. You were so empty. 

“You’ve been driving me crazy wearing those leggings. And that skirt you wore last week?” Terry talked as he rubbed his dick between your legs. You shook. Terrified of taking all that but knew you had to try. Had to relax and let the master work. 

“What took you so fuckin’ long?” You asked. 

Terry chuckled and smacked your ass, pulling your braids back. You moaned, back arching even more. “That little attitude of yours,” he said. 

“Fuck y–”

Terry pushed into your wet heat, cutting off all words. You reached back, trying to grab onto him. He smacked your hand away and pushed in further, gaining more and more inches inside of you.

Your legs shook. You whimpered as he retreated and then slammed back inside. He sunk further in, stretching you, molding you around his dick. “Oh god, oh fuck, oh god,” you moaned. The delicious burn was too much. Not enough.

Terry moaned, grabbing your hip and pulling you further onto his dick. You didn’t think he could fit inside any more. Surely, he bottomed out by now? 

“Not so tough with some dick in you,” Terry mocked. 

To prevent you from saying something smart, Terry moved with earnest. His stroke game was as intense as the man himself. His strokes were brutal. Punishing. He groaned with every slide inside of you, making your thighs tingle with pleasure.

“Slam that shit back,” he said. 

You placed your hands on the ground and threw it back on him, rising up to meet each of his thrusts. Each of his long strokes. Accepting his dick. Accepting everything he gave you.

“Terry! Oh, you fuck me so well,” you said. You sniffled, screaming with every thrust.

Terry chuckled. “I know. Spread your legs wider,” he said.

He stopped stroking so that you could spread your legs more. You moved your feet to the outer edges of his legs. He pushed down on your back, releasing your braids so that you could fall forward. He raised your hips, moving you, manhandling you. 

Fuck, it felt so right. So good. So natural to be on your knees, ass up in the air, while he went to work. Terry grabbed your hips and moved you one last time. Then, he slammed inside in one rough thrust. You leaned forward, but he snatched you right back.

“Naw, naw. Where you going?” He moaned.

You moaned back, throwing it back but quickly losing the fight. This wasn’t some little man you let fuck you. This was a grown ass man. Secure in his businesses.

“Fuck, you feel good. So wet. I can barely stay inside of you,” he said. He cursed as he slammed into you like he truly wanted.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck. Terry! Terry! Sh-shh–oh that’s my spot,” you said. He brushed up against a deep spot inside of you. You thought it was a myth. You thought that shit didn’t exist. Terry found it without even trying.

“That’s your spot?” He asked. His deep voice made everything sound more filthy. More lewd. 

“That’s my spot!” You squealed. 

“That’s my spot now,” he said. No more words were spoken as he hit that spot over and over. 

Incoherent noises and sounds dribbled from your mouth. Perhaps some spit too. Your essence dripped out of you, flooding his dick as he didn’t let up. Didn’t stop. Kept hitting your spot like he was at target practice and he was showing out for the crowd. 

“Oh I’m gonna-I’m-gonna–”

“Cum on this dick. Let me feel it. Let it go,” he cooed to you.

There was a storm gathering inside of you. It almost felt like you had to pee. “Wait-” 

Terry moaned. Your cries turned to pleas. It both felt good and sort of hurt. “Uhngf-” You exploded, wailed to the high heavens as you came and squirted. “OH SHIT!”

Terry was saying something but you couldn’t hear over the sound of your yelling. Your pussy gripped onto him, locked him in, as you came and came. Terry smacked your ass and then thrust one last time before erupting with his own climax. He stuffed you completely.

Hot, thick pulses of cum throbbed inside of you. Your thighs shook. Your body twitched. Your eyes watered. You dissolved into a steaming pile of person as your eyes crossed with intense, whitehot pleasure.

Terry grunted and dropped forward, pushing you onto your sleeping bag. He kissed your damp pajama shirt. Both of you were huffing, out of breath. Thank god for your inhaler. Your lungs would be nonexistent right now. 

Terry softened by degrees, enough for him to pull out. You moaned as his cum leaked out. Like his dick was a plug keeping it all inside. 

“That’s never happened before,” you mumbled. Suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed. You ought to know what that felt like. Yet, it completely caught you off guard.

Terry maneuvered in the dark until he was able to pull you off of your sleeping bag and onto his where it was dry. He rubbed your arms and shoulders. Then, he grabbed your chin and pulled you into a searing kiss.

“I’m honored I drew it out of you,” he said. “Wait till I do it again.”

“Again! Not with that monster!” You yelled and tapped his chest. Terry’s rumbling laugh was everything you needed to hear. 

He pulled you closer, growling playfully and nipping at your skin. You giggled, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. “Again and again and again,” he said, kissing and nibbling at you with every word while you shrieked into the night with laughter.

The end.

Who am I kidding? Of course there will be more! The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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@avoidthings @lovedlover

[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 4 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (emotional abuse but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical, from naoya not satoru) » 【note, this chapter contains extreme emotional manipulation from naoya, reader discretion advised】

ꨄ words: 9.3k

ꨄ a/n. okaaaay time for some angst ya'll. this series is taking a serious turn 🥲 also, as i said earlier, originally this chapter was 20k words buuuut i decided to split it up. i know ya'll said you wouldn't mind one long chapter but it's just, there are moments that i really want to give more time to breathe. you'll get ch 5 soon though, enjoy ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

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series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter →

ch 4 // shadows of doubt

“…you sure you’re okay watching Haru?” you ask, hovering by the doorway, your fingers lightly brushing the doorframe as you steal one last glance into the living room.

The television screen casts a soft glow over Satoru and Haru, nestled together on the couch.

Satoru’s brow is furrowed in concentration as he fumbles with the TV remote, cycling through the menu. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his tongue peeking out slightly at the corner in a classic expression of someone deeply focused.

His usually tousled white hair is messier than usual, as if he’s run his hands through it a few too many times in frustration, and his sweater hangs loosely on his frame, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

It’s a stark contrast to the sharp, tailored suits you’re used to seeing him in.

But that’s because right now, he’s just Satoru—the guy who’s clearly struggling with something as simple as setting up a kid’s TV show, and yet, there’s something incredibly endearing about it.

Haru, oblivious to his difficulties, swings her tiny legs back and forth in a rhythm of excitement as she sits beside him.

It’s a picture of domesticity that feels almost too perfect to disrupt—a scene that brings warmth, but also a sharp pang of guilt.

Guilt—of what you are about to do.

“Yes, of course,” he replies without missing a beat, light yet reassuring. He glances up at you briefly, offering a warm smile. “Do what you need to do, it’s important to have time to yourself.”

Right now, it feels like you don’t deserve that smile.

The ache in your chest intensifies at the sincerity in his words, making the lie you’re carrying out feel even heavier.

Finally, after a few more clicks, the TV springs to life, and a triumphant grin spreads across Satoru’s face as the familiar Digimon theme song bursts through the speakers.

The sound seems to ignite a spark of joy in Haru, her face wide eyed as she turns her full attention to the screen.

“Besides, I promised her we’d watch Digimon together,” Satoru says, his voice laced with affection as he glances at Haru. “Now’s the perfect time. Right, Haru?”

Haru beams, her small body practically vibrating with excitement as she snuggles closer to him.

“Wow, look ‘toru, look!” she exclaims gleefully, her voice high-pitched with exhilaration as she points at the screen.

Her eyes sparkle with wonder, completely captivated by the vibrant colors and lively characters dancing across the television.

“Yay!” she claps her hands together.

A tender smile curls upon Satoru’s lips as he shifts his gaze from Haru to you. His blue eyes, always so vibrant and full of life, are soft and inviting, radiating a sense of calm—a calm that should put you at ease, but why does it fill you with more guilt?

“See? We’ve got it all under control. Go do what you need to do, and don’t worry about a thing.”

His words are spoken with such warmth and trust—it should comfort you, but instead your unease twists further in your gut.

You force a smile, trying to push away the shame that threatens to rise to the surface.

“Alright,” you murmur, “I won’t be long.”

But you linger for just a moment longer, unable to tear your eyes away from the heartwarming sight before you.

The way Satoru drapes an arm around Haru, pulling her closer as they both become engrossed in the show—you realize something profound.

It’s in the subtle details—the way he listens intently to her excited chatter, how he nods along, genuinely interested in every little thing she points out, even if it’s something as simple as a colorful character on the screen.

Satoru isn’t just watching Digimon with Haru; he’s immersing himself in her world.

He’s someone who takes the time to enjoy the things she loves, someone who listens to her with the patience and attentiveness she deserves. He’s supporting her curiosity, encouraging her to explore and express herself, making her feel valued in a way that is both gentle and profound.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted for Haru—a stable, loving figure in her life, someone she can depend on, someone who can always be there for her. Someone who makes her feel safe, cherished, and free to be her true self.

Someone Naoya never was.

But this relationship is a contract, a charade—a lie.

And now, this new lie you’re about to bring to the table, casts an even darker shadow over this picture of domestic bliss.

There is a storm cloud, threatening to break at any moment—to drench you in an unforgiving rain. And that storm cloud is your reality.

The reality that this relationship has always been a lie, hasn’t it?

So... is what you’re doing really any different?

As you turn to leave, your body feels heavy, burdened by the deception you’re carrying with you.

Closing the door behind you, the soft click echoes in your ears as you begin to walk down the hallway, away from the warmth of the living room and into the cold reality of the decision you’ve made.

ꨄ

A soft jingle rings above your head as you push open the glass door to the coffee shop—a sound almost too cheerful considering what’s to come. Once the door closes behind you with a muted thud, your fate is sealed.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee hits you first, rich and earthy, mingling with the sweet, buttery aroma of pastries that line the display case. It’s a combination that would normally invite comfort, a location for quiet relaxation.

Today, however, that feels entirely out of reach.

Only a few patrons are scattered about, each lost in their own world—reading books, typing away on laptops, or simply enjoying company. The soft murmur of conversation barely registers in your ears as your eyes sweep across the room.

Within moments you spot Naoya, seated at a corner table in the back, a place where the dimness nearly swallows him whole, casting long shadows that seem to cling to him like a second skin.

His chosen spot is strategic, offering both a sense of privacy and an air of intimidation.

It’s a stage he’s set perfectly.

The way he sits—one arm draped casually over the back of the booth, the other cradling a coffee cup—exudes an unsettling confidence, as if he’s already decided the outcome of this meeting.

His minacious eyes rake over you and he registers the trepidation in your step, causing a shiver to run down your spine as his lips slowly curl into a predatory smirk.

Setting down his cup of coffee with a practiced ease, the porcelain clinks softly against the saucer. With a lazy flick of his wrist, he waves you over, the gesture so casual it’s almost insulting, as if he were summoning a servant rather than inviting a conversation.

You lower yourself into the chair across from him with measured deliberation, desperately trying to project a façade of composure even as anxiety, anger, and guilt roil within you like a brewing storm.

Unfortunately, the table between you and Naoya feels woefully insufficient, a flimsy barrier against the man who once wielded a terrifying influence over your life—a man who now threatens to shatter the fragile peace you’ve painstakingly pieced together.

“y/n,” he begins, his voice smooth and slick, like oil spilling over water, spreading tendrils of unease. “I’m glad you decided to show up.”

You force a tight smile, though it feels more like a grimace.

“You didn’t exactly leave me much of a choice, did you?”

A low insidious chuckle leaves Naoya’s lips, the noise grating on your nerves. His cold calculating eyes hold your gaze as he tilts his head to the side, and for a moment, you feel like a mouse caught in a trap, every avenue of escape cut off, leaving you with nowhere to run.

“Tch. What else am I supposed to do?” his tone drips with mock innocence, as if he’s genuinely puzzled. “You don’t answer any of my calls. It’s almost like you’re trying to avoid me.”

His eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of something dark and unreadable passing through them.

“You look well, though. I’ve missed you.”

The casual cruelty in his tone, the way he throws out those words—words that should carry weight—as if they mean nothing, as if he hasn’t been tormenting you.

It makes your skin crawl.

“I didn’t come here to chat, Naoya,” you say firmly. “What do you want?”

You catch a flash of his white teeth in the dim light of the coffee shop, but there’s a cruel twist to his lips, a smugness that makes your stomach churn with unease.

“Straight to the point, I see. I always loved that about you,” he drawls, his tone almost affectionate.

He leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other in a posture of relaxed arrogance.

There is a beat of silence as he pauses, as if savoring each moment of your discomfort, drawing it out and relishing the control he has over the situation.

The control he has over you.

“I think you know what I want, y/n,” he continues, tone almost patronizing, as if speaking to a child who just doesn’t understand. “I want what’s best for Haru. I’m sure you do too.”

“You’re threatening to take her away from me. How is that what’s best for her?” you scoff, though the defiance in your voice barely masks the trembling fear underneath.

His gaze roams over you, assessing, calculating, and it takes everything in you not to shrink under the weight of his scrutiny.

When he speaks again, his voice is a low, dangerous whisper that sends a shiver down your spine, cold as ice and sharp as a blade.

“Because,” he hisses, the word dripping with venom, “you’re not thinking clearly. You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment. Haru deserves stability, a future where she’s not dragged into whatever mess you and Satoru are involved in.”

The accusation cuts deep, and despite your best efforts, you flinch slightly at his words, the reaction small but not unnoticed.

Naoya’s eyes glint with satisfaction, feeding off the fear and uncertainty he’s managed to briefly instill within you.

Before you can muster a response, he leans in closer, his tone shifting, becoming smooth and insidious, like poison seeping through the cracks of your resolve.

“Oh y/n,” he sighs, voice dripping with false sympathy, “I know this thing with Satoru is just a charade. You may think you’re merely playing house, but what you’re actually doing is setting Haru up for confusion and heartache. What kind of future is that for her?”

It’s like he’s pulled the rug out from under your feet. The air around you seems to thicken, making it hard to breathe. Because deep down, a part of you has feared how this arrangement may affect Haru.

The doubt that Naoya is sowing isn’t new—it’s something you’ve deliberately tried to ignore.

The connection Haru is forming with Satoru, the bond that’s growing stronger every day—isn’t it built on a foundation of lies?

What happens when it all crumbles—what happens to Haru then?

What if you’re setting her up for a heartbreak that she’s too young to understand?

Ah…but that’s what Naoya is good at, isn’t it?

He thrives on stirring a visceral reaction within you, on playing your emotions like a finely tuned instrument. And you know better—you know better than to believe that his actions have anything to do with Haru’s well-being.

After all, Naoya has only ever used Haru as a tool to control you, to manipulate you into doing his bidding.

He doesn’t truly want Haru—he never has.

This is just a twisted game, another attempt to bend you to his will.

“Naoya,” you begin, voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation, “this isn’t about what’s best for Haru. Cut the crap,” you snap, the frustration seeping through your words, giving you a fleeting sense of strength. “Don’t play games with me. What are you really after?”

Naoya’s response is a soft, chilling chuckle, a sound so unnerving that it slithers around you, making your skin prickle with unease.

He tilts his head slightly, regarding you with a twisted sense of satisfaction, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk that’s as sharp as a knife’s edge.

“You’re not as naïve as you look,” he murmurs.

With a deliberate elegance, he runs his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back and straightening his posture as if ready to present himself for something significant. He then leans forward, fixing you with a gaze that feels like a vise tightening around your heart.

“I’m willing to make a deal with you.”

You swallow hard, forcing the question past the lump in your throat.

“What kind of deal?”

His eyes glisten with satisfaction, a spark of triumph lighting them up as if this is the moment he’s been waiting for all along.

“Do you remember the case that was quietly swept under the rug a few years back?” he begins, tone almost conversational. “The one that could have destroyed the Gojo family? Well of course, you don’t—because the Gojos made sure no one remembered.”

A cold dread settles in the pit of your stomach as the gravity of what he’s saying begins to sink in. You try to piece together what he could possibly mean, but the implications are too terrifying to fully grasp.

“…what are you saying?”

Naoya’s smirk widens, a cruel light flickering in his eyes as he watches your reaction.

“Oh, don’t play dumb, y/n. You know exactly what I’m talking about. The Gojo family isn’t as squeaky clean as they’d like everyone to believe. That closed case—it’s a time bomb waiting to go off, and I’m the one holding the detonator.”

With a casual elegance, Naoya places his elbow on the table and rests his chin in the palm of his hand, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I want you to help me reopen the case,” his voice now a silky, dangerous murmur. “I need inside information, something to poke holes in the Gojo family’s defense. Satoru trusts you, doesn’t he? He’s practically handed you the keys to the kingdom.”

Your blood runs cold as you grapple with the enormity of what he’s asking.

“You want me to spy on Satoru? To dig up dirt on his family?”

Naoya shrugs, the gesture so casual, so dismissive, as if the request is the most natural thing in the world.

“Spy is such an ugly word. Let’s call it… protecting your daughter’s future. You help me get the information I need, and I’ll make sure this custody battle disappears. You’ll never have to worry about losing Haru.”

You feel sick to your stomach as the full impact of his ultimatum crashes down on you.

Your skin crawls at the way he frames it—to him it’s as if he’s offering you a lifeline, a way out of an impossible situation. But the reality is, he’s trapping you, coercing you into betraying the one person who has given you a chance at a new life.

Betray Satoru?

The very thought twists like a knife in your gut.

Satoru—the man who has shown you nothing but kindness, who has gone out of his way to make you feel safe, to make you feel valued. The man who has opened his home to you and Haru, who has treated your daughter with a warmth and love that you never thought she would receive.

How could you possibly betray him? Be his downfall? The mere thought of it makes your chest tighten, your heart aching with the weight of the impossible decision that Naoya is forcing upon you.

But then, the other side of the coin looms large and terrifying: the risk of losing Haru forever. The thought of her being taken from you, of her being dragged into Naoya’s world, is a nightmare you can’t bear to even consider.

The two most important people in your life, and Naoya is forcing you to choose between them.

How can you possibly make such a choice?

“I…I can’t do that, Naoya. Satoru—he’s done nothing wrong,”

The words feel hollow, desperate, as if you’re grasping for some semblance of control in a situation where you have none.

Naoya’s expression darkens, the cold veneer of civility slipping as a more menacing presence takes over. He leans in closer, the air around him growing colder, heavier with the weight of his intentions.

“Satoru and his family deserve whatever’s coming to them,” he hisses. “You just have to decide whose side you’re on. Corporate malpractice, insider trading, possibly even a cover-up. The Gojo family has skeletons in their closet, and I intend to expose them. But to do that, I need information. Inside information.”

“No, Naoya,” you say more forcefully, your voice trembling slightly but growing steadier as your resolve hardens. “That would destroy Satoru.”

For a moment, there’s a flicker of something in Naoya’s eyes—frustration, perhaps, or irritation at your defiance. But it’s fleeting, quickly replaced by a darker, more calculating expression.

“You think this is a game, y/n?” his voice drips with disdain. “You think Satoru won’t throw you to the wolves the moment things get tough? He’s a Gojo, through and through. They protect their own, and you’re not one of them.”

A cold dread washes over you as his words echo in your mind, sinking into the darkest corners of your thoughts.

Wait…is he actually, right?

No—you push back against the rising tide of doubt. Satoru wouldn’t do that. He’s been nothing but kind, patient, and understanding. He’s given you no reason to believe he would ever abandon you, especially not in a moment of crisis.

But… then there’s the stipulation in your contract. The one that states any poor publicity to his name would result in being cut off from all financial support.

The words of the contract flash in your mind, stark and unforgiving.

You had brushed it off as a mere formality when you first signed it, a precautionary clause meant to protect his reputation. But now, under the weight of Naoya’s words, it feels like a ticking time bomb, ready to go off the moment anything goes wrong.

Doubt seeps into your veins, intertwining with the fear that Naoya’s threat might have more truth to it than you’d like to admit.

Could Satoru really turn his back on you if the situation spiraled out of control? Would he prioritize his family name, his legacy, over you and Haru?

Seeing the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, Naoya’s expression softens, adopting a mask of concern. His voice lowers, becoming almost gentle, as if he’s offering you a lifeline.

“But if you help me,” he continues, silky and persuasive, “you’ll have leverage—real power. You’ll be in control. Think about Haru. Think about what’s best for her.”

“I… I don’t think I can do it,” the words escape your lips in a trembling whisper.

Naoya’s eyes narrow, and his voice hardens.

“You don’t have much of a choice, y/n. You’re in this mess because of your own decisions. Instead of relying on me you chose him. But lucky for you, I’m offering you a way out—a way to keep Haru safe. But if you refuse, I will use every legal trick in the book to take her from you. And believe me, I will win. I always do.”

The finality in his words leaves no room for doubt—Naoya isn’t bluffing.

He’s a man who gets what he wants, no matter the cost, and the ruthless determination in his eyes tells you that he’s more than willing to destroy your life to achieve his goals.

“You’re a monster,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Naoya’s response is immediate, his smirk widening with satisfaction.

“I’m a lawyer,” he corrects, his tone dripping with smugness. “And I’m very good at what I do.”

You look down, unable to meet his gaze.

“What exactly do you want me to do?” you whisper.

Naoya’s eyes gleam with triumph as a victorious smirk curls upon his lips. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a slim envelope.

With a deliberate slowness, he slides it across the table, the paper making a soft, ominous rustle as it comes to a stop in front of you.

“Inside this is everything you need to help me. I want information, y/n. Information on Satoru. His business dealings, his vulnerabilities—anything I can use to gain leverage over him.”

The envelope sits there between you, a tangible representation of the impossible choice you’re being forced to make.

Your hands twitch at your sides, but you can’t bring yourself to reach for it—the burden of its contents is far too heavy.

Naoya leans back in his chair, watching intently for any sign of hesitation, his gaze unyielding. He presses you again, his voice a smooth, sinister whisper.

“You help me, and I’ll make sure this custody battle disappears. You’ll never have to worry about losing Haru.”

Your hand trembles as you extend it, hovering over the envelope. Naoya’s grin widens, his eyes gleaming with triumph, anticipating your surrender.

But just as your fingertips brush the envelope, you stop.

The smile slips from Naoya’s face, replaced by a flicker of surprise, then annoyance, as you push the envelope back across the table. The cold edge of the paper scrapes against your skin, the sound eerily loud in the tense silence between you.

“I’ll need some time,” you say finally, your voice quieter now, more controlled, though it takes everything in you to keep it steady. “This isn’t a decision I can make lightly.”

Naoya’s expression darkens, his patience clearly waning. With a swift, almost irritated motion, he snatches the envelope and tucks it back into his coat pocket.

“I’m not a patient man, y/n, you know this,” he warns, the threat clear in his tone. “You have one week. If I don’t get an answer by then, the custody battle begins. And trust me,” his tone drops to a menacing whisper, “you don’t want to fight me in court.”

“I’ll let you know,” you murmur, unable to meet his gaze as your eyes are fixed on the table between you.

Naoya’s smirk returns, a slow, victorious curve of his lips.

It’s a look that says he’s already won, that he’s confident you’ll bend to his will.

“Good girl. I know you’ll see reason. I’ll expect your call soon.”

He stands with a deliberate calmness, smoothing the front of his jacket before tossing a few bills onto the table as if this entire conversation has been nothing more than a routine business transaction.

The casualness of his movements, the ease with which he holds your fate in his hands, only serves to deepen the pit of dread forming in your stomach.

“Think it over, love. I’ll be in touch.”

With those final words, Naoya turns and strides out of the coffee shop, leaving you sitting there, feeling as though the walls are closing in around you.

You can’t shake the feeling that no matter what you decide, something precious will be lost.

ꨄ

It’s much later than you intended—a few hours past the time you told Satoru you’d be home. But after your meeting with Naoya, you simply couldn’t summon the strength to face him.

How could you possibly stand before him now?

The very thought of looking into his eyes feels like a betrayal in itself, as if the truth you’re hiding might spill out just from his gaze alone.

Naoya’s words continue to echo in your mind, twisting around your thoughts like a serpent coiling tighter with each passing moment.

You can almost hear the whispers of scandal creeping through the corridors of the Gojo Corporation.

Surely this custody battle would bring poor publicity to Satoru’s name… knowing Naoya, it would be a spectacle—a media circus designed to tarnish every aspect of Satoru’s life.

Your heart races as you picture the headlines splashed across every tabloid, the relentless swarm of reporters, cameras flashing like a thousand tiny daggers aimed at your very soul.

They’d dig into every corner of your lives, twisting facts and fabricating lies until the truth is buried beneath layers of sensationalism.

You’ve seen Satoru’s world—perfectly organized, meticulously maintained, a reflection of the man himself. But Naoya has the power to create cracks in that perfect image, to expose the vulnerabilities hidden beneath the surface.

He would ensure it—he’d savor every moment of watching Satoru’s pristine reputation crumble, brick by brick.

What would Satoru do if you told him Naoya’s intentions?

Would he support you, or would he choose to protect himself, his legacy, over you and Haru?

The very thought makes your heart ache, a sharp pang of fear twisting through your chest—fear of losing the delicate balance you’ve found with Satoru, of watching it all unravel because of Naoya’s malice.

What is the right choice to make?

The question loops endlessly in your mind, a never-ending cycle of doubt that gnaws at your resolve.

You don’t know what to believe any more.

You need time—something you don’t have an abundance of right now. After all, you can’t avoid Satoru forever—he’ll wonder where you’ve been, what’s kept you away for so long.

And so, reluctantly, with a heart heavy and unresolved emotions, you return home.

ꨄ

The faint ticking of the grand clock echoes in the house as you creak open the door and re-enter. The sound, which usually blends into the background of your day, now feels loud—almost deafening in the silence of the home.

Rounding your way to the living room, the dim glow of the television casts flickering shadows on the walls—the only thing that seems alive in the stillness.

But the sight you are met with is something entirely unexpected—something that pushes away the darkness inside of you, if only for a moment.

Satoru sits on the couch, his posture relaxed but his expression one of bemused helplessness, as though he’s found himself in a situation that he’s not quite sure how to navigate.

His long legs are stretched out in front of him, but there’s a tenderness in the way he holds his arms around the small figure resting against him.

Haru, curled up on his lap, is nestled against his chest, her tiny body rising and falling with each gentle breath as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seems to lull her deeper into sleep. One of her small hands clutches the fabric of his shirt, as if seeking comfort even in her dreams, while the other is tucked close to her body, holding her favorite plush toy—Pikachu.

The TV is on, but the volume is muted, playing some late-night rerun that neither of them are paying attention to as the soft flickering light illuminates against them.

Satoru glances up as you enter the room, eyes brightening as he spots you. A sheepish smile tugs at the corner of his lips, a mixture of relief and quiet joy at your return.

“Hey, welcome back,” he says softly, careful not to disturb Haru.

It’s moments like this, that make it impossible to doubt him. The warmth in his voice makes the knot of tension in your chest loosen, if only a little.

You manage a small smile in return.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

As you begin to set your things down—your bag, your coat—Satoru’s gaze follows you, soft and attentive.

“Did you enjoy your time to yourself?”

It’s such a simple question, yet it’s loaded with the weight of the lie you’re living.

You force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels, and nod, trying to keep your voice steady and light.

“Yeah…it was nice to have a little break.”

A tender smile curls upon his lips, his relief evident as he nods back.

“Good. You deserve some time for yourself.”

The words are filled with such warmth and care that it almost breaks you. But you swallow down the guilt, knowing you can’t afford to let it show. Not now.

As you make your way towards him, your gaze softens, drawn irresistibly to the sight of Haru. You kneel down beside the couch, your eyes tracing the delicate lines of her face, so peaceful and content as she rests in Satoru's lap.

“She fell asleep?” your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, shifting slightly but careful not to wake her.

“Yeah. We were watching Digimon like I promised, but she conked out halfway through. I didn’t know what to do, so I’ve just been sitting here for the past two hours.”

Your heart swells at his words—the thought of Satoru sitting there, his world seemingly paused just to let her sleep undisturbed, truly that is real… right?

You reach out and gently brush a strand of hair from Haru’s face, your fingers lingering for a moment on her cheek.

Her skin warm and smooth, her breathing steady and calm, the gentle rise and fall of her chest—each element is a testament to the trust she’s placed in this space that Satoru has helped create.

She looks so at peace, so completely untroubled and…it’s all thanks to Satoru.

You can’t stop the words from slipping out, even though they’re laced with the bittersweet ache of everything that’s happened.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your eyes meeting his. “For everything.”

He smiles at you, that soft, understanding smile that always seems to reach his eyes.

“Of course. She’s a wonderful kid. It’s my pleasure.”

Leaning down, you gently scoop Haru into your arms, cradling her small body against you. She stirs slightly, her little face scrunching up in sleep, but she doesn’t wake, simply burrowing closer to you as you hold her, seeking the comfort of your warmth.

“I’ll put her to bed,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Satoru watches you with a fond smile, his eyes following you as you move towards the stairway.

“y/n,” he calls after you, his tone a little hesitant.

You turn back to face him, noticing the subtle way his expression has shifted—an unspoken concern lingering in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I need to tell you…” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck—a gesture you’ve come to recognize as his way of showing uncertainty. “It’s kind of short notice, but we were invited to a big charity gala tomorrow night. It’s a pretty important event, and they’re expecting us to attend. And, well… we’re anticipated to do an interview this time.”

Ah—the discomfort returns in an instant, like a cold shiver racing down your spine.

The weight of his words settles heavily on your shoulders, adding yet another layer of complexity to the tangled web you find yourself ensnared in.

The thought of standing in front of cameras, of answering questions about a relationship that is already so fraught with secrets and lies, sends your mind spiraling into a storm of anxiety.

But you can’t let any of that show. Not now.

Not when Satoru is looking at you with such sincerity, his blue eyes filled with a quiet expectation, clearly relying on you to be by his side through this.

You force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels.

“Another gala, huh?”

He nods, his expression softening slightly, but the tension doesn’t leave his eyes.

“Yeah, this one’s for a good cause, and, well, appearances matter. It’s important that we present a united front.”

Appearances matter. A bitter reminder of Naoya’s taunting words.

Satoru is a Gojo after all—and for a Gojo, appearances are everything. The pristine image he maintains is not just for show; it’s a fundamental part of who he is, of the world he navigates with such ease.

But where does that leave you? What happens the moment you mess up?

You’ve always been terrible at public speaking, and now you’re expected to partake in an interview?

Will his soft expression turn cold the moment you fail to meet his expectations?

Your heart races, but you push the fear down, locking it away behind a carefully constructed mask of composure.

“Okay,” you swallow. “We’ll figure it out.”

Satoru’s expression softens with visible relief, and he stands up, stretching slightly after having sat in the same position for so long. As his arms extend above his head, the hem of his shirt lifts, revealing a fleeting glimpse of his toned abs.

“Thanks, y/n. I know this whole public thing isn’t easy, but… I really appreciate you doing this with me.”

“Of course,” you manage to say, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “…we’re in this together, right?”

“Yeah. Together.”

The words feel like a betrayal, a dagger of guilt twisting in your chest.

How can you say that when you know what you’re hiding?

How can you say that when you doubt the very man in front of you?

Pushing those thoughts away, you try to focus on the moment, on Satoru’s gentle, almost boyish grin. Despite it all, it’s the kind of smile that makes you want to believe everything will be okay, that makes you want to cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you will get through this.

There is a beat of silence as you shift Haru’s weight slightly in your arms.

You study his face—the subtle vulnerability there, the softness, it makes you think—maybe, just maybe, you can open up to him. Test the waters, gauge his understanding.

Let’s start small… what if you told him your fear of public speaking?

The words hover on the tip of your tongue, a confession that feels both terrifying and necessary.

Would he laugh? Would he brush it off with one of his easy, confident smiles?

Or would he understand, see the anxiety that lies beneath the surface, and offer the reassurance you so desperately need?

Your heart races as you weigh the options, the fear of rejection battling with the desire for connection.

Finally, you take a deep breath, deciding to take the plunge. It’s a small step, but it feels monumental in the moment.

“I’m… I’m not really good with public speaking,” you admit quietly, your gaze lowering to the floor. “Maybe we could practice a little? Just so I don’t mess up.”

For a moment, there’s silence.

When you finally dare to look up, you see Satoru’s expression softening even further, a gentle warmth radiating from his eyes as he gazes at you.

The way he looks at you, so full of understanding, so free of judgment—it makes your chest tighten.

“Of course, we can. I actually prepared a script earlier today, just in case you may need it. We can go over it together after you put Haru to bed.”

You let out a small sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

“Thank you, Satoru… that would really help.”

Why did you doubt him?

Did Naoya instill that doubt? Or has it always been there, lurking in the shadows of your mind, waiting for the right moment to surface?

The question lingers, a quiet whisper that carries both regret and self-reproach.

He had anticipated your need, had prepared for it without you even asking.

On one hand you feel relief that he’s so understanding, but guilt practically consumes it because now his trust feels like a weight you can’t bear.

It seems at this point, there is no winning for you.

No matter which way you turn, you’re trapped—caught between the desire to commit to him completely and the fear that you’ll inevitably fall short of his expectations.

Your mind is at a constant battle.

“No problem,” he says, his voice pulling you back to the present. He reaches for the remote, turning off the TV, the screen fading to black as the room is cast into a quieter, more intimate atmosphere.

He glances back at you, his expression warm but focused.

“Meet you in the study after you put Haru down?”

Not trusting yourself to speak, you nod, and turn, heading up the stairs towards Haru’s bedroom.

In the quiet of Haru’s room, you smooth the covers around her small, peaceful form and press a soft kiss on her forehead.

You take a moment to just sit there, watching her sleep—a moment to collect yourself before you return to Satoru.

The soft rise and fall of her chest, the slight twitch of her fingers as she dreams, it all serves as a reminder of the innocence you’re trying so desperately to protect.

You can’t risk losing her. Haru is everything to you.

But how long can you maintain this lie, this pretense that everything is okay, when the truth threatens to tear it all apart?

The mere thought of Haru being taken away, of Naoya sinking his claws into her life, makes your blood run cold.

Right now, you want nothing more than to break down, to cry, to let the tears that have been welling up inside you finally fall.

But you can’t afford to do that. Not now.

Sometimes the difficult thing about being a parent is putting on a front that everything is okay... that everything will be okay, even when it feels like it will not be.

You have to be strong, not just for yourself, but for Haru. She needs you to be her rock, her anchor in the storm, even if you feel like you’re barely holding on.

You pull back, your hand lingering on the edge of her bed for just a moment longer, savoring the last bit of peace before you straighten up, steeling yourself for the next challenge that you must face.

ꨄ

As you enter the study, the door closes behind you with a soft click.

Satoru looks up, sitting at the large mahogany desk, papers spread out in front of him as he offers you a small, reassuring smile. He gestures to the chair beside him.

“Ready?”

You nod, pulling out the chair and sitting down, the leather cushion sinking slightly under your weight.

Leaning forward, Satoru props his elbow on the table as he studies you with soft, focused eyes.

“So, let’s start with the basics. They’ll probably ask how we met, what drew us together... you know, easy stuff.”

He slides the script over to you.

You take the paper, your eyes skimming over the questions—questions that are so casual on the surface.

They’re questions that, for most couples, would evoke warm memories and easy smiles. But the simplicity of these questions only highlights the complexity of the situation.

They should feel easy to answer—answers that would roll off the tongue naturally if your relationship was carved from normal circumstances.

But, that’s not the situation you find yourself in.

The reality of your arrangement makes each question feel like a test—a hurdle you need to clear without revealing too much.

If only it were different—if only the answers could come from a place of truth rather than a carefully constructed narrative.

But it’s not.

This relationship is a contract, a charade—a web of lies.

You nod again, the knot in your stomach tightening.

“Alright,” Satoru says, his tone encouraging. “Let’s give it a go. I’ll ask, you answer.”

He clears his throat and starts with the first question.

“So, y/n, how did you and Satoru first meet?”

You take a deep breath, the familiar answer already on the tip of your tongue.

This one is easy because it’s part of the story you’ve both been telling from the beginning. Still, your fingers fidget with the corner of the script, as if grounding yourself in the words.

“I was looking for a new job, and Satoru needed someone with my expertise. It was professional at first, but we just… clicked. Like it was meant to be.”

“Perfect,” he says, tone approving.

He leans forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Now…what drew you to each other?”

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to the script in your hands. The paper crinkles slightly under your fingers as you try to commit the answer to memory, but the words feel heavy, loaded with the pressure to say the right thing.

Satoru notices your pause and tilts his head, a gentle smile lingering on his lips.

“I was thinking we keep it simple,” he suggests, his eyes locking onto yours with a reassuring calm. “I’ll talk about how I admire how you always put Haru first. People eat that stuff up.”

“Right,” you nod, your voice a little lighter now. “Then how about I talk about how you’re always so supportive and how you’ve made Haru and me feel safe.”

Satoru’s grin broadens, the corners of his mouth curling into a familiar, playful expression. He lets out a contemplative hum, as if considering your words carefully, and then reaches over to tap the tip of your nose playfully.

The touch is light, almost teasing, but it carries with it a sense of warmth, of genuine affection.

“And you can say something about how I’m the most charming, good-looking guy you’ve ever met.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips, the sound carrying with it a sense of relief you hadn’t realized you needed—like exhaling a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Your heaviness lifts, replaced by a lightness that feels almost foreign in the midst of all the pressure.

Satoru always seems to know how to break through your tension.

It’s one of the things you’ve come to appreciate about him during this arrangement—the way he can make you laugh, even when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.

“Of course, because modesty is your best trait,” you grin, and without thinking, you poke his side gently, eliciting a small chuckle from him. “If I say that, I’m certain it would only go straight to your head.”

“Hmm, what can I say? Confidence is key,” he grins, eyes twinkling with that mischievous spark you’ve come to recognize.

You lean back and fold your arms across your chest in a mock gesture of contemplation, your eyes narrowing slightly as you consider his words.

“Confidence? Or arrogance?” you retort, a smirk playing on your lips. “It’s a fine line, Satoru.”

He gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as if you’ve struck a mortal blow.

“Arrogance? Me? I’m wounded, truly,” he declares, his voice dripping with exaggerated hurt, though the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth betrays the act.

“Right…I think I might have to bring you back down to earth,” your voice carries a note of a playful challenge.

“Glad to know I can count on you,” he replies, leaning back slightly as he comfortably puts his hands behind his neck in a relaxed confidence. “But let’s not forget—you’re the one who’s supposed to be singing my praises. Remember? Charming, good-looking…”

“And don’t forget humble,” you add, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Ah, yes, the humblest,” he agrees, nodding solemnly as if he’s just imparted some great wisdom.

But the solemnity only lasts a moment before he breaks into another grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I’ve always been known for my humility.”

You can’t help but laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief at his antics. This fleeting sense of normalcy was everything you needed. It almost makes you forget the storm of emotions raging inside you.

“Wow. At this point, I think your ego has its own zip code,” you quip, rolling your eyes.

He grins, but then, with a small, exaggerated sigh, he drops his head down onto the table, resting it on his folded arms as he pouts dramatically.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try to keep my ego in check,” he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled.

Here is a man who commands boardrooms and makes decisions that influence entire industries, pouting like a child in front of you.

It’s kind of cute, actually, that the powerful CEO can be this… unguarded, this silly, this human.

In these moments, all the layers he wears—of strength, of authority, of responsibility—seem to peel away, leaving behind just… Satoru.

After a moment, he lifts his head just enough to look at you, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint.

“You know… people tell me I’m charming and good-looking all the time, but… I think it’d feel different coming from you. I wouldn’t mind hearing it… just once.”

Your breath catches for a fleeting moment as you observe a glimpse of something in his eyes, something deeper than the usual teasing.

The way he says it, with that mix of playfulness and sincerity, makes your heart flutter in a way you’re not entirely prepared for.

Would it be so bad to indulge him?

“You’re… easy on the eyes,” you say, your voice softer, almost shy.

It’s not quite the grand compliment he was fishing for, but it’s enough to make him smile—the kind of smile that lights up his entire face, making it impossible not to smile back.

“Well, I’ll take that,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, and for just a moment, everything else falls away.

But then, as if unable to resist, Satoru props his head up in the palm of his hand and leans in just a little closer, his smile turning slightly smug.

“You know, you could say it again if you really wanted to. I mean, I’m all ears.”

You raise an eyebrow, a grin tugging at your lips as you catch onto his game.

“Don’t push your luck, Satoru,” you warn, though your tone is more amused than serious. “Let’s get back to work.”

Satoru chuckles, leaning back with a mock surrender.

“Alright, alright. Back to work it is.”

The world outside fades away—the complications, the secrets, the uncertainty of what tomorrow holds—all of it dissolves into the background as you share this brief moment of connection with Satoru.

It’s as if time itself has slowed, allowing you to bask in the warmth of this exchange, to let the comfort of Satoru’s presence ease the weight of your worries.

But the moment can’t last forever.

The reality of your situation looms just beyond the edges of this moment, reminding you of the stakes, of the careful balance you’re trying to maintain.

After all, there’s still work to be done, and as much as you’d like to linger here, in this bubble of lightheartedness, you know you need to keep moving forward.

ꨄ

The hours slip by, and you go over each possible scenario, each potential curveball the interviewers might throw your way.

The script between you becomes both a shield and a lifeline, something to cling to as you navigate the complexities of everything.

Satoru’s voice is steady and reassuring as he guides you through your responses. When you stumble—when the nerves threaten to get the better of you—he’s there with gentle corrections.

His words never harsh or critical, but rather encouraging, help you find your footing again. And whenever he senses the tension rising—the anxiety creeping into your expression—he cracks a joke, designed to draw you back from the edge of your worry.

You find yourself leaning on him more than you expected, his confidence bolstering your own, his belief in you seeping into the cracks of your self-doubt, and with each passing hour, the fear that had settled in your chest begins to ease, replaced by a cautious optimism that maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to pull this off.

After running through the script for what feels like the hundredth time, Satoru leans back in his chair—the soft smile tugging at his lips telling you that he’s genuinely pleased with your progress.

“I think you’re ready,” his voice is filled with a quiet confidence. “You’ve got this. Now, you should probably get some rest... it's getting late.”

His words are a welcome relief, washing over you like a balm after the tension of the evening. You nod, feeling the exhaustion from the long day finally catching up to you—all you can think about is the comfort of your bed.

But as you begin to stand, you notice that Satoru remains seated. His posture, which had been so relaxed just moments before, now seems slightly more tense as he appears to be focused on something distant, something you can’t quite place.

The shift is subtle, but it’s enough to give you pause.

“Aren’t you coming?” you ask mid-step, your voice tentative, a hint of concern creeping in.

Satoru looks up at your question, the distant look in his eyes fading as his focus returns to you. His expression softens, the edges of his smile returning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“No,” he replies, tone gentle but firm. “I’ve got some other business I need to take care of. But don’t worry about it,” he adds quickly, as if sensing your concern. “You should get some rest. You’ve done more than enough for tonight.”

There’s something about the way he says it, the way he brushes off your concern so easily, that makes you hesitate.

Is there something he’s not telling you? Or perhaps, choosing to handle on his own?

There’s a slight droop of his shoulders and his fingers absently drum against the armrest of his chair—a silent rhythm betraying the thoughts running through his mind.

You want to push, to ask him what’s really going on, but something holds you back.

Maybe it’s the way his eyes seem to plead with you to let it go, to trust him when he says it’s nothing you need to worry about.

Or maybe it’s the exhaustion that’s finally settling into your bones, making it harder to think clearly, to muster the energy for another round of questions.

So, instead, you nod again, offering him a small, understanding smile.

“Alright.  Just… don’t stay up too late, okay?”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, and though it eases some of your worry, it doesn’t completely dispel it.

“I’ll try not to,” he promises, though you’re not entirely convinced. “Go on, get some sleep. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

Making your way down the hallway, the soft light of the bedroom is a welcoming beacon at the end.

The prospect of finally getting rest is almost too tempting to resist, but as you near the door, something tugs at you—a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that refuses to be ignored.

It’s not fair, you think to yourself—pausing just before the threshold of your bedroom.

Satoru stayed up late, helping you with the interview questions, guiding you through each potential challenge with patience and care...and now, he’s left alone to handle his own business needs while you get to sleep.

There was a weariness in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before, a quiet weight that he seemed determined to hide from you.

Why is he shouldering the responsibility when you agreed you would lead Gojo Corporation together?

The thought gnaws at you, making it hard to turn away.

You sigh, torn between the exhaustion weighing you down and the guilt pushing you forward.

Finally, you decide it’s only right to offer your help, even if just to make sure he’s not taking on too much by himself—and so, with renewed determination, you turn on your heel and quietly make your way back down the hall.

As you approach the door to the study, you’re about to knock when you hear his voice, low and serious, coming from inside. You pause, your hand hovering just inches from the wood, and listen.

“No. That’s not an option. We can’t afford any negative press right now, especially with everything that’s happening.”

Satoru’s voice is firm, almost biting, a tone you’re not used to hearing from him. The usual warmth that so often laces his words is gone, stripped away and replaced by something colder, more calculating.

There’s a pause, and you can faintly hear the murmur of someone on the other end of the line, though their words are indistinct through the phone.

Whatever they’re saying seems to only harden Satoru’s resolve.

“I don’t care what it takes,” Satoru continues, his voice dropping lower, the words coming out with an icy sharpness that feels almost like a threat. “Take care of it. Make sure this stays under wraps. My image can’t take a hit like that, not now.”

Your heart skips a beat, an uneasy feeling creeping up your spine—the warmth of the moment you shared earlier evaporating in an instant.

He sounds different—distant, devoid of the tenderness you’ve come to know… cold.

The man who just hours ago was patient and supportive, who made you feel safe and cared for, now seems like someone else entirely—replaced with this man who seems to care more about maintaining an image than anything else.

Whatever the voice on the other end of the phone says next makes Satoru sigh, a tired, almost frustrated sound.

You inch closer to the door, your breath shallow as you strain to hear more, but his voice drops lower, slipping into a tone that’s more guarded, more secretive.

“Yes, I know it’s not ideal, but it’s necessary,” Satoru says, his words clipped, as if he’s weighing each one carefully before letting it fall. “We have to protect the Gojo name at all costs. And that includes… well, you know what it includes. Just handle it.”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

…what does that include? The vague words hang in the air and you feel a sharp stab of anxiety.

You feel a lump form in your throat as you back away from the door, the doubts you’d tried so hard to push aside earlier now crashing back with full force, overwhelming you.

What is he talking about? What could be so important that it needs to be kept under wraps at all costs?

Questions race through your mind, each one more unsettling than the last.

And what did he mean by “protecting the Gojo name”? Is that all this is to him—just a carefully crafted image that needs to be maintained, no matter the cost?

The thought stings, a sharp pain that cuts deeper the more you dwell on it.

You can’t help but wonder, as you stand there in the dimly lit hallway, if you’ll ever truly know where his priorities lie.

The man who once seemed so open, so transparent with you, now feels like a stranger—someone who might not be as trustworthy as you’d hoped.

Will he choose to protect you and Haru, or will he always put his image, his family name, first?

The doubt gnaws at you, growing with each passing second, until it feels like a weight you can barely carry.

You retreat further, your heart pounding in your chest, the sound of it almost drowning out the murmured conversation from the study.

The light at the end of the hallway seems so far away now, the warmth and safety you’d felt earlier slipping through your fingers like sand.

As you finally turn and make your way back to your bedroom, each step is heavier than the last—a shadow cast on everything you thought you knew.

The warmth of the bed offers you little comfort as you slip under the covers, and your mind replays the conversation over and over again.

As much as you want to believe in him, in the connection you share, the seeds of doubt have been planted.

You're uncertain if you're ready for what's to come—the interview, the public scrutiny, or the complicated feelings that have begun to tangle between you and Satoru.

But throughout all this uncertainty, there is one thing that is without a doubt evident.

You still have a decision to make.

poor y/n can't catch a break...girl is going through it. man i cannot tell you how much i enjoyed writing the coffee shop scene with naoya though, idk it was just so satisfying to write, i literally despise naoya so much lol. and satoru being so clueless with haru 🥲 he sat there for two hours 🤭 he's such a goof. anyways, i really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and i hope you're ready for what's to come! thanks so much for reading 🥺 seriously, your comments make my day. much love 🫶🏻 → onto the next chapterꨄ

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[cinnbar-bun]

Pony (Various SBR x Reader)

Characters: Diego Brando, Johnny Joestar, Mountain Tim, Gyro Zeppeli (separate)

Prompt: "My saddle's waitin' / Come and jump on it."

Summary: How ya'll get down and dirty together with your fave cowboys.

Rating: NSFW THERE IS NOTHING BUT SMUT HERE

Notes: Reader is GN!, no body parts mentioned for reader, implied to be during the SBR, no spoilers for Part 7, just pure smut hcs.

Word Count: ~2.3k

You can read on my AO3 here!

Taglist (if you'd like to be added, please fill out the form in my pinned): @bruabbina @adeadcreator

Diego Brando 

The type to suggest a casual arrangement before he gets seriously involved with you. He says it’s just to relieve some stress during the race but before you know it, he wants you closer. 

Tries to present himself as a dominating and forceful top, and that’s probably how many of your sessions will go at first. He refuses to give up power easily and especially not in a presumed ‘casual’ mutually beneficial arrangement. 

In reality he can be quite the switch, something that will be explored the more you two get intimate. He relishes power struggles, and will goad you into trying to dominate him further or putting you deeper in your place. 

A talker, Diego will almost never shut up. Whether it’s praising how your body squeezes him, degrading you smugly, coaxing you to ‘tame’ him, or begging for some pleasure- his mouth will be running. 

He makes such beautiful noises <3 

Prefers to have sex in more secluded areas, preferably your tents late at night. But if pushed to it, he will not be opposed to just taking you in an alley or in the woods out in the open. 

“Since you acted so wanton earlier, it shouldn’t be an issue for you, should it? Now stop whining.” 

He loves when suck him off while he’s sitting or standing. It makes him feel like a king. He’ll give you plenty of praise or condescending compliments while you do so. 

His fingers are amazing. Calloused from holding the reins for so many years, but experienced at the best ways to give you pleasure. 

Diego tends to admit his true feelings or get more possessive during sex. A lot of “mine” or “for me” and “I love you’s” are thrown out while he’s going at it (or you’re going at him). 

Occasionally cannot hold back how feral he feels because of Scary Monsters. He will be rutting and grinding into you and telling you he needs you now. 

Probably one of the few occasions he will not be talking beyond mindless grunts, groans, and growls. 

Does like roleplay, not really anything elaborate (especially not during the race when time is limited), but he does like indulging in specific ‘roles’ for you both. He tends to like being called ‘master’ or ‘sir’ or even ‘my lord’. Don’t worry, he’s happy to do the same for you if you want it (sigh can you imagine him calling you master/mistress I’m-). 

Has no preference for where he finishes, because he truthfully wants to cover himself all over you, whether you swallow, giving you a facial, or inside- he’s raring to go again to finish on a different spot and exert his place with you. 

If under the influence of Scary Monsters, though, he will tend to want to finish inside you. 

His aftercare is pretty crappy at first, especially when it’s meant to be ‘casual’, because he thinks he’s such hot shit that you should be grateful you even got to sleep with him. But as he gets closer to you, he will either grumble and tell you you’re so dirty while cleaning you, or just silently help you then hold you close. 

He can be very clingy after sex, making him hold you close and bury his face into your shoulder/chest so he can inhale your scent and regain himself.

Johnny Joestar 

Type to get caught trying to ‘relieve’ himself and weakly ask for your help. And really, how could you resist that flustered face?

Johnny isn’t inexperienced, absolutely not, but he hasn’t slept with another since his time as a pompous jockey who had people throwing themselves onto him left and right. The guilt and his injury left him rather rusty and self-conscious about his performance. 

You’re gonna have to do a lot of the heavy lifting with him, but Johnny proves himself to be an eager lover. 

Lots of foreplay between the two of you, with Johnny having a preference for face-sitting. He also will incorporate some of the Spin with you to act as a ‘vibrator’ of sorts to pleasure you more. 

Self-conscious at first but slowly grows more comfortable and confident as you two continue together, making him relax. While at first he tries to stay silent or apologizes/mumbles under his breath a lot, he’ll slowly begin to crack some jokes and be more vocal. 

This is when you’ll see Johnny shine more. He’ll offer more creative suggestions and kinks for the both of you to try out. He’s wonderful at adapting on the fly if he finds you enjoying/disliking something. 

Besides his stated fetish for bug bites (which will seriously get him going if he sees you with some), he just really loves your ass. He straight up cannot get enough of it, and will be grabbing and holding it whenever he can. 

Continuing with that logic, he loves reverse cowgirl because he loves seeing your ass bounce against him. 

Johnny’s dirty talk tends to consist of him throwing expletives and saying what he feels. He’s not too good with roleplay because after a while the pleasure crashes his brain and he just starts talking mindlessly. 

“Ah, shit, you feel so good… fuck, keep going.” 

He can be a teasing bastard when he really feels like it. Often, he’ll employ the Spin on you, then pull it away just before you finish. He can get pretty cheeky, but that’s just how you know how comfortable he is with you. 

His neck and collarbone are some of his more sensitive spots, and if you focus your attention there, he loses his mind. Leave him some hickeys and tug on his hair, and he’s positively gone. He will complain about the marks later, but secretly admire them and be happy he’s got them from you. 

He likes finishing on your ass. Second favorite thing would be to have you swallow, but he finds it pretty attractive if some of it spills out of your lips. 

His aftercare is good and he’ll do his best to care and comfort you. But majority of the time he’s just spent and exhausted and wants to snuggle with you. He gets rather soft and whispers a lot while you two bask in the afterglow. 

Mountain Tim 

The type of man to want to be romantically involved with you and take it slow, before he can’t contain himself and has to have you. 

Tim is a gentleman, he really is. For a bounty hunter, the man takes great care to try and woo you and behave properly around you. Because, truthfully, this man is a romantic deep down. 

He’ll never try and let his desires get the best of him for fear of taking advantage of you, so you’ll have to initiate. And the minute you initiate, he’s all for it and will jump at the opportunity. 

A giving lover- so giving that the both of you, on occasion, were spent with only the foreplay. 

He’s passionate. His actions can be overwhelming in the bedroom, but you can practically feel the love dripping out of him. He goes nuts for you. 

Obviously, bondage is most likely occurring. His stand gives him a multitude of ways to tie you up and tease you with his body. He will take advantage of his powers to bring you the utmost pleasure. 

However, his favorite kinks include cockwarming and overstimulation. He would love to be inside you forever if he could, and he often likes to tease you by having you sit on him for a while before he moves. 

As for overstimulation… he’s gonna make you cum over and over. He always praises you for finishing and will try to urge another orgasm out of you. He loves seeing your face and hearing your breathless moans and whimpers. 

“That’s it darling… that’s it. You’re doing so good for me… you can give me another one, can’t you? I know you can, darlin’. Just let me take care of you.”

Heavy on the praise. He’s never mean or degrading, because he loves you too damn much to do that. At worst he’d do some condescending praise, but majority of the time it is pure praise for how amazing you are and how good you feel. 

While he can lean into some sub/dom dynamics with you, often sex is just an outlet for the both of you to express your affection and love. 

He is often a service top for you, but leans more towards dom. That doesn’t mean he won’t sub for you, he absolutely will if you desire it. He’d love nothing more than to see you riding him. 

He prefers positions where he can see your face. Tim will coo for you to look into his eyes and shake his head when you try and cover your face or look away. He just loves seeing your facial expressions. 

Reverse cowgirl is a good treat once in a while for him, too. He loves being able to smack your ass and praise how you’re riding him. 

Likes to finish inside. He believes it’s more proof that the two of you are bound together. 

His aftercare is amazing. Probably the best guy around at it. Course, he’ll be a bit of a flirt and tease, but he always care for you just as any good cowboy should. 

Gyro Zeppeli 

Also the type to suggest a casual sexual relationship with you before he falls for you. 

If you were to look up “wild” in the dictionary, you’d find Gyro’s picture right next to it because this man is an absolute loose cannon in the bedroom. Or tent. Or woods. Or alley. Or body of water. Or wherever the hell you two decide to have sex. 

Gyro isn’t ashamed of his desires and will seek you out pretty often. 

He’s experimental in bed. He is experienced from his many sexual escapades back then, but since the race, he’s been steady with you and likes trying whatever new wacky whim crosses through his mind. 

His surgical and anatomical knowledge combined with his teasing nature makes him a menace. He knows almost every nerve and muscle on your body and how to manipulate it for your pleasure. Not to mention, his control over the Spin will have him working your body in overtime. 

Gyro likes to tease you during inopportune times by using the Spin on you to act as a vibrator and get you excited, but he’ll act like nothing is going on around the others and make you wait. He’ll eventually have the two of you secluded and “take care” of the problem he caused, all while having that shit-eating grin on his face as he tells you you’re getting too desperate. 

This man is getting goofy and silly with you during sex. Expect some bad puns or jokes while he’s ramming your insides. 

An unfair and rough lover who gets pleasure from hearing your voice. He will never want you to be quiet, and he makes it his mission to have you screaming by the end of it. He might chide you and call you out for being too loud, but honestly he doesn’t care if everyone else is hearing it. He just loves how your voice sounds. 

Roleplay is common between the two of you. Sometimes it’s ‘prisoner x jailer/executioner’, ‘surgeon x patient’, or ‘royal x dutiful, loyal executioner who is totally gonna be rewarded for being an awesome partner today in the race, right?’ 

Gyro surprisingly can stay in character and he will play his roles very well for you. He gets pretty into them when he wants to. 

Likes doggy style a lot. Whether for you or him, he just wants someone being on all fours and their ass being grabbed. 

Switch, leaning more towards top/dom. But he finds it hot if you take charge of him and put him in his place (and he’ll serve you like no other, baby). Will call you whatever you want him to call you, no questions asked. 

Occasionally drops some Italian in the middle of banging you. This was especially prevalent when he started falling for you and would loudly proclaim “ti amo” over and over without addressing it in English. 

Despite his playful attitude both in the bedroom and out, he can get pretty serious and emotional with you. Sometimes the rough horseplay just doesn’t cut it, and he’ll lay back and thrust slowly into you while gripping your hips to help you ride him. He’ll talk less in these moments and just enjoy hearing both of your gasps and quiet moans. 

Doesn’t have a specific preference on where to finish. He just does it wherever he feels. He commonly does it on your back or stomach, depending on the position. 

His aftercare is wonderful. Yeah, he can be a joker sometimes but the afterglow with you is nice and can get pretty romantic. He’ll glide his hands over you gently and trace over the marks he may have left on you or just to feel your skin underneath his fingers. He’ll clean you up and have you both rest. He did reveal he could relieve some of the soreness from your body with the Spin, so occasionally he’ll do it (admittedly, he does like seeing you limp or wobble after a tryst with him). 

It’s where Gyro will be at his most tender with you, where he will cradle you and look at you with eyes full of love and desire for you. He speaks quietly in these moments and likes to ramble about nothing with you. And when he pulls a small laugh out of you, he thinks he could just die on the spot and be content.

[andcars]

# 𝗠𝗩𝟯𝟯 ─── GAMER MOMENTS MASTERLIST⠀REQUEST ME⠀TAGLIST⠀PATREON GUIDE⠀AO3

YOU'RE A MINECRAFT STREAMER and get in contact with some new guys. one of them won't stop bullying you. it's kinda silly how he acts like he's being subtle that he's trying to flirt with you.

TAGS. . . # fluff, bullying as flirting, pining max verstappen, 'oblivious' reader, minecraft streamers

FIC STYLE. . . # social media au (instagram chats, tweets)

zsync

ty FSMP for having me. that being said, hopefull i didn't give too much of a bad impression to some of ya'll....

liked by albonono, grussell and 7,742 others

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stellaroit i MISSED A ZSYNC STREAM?!?!?

orrifices RIP it was a funny stream

stellaroit what happened the vod isn't out yet

rudemi played minecraft in a new friend group and just decided to cause chaos towards this other streamer the entire time

angeleles who the hell is this lion33 dude and why did he have to hog all the wheat

divissx CHAT THE FURNACE IS NOT FURNACING!! highlight of the stream

lion33 mate i need u to leave the smp

albonono You're just jealous she got all the diamonds in the main island

lion33 completely unrelated

zsync (i'm not) sorry max

ynpng

chat i am not washed at minecraft

liked by alexalbono, georgerussell and 219 others

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georgerussell Disagree

ynpng like i ASKED

alexalbono Slay

alexalbono Btw why're u off priv do u know that

ynpng yessir

alexalbono Suspicious

alexalbono Are you joining the server soon. Max is annoying me

ynpng stop hogging my comments + maybe idk i'm still bitter abt him killing my cows

lion33

appreciate @ albonono for letting me on his stream. i do have his password now btw

liked by albonono, grussell, zsync and 13,611 others

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zsync WAS THAT WHY ALEX WAS JUST MUTED THE ENTIRE TIME?? IT WAS YOU??

lion33 lol

albonono @ zsync he was enjoying receiving flowers from you too much

lion33 your base? exploded.

shouula i love having a pov of max smiling like an idiot when yn was treating him like alex (aka kindly)

vrikrik real. yn is living the y/n life. what i would do to make him smile like that

albonono If u wanted to flirt do it on your own stream I literally went to piss

lion33 ???

massuech dude this is the weirdest softlaunch ever

zsync @ zsyncc · 28 October i'm never playing this game again

141 replies 881 reposts 1.8k likes

Max V @ lion33 · 28 October — Replying to @ zsyncc ur being dramatic lol my house was griefed i needed somewhere to stay 41 replies 331 likes

mia 🕸 @ webberstrr · 28 October — Replying to @ lion33 just say you wanted to put your beds together in minecraft and leave 2 replies 6 likes

EVE @ eeves1 · 28 October so we agree that max and yn were flirting the entire thing right

14 replies 7 reposts 63 likes

EVE @ eeves1 · 28 October — Replying to @ eeves1 i don't like rpf but it is kinda funny how max was goading yn on like a kindergarten with a crush 3 replies 7 likes

zsync

my beautiful house before it was INVADED BY THE DUTCH (also here's the mirmir bath pics ya'll begged for)

liked by albonono, grussell , lion33 and 7,742 others

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pineeapper KITTYYY

lion33 you could've just said no

zsync would u have taken no as an answer?

lion33 no haha this is what u get for stealing my diamonds

littelorrenst chaotic stream as always

piapastry no one else gonna question the weird domesticity of her and max? no? ok

albonono Why're you reposting the mirmir pics from your "priv" account

zsync because i can

lion33 what? u have a priv?

Yn | You are now private messaging @ ynpng 142 followers · 521 posts

lion33 this isn't private lmao

ynpng no i just took it off priv for a bit

lion33 oh. ok btw like do u wanna film something tgt soon

ynpng yea sure why not

lion33 cool cool yea friday?

ynpng sure

lion33 shared a location

ynpng huh

lion33 where we can meet. alex told me you live near me so

ynpng wait omfg i thought u meant like stream

lion33 oh it's ok if u want it to be just a stream like minecraft or smthn

ynpng no no its okay. i need new vid on my main yt anyways

lion33 u sure? lol it's ok if u dont wanna film irl w me

ynpng stop being such a hard ass maxy. i say yes to filming

lion33 cool. thanks btw i really like ur videos 👍

zsync

causing chaos in the toy store in my new video. thank you @ lion33 for featuring and being my slave for the day

liked by albonono, grussell, lion33 and 64,147 others

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wiiredxs never thought id get to see max doing an irl vlog willingly

hamiston who messed with the timeline why am i seeing max and yn tgt

vrikrik RIGHT like max flew a plane just to film this video 😭 they live in diff continents

lion33 sighs

albonono Your flirting technique sucks

lion33 shut the fuck up

orrifices am i delusional is this not the equivalent to teasing ur friend over his crush

grussell Yn, I hope you're seeing this

zsync seeing what

grussell Crikey...

Yn | You are now private messaging @ ynpng

georgerussell I don't wanna be the bearer of news... But Max has a crush on you

ynpng that's crazy dawg

georgerussell Okay I need some more reaction than that Me and the guys' GC have been talking about it ever since the first FSMP stream

ynpng whattttttt he's whatttttttt

georgerussell What in the Have you like known this the entire time

ynpng George. The man is a Monaco based streamer. I do not live in Monaco. He told me that Alex said we live near each other. I can kinda tell when people have a crush...

georgerussell And that's just your reaction!? I still expected something!

ynpng ill give u a reaction if he does something more obvious in the next stream

zsync @ zsyncc · 8 November fsmp birthday stream 2nite y'all. wish me bday luck i need netherite

568 replies 7k reposts 12.9k likes

EVE @ eeves1 · 8 November alright are we ever going to talk about how max (and im entirely sure it's max) put netherites in yn's chest like that was so cute...

27 replies 142 reposts 628 likes

♠ | FIO @ butt3fl1es · 8 November WHY DID I ENTER THE STREAM TO MAX MAXPLAINING ABOUT MONACO BOYS NOT BEING FUCKBOYS!?!?

WHAT IS HE YAPPING ABT

16 replies 7 reposts 88 likes

#33 @ quetoii · 8 November someone needs to tell max his cam is still on everyone can see him giggling after yn thanked him for his gift

23 replies 98 reposts 218 likes

dumb blonde moment @ jaccalps · 8 November — Replying to @ quetoii it's his fault anyways like no one streams minecraft w their cam on for maximum laziness

2 replies 6 likes

ynpng 🔒

@ lion33 thanks for the present! and you, I guess. but seriously, you need like better courting skills. my nephew could do way better than you and he's 3yo

liked by alexalbono, georgerussell and 327 others

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alexalbono I'm sorry, courting!?

ynpng if bullying me counts as courting yeah

georgerussell ... No one won the bet

lion33 this is why you don't start a bet

georgerussell Mate, no one expected you to try and get with her like two weeks when you first met

ynpng ok to clarify, we are not dating. he's funny and he's rich so im letting him try

layladook girl whyre you a red flag 😭

lion33 my fave color has always been red

🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . ok so i decided to do like my tweets as the text so it was easier for me to make this + less images uploaded. feel free to tell me if it's better or bad from how i used to do it before. anyways this was funny to write. i love minecraft. i love that max loves minecraft. it's just a bunch of tomfoolery around here also, my birthday is actually on the 8th so lil easter egg lmao ˎˊ˗ ᝰ.

──── 📨 @delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @bicchaan @fallingforpvris @rtorresblog @tribbisweetdear @jamie2305 @mv1simp

you support me best on tumblr with reblogs and comments ! ── by andcars ⟡

[takes1]

final part. bratty tsukishima x manager!reader enemies to lovers

thank you for all the kind words on this series!! fell in love with writing again and the support really helps me stay motivated! hit up my requests to lmk what else ya'll might wanna read from me!

warnings. heavy nsfw. minors DNI

details. nsfw / semi-public sex / safe sex! / m. first time / implied exp. reader / f. receiving oral / almost m. oral / mentioned handjobs / time skip / tsukki has horrible stamina / tsukki figuring out condoms / tsukki needing his glasses / needyshima / 3.5k

🤍 kei series. part one -- four here

more links. my ao3, my other stuff. request box

"What? You don't have to do that!"

Honored that the team as a unanimous entity agreed that you shouldn't clean and lock up the gym yourself, you blinked away the unexpected backlash.

You turned to Daichi, unable to buck up the courage to address everyone, "It's really not a big deal. You guys need to rest before this thing, I want all of you to get home as soon as you can."

He turned it over in his head a few times, looking to Suga for a second opinion, while most others insisted that they didn't want you staying longer.

They all had their personal reasons. Most were only doing it to be polite, but there were also a number of idiots that wanted to train for much longer than they should be allowed to.

Logic won out and soon you were twirling the keys around your finger, waving goodbye to the most disheartened Hinata you'd ever seen.

"You can come out," You called to Tsukishima after securing the closed doors.

He blended right out of the crowd earlier, sneaking off to the gym closet before anyone noticed his absence. It was pretty impressive how he managed to go so overlooked at his height.

From the clacking and banging that ensued beyond the closet entrance, you could only imagine he must've buried himself under some tricky supplies to remain hidden.

These desperate measures weren't commonplace; your parents were gone often, so most of the risque endeavors were kept to your bed. You made the mistake of going to his house only once, and thankfully were (mostly) clothed when his brother barged in.

When you approached, he was kicking a bucket off of his foot with the grumpiest frown on his face. It only deepened as you laughed at him.

"Ooh, was that tough?" You teased, taking his attitude-stricken face in your hands.

He rolled his eyes and let you pepper him with a few quick kisses.

"It was your idea," You reminded him, trying to make him maintain eye contact.

Neither of your homes had been a good option to see each other in lately. For a week, it was just studying together in public spaces. Though the normalcy was nice, you were both itching after the end of every practice to really 'see' each other.

His eyes flickered to match your gaze, but it was gone in an instant because he stole your lips for a gentle, long-awaited kiss. His body melted into yours, features relaxed when you pulled away.

He let you pull him back deeper into the closet, but not without some payment in return. It wasn't exactly a sexy place to be.

"This is-," You said between rushed, indecent kisses, "Pretty exciting," Your hand caught on a pile of heavy gymnastics mats to catch yourself from his clumsy pushing, "Isn't it?"

The presence of the mat did give him some ideas. Maybe it wasn't so bad.

With a bit of tantalizing force, he picked you up and smushed you against the only bare wall in the closet. Your tummy tightened and you locked around him with an uncontrollable moan.

There were a lot of things he thought to say, but didn't dare ruin how hot that was with his, at the worst of times, mood-ruining comments.

You nonverbally thanked him with a roll of your hips on his strained cock and a bold tongue against his own. He felt heavier on you, clawing at your ass under your shorts, a low groan just barely tangible against your mouth.

His tendency to get lost in these small things held the romantic in you captive- while also tending to your more animalistic impulses.

He just wanted more and more of you, and couldn't ever get enough.

It was because of this that you found it so difficult to wriggle out of his grasp, even though it was clear you were trying to take your shirt off.

You chuckled at his uncoordinated grabbing, nuzzling against your hair, and eventual drop to his knees when you unclipped your bra.

On his way down, he removed his soaked shirt off and cast it aside.

From this height he could offer his hands and mouth much easier. He never envied shorter men until he started getting neck pain from kissing you all the time.

His hands took up so much of your chest it looked a bit funny to you. At least for a moment. He pressed the flat of his tongue to a sensitive bud and sighed some preoccupied satisfaction through his nose when he sucked a kiss to the other.

His eyes were fierce and hard to look at when he was ever beneath you, it always sent a chill down your spine.

You bit back many a-sound to not let it all go to his ego too quickly. Despite this, he felt your excitement through your rapid, uneven breathing and relished in it anyway.

The imaginative idea of being on his knees was new to you-- and it gave you a good opportunity to introduce a growing interest of yours.

He was of course grumpy to be directed back up to stand.

It came out mostly in the form of his arms catching you before you could replace him on the floor.

"What- What are you doing?" His cool demeanor failed horribly.

You craved to see the way he got all huffy and sensitive again at your touch. The furthest you'd gotten so far regarding his pleasure were two brief hand jobs.

A gentle, yet firm rub of your palm on his clothed erection eased his doubt. His hold twitched into something softer and his chest puffed out.

"Relax, Tsukki," You cooed with a small peck to his jaw, "I just wanna try something."

He had horrible stamina, it felt quite complimentary to your abilities. You wanted to see how long he'd last when you were actually trying. He slowly allowed you the freedom to drop down to your knees.

There was just one problem.

He was so far away in this position. Not even just his head, which really did look like it was a mile up- but his hips were not where they needed to be.

His legs took up so much of his height, you were shocked to just now be noticing.

Confused, yet determined to make this work, you tugged on him.

"I'm... not squatting," Tsukishima bit back the humor bubbling beneath the surface just for you.

He watched you glance around the room for anything to put under your knees. A bit disinterested in finishing too quickly, he didn't allow you much time to think beyond a few more unproductive seconds.

"Probably for the best," He muttered, brought you up to stand, and glanced over your impossibly cute disappointment, "'M too sweaty for that."

It was a fair reason to be hesitant, but did nothing to ease your dismay. It was short-lived though, because his fingers flitting over your ribs gave a new intensity to your better-hidden desire.

He stepped between your legs and leaned forward, forcing you to take a stumbly step back. The back of your knees hit the heavy stack of training mats and left you no option but to sit.

For all you knew, his excuse could've been a clever cover-up to get to his preferred method of foreplay.

If there was anything he picked up the best from your weeks of scattered and fervent physical rendezvous, it was eating you out. The pride of making you cum on his tongue completely consumed him for the days following.

It was so strong at practice that Kageyama would often identify his newfound, difficult confidence in a series of angry disputes.

"You should lay down," Heavy-lidded eyes flickered over that validating look on your face that told him you just couldn't wait to be under his skilled tongue.

You fell into a rhythm whenever his courage found him again; once he believed he was good at something, he put 100% of his effort into it. This was, to your delight, one of those lucky instances.

Warm, wet, rushed kisses over your tummy preceded the skilled and subtle slide of your shorts and panties to the floor.

He knew what you liked. A rough grip around your thighs and a gentle, teasing kiss over your sex.

"So wetalready," He mumbled against you, prepping you for that addictive slide of his tongue from your entrance to your clit.

"A-ah," You failed to bite back a broken sound.

A combination of embarrassment to eclipsing pleasure left your thighs flexing against his grasp.

At the foreign feeling of something a bit hard, a bit uncomfortable, you realized--

"You're-- mmn-, glasses," You tried to communicate.

Completely deaf and unconcerned with the process or any words that didn't express how good he felt, he let your shaky, clumsy hand remove them.

He knew how to be just cocky enough to make you squirm. This gentle, endearing action inspired him to start swirling some soft circles around your clit.

"God," You choked, "That's soo fucking good..."

You rested them next to you and opted for your fingers in his fluffy blond hair.

It did help him, though. He felt them getting a bit crooked when he started, but didn't want to let you go and interrupt his flow. Now he could lean more freely.

Another rough kiss and your body curled in response- he kept your thighs, despite their straining, where he wanted them.

"Mm-!" You whined at his strength and tenderness all at once. Your mind couldn't help but wonder how that translated to his cock.

It must've been tough, since most of your bedroom activities centered around making out, eating you out once he fell in love with it, and the couple of times you made him cum with just your hand in record time.

Little to your knowledge, he was committing your visits to memory by getting off before and after. Not to mention nearly every morning now, and after the practices you couldn't be with him after. It was a pretty chronic addiction.

He lapped up the excess wet and used it as extra, completely unnecessary lubrication for his gentle, steady assault on you.

It edged you so close to finishing you had to tug him up by the roots.

"Tsukki- a-ah, I'm-,"

His chin dripped in lewd clear, his eyes bordering on mean how he squinted (blind) up at your interruption.

Ohh, fuck.

Despite hating the premature ending, even his contentious personality couldn't deny that pouty, needy expression on such a pretty face.

He only had a moment to wipe off the drool, amongst other substances, from his chin, as you pulled him in.

"I need you- so bad," You begged between hot kisses and his preferential taste for sucking just under your ear.

You heard him quite clearly stop breathing for a moment.

"Yeah?" He rasped, hardly a trace of brown in his sparkling eyes. The generous bulge prodding against you from his athletic shorts was a welcome challenge.

His body weighed on you as he smashed his lips into yours, clumsy and enthusiastic and wanton. Your legs wrapped around his waist and stirred a shaky groan from his throat.

That vivid print crammed against your pussy gave you a very bleak, disheartening reminder.

Your brow furrowed and you pushed a bit on his chest.

Highly sensitive to this small act of rejection, he took nearly all of his weight off of you at once.

Quick on the uptake though, you explained, "I-, I really do want you, it's just- I'm not comfortable doing this without a condom."

The epic battle playing in his head halted at once.

His eyes lit up wide, but his voice was as flat as usual, "I have one."

Confusion, relief, and chiefly the excitement between your legs took over all at once.

You laughed, leaning up to give him a smiley, lustful kiss, "Since when are you so optimistic?"

He returned it with an ardent, brief passion and tore himself away to collect his wallet from the floor. There was no extra inflection nor amorous implication to his words as he responded.

"Since you."

In a way, it almost sobered you up. The matter-of-fact statement was somehow new and old news, but hearing him declare it, instead of a mere suggestion, built a bridge you didn't realize you were still missing.

You got up to a kneel on the mats and pulled him in for a softer and appreciative kiss. He wore a little confused smile when you pulled away, but didn't question you.

Between you was the condom pinched between his index and middle finger. The thumb on his other hand was hooked under his waistband.

"Can you-," He looked away from you, bashful with a cute frown.

"Show you?"

A tiny nod.

There was no doubt in your mind for how you wanted to take him.

"Get on your back for me, baby," You mumbled against his lips with a fleeting kiss.

Stiff with nerves from your self-assuredness, he swiped off the rest of his clothes and put his back to the sticky vinyl-covered mat. You weren't aware of the curious tilt your head gave as you settled above him, but it spurred a whole-body shiver in him.

"You see the little rim? And how, if I turn it upside down, it's not the same?"

He squinted only for a millisecond before grabbing around for his glasses -adorable- and gave a nod when he saw what you meant.

"It's like a contact," He muttered.

You nodded, carefully picking up his hard-on enough to slide the thing on. He watched, learned, intently how you managed to do this.

"If you put it on the wrong way, it's more likely to slip off."

Your hips slid up over his now-safe dick. He was silently relieved he could feel just a fraction less with it on, because you looked too damn good perched up on him like that. No way he'd be lasting very long.

Dropping to your elbows, you gave him another soft kiss and took his glasses off again with a chuckle.

"I can't watch you?" He muttered, finding your eyes now that he couldn't see as well. That was your goal; he always gave you better eye contact when he couldn't tell his left from right.

"Mm-mm," You hummed against his cheek, positioning him against your aching pussy.

It was all on your accord to take him as you liked. He was too smart to move before he knew you wanted him to.

That didn't stop the grip on you from getting twitchy and hard, nor his unrestrained sounds.

"Augh-aha, jesus--, fuck..." Awe flashed across his face for a moment, quickly overshadowed by a deeply furrowed brow and an unwavering, adoring stare.

You seethed, eyes rolling back at his size filled you up. There was heavenly electricity he somehow pushed through your entire body. Even your fingers were buzzing.

His hip-work was a bit confused, but it was charming, slow, and good for a start when you suggested that he move.

"That feel good?" You breathed, shaky, but wanting to know all of his thoughts. As if he wasn't wearing it all over his face.

He was coated in sweat- you were, too, because there was no cooling in here, but he was distractingly so. The side of his face glistened in the orange-hued room.

"Fuc-k, ye-ah..." He wore an open-mouthed half-smirk as he admired your slick body sit up on his cock and ride him.

You kept your palms on his chest to support yourself, head leaning to the side as you focused on taking him. He kept his touch on your thighs light now, since he didn't want to risk fucking anything about this perfect performance up.

A hand slipped from his chest and to your own needy clit- you gasped and let out a quiet moan, bucking a little at the feeling.

You had no idea how much you needed it. After his tongue, the grinding, and how he started matching your own preferred pace, that thrilling, pleasant strain deep inside of you grew at an irresponsible rate.

"That's--s' hot," He choked, eyes narrowed and glued to the sight of your swirling fingers.

"Hm?" You smiled and moved both hands to the sides of his head, mistaking his admission to mean a more general vibe.

His breath stalled with effort as he bottomed out and stayed there.

He guided your hand back and pressed it between your legs again.

You sat a bit up again so you could better chase that high, tingly with an acceptable amount of embarrassment of being watched like that. You were practically edging yourself at this point and his gaze was threatening to throw you off the edge.

Those massive, sweat-slicked hands filled once more with the plush of your hips. He was struggling to keep his eyes open to watch, but managed alright.

"You-gotta teach me,h-ah- sometime," His bottom lip caught between his teeth as his focus tunnelled on the filthy sight of his own rough hold and his cock sliding in and out of your cunt.

He was a fast learner. His strokes were less shaky now, and grew more confident by the second. It may have been partially due to the fact that he knew you could take him, which just drew him closer to orgasm.

You could ride and listen to him all day, if it wasn't for your own body's limited capacity for the way he was taking you.

"Why don't I--mmn! Teach- you- ah, now?" You made him look at you again, a favorite maneuver of yours now, only just barely clawing to a paper-thin veil of poise to torture him with, over a quickly approaching climax.

"'Cause, I'm gonna cum before I figure it o-ut," Tsukishima sigh-laughed and moved one hand to your lower back.

It brought you down to your elbows. From here, he could kiss you hard and hit at a deeper angle- it was messy and rough and uncalculated; astoundingly hot coming from him.

Tsukishima never let himself act that way. It was a telltale sign that he was coming completely undone.

That hold on your hips hardened, his nails digging into you as his groans gradually started turning into whines and curses.

"F-uck--! Mmn- ha-h-ah," He cried softly on your lips as he came, panting like a dog.

Those unabashed, vulnerable sounds seized your heart and your pussy, and soon you found yourself not close behind, thanks to the fact that he didn't stop fucking you even after he came.

Shaky fingers scratched at his neck and shoulders, clinging like a lifeline. White-hot waves crashed over you as he drowned the rest of your sounds in another sloppy, worshiping kiss.

The gym was so quiet when neither of you were making any noise.

There was the hum of cicadas outside, but not even the fans were turning. It was just your laden breathing in here.

Slowly, you were able to see more of him on the backend of that shared high. Your head buzzed with the comfort and warmth his body provided you. His heavy arms squeezed around your middle.

It looked like he was swimming in satisfaction with a familiar, smug smile on his lips and closed eyes.

"Mm, you gonna look at me, pretty boy?" You rubbed the laughable amount of sweat around on his tummy and chest.

A deep shade of red returned to his cheeks. You grinned.

"Pretty?" He repeated in a scoff.

He'd come to appreciate it more, because, "It's true. You are pretty."

Sure, he sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes, but he wouldn't be so embarrassed if he didn't see a little truth in it.

It was getting a bit cold, now that you weren't so worked up anymore.

"Shit...we've gotta clean this place up."

There was a quiet beat between you.

For a very slow and hesitant 30 seconds, you gripped the rim of the condom on his still rock-hard cock and slid off of him with a shudder. He remembered that maneuver for next time.

You climbed off of the mat and began putting on your clothes. The gym around you felt 300 times bigger than it actually was.

After figuring out how to take it off without getting drenched in his own cum, he tied it and observed the thing for a second. Then, he slid -yeah, slid- to the corner of the mat and stayed seated while he watched you get dressed.

Now you had even more to put away and wipe down, because Tsukishima left a 6 foot long pool of sweat on the mat. He wore a devious smirk.

"Since I'm the one competing in Nationals tomorrow, I think I'll just leave you to it--"

"You better get your lanky ass up right now," You swatted him with your shirt and he broke out into a playful grin as he heaved himself up and snatched it from you.

Now when he stood over you, it felt thrilling instead of threatening. He fixed the twist in your bra strap without looking away from your eyes.

He kept the shirt far out of your reach while he stole a kiss, "I'll help as long as you clean like this."

taglist:

TYSM FOR THE SUPPORT AND REPLIES!! the energy here was so great! requests are open!

@v15aexe @hotvinimon @cyzvx @aloveablechaos @kozumesphone

@beaniedoodz @idiotboys @djmoyolehuani @ilovemymomscooking

@imiqz @vierciale @sukunassaltysack @garlicbread9104 @awkwardaardvarkforever

[starwrighter]

Dude, get a restraining order

(Masterpost) (Ao3 link) (previous)

(Chapter #5 Ya'll)

Just like he said he would, Damian walked Danny to his earth science classroom. Guiding him through labyrinth-like hallways with a firm grip on his sleeve. It’s as if he thought Danny would slip through his fingers and be swept away by the crowd of students. Embarrassingly enough, that’s an accurate assumption of both his luck and his situational awareness. If he dared to imagine the future, prison bars, sigils, and the outline of a body immediately came to mind.

Forever he’d be thanking the ancients for Damian expert skills in navigating. Without him, he’d probably be curled up at the bottom of a staircase by now. Or in a death cult keen on taking over the world. It might seem ridiculously pessimistic, but freaky escalations like that happened to him all the time! He’d gone from searching for a gift he’d accidentally knocked into the zone to staging a massive prison break! Needless to say, he appreciated the company.

“Since your map is half a century out-of-date; I’ll pick you up around lunchtime,” Damian declared, curtly waiting for his response.

”Sounds good,” Giving the other boy a small wave and a thankful smile Danny headed into the classroom.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he read the cheesy geology jokes scrawled onto the board. The jokes were stupid in a way only teachers or dads could make them. Puns that could do psychic damage if you dare read them aloud. It’s beautiful. Leagues above a certain English teacher who butchered slang so brutally the lingo died on the spot.

The typical classroom posters lined the walls. A clear bucket full of rocks just sitting on the teacher’s desk as she started taking attendance. He sat close to the front furthest from the door. His blindside faced the wall, nobody could sneak up on him and he wouldn’t be trampled when the bell rang. Nobody could gawk pityingly at his face this way. Yeah, you could pry this spot from his cold dead hands.

It might seem extreme but people were…Weird when it came down to his disability. Some people treated him like he was utterly useless, incapable of doing anything on his own. They tried to “help” without bothering to ask about his condition or if he even needed help. It was so much worse the first few months after the accident. He was wheelchair-bound for that. -1/10 wouldn’t recommend.

He could say with certainty nobody wanted to be paralyzed. It’s jarring how differently treated him back then. They’d point out the obvious like he’s completely blind. Annoying, but understandable considering how gnarled his facial injuries were before they healed. It looked like somebody shot him in the face with a firework. The fact that he didn’t lose an eye was a medical miracle backed by new ghostly powers.

What wasn��t understandable was the complete lack of boundaries strangers had with him and his wheelchair. No amount of warning could’ve prepared him for the first time someone grabbed his wheelchair and moved him. He thought it’d been a one-time thing but it happened again and again without fail. Somebody would move him out of the way or try to “Help” him get to where he’s going. Several times without so much of a “Hello! Do you need some help,” people he’d never spoken to would grab the handles of his chair and start pushing him.

It’s infuriatingly dehumanizing and their heartbroken faces when he called them out tugged at his heartstrings. So many times he’d guiltily stewed over his responses. Jazz killed that guilt without so much as a thought when she put things into perspective. Even though Jazz had a habit of psychoanalyzing him it felt good when she said his anger warranted.

Nothing would ever feel as good as taking those first shaky steps outside his wheelchair though. The wave of overwhelming emotion when a group of baffled doctors told him his paralysis wasn’t as permanent as they previously thought was unparalleled. He cried a lot that day. Tears of joy, he’s not ashamed to admit that.

Never in his life would he have thought he’d be grateful for Dash’s bullying. But after a full two months of extensive physical therapy and multiple surgeries, he now knew were unnecessary anyone treating him like they did before was a godsend. Dash believed in a twisted kind of equality when it came to bullying, he’d pick on anyone he deemed a loser. For him, it’d been verbal harassment, but regaining the ability to walk gave him confidence. He was extremely cocky, snapping back with sarcastic venom at every dig made at him.

Slowly but surely, people stopped babying him. It was harder to argue that someone was helpless when they were actively picking fights with the star football player. After all the shit he’d involved himself in people treated him like normal. Normal in the sense he was picked on for being a loser with crazy parents.

He’d take that kind of bullying over the underhanded insults drowned in infantilism. As the months passed it felt like everyone forgot about his accident. His classmates would get angry at him when he couldn’t keep up with them and go green with envy when he got extra time for his assignments. People acted like he was getting special treatment just for the sake of it.

Like full body electrocution was something he could just walk off. They didn’t understand how walking and running were easier than standing in place. He was accused of faking it whenever he stood up from his wheelchair. People were offended that he still considered his left side blind when he could still see light in his peripherals.

Everyone he talked to said he was lucky. Lucky to survive, lucky to walk again without aid, lucky to have all the sweet powers, lucky lucky lucky. He didn’t feel all that lucky when his joints locked or when reading gave him migraines so bad he questioned if being alive was worth it.

He knows it could be worse. Dear god does he know it could be so, so, much worse. He could be fully dead. Charred to a crisp without even a blast shadow as evidence of his death. He should’ve been paralyzed from the neck down for the rest of his life. Braindead, hooked up to a machine as his family mourned their loss. The consequences of walking into that portal chamber were so much lighter than anyone could’ve imagined. So he dealt with it.

Things could be worse. At least he wasn’t in Gotham directly after his accident. Slipping through solid objects around people 100x more fearful of their surroundings was a wonderful way to speedrun getting his spine shattered by a guy in a bat suit. Or trafficked. Danny winces as he scribbles on a sheet of lined paper.

Someone is staring at him. The boy beside him was shooting daggers into his very soul. Hadn’t even bothered to hide the way his face twisted in suspicion when Danny turned to look him in the eyes.

“You need something?” Danny probed, praying this was just him misreading facial expressions.

“What the hell happened to you?” The other boy whispered, his tone harsh and accusatory.

“A shocking experience,” His half-assed response earns him a sharp glare and a sneer.

“No really, what happened?”

“Got zapped,” He shrugs, hoping his classmate would take the hint and drop it.

“That’s not what I meant,” The other seethed. “How did you get electrocuted?”

”Electricity,”

“The fact you’re dodging my question makes you look more suspicious,”

“Not trauma dumping on a stranger makes me suspicious?”

“It’s Gotham! We don’t get transfer students outside major cities and we certainly don’t get ones willing to stay for months! What are you planning?” He hisses, voice cracking as he tried and failed to make it sound lower.

“Trust me, if I had a choice to stay home I would’ve,”

“I don’t think I do trust you,”

“That's not my problem,” Danny shrugged. This guy spoke with the delusional confidence only the stubbornest flat earther could rival. He’s not a gothamite by any means but wasn’t the key unspoken rule of the city “Mind your damn business unless you’re a bat,” It’s on par with Don’t dig straight down but this guy clearly hadn’t learned of the former.

“Why do you have fangs?”

”Genetics,” What kind of question was that? Plenty of people had fangs. It’s a common trait, almost every person in amity has it!

”I don’t believe you,”

Heh? What’s the point in asking if he wasn’t going to believe him when he answered? It reminded him of a certain annoyance back home.

“Why do you-“

”Leave me alone!” He snaps. It’s like his classmates doing his best impression of a toddler! “Why?” “Why?” “Why?” Desperately trying to catch Danny in a lie and refusing to believe any response that wasn’t a confession of guilt. World's greatest detective over here, interrogating him for having the audacity to show up to Gotham with “Gasp!” Scars! Oh, the humanity! What a delinquent!

Ancients’ weren’t these prissy private schools supposed to be better than public schools? He walked to school today expecting to be murdered and or indoctrinated into a weird death cult not interrogated by Walmart Batman over here!

What was this guy expecting to drag out of him anyway? Blueprints for a deathray? A secret plot to break everyone out of Arkham? Secret rogue plans? He just got here today! What could he possibly be planning when his apartment didn’t even have toilet paper yet? They hadn’t even hit the 24-hour mark and he already had a conspiracy theorist pestering him.

“Why are you-“ Copycat Wes starts.

”Leave him alone you fucking moron!” A female voice snaps behind them.

“ You don’t understand! He-,” Sputtering to defend himself the girl glowered at him.

“Has done nothing to warrant your harassment,” She finished the sentence for him.

”No! He’s up to something I swear! Just look at him,”

The girl looked him up and down, her hazel eyes shooting daggers into his soul. “He looks like he’s a strong breeze away from a heart attack,”

Ouch.

"There is something wrong with him, you're just too dim to see it," He spits.

 

“Listen here you toe-eyed spaz, I don’t want to have to deal with Lightning Rod over here frying people to death because you wouldn’t stop tormenting him!” She seethed, jabbing her finger into Offbrand’s chest.

“How do you know he’s not going to do that regardless?”

She turns her attention back to him. “Are you going to start doing rogue shit?” She speaks calmly as if she’s asking about the weather.

He pretends to ponder for a second, checking his phone for dramatic effect. “ Nah, My sister says I’m not allowed to be a criminal outside my hometown. It’ll affect her chances of getting into a good college,” To his surprise, that’s an acceptable response for her.

”See, he’s fine.”

“Did you not hear a word he said?” Copycat sputters. “He just admitted to being a criminal,”

“And?”

“What do you mean, and?” The boy is red in the face now.

”That’s not our problem,” She replied bluntly.

“How is it not our problem?”

“It just isn’t,”

“It clearly is “ He emphasizes.

“This is why you keep getting mugged,” She snaps. “You’ve lived in Gotham your whole life, how have not learned how to mind your damn business,”

“I know how to mind my business. This is my business. You’re the one who butted in,”

“I’m a nosy bitch too. But I’m not the one who’s pretending to be Batman.” She’s smirking now, tapping her fingernails on her desk.

“I’m not pretending to be Batman,” He defends, hands clenched into fists. “I’m just doing my civic duty!”

“You’re delusional,”

“Well- at least I’m not a criminal,” Offbrand Wes sneered, whipping around to glare at him.

Oh great, he’s directly involved again.

“What a scathing remark, I’ll be sure to cry about it while I build my deathray,” Maybe he shouldn’t keep antagonizing. Offbrand looked about ready to strangle him.

“Now you’re pissing him off on purpose,” The girl behind them deadpans.

“ I am, thanks for noticing,” He’s giddy, a shit-eating grin on his face that would immediately get him shanked if he were outside right now.

Their conversation continues. The three of them whisper-yelling at each other. Offbrand Wes fumed at every one of Danny’s sarcastic responses, doubling down on his suspicions. With every absurd accusation thrown his way, the girl defended him. But if you listened in for more than a few seconds you could see she didn’t step to his defense for the sake of being nice. She just really hated this kid. Who could blame her?

The argument devolved into the two gothamites insulting each other in a way only rich kids could. Family names Danny barely recognized as important were thrown around like dodgeballs. Maybe if Danny kept up with celebrity drama he’d be able to tell who’s winning?

“Daniel Fenton? ” He almost jumps at the sudden interruption. He’d been so awestruck watching these two go at each other's throats that he hadn’t noticed anyone approaching them. The teacher is staring down at him; he smiles politely. Better to garner goodwill now rather than later.

”I’d like to see you after class today,” Oh god, already? What had he done to peeve this teacher? Did she hear them arguing? Offbrand was grinning, vindicated as Danny stumbled over himself.

“Oh- uh, will it take long? A friend said he’d help me find my classes since my map is a little off.” He offered up the map as proof. A sacrifice in hopes of leniency for whatever crimes he’s about to be accused of.

The woman looked over the paper, her relaxed expression dropping with the growing confusion.

“Can I see your schedule?” Danny hands it over without a word. Slowly, she ran her fingers against the brail of his schedule. The slow shift in her stance as her face paled felt like it’d been ripped straight from the trailer of a horror movie. He’s heard a lot of crazy things in his life but nothing would ever shock him more than what his teacher said next.

“We’re going be sued into the fucking ground,” Her words were barely audible, whispered behind a closed fist. Danny’s stunned silence was a thousand times louder. Teachers could swear here?! Isn’t that illegal? He sits speechless for an agonizing minute, unsure if he’s in trouble.

Wordlessly, she drags him to the front of the classroom. It feels like he’s being walked to the gallows.

“Do you mind if I keep this?”

”Yeah? I need to know my schedule,” Was wandering around clueless detention for Gotham schools? He hadn’t even done anything. Sure, he was a tad bit tardy this morning. That’s the plane's fault, not his!

“You don’t have a school iPad?” She sounds utterly exasperated.

“No,” He’s supposed to have a school iPad?

“Did they at least give you a proper school I.D.?”

”I hope so ” He shows her the plastic card he’d been given alongside his schedule. She scrutinized the card, glaring intently at every word. It’d taken hours to get a decent photo for that stupid card.

“There’s something wrong with it isn’t there?” Screwed over straight from the get-go. He’ll be haunting the front desk for the foreseeable future.

“No, no it’s fine,” She waves him off. “Leave the map with me and drop your schedule off at the front desk when you leave for the day okay?” He nods, that’s all he can do at the moment.

When the bell finally rang their teacher practically shooed his classmates out the door. Students clogged the doorway, a glob of tangled backpacks that slowly oozed into halls separating with miffed expressions. The tile floor couldn’t be more appealing as he waited for the bomb to drop. In a fancy school like this, the punishment for tardiness could be public execution. You never know.

The punishment for seeing the school guidance counselor had been public humiliation with a side of attempted murder. So capital punishment being carried out in schools wasn’t something he’d be surprised about. They’d better have a guillotine, he’s gotten pretty sick of the electric chair.

“Is your friend coming to get you?” The woman asks, still studying the map with a furrowed brow. She squinted at the paper holding out in front of her face like the distance would change the image.

“I think so, he dropped me off here,” Danny pauses, fiddling with the buttons on the cuffs of his sleeves. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

She shakes her head much to his relief “Somebody’s going to be in trouble but it certainly isn’t you,”

Patterned knocking at the classroom door draws his attention from the woman. Green eyes met blue as Damian quietly entered the room.

“That’s him!” Beaming, he turns back to the teacher. “Can I go now?” She nods wordlessly. With her approval, Danny doesn't hesitate for a second. He darts over to the other boy with a relieved grin on his face.

“How was class?” He asks as they step out of the classroom.

”Unnoteworthy,” Damian hummed.

”Same,” I mean, technically he did get into a fight. But it wasn’t exactly something to write home about. Blows hadn’t been exchanged and he wasn’t gut-punched with a month's worth of detention. Yet.

The walk to the lunch room is heavily crowded. The cafeteria echoed with the chattering of a sea of teenagers. Their navy blue uniform made clusters of students indistinguishable from one another. Sam would hate it here.

“Hey, on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate lunch here?”

“Ten. I bring my food from home,” Damian responds quickly pausing afterward as if he’s contemplating a second answer.

“Fair,” He shrugs “nothing beats some home-cooked edible food,” Memories swirled through his brain like he’s a soldier fresh out of war. Reanimated turkeys, living mashed potatoes, gallons of milk that glowed bright enough to light an entire room.

“I reckon your parents’ aren’t the best chefs?” He can barely hold back a wince at the question.

”They try to be…” He sighs “Dad can make some killer fudge but everything else he cooks looks radioactive,”

“I suppose I can relate to that” Damian drawls, “Most of the family is barred from the kitchen without supervision,”

“That’s probably a good idea, learning to cook can be pretty messy,”

” I take it you’re the cook of your family?” Damian asks, eyebrows raised.

“Eh, kind of? I’m not the best but I can make edible food,”

“The bare minimum you know?” He laughs. “My parents are scientists so there wasn’t exactly time for cooking lessons while they were drilling us on safely handling their machinery,”

Damian looks him up and down, eyes locking on his face. “I don’t think those ‘drills’ did you well,”

“They did. I deliberately ignored what they taught me; fucked around and found out,” He shrugs. The past is the past and he’s learned not to change it for his own sake.

“I see…”

“Soooo…” Danny starts, the silence between the two of them awkward. “How would you rate the school-provided lunch?” He reiterated.

”I’ve only eaten the school-provided lunch once but I’d say it’s a four, maybe four point five if I’m being generous,”

”I’d settle for edible,” It’s a private school. Sure, it being in Gotham threw him off a little but what’s the worst that could happen? He dies? A bit too late for that.

“Your standards concern me,”

“Take that up with my school cafeteria; they gave me those standards,” To be fair, his parents contributed to that too. So had Nasty Burger. He had a love-hate relationship with food especially when it’s from a school cafeteria.

Call him paranoid but Casper High fed people dirt and grass plucked from the football field as a “Vegan option” Don’t even get him started on the rocks. Whole ass stones almost as big as his fist. They’d been expected to eat that?! Anyone who’d gotten nailed with one of those suckers when ‘food’ started flying, forever had his sympathy. Nobody was hospitalized but he’d seen the dents in the wall when they made him clean the cafeteria. Rocks were chucked in that food fight.

He’d gathered his lunch without much of an issue. The salad wasn’t sentient and his sandwich hadn’t screamed at him yet. He’d even managed to remember his lunch number at the end of it! Today’s a good day to be pleasantly surprised by the bare minimum. God knows he's gonna need the extra positivity.

Walking through the cafeteria, he spots Damian pretty quickly. The other somehow found himself one of the only empty tables in the whole cafeteria. When Damian waves him over it takes all his self-control to stifle a grin. For a split second, he’d thought he’d overstepped. Thought he’d missed the signs that Damian wanted him gone like Dad missed the signs that Vlad was a psycho.

“Are you really the chef of your family?” Damian questions.

“I am,” he grins, as Damian eyes him skeptically. “Does this-“ Danny gestures at himself. “Not look like the textbook example of a five-star chef to you?”

“Absolutely not,” Damian replied coldly without skipping a beat. “You look like you could burn a bowl of cereal,”

“I can cook, it just took a while to learn how,” You could only learn so fast when every ingredient is contaminated by a mystery cocktail of chemicals.

Even if he wasn’t a master chef he’s better than he was those first months after the accident. So many dishes shattered against the floor. He’d been scolded for each one. Anything he tried to hold slipped from his grasp before the ten-second mark.

“Could you give me any advice?” Damian asked.

“Try out some pasta recipes,” He comments between bites of his sandwich. “They’re hard to screw up and almost every cookbook has about a dozen you can practice,”

“Don’t go with overly complicated recipes straight off the bat. If you’re trying to make a three-course dinner when you can barely make a peanut butter jelly sandwich you’ll end up with a whole lot of wasted food and some scratched pans,” Danny warns, he’s lost count of the hours he’d spent scrubbing the charred food out of pots and pans.

“Alfred wouldn’t be happy about that,”

“Maybe you should ask ‘Alfred’ to teach you,” Danny comments, he wasn’t a tutor. That’s Jazz’s job. Sure, he’d like to be helpful but his journey in the kitchen involved resurrected coleslaw and radioactive dairy products. An experience few could relate to.

“I taught myself with YouTube tutorials, cookbooks, and spite; I’m sure you’d learn better with someone with someone there to give you feedback on what you’re doing.”

“Tch,” Damian glowered, shooting daggers down at his food.

“I’m serious!” He emphasizes, “Trying to wing it straight off the bat just isn’t a good idea,” He knew from experience. Food poisoning isn’t fun. Neither were the blisters you’d get from boiling oil.

“I’m sure many people ‘wing it’ in the kitchen,” Damian insists. “What if I’m a naturally born chef?”

”Didn’t you say you’re barred from the kitchen?” Damian’s cheeks turn a flustered red.

”I said most of my family is barred from the kitchen!” Damian defends like Danny’s ‘accusation’ is a slight against his character.

”Are you included in that ban?”

”…yes” The other boy whispers begrudgingly. He tries, he really does, but there’s no stopping the quiet giggle that erupts from his chest. Damian glares daggers at him cheeks rosy with embarrassment.

”I swear I’m not laughing at you,” He wheezes. It’s a lie and both of them know it.

”Go ahead and laugh, I’m not the one who fried myself,” Damian huffs.

Danny made jokes about his accident all the time. Much to everyone else's dismay his lab accident was his go-to event to joke about. No matter how many times he got scolded for “Making people uncomfortable” he kept it up. This wasn’t the first time someone had made a comment but there’s something about the way he said it. Something about the way he emphasized his words made Danny lose all composure. Collapsing into his folded arms, shoulder shaking with silent laughter.

”Hey…” The other boy’s voice is weaved with concern a guilty lift to his voice. Gently, he pokes Danny’s arm. Any worry drained from his features when Danny lifted his head to look at him.

”I thought I'd upset you!” Damian half shouts.

”Nah, I’ve got thicker skin than that,” He reassures.

”You're the first, Others tell me I come off rather… cold,”

“Really?” That’s a surprise. Danny couldn’t see it, then again he hasn’t known Damian for very long. After all that’s happened, he’d like to think he’s a better judge of character. The other boy didn’t give off Penelope spectra vibes. Nor did he act like a miniature Vlad. If anything, he reminded him of Sam.

“You’re a liar if you think I’m friendly,” He snaps scowling at Danny as if he’d just spat in his lunch or something.

”I’m not a liar, I just have a different definition of friendly than you do,”

“Does your definition of friendly happen to be rich?”

“Fuck no!” He snaps without thinking. Raising an eyebrow Damian stares at him green eyes scrutinizing his expression like there’s deeper meaning in his words. “Eat the rich,” He clarifies, as if that’s supposed to explain anything.

“Friendliness is compassion, a willingness to help, not sugar-sweet conversations with extroverted compassion,” It’s easy to put on a sweet voice while you screw someone over. Even easier to insult someone with a snidely worded ‘compliment’.

“You helped me without hesitation when you could have left me to fend for myself,”

“The situation was ridiculous, I had to help.” Damian defends

“ You didn’t have to,” he points out.

“Listen, I’m not trying to challenge your view of yourself; I’m just saying you’ve been nice to me so far,”

Damian relaxes, staring down at his lunch. “I pity you,”

“Pity me enough to give me a bite?” Danny asks, batting his eyes obnoxiously.

“Absolutely not,”

“Fuck.”

[she-whatshername]

Tyrrish men headcanons you didn't ask for, you didn't want, didn't need, but I give to you anyways.

Prompt: Love Confessions

I also use the term 'girl' in one of the prompts but feel free to strike that out and put your own self/pronouns/persona into it. These be for everyone, ya'll.

Xaden:

Xaden's hands skimmed the tops of your arms as he glided them up over your shoulders, collarbone and neck to finally rest at the base of your jaw. Each hand cradling the side of your head. You turned, unwilling to face him, but the strength of his fingers kept your head steady, and eyes locked on him. "I dont know what goes on in that beautiful, dangerous, lethal mind of yours that makes you think you're not worthy." He began, his voice pressing against your lips as he leaned in closer to you, "But I am going to kiss, and touch, and worship every inch of you so you'll never be convinced otherwise that there is any part of you I'm not utterly in love with."

Garrick:

"I will find you." He spoke it like a command, which brought you comfort in the chaos of the battle that surrounded the two of you. "Listen to me." He said again, taking both of your hands in his own, your left placed against his flight leathers directly over his heart, your right still tenderly held tight in his hand. "I have never lost hope when I was a locked up by my foster family, I never lost a challenge at Basgiath, hells I've never lost my patience being friends with Xaden of all people. And I will not lose you. You hear?" He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering for a few moments before he pulled back, smiling, "I've got a perfect record to maintain, and I'm not going to break it. Now go, with the others and get to safety. I don't care how far away it is because I will always, always find you. You got that?"

You nodded at him, causing the man before you to smile as he muttered, "Yeah, that's my girl. Now lets go."

Liam:

"Liam this is..." you paused looking at the wooding carvings on his desk, "Is this me."

"Yeah." He nodded sheepishly, "I know, It could be better."

You let out a laugh, "It looks just like me."

"There isn't a medium in the world that could capture the softness of your skin, or the beauty of your hair, the warmth of your heart even."

You looked up at him into his eyes. He was still smiling. And somehow, you could see the same glow that bore from his lips in the oasis of his eyes, "Liam. They're beautiful, they both are."

"Then take it." He said passing the small wooden of your into his hand alongside the one that looked similar to his own figure.

"I get both? You don't want to keep the one of you?"

Another smile, gods, could he get anymore beautiful, "You already own every part of me, my love. And now, you have a reminder that I have always been, and will always be, yours."

Bodhi:

Oh, we got ourselves a Bodhi love confession, but I am saving it for 'Drifted'. I was weeping when I typed it and i'm so, so excited for it to make its way into the story. Its the best of the four in my opinion. So, if you're gnawing at your keyboard/mobile device for some Bodhi love, check out Drifted on Ao3.

[floralcyanide]

⊱ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑 ― 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 ⊰

[ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

1960s ᴜs ᴘʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀɴᴅɪᴅᴀᴛᴇ!ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜs sɴᴏᴡ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜: 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑡.

౨ৎ 18+ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴏɴʟʏ !

⊹ summary: your first full day with coriolanus snow doesn't go without a hitch somewhere along the way. ⊹ pairing: young!coriolanus snow / fem!reader ⊹ warnings: mentions of poverty, mentions of alcohol, descriptions of alcohol, rough kissing (brief) ⊹ word count: 3223 ⊹ author’s note: so sorry for not being able to post this last week!! was high key withering away in the hospital like a frail victorian child lmao. but here's chapter two, I hope ya'll enjoy ♡

౨ৎ divider credit: @cafekitsune

౨ৎ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ | sᴇʀɪᴇs sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ | sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

౨ৎ this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

❝We must never forget that art is not a form of propaganda; it is a form of truth.❞ ― John F. Kennedy

“What shape do you want them?”

“Mickey Mouse!” “A heart!”

“Alrighty, then. One Mickey Mouse and a heart pancake are coming up, John John and Miss Caroline.”

John Jr. is perched atop the kitchen counter to your right, sitting patiently while Caroline sneakily dips a finger inside the pancake mix next to him. The three of you had worked to make the batter perfect, and you’re all fairly satisfied. You manage to make a decent Mickey Mouse shape in the pan, and a nearly flawless heart and the kids clap with delight. Coriolanus quietly watches you interact with Jack's children from behind the wall separating the kitchen and dining room. He’s initially shocked to see you so vulnerable and soft with other human beings, even if they’re small ones. Coriolanus didn’t expect you to be someone who interacts with children in general, given the snarky and stubborn personality you’ve shown him so far. But he shouldn’t be so quick to judge you yet- after all, there’s a lot to Coriolanus that isn’t as it seems, either.

Jackie, Jack, and the rest of the family present in the Compound had an obligation with their father later in the morning. So, you decided to get some food in John Jr. and Caroline beforehand. Hungry kids are cranky kids, after all. You were to stay behind with Coriolanus, as the two of you weren’t needed at the gathering. You don’t mind as you need to organize the notes you’ve taken so far, as well as finish reading Profiles in Courage. You had a lot of questions for Jack about it already, and it’d be better if you had every possible question ready as soon as possible to ask upfront. Not to mention, you need to work on your dissertation a little more briskly now, considering you’re going to assist Coriolanus in his presidential campaign. 

John Jr. graciously accepts the Mickey Mouse pancake on his favorite Superman plate, and he scurries off toward the dining room. Caroline remains by you at the kitchen counter, dousing her heart with a disgusting amount of syrup. You almost say something about the sugar but decide against it quickly. Caroline seems to hold herself together better than her younger counterpart. Speaking of John Jr., he nearly runs into Coriolanus as he dashes down the hall to your dismay.

“Oh, good morning, Mister Coryo,” John Jr. beams up at the tall blonde man before continuing his path to the table.

“What did we agree on about walking, John?” you quirk an eyebrow after the boy, who is long out of earshot.

Coriolanus walks into the kitchen casually as if he wasn’t eavesdropping the entire time, opening the refrigerator and scouring the shelves for orange juice. When he doesn’t find it, he closes the door and walks over to you.

“If you’re looking for orange juice, John John drank the rest when he woke up. Chugged every drop,” you say without turning around from the sink where you’re doing dishes.

“Oh,” Coriolanus says, “Not surprised. The boy loves juice.”

You chuckle, “I learned that very quickly. He drank almost all of my peach juice the first night I was here.” 

Caroline looks between you and Coriolanus, a knowing smile on her face as she chews her food. Without a word, she leaves the room.

Coriolanus cracks a smile but quickly brushes it off before you can see, “Need help with those?” he asks, motioning to the dishes.

You glance at him over your shoulder, “Oh, no, I’ve got it. Thanks, though.”

Coriolanus wordlessly picks up a dish and dries it off with a nearby dish towel, his neutral gaze on you. You sigh, looking at the man defeatedly as you begin rinsing your soaped-up dishes, “I said I didn’t need help.”

“I know,” Coriolanus shrugs, “But it’s the least I could do since you treat the children so well.”

You turn to him, hand on your hip, “I think every child should be treated with kindness. Besides, John John is a good boy despite his father, and Caroline is a gentle little thing anyway,” you say jokingly.

Coriolanus chuckles, “You’re absolutely right. Anyone tell you how rowdy Jack was at John Jr.’s age?”

“No,” you quirk an eyebrow, finishing up rinsing off the dishes, “Do tell.”

As you and Coriolanus dry off the pans and plates, he tells you stories of how Jack and his siblings would go buck wild around here at the Compound. You find yourselves openly cracking smiles with each other as Coriolanus describes the antics. When Joeseph Jr. is brought up, the room becomes solemn. 

“Did you ever meet him?” you ask as you put away some of the dishes, Coriolanus doing the same.

“Only once. He was a man of few words,” he admits, folding the dish towel and neatly placing it back on the counter.

You hum, closing the cabinet, “Well, I’ll probably be working most of the day. If you need me, I won’t be far.”

Coriolanus nods, watching you carefully as you leave the kitchen. He decides you, too, are someone of few words. But you always know when to use them correctly. And he admires that a little.

You feel like a ghost roaming around the house throughout the day, reading your book as you aimlessly walk into rooms and halls. Occasionally, you stop to look at things in the various studies and unoccupied bedrooms. Despite the warm and welcoming hospitality of the Kennedy family, at times, you still feel sorely out of place. You didn’t grow up lavishly by any means- no one in your neighborhood did. The outskirts of Boston during the Great Depression weren’t much better than the city itself. Food, clean water, and bare necessities were hard to come by, even in the suburbs. You learned to pull yourself up by the bootstraps and be nifty with minuscule things. It’s one thing Coriolanus notices when you wander into the den, Profiles in Courage tucked under your left arm and your notes in your right hand. Every single available space on the paper you had current notes written on was taken up as if you’d run out of paper at some point. But you had an ample amount of pages left in your notebook- one that hadn’t already been filled like your others, at that. Coriolanus is sitting at the fireplace, puffing lightly at a pipe as he skims through a book he’s half-reading. He stops fully paying attention to it the moment you enter his presence, and he notices your notes.

“How much do you plan on writing about Jack?” he asks abruptly, breaking the dead silence in the room.

Coriolanus’ voice startles you from your trance, your lips letting go of the pencil you had between them, “A lot. I sort of have to. Why do you ask?”

The tall man’s eyes flicker between your face and your notebook folded in on itself in your hand, “You seem to be writing your notes like it’s going out of style.”

Your eyes fall to your endless scribbles of words, eyebrows scrunching up for a moment, “I don’t understand?”

Coriolanus carefully closes his book and sits his pipe down on the table, taking two long strides over to you. He cradles your notes in his large hands, tracing the delicate handwriting with his fingers. The scraping of every drop of the mixing bowl earlier, the tedious way you used dish soap and warm water, your early rising, and your short showers. The way you carry yourself and your words. Coriolanus knows and knows it well.

“I still have a few rationing stamps,” Coriolanus says, his looming figure dangerously close to completely blanketing yours, “They’re in an old tobacco box of my father’s. I can’t remember the day we stopped needing them.”

Your face falters as you peer up at him, his gaze glued to your notes in a focused and avoidant fashion. You gently take your journal from the blonde, closing it before placing Profiles in Courage on top of it and pulling away from the odd warmth from Coriolanus’ cold tallness.

“I think I’ve done enough writing today.”

You don’t like being seen, and as often as possible, you hide away. It’s something you dislike about yourself. And no matter how much you work on it, when your foundation is shaken, you tend to lose your grip. The Compound suddenly felt quite small, and you needed a moment to breathe. So you scurry away to your room to put away your books and grab a thick coat, as it had snowed overnight despite being warm yesterday. Said snow crunches under your feet loudly as you descend the steps toward the beach, wrapping your arms around yourself as the breeze nips your face. All that can be heard for a while is birds overhead and waves crashing to the sand banks. You breathe in the stale, salty air while you have flashbacks of hunger pains from childhood. It’s something you don’t let bother you anymore, but the memory is still very much there. 

“Sorry if I overstepped,” Coriolanus suddenly says from behind you, his hands shoved into his coat pockets.

You physically jump, your hand flying over your heart in genuine surprise, “Jesus, Snow. And no, you didn’t overstep. I’m just too inside my head today, I guess.”

Blonde curls fly around Coriolanus’ face erratically as he stoically stares at you from behind, and you avoid him. He stands beside you now, looking down at you in a way that makes you feel odd.

“I think we both expected different things from each other, hmm?”

“How so?” you ask, your face slowly beginning to burn from the cold ocean air.

“Well,” Coriolanus says, staring out at the open sea, the grey spaciousness giving him a moment to ponder, “I didn’t think someone so outspoken could be so inside their head at times.”

You bite back a fiery retort but instead come back with a simple, “And I didn’t expect you to know humbleness, Mister Snow.”

Coriolanus doesn’t respond right away, so you follow with, “But it seems we both learn something new each day, correct?”

“Yes,” the blonde says, “And I think we’ve also both learned to always be honest with each other.”

“When have I not been honest?”

“I did overstep. I shouldn’t have assumed anything, but I did. And even though it’s only been a day of knowing you, I also know you’re the last person to spend too much time in their head. You have enough in the real world for you to care about.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll see through you, you’ll see through me.”

“Good.”

After quite some time bearing the unrelenting ocean air alongside Coriolanus, you decide to make use of yourself somewhere other than the Compound. Coriolanus retreats to his room, and you go into town. Maybe you’d find a little something for the kids or the family for Christmas while out. It isn’t absolutely freezing, so you opt for walking to the market not far from the main road leading out of Hyannis Port. It’s bustling with people despite the temperature. You pick up a basket and fill it with a few oranges for John Jr. and Coriolanus for juice in the morning. After paying for the fruit, you’re called over the aisle by a younger woman you don’t recognize. 

“Are you by any chance the young lady researching Jack Kennedy?”

“Yes, I am,” you say.

“Oh, how wonderful! I’ve known the Kennedys since we were kids. I’m glad someone is going to make Jack’s work more known!”

“I am glad to be of help with that, then,” you smile at the woman, who couldn’t be too much older than you.

“Forgive me, I’m Candice. My father is the mayor of Barnstable,” she reaches a hand out for you to shake, which you take graciously.

“Lovely,” you say, glancing around at her various tables covered in small trinkets, “What are you out here bartering?”

“Just odds and ends I’ve found throughout my travels. I don’t have nearly enough room for it all, sadly. Take a look, you may find something!”

You skim the different buttons and brooches all varying in size and design, until you’re stopped by a particular gold brooch. It’s shimmering in the winter afternoon sun, the edges of the leaves and petals of the rose pendant sharp with precision. You gingerly pick it up, studying it closer.

“One of my favorites from Europe. Never could quite find anything worthy enough to pair it with,” Candice fawns, “It’s yours if you want it. No charge.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly-“

“It’s a gift, love. Take it.”

You slip it into your coat pocket with graciousness before continuing your brigade around the market. Some solid fiction books for Caroline and comics for John Jr. join the pile of oranges in your basket. Shopping for Christmas gifts for Jackie, Jack, Bobby, and Ted would be for a more dedicated day. Upon returning to The Compound, the house is bustling with the children and Bobby and Ted working on dinner. You hurry to put away the things you’ve bought in your room before washing up and making your way to the kitchen. Jack is leaning against the counter as he watches Bobby delicately season steaks, and Ted works on vegetables, his arms crossed across his chest. He stands up straight upon your arrival.

“Good evening, how was your day with some peace and quiet?”

“Ah, it was alright,” you shrug, a small smile on your face as you watch Jackie give Caroline and John Jr. her warning look as they circle the dining room table, “Too much peace and quiet is a little harmful, don’t you think?”

Bobby scoffs, “Not when you have children. Peace and quiet are rare. Be glad the other junior isn’t here to torture ya.”

“He has a point,” Jack grins, pointing at Bobby in agreement, “Bobby Jr. is worse.”

“Oh, come on, now. You know the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree with John John.”

Ted snorts, and you decide to leave the brothers to their banter. Before you completely leave the room, though, Jack pulls you aside.

“Do you mind going down to the cellar? Pick out a bottle of something. We can all have some downtime after the kids go to sleep,” he says.

“Sounds good. Anything in particular?”

“Like I said, your pick.”

You wordlessly nod and find yourself at the cellar door moments later, the door already unlocked. You curiously open it and walk down the steps quietly, the lights dimly revealing a few shelves of wine varying in flavor and age. In between two shelves, you see Coriolanus pacing with a book in his hands. 

“It seems we always find each other somewhere around,” you say, being the one to startle him this time.

He snaps his head from his book, which appears to be the play Coriolanus by Shakespeare. Closing where he was reading, he disheveled looks at you off guardedly as he brushes himself off. You approach where he stands, your eyes scanning the shelves for any eye-popping bottle. A part of you feels heightened at being the one to unnerve him, and you feed on it as you stand dangerously close to Coriolanus on your tip toes to look at a wine more closely. You wonder why he’d be so nervous to be down here. Or what he had been doing to make him so uneasy of your presence.

“Which do you prefer?” you ask, pulling a bottle of rich red wine from by his head, “red or white?”

“Red,” Coriolanus says simply, his eyes shining with nerves, “I like the taste better.”

Your stare bores into his for a moment before you let yourself read the label, “A Nineteen Ten. Sounds nice,” you tilt your head at the man before asking, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Coriolanus blinks, “I just didn’t expect anyone to find me here.”

“Well, it is the cellar. Not much to hide here,” you encircle the bottle in your grasp, studying the rest of its details.

“Right.”

“Coriolanus, huh? By Shakespeare?”

Coriolanus scoffs through his nose, unbuttoning his sleeves and rebuttoning them to his elbows, “You’re familiar?”

“Not as familiar as I’d like,” you shrug, a hint behind your tone, “But maybe someday I’ll read more into it.”

The truth is, Coriolanus had been down there pacing and thinking of how to go about working with someone like you so closely. It’s been a day, and he already feels drawn to you in a way, and part of him feels disdain for it. But another feels so curious yet unnerved. Coriolanus usually reads the play when he feels he’s looking for something, and every time he is, he finds it within the play. It’s something new every time. No matter how many times the physical book has been deeply ingrained in his psyche. Your familiar and sarcastic tone from the night prior drinking similar wine makes his heart surge with something. And before Coriolanus realizes, his hand is grasping at the back of your head, bringing your face close to his.

“Maybe you should.”

Your hands are all but gripping the bottle of Cabernet, and your knuckles are white enough that you could press your fingertips into the bottle and break it if it were plastic. Coriolanus’ icy eyes are holding yours threateningly, and you don’t dare break the contact. It isn’t until Jack creaks the door of the cellar open to announce dinner is almost ready that the two of you think of separating. But you don’t. You feel bold and hungry and not like the type of hungry you were as a child, but rather bold and hungry for knowledge. A knowledge you won’t and can’t get from researching a man of power or holding a position of political power. But rather an energetic power you can’t quite explain unless you feel it. And you felt it the second you looked up to see Coriolanus standing in front of you by the fire the previous night. Again, when you walked into Jack’s office to see him standing there, and every time since. 

Your cheeks are tingling with fire, and your eyes weigh heavily on Coriolanus, unblinking and wild, “And if I don’t?” you whisper.

“I don’t think I’d allow it.”

“Hmm,” you narrow your eyes, letting your hand that’s not wrapped around the neck of the wine bottle grip the back of Coriolanus’ neck, “Try me.”

It’s almost like a dramatic scene from an old black and white your mother used to watch during the daytime, Coriolanus’ other hand flying to your cheek to hold your head firm as he gives you a bruising kiss. And your willingness to kiss back is almost as dramatized. But the tension from the start has been palpable, and it was only a matter of time before your clashing yet molding personalities came together somehow. Whether physical or mental- or both. You have to pull away to gasp for air, reluctant to remove yourself from the embrace. But you know you had to at some point, and you realize this is a dangerous game you’re already playing. What you don’t know yet is there are worse games to play.

౨ৎ taglist:

@nilletellsstories @noyatv @moonlightstuffs @slytherinholland @dominqueeekk @allcheesemelts @coconut-dreamz @rosewine-5 @hsfallingsky @imasimptoowth @tatumrileyslover  @murdocksdaughter @fauxraven @throughgoeshxmilton @thesullengrrrl @fanfictionismyromanempire @americanprometheuss @prettycove @ilikefictionalmen @etfrin @xyraphine @arzua10 @shadowolf993 @niki-is-a-thing @ashy-kit @snowsgames @impeterporker @randomgurl2326 @tspilled @tonixe @sammythecat7 @nowitsmissing @wearemadeofstardust0 @ebsmind @papasfreezeriastan

[megamindsecretlair]

Hi, beloved! ❤️ Would you be down to write about Terry Richmond using some rope tricks that he learned from his Marine training on reader? 🤭 If not, I completely understand and you’re still amazing !😘

A/N: Forgive me, I know this doesn't technically fit the bill, but this got my mind spinning. Let me know if you want a more faithful response.

Touch Me Like You Care

Pairing: Daddy Dom!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female), fingering (fem receiving), teasing, size kink, dirty talk, mean Terry, daddy kink, praise kink, spanking, lite bondage, overstimulation, reader is able to be picked up, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some, rushing.

Summary: See Ask. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog . Terry comes home to find you reading in bed, all thoughts of getting dressed out of your mind as you rest. He was prepared to let you, truly, but then he finds that you’re not wearing the bracelets he bought you. And well, he can’t let that slide, can he?

Word Count: 4,475k

AO3 Link

A/N: @planetblaque knows I can deny her nothing!! Whew, everytime I think I can take a break from this man, ya'll pop out with all of these amazing fics! I'm so over the moon to see so much activity. We fr just tossing this man around like a beach ball and I love that for us!!! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You pulled your dresser open and searched for your favorite pair of thigh high socks. Ever since the weather turned, you were back to shivering every two seconds, feeling colder than a witch’s broomstick no matter what you did. 

After a refreshing shower, you opted to dry under your blanket hoodie, feeling the need to retreat from having to be “on” all the time. Navigating the world as a Black woman was fucking exhausting. 

You picked up your phone, scrolling through your latest dirty book. There was a subtle increase in Black led romances that were making you stay up to the wee hours of the morning reading. The latest book was absolutely filthy from your favorite author. The anticipation for this book had been immense, the group chat blowing up with speculations and guesses.

The book was getting better, when the couple who swore they hated each other was about to fuck that tension out since fighting got them nowhere. You squealed, picking up the nearest pair of socks. You tore your gaze away long enough to put your socks on.

You looked around the room for your blanket hoodie. It was sitting on the famous chair, piled on top of a mountain of clothing that was near toppling over. You grabbed the hoodie and then checked in on your phone. 

Oh, the tension. The passion. It just ate you up inside when the characters got to that part. Confessing their love in drunken confessions or in the middle of an argument. Ouee, your body was on fire just thinking about it. Your pussy clenching at the details. The rich words creating a movie in your mind’s eye.

Abandoning your hoodie, you laid across the bed and decided to air dry. With the way this book was going, you might need a second shower. You rested your head on your closed fist and let your mind drift, picturing the scene.

You didn’t hear when your boyfriend called your name after he arrived home. Or how his heavy footfalls padded down the hallway to your bedroom. Or how he called your name again when he stood in the doorway. You didn’t hear the subtle camera click as a picture was taken.

Somewhere between the fifth and…counting?... sex scene, you ended up on your tummy, legs high behind you, tapping your socked feet together. You were literally kicking your feet as the characters kept telling each other that they hated each other as they were clutching onto each other for dear life. 

You sighed. You simply ate this shit up. You were already mentally typing up your notes for your review on Goodreads. Ouee, maybe you should start keeping a side notebook. Just to jot down bullet points so your scatterbrained mind didn’t forget a single detail. 

Fingers reached across your ass and you yelped, looking behind you ready to scream. Terry stood behind you, his head tilted and a smirk on his luscious face. You choked out a laugh, rolling to one side so you could look at him better. 

He looked damn good in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Terry slid his fingers absently across your bare ass, tracing the globes up and down. Your body shivered, pussy clenching with need. You gazed at your man. At the smooth planes and lines of his face, the cut of jaw, those big pink lips. 

“You didn’t hear me calling you?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Sorry,” you said, giving him a cutesy grin. 

His lips twitched but he didn’t let himself smile. “You’re not cute. You have to be more aware of your surroundings,” he said. 

“Yes, sir,” you said, nodding. “Though to be fair, the only man getting in here is you.”

“Mhm,” he said, nodding his own head. “You reading your dirty books?” 

“Yes! You remember my favorite author?” You asked. 

Terry nodded, hiking his eyebrow up as he encouraged you to tell him all about your favorite author. And the book you were currently reading. “And I just got to the good part,” you said.

Terry chuckled and nodded. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it,” he said. He trailed his fingers between your legs as he moved away and you gasped. For two reasons. On the one hand, Terry’s hands on you always instantly put you in the mood. With your pussy already wet, you were thinking it was a good time for a break. 

On the other hand, you forgot that you had taken off your gifts from him while you showered. It was the only time you were allowed to do so. You meant to put the ankle and thigh bracelet back on when you lotioned up but plum forgot.

Terry stopped and you could feel his stare. It burned in the back of your head. Your heart thumped in your chest. You had no idea what he was going to do.

“Baby,” Terry’s deep timbre was a physical caress down your spine. You stretched your back and bit your lip. 

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you said, pitching your voice higher. 

“Where are your bracelets?” He rubbed his thumb across your thick thigh. The weight of those words pressed down on you, making you want to retreat in your mind. You began to pant, feeling out of sorts. You were so turned on you could barely breathe. But you were also worried about what kind of punishment you were about to receive. 

“I just showered,” you said. You rolled so that you could look at his pretty face. To at least try to gauge where his mind went. Terry stopped you by wrapping his hand around your thigh. 

“I believe you. But you’re out of the shower now,” he said. 

“I really forgot this time,” you said. 

Terry sighed, the sound like a coin drop in an empty room. “You know what we have to do now, right?” He asked.

“You sure I can’t bargain out of this one? I can be pretty cute, you said so,” you said. 

“Up,” he said, his calm voice making matters worse. You may as well have been pleading your case to a brick wall. There was no changing his mind.

You got to your knees and then flipped over, scooting to the edge of the bed. Terry rolled his shoulders as he moved to your closet. He pulled a pine green box down from the top shelf. 

He placed the large, repurposed gift box on your dresser and opened it. Cheery snowmen looked at you from the painted edges as Terry rummaged around. He drew out a pair of leather cuffs and crossed over to you.

You pouted at him as he strapped the cuffs to your wrists. There was a small golden link between them keeping it connected and not giving you much room to escape. You tested the pull on it as you tried to separate your wrists. No dice. 

Terry grabbed the link and pulled you into a standing position. He sighed deeply, his voice a rumbling thunder behind it with a hum as he stared you down. “I had plans to treat you so well when I got back,” he said. 

“Fuck,” you said, the curse flying fast. You rubbed your thighs together, staring up into his pretty colorful eyes. Every time you looked at them, they were a different color. You loved to see the changes, especially this up close. His eyes went more brown when he was like this, when he’d sunk into that role of being in charge. Of being protective. 

He kissed your cheek, softly, reverently, his juicy lips leaving a small wet spot behind. He moved down to your lips, not quite kissing you. He hummed and smirked. “Whatever happens, just know that I love you, okay?” 

“Terry,” you huffed. His name was a plea and a curse all in one. You didn’t know what was worse. Knowing the torture was coming or having to live through it. Your thighs were on fire, burning with the need to have him between them. 

He pulled you closer by the cuffs, kissing you completely this time. He brought his free hand up to cup your cheek, hands warm. You licked his lips and he moaned. “Nice try,” he said against your lips. 

He said that, but you stepped closer, rubbing yourself against his growing bulge. He chuckled, letting you, looking down while you rubbed on him. He grinned and then grabbed your shoulders, turning you around. He pushed you down. You let out a soft oomph, flopping onto the bed. 

He grabbed your hips, pushing you further up your big ass bed. He positioned you how he wanted, close to the edge, but not so close that he didn’t have free range behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you could only hear him moving around behind you.

It sounded like he was rummaging through the goody box again. You sighed. Digging your toes into the bed. “Start reading,” he commanded, voice sharp.

How the hell were you supposed to read anything? You hesitated, looking at your phone. There was no way you’d be able to concentrate and he knew that. 

“Baby,” you said and licked your lips. 

Terry said nothing and again, you felt his gaze bearing down on you. You whimpered as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it, and swiping back to your phone. You began reading aloud, reading about the sex scene you were in the middle of. 

Reading it aloud to Terry, picturing him as the main male character, you were miserably wet. Dripping practically. You sighed, thinking of your ruined bed. You’d have to spend tonight doing laundry. 

Terry’s massive hand slapped across your ass, the recoil loud enough to rival a gunshot. You squealed, falling forward onto the bed. Heat bloomed between your thighs, warming up your core to a dangerous level. 

It still really fucking hurt though. Your ass stung and you swore that you could feel aftershocks of his hand, slapping across your ass over and over. “Fuck, fuck!” You yelled out. 

“Keep reading,” he said. 

You got back to your knees and arched your back like he positioned you in before. You returned to reading out loud, pussy throbbing at the way the words made you feel. You got to an explicit part when Terry’s hands came back down. He smacked your ass a handful more times, covering a wide area and making your ass light up like a Christmas tree.

Tears welled in your eyes from the pain and the pleasure. It was too much stimulation. “Please, please, fuck me. I can’t take it,” you whimpered. The words on your phone swam in your vision as your body contracted with shivers. Both from the radiating waves of heat and the burn low in your belly. 

Terry rubbed his hands across your ass and you screamed, kneeling away from his hands. Wherever he touched, your ass sang with pain. “Are you going to remember to put your bracelets on?” 

You nodded. “Yes, I swear,” you said. 

Terry shoved his fingers between your legs, plunging right up your pussy. You collapsed onto the bed, twitching. “Mhm, I didn’t give you permission to cum,” he said. 

“Daddy, pleaseeee,” you pleaded, lower belly twinging with the pain of fighting off your orgasm. 

“You can get wetter than this, baby,” he said. 

“I can’t,” you said, drool seeping into the navy covers beneath you. Your face was smashed into the bed, no way to hold yourself up while his fingers stroked your walls. The loud squelching of your pussy, wet because of him, made you clench around his fingers and moan. 

He placed his free hand on your ass, giving you the dual sensation of sweet torture and cruel relief. He moved his fingers faster, stretching you out with his long, thick fingers. You rode yourself on his fingers, throwing it back and he moaned. He smacked your ass more lightly this time, more in encouragement than anything else. 

“Please let me cum. Please let me cum,” you said, legs twitching. You couldn’t hold off any longer. 

Terry leaned down over your body, placing his lips as close to your ear as he could get it. “Nahhh,” he said slowly, a subtle rasp in his voice. You bit your lip and rode him harder, showing him that you needed more. “Gotta earn that shit.” 

You sobbed into your bed, tears streaming freely. You were about to explode. Come undone at the seams. “Daddy, please. Pleaaseee. Pleaaasseeee, ouee, pleeasseee,” you moaned, desperately riding his fingers. 

“You know what Daddy needs,” he said. 

Tears leaked freely, mixing with the drool and pooling onto the covers. Your mind turned to mush, no longer able to keep reading. Your moans were loud and near screaming. Your throat raw with the effort. Your essence flooded his fingers and he hummed in satisfaction. 

“There’s my good girl,” he purred. He suddenly flipped you over, not giving you a chance to work with him. He was too impatient, too needy, too rough as he positioned you on your back. He pushed your arms above your head, giving you a look. You planted your hands above your head and knew better to move them. 

It pushed your breasts up, giving him a total view of your chest. He groaned, eyes tracking to your pert nipples. Terry folded you in half, scooting his thighs beneath your back, holding you spread open for him. 

He placed soft kisses to your wet pussy, lips smacking from your juices. “Baby, I can’t hold it no more,” you said.

“You’re gonna hold it because Daddy told you to,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. You whimpered, whined, trying to breathe through being folded like a pretzel. 

Your toes brushed against the bed with every rocking motion from Terry as he got himself comfortable. He continued kissing your pussy, stopping to look back and stare at your pussy. His lips began to glisten with your essence. 

You groaned, a primal, possessive side of you jumping out. You marked your claim. It was your juices on him. Your essence feeding him. 

“Daddy, please,” you cried out. From this position, you saw his face perfectly. He stared at your pussy like a man possessed. Like a greedy man with the richest treasure in the world. Your heart softened just as your pussy throbbed. 

Terry smirked. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy. She miss me?” He asked. As if you hadn’t gone two and half rounds when you woke up this morning. As if he wasn’t driving you insane nearly every time you got within two feet of each other. 

“Yes, Daddy, she missed you,” you moaned. 

“Yeah? She gon’ be good and cum when I say?” He asked. He stared at you from beneath his long eyelashes framing his stormy blue eyes while his tongue rolled out of his mouth. He used the tip of his tongue to search through your soaked curls, separate your pussy lips, and flick across that little bundle of nerves. 

“Ouee, shit,” you moaned. Sweat beaded on your forehead. Your heart beat so loudly, it was a miracle he couldn’t hear it. You huffed, watching his tongue work around your clit. Feeling it was even better. His breath was hot across your pussy, making your breaths stutter in your chest.

His lips followed his tongue, going deeper, playing with the rim of your entrance before dipping his tongue inside you. You cried out, belly fluttering. You moved your hands and Terry’s eyes narrowed. 

Fresh tears leaked from your eyes, dripping down the side of your face. “Pleasseee,” you begged. 

“You’re doing so well, already,” he moaned. He sped up, licking you, eating you, devouring you as he lapped at your pussy. Fresh essence dripped out of you and he licked that up too. He moaned, burying his nose and face into your pussy. He ate like a man starved. Sloppily. Messily. 

“Oue, fuck, ouee,” you screamed.

Terry moved closer, like he was trying to shove his whole face inside of you. His plush lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. 

“Oh fuck! Terry! Terry!” You screamed. Your body began twitching. The orgasm you staved off was coming whether you wanted it to or not. Terry stopped altogether, suspending your body in the midpoint between denial and reprieve. 

Your eyes rolled lazily to him, panting, huffing, body feeling like you had been tossed into a barbeque pit. “T-T-”

Terry tilted his head, tongue flat against your clit. You throbbed and pulsed on his tongue but he didn’t move. Your body retreated from the edge in slow increments, relaxing against him. 

You blinked at him, no longer able to communicate a single thought. Terry’s eyes gleamed with sick pleasure. He hummed, moving his tongue against your clit once more. He brought you to the edge and then denied you the rush of pleasure at the last minute. He did it one more time, letting you relax and then bringing you back to the precipice. 

Your belly cramped so bad. Your mouth stopped working. You couldn’t do anything but pathetically moan as he ate his fill. Your toes brushed against the bed again as he leaned back far enough.

“She too tired now?” He asked.

You shook your head. Furthest thing from it. Terry smirked. “You nice and dumb for me, baby?” He asked. He gave you teasing little licks. You hissed and moaned, eyes aching from how hard you closed them from the torture. 

“Answer me when I’m talking to you,” Terry said, smacking your ass for good measure. It woke you from the fog long enough to nod. 

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you said. 

Terry grinned and then relented, giving in and eating you with a renewed fervor. “You can cum now, baby,” he moaned into your pussy. His tongue and lips teased your clit. His fingers dipped back inside your entrance, coaxing that sweet, sweet orgasm out of you.

You screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Or hell, maybe you joined them. Lights burst behind your eyelids as you came with so much force, you couldn’t breathe. Your pussy ached and throbbed, thighs shaking against Terry’s face as he teased you throughout the whole ride. 

He slowed down as he sensed that you were coming down, drawing out his teasing licks and kisses to your pussy. He pulled back and your essence dripped from his face. He looked like he went swimming in your pussy. His entire jaw was covered, shiny and wet. You wish you could take a picture of him like this.

A long spit chain connected you to him and he moaned, ending on a hiss. “That’s a good fuckin’ pussy,” he huffed as he regained his own breathing. “Turn that ass over.”

Terry lowered you to the bed while he hopped off. He made quick work of his clothes, his huffs and puffs the only indication of how badly he was rushing. You were just a noodle, watching him reveal inches of his bronze skin, the veins in his biceps, the tattoos on his arms.

You traced the tattoos more times than you could count, lips twitching with the urge to do so now. His thighs were equally delicious. As big as tree trunks, a light dusting of hair. And that ass. He turned to the side briefly so he could free his long legs from his underwear and sweats. 

“You are so damn pretty,” you mumbled. 

Terry chuckled. You didn’t think he heard you. “That’s my line,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure I told you what you need to be doing.” 

You couldn’t flip over fast enough, giggling. He’d just bent you over and ate you so well, your leg was still wobbly and shaky. Yet you yearned for more. Yearned for his body surrounding you, protecting you, caging you in his embrace. You were greedy. Needing, wanting, craving more. 

Terry descended onto the bed, roughly grabbing your hips and sliding inside with a savage thrust. 

“Oueeee, SHIT, Daddy!” You screamed. He slid out and then slid back in, coating his long dick with your essence. 

“Cream this shit,” he moaned, sliding inside faster. His massive hands gripped your hips and pulled you onto his punishing dick, ramming into you. “Made for me. You were made for me, weren’t you?” He asked.

“Yes, Daddy, I was made for you,” you moaned. He stretched you beautifully, slamming into you just as rough as you wanted. As you needed. 

“Just a pretty, tight hole for me to abuse whenever I want?” He asked.

You sobbed, tears gathering in your eyes once more. He hit that magical spot inside of you, the spot only he could reach. No other man, not even your toys, could hit that spot with such precision. With accuracy. He was just as much made for you. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you moaned, voice muffled by the covers. The bed dipped as Terry leaned over, planting a fist beside your head to hold up his weight. He used his other hand to grab a handful of braids and yank, baring your throat to him. 

“I wish you could see how creamy you are. Pretty little ring on my dick. So nice and wet,” he cooed into your ear. He pulled your head back so that he could kiss you. His face smelled like you. You moaned and clenched around his dick. He hissed and then growled in your ear. 

“Filling me so deep, Daddy,” you moaned. “So fuckin’ deep, ohmygoood.”

Terry chuckled. He shifted his hips and drove in deeper, possibly down to his base, as he fucked you into the mattress. Your hands stretched out in front of you, gripping onto the covers just trying to meet his thrusts. 

“Untie me, Daddy. Let me feel you,” you begged. 

Terry responded by kissing you, tongue licking your lips. You opened your mouth and played with his tongue. His beautiful, amazing tongue that was capable of the sweetest words and the filthiest things. 

“You don’t know how to behave when you’re free,” he said against your cheek. 

“I’ll behave, I promise,” you whispered. 

Terry moaned, dick throbbing inside you. “I want to believe you,” he said. 

He kept up his brutal, savage thrusts, digging into you and making your belly clench. “Pleasse, Daddy. I want to feel you,” you moaned. 

“All you need to do is feel this dick, baby. Feel how much you mean to me. How much I want to take care of you,” he said.

Each thrust felt like it was going straight to your heart. There was no way you were still flooding his dick. Still making it easier for him to glide and thrust and stroke so far inside you, you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. 

“Fuck me so good. So well,” you moaned. 

Terry gripped your hips and then pulled you down harder, faster, rougher. You yelped and squealed, stretched out on the bed, trying to escape. Terry yanked you back, fingers digging into your skin harder. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you moaned. Your thighs trembled from trying to hold yourself up from his hold. He kept you in place, filling you, fucking you good and deep. Your eyes rolled back into your head. But still, your body propelled you forward. Both because of his thrusts and because you just couldn’t take any more. All the edging from earlier had you spent. 

“Sit that ass up,” he panted, breaths falling across your damp back. 

“C-Can’t,” you stuttered. 

Terry grunted and pulled you by the hair until you were on your knees. He sat on his haunches, continuing to pound inside you. 

“You keep telling me what you can’t do. But all this time you been takin’ this dick and doing what Daddy tell you to. Do you know how proud I am of you? So pretty when you listen,” he moaned. 

“Fuck, Daddy, please,” you moaned. 

Terry grabbed your arms and pulled it until the cuffs went over his head. It made you thrust out your chest and he grabbed your titties, playing with your sensitive nipples. He pinched and plucked as he fucked you, kissing your neck and biting your shoulder. 

Your pussy made smacking noises on his dick, sounding thick and creamy. You moans mingled in the room, mixing with the pound of the headboard against the wall. You were constantly getting little dents in it from the force of your lovemaking. It was too much. You tried to sit on his lap but he grunted.  “Mhm,” he said, pulling you into a kneeling position one more time. 

“If I gotta stand you up one more time, you ain’t gon’ like it,” he snapped. 

You whimpered and whined but concentrated on holding yourself up. His dick slammed into your walls while he kissed your neck. One hand gripped your titty and squeezed while his other hand searched lower, rubbing two fingers against your pussy. 

You screamed out, unable to hold off this one. It gobbled you up with the force of it. Tearing you down to your roots, breaking you down to your center, to the very last atom that makes you you. You cried out, shaking, twitching. 

Your vision turned black and your right ear rung with a tinny bell as you came and came in rolling waves. One triggered another for an extended orgasm, body jerking uncontrollably. 

“Cum so pretty,” he said. “You ready for this nut?” 

You could only manage a nod as he rolled his shoulders and moaned in your ear while he came, unloading a thick load of cum inside of you. 

There was no more air in your lungs enough to moan. You could only sigh as he warmed you up from the inside, soaking your walls with his cum. Nothing leaked out as he continued to stroke into you.

Your body arched as he stilled, buried to the hilt. He kissed your neck, your cheek, your jaw. He brought the fingers he used to play with your clit up to your mouth and bid you to suck. 

“Taste that?” He asked.

You nodded. Too spent, too tired, to fucked out to do anything else but yawn. Terry chuckled, and slipped out. His cum leaked out with him, sliding down your leg and dripping onto the bed. 

“Sleepy,” you mumbled.

“I know, baby. But let’s run you a bath first and I’ll change these sheets,” he said. He lowered your arms from his neck and then laid you on your side. He gave you a kiss on your forehead. 

“Don’t let me catch you without your bracelets again,” he said.

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you yawned, stretching out onto the bed to await his tender, loving aftercare.

WHEW. If you need more like I do, here ya gooo! The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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[elrielffs]

Well, here it is. Part 2 of a Universe so Divine with Elain pov and this fic is complete! I don't think I'll be able to look ya'll in the eye on the timeline after you read this but I'm proud. I put everything into this and after writing it, I love Azriel and Elain even more. Please enjoy and leave a comment or send an ask if you want!

Tags/Warnings: Explicit Smut, Cunnilingus, Hand Job, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk (so much dirty talk), Pure Filth, Romantic and Horny

Part 1 - god is my help (Azriel pov)

(you don't have to read part 1 to read part 2)

link to ao3 if you perfer

A Universe so Divine Part 2 - my god has answered me

They kissed with abandon—with lips and tongue and teeth and all the emotion that they repressed when not cloistered in a hidden universe of their own design.

Elain thought she knew what kissing was, already knew everything there was to know about the act but she had since came to the understanding that she knew nothing.

Kissing Azriel was like coming up for air, like a thunderstorm after a drought, like she had existed in a world of dull colors that exploded into vivid hues she had never perceived.

Kissing Azriel—being with Azriel—made her feel alive.

The necessity for air was the only thing that broke them apart, chest heaving and eyes locked together keeping them tethered to each other. Elain forced herself to push against his chest and rose to sit on her haunches, if only for a moment to reclaim herself before she was utterly lost.

The way Azriel beheld her as he was sprawled under her made her feel like her heart would burst in her chest. They didn’t need words, they never had and through their silent language Azriel always made her feel so adored, so beloved that her cup runneth over and she didn’t know where to place the excess. Only that she would fight with teeth and nail and claw to keep it all for herself.

She was the only one who got to see the mighty Spymaster of the Night Court undone like this. Toppled by her diminutive frame, wings splayed out under him with tousled hair, a glaze of lust in his hazel eyes that he directed at her alone.

She didn't shy away from it but rather reveled that she was his complete and utter focus. She felt powerful, confident, and in control, a heady mixture that she could never get enough of after a lifetime of being in opposition of the potent blend of emotions.

“I know that look,” he chuckled up at her, eyes boring into her own, challenging her. He gripped her hips hard to buck up into the aching, clothed apex of her thighs, punctuating his thrust with, “You want more.”

She bit her lip and nodded. She hadn’t always allowed herself to want more, hadn’t given herself the freedom of even thinking of what more could look like. She had accepted whatever people were willing to give to her, whatever they thought she deserved.

Now, in this new life, she found that she had changed in more ways than just her body. She did want more.

And she wasn’t afraid to ask for it.

“I want you to kiss me,” she declared and she purred in satisfaction as he didn't hesitate to oblige her, propping himself up on his elbows to reach her but she pressed her hand firmly against his solid chest to halt his advance.

“Not there,” she said coyly, blinking coquettishly at him as the considerate press of her hand sent him onto his back again. He lifted his eyebrows at her inquisitively for only half a second before the corners of his mouth turned up in smug understanding.

A great beat of his powerful wings to adjust and he positioned himself more comfortably on the blanket, before eyeing her enticingly, "Then come here and left your dress pretty girl.”

The pit in her stomach clenched in anticipation as she caged his body in on all fours and crawled on hands and knees till her knees rested above his shoulders. She sat back up and with shuddering fingers, grasped the hem of her skirts and lifted, revealing her gossamer underwear already soaked through with her slick.

Azriel took a deep breath, the expanse of his chest rising and falling to lift her slightly, as his hands resituated themselves on her bare hips, thumbs rubbing circles along her skin.

His razor sharp eyes flicked from her lower body to her own, acute and full of desire.

“Show me Elain,” his voice came out husky and low and male seeing her wet and wanting” show me where you want me to kiss you.”

She inhaled and fisted the majority of her gown in one hand against her waist while the other shakily reached down and slipped the gusset of her panties to the side, displaying herself in full for him.

A deep moan came from the back of Azriel's throat as he took in her entirely exposed for his viewing pleasure, a puff of air escaping his lips to titillate her already sensitive core. “So wet for me” he murmured low, sight unblinking as he looked at her, all of her.

‘Everything about you is lovely Elain’ she recalled him declaring and she knew he also meant this secret part of her.

Azriel tilted his head up to place a kiss against her inner thigh, lips warm and plush, so near to where she wanted his mouth the most and she felt her walls clench in eagerness.

“Divine…” he breathed as he began kissing up, up, up. She braced herself for contact of his lips finally where she needed him to be and let out a keening whine when he skipped her aching core to place a chaste kiss on the top of her mound instead, eyes laughing at her impatience.

“Keep holding you dress up okay sweetie?” He kissed the spot again, and if his intent was to drive her mad, he was succeeding. Elain gave a curt bob of her head and couldn’t stop the tiny thrust of her hips, aching and restless. She was going to die if he didn’t put his mouth on her soon.

“Hold your dress up and don’t look away while I devour this,” a kiss to her mound again, eyes locked onto hers as she tracked his every move ”pretty” a kiss to her right thigh, "pink” to the left “pussy.”

She didn't even have time to appreciate his words before he moved in and planted a bruising kiss on her swollen, pounding clit and began to consume her.

Azriel loved to feast between her thighs like it was his official position at the Night Court. He tongued her clit and pressed his lips against her like he was a man starved.

And through it all his golden gaze never left hers, making sure she followed his demand, making sure she witnessed him worship at the alter of her.

Elain wanted to throw her head back, moan her pleasure to the sky, wanted to drop her gown and entwine her hands in his dark locks and adjust his head and mouth just so, but she also wanted to be good. She so wanted to be good for him.

He was the only one she wanted to be good for.

It didn’t take long with Azriel’s skilled, sinful mouth for the coil in her belly to contract tight, ready to spring and inundate her body with that glowing sensation of gratification. Little gasps broke loose from her lips as she began to sway her hips against his face, giving chase to the beginnings of her unraveling.

“I’m close,” she panted.

He blinked at her sensually like a cat in admission that he had heard her before sliding his hands from her hips to glide up and around her thighs. He gripped both of her buttocks in his hands and squeezed as he began to assist in the grind of her hips, to force her to move faster and faster against his mouth and tongue.

“Azriel don’t stop, don’t stop,” her little mews turned into deep throated moans as she panted in time with the wild rocking of her hips as she reached her peak.

He didn't-- a moment and then she came undone on his tongue, profound moans breaking out of her small quivering form into the night air, her body threatening to topple over if not for the firm grip he had on her thighs.

Elain fought to catch her breath as she surrendered the hold of her body to him, as she lived in the sea of pleasure he had created. He waited patiently in the moments it took for her to come down from her high, one final deep exhale of air and she melted backwards into his hands.

His grasp on her slackened but didn't completely leave as he assisted her with raising herself from his shoulders and guiding her down to rest her bottom on his chest, to let her recuperate if just for a moment.

“Did you enjoy it?” he smirked up at her knowing full well that she did. Immensely.

“Do you have to ask?” she smiled back after finding her voice as he puffed up with pride. She grabbed one of his hands from her waist and brought it to her lips. "I always enjoy it," she praised into his palm closing her eyes and placing a kiss at the center, adoring the familiar texture of his skin on her lips.

She continued to leave a trail of whispered kisses as she turned his hand over to reach his knuckles and ghost her lips over each one. She progressed down his fingers, sending out little flicks of her tongue along the damaged flesh before reaching his fingertips.

Here she faintly parted her lips and enveloped his pointer and middle finger into her hot mouth and gently sucked. She heard the sharp inhale of his breath, felt his body become rigid under her and when she opened her eyes she noticed Azriel's gaze had darkened and a delayed tremor spread through his body culminating in nervous flap of his wings.

Then she felt it, the delicate questioning of pressure on her tongue. She fulfilled his unspoken request by pushing her tongue slightly through her lips and flattening the appendage for him to press down on, for him to fuck his fingers in and out of her mouth.

Saliva quickly accumulated and began to dribble out the corners of her mouth wrapped around his fingers, coating his fingers in her drool as the went in and out.

“Beautiful,” he admired and before it became too much, before she gagged, he stilled his movement and released the pressure off her tongue. Elain bit down lightly on his fingers before pulling them from her mouth, dragging them against her lips and leaving a wet trail from his spit coated fingers down her chin, neck and clavicles before coming to the top of her dress.

There she guided his fingers to quickly undo the flimsy string that held the dress together and continued to pull his hand downward, bringing the top of her dress with it so her breast were revealed. She didn't stop till the clothing bunched around her waist and then brought his hand back up and placed it over one breast.

Azriel sighed as if to himself and muttered, “So very fucking beautiful." Warmth spread from the top of her head to her toes at his compliments. Many people called her beautiful but it only mattered when he said it.

He didn’t hesitate to have his other hand join the first to cup both of her breast. His burned hands, the texture, made her want to melt as he kneaded her soft flesh, digits rubbing roughly over her pebbled nipples.

She bit her lip, the stirrings of desire that had begun again immediately after being sated making itself known in the clench of her tummy, in her still dripping cunt that now began to soak the front of Azriel’s shirt.

“You’re so good to me,” she purred, covering his hands with her own and forcing him to squeeze her breast hard, the flesh overflowing between his fingers. “I want to be good to you too.”

She removed her hands from his and maneuvered her arms until they were free of the sleeves of her dress as he massaged her breast, leaving her upper half uncovered to the night air. She then scooted herself down, his hands reluctantly leaving her, to situate herself below his waist, his noticeable bulge in front of her.

“You’re always good to me Elain," he said, bending his knees so she could lean on the tops of his thighs for support. He was always so considerate of her comfort, so in tune with her and her needs before she even realized what she needed.

She smiled at him boldly and then palmed him through the leather of his pants. A hiss escaped him full of throbbing need and want at her touch and she felt a pang of compassion that he had suffered in silence with his aching cock. Azriel always thought first and foremost of her pleasure, of giving but his pleasure was also hers.

His cock cut an impressive outline visible in his pants, thick and long and stiff. She was the source of his current predicament and she would take care of him, she would be good to him, if only after being a little bad first.

“Is this for me?” She teased, observing the way his pupils dilated, the way his fist clenched as she scraped her nails against the leather, running her pointer finger down the length of him.

“Yes,” he moaned, breathless and aroused, ”all for you.”

She hummed and began to undo the buckle of his pants, the familiar sounds of metal clinking sending a thrill through her at what came next. “All? I don’t know if I can take all of you Shadowsinger,” she taunted as she kept undoing the fastenings. Finally, she reached into this pants and pulled his cock out, proud and hard and dripping with slick on the top.

“You’re so big,” she praised wrapping her fingers around the considerable girth of him and rubbing her thumb along the slit at the top of his cock, spreading it around the head.

“We’ll make it fit,” he said, a pleading tone lacing his voice as she began to caress lightly up and down his length. As if she would deny him, as if she wasn’t already craving the delicious stretch of his cock in her cunt.

He was right of course. They would come together flawlessly, like they were made only for each other, that only they could satisfy their this burning incessant need inside. Elain felt her lower half pound in desire, thinking of the way he filled her up so completely, so utterly, that she ever forgot what it was like to feel empty of him.

She stroked him harder now, working him into a frenzy of passion. He threw his head back to hit on the ground, gripping her so tight she would bruise, his hips thrusting up into her hand as little piteous moans escaped him. She loved seeing him like this, undone and needy and yearning for her.

“Elain you need to stop," he breathed, lifting his head and prying his hands of her hips to her wrist to stop her movement. She didn't heed him, intent on giving him the same pleasure he had her, to give him what he deserved. "Elain," he chided again through clenched teeth, torn between letting her finish him to completion, to revel in the pleasure of her hand or in the tightness of her cunt. With that thought, he made up his mind. She made to move, to position herself so that she could wrap his beautiful cock in her mouth when he grabbed her shoulders and flipped them effortlessly until it was her back against the blanket and him above her, wings open to cover her in shadow, to hide her from the stars.

"If you kept doing that," he growled through gritted teeth, eyes wild like a predator observing their prey ," I wouldn't be able to fuck you."

He lowered his body to drape across hers, careful as not to exert too much weight on her smaller frame. He leaned into her neck and inhaled her scent before nuzzling under her ear, "And I so badly want to fuck you Elain." She felt the heavy weight of his cock twitch against her thigh in proof of his statement and her heart quickened in her chest.

“Then what are you waiting for?” She challenged him angling her head so her lips could press against the set clench of his jaw. He snarled and attacked her mouth, the tang of her still on his lips mingling with her saliva as they fought with tongue and teeth.

He rutted against her mercilessly as they kissed, jerking her body upwards with powerful thrust of his bare cock against her soaked panties.

“Azriel,” she ruptured their kiss, a messy line of saliva trailing from her mouth to his and had to turn her head as he chased her lips with his own, trying to claim her again air be damned.

“I can’t wait anymore,” she whined, fisting his shirt so hard in frustration that the collar loosened, exposing the bronze of his skin chest and the edge of his dark tattoos. “Put it in,” she begged, "please put it in.” Her nails dug into his uncovered flesh, leaving angry lines to mark her need but Azriel either didn't feel or didn't care.

“You want my fat cock?” he retorted to her plight, reaching between them and bunching her underwear in his hand, yanking with ease to tear them in half as she yelped. He then took himself in hand and rubbed along her folds, coating his shaft in her gathered slick before slapping the head against her pudgy clit with a wet smack.

“Yes,” she mewed up at him straining, sparks of pleasure coursing through her body as he rubbed the head of his cock against her tender clit. "Yes!" she cried out, wanton and shameless and desperate for him.

“Then take it pretty girl,” he growled into her ear, but placing himself at her entrance and slowly bullying the blunt tip of his cock into her sopping pussy inch by torturous inch.

Elain's mind emptied of all reasoning becoming consumed with the hard length of him as he immersed himself inside her, as he stretched her pussy on his cock to the hilt.

He stilled, staying like that as he panted wicked and hot into her ear, as she adjusted to the great girth of him. His body trembled with the effort, with the urge to take, take, take, to make her his in every way but she knew he would wait until she was ready.

“Does it feel good Elain?” he raised himself on his arms above her head and looked down, eyes blazing with desire and shaking with restraint ”do you like being stuffed full of my cock?”

She tried and failed to form words so instead she nodded up at him and bucked her hips to prompt him to move but he wasn't satisfied yet. He sat all the way up and peered down at her with a narrowed gaze, every inch an Illyrian warrior. “Tell me,” he demanded as he skimmed his hands from the tops of her thighs to her calves, gripping and wrapping her legs around his waist in preparation. ”Tell me how much you like it.”

He began to thrust lazily, tormenting her as he waited for a response.

Elain hurried to gather her fissured thoughts, slipping in and out of focus as his cock brushed every hidden part of her, making her whimper. He wouldn’t go any faster until she answered and finally she cut through the haze of her cock drunk mind to give voice to thought.

“I love that can I feel you moving inside me,” she panted, placing her hand on her lower stomach so she could feel the presence of his girth as he moved inside, molding her flesh around him.

“I love the burn as you stretch me open," she resumed and she felt him thrust hard into her to give emphasis to her words, causing her to give a sharp cry of pleasure. He crushed her thighs in a vice like grip as his pace picked up with her admission.

"I l-lo-lo,” she stumbled over her words as he rammed his cock into her squelching pussy over and over causing her breast to bounce in tandem with his thrust. “I love that I’ll be sore the next day,” she finally bit out in a rush, followed by a husky moan from the back of her throat.

And she would. She would feel the ache of him in everything she did tomorrow, in every movement, every step and would be pleased and thankful of the reminder of their time together, not that she would--could--ever forget. Even after they were long gone and the memories they had together was the only thing left of her, the echoes of them, of their being, would continue to exist in the ether of time until even time itself ceased to be and she believed even after that.

He startled her when he paused and pulled out of her completely and she couldn't stop the wail of dismay at the sudden emptiness she now felt.

But Azriel wasn’t done and she was mollified when he gently coaxed her to roll over onto her stomach and rise on her hands and knees. She felt him situate himself against the back of her thighs, lifting her skirts to display her ample bottom. He caressed her buttocks before his fingers harshly pressed into her flesh and he gave no warning before he penetrated her again, this time plunging his cock in swiftly and with a more punishing momentum that left her clawing the blanket in her fist and sobbing into the soft surface.

He didn't stop as he leaned over her, chest to back to murmur to her low and unsteady, “I love that you take my cock so well." He punctuated his sentence by short, hard thrusts that left her gasping into the ground. “You were made for me," he said guttural and full of possessiveness.

She was. She was. She wanted to tell him, wanted to say she was made for him and he for her, that they completed each other and complimented each other’s lives so well that she couldn’t ever imagine them being apart, that there was no part of her that wasn't engraved with the essence of him and him alone.

“Az…Azriel,” she she choked out, trying to imbue her voice with all that she couldn't say but it took too much, her mind entirely on him pumping his cock in and out of her with brutal speed, leading her to her ruin.

She never wanted him to stop fucking her. She wanted him always inside her, always moving within her until they were bones and dust and their blended souls danced among the stars forever.

“I’m going to breed you Elain,” he growled with a primal urge, his hand coming up under her to lay his fingers splayed against her own still on her lower stomach in suggestion. Their hands met and intertwined, a promise for the future. “Is that what you want? Want me to shoot my load into your needy pussy?”

Elain was long gone now, having surrendered herself to his cock, but through her pleasure filled haze she managed to respond. “Yes,” she breathed deep, a cloud of her own breath warming her face as her forehead rested on the ground. “Please cum inside me, fill me up, breed me breed me breed me…” she begged, not caring that she sounded like a bitch in heat as she dissolved into incoherent babbling and moans as he bounced her on his cock.

“Fuck Elain,” Azriel hissed from behind her as he snapped his hips in earnest, his rhythm falling to frantic, wild abandon, desperate. “Elain Elain Elain my Elain” he chanted like a prayer, like he was begging for mercy as he impaled her again and again on his cock.

“I’m yours! Azriel I'm yours,” she cried to him over the wet noises of him pounding into her, feral and untamed as tears came to her eyes and fell down her cheeks to soak the blanket.

She felt the hot ropes of his cum shoot into her, coating her walls at the same she reached her own peak, cresting the summit of their joining, her sight going white and sound blanking out that she almost thought she was having a vision. She died a million little deaths as she was fractured into pieces and put back together again and again with 'azriel azriel azriel' reverberating in her heart.

A few more finishing thrust and he collapsed on top of her but before she could take the full brunt of his weight he wrapped his arms around her protectively and rolled to the side, bringing her with him to settle her into the crook of his body, back to chest in an embrace. One of his arms slid under her head for support and the other wrapped around her waist where their hands once again weaved themselves together between her breast, next to her heart. He tucked his chin between her shoulder and neck so he could breath her in, and unfurled his wings around them partially cocooning them from the world as they recovered.

Elain lay there basking in the afterglow, safe and content with a satisfied throb between her legs and relaxed, listening as their hearts beat in tandem, slowing down and their mingled breath evening out as the world started to make sense again.

Night had fully fallen and with it came a chill but even though the top of her body was still exposed she was warm and cozy in Azriel's arms and the shelter of his wings. She could see through a small gap tiny fae lights illuminating the glade with a soft glow that shown through the membranous parts of his wings.

She never wanted to leave, to lay entangled with him like this forever, and it pained her because she knew they could not. The dream had to eventually end. She felt him tense behind her and knew he had come to the same realization.

“We have to go soon,” he murmured close to her ear and she felt the stab of his chin as he said the words as if they were piercing her heart. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if she could hold the thought, the already spoken words at bay.

They were expected at the family dinner tonight and she would have to bath beforehand, to remove his scent from her no matter how much it grieved her. She would have to sit across from him at the same table, to be around him and not touch him, to not stare at his breathtaking beauty, to make sure not to pay too much attention to him, to act cordial, like acquaintances or friends, like the world didn't begin or end with him.

“I know,” was all she could muster to say, small and low, fighting to keep the quiver out of her voice. Her fingers absentmindedly played with his, rolling over and under as she tried and failed to think of a way to stay, to selfishly keep them here away from the world in their own universe.

“Just…a bit longer," she conceded, not quite willing to give up completely. She felt the dip of his chin, a nod, and his arms pulled her even closer to him.

They lay there a few minutes more and when she finally found the courage to move, to leave the intimacy and his warmth behind for now, he gripped her tight to him and she felt the moisture of his breath along her cheek as he whispered to her.

”I’m yours too.”

Her Azriel.

my god has answered me

[drewharrisonwriter]

On the Mend - Ch 1: Not Today

No Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader

Read this on AO3 | On the Mend Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Summary: You were having a really, really bad day in the midst of the scorching Austin summer, and seeing your ex boyfriend, Joel Miller, is the last thing you need.

Word count: 829

A/N: (EDIT 09/17/2023) Okay so I heard ya'll! LMAO and decided to turn this into a mini-series. Not sure exactly how things will play out for these two, but I've written a part 2 and decided to call this mini-series On the Mend. LOL hope you like it. This is a one-shot for now, not sure if and how to continue this. I just got this idea recently and wanted to write it.

The merciless sun bore down as she parked her car. The Austin summer had been relentless, and today, it seemed as if even the universe was conspiring against her. 

It had been a thoroughly miserable day. Work had been a disaster; she'd spent hours redoing half of a project her co-worker had botched because she was still hungover from the previous night. 

The Texas summer heat, relentless and unforgiving, only added to her misery. As if fate had a personal grudge against her, she realized she'd left her house keys on her office desk when she was already halfway home. 

She sighed in defeat and turned her car around to retrieve them. All of this was compounded by her lingering morning sickness, a term she found deceptive as it had resurfaced with a vengeance upon entering her third trimester. She had naively believed she had bid it farewell for good when she'd crossed into the second trimester.

"Whoever called it morning sickness should be shot for lying," she grumbled, attempting to quell the rising nausea that threatened to surface.

Dressed in biker shorts and an oversized t-shirt she kept in her car for emergencies, she got out and beelined to the frozen aisle for a popsicle stick and savored the brief respite offered by the melting ice cold treat.

She sighed in relief and grabbed a pushcart. Her only mission in the store was to grab some Oreos, pickles, and frozen pizza to satisfy her cravings that were so intense, she literally cried in the car on her way over. 

As she rounded a corner in the store, she was suddenly face to face with the last person she wanted to see: Joel Miller. 

Great. She thought to herself. Couldn't have been on a better day. 

Ah, Joel fucking Miller.

The man who had once been the love of her life.

The same man who had taken her on the most memorable first date she'd ever experienced, and had filled the past five years of her life with the kind of joy she'd never known before.

But this was also the man who made it clear to her months ago, after five whole years of being together and living together for three, that he has no plans of marrying her and having a family with her. 

She and Joel were arguing at the time when he said it. 

--

In the midst of their emotional clash, she couldn't help but speak her mind, her frustration boiling over. 

"Joel," she began, her voice trembling with pent-up feelings, "if you get mad at every damn little thing, what's going to happen if we were married? That's not the life I want, and it's not the husband I need."

Joel's eyes flashed with anger as he retorted, "Of course it’s not! And who told you I was going to marry you?" His words cut like a knife, and she felt her heart shatter into pieces. 

"We never talked about it, what put the idea into your head?" he continued, his tone harsh and unyielding. 

Her jaw went slack in shock, as tears welled up in her eyes as she choked back her emotions. 

"But I thought we--," she whispered, her voice barely audible, she couldn't even continue her thoughts when Joel cut her off.

"No." He barked. "You knew from the start that Sarah is my priority. Always was and always will be. I'm not going through the whole marriage thing again." And have our hearts broken all over again when you realize that we're not what you want, he wanted to add. But instead he allowed the silence to linger. 

Silent tears slipped from her eyes but she did not respond. 

Instead she stood up and went into the closet and started packing. So be it, she told herself as she zipped the last of her bags before going into the bathroom to hastily shove her toiletries into another bag. 

She stopped when she pulled one of the lower drawers open. The positive pregnancy test sticks under her box of tampons glared at her, and for a brief moment she contemplated telling Joel. But when she heard the front door slam shut, she pulled herself together and shoved the sticks in the bag as well. 

--

That was seven months ago and she hasn't seen nor heard from Joel since. 

Their eyes met for a moment before his gaze fell upon her very round baby bump. Acting on instinct, she hastily placed her handbag in the shopping cart, a futile attempt to hide it from him, though it didn't do much given the fact that she looked like she had tucked an entire watermelon under her shirt.

She grimaced, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. When she locked eyes with him once more, she began walking backwards, her eyes not leaving him and before he could say anything, she had rounded the corner and all he heard was, “Nope. Not today!”

Next Chapter 👉🏻

[takes1]

p. 4 bratty tsukishima x manager!reader enemies to lovers

thank you so much @v15aexe for giving me that suggestion! i tried my best to honor it and make it feel as organic as possible! and thanks to everyone who's supported this little series :) next part should be heavy nsfw. lmk if ya'll want any other series/characters in my requests

warnings. sfw somehow again idk how this keeps happening to me. minors DNI

details. sfw? / build-up to nsfw / PDA / during: training camp arc / first kiss / jealous!tsukki / stupidshima / needyshima / suggestive petting / kuroo rizz / hand holding / unspoken feelings / communication / obsessed tanaka/nishinoya / 2k words

🤍 kei series. part one / part two / part three / final part / reply and get added to the taglist to get notifs for the last part!

more links. my ao3, my other stuff. request box. haikyuu collection

Tsukishima couldn't believe that it was so dark outside when he left the gym. This training camp would be the death of him.

Dreary and a bit dehydrated, he stepped to the doorway and looked at the surrounding gym-trailers, envious of all the ones that were dark and unoccupied.

His eyes naturally landed on one that was still in-use, though.

Kuroo, who had left early for unspecified reasons, was chatting you up with an unmistakable rizz charisma at the entrance.

You (the now-specified reason) looked downright delighted to be talking to him.

Tsukishima bit the inside of his cheek, heart racing, and barely noticed Bokuto's heavy shoulder slap on the way out of their gym.

"Yeah," He gave a half-cocked, hardly engaged smile and it fell right away.

Bokuto looked over his shoulder for a moment with a confused look- he said nothing to warrant a 'yeah,' but the thousand-yard stare across the kid's face was enough for even him to understand it was out of his paygrade to pry. He continued walking back to his own lodging, quickly becoming absentminded once more.

His immediate reaction at this discomfort was to roll his eyes, put his shoes on, and step out onto the concrete, facing the way back.

Your sweet laugh rang in his ears as he did this.

He looked back, and the older, better in now every way version of himself was brimming with pride that you found him funny.

His dignity couldn't take another beating today. He'd never be able to look you in the eye if he let this one go.

A newfound swiftness in his legs carried him three trailers down to where the light was pouring out into the dark night, blocked only by now: three shadows.

"-that was real sexy-- U-hum, admirable when you told your team off like that today," His fake 'slip-up' had you blushing from ear to ear, hands folded neatly in front of you.

The sly way he lowered his voice to just above a mutter was reminiscent of pillow-talk. He was undeniably smooth and radiated confidence. Even the successfully casual manner in which he leaned against the doorway to both get closer to you and to come across as more conversational.

You corrected him, pushing down his hand; he was about move some of your hair, so you moved it yourself.

You were keeping a polite distance both physically and verbally, "If this is your way of getting intel, you'd be barking up the wrong tree."

Unfazed, he took your hand in his effortlessly, "The only intel I need is your number."

When you took a breath to deny him that for the fourth time, you jumped at Tsukishima's haunted appearance just coming into the light.

Kuroo looked back and nearly jumped out of his skin with an uncool yelp- he quickly covered it with a, "Fuck--! Four-Eyes! You scared the absolute shit out of me."

He caught his breath, holding his chest, "You look like a damn ghost."

You laughed, sharing an entertained glance with Tsukishima, but saw that he was much less delighted to be standing there.

He crafted something on the spot, monotone and sounding just as disinterested as usual, "Coach needs you back at the dorm. It's getting late."

"Oh," You threw a look back to Hinata and Kageyama, who were still practicing, "I was just making sure these two got back in one piece. And- at a decent... time."

You checked your watch and realized it wasn't exactly a decent time anymore.

As you called out to the two still inside, Tsukishima and Kuroo stood in front of each other and crossed their arms with identical scowls.

Kuroo knew that face well. He'd seen it many times with other guys. The 'Go Away, Stop Talking to Her' stare. But he'd place good money on the fact that Tsukishima didn't even know it was a thing.

Even though he was just a freshman, and even though you were too damn good-looking to be Karasuno's manager, and even though he scared him- he took pity on him.

So he let up, but not without one last punch.

"I hope Bokuto grilled you enough while I was gone," He smirked, "You'll need to step it up for tomorrow's match, Tsukki."

There was a slight drop from the gym to the concrete. Tsukishima held his hand out for you to hop down with, and with a look he didn't return, you decided to take it and fixed your shoes.

"I plan to."

You felt a chill between them and had zero desire to intervene. Kuroo seemed to give a subtle, proud smile.

"Good."

The walk back was dead silent. It was slowly suffocating you, nagging at you like flies to just say something about what happened between you.

The pace wasn't fast, but it wasn't slow. And the accommodated lodging wasn't too far off from the lined-up gyms, so you both felt the opportunity growing smaller and smaller.

"It's nice seeing you stay for solo practice."

He said nothing.

"And- you've been getting better."

He scoffed, "Tell me that when we're not hitting penalty sprints after every match."

You smiled. It was quiet again.

"I will."

He looked down at you, brows raised, softer now. He realized how mean he sounded and couldn't take it back. There were a lot of things he couldn't take back.

That feeling helped him not shut down your candid question.

"So, what was that? Back there?"

His response was careful and slow. You were waiting on your toes for each following word.

"I guess-... I'm- surprised."

"What do you mean?"

"That you'd-- entertain that. You're not the type."

"You should be more careful putting girls in boxes, Tsukki-" The nickname just slipped out. You felt your face get warmer.

He stayed silent, though. You couldn't read him no matter how hard you tried.

You continued, treading lightly, "I... I don't know, it is nice being fawned over. It's flattering, at least."

The "Yeah," he choked out sounded like he'd gotten stabbed through the middle with a serrated knife- and you just twisted it.

"Much easier than having to deal with some jackass that doesn't know how to talk to me."

A surprised half-laugh, half-scoff left his lips at your brash comment.

"Really." He rolled his eyes, heart sinking, and regretting just about every moment between you. Especially that out-of-body shit he pulled back there.

"But," You leaned to look at him and found it nearly impossible.

He was staring at the sky. He really did look in pain.

"I wouldn't say I prefer it," A smile crept over your lips, a small laugh at how absurd your own words sounded, "It's not interesting enough."

His Adam's apple bobbed and his jaw worked. He was already at rock-bottom, so there was nothing to hide.

Another sigh-laced response, "What... would you prefer?"

The shared dormitories were approaching closer. You began to mosey, your footfalls with more time between them, smaller distance, in the hopes that you could steal more time alone. It was such a warm night and you were craving to get under a fan, but sweating out in this muggy, paved path had steady-growing appeal.

"Tall," You started to list, struggling to keep a nervous, yet amused grin down, "Blond,"

He finally looked down at you.

His eyes were glossy under his glasses. There was no such smile on his face, but his chest rose and fell faster.

"Intelligent, but-," You stopped and he followed your lead without a moment's hesitation. The pause felt right because now, the street light next to your housing was setting between you in a warm, flickering glow, "Somehow incredibly stupid."

An unfiltered laugh broke his melancholic silence and it was the most beautiful sound you could've asked for.

"Mean," You felt inclined to include through his bout of relieved laughter, "But- secretly really thoughtful, and sweet. And a really cute laugh."

You giggled with him, giddy and incredibly apprehensive as you took his hand. He laced his fingers through yours and your tummy started to dance with a billion butterflies.

Another tentative, gentle hand found its rightful place on your waist.

"I'm sorry," He muttered, "About... everything."

Crystal clear feelings of guilt flashed across his face, despite holding you, your admission, and his reparations today. His insecurities really did manage to worm their way back in.

"I thought it was pretty clear that I forgave you," You grinned, squinting up at him, "But since you're so stupid-,"

He smiled and looked away, shy.

"I guess I have to tell you directly that," You grabbed his chin to force him look at you, "I forgive you."

Those eyes were beyond complex. His charged, but needy stare sent a shiver down your spine and made your knees so weak that you were appreciative he pulled you closer to his chest.

You knew he didn't know how to kiss.

So you made the first move- a soft hand to the side of his face to guide him down, and a gentle, barely-there, slow peck. He started to kiss back, but it was over before he got the proper chance to try.

"One more," He breathed, the tiniest smirk covering a bottomless desire for you.

He could hardly form a kiss through his smiling, you weren't sure if he was really even trying on the second time he asked for another.

You leaned up for a third, hand at last unlacing from his, and slid to the base of his neck for a subtle pull for control. A deeper, much better kiss ensued as the result of this direction.

That unsure hand on your waist gripped harder with growing certainty- his thumb wrapped forward around your hip and squeezed, sending a shock throughout your body that left you tugging at the roots of his hair.

"Mmn," You buzzed against him and, a bit breathless, sucked a small, red spot to his jaw when you couldn't keep kissing him anymore.

"Ye-ah-" You seethed, brow knotted, "We can't do this here."

He was panting at the loss of your touch and your pretty voice. He nodded dumbly but didn't move.

You carefully guided his hand off of yours, holding it for a moment, and smiled at his dazed expression for all it was worth.

Your timing couldn't have been better. Just as you climbed the first steps to get into the building, Tanaka burst through the door in a fury.

"(Y/N)!! Where were you?! I'vebeenworriedsick!" He cried, only just barely drowning out the rapid, thundering of footsteps (interrupted only briefly with a crash and resulting shout) from your other personal fan, Nishinoya, who burst through the door in an identical fashion-- "Thank GOD!"

They both collapsed against you, not even giving you the chance to register their incessant noise.

"Jesus," You wheezed at the absurd weight of them both.

Tsukishima went completely unseen for the second time that night.

"Get off, both of you!" Daichi's disembodied, reprimanding voice called from upstairs. He certainly couldn't see them, so he must've just known.

With great, exaggerated labor, they did as told, but didn't drop the subject.

"You've never been out so late before!" Nishinoya exclaimed, taking both of your hands in his with big, dinner-plate eyes. It was only 9:30.

"Well, you have Tsukki to thank for getting me back safely," You joked, much quieter than them, heart light on the heels of a good kiss and in the company of good friends.

They looked around before spotting him, generating an amused smile on your face, and shook both of his hands at the same time, thanking him many times for his service.

"He saved me from Kuroo," You added with a playful glance back to Tsukishima, now free to walk in with them out of the way.

Now he was the one bombarded with questions as you slipped your shoes off in the doorway.

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[tinyfishtits]

You Are Redeemed

Micah Bell / Female Reader

Summary: Reader convinces Micah to join her on a job robbing a homestead. Things do not go as planned... Rating: Mature; Graphic Depictions of Violence Word Count: 5,339 Tags: Light Angst, First Kiss

Authors Note: Contains minor spoilers for a special encounter in the game, if you care about that. This was SO FUN to write, hope ya'll ike it. ★ Read on AO3 ★ ☆ Masterlist ☆

I sat on the outskirts of camp, watching as the sun slowly sank behind the mountains, painting the landscape in shades of pink and lavender. Though my peace was short lived as someone walked toward where I rested on the cliff's edge. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. 

“Dutch’s bitch returns.” I said, taking a hit of my cig as Micahs heavy steps neared. “Shut up and give me one of those.” He demanded, taking a seat next to me. I pulled the pack from my pocket and chucked it into his lap. 

“What, would you prefer the prodigal son? ” He just grunted in response and lit his cigarette. “Well aren’t you in a good ole’ mood.” I murmured under my breath. 

“You wanna talk, sweetheart?” He drew a long puff and sank back onto his elbows, waving a dismissive hand at me “Go ahead.”

I crinkled my nose at the pet name. Flinging the butt of my cigarette off the cliff side and lighting another, I asked “Whatchu doin’ tomorrow?” He raised an eyebrow, glancing sidelong at me, “No .” Was all he said. 

“You don’t even know what I’m about t-” 

“Find somebody else.” His voice was flat and words final, “Camps full of idiots, I'm sure one of ‘em will go on whatever fools errand you got this time.” 

“You’re not even the least bit curious?” 

“ No .” He said, tone already laced in annoyance. I went quiet for a moment, thinking of a way to entice him. 

“I’d split the take with you, fifty fifty.” 

“ God woman! I’m not even back an hour and you’re already trying to get me killed?” 

“Fine.” I spat back at him, “ I’ll just do it myself… Asshole.” I got up and stormed off back to camp, Micah's half hearted yell of my name his only response. I wasn’t sure the job could even be done alone, but to hell if I was gonna grovel with him over it. His ego was big enough. 

I was already kicking myself for being so soft by the time I reached my tent. I knew we weren’t friends or nothin’... But I’d been planning this robbery all month, waiting for him to show his face at camp to tell him about it and he just couldn't have cared less. I didn’t want to admit how much it hurt, how much I stupidly yearned for that asshole's praise.

It wasn’t until late next morning that Micah appeared beside me as I readied my horse for the ride. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” He drawled, leaning against the hitching post as I mounted my horse. 

“Don’t you got better things to do than babysit me?” I hissed, “Like sittin’ on your ass all day?” My voice still heavy with venom from our encounter last night. 

I knew I really had no reason to be so mad, I had put us both in danger on jobs before. But so had he! For every job that went bad from my lack of experience, he completely blew out of proportion with his lack of self control. And it’d been months since our last robbery, I’d improved a lot since, not that he was around or cared to notice.

“Hey now,” he lifted his hands in surrender, “I come with a peace offering.” I just rolled my eyes. “Give me your hand.” 

“What? No-” I started but he interjected, “Stop bein’ stubborn and give it here!” He yanked my hand from the horn of my saddle and placed a long leather sheath into it. 

“A knife?” I whispered, turning it over in my hand. Unsheathing it I almost gasped. The black blade was decorated with the most intricate engraving of flowers and herons and inlaid with what looked to be gold. 

“Why…?” Was all I could muster in response. 

“Before you go gettin’ all sentimental, I stole it off someone while robbing a stagecoach a few days ago. Thought maybe you could use one.”

“But it's-” Beautiful, expensive, worth more than my rifle… “don’t you wanna sell it?” 

“Well if you don’t like it give it back and I will.” His temper shot up a bit. I knew he wasn’t used to gifting people things, and hell, I wasn’t used to receiving them. 

“Thank you.” I said finally, “I like it.” 

“Okay then.” He grunted as he turned away and mounted Baylock. “Now, you gonna tell me about this job or what?” 

I tried to hide my surprise and relief at his sudden willingness to accompany me on a job he knew nothing about. I truly had been preparing myself for the worst case scenario of going at it alone. Not wanting to delude myself into thinking that his change of heart could be at all for my sake, I shook the thought from my mind and the building blush from my cheeks. He was just in it for the money… I had promised him half the take in my desperation, after all. 

“You spend much time out in Lemoyne?” I started, catching up with him as we trotted down the path out of camp. He nodded. “Some.”

“Well there’s a farm out there with this couple, been runnin’ a shine business out their house. Figure they got a good stash somewhere in there.”

“You figure? ” The skepticism in his tone made my brow furrow. He’d done more for less. Why he was so intent on giving me a hard time over the others in camp, I had no idea. 

“Well if there aint a lot of cash, we could always steal the shine. I figure that's a pretty safe bet.” 

He just hummed in acknowledgement. For Micah, any response not laced in mockery was a good one. “What do you want me to do?” He asked. 

“The couple, well… They’re kinda odd.” I started, trying to piece together the best way to pitch my idea. Micah just raised a brow at me, waiting for the rest of the story. “Bill and Arthur both had run-ins with them. Said they gave ‘em a bad feeling. Seems they um… like invitin’ men in for dinner.” 

“Well if they scared big ole Bill and Morgan they must be terrifying.” His words dripped with sarcasm. Hook, line, sinker. All it took for Micah to be in on a job was the chance to prove himself more capable than his fellow gang members, especially Arthur. 

“So you’ll do it?” I prodded, “Distract them, I mean. While I loot the house?”  “Sure sweetheart. If you ask nicely.” 

It took every last bit of self control not to spit back at him. “ Please” I forced out through gritted teeth. He shot me a cocky smirk. “And don’t go shootin’ the place up neither. I’d like to do this clean and quiet for once.” I added. 

“You got it boss.” He joked, but the smugness sank a bit from his expression. Always the trigger happy gunslinger. 

Our ride through the Heartlands was quiet, neither of us being too keen on small talk. The weather over head was nice, cloudy but still warm and dry. That was more than I could say for what we were headed toward. A nasty lookin’ grey sky loomed in the distance.

By the time we reached Emerald Ranch it was pouring. I cursed myself for not bringing a jacket, my simple cotton button up was soaked after just a minute in the downpour. I wrapped myself up in the blanket I had stored on my saddle in an attempt to ward off the chill the storm brought with it, much to Micahs amusement. 

He let out a howl of laughter, “You look like a washed up Nun! Should I start callin’ you sister?” 

“Shutup!” I replied, having to yell over the noise of pounding rain and cracking thunder, “Take a right here, we’re almost there.” 

The foliage grew denser the closer we got, an eerie feeling lingering in the darkness of the forest stretched out before us. I pushed it back, trying to clear my brain for the job ahead. I’d never been good with storms, that deep-seated childhood fear of thunder and lightning never having left me. It’ll help cover any noise you make, I tried to convince myself, wash away any tracks if things go sour and they come lookin’ for you .  

Pulling off the road just shy of the path that rounded up the hill to the homestead, I hitched my horse and waved Micah over. “I’ll go on foot from here. Once you’re inside I’ll start lookin’.” He nodded, the water collecting on his hat cascaded off with every slight movement, I could barely make out his face through the mini waterfall it created. 

“Alright.” He drawled, nudging Baylock up the path. His dark, leather-cloaked form shimmered with water even in the darkness below the tree’s dense canopy, and then he was gone. 

I abandoned my makeshift cloak and trudged up the muddy hillside, Micah’s knife and my revolver the only weapons on my hip. By the time the house was visible through the trees, Micah was hitching Baylock and talking to someone on the porch. The closer I got to the treeline I could make out the forms in the darkness. A large man dressed in overalls was waving Micah in when someone else joined them on the porch. A woman by the looks of her large skirt. 

I made my way to the side of the house with a crudely built add-on, which was really saying something, the whole place seemed like it could collapse at any moment. The small shed had no windows, no light spilled out from the door, it was the safest bet for where they’d stash the shine. 

Running out from the cover of the trees I reached the shed door, fully expecting I’d have to break the lock. But when I got out my pick to start working on it the door creeped open from my touch alone. Either they were really stupid, or… The place was empty. My heart sank as I scanned the small room for anything of value, nothing. There were old shine brewing canisters in the corner but they looked like they hadn’t been used in a good decade. Fuck. I cursed myself, knowing Micah would never let me live this down. Though he would probably juice the story up just to rub it in Arthur's face. 

I was rummaging through a tool box for any hidden valuables when a large THUMP sounded on the other side of the wall. Sighing, I readied myself for the ribbing I was about to get and rounded the house to the back door. “I thought we agreed to keep this one quiet-” I started as I entered the house, fully expecting to see the bodies of the couple on the floor. But instead found Micah, strewn out lifelessly still in the middle of the room.

“Micah?” I breathed, shock freezing me in place at the sight of him so… helpless. 

“What do we have here honey pie?” A large man asked from across the room, looking my wet, trembling figure over with a sick kind of hunger. He was dressed in nothing but a wethered pair of overalls that could barely contain the skin spilling out from it. Seeing him up close set a new kind of fear coursing through me. He was so fucking big! There was no way I'd be able to fight my way out of this. 

The woman he talked to was crouching over Micah’s body, hands greedily rifling through his pockets. It was when she touched his revolver that the adrenaline finally hit me and before I could even process that I'd grabbed my own gun, I was emptying my cylinder into the man’s chest. Six shots later and the mountain of a man was still barreling toward me, a guttural roar ripping through the house. 

I stumbled back, practically falling out the door I’d come through as I tried to put as much distance between us as possible. Jumping over the stair railing I landed on a pile of chopped wood and saw it, an axe resting against the house. Gripping it just as the man came crashing out the back door, I pivoted on my heels, swinging the blade smack into the giant’s neck. 

He floundered forward, a grotesque gurgling erupting from his mouth as blood sputtered from the gash on his neck and he fell to his knees at the foot of the stairs. I just watched as the fight slowly faded from his huge, convulsing form and he sunk to the mud with one final twitch. Pulling the axe from his neck, I made my way back up the stairs, rage bubbling in my veins at whatever these sick sons of bitches were trying to pull. 

But all feeling drained out of me when I opened the door to the woman pointing Micahs revolver at his head. 

“Put the axe down.” She demanded, her tone disconcertingly calm until she spotted the blood. “Bray? Honey?” Her voice cracked, yelling for him again. “Bray!?”

“He’s dead.” Was all I said, my voice flat and lifeless, I could barely recognize it as my own. 

I could practically see the hysteria wash over her as she pointed the gun at me and started firing erratically, screaming at the top of her lungs. “YOU BITCH!” 

I rushed her, sprinting through the gunfire and knocking her to the ground, the gun thrown from her hand at the impact. She thrashed beneath me, her hands clawing at every part of me she could reach. “Stop!” I yelled back, grabbing her wrists and pushing them to the ground. Even restrained she was trying to buck me off of her, her legs kicking wildly behind me. “STOP!” I repeated. 

I didn’t want to kill her. But she was making mercy seem pretty damn distasteful the more she screamed and squirmed. “Where’s the money?” I demanded, my voice too breathless to sound as menacing as I’d hoped. She just spat in my face. Reflexively, I reached up to wipe the glob of mucus away and she took the opportunity to headbutt me. 

I fell back with a gasp and when I looked up, she was coming at me with a knife. I tried getting to my feet but she was too fast. She jumped on me, slashing at my extended arms as I screamed. Lifting the knife above her head for a final deathly blow, I used all my strength to push myself up and wrap myself around her. Tackling her back to the ground we writhed around, a blur of clawing, slashing and screaming as we wrestled for the knife. 

She dug a finger into one of the fresh slashes on my arm and I shot back like I'd been electrocuted. Rising to her feet, knife in hand, she screamed down at me, “YOU’RE GONNA PAY FOR-” I lunged at her, the hunting knife Micah had gifted me unsheathed, and drove it into her abdomen. Her scream sputtered off into incoherent murmurings as she fell to her knees, my blade still inside her. 

“Tell me.” I pleaded between panting breaths, “Where’s the money?” Her wide eyes met mine, glossy but still so full of that manic rage. “Momma?” She whispered, her hands grasping at my forearms as she tried to stay upright. And then, with a single rasping breath, she collapsed at my feet with one last soft cry for her mother. 

Hot tears streamed down my cheeks as I stood frozen, bloodied blade still stretched out before me. “Micah?” I called out, my voice barely a whisper. But the house stayed eerily silent. I fell to the floor beside him and frantically shook at his limp body. Nothing. “MICAH!” I yelled, taking his face in my hands and lowering my ear to his mouth, then his heart. I couldn’t tell if it was my own heart pounding in my ears or if he truly was alive, but for the moment it was enough to kick my scattered brain into action. 

Grabbing him by the ankles I started to drag his body toward the front door. The blood from the slashes on my arm dripped down, coating my hands in sticky warmth as I struggled to keep my grip on the slick leather of his boots. “ Jesus,” I grunted, almost falling to my ass as I lost my grip on him, “You’re heavier than you look.” I mumbled. It was a jeer that would usually prompt one of his snarky remarks, making the silence that followed even more unsettling. 

Making it to the door, I swung it open and whistled for Baylock. “Come here boy.” He huffed and reared as I dragged Micah out on the porch and tried maneuvering him more carefully down the steps. “Shhh.” I hushed as I reached out to comfort the horse, obviously just as distressed at the sight of Micah passed out as I was. “Hush now, I need you to help me out here.” I said, stroking his mane and guiding him to lay down so I could get Micah in the saddle. 

It took a lot of coaxing both of Baylock and my own strength, to get Micah and all his dead weight in that saddle. But after a few sweaty, breathless minutes, it was done. With Micah securely slumped on the saddle I rushed back in the house to grab his revolver, and that's when I saw it. 

In the chaos of it all I hadn’t stopped to really look around the house. It was just as dilapidated as the exterior, dirty and sparse. Though the one thing that really stood out was the large portrait of a woman right across from the front door, the only decoration in the whole house. “What are the chances…” I muttered to myself, reaching for the painting. 

Concealed behind it was a hole in the wall filled with cash. A laugh of pure disbelief burst out of me as I took in the wads of bills and gold bars. Quickly fetching Micahs satchel I stuffed it full of the loot, all the while sobbing and laughing like a maniac at the pure absurdity of the whole thing. 

Not wanting to linger in the house of horrors longer than need be, I quickly retrieved Micah's stolen possessions from the woman's corpse and got the hell out of there. Getting behind Micah on the saddle I held him with one arm and took the reins in the other, guiding Baylock down to where my horse still waited patiently at the end of the path. 

“Come on girl, follow me.” I yelled to her. Her head shot up from where she grazed and she obediently trotted to my side as I led us away from the homestead. The downpour had mercifully subsided to a drizzle, though the land would be a mud pit for a good day at least. I considered riding all the way back to camp, but I wasn’t in good shape myself. There was no way I'd be able to hold Micah and keep myself upright for the cross-state trek back to Horseshoe Overlook. 

With all the cash I had now, I debated going into Rhodes and getting a room. Though Micah’s unconscious state was sure to attract more questions than I cared to invite, especially with all the money I had on me. So I settled for a short jaunt up the road toward Emerald Ranch, leading the horses off the path a bit until I found a clearing suitable for a small make-shift camp. 

I hadn’t anticipated being away from camp more than a few hours, but it seemed Micah always kept enough supplies on him to get him through the night if need be, so I began to set things up. Laying his bedroll out, I tried easing Micah off the saddle, only to have him crash into me and pin me in the mud. I coughed, rasping for breath as I tried wriggling out from beneath him. It was like being stuck under a cow, the man was deceptively dense. 

I pushed at his shoulder, my arms burning with the strain, the wounds that had just started scabbing popping open and bleeding once more. After a few agonizing minutes I managed to roll him off of me enough to get myself free. We were both caked in mud from the fall, Micah's golden hair so dirty it was almost black now. 

Everything else was easy, mindless work in comparison to the day i’d had. Building a fire, setting up the tent, cracking open a can of food for dinner. Hopeful he’d wake up before nightfall, I’d cooked him a can of beans as well… and when he didn’t, I scarfed those down too. I was exhausted. Every inch of my body was in some kind of pain. Slashed, bruised, sore. I tended to the knife wounds on my arms the best I could, nabbing a bit of a health cure Micah had in his satchel to fight off infection. And now I just, waited. 

Crouching beside Micah in the tent, I carefully removed his jacket and shirt. I had no idea what they did to knock him out so heavily, but I wanted to at least make sure he hadn’t been stabbed or shot. Running my hands through his hair, I felt no bumps or blood, so I ruled out concussion. His chest, stomach, and what I could reach of his back was also unscathed. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was just sleeping. His chest rose and fell with slow, even breaths. His eyes even fluttered beneath his lashes every so often, like he was dreaming. Not knowing what more there was to do I just began washing the mud off him with my still soaked blanket, and prayed to god he wouldn’t choose this moment to wake up, he’d call me a bath maid for the rest of my goddamn life. 

Once he was clean and my blanket sufficiently muddied, I threw it out of the tent and sank back on the bedroll beside him. Micah, being the human furnace he was, didn’t travel with a blanket of his own. And even though we were in the bayou, the storm had brought with it a ferocious wind that made the night painfully chill. Drifting off, I found myself edging closer and closer to Micah’s warm body, until halfway through the night I was completely wrapped around him. He still did not stir, and I figured I’d much rather take whatever possible teasing this would get me if he woke up now than shiver to death a few feet away. 

Cuddled up to Micahs side, I fell into the most blissful sleep I’d had in years. I did not stir for the rest of the night, only beginning to wake when the sun shone down through the tree canopy and the chorus of birds and bugs filled the forest with their music. “Mornin’” a soft, gravely voice vibrated under my ear. 

“Morning.” I yawned, my head still in a sleepy haze as I stretched and came to. A deep rumbling vibrated once more beneath me and I shot up. Micah's chuckles turned to shallow coughs as he gazed up at me, a smug smile on his lips. “You’re awake!” I practically yelled, throwing my arms around him. “Thank god you’re not dead” I mumbled into his bare chest, “you scared the shit out of me!”

“You sure I ain't dead darlin’?” He drawled, wrapping a large arm around my back, keeping me pressed against him. “Never thought in all my life I’d hear someone thank god I was alive.” 

“What happened back there? The hell did they do to you?” I stretched my neck to look up at him, making no effort to leave his warmth just yet. 

“They drugged me. Put somethin’ in the damn whiskey.” He looked around then, sitting up a bit to inspect the camp I put together. “How’d you get me outta there?” 

“Well it wasn’t easy.” I said, finally unraveling myself from him and getting up propper. “You weigh twice as much as you look, I swear. It was like lugging around a ton of bricks.” 

“Where you goin’?” He said with a smile, patting the space beside him I’d just occupied. “Come back here.” 

“What? No- I- I’m gonna go get some food.” 

“So you gonna act like you didn’t just spend all night wrapped around me?” The smug smile on his lips grew. When I didn’t move, he got up with a groan and walked toward me. Only stopping when he stood just a breath away.

“I’m only gonna say this once…” He said, his voice surprisingly soft for what his words implied. Slowly, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Thank you.” His breath brushed over my face, warm and inviting, “For saving my life.” 

Despite how much of a cocky, slimy asshole he could be. How more often than not I wanted to throttle him… I found myself leaning in, my hand coming up to caress the scar that ran from his lip down his chin. His eyes followed my movement, then in a flash he grabbed my wrist, lifting my arm to inspect the blood soaked cloth there. 

“What happened?” He demanded, his brow furrowing as he noticed the bandages wrapped around my other arm as well.

“I- Um. Got stabbed… a little.” His touch was delicate as he carefully peeled back the cloth to expose the jagged red slashes that peppered my forearm. His face crinkled in anger. 

“I’ll kill those crazy bastards-” He started, but I interjected. “They’re dead.” His eyes widened, looking me over more thoroughly now.

“Even the-”

“Dead.” I said once more, my voice flat as I tried not to remember their bloodied corpses. He squinted, cocking his head as he observed me. Looking me over as if he was seeing something in me he hadn’t noticed before. 

“Okay.” Was all he replied before he turned toward the horses, “Come on.” 

“Where are you-” 

“ We’re going into town. You’re gonna see a doctor. Now mount up.” When I dug my heels in the ground he sighed, already exasperated, “I may weigh a ton, doll. But by the looks of it, you don’t. So unless you want me to pick you up and throw you on the back of this saddle-”

“ Fine.” I muttered, walking over and mounting my horse. “Oh, Micah?” He hummed in acknowledgment. “You might wanna look in your satchel.” 

“ Shit.” He muttered, pulling out one of the gold bars, “All this for shine? ” 

“There was no shine.” I said, starting off down the path, “My guess is those sick sons of bitches were druggin’ folk and robbin ‘em blind.” Micah fell silent. 

“Anyway… Bet you twenty bucks I can beat you to Rhodes.” And before he could reply I kicked my horse into action and raced down the road. The only response I could hear from him was a holler as he reared Baylock and chased after me. 

We raced along the Kamassa River, Micah on my tail the entire time. I knew he was a better rider than me, but he didn’t bother overtaking me until the town came into view. Then, like the cocky ass he was, he stopped Baylock completely. Giving me a good 30 seconds head start before he jolted into a gallop and flew past me just before I reached the fork in the road that led to Rhodes. By the time I got to the main street in town, Micah was already sitting outside the doctor's office.

“Twenty bucks, was it?” He said with a sly smirk as I hitched my horse. I just rolled my eyes, “Put it on my tab, cowboy.” 

“Hey.” He grabbed my wrist as I went to open the office door, “You still got that knife I gave ya?” 

I nodded, reaching for the leather sheath on my hip. “Can I borrow it?” My brow crinkled. 

“Don’t you gotta knife?” He just stared at me, his hand still gripping my wrist. I sighed and handed it over. 

“I’ll be out here. Go get patched up doll.” He said, sitting on the bench beside the door. 

The doctor was an old, greying man whose voice was so gravely from decades of smoking it made Micahs sound like velvet in comparison. “Someone did a real number on you.” He croaked, his cold hands poking and prodding at my tender flesh as he rubbed my wounds with disinfectant and some kind of numbing cream. 

It took about half an hour for him to stitch up the worst of my gashes, and wrap up the rest. By the time he was done I was covered in bandages from wrist to elbow on each arm, it looked a whole lot worse than it felt. Paying him for his time and grabbing a few bottles of tonic on my way out, I found Micah just as I’d left him. 

“Good as new.” I announced, and Micah practically jumped out of his seat. He looked me over, his brows knitting as his eyes scanned the large bandages. Without a word, he patted the space beside him and I joined him on the bench. Taking one bandaged arm in his hand, he gingerly turned it around, inspecting it. Then placed my blade in my open palm. 

I turned it over in my hand and found something carved into the wooden handle. Bringing it closer to my face, I squinted at the small lettering. You are redeemed. It read. I whispered the words, running a finger over the indentations in the wood. A reminder of the price paid and the bounty won, life. ‘Thank you for saving my life.’ his words echoed in my head. 

I had the feeling Micah would no longer shrug off my jobs, that what I sacrificed to save us made me an equal in his eyes. Given the lone wolf he was… well, it meant a lot. I didn’t know what to say to that. The words thank you didn’t seem to hold the same weight any more. Micah stood then, holding a hand out to me. 

“Breakfast?” He asked, jerking his head toward the saloon behind him. I sheathed the knife and took his hand. Pulling me up against him, we stood chest to chest in silence, eyes caught in each other's gazes. 

My hands trailed up his arms, stopping at the scruffy hair on his face to run my fingers through it. His eyes dropped to my lips, and that was all the confirmation I needed to pull his face down to mine. His arms wrapped around my waist, holding me taut against him as his lips took mine. 

He was surprisingly tender, the big gruff outlaw. His lips softly parting my own, tongue ever so slightly trailing over my bottom lip as our mouths moved together, as if this was our thousandth kiss and not our first. Our breath grew heavy, melding the longer we stayed pressed together. My hands tangled in his hair as the kiss deepened, keeping him close. It wasn’t until his warm hand snaked under the hem of my shirt that someone cleared their throat beside us and I broke away from him, realizing we were still in the middle of town in broad daylight. 

“Mornin’.” An older woman said curtly as she stepped around us to enter the doctors office. 

“Mornin’” Micah drawled, tipping his hat to her as she passed. He flashed her a large, genuine smile and turned back to me, face alight. “Hungry, are ya?” His tone only slightly teasing, the same hunger burning in his eyes. 

I took his hand, my own stupid smile growing on my face. “ Starved. ”

[frogserotonin]

Hiiii, I badly need more Anthony Lockwood x reader on this app so could you do one where reader joins the agency and there are immediate sparks between her and lockwood (he's always flirting with her, he always does small things for her and he always protects her first in a mission) and one day he gets really injured trying to save her during their missions and at home she's really worried when patching him up and they end up confessing to eachother after they have a mini argument. Then they kiss and make up or makeout 😘

god yeah anon, i get what you mean, the reason im writing is literally bc i need more fanfic 😭 i have read every fucking lockwood x reader on here and ao3 if ya'll want anything written just ask :D - lots of love, mars

everything - anthony lockwood x reader

warnings: violence, ooc, kissing, cursing

You weren’t exactly sure when it had started, this weird tension between you and Anthony Lockwood. It was an odd thing that the both of you left unspoken about, despite the numerous jokes, comments and questions from Lucy and George.

Maybe it had been when you’d first joined the agency. When he’d opened the door to see who was knocking and gone completely slack jawed at the sight of you, before collecting himself and adorning his prize-winning smirk.

“Well hello love, how may we help you?” he’d said, casually resting against the doorframe.

“Are you Lockwood of Lockwood and Co?” your cheeks had reddened from the cold and nothing else. Most definitely not because of the casual pet name he’d thrown in.

“That would indeed be me.” he nodded, easy smirk still resting on his lips. “I assume you’re here for an interview then, come on in and we’ll get you sorted.”

After you’d passed the interview with flying colours, he’d told you how much he looked forward to working with you with a wink and a charming toothy grin. Even now, your heart rate went up a considerable amount every time you saw that fucking smile.

Maybe it had been your first case, when you and Lockwood had had to hide from a very persistent Type Two and you’d dragged Lockwood into the nearest open room and shoved him into the wall. You’d pinned him there with one hand on his arm, pressing it to the wall, and the other over his mouth. Afterwards he’d tried to charm his way out of your teasing his red face.

You didn’t know when it’d started but far out, you knew that it was there and that if nothing happened soon you might just kiss him the next time he speaks.

~~~

“George, Luce, angel, we’ve got a new case.” Lockwood called from the hall, placing the phone down and smiling widely. (Damn that smile, it made your heart weak and your brain fuzzy) “We’re going as soon as possible so it’s best we get ready as fast as we can.”

And that was that. You all packed the necessities, like you always did. You all loaded into a taxi and waited patiently until you were at the clients house, like you always did. Lockwood checked with you to see if you had everything you needed, like he always did.

“George!” Lucy called from her place halfway up the stairs. “Come with me, we need to check out the drawing room you read about.” You almost missed the wink she directed your way.

Great, now you and Lockwood were alone. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Shall we?” he offered his hand and pulled you towards some of the creepier looking closed doors, not-so-discreetly pulling you behind him. Slowly he opens the furthest door, nothing happens. You open the second door, and suddenly you’re thrown against the wall.

“Y/N!” Lockwood cried, pulling his rapier out and swinging it at the ghost that’d materialised. For a bit he succeeded in pushing it back, allowing you time to reorient yourself, before he too was thrown away from the ghost, his rapier landing near his head. You groaned and hauled yourself up, grabbing your own rapier and stabbing at the ghost. It disappeared, then reappeared behind you, causing you to swing around wildly, accidentally putting yourself in the ghosts close vicinity. You felt your limbs start to lock up as you held eye contact with your doom, hoping and praying that Lucy and George had found the source and were covering it with the silver net. The ghost moved closer and closer to you, and you silently mourned all the things you never got to say.

And then, just as you’d accepted your fate, Anthony fucking Lockwood pushed you out of the way. You didn’t have time to dwell on that though, the both of you rolling in opposite directions so as to avoid the ghost swiping at you, before disappearing. You sat up and looked at Lockwood, catching his eye and sending a wobbly smile his way.

“You okay?” he asked, voice a bit strained. You nodded and asked him the same question.

“Yeah…I’m good.” he said, lying through his teeth.

“The fuck you are.” You forced your sore body to stand up so you could walk towards him and check him for injuries.

“Y/N! Lockwood!” Lucy ran towards you, halting your endeavour. “Are you two okay?”

~~~

The taxi drive home was awkward and tense. You fought a raging battle against the urge to call him out for being injured, to ask him what was wrong.

When you got home you dragged Anthony into the kitchen and sat him down on a chair.

“Tell me where the fuck you’re hurt right now or I swear I will find out what your worst fear is and make it real.” Lockwood chuckled.

“Love, I’m fine, really.”

“Don’t lie to me, Lockwood.”

Then silence and a slight guilt and still, somehow, that damned fucking tension. So you, do what any normal person would do and pull his jacket off, immediately spotting where he was injured due to the blood staining his white shirt. More silence and more guilt, that stays in the air while you wrap his cut.

“I’m sorry-” He starts but you’re quick to cut him off.

“If you were sorry you’d stop throwing yourself at danger at every given opportunity. You’re so fucking reckless, all the damn time!” You didn’t mean to start berating him but now you couldn’t stop, because he did need to hear this. “Do you know how much you worry us? Do you think George and Lucy and I like seeing you get injured? Goddamn it we care so much about you. Why do you pull these stunts?”

You only now realise how close your faces are. You could feel his breath on you face.

“I don’t think you realise how deeply I care for you.” he whispered, voice husky and low. “You are...everything. I can't breathe when you're not around me and I can't think when you're near me. I would set the entire world aflame if you asked me to. You're the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I sleep. I love you so much it hurts my heart and my head and my entire being."

You didn't know what to say to respond to that. You were a mess. God maybe-

Fuck it.

His lips were soft against yours. His hair between your fingers, softer. His hands on the sides of your face, gentle. You were kissing him and he was kissing you and you were losing your mind.

"Darling, you drive me insane." he whispered against your lips, matching smiles painting both of your faces.

"I love you too, idiot."

"Of course you do."

[hegoeshardasfuck]

dogs like praise too

wordcount: 0.9K

tags: sub Sebastian, dom reader/player, praise kink, outdoor sex, handjobs, whimpering for the win, gender neutral reader/player, no petplay

synopsis: Sebastian only figured out he wanted to be used and fucked after he married you, thankfullly 'making love' was a tenderness that didn't appeal to either of you

note: my beautiful swagless emoboy billiards player husband should get dominated and i wrote this in one hour after my friend mistook his wrench for handcuffs in the winter sprites. hope ya'll enjoyed and if ya did consider dropping a like or checking the Ao3 port.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54598753

You learned really fast that Sebastian would whimper in bed, unapolagetically so. He'd even say 'nya' if you wanted him to, which he was grateful wasn't that often. Not unless you really wanted to get to him at least, really wanted to get under his skin and force him closer to the edge with words and demands instead of touch.

It worked too, and maybe the fact he enjoyed it was what got to him the most. The fact that despite all odds he enjoyed being put in his place got to him when he'd never even considered it.

Sam always wanted to take it slow, never further than the simplest of sex between friends, he was scared of parts that he kept locked up. Abigail always wanted to be used in the same way he's learning to love, she liked it rough and so did he. But only now is he learning he likes it rough better when hands are tangled in his hair.

That he likes it fast and hard in the dead of night or broad daylight on the ground or on the bed. He likes gasping for words and choking on spit and holding on for dear life when he didn't know sex could whip him into such a state. It left his brain numb as you called him a good boy and he whimpered and moaned and just took it. He found a perverse pleasure in being used, whether it was his mouth you were monopolizing or his ass, he liked it. An unsteady gait or a sore jaw he'd willingly take both as consequence for being yours as long as you needed.

"You're such a good boy," You murmured against his ear, he was pressed up against a fence this time. Your breath was hot on his skin and waged war with the cooling autumn air.

Sebastian can only nod, eyes shut and lips sealed as to not be too loud so soon. You'd barely touched him yet. His grip tightens on the fence nearly to the point his knuckles turn white. He whines wantonly as you nip at the column of his throat, knees shaking as your hands dip past the hem of his boxers.

You give a humming sort of laugh, "You're so sensitive." He squirms as you tease him, words snaking through him and sinking into him. They feel good. He registers them as a sharp pleasure, prickling across the expanse of pale skin.

"I am?" Sebastian managed, voice cracking with a type of lust he'd ensnared a very long time ago. A type of lust he was never allowed to explore with his friends or his dates because they wanted him to do the work in sex. He feels a slight discomfort as you press him further against the bars of the fence.

"So sensitive, shocked you haven't already cum." One hand rests across his chest, slid up under his jacket and popping each individual button. The other keeps a steady pace that keeps his knees weak and his struggle for balance strong. "But despite that, even though you're trying to put on a show and impress me by being so quiet and having so much stamina, you're still such a good boy."

A wrecked and untrained semblance of his voice spills our with a desperate, "Oh god." He slumps against the fence, knees rested on a bar and your front flush to his back. He's panting, breaths catching and inconsistent as he still tries not to moan.

"Go on," You urge like you're the devil on his shoulder, devious and sinister with sadistic charms to your speech.

Sebastian whimpers and mewls and even moans, he bit his inner cheek until it nearly bled to be a show off. To prove he can dominate, to prove he can have control, to prove a lie that you can see through. He's seeing stars now, they crowd out the corners of his vision as he lurches to the edge with a blend of words and touches.

You grip at his shoulder from under his shirt, nails digging into flesh and fabric rising past his midriff. He shudders at the sharpness in his flesh as you speak, "Cum for me."

And he does exactly as told. You can feel his breath hitch the moment before and then he's breathing harsh and desperate. Your name filters out between moans and breaths as he crumbles a bit more in your grip. It'd be a pathetic display if he were anyone else, dropping the reigns and handing them over so easily.

But you like it, someone so sure of himself breaking apart for you. Defiant at moments and with the physical strength for mechanical work. Sharp and distant and attempting to be mysterious with a dart always on hand. A billiards player whose never heard of defeat and is no condition to learn the concept. Yet he comes undone in your fingers so easily, like frayed fabric.

"Good boy," You murmur.

"Yours, your good boy." It's all his frazzled mind can come up with at the moment as he nods and shakes. He presses against you as you raise your hand to rest at his hip for support, "Oh god, Y/N."

You step back and help him not sway and tumble with his steps, "Aftercare time." You say it lightly, almost teasingly, but more out of care for Sebastian. You can't have your husband walking around in such a state, you gotta take good care of him, especially after making it known who makes him feel the best. Who caters to his needs and keeps him satisfied romantically and sexually in ways no one else has yet.

Sebastian groans softly as he follows you precisely, "Okay." He wants to curl up against you but he knows you have farm duty firsthand. Knowing that won't make him turn down whatever aftercare you have planned for him.

[c0wgurlz]

Trouble On My Left, Trouble On My Right

Chapter 1: Sweet Caroline

Kayce Dutton x Reader/OC - Friends to Lovers

He grabs ahold of the belt loops on either side of my hips. “I just-” he shakes me, “I’m tired of people treating me like some wounded animal or-or like some bomb just waiting to go off. You’re the one person who-,” he licks his lips, “you’re my person. Please don’t do that to me.”

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UPDATE: CHAPTER 2

I'm a long-time fic writer and an even longer reader, but this is my first attempt at writing for Yellowstone. If ya'll have any notes on characterization or just anything in general, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thank you for reading xx.

As always: I do not own Yellowstone (2018) or any of its characters. This work is not monetized.

THIS FIC IS CROSSPOSTED TO AO3. It is not posted to any other site. I am lookingcold on AO3 and that is all. I do not give permission for my work to be posted by others to any other platform.

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I was no stranger to the Yellowstone Ranch, but bumping my way along its seemingly never-ending dirt drive, I still couldn’t help but feel out of my depth - like a little kid made to ride a bike with no training wheels. Its sprawling pastures surrounded by the towering mountains, standing at attention like century guards, intimidated me, and I had spent nearly every day of my childhood gallivanting around the property. I can only imagine how outsiders feel the first time they dare to mosey onto the ranch. Now, all this isn’t to say that I wasn’t looking forward to returning to Yellowstone, I undoubtedly was, but being there at the (somewhat) wisened age of twenty-seven felt significantly riskier than it had at the naive age of seventeen. The Yellowstone was trouble, and I had spent the last ten years of my life trying to stay out of it. Putting myself right back into its clutches went against every instinct I have.

Still, I was excited to see the people I had come to know as family. When my daddy died when I was only twelve, Mr. John treated me like one of his own, and when my momma remarried a man who was known for his fiery temper and love of the drink, he took me in as his own. My daddy and Mr. John had been best friends, so truly I think he felt as though it was his duty to care for me, but I like to believe he loved me all the same. And I loved him back. He taught me everything I could ever need to know - plus some. Helped put me through college. Even supported me when I wanted to take on the pageant circuit - although I don’t believe he minded the extra bit of shine my winning of Rodeo Queen added to his reputation. Hell, I even loved his ragtag group of kids, Jamie included if you can believe it. They were my family, and I wouldn’t have traded them for the world. Except I did, because Yellowstone was trouble, and I couldn’t let myself get caught up in that. And neither could Mr. John.

Sneaking up on Rip was somewhat of a talent I had cultivated over my long years spent on the ranch. I’m proud to say that I’m still the only son of a bitch who can do it. And that’s why I park my truck a good half mile down the road from the corrals. There’s a small hill in the dirt drive that obscures the shoulder of the road as you approach the house, one that Kayce and I used to hide away in, smoking or drinking, trying to stay out of trouble while getting into it. I park my truck on that hidden shoulder, closing my door as quietly as I can before approaching the road. As I walk, I stick as close to the fence line as possible, relying on the looming fence posts to provide me with cover. I know that if I can make it past the corrals unseen and circle around the back of the barn I’ll have Rip jumping a foot in the air before he can even catch a whiff of me. Lucky for me he’s locked in on what I can only describe as clownery, supervising some gangly kid as he works to stay on a bronco. Taking my golden opportunity, I creep through the barn, hushing whinnying mares as I go, before sidling right up to Rip’s left side.

“Now that kid has got balls of steel,” I comment, hands splayed across my hips, head nodding in appreciation.

I wish I had the words to appropriately describe Rip’s reaction. With a little hop and shout, Rip whirls on me, hand splayed across his chest, breath thundering in shock. “Jesus, what in the fuck do you think-” And that’s when he realizes who exactly he’s about to chew out. His eyes go wide and a grin starts to stretch across his weathered face. “Well as I live and breathe, if it isn’t sweet Caroline herself, gracing us with her beauty.” He takes a step towards me. “Come ere ya little menace!”

Before I know it I’m wrapped up in the warmest, most comforting bear hug on earth. If Mr. John had been like a father to me, then Rip had been like a big brother. My protector and confidant - and the target of my and Kayce’s many pranks.

“Where have ya been?” He jostles me around. “Haven’t heard from you in over a year, and haven’t seen you in well over that. Too busy for us old cowpokes?”

I hold onto his hands, squeezing them. “Well I haven’t been ignoring ya’ll on purpose, I’ve just been a bit busy. I -” And that’s when Mr. John comes ambling down the lodge steps, casual and collected as ever.

“She’s been in Oklahoma, working PR for the rodeo circuit. And based on what I hear, she’s pretty damn good at it.” Before I know it I’m embraced in a fierce hug, and if I didn’t know better I’d say I heard Mr. John sniffle. “It’s good to see you, honey. Welcome home.”

Rip looks between myself and Mr. John, confused. “You mean Caroline’s back working the ranch? We ain’t got any beds left in the bunkhouse.” At this, he turns to me, “Not that I’d expect you to sleep there but I know how stubborn you can be about doing what’s right.”

Mr. John cuts him off. “No.” He responds gruffly. “She’s not here as a ranch hand, she’s here as my PR specialist.” Casting Rip a pointed look, he murmurs, “Ya know with all the problems we’ve encountered lately I thought we should call in an expert to help with damage control, and who better than family.”

Rip nods gravely, a closed expression covering his face that I don’t particularly like the looks of. “Well if that’s what she’s here for then I’ll leave you two to talk privately. I’ve got wranglers to wrangle and supper to check on.” He turns to walk away, but pauses, angling his body towards me. “If you need me, Caroline, for anything, don’t hesitate to shout.”

He looks so serious, so grim, I feel the small, unsure age of eleven all over again. “Ok.” I nod, my voice coming out thin and reedy. “I will.”

“I mean it.” He’s firm. “Anything.”

“I know Rip.”

With that, he gives a final tip of his head to Mr. John and I, stalking off to holler at the gangly kid - Jimmy.

“What was that all about?” I turn to Mr. John, big-eyed and pale.

Looking resigned he says, “You know Rip, he’s just protective of you is all, and he knows I’m about to ask a lot of you, get you involved in stuff we normally would try to keep you out of.” He shakes his head, knocks one of his boots against the other. “But you’re my last resort honey, you have to know that. I wouldn’t drag you into trouble if I thought I could help it. Honest.” His voice is so sincere, soft in a way it rarely is. I would have believed him anyways, but now there’s no doubt in my mind. I have to do right by Yellowstone, by the Dutton family, by my family. I have to stay, wade through the trouble, and bring everyone out on the other side.

“Tell me everything I need to know.” It comes out harder than I expected, harder than I’ve ever heard my own voice. It makes Mr. John look up. His features turn steely, matching mine. We’re in this together now.

“Walk with me, let me show you where you’ll be lodging. I’ll fill you in.”

Ten years of keeping clear of trouble down the drain, but I owed Mr. John, owed Yellowstone, a debt, and I wasn’t about to not repay it.

----------------------------------------------------------------

To say that what Mr. John had shared with me was shocking would be an understatement. Land and cattle disputes I had expected, helping Jamie and Beth campaign - sure, I figured (well maybe not Beth), but murder? Can’t say that was anywhere on my radar, or anywhere in my wheelhouse. If I’m being honest with God and myself, if it weren’t for my love for Mr. John and the Dutton family, I would’ve turned the job down. Any PR specialist with a brain would because what the Duttons needed was a criminal defense lawyer, not some cowgirl who’s good at turning nasty scandals into marketable flattery. But I do love the Duttons, and I love Yellowstone, so from the looks of it, if this ship goes down, I’m going with it.

Mr. John must think it wise to give me time to mull over the absolute bomb he’s just dropped on me, because after he breaks the news and confirms that I’m still willing to stick around, he goes silent, his face settling into a contemplative furrow, the same as mine. It isn’t until the foreman’s house comes into view that I break the silence, slightly bewildered.

“We making a pit stop or something?” I gesture to the house in the distance, halting my gait.

Mr. John breezes past me, only turning his head back to answer my seemingly stupid question. “No darling, I’m showing you to your lodging, like I said I would.” Darling is reserved for when I’m being a moron, honey as a term of endearment, and cowgirl for when I’m about to get what’s coming to me. I’ve not even been back an hour and I’ve managed to collect two of the three, and I’m not too keen on collecting the third.

I wait until he looks away before rolling my eyes. That would’ve earned me a ‘cowgirl’ for sure. “Well, who died and made me foreman because I sure as hell don’t have the beard or buckle to pull it off.” I hustle to catch back up with him, bumping his shoulder against my own, knowing I’m toeing the line between a chuckle and a swat. Thankfully I’m gifted with the chuckle.

“You know I keep waiting for your beard to come in, but I remain disappointed.” He shoots me a wink. “But no, I don’t want you as my foreman as much as you don’t want to be my foreman. No worries there.” He side-eyes me. “Kayce’s taken over from Rip, so this is his place now. I just thought you’d want to be out here with your partner in crime rather than cooped up in the lodge with an old fart like me.” I know he’s aiming for casual as he explains my living situation to me, but if my many years spent living at Yellowstone had taught me anything, it was how to read John Dutton. And right now, I can tell he’s up to no good - more so than usual.

“Right, because living in that big snazzy house would be so terrible. I think you’re just trying to keep me and Beth apart. Too scared to live under the same roof with us both. Can’t say I blame you.” And while I really wouldn’t blame him for not wanting to live with me and Beth - if she’s a terror alone, with me she’s a terror and a half - I have a sneaking suspicion Beth and I’s potential reign of terror isn’t the true cause of his decision. But I sure as hell can’t let him know I’m onto him.

He chuckles again, in an almost relieved sort of way. “You’ve got me there. I’d rather keep my sanity, thank you kindly. So no, I quite frankly don’t want to live with you and Beth at the same time. And truly, I just thought you’d be more comfortable out here.” He sighs. “You’ll be wrapped up in our mess during all your waking hours, I don’t want to take away the little bit of peace you’ll get during your sleeping ones too.”

I frown. “Mr. John, I-” I begin to protest.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. You’re in the foreman’s and that’s final.” Mr. John’s swinging the door open now, and the house is everything I thought it would be growing up.

High ceilings reveal exposed wood, and the humble home is lined with windows, letting in ample natural light. In a way I feel like I haven’t left the outdoors at all, the house is simply an extension of the forest that looms behind it. As kids, one of the few places Kayce and I weren’t allowed to wreak havoc was the foreman’s house. Mr. John always berated us whenever we’d beg to go inside, saying, “A hard-working man deserves some privacy, some peace and quiet. You better leave him and his home well enough alone or I’ll skin both of your hides.” For once we listened, neither of us too keen on getting our butts busted.

“Plus, I imagine Kayce will be mighty happy to learn he’s got his best friend back. It always was ya’ll’s dream to set up camp in here. Now you get to live it.” His statement breaks me out of my reverie.

“I’m sorry, you ‘imagine’ Kayce will be happy? He doesn’t know I’m here?” And so the other shoe drops. Mr. John always did hold out hope that Kayce and I would end up together. Said we’d be a power couple. Combine my business sense and charming small talk with Kayce’s grit and knowledge of the ranch and we’d be unstoppable. Let’s just say he was never too shy about his meddling. And while I did have a small crush on Kayce growing up, and I’d like to think he had one on me too, we were always both too awkward to entertain anything other than a close friendship. Naturally, we experimented the way kids do, having had a drunk kiss or two and having done our fair share of skinny dipping, but by the time we were in our late teens all romantic feelings had fizzled. That doesn’t mean we weren’t closer than we’d ever been though, thicker than thieves and troublemakers to boot. We practically lived in each others’ pockets. You wouldn’t find one of us without the other. I was crazy about Kayce and he adored me, but it was never anything other than platonic.

“Mr. John, I can’t live here if Kayce doesn’t know about it. You said so yourself, the foreman’s house is his getaway, a place for peace and quiet. I’m not taking that from him.” Hands planted firmly on my hips and lips pursed, I shake my head adamantly. “I’ll find myself a place in town or-”

“Caroline, no, you’re staying-”

“Or I’ll see if my cousin Amy has a spare room, we were always close and-”

“Caroline.” His voice is firm, if not a little irritated. “I said no. Kayce needs you here, you hear me? You’re staying here and that’s final.” This last part is spoken a bit softer, but firmly all the same.

Now Mr. John might not be my real daddy, but I’ve spent my whole life obeying him all the same, and this time is no different, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to plead my case. “Mr. John, I’ve missed Kayce too and I know he’s going through a lot right now, but he doesn’t need me.” I sigh. “And I couldn’t possibly put out his family. I mean, this place is small enough as it is. And Tate’s what, nearing eight now? He needs room to play and run around, I’ll only be taking up already limited space.” Giving a half-hearted shrug, I turn to head back toward the door, but Mr. John’s heavy sigh has me doubling back.

“Caroline honey, I wasn’t going to tell you this because I don’t feel like it’s my place, but when I say Kayce needs you I mean it. He and Monica split a few weeks ago, and with everything else going on he’s in real bad-”

Back turned to the door, I hear Kayce before I see him. “Dad, for the last time I’m not interested in meeting who you’ve got running for AG, so if you could kindly show her out I’d greatly-”

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I know I said Kayce and I had never been anything other than platonic, but you’d have to be blind not to see what a looker the boy is. God damn is he beautiful. I mean he always has been, but the years have been more than kind to him. Seeing him now damn near takes my breath away. The last time I laid eyes on Kayce he had just returned from the navy, eyes weary and hair cropped close. He had looked exhausted, almost dead in the eyes. Now though, he looks like a field set ablaze by the setting sun, all bright and aglow with something unnameable. Almost dangerous in his beauty. He must get over seeing me for the first time in five years before I get over seeing him because before it feels like I can even blink he’s across the room and I’m a foot off the ground, wrapped tight in his arms. I never knew I was missing part of myself until this very moment, with Kayce’s face pressed into the crook of my neck and my hand fisted in his hair. I swear I feel more settled in myself than I have in years, like I’m sinking into my bed after a long day, or eating a warm meal after I’ve spent all day working out in the cold.

“Caroline.” It’s a soft whisper in my ear. It almost sounds reverent, like a prayer.

“Kayce,” I murmur back, something private only he can hear.

I suppose he remembers we aren’t alone because before I know it my feet are planted firmly on the ground once more and I’m no longer wrapped in his embrace. Instead, he lets one gentle hand linger on the small of my back, almost hesitant and unnatural in its hovering. Grinning, he turns to Mr. John. “Dad what is-” his gaze shifts to find mine. “Caroline, what are you doing here?”

My lips part preparing to answer, but no sound comes out, just a whisper of an inhale followed by a beaming smile. I think it’s important to say once again that my feelings for Kayce are strictly platonic, but my God if a woman can’t get lost in his whiskey-brown eyes.

I’m broken out of my trance by an awkward cough. Both Kayce and I turn to face Mr. John, who looks a bit too pleased for my liking. Smiling wryly he drawls, “Well I think I’ll leave you two to catch up. Caroline, I’ll have one of the boys bring your truck up. No sense in you hauling yourself all around sundry.” Making his way outside, he pauses on the porch. “I expect to see both of ya’ll at supper. Don’t be late.” He saunters down the porch and down the path, not looking back when he hollers, “And Kayce, wash up! You smell like shit.”

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“So, you’re here to clean up the fucking mess I made then.” Kayce looks the most dejected I’ve seen him in years. Like a puppy dog that’s been kicked and put out in the cold. “Dad dragged you back to this godforsaken place because of me.” His fists shake where they’re clenched atop his knees. He tosses his hat onto the coffee table and rakes his hands through his sweat-dampened hair. “You know, I was so relieved when you got out of here. I was so scared this place would ruin everything good about you, set you up in flames like it does everything else.” His calloused hand clasps mine. “Why would you come back here? After everything that happened, after-” He takes a moment to collect himself, teeth gritted together, shoulders tensed. “After what Caleb- after what he did-”

“Kayce don’t.” I know what he’s trying to get at, and I won’t have it talked about. Not on my first day back. When I said I loved Yellowstone, that I was happy to be back, I meant it. But there are memories that this place carries that I’d rather forget, and I’m not about to let my reunion with my best friend turn sinister over one of those memories - over the mention of some asshole cowboy that belongs to the past. I want that memory to die with him. Placing a comforting hand on his back, I try to console him. “I’m a big girl. Believe it or not, I’ve grown into my britches and I know what I can handle. Plus,” I give his back a hard pat, “you really think I would let this place ruin me? I’d like to see it try.”

“Caroline..” He shakes his head, eyes glassy. “You-”

I cut him off with a quick rap of my knuckles against the coffee table, rising off the couch with an air of finality. “As for why I came back, well that’s simple. I love you Kace.” I lick my chapped lips, find a spot on the wall to focus on. “And I’m- I’m never going to abandon you when you need me.” I extend my pinky in the form of a promise, a relic left over from our childhood. “Come hell or high water remember?”

He straightens up, gaze ungluing itself from the floor only to meet mine. Kayce was always taller than me, but I don’t remember having to crane my neck up to meet his eyes the way I do now. His pinky wrapping around mine is a distant sensation in the back of my mind. “Come hell or high water.” He steps back, scratching his temple awkwardly. From a man to a boy with one simple gesture. “Uh, there’s only one bathroom so we’ll have to take turns. I don’t know if you need to shower, but you can go first, everything you need is in there, but I mean- you probably brought your own stuff so never mind.” He mutters below his breath, “God Kace,” and picks invisible lint off his shirt.

I laugh, bright and airy. Growing up Kayce was known for his ruthless pranks, and when I wasn’t his accomplice I was his primary victim. So to miss such a golden and rare opportunity to make fun of him would be a crime, his emotional turmoil aside. “No need to take turns bud, I don’t need to shower. Just got to freshen up a bit, throw on some makeup, brush my hair.” I start a slow saunter down the hall, sporting a feline grin. Kayce follows close behind- my shadow. Turning to walk backward, I poke him sharp in the chest. “How about you, Manure Man, hop in the shower while I do my makeup. We can keep each other company, catch up on each other's lives.” My back hits what I assume to be the bathroom door. I sigh. “After all, we don’t want to keep your daddy waiting. I for one don’t want a smack upside the head and I reckon you don’t either.” Angling my body so it faces the door, I reach for the nob and look at Kayce imploringly, my eyebrows raised, daring him to chicken out.

He suppresses a grin, tongue poking at his cheek. “Now you know that’s not exactly proper and I know that you’re trying to embarrass me, so you can go ahead and drop the act Miss Caroline.” Calling me on my shit, he leans into the door frame, his arms boxing me in on both sides.

Of course he knows I’m trying to embarrass him, anybody with eyes could see that. What he hasn’t caught onto is that I’m appealing to his competitive nature. If I keep poking at him long enough, there’s no way he won’t cave. If I know Kayce, he’ll take being excruciatingly embarrassed over losing against me any day. “Not proper? Sweetheart, I’ve seen you in your birthday suit more times than I care to think about, I don’t think standing in the same room as you while you shower will be the thing that sends me to hell.” I duck under his arm, grab my makeup bag from where I’d left it in the living room, and duck back under, swinging the bathroom door open as I go. Throwing my hair into a ponytail, I lock eyes with him in the mirror. His skin is flushed pink all the way down to his chest and he gnaws at his lip. Like I said, from a man to a boy with one small gesture. “Unless you’re too much of a chicken.” I shrug. “Then I guess we can take turns.” I aim for nonchalant, fingers crossed that he’s not catching on to my instigating.

Kayce’s eyes immediately narrow. Good, he’s taken the bait. “I know you’re not calling me a chicken.” His arms drop and he closes the door behind him.

Snickering, I breathe, “I’d only call you a chicken if you were acting like one, so tell me Kayce - are you being a chicken?”

He turns the shower on in lieu of an answer, eyes never leaving mine in the mirror. “I wouldn’t even know what a chicken acts like Caroline, having never been one, so no I don’t reckon I am.” At this, he flings his shirt off, and I hear his belt buckle clink shortly after, and then a thud as his pants hit the floor. The only thing that remains are his underwear and I hold his gaze steady, daring him to lose our little game. I can’t hear his underwear hit the floor, but I see the hunch his shoulders form as he bends to take them off. When he stands back up straight, he must see the devious gleam in my eye because he drawls out a suspicious, “What?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head, pressing my lips together. I fiddle with the hem of my blouse. It’s a frilly white thing with thin straps and a gathered waist. One of my favorites truly. Too pretty to risk getting makeup on. I pull the shirt gingerly over my head, not worried about appearing sexy, knowing my plain bra isn’t much to look at. I begin to sort out my makeup, lining products up along the counter. “I was just thinking about how I don’t want to get makeup on my blouse. That’s all.”

The rustle of the shower curtain opening and closing is Kayce’s only reply. Check and mate Dutton.

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Despite my reasoning for us sharing, Kayce and I don’t catch up with each other in the bathroom, in fact, he doesn’t speak a word to me until I’ve completed my makeup and he’s finished his shower.

Brushing my hair slowly and methodically, lost in my own thoughts, I almost miss the sound of the shower turning off and the rasp of the curtain as Kayce steps out. He’s wrapped in a comically large towel, but his hair still drips steadily onto the bathmat, saturated with water. The embarrassment has leached from his face and his downtrodden expression from earlier has returned. “So dad told you about me and Monica?” He perches on the closed toilet, sagging into himself, sniffs. “Old bastard.”

“What makes you think that?” Laying my hairbrush down, I turn to prop my hip against the counter and cross my arms, face as neutral as I can make it.

Kayce looks at me from under long, damp lashes, his jaw set. “Caroline, we’ve pushed a boundary or two in our decades of friendship, but I know that if you thought for one second that you’d be stepping on any toes or be disrespecting my marriage in any way, you wouldn’t have started whatever all of this,” he gestures around the bathroom, “little game was. So what did he tell you?” His hands are shaking again, but rather than clenched shut, this time they lay open, palms up, almost pleading.

“Kayce.” I kneel down, encasing one of his weathered hands with both of mine. “All he told me was that you and Monica had split not too long ago, nothing more. And he didn’t even really want to tell me that, I kind of forced his hand. I promise you.” I stand back up and ruffle his still-damp hair, trying to bring some levity back to the situation. “Although I really don’t understand all the secrecy bud, you had to hear all about my messy divorce- and over facetime of all ways. I’m not- I would never judge you Kace.”

Rising to his full height, Kayce fidgets with one of my belt loops. “I know you’d never judge me, Caroline, it’s not your judgment I’m worried about.”

“Then what are you worried about,” I murmur.

He grabs ahold of the belt loops on either side of my hips. “I just-” he shakes me, “I’m tired of people treating me like some wounded animal or-or like some bomb just waiting to go off. You’re the one person who-,” he licks his lips, “you’re my person. Please don’t do that to me.”

“Oh Kayce, you really think-,” I laugh, “I just gave you shit in the most ridiculous way, knowing well and good you’ve been put through the wringer, and you think I would treat you like some wounded thing.” I bend down to retrieve my shirt, toss it onto the counter behind me. “I realize I have a bad habit of babying you, and I don’t plan to stop any time soon, but if you think for one second that I won’t give you hell any and every time you need it, well then you’re mistaken sweetheart.” Propping his hands on his hips, Kayce looks down, kicks his bare foot against my booted one.

“Now, nobody said anything about me wanting you to stop babying me.” He grins shyly at me. “Every good cowboy needs a pretty lady to soften him up a bit, ya know.”

I feel my breath hitch as his fingers wrap loosely around mine, I’m suddenly hyper-aware of the damp towel that seems to slide lower down his hips by the second. Have I mentioned how beautiful this man is? Have time and space away from him turned my brain into scrambled eggs? Why in the hell do I feel a flush creeping down my neck? Dear God, and I have to live with this man.

I smack his chest, like any sane woman who suddenly finds herself attracted to her best friend would do, and try to hide my nerves behind a too-loud laugh. “Well as long as you don’t expect this pretty lady to harden you up too, I think I can manage that.” Slipping my hand out of his hold, I grab my blouse and make to leave, but not before I catch sight of the scarlet blush that paints his face and ears. One foot in the hallway, I call back, “Now hurry up and get dressed cowboy, wouldn’t want to keep daddy waiting.” Closing the door all I hear is a muttered, “Jesus,” in response.

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I wait out on the porch while Kayce gets ready, slouched down on one of the steps, elbows resting on my knees. The absolute quiet that surrounds me, save for the chirp of a bird or the rustle of leaves as the breeze blows, feels like a balm on my soul. I’d forgotten what it was like to feel this way. Content, at peace, like the whole world could be falling down around me but I’d still be alright, because this place, this land, will cradle me, protect me, like a momma does for her baby. I spent so long, years of my young life, running from one thing or another. Running into the arms of the wrong people, the wrong places. Yellowstone wasn’t the only place I found trouble, and while I was able to make a name for myself, to come out on top, the years I spent fighting for myself, fighting myself, have taken a toll on me. Never really thought the ranch would be my respite, but fighting for the Duttons feels like a goddamn breath of fresh air compared to what I’ve had to claw my way through in the last decade. This is my home, trouble or not.

The door creaks open, then shut, and I crane my head back to greet Kayce. “Took ya long enough, beauty queen.”

Unphased Kayce shoves his hands into his pockets. “Your face looks goofy upside down. And I can see into your nose.” He swaggers past me, down the steps, and onto the path. “Might want to invest in a nose trimmer.. beauty queen.” Fantastic. We’re back in familiar territory. No more warm damp skin, or slouchy towels, and thank god no more tugging at my belt loops or crowding me against the counter.. abs on display, broad shoulders at eye level… Yeah no, childish insults are great! Much more comfortable, way less confusing. I’m more than happy to engage in some lighthearted bullying with my completely platonic, non-romantic, best friend.

I must take too long to respond because Kayce doubles back, coming to stand at the base of the stairs below my feet. Looking at me funny, eyebrows scrunched and lips upturned, he asks, “You good? Wasn’t even that good of a burn to be honest. You’ve taken worse.” Actual concern begins to creep into his features, so before he can get himself worked up into a spiral of guilt I hop up from the stairs, dust off my backside, and punch him square in the gut.

“Oh don’t you worry ‘bout me, I’m fine. I was actually just thinking that I probably should buy a trimmer, keep things ship shape. And you know,” I glance back at him deviously, “now that we’re living together, there’s bound to be quite a few spa nights in your future. I could use it on you as well, really get my money’s worth.” As he falls in step with me, I expect him to protest immediately. When we were kids, I asked to pretty him up practically every day, told him I did boy activities with him so it was only fair he did girly things with me. In all our years of friendship he only caved once, the night I got my first period, told me I shouldn’t have to become a woman alone. He let me put a full face of makeup on him, paint his nails, and even braid his hair. No complaints, no making fun, just supported me in the only way he knew how.

So he surprises me when he inquires, “What exactly would a spa night include? Like what are we talking here? Fancy robes, overpriced lotion, cucumbers on our eyes?” His face is entirely serious, sincere in its curiosity. Man, it's easy to forget how much growing up changes a person.. how much marriage changes a person.

I stutter. “I- I mean, it can really include whatever you want it to? I normally take a bubble bath, shave my whole body- not that you’d want to do that, and then I go ham with some lotion, put on a face mask and hair mask, maybe whiten my teeth or trim my nails. Just depends.” I shrug. Kayce and I have talked about everything under the sun, but I never thought in a million years we’d be discussing my self-care routine.

He looks at me, eyebrows furrowed, contemplating. He kicks at the dirt a bit, tips his head to either side and then with an unexpected air of finality says, “Okay. I think I’d like to try all of that. I’ve never done masks or whitened my teeth before.” He stops, looking suddenly reluctant. “Wait, none of this hurts right? Like it’s relaxing?”

I place my hand on his back, half to prompt him to keep walking, half to comfort him. An easy laugh escapes me. “No, none of it hurts. And it is very relaxing, especially when you have a good bottle of wine on hand.” I wink, trying still to reassure him.

Worries assuaged, he winks back. “Well if there’s good wine involved, I’m in. Do you have the stuff with you already? Could we do it tonight?”

This time I stop in my tracks. If I was shocked before, now I’m flabbergasted. “You really want to do all that tonight?” He starts to look self-conscious so I clarify myself. “I mean, I’m more than happy to host a spa night, don’t get me wrong, but I just figured you’d need to warm up to the idea.”

Kayce walks a half step in front of me, avoids making eye contact. “In all honesty, tomorrow’s going to be a rough day. I don’t know if dad told you, but we’ve got to negotiate with the rez, the governor, and the sheriff tomorrow. Try to find some way to sweep everything under the rug, not let my fuck-ups tarnish the ranch’s reputation.” He removes his hat, runs his hand haphazardly through his hair. I know he asked me not to treat him like some wounded thing, and I won’t, but boy does he look it. “So, yeah, I just need something to take my mind off of the impending shitstorm I’m about to deal with. And I know you’re dying to gussy me up.” He flashes me a smile. “And if you’re happy, I’m happy, so a spa night it is.”

I sigh, feeling out of my depth. In all our years of friendship, I so rarely had to be the strong one. That was always Kayce. And while I’ve certainly toughened up in the time we’ve spent apart, I still feel so unprepared to tackle all of this. I’m scared I’ll say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, misstep in an unfixable way. More than anything, I’m scared I’ll let Kayce down. “Your uh- Mr. John did tell me all that actually, but I hadn’t thought about how emotionally draining it’ll be. A spa night sounds good Kace. And we can even put on a horror movie, even it out.” I shrug, still feeling out of my depth.

Kayce doesn’t reply, but he does show me the barest hint of a smile, just the slight upturn of the corners of his lips. His smile says, “we’ll make it through this, we have to.”