#small kitchen drafting

[resdraft]

Essential Elements of a Modern Kitchen Drafting Plan

A Kitchen Drafting Plan is a detailed and precise blueprint that outlines the layout, design, and functional elements of a kitchen space. It includes scaled representations of cabinetry, countertops, appliances, plumbing, electrical wiring, and lighting fixtures to ensure optimal functionality and aesthetic appeal.

[bxtonpxss]

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[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent misc pictures

[byberbunk2069]

Brief for a data courier heist.

Easy 20 minute gig, jack the data in the RCS agent's neural implant and send the data to me.

with @gibson-girlboss's OC's: Valerie and Anna.

[rmayuscula]

age gap autumn girl fuck you

[alittleemo]

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[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I THINK YOUR LOVE WOULD BE TOO MUCH ; SATORU GOJO

summary; satoru knows that you’re worried about something. he just doesn’t know what.

word count; 4.1k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, sickening amounts of fluff, (that’s literally all. that’s it. thank you for your time), you’re both down horrendous, the ”something” reader is worried about is very very silly <333, mostly satoru’s pov!!

a/n; i love this man so fucking much my chest hurts so i dug up the sappiest wip i could find in my drafts <333 you can tell i completely lost the plot halfway through but just pretend that i didn’t ok. i dedicate this to gojo nation :3

satoru feels your stare prickle at the back of his neck.

he’s rummaging through the fridge, one hand on his hip, grabbing two cans of iced tea from the bottom compartment. peach for him, lime for you. his infinity is down, the pads of his fingers meeting chilled aluminum, condensation licking at his skin.

but the goosebumps that sensation causes is nothing compared to the ones he gets from this — your stare digging into the back of his head, your attention aimed directly at him. when he turns around, closing the fridge with a bump of his hipbone, you freeze. like a deer caught in headlights. 

satoru grins.

”you checkin’ me out?”

”no,” you blurt. his smile only grows.

”aw…” he waltzes across the room, from the kitchen island to the living room, fuzzy socks against the floorboards. ”what’s up, then? something on your mind?”

with a clink, he puts the cans of tea down on the coffee table. you murmur out a breath of thanks, but make no move to reach for either of them.

now that he’s close enough to see you properly — he thinks to himself that you do look a little ill at ease. something in the crease between your brows, shying away from the eye contact he wants. something in the way your voice comes out somewhat strained.

”it’s nothing… i just —” 

you stop. gaze fleeing from his own, slipping down to your lap. he thinks you look particularly small like this. curled up on his expensive couch, curling in on yourself; gnawing at your bottom lip.

”… i’m being dumb.”

satoru hums. tilting his head, taking you in — wasting no more than a mere moment before taking action. 

you feel him plop down next to you, a shift in the weight bearing down on his couch. comforting. when you glance up, he’s smiling, patient and light. hand sneakily slipping between the cracks of your own, squeezing your palm, running his thumb over the ridges of your knuckle.

”wanna tell me about it?”

from behind the black layer of glass obscuring your frame, satoru watches you intently. watches your expression shift, drinking in the twitch of your brows, how the colour of your eyes flickers in the light. the way your soul sulks and sputters under the weight of his all-seeing gaze. 

you part your lips. slowly, searching for the right words — only to close them again.

you try once more. hesitant. 

all you can manage is a frustrated huff.

”it’s nothing, honestly,” you’re quick to backtrack, wincing inwardly. ”i've just… been thinking. i guess.”

a hum. his smile doesn’t waver. ”about what?”

you avert your gaze. biting your lip, again, turning away from him; resting your chin on the heel of your palm. avoiding his stare like it could turn you to stone. he barely picks up on the words you murmur, flowing out beneath your breath.

”i... can't tell you.”

satoru raises a brow. 

a moment passes. two, three — the silence is telling. you can hear the discontentment in his voice, despite his attempts to mask it.

”why not?”

”i… haah.” you scoot away, just a little more, turning away so he can’t dissect your expression the way he’d like to. ”i just can’t, okay?”

silently, silently, he observes you. the little of you he can see, at the very least; fixating on the side of your face, your cheek, those fluttering eyelashes. as if it could tell him something. you can’t see the way his eyes narrow, behind his shades, black glass shielding you from the weight of his scrutiny.

satoru bites back a huff. 

curiosity and impatience aside, he feels offended. thoroughly so. he doesn't like it when you shut him out, like this, when you don’t allow him to soothe you.

your relationship has been a slow one — steady, a kind of settling in he never thought he’d experience. calm waves lapping along the edges of smooth sand, washing away tiny pebbles and handfuls of sea glass; delicately coming closer. getting him used to the sensation before gently urging him to take a dip. 

that’s the kind of love you share. 

so it stings, a little, when you won’t let him return the favour. it stings in the same way his phantom scars itch on cold nights.

he knows opening up isn't easy. for you, for anyone, least of all for him — but he still finds himself feeling a little bit dejected. because he's supposed to be your safe space. the person you can trust with absolutely anything.

(if he can’t be that, for you, then what the hell is he even good for?)

he can’t help but feel the slightest tug of worry, too. seeing the tight line of your closed lips, that hardness of your expression. the unmistakable stress accumulating in the corners of your eyes.

but he doesn’t voice that worry. he simply gives your hand another squeeze, and smiles a little wider.

”try me.”

a sigh flows from your lips. ”you don't get it, satoru.”

your voice has a bite to it, now, just a little harsh. something akin to a soft hiss — defensiveness, he ultimately settles on. but why?

”it’s —” you muster up a glance his way, the slightest little peek, before turning away again. blurting out the words on the tip of your tongue. ”it’s so fucking embarrassing. you’ll laugh.”

satoru blinks.

”… huh?”

”you’ll laugh, and you'll tease me, and — ” he feels your hand slip from his own, muffling a groan as it covers your face. ”i’ll never live it down.”

you’re hiding, squirming, and satoru’s curiosity increases at an alarming rate. he leans forward, trying to catch a glimpse of your face, but you don’t let him. 

now he’s nothing short of intrigued.

”i won't,” he says, simply. voice as clear as glass. you scoff into your hands.

”you will!”

”i promise you i won't laugh.”

”you always say that.” a sigh falls from your lips, deep and heavy, as your hands finally slip down to your lap. ”but you never mean it. you’ll laugh so much. i know you will.”

you bite down on your lip. he wants to cup your jaw and kiss you, mend the bruising with a swipe of his tongue — but he tactfully decides against it.

”it’s — it's so…” you trail off, fidgeting with your hands, nervously linking your fingers together. gazing down with a pout. ”so stupid.” 

”baby…”  his voice takes on a fond tone, tender and patient. everything he strives to be, when it comes to you; you and you alone. ”c’mon. you can tell me anything.” 

with a sense of delicacy, he takes your hands into his bigger ones. tucking them into his palms, bringing them into his own lap — meeting your meek eyes. 

”right?”

through the blue of his gaze, he watches you falter. watches your eyes soften, crumbling a little, as you silently weigh your options. you look flustered.

then you slowly part your lips.

”you’re gonna think i’m just joking, or whatever, but — but i mean it. i’m…” your throat bobs with a shallow gulp. ”i’m seriously worried.” 

satoru nods. ”i’ll take you seriously.”

you look up. all you’re met with is a reassuring smile, familiar dimples, the slightest hint of a kind blue behind his shades.

and you finally give in.

”i… i think i might —”

shifting and squirming, your gaze flits from spot to spot, hands still intertwined with his own. you’re caged in, forced to face him, and it only adds to your nervosity. his eyes never leave your face.

”i think… i…”

your voice comes out sounding tiny. gaze stuck to the couch beneath you, as your lips form around the right syllables, and you finally blurt out out the words you've been trying to keep at bay —

”i think i love you too much.”

…

silence.

you still refuse to meet his gaze. a red hue crawls up your neck, spreading to the tips of your ears, heartbeat pounding under your ribs. the sentence spills out of your lips like an arrow; so rushed he barely deciphers it in time.

before the silence can swallow you whole, you continue. trying not to stammer, holding back an embarrassed wince. pouting softly, brows furrowed as your clammy hands twitch anxiously against his own. ”like... to the point where… it drives me a little insane.”

and then you wait. with bated breath, too embarrassed to look up, bottom lip tensing and softening between your teeth. dreading the explosive reaction he’ll undoubtedly give you.

… except it doesn’t come.

he’s not saying a word. nothing. the silence is so deafening you could cut it in half, lingering, festering in the air around you. all you hear is your own stupid, erratic little heartbeat — refusing to settle down. 

a couple painful moments pass, before you physically can't take it anymore.

as slowly as you can muster, your gaze travels upwards — from his lap to his chest to his exposed collarbone, until his face finally enters your field of vision. you can’t resist the temptation.

(why is he being so quiet? satoru is never quiet.)

you meet his gaze. or what you think is his gaze, anyhow, because you can’t see the way his eyes are squeezed shut. what you do notice is the twitch of his lips, quivering ever so slightly, as if unsure of which direction to go — and you know one of satoru’s sharp teeth must be biting down hard to keep them in place. his shoulders are shaking, only barely, and he breathes out sharply through his nose; in a desperate attempt to keep his promise.

desperately struggling to maintain his composure. 

he makes the mistake of opening his eyes, and all that effort goes down the drain. met with the sight of your flushed face, wide eyes, shining with embarrassment and disbelief. 

like a stack of cards blown over by the wind, satoru’s poker face crumbles. he fails to bite back the wide grin that breaks out across his lips, showing off the white of his teeth, and a soft bout of fresh laughter flows from out his lips.

you gape at him. 

then your brows furrow, harshly, and you choke on a scoff. with a start, you’re scrambling to stand up, tugging your hands away from his. 

”see?” you hiss, almost tripping over your own two feet as you shoot up from the couch. ”i told you! you're laughing!”

(you sound so embarrassed he thinks he might cry.)

satoru gives up. laughter reverberating throughout his entire body, deep and loud, from the very bottom of his gut — enough to have him clutching at his sides. that only makes you flush deeper, glare harder, and all he can think is that he wants to kiss you silly.

”you promised!”

”i’m —” he chokes on a sharp wheeze, one hand reaching out to keep you from leaving. ”i’m sorry, baby, i —”

but he only ends up doubling over. sputtering with laughter, feeling the leather of the couch meet his cheek. you turn away sharply, and he pulls himself up again. ”wait — sweetheart —” 

a fond chuckle rumbles through his chest, his long arms circling around your waist and pulling you into his embrace. caging you in. you struggle helplessly, trying desperately to break free, but it’s useless — he’s the strongest for a reason.

all you can do is writhe and grumble under your breath, inhaling a familiar scent of vanilla and musk. the fabric softener he uses puts your senses hopelessly at ease, but he’s still laughing — so you can’t help but kick and struggle seamlessly.

”let me go, satoru!”

said man chokes on another little laugh, shoulders shaking, tucking you so close he can feel the pitter patter of your heartbeat against his stomach. you’re so upset with him. but he can’t stop, can't reel it back in, and every weak punch to his chest and muffled protest just makes his composure feel more out of reach. he tried his best. 

he really, really did. 

he tried so hard not to laugh.

(”i think i love you too much.”)

god. just what is he supposed to do with you, huh?

”i’m sorry,” he grins, almost entirely out of breath. ”’m not doing it on purpose, you're just —” 

a sudden fit of giggles. 

"you're so cute.”

”satoru, it’s — not funny,” you whine, practically burning up. every single sound he makes buzzes in your ear. ”i’m serious. i —”

you squeeze your eyes shut. giving in, finally, allowing yourself to melt into his arms. limbs losing their feistiness. he delights in the sensation.

”you don't get it.”

it’s a whisper, muffled against the fabric of his shirt, but he hears it nonetheless. deep breaths, he reminds himself. it’s hard to take such an adorable confession seriously, but he tries. for whatever reason, you genuinely sound troubled. 

”wait, so you —” he bites back an amused breath, but can’t hide the palpable smile in his voice. ”you love me… too much?”

a groan. you hide away, nuzzling further into his chest; your safe harbour. 

”… i told you it was embarrassing.”

”it’s not,” he’s quick to console you. ”i’m just confused.” a big palm glides across the back of your head, smoothing down your tousled hair. he pats your head softly. ”i mean…” 

a deep inhale. his heartbeat finally settles into a calm rhythm, slow and steady, lungs flooding with oxygen. he breathes out through his nose.

”is that really such a bad thing?”

”it is.” a frown finds its way onto your lips. your reply is instantaneous. ”i don’t think it’s normal. i’m just…”

satoru listens. patiently, feeling your fingers grip onto the edges of his shirt — comforting yourself with the soft fabric. then you sigh.

”i don’t know. i just can’t, like…” you grapple for the right word, moving your hands haphazardly, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. ”comprehend how much i love you.”

satoru bites back a smile. 

(his heart flutters, flutters, flutters, like cherry blossoms on a windy spring morning.)

before he has the chance to, you part your lips again; speaking in a soft voice. resigned, he thinks. ”it’s just weird. it’s not exactly bad, but —” 

you bite down on your lip. 

”... it’s scary.”

a soft coo buzzes in your ear. satoru can’t help but pull you closer, closer still, smothering you in the warmth of his embrace. conveying what he knows will be too much for you to hear in words — what he knows he couldn’t convey in the language that you speak. you feel warm, still burning up a bit. like a little firefly. 

he isn’t faring much better, though; a vague heat blooming under the skin of his nape. smiling so wide his cheeks are starting to hurt.

(what on earth did he do to deserve you?)

a firm jaw settles on the top of your head. satoru parts his glossy lips, voice flowing out somewhat breathlessly, affectionate as can be. 

”don’t you think i feel exactly the same about you?”

his pulse trembles against you. when you strain your ears, you can hear the rhythmic thumping of his heartbeat, mingling with your own; still resounding in your ears. 

”… i dunno.”

satoru’s hold around you tightens, ever so slightly. something in the way he cradles you, strong arms around your waist, a low hum accompanying the light squeeze of his limbs. he can’t see your face, from this angle, but his pupils still flicker downwards — hungry for a glimpse of your expression.

then he smiles. 

”i’m terrified of you, y’know?”

you blink. once, then twice, eyelids fluttering. a moment of silence passes.

”… huh?”

”beyond terrified, actually,” his smile builds into a grin. ”i’m getting goosebumps just thinking about it. no one scares me more than you do.”

satoru pulls away, just a little, just enough to finally get a good look at you. your eyes are brimming with confusion. a large palm goes to cradle your cheek, and he tilts his head — inhaling a breath.

”i love you so much that it hurts.”

…

a soft chuckle slips from out his lips, when he catches your flustered, wide-eyed stare. sneaking a hand towards the small of your back, leaning in to press a kiss against the apple of your cheek.

”i adore you,” he whispers, smooth syllables melting into a purr. you stiffen under his touch. his fingertips trace the lines of your jaw, lips trailing down to your neck, chaste and sweet as he nips at the sensitive skin. muttering under his breath. ”you have no idea.”

and you truly, truly don't. satoru doesn't think you even know the half of it. 

you can’t possibly know what you mean to him — that your very presence makes him forget who he is, what he has to be, a weight on his shoulders he grew used to long ago. you can’t possibly know that just the feeling of your hand in his makes the distance between you feel so inconsequential. 

you are the most precious thing in his life. he doesn't think you could ever understand the weight that sentiment carries — he wouldn't want you to. 

and here you are, so awfully worried, because you're too in love with him. he still can't help but grin. you’re so sweet, so silly. the words make him feel as if his heart is crumbling.

”… i can't believe you’re real sometimes.”

something tender rests under the whisper. something frighteningly sincere. it makes you feel a little like you’ve been sliced open. it’s raw, it’s heavy and light and it’s love. it’s satoru — all his little inconsistencies, and the stability beneath it all. 

and some part of you knows that he's telling the truth. that he understands your ridiculous little confession, your embarrassing worries. satoru understands. 

that alone is enough to quell the turmoil in your chest. 

(what he gives you is a love as boundless as the sky; one that covers everything you could ever be. unconditional.)

”so there’s no need to worry.” 

he pulls back, lips leaving your skin. you still feel their warmth linger. his shades have slipped down, barely hanging on to the bridge of his nose, and you can see the blue of his eyes. they’re shining like jewels, soft around the edges. consumed by love.

”there’s no way you could ever love me as much as i love you.”

gazing into his eyes, as if hypnotized by their glow, your own gleam with a mesmerizing shine. glazed over with something sweet and wonderful, something satoru wants to burn into his retinas so he never forgets it. he wishes he could wring it out of you and put it in his pocket — but it looks prettier behind your cornea.

he savours the moment, slowly, until it abruptly ends.

with a second of pause, your brows draw together, forming into an irritated furrow. lips tugging downwards into a frown. ”that’s not true.”

satoru blinks. still smiling. 

”i love you way more,” you huff. petulant, almost, something soft and amused in your tone. he thinks the sound fits you more than anything; unburdened and stubborn.

(as charming as you are, though — this is one battle he refuses to lose.)

”nu-uh,” he pokes the tip of your nose, delighting in the soft flutter of your blinking eyelashes. ”i love you more. sorry, sweetie.”

a huff. ”you don't.”

”i do.”

”you don't."

this time, you're the one reaching out, the pad of your finger landing on the tip of satoru’s nose — teasingly trailing up to the bridge of it. his heartbeat stutters, but he feigns nonchalance, raising an unimpressed brow; eyes unknowingly gleaming with mirth. 

and mischief.

you barely have time to react. one moment you're seated on satoru’s lap, the next you're looking up at him with your back against the couch. he towers over you, keeping your hands pinned above your head with a single palm. 

a familiar chill runs down your spine.

”i do,” he grins, free hand reaching towards you. recognizing the danger of a situation you've been in more times than you can count, you try to squirm away — but you don't get very far.

satoru’s fingers ghost over your sides, and panic floods your wide eyes. 

even though you know exactly what’s about to happen, a yelp still pushes past your lips when he begins to tickle you. mercilessly, fingers trailing over your most sensitive spots. all you can do is squirm, trying your damnedest to bite back the bout of laughter crawling up your throat —

but apparently neither of you are very good at that.

when the familiar cling of your laughter finally spills past your lips, flowing into satoru’s ears, his smile blooms into a grin. big and happy, childish in its innocence — not even attempting to hide his joy. his own giggles melt into your soft wheezes and desperate pleas, as you struggle to break free, straining against the firm hold he has on your wrists.

”i love you way, way, way more,” he continues to tease, halting his movement just enough to let you catch your breath. ”it’s not even close.”

even as giggles breathlessly spill from your lips, you manage a shake of your head. ”no, you —”

”wrong answer.”

he cuts you off with a smirk, and the torture starts anew. you can't get the words out, caught in your throat and muffled by a loud squeak, followed by forced laughter. satoru watches, in pure adoration, waiting for the moment you finally relent. 

it doesn’t take long.

”f — fine, fine!”

he stills. eyes crinkled, shades barely hanging on to the bridge of his nose, fighting the urge to keep going. if only so he can hear your melodic giggles.

”can’t we —” you struggle to catch your breath, words stuck between bouts of leftover laughter. cheeks flushed and chest heaving. ”just call it a tie?”

satoru pauses. he drags it out, exaggerated, building up suspense. eyes narrowing playfully. ”hmmm…” 

then he smiles. a soft, resigned little thing. 

”alright, alright.” he leans forward, keeping you in place. ”that works, i guess.”

and then his lips meet yours. soft and glossy, tasting of cherries, a pleased sigh against your mouth. you’re still panting a little, but he doesn’t seem to mind — slow to pull away, with a drawn out mwah, grinning boyishly at your disheveled state. he lets your wrists go free.

an unimpressed look is all you give him, quick to melt into a soft chuckle. 

”well, that’s that.” you push yourself up with your elbows, fixing your tousled hair. ”now we can forget this ever happened.”

satoru raises a brow. 

”oh, i dunno about that,” he purrs, voice ripe with mischief. a teasing glint flashes in his eyes, as he scrutinizes you, and it’s enough to have your face heating up again. the sight makes him coo. ”you love me so much you can't comprehend it, huh?”

you blink. it takes a moment for your expression to shift, from bafflement to embarrassment — but he thinks it’s all worth it when it does. barely restraining the urge to kiss you again.

”satoru…”

a giggle leaves his lips. reaching a hand out, he pinches your cheek. ”you’re cute.”

with a roll of your eyes, you swat him away; unable to bite back a smile. “quit it.”

”aw.”

he looks so smug. you can’t help but want to bite back, somehow — so you muster up your most shit-eating grin, a distinctly teasing lilt coating your sugar-sweet voice. 

”you love me so much that it hurts, huh?”

satoru blinks.

endearment blooms, in the depths of his cerulean eyes. he watches you carefully, awfully amused — thinking to himself that he must be rubbing off on you. what a scary thought.

”yeah,” he breathes, a sigh laced with sincerity. cupping your cheek with the palm of his hand, settling on the option he knows will fluster you most. ”i do.”

this time, you’re the one who blinks. once, twice, before letting out a groan — slumping against his broad frame. satoru chuckles, breathlessly, consumed by you; by every move you make. all six of his eyes aimed directly at you.

(if he gives you the sky, then what you give him is a love as steady as the ocean; one that’ll drown every bit of his sadness.��entirely unyielding.)

”can’t you ever just let me win?” you mutter, breathing in his cologne and tugging at his shirt. pressed up against him, on his couch, safe and secure. right where you should be.

he noses at your neck, pressing a little kiss against your pulsepoint. a quiet, quiet offering at the altar of your soul. ”nope,” he hums, smiling cheekily. 

”i love you too much for that.”

[tbaluver]

Husband/ Father Headcanons- The Love And DeepSpace Men

order: xavier x fem! reader, zayne x fem! reader, rafayel x fem! reader, sylus x fem! reader, caleb x fem! reader genre: fluff fluff a/n: hihi lovelies! i apologize that my reqs are coming supa late but i should finish and post them so soon after my school semester ends! i literally have so many in my drafts (╥﹏╥) i usually overthink my reqs which is why i take super long but here's some husband material to feed you all for now i hope ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ talk to you all so soon mwah (∩˃o˂∩)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He loves doing simple things with you like going to the supermarket. He’s read somewhere on the internet that that's what married couples are supposed to do on earth.

Morning routines with Xavier are always so warm and sweet. As you both get ready for the day, he’ll take your hand, carefully adjusting your wedding ring before giving it a soft kiss.

Whenever your newborn baby starts crying just as you’re both about to eat, he always prioritizes you. He’ll reassure you that you can go ahead and eat without him and enjoy your meal, promising you that he’ll take care of the baby.

You and Xavier share a special inside joke just between the two of you about the cute sounds your baby makes. Whether it’s the random babbling or their adorable squeals, always brings a smile and laugh to the both of you.

Xavier loves hearing and seeing your child laugh and will do absolutely anything to make them smile whether it’s through tickling, playing peekaboo, pulling silly faces, or using a high pitched voice

Lots of snuggles with you and your baby. You’d have your little one nestled safely right in the middle of the two of you as you all fall into deep slumber. He especially loves having his child rest on his chest while you snuggle up beside him.

Zayne:

Whenever your baby girl starts walking or crawling, he’ll consistently clean the floors of the house multiple times to keep the floor clean for his baby girl and to also have a clean house in general.

Your daughter has her own little kitchen playset because she loves watching either of you cook. Sometimes, while Zayne’s busy with his patients reports, she’ll run up to him with a plate of her plastic food to share her ‘cooking’ with him. He loves to play along to see her adorable smile, pretending to savor it and tell her how delicious it is.

Whenever it’s a quiet time between the two of you, enjoying each other’s company and doing your own thing, Zayne often reaches over to gently rub his thumb against your wedding ring, often reminiscing about the day you two got married and a small smile curling on his lips.

Anytime you ask him to grab something for you while he’s out, he always goes the extra mile and adds a little something extra for you- and for him as well especially if it’s something sweet. If you ask for the next series of your favorite book you love, he’ll just get the entire collection so you can binge-read it right away. He’ll even pick up a copy of the book you’re currently reading so he can talk about it with you.

Rafayel:

Everyday being married to you feels like a blessing from the gods. He wakes up in the morning to see your beautiful sleeping figure right beside him, wearing the wedding ring on your finger that ties you both together forever. Rafayel always greets you with something cheesy when you wake up like, “Hello my beautiful wife.” with a big smile on his face.

Rafayel flirts with you as if you haven’t been married for a couple years now and often says “I love you” with any chance he gets. “Heyy my lovely gorgeous wife, before you come home, do ya think you can pick me up some extra brushes? I think our little glub glubs hid them again...oh and by the way I love you!”

He always wears his ring. He can’t help but fidget with the ring whenever he starts to miss you, smiling as thinks about the day you both exchanged your vows.

After a long day at work, you can always find your lemurian children running up to greet you with your husband. Sometimes they like to show off their artwork they’ve all made together and most of the time it’s all just for you.

However he can always tell when you’re exhausted and drained, so he’ll gently excuse the kids, assuring them you’ll spend time with them later. For now he’s happy to entertain the children so you can get your rest. He’ll make up a random activity to keep the children busy so he can do small things for you like running a bath or preparing some meals for you

Sylus:

Anytime Sylus and his baby girl are shopping, he’ll always ask her what she wants or what she prefers. He treats her like a princess just like her mommy.

“hmm....pink! no, red!...pink!”

“how about....we get both dear?”

and there’s something so adorable seeing her so happy that makes him feel so warm and fuzzy inside.

Sylus does not mind in any timeline or universe if you’re comfortable being provided for. He can afford it and nothing can hurt his card even if you tried.

As years go by, he’ll make sure your wedding ring isn’t getting worn out or has any chips in it. Not that it would ever get worn off from its high quality. If it does have any problems, he’s quick to get it fixed, making sure that your ring will always shine with you.

Before you both unwind for the night, he’ll gently kiss the back of your hand where your wedding ring rests, before slowly slipping it off for the night.

Anytime you’re home from a long day of work, he’s already outside waiting for you to take out things in your car so you don’t have to carry anything.

After a long shift, you can always come home to find a warm dinner waiting for you with your favorite drink. The house would be clean and your baby girl is already tucked in. He’ll sit by you at the dining table, a glass in his hand, sharing stories about his day or simply listening as you tell him about yours.

Caleb:

Caleb absolutely treasures being a father. He became the father that he wished he had, present and involved in every moment. Whether it’s cheering from the sidelines at their games or helping with their homework ( without yelling and making them cry at the kitchen table ), or just listening when they need to talk, he’s always there for his kids. He���s just as devoted to you, always making sure you feel as supported and loved.

Caleb is the type of husband that would wake up early or stay up late to make sure your lunch is ready for work the next day. He knows exactly how you like your meals, carefully preparing each dish and packing it with everything you need. He does the same for his kids, packing their lunch boxes the night before with their favorite snacks and an apple.

Playtime is a must with his kids. He believes in letting his kids experience the joy of childhood to its fullest. The living room is always filled with the sound of his laughter as he lifts them high into the air, making airplane noises or chasing them around the house from their made-up games. He would also make sure to keep track of their growth, marking their heights on the wall.

Once all the kids are tucked in bed and actually asleep, he’ll swoop you in with a kiss. His kisses were always so hungry and sweet and he seriously cannot get enough of you, always wanting more.

“We have food at home” type of father but your kids never mind because he always cooks them whatever they’re craving. His home cooked meals always HIT. The house would be filled with delicious smells that make everyone feel right at home. His love is always served in each and every dish that makes his cooking way more special than going out to eat.

Your home is filled with many memories of your marriage but Caleb has a special place for his favorites. He keeps them up in your shared bedroom so when he wakes up beside you with the cool metal ring around his finger is a reminder that brings him back into reality that he’s married to the love of his life and there is always an escape from his nightmares.

[enzstr]

a morning behind the explosions

pairing: timeskip bakugo x reader (married with kids au)

notes: this was waaayy back in my old drafts so enjoy reading :P

The early morning sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. The soft murmur of your children’s voices could be heard from the kitchen, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter. You smiled, knowing that the morning chaos had already begun—your two kids were always up bright and early, full of energy, ready to face the day.

You rolled over in bed, only to find that Bakugo’s side of the bed was already empty. You sighed with a smile, knowing exactly where he was.

As you stepped into the living room, you were greeted by the sight of Bakugo, his red eyes narrowed in concentration, wearing a faded “Kiss the Cook” apron over his usual black compression shirt. He was standing at the stove, one hand gripping a spatula while the other tried to balance a skillet full of eggs.

"Good morning," you said, leaning against the doorway with a teasing smile. "How’s the kitchen going today?"

Bakugo grunted, not turning to face you. “Don’t laugh. I’m making breakfast, alright? The kids wanted pancakes.”

You watched him flip an egg with surprising precision for someone who usually preferred to blow things up rather than cook. Despite his fiery personality, Bakugo had become a surprisingly competent cook over the years—especially after the birth of your first child. He didn’t want to admit it, but you knew he loved taking care of his family, even in the little things.

“Do they always expect you to cook?” you asked, stepping into the kitchen and moving to the counter to grab a cup of coffee.

“Yeah, well, they love my pancakes,” Bakugo said with a huff, his back still to you. “And if I let you cook, they’ll be crying ‘cause you’re too slow.”

You chuckled, watching as your youngest, a rambunctious four-year-old boy, scampered over to the kitchen table. His bright blond hair—so similar to his father's—was a mess, sticking up in all directions.

"Daddy! Can I have the biggest pancake?" he asked, his wide, eager eyes shining up at Bakugo.

"Quit being so damn greedy," Bakugo grumbled, but his voice had softened. He slid a plate of pancakes onto the table for your son. "Eat this first, then we’ll talk about the ‘biggest’ pancake."

Your heart swelled as you watched Bakugo gently serve his son, his gruff demeanor melting just a little when it came to his kids. It was a side of him that you had fallen in love with—the fierce hero, the protective husband, the devoted father.

As your son dug into his food, your daughter, who was just a year older, strolled into the room with her hair tied up in a messy bun. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, still half-asleep, but already demanding attention.

“Mom, can you make my pancakes in the shape of a heart today?” she asked, her voice still sleep-ridden but sweet as can be.

You smiled at her, walking over to give her a quick hug before turning to your husband. “I think she’s requesting a little extra love this morning,” you teased.

Bakugo rolled his eyes but was already pulling out a second skillet to make heart-shaped pancakes. He didn’t say anything, but his subtle smirk told you that he didn’t mind.

“Are you still planning to take them to the park later?” you asked, stirring your coffee.

“Yeah,” Bakugo replied as he flipped another pancake. “I said I’d take ‘em, so I will.” He turned to look at you, his fiery red eyes softening. “You can stay here and rest. You’ve been working all week. I got this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to sit on the couch while you do all the work.”

“Tch, I don’t need you hovering over me,” he muttered, but his voice was softer than usual. “It’s not a big deal.”

You gave him a knowing smile, watching as he poured batter into the pan, a small frown on his face as he tried to make sure the pancakes were perfectly shaped. “You’re getting good at this.”

Bakugo shot you a glare, but there was no heat in it. “You don’t need to act so surprised. I’m not some idiot who can’t learn stuff.”

You stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I’m not surprised. I love seeing this side of you, you know?”

He tensed for a moment, but then relaxed into your embrace. “Shut up,” he muttered, though the faintest blush crept across his cheeks.

Your son, now finished with his pancakes, climbed into Bakugo’s lap. "Daddy, can you play with me later?"

Bakugo gave a small sigh, but the smile that tugged at his lips was soft. “Yeah, I’ll play with you after I finish here.”

You watched them, your heart full as you saw the fatherly bond between them. Despite the explosive nature of his quirks and his harsh exterior, Bakugo was, without a doubt, the most dedicated father. And it was in these small, quiet moments that you saw just how much he cherished being a family man.

You grabbed the plates and began setting the table, glancing over at him. "You know, Katsuki, I’m really proud of you."

He scoffed, but there was no hiding the genuine warmth in his eyes. “Tch, don’t get all sappy. I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

You smiled, kissing his cheek quickly before returning to your task. “Yeah, I know. But that doesn’t mean I’m not proud of you.”

As the morning unfolded, you all sat down together at the table, sharing breakfast and laughs. The chaos of family life, while loud and often overwhelming, was something you had come to cherish. You didn’t need grand gestures from Bakugo—his love for you and the kids was shown in the small moments, in his quiet care and dedication to making sure everything was right.

And in that moment, surrounded by the noise and joy of your family, you knew that no matter how intense the world got, you had your own little piece of peace right here.

enzstr © 2024. please don't steal, modify or copy my writing on any other platforms!

[viaxslz]

₊ ✦‎ . . . ₊ 𓈀 🫧 SKZ WHEN THEY WANT KISSES

享受 ! .°. ݁₊ 𐙚 gn!reader, cw: pet name, this has been in my drafts for a while,not proofread :P

CHAN

Chan would just straight up tell you. Bud doesn’t waste anytime and just goes straight to the point. “Hey y/n can you please give me a kiss?” He blurted out, out of nowhere. “But didn’t you—“ he cut you off by placing his lips on yours.

LEE KNOW

His lips would be puckered like a duck whenever you’re near him. But you’re too oblivious to get the hint causing him to get more needy. “Come on y/n just give me a kiss already” he whined, almost on the verge of giving up. “Oh! Is that why you’ve been acting like a duck??” You giggled placing a kiss on his cheeks just to tease him. “Hey! Not my cheeks my lips!” He grumbled pulling you closer, placing the kiss on your lips by himself.

CHANGBIN

“Come on babe, don’t you think I deserve a kiss? I’ve been the best boyfriend today. I literally did whatever you asked for” Changbin pouted following you around the house like a lost puppy. “No you ate my ice cream that specifically said DO NOT touch!” Your rolled your eyes as you continued to judge the channels showing on the tv. A small smile tugged the corner of your lips as you tried to avoid eye contact with Changbin. You finally gave up and pecked his lips.

HYUNJIN

“Don’t forget to call me if you maybe burn the house!” You added, opening the door to leave. “Ah!” Hyunjin stopped you by grabbing your arms. “???” You gave him a questioning look. “You’re forgetting something princess” he smirked leaning closer. “No I’m sure I carried everything” you responded with a skeptical look. “Nope!” He shook his head pointing his index finger towards his lips. You sighed with a chuckle, leaning in closer to close the gap between the both of you.

HAN

Han furrowed his eyebrows as you instantly rejected his attempt to kiss you. He tackled you down to the couch licking the back of your ears causing you to squirm under him. “Hannie stop it tickles” you giggled trying to break free from his grip. “Nuh uh. Not until you give me a kiss” he added leaning over to your ear once more. “Alright, alright I’ll give you a kiss!” You gave in. Han smiled with satisfaction as he pulled away, puckering his lips towards you excepting a kiss on his lips.

FELIX

“Mmm my lips are so dry right now” Felix pouted as he watched you apply your chapstick. “Then use this” you handed him your chapstick not bothering to spare him a glance. “No I don’t want your chapstick” he pushed your hand away. “I want your lips on mine” he smirked gently using his hand to turn your head. “Wha—“ he cut you off by placing a soft and tender kiss on your lips.

SEUNGMIN

Seungmin definitely wouldn’t tell you how desperately he wants your kiss. So he’ll just find an excuse. “Hold on y/n there’s something on your face” he spoke softly tugging you closer to him. He placed one hand on your waist the other cupping your jaw as he pretend to analyze your face. With no warnings he leaned in closer pecking your lips. “You could’ve just told me you wanted a kiss you know” you spoke playfully rolling your eyes.

JEONGIN

“You’ve been awfully quiet today” you pointed out, glancing over at your shoulders from the kitchen. “Well maybe it’s because someone didn’t give me any kiss today” he grumbled folding his arms over his chest. “Innie what are you saying?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “What I’m saying is, I want a kiss” he responded walking closer to you. “Now kiss me!” He demanded puckering his lips towards you.

PERM TAGLIST 📌🔖 ──── @the-sea-called-history02 @oc3anfloor

[vi-steponmeplease]

༘⋆ furniture shopping with vi

her toned arm rests comfortably around your waist as you stroll through the aisles of the furniture store, imagining what your future home together might look like.

suddenly, the warmth of her touch disappears, replaced by a cool draft. you turn around to see vi kneeling by the little kitchen playsets on display for kids.

"baby, look," she gushes, her face lighting up with a wide grin as she perches a tiny chef hat on her head. the hat is hilariously small compared to her, making the sight even more endearing. "we are so getting our little girl this shit."

your lips curl into a smile, mirroring her enthusiasm as you walk over. gently, you take the hat off her head and thread your fingers through her hair, making her lean into your touch. "sure, love. just maybe try not to call it 'this shit' when we’re with her, alright?"

she chuckles softly, turning her head to press a kiss to your palm before standing and wrapping her arms snugly around your waist once more. the warmth of her embrace floods your chest. "i’m so damn lucky i get to spend the rest of my life with you."

looping your arms around her shoulders, you tilt your head, your smile soft and full of affection. "me too, vi."

she closes the space between you, capturing your lips in a kiss so tender it feels like a promise.

[yueebby]

4:36am – gojo satoru

synopsis. satoru is dying (he has a fever) and he needs his darling wife (you) to nurse him back to health 

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo, even in sickness gojo can still flirt, he yaps a lot abt marriage and he’s kind of perverted, but he’s just so in love why dont you just give him one chance?

notes. i tried to make this very shoujo-esque. cant have a good shoujo anime without a fever episode!  this has also been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute. enjoy yet another fic of me showering satoru with affection (sigh).

the cold wooden floors of your dormitory creak underneath your waddling feet. your sleepy haze does not deter you from the strong desire for a cold glass of water.

surprisingly, the usual dark communal kitchen is illuminated by the small lightbulb inside of the fridge. you hear shuffling of some items from the white icebox, removing any ounce of sleepiness from you. it was unusual for anyone to be up at four in the morning.

a tuft of white hair peeks over the refrigerator door, giving the culprit’s identity away.

“satoru? i thought you were still on that mission in sendai?”

the sounds of digging pauses. satoru’s rises to his full height, towering over the rundown refrigerator door. he gives you a crooked smile that you rarely see. it’s dopier than one of his signature cocky smiles.

“missed me? don’t worry, i tried to speed run it since i knew i had such a beautiful woman waiting for me back home.” 

you placed a hand on your hip, scoffing at his pathetic attempts to flatter you. a snarky response was about to fall from your lips, but a series of painful coughs from the lanky male stopped you. 

you recoil back to avoid his germs. “gross. are you sick?”

satoru sniffles, pointing his nose in the air. the same nose that was starting to turn pink from irritation. “i can’t get sick. it’s physically impossible.” 

“don’t be stubborn, satoru. why didn’t you call for help?” 

he huffs, eyes trained to the floor. “it’s too early. shoko’ll kill me for waking her up.”

sometimes you forget that satoru had an image to uphold. he was the great gojo satoru, after all. 

but if you don’t take care of him, then who will? and despite your disdain at the thought of coddling his ego, it was only basic decency to take care of a fellow peer (or that was what you’d like to convince yourself).

silently, you place the back of your hand to his forehead. you’re not surprised by the warm sensation that you feel. 

satoru’s hazy eyes watch as you move your hand from his forehead to his cheek.

you purse your lips in concern. with the way satoru was stubbornly denying that he wasn’t sick, you were nearly certain that he was indeed not fine. without warning, you grab the collar of his white t-shirt and pull him to your room.

“at least take me out to dinner before~”

“shut it.”

it wasn’t hard to get satoru to settle in your bed. in fact, he seemed giddy at the opportunity. while he was happy cuddling with your rilakkuma plushie, you came to two conclusions: either satoru had a wound from his mission that got infected, or he was simply sick.

knowing his pride, you lean towards the former.

the boy in question winces when you grab his shoulders to inspect the damage done to him. the sounds of furious pats and heavy breathing is the only thing you can hear over your rapidly beating heart as your hands run down his body to check for any injuries. satoru sucks in his breath when your hands cup his cheeks to loll his head to check for any damages done to that pretty face of his. 

his body tensing up doesn’t go unnoticed by you. your imposing hands immediately retract, afraid of inflicting any more damage on him.

“where is the wound?!” your frantic eyes meet his blissed out ones. 

satoru sighs happily, lazily grabbing your hands to bring back onto him,  “there isn’t one, this just feels nice.”

your chest angrily puffs up before you shove him into your soft mattress. he grunts, but you know it didn’t hurt.

“[name]!” he whines, rubbing the arm that cushioned his fall.

you cross your arms angrily, “you scared me!”

gojo mimics your actions, crossing his arms while weakly glaring at you. his efforts to intimidate you prove futile as he shivers uncontrollably, resembling a newborn kitten.

sighing, you delve into your closet, emerging with an oversized black sweatshirt that you toss to him.

he catches it with ease, a chuckle escaping while he inspects the sweater, “i never took you for the type to wear this.”

“....that’s not mine.” you give a nod in the direction of the men’s sweater. the sparkle of amusement vanished from satoru's eyes, coinciding with his jaw dropping.

his grip on the dark sweatshirt tightened while his head darted back and forth from you to the clothing item. “then whose is it?!” 

“suguru’s.”

you think that you’ve broken him when his face scrunches up in disgust. it’s laughable how his mouth had managed to stay wide open the entire time.

“sugu-suguru?!” he splutters. you slowly nod, careful not to make any sudden movements that could provoke him any further. “why– how– explain yourself!”

you cast an uneasy glance at the sweater, finding it challenging to summon any recollections of how you obtained it, especially with satoru's piercing cerulean eyes fixed on you. his scrutinizing stare has the power to reduce you into a puddle.

“well? go on,” he urges you when you stay silent. 

“it’s nothing, really. i believe it was from that mission i had with suguru a while back. somewhere up north. i had packed light and suguru offered me his sweater.” you tap a finger on your chin to recall the memory. “i guess it just slipped my mind to return it.”

“slipped your mind, huh…” satoru sniffles before letting out a sneeze loud enough to wake up japan. you nearly jump out of your skin.

“suguru was just being friendly… and be quiet! yaga will have our heads if he finds you in the girls’ wing!” you warn the weary boy in front of you, prompting him to respond with a dramatic sigh.

“how mean!” he whines before making a pained expression. you quickly rush to his aid. when you make it to his bedside, satoru weakly hands you a clean tissue.

you stare at it blankly.

“be a darling and help me blow my nose?” he gestures for you to hold the tissue up for him. all you can hear are muffled whines when you shove him underneath your plush covers. 

when your flurry of attacks ends, he cautiously lifts his head from beneath the sheets. to his surprise, a steaming bowl of bitter melon miso soup is presented to him. while the broth isn't your personal favorite, shoko appreciates its bold flavor, spurring your decision to prepare it the night prior. despite its bitter components, the concoction had a perfect track record of treating illnesses. you have your brown haired friend to thank.

perhaps it was cruel of you to take enjoyment while he eyes the bowl in horror. you know his sweet palate couldn’t handle it.

he looks up at you with big pleading eyes while shaking his head. you roll your eyes.

“c’mon, it won’t kill you.” the bowl inches closer to him by your doing. “please?”

satoru's pallid complexion contorts into a hesitant frown. "i’ll eat it…” he concedes reluctantly. however, his gaze lingers on the bowl with a mixture of uncertainty and reluctance. you respond with a hopeful smile, but it fades when he adds, "on two conditions."

“this is for your own health, not mine satoru.” you remind him.

“doesn’t it pain you to see me suffer?” he brings up, eyes glittering in the darkness.

you suck in a breath. “...not really.” lie.

“you wound me, love.” he clutches his shirt like he has been critically hit. 

you bite your lip, tired of his theatrics. “what are the two conditions?”

just like that, gojo comes back to life.

“condition number one! you have to feed me.” he points one finger into the air, paired with an innocent smile. “and two: i want you to warm me up like that night in our first year.”

an unflattering appalled expression is cast over your face. no words leave your mouth for a good minute. “y-you’re disgusting. why are you the way you are?”

“love,” he sighs. “anyways, what kind of wife wouldn’t feed her husband while he’s dying?”

“satoru,” you warn. he was starting to babble nonsense again. “if i accept your conditions, will you shut up?” your eyes were starting to feel heavy. it was the middle of the night, after all.

he nods fervently.

carefully with the bowl of soup in hand, you gently squish yourself next to satoru on your full sized bed. the tight fit left you little room to move, forcing the two of you to nestle closely to each other. with a gentle maneuver, you rest your head on his chest. his arm slowly drapes itself protectively over your shoulder.

“your heart is beating awfully fast.” you whisper, tilting your head upward to take a glimpse of satoru’s feverish face. his breath hitches.

he takes a hand and holds your head back onto his chest to prevent your movement.

“shut it. i didn’t think you would actually accept my conditions.” he mumbles.

“don’t get used to it. this is another moment of weakness.”

you stir the spoon in the broth, basking in the silence of the night, save for satoru’s erratic heartbeat.

“this is very intimate isn’t it?” he gushes. “it’s almost like we’re married—”

“keep your side of the deal,” you remind him, lifting a spoonful of broth up to his mouth. satoru looks straight into your eyes as he opens his mouth to receive it.

his adam's apple bobs when he swallows, “i’m going to tell our grandkids that we were written in the stars.”

you shove another spoonful of soup into his mouth.

extra notes

satoru magically recovered from his fever the next morning.

his second condition (for you to warm him up like that night in your first year) refers to this fic from earlier on in the series.

satoru also made you promise to never accept another hoodie from suguru. if you needed one, satoru was more than willing to give you his! (you halfheartedly agree, only because he was acting all delirious because of his fever).

as of right now, there have only been three occasions where satoru has fallen asleep in your presence. he can testify that those were the best nights of sleep in his life.

shoko went into your room for a spare pair of stockings the next morning only to find you tucked into gojo’s chest. she chases him out of your room all while calling him a pervert . bless her heart.

[acid-ixx]

do i look like him?

— just another series concept. please note that talia sexually assaulting bruce is retconned in whatever portrayal i have of her. i will not tolerate any racist or sexist remarks towards her character for a mischaracterized version of her, written by some gooner.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

i don't know if anybody would be interested in a certain premise i'm planning. taylor's song, "like him" is resonating off of my body, and i've a draft written inspired off of the song featuring yandere batfam x damian's twin! reader x yandere! al ghul family.

wherein instead of being neglected, you're treated like royalty by your own family. your twin is subjected to the cruelty of being raised as an assassin. you're met with scarred hands, nicked back, and calloused skin every time he comes back from your shared room after another particularly harsh training. yet every time you worry for your older twin, he'd silence you with the same bloodied hands that handled bodies like ragdolls, gently like it has never killed, with hushed promises whispered by your ear that "this is necessary for your protection, akhi/akhti."

at first you'd be convinced that this family lifestyle is normal. your mother is doting, she is kind, she is where you learned the word mercy; unlike the fierce image she displays in public. you're often spoiled rotten with her favorite shades of clothes, and her teachings emanate within you a deep sense of loving for animals. you never truly see her cruelty for other humans, as she often makes you sit by her lap upon a seat you call a throne when you were all but a mere five year old, playing with your hair, muttering affirmations and cradling you on her chest every time you ponder too deeply about the word, 'father'.

a word you'd read from those fairytales by the library, a word you craved to know, a word forbidden to be stated by everybody within your castle-like home.

she'll call upon your brother every time your curiosity gets the best of you, and the duo would try their best to sway your attention away with playtime. either it'd be stories, or damian showing you new tricks he'd learn from masters long overthrown by your twin, or it would be as simple as talia dragging both her beloved children to the huge kitchen, demanding the head chefs to bake you and your brother's favorite dessert (a little moment to spoil your brother after a hard-earned day of training, even if damian isn't always fond of sweet confectionaries; your grin would always tempt him to take a bite of your food if it means spending a day being himself).

it seems even damian plays along with the sick fantasy of not acknowledging the possibility of an alive father figure to you. not like you'd be aware of it, too caught up with your grandfather teaching you about rare species' on the verge of extinction, his (rarely) soft gaze fixed on the way your small body would gently pat the face of his wolf companion, or your brother constantly vying for you, his younger twin's, attention, eliminating all possible rivals who could potentially act as your future playmate that only he has the privilege for, or how your mother seeks you, her youngest baby, out, for a day of rest after another mission, doting smooches on your face, her lipstick smearing all over the soft chub of your cheeks, dismissing your pouts

a perfect family, with not much left to desire for your part.

so why is it that talia would often hear damian complain about your sudden fixation about a father figure? you'd mumble, something about one of your servants who mentioned visiting her father for vacation, a man who works as a merchant for his family; you asked them what your father's job was, what his name was, "why isn't he here at the family dinner?"

you asked, with wide, pitiful eyes, a feature long foreign for hardened assassins, but associated only with you. a quality nobody in the league dares to criticize; your gentleness the only thing keeping their leaders sane, keeping most servants alive as you find precious each and every single living being; not exclusive to animals or plants, but to humans too.

you're the league's only hope for reprieve, for softness in the moments of emboldened duties and priorities. you're the fingers that caress on calloused skin and the lips that kiss bloody scars. the hearth that warms even the coldest of hearts.

which was why nobody attempted to answer you, no matter how much it breaks your heart; because nobody wanted to ruin your soft and kind heart, or see the sullen droop in your eyes, or red, sniffling nose.

yet once ra's heard the confession of you being aware of what a father is like through the mouth of your servant, he'd immediately demanded another assassin to eliminate whoever dared mentioned such preposterous concepts to his grandchild.

throughout their rage, throughout damian nuzzling his head on the crown of your, muttering that whatever his baby sibling is sputtering is nonsensical, mere fantasy, arms encasing your entire body. he'd cradle you, run his hands against your hair even with furrowed, always angered brows; all the same questions lingered in the back of their minds:

is your current family not enough? why is it that the more you grow, the more you... wear the same expression of stubbornness, a quality your mother is sure you've adopted from you... father.

she may not be the best mother, taking both you and damian away from the arms of bruce wayne after she had learned about her pregnancy after a night spent together with the man, but she did it for the sake of her children; for your future, too.

bruce wayne will not be a good influence to you. if he tries so much to subject you into becoming another one of his robins, destroying your innocence, your perception of the world into a bleak portrayal of lackluster colors— ra's wouldn't hesitate to destroy the entirety of bruce's home.

and the manor is nothing! nothing, mind you, compared to the castle you call your home. only you deserve the richest of the rich, the shiniest jewels and the best treatment in the world. what more can gotham offer you? what more, if not for broken bones and bruised knees?

and so they settled upon ruining your perception of your father, with no known face to be plastered upon your memory, no known source, or picture— at such an early age.

if you yearn so much for a father, why not paint the image as dark as the cowl he wears?

why don't they feed you lies about him never wanting you and your twin in the first place? you'll be given opportunities to call an empty line, hoping your father would pick up, would respond and tell you that he's coming for you. they'll give you time to write letters, even if it takes your crummy fingers hours to finish a dedicated letter for your father, after years of being unable to meet him; it causes all the more ache in your mother's chest, witnessing her beloved youngest stay up late, whispering whimsical wishes about how excited you are to read your father's reply to you.

all your mother could do was kiss your forehead as she sat by your side, and rub your delicate cheeks with her fingers, mumbling that her baby should sleep now.

your mother never lies to you, no?

at least, not outright in your face.

damian, hates seeing the heartbreak in your eyes, but he's the very same twin who comforts you every damn time you fall to your knees after discovering that the letters you sent to your father's locations were long since unanswered — even if they're all hidden away in a vault of every possession you thought you lost. he'll pick you up with his trained body, and you'll melt even further into his form, shivering at the prospect that you're an unwanted child in the face of your father.

soon.

soon, you'll learn to despise bruce with every being of your soul, and learn to only reserve the association of warmth for your only family. you'll be the spoiled royal of the al ghul, and you'll come to find yourself grateful that you're raised without his presence, deluded into thinking that he abandoned you, that he never truly cared in the first place.

you love your family, you hate bruce wayne.

he is not family.

he is not your father, he lost that status long ago right after you thought he'd ignore all your calls, your messages, letters, gifts, every and any signal sent to the man you once called your father right after learning his name. he made you hope, he left the light flicker once flickering within you now blown away, leaving only an empty husk of your wanting to meet your father.

you hate bruce, you hate him so fucking much, you're ashamed that he's even your father in the first place— even if he's the very same man working tirelessly, day and night, to save you, once he caught news of what his children looks like, and locks eyes with your hopeful ones, a rare sight amongst the imagery of assassin. he plans to retrieve you, to save you, from the castle you call your home; truly what you call your cage.

little did you know that you are more like your father than you are with what you call your family.

— heavily inspired by @anxiousnerdwritings portrayal of twin!reader.

a/n: i honestly don't know half of what i wrote. i'm out of my mind, and i'm honestly not confident with the outcome of this concept. if people do like it (leave comments, or inputs, or whatsoever) i might post a chapter about this (since i do have one written in my drafts a week or two ago). if not, i'm dropping this and leaving it as a concept mostly, a one-time thing at best. so if anybody does like this, please do tell me. i do have a lot in store for this concept, specifically the way manipulation works within this family convincing you the other side is evil; i've been through this once w/ my family actually ngl, so writing this was a bit fun.

[zarameraki]

˖°🕷️ ࣪𖤐 𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶'𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗻𝘆 ˖°🕷️𖤐

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 unprotected sex 𖥔 single dad x nanny 𖥔 porn with plot 𖥔 banter 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 praise 𖥔 shower sex 𖥔 bj 𖥔 certified pussy eater 𖥔 daddy issues 𖥔 dirty talking 𖥔 small pillow talk 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 2.7k

: ̗̀➛ notes: wrote this one a while ago and decided it was time to get it out of the drafts. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

“After the prince and his princess defeated the scary, ancient dragon, their kingdom lived happily ever after.”

With a smile, you closed the storybook, glancing over at Megumi, peacefully asleep in his crib. Your fingers brushed against his velvety cheeks before you tucked him in snugly and quietly left his room.

The jingle of keys echoed through the air. 

Toji stepped into the apartment, his appearance dishevelled and weary of another demanding day at the construction site. He shed his hefty boots and lumbered into the living room. Catching sight of you, a faint grin settled on his lips. “He asleep?”

“The dragon story always knocks him out cold.” You took his bag and set it down by the couch as he shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall onto the bar stools. “Long day?” 

“Too fucking long.” He yanked open the fridge door, retrieving a container of leftover pasta and a beer. You joined him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and cracking open the can for him. “One of the machines decided to call it quits halfway through. Spent hours waiting for the mechanics to patch it up before we could even think of wrapping up the foundation.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Zenin.” Your gaze shifted to the scattered construction toys that Megumi often indulged in. “With tomorrow being the weekend, maybe you could take some time to unwind and spend quality time with Megs.”

Toji let out a derisive snort as he warmed up his food. “Always appreciate you looking out for us, sweetheart.” 

“Hey, babysitting is my job.”

He took the beer can from your hand and affectionately pinched your cheek. You grinned with your nose scrunching up. “My paycheck isn’t gonna be here until next week. Is it cool if I can pay you a little late? I’ll double it to make up for it.” 

“Nah, you’re good. I can wait. Megumi’s my favourite little client.” You tucked your hands into the pockets of your jeans as Toji grabbed his dinner and brushed past you. “Jesus, Mr. Zenin. You smell like cement.” 

“Cut me some slack, kid.” 

“I’m twenty-two. Not a kid.” 

“If you’re younger than me”—he jabbed his fork in your direction—“you’re still a kid. Capiche?” 

“Eating pasta doesn't grant you Italian citizenship,” you teased. He rolled his eyes as you snatched your backpack. “Well, I’ll see you Monday evening, then.” 

“Leaving so soon?” 

You quirked a brow and raised your phone. “It’s ten in the evening.” 

“That’s early. Come on, stay and grab a bite. Wanna share?” 

Your stomach rumbled in agreement. And hey, a little extra time with Toji wouldn’t be the worst thing. Among all the parents, he was the only one you felt at ease being around late at night. He felt more like a good friend than just another guardian.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” You set down your bag and snagged an extra fork, sliding onto the stool beside him. He placed the container between you two, ensuring you got enough of your separate fill.   

“Your feeding your fucking hair, sweetheart,” he commented, collecting your hair back. His fingers brushed over the side of your neck making it hard for you to swallow. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled, quickly gathering your hair into a ponytail. Toji continued to chew slowly, his gaze fixed on you. “What?” 

“You always had a mole there?” He pointed below your jaw where a prominent beauty mark tattooed your skin. 

“I’m offended that you’ve just noticed now.” 

He finished chewing. “You don’t tie your hair up often.” 

“Would you like me to?” You twirled your spaghetti around your fork.

“I like your hair down,” he admitted, his gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary. “But maybe not while we’re eating. Don’t want them getting dirty.” 

You rolled your eyes and took a large bite, cheeks puffing out as you chewed.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Toji grumbled, swiping away the speck of tomato sauce from the corner of your mouth. His tongue darted out to clear it, followed by another swipe of his hand. The tomato sauce probably matched the colour of your skin from that gesture. “Ever thought about hiring a nanny for yourself?” 

“No, but I might have someone to take care of me in a month.” 

Toji paused and dragged his eyes towards you. “Who?” 

“Just a boy from my class,” you replied nonchalantly, poking your fork in the meatball. “He’s cute, sure. Plus, he’s a hockey player. Basically the epitome of the perfect, conventional, bring-home-to-mom-and-dad kind of guy.”

Toji took a deliberate sip of his beer. “If that’s what you’re into.”

“You say it like you’re an expert on my taste.”

“I’ve known you for a year, darling. You never struck me as someone who’d go for a poster boy.” 

“Then who do you think I’d go for?” you asked softly. Green eyes locked with yours in a tense silence. “Since you seem to have me all figured out.”

Toji stole a quick glance at your lips, then darted his eyes toward the door of his son's bedroom. He fought back the surge of temptation bubbling up inside him, tightening his grip on the beer can in his hand. “Maybe I haven’t gotten to know you well enough.” He went to take a bite but you quickly interrupted by grasping his hand and guiding his fork toward your mouth. 

With the spaghetti twirled around it, you brought it to your lips, savouring the taste as you chewed slowly, all the while locking eyes with his emerald gaze. He observed your throat as you swallowed, his attention now fully magnetised by your flushed face.

As you licked the sauce from the corners of your lips, and wrapped your mouth around your thumb to clean it, Toji’s pulse quickened. “I’m an open book for you, Mr. Zenin.” You rose from your seat, reaching for your backpack. He couldn't tear his gaze away, transfixed by the sight of your ass. “Have a wonderful time beating yourself off to my pictures tonight.” 

Toji’s gaze flickered to his undeniable bulge straining against his jeans, a curse slipping past his lips. Downing his beer as you moved away, he pushed off the stool, closing the distance with a predatory grace, catching you in the middle of tying your shoelaces.

Your eyes widened as he backed you against the door, trapping your arms above your head. His knee insinuated itself between yours, his breath hot against your lips as he snarled. 

“He’s made dinner reservations at an Italian restaurant next week,” you whispered. “Unless you don’t want me sharing pasta with him like it’s a fucking Disney movie, I suggest you kiss me now, Toji.” 

“God, that fucking mouth of yours.” A broad smile appeared at his lips as he pressed them hungrily against yours. Your body responded instinctively, grinding against his thigh in a desperate plea for more. Toji’s grip on your wrists loosened, his hand finding its way to your face, driving his tongue inside your mouth and flicking it against yours. 

He lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he held onto your ass. Lost in the intoxication of your overdue kiss, Toji maintained some semblance of awareness, urgently guiding himself into the bathroom, where he settled you onto the counter.

Breaking away, but still holding your jaw, he smirked. “I smelled like shit, yeah?” 

You shrugged. “Cement, but close enough.” 

“Since you know it all, you’re gonna help me clean it off.”  He stripped off his shirt before reclaiming your lips once more, your hands roaming eagerly over his chest and around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. You’d waited a whole year for this. 

Toji removed your jacket, then paused to peel off your t-shirt. He unhooked your bra with a single motion, pulling you close against him. The sensation of your nipples grazing against his chest hair made you momentarily gasp for air.

“You good?” he whispered, palming the side of your head. 

“So good.” You lunged at him again. He stumbled backward, bringing you with him until you both found yourselves inside the shower stall. His muscular arms coiled around you, pulling you closer as he ravaged your mouth.

Meanwhile, you shed your sweatpants and panties, while Toji unclasped his jeans and tossed them aside along with the rest of your clothes. He briefly opened his eyes, his mouth moving in sync with your desperate one, as he reached to twist the shower faucet open.

The first layer of cold water made you shiver and break apart. You and Toji stared at one another, your gazes lowering in tandem to study your naked bodies. He was big. So big. And extremely hard. His pink tip reached up to naval. Covered in veins that pulsed at a closer look. 

“You’re fucking gorgeous, sweetheart,” Toji said, stepping closer to you. Your back met the cold surface of the stall’s glass wall. His large hands cupped your breasts and travelled down to your hips. “You've been hiding all of this under those stupid looking sweaters?” 

“I happen to like my sweaters, thank you very much.” 

“Baby, they’re ugly.” 

You rolled your eyes and smiled. He continued to laugh at his own comment until you gripped his dick. 

He stopped immediately. 

“What’s wrong, Mr. Zenin?” Your hands moved in an elevated pattern. “Cat got your cock?” He planted his palms on either side of your head. You added twists and rolls, ones that had him at your mercy. Then you sank down onto your knees and swirled your tongue around him, sucking him off. He was breathing hard and fast, and his fingers gripped your hair. “Fuck my throat until I can’t speak for a week.” 

Toji snapped. 

He thrusted deep, deep down your throat and relished in the gagging sounds you made. “Holy fuck, baby. You’re so good at taking my cock.” Your nail sank into his hips, eyes rolling back to your skull. He forced you to open your eyes by pulling at your hair. “Fucking look at me, you little slut.” He shoved himself deeper and held your face against his pelvis. You scratched against his skin to take a breather while choking on his hot gush of release. There was nothing to swallow when he pulled your head back, releasing his dick from the confines of your mouth. 

You coughed out, drumming your fist against your chest to regain control of your lungs. A hand wrapped around your arm and stood you up. 

Toji held your jaw and inspected you closely with a twinge of concern. “Was I too hard on you, doll?” 

You nodded but raised a thumbs up. “Fantastic.” Probably the best blow-job you’ve ever given—even if Toji was mostly in control. 

His lips met yours in a soft kiss, allowing the water to wash away at your bodies. He massaged his fingers through your scalp, and, in contrast, gave your left asscheek a sharp slap. “Turn around. It’s my turn to eat.” 

Your chest pasted against the glass wall. Toji pressed himself against your back and slithered his hand down to cup your pussy. He grunted in your ear delivering a slap to it and hearing you squeak from the impact. His fingers pinched your clit and parted your folds. Easily, he fitted two fingers into your hole. “Jesus. You’re so fucking tight. No one’s been in this pussy before, baby?” 

“A few,” you said. “But they were smaller.” 

Toji curled his fingers inside of you. “A dirty whore like you needs something bigger. Don’t you, doll?” You moaned against the glass, your cheek pressed to the surface. “Tell me, baby. You need my fat cock to stretch out your tiny cunt? Need me to shape it to my cock’s size?” 

“Y-Yes—ah.” You arched your back the second his calloused thumb started circling your clit. “Fuck, Toji—oh, fuck. Faster.” He drove in a third finger and his free hand clapped over your mouth to suppress your cry. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed in your ear. “Can you do that for me, doll?” You nodded and he pushed you forward, kneeling down and spreading your asscheeks. “My pussy. You hear that? This is my fucking pussy.” He dragged his tongue over it and up to your little puckered hole. 

You were high on the sounds of him slurping at your release, sucking your folds into his mouth, and teasing your asshole with the tip of his tongue. This was not how you imagined your Friday night to go, but you weren’t gonna complain. You’ve been fantasising about this moment since Toji caught you putting up babysitting flyers in his neighbourhood. 

“My dick’s gonna break off if I don’t put it in now.” He wrapped your hair around his palm and positioned himself at your entrance. “Ready, doll?” 

“Fuck me, Toji. Please.” 

He could get off on your begging alone. 

His hips thrusted forward, his cock filling you to the hilt. He pulled back out and drove in—repeatedly, relentlessly. His palm came down with a bruising slap on your ass without a break. Toji wasn’t going to be satisfied until they were discoloured, until you couldn’t sit down for days. 

Seeing you wanton and moaning his name flicked a switch in his brain. He was going to brandish you in a way that you wouldn’t leave him for weeks. Months. Years. You’d be at his side until your children were arranging your joint funerals. The strange feeling inside his chest felt foreign, almost hindered the speed at which he was rutting in you. This was his first time fucking you after a year of pining and jerking himself off to your picture and he was already envisioning a romantic-movie montage. 

Toji leaned his face back so the water washed away the vision. Then he pulled out and turned you around, kissing your gasping mouth. He entered inside you again, hoisting one leg up. His fingers pinned you in place by your throat while violating your—his—pussy. 

“I’m gonna come inside you,” he breathed out over your swollen lips. 

“Do it.” 

Toji suppressed his groan by crushing his mouth against yours, a guttural growl producing from his throat. His release was everlasting, filling your inside to the brim. You came crashing down, holding the back of his hair and breaking away to breathe. His face nuzzled in the crook of your neck, equally panting. Those large hands settled on your throbbing ass as he completed the last bits of his ministrations. 

 You were both out of breath as you stared at one another. 

Toji blinked when you hugged him around his torso. His arms remained frozen at his side, glimpsing down at your crown. You looked up with those big, doe-eyes and a full-blown smile. Oh, he was so fucked. 

The remainder of the night was spent washing and drying each other, before tangling your naked bodies in bed. 

Toji continuously kissed your lips, his hand running up and down your back. You laid atop his chest, his cock buried within you as you gently rowed your hips back and forth. He planned to keep it nestled in you for the rest of the night. 

“Spend the weekend with me,” he murmured, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “We’ll go out for dinner at an Italian restaurant with Megumi.” 

“Yeah?” You pecked his nose. “We’ll look like a little family.” 

“That little shit already considers you his mother.” 

You chuckled and brushed the tendrils of hair away from his forehead. “Maybe another time. College’s been kicking my ass. Gotta catch up on those assignments if I wanna graduate with honours.” 

Toji found himself desolated. “Can’t you just study here?” 

“Not with two babies whining and crying for my attention.” 

He gave your ass a light smack. You feigned a wince making him caress it immediately. 

“But I can come over in the evening,” you said. “We can go out for ice-cream.”

He smiled at the fact that you were going to make time for him and his son despite your busy schedule. “Ice-cream it is.” 

You laid your head down on his shoulder and adjusted yourself comfortably on his cock. “Goodnight, Mr. Zenin.” 

“Goodnight, doll.” He rested one hand on the back of your head and the other massaging your ass, staring up at the ceiling where his vision played for the rest of night. 

Toji smiled. 

[megamindsecretlair]

'Twas the Night

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. FLUFF, SMUT. Cursing, teasing, PIV, oral (male and female receiving), fingering (female receiving), minor OC lore (sorry!) Use of pet name. Mentions of the n-word, all consensual. Bad jokes, a different side to Terry. Sorry if I missed some. (Some meta jokes and winks and self-indulgent asf)

Summary: Treating yourself to a winter writing getaway, you are startled when the homeowner forgot to mention the 6’3 handyman that came by to fix things around the house. You find an unlikely friendship with the man, opening up about your romance novel. But when you confess that you need some inspiration, Terry is all too happy to be of service. 

Word Count: 19,198k

AO3 Link

A/N: WHEW. Forgive me for being late, I was nervous about this one. It's self-indulgent like a MF. I love this Reader and Terry SOOOO bad. I had a hard time letting this one end. So I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

Snow crunched under your tire as you pulled up to the quaint cabin at the top of the mountain. You leaned forward in your seat, looking up at the address to make sure it matched. It did. This was the place.

You were glad the outside matched the picture. You couldn’t count how many times you arrived at an Air B&B, just for the lister to pull some fuck shit. 

For now, it looked like it lived up the hype. And you made it in time to watch the sun set over North Carolina a little later. You gripped the steering wheel and squealed with delight. This was perfect. Absolutely perfect. 

You rolled your truck up to the small, attached garage and got out of the car. You went up the wooden steps to the wide porch that looked ripped from a magazine. There was a hunter green swing set with a pillowed pad on top of the bench. It even had cute throw pillows to match. 

Per the owner’s instructions, you were able to easily find the key box disguised as a lantern. You unscrewed the false bottom, retrieved the key and garage door opener, and replaced the bottom. 

You headed back to the awaiting truck, looking back at the cabin. You still couldn’t believe that this was all yours for the next two months while you worked on your latest novel. Your family was sad about you missing Christmas and New Year’s with them, but you had all grown out of the traditions. There was no point to be around just to be around. 

By the end of this, you were going to have a rough draft to show your agent. That was a guarantee. You pulled your beanie down before getting back in your truck and pulled into the garage.

You entered and turned on lights as you went through the house, familiarizing yourself with the layout and decor. The owner went with a sage green theme, the cabinets in the kitchen painted to match the small fireplace in the living room adjacent to it. There was a throw blanket in the living room with the same color and you had a hunch that the bedroom would be much the same. 

The cabin held two distinct buildings with a short hallway to connect it. The bedroom was modest, room enough to not feel claustrophobic but it wasn’t huge either. You checked and true to form, the bedroom held nothing electrical in it. 

The king sized bed was almost too big for the room, but it really brought everything together. And yes, there was a sage green throw across the foot of the bed. The artwork on the walls were as non-offensive as possible, full of pictures of trees and animals. 

You pulled your phone from your jacket pocket and started recording. “Hey ya’ll, I made it safe and sound. And it’s like the pictures so it’s not a scam! I am loving all these windows but ugh, can these people do anything other than white curtains, white sheets, and pastels? Like damn, I don’t know if I feel safe around all this white!” 

You giggled as you went through the house, checking things out but mostly checking for anything weird or creepy. No cameras, no drilled holes, no false paintings. You showed a few things around the house and then flipped the camera towards you.

“I am signing off, my loves. I’ve got my inspection to do. Love you bunches, I hope to be two-hundred and seventy pages heavier after this!” You blew a kiss into the camera and then sent it to your friends and family. 

Almost immediately, your mom started in on the issue with you being out in the mountains by yourself. Your sister piped in to remind your mom that you were grown, still in the state, and it was pretty sexist to say a woman needed a man to protect her all the time. 

“Exactly,” you agreed out loud. You put up your phone and then really got to business. You took off your purple jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the door. You took off your purple hoodie and hung that up as well.  

You put on your headphones and your favorite cleaning playlist, full of hip hop and R&B oldies. Then, you retrieved cleaning supplies from your car and went through the house with a fine-tooth comb.

Some may call you…odd. And that was fair. You knew how annoying you could be about cleanliness, but you just really wanted to avoid getting sick. You turned into an entire baby when you got sick and considering no one was around to give you said princess treatment, it was best to remain healthy.

That and people were just plain fucking nasty. 

Luckily, it seemed like this cabin was professionally cleaned. You mostly sanitized every surface you could find, dancing and shaking your booty to the songs as they came on. “Never Too Much” by Luther Vandross came on while you were mopping the kitchen. 

You danced around the small kitchen in your mop slippers, singing into the mop handle as if it were a microphone. You sang along with Luther at the top of your lungs, badly, and let the song keep you energized. 

You headed to the bedroom with a black light to check over the sheets and mattress. There were a few specks of mysterious origins which was to be expected, but the mattress was fresh. The sheets were clean as well, but you weren’t going to hop in someone else’s sheets anyway. 

You hauled deep rose bedding into the room from your car and made up the bed how you liked. You brought your own pillows as well, fluffing it on top. Now the space was starting to feel comfortable. Your anxiety lowered inch by smooth inch. 

You looked around the bedroom, scanning for anything you might have missed. Your eyes caught on the window, on the mix of oranges and pinks. 

“Shit!” You screamed as you tore through the house, towards the kitchen, and made you a quick cup of tea. You doctored it how you liked and then added cold water. You took the mug and your own blanket outside to the back porch. 

The owner had built another world in the backyard. The patio was covered with an awning that connected to the house. There were egg chairs and a sofa set up around a stylish oak table. Plants sat in planters around the area and there was a rug underneath the table. Fairy lights were strewn about giving the space a warm glow.

“Oh fuck yessss,” you groaned, sitting down in the comfy egg chair and looked out over the open back yard. The grass was vividly green, swaying slightly with the light breeze. Woods encroached the perimeter, thick with leaves and underbrush. Anything could be out there, adding to the mystery and awe it inspired. 

You draped the throw around your shoulders and then sat in silence, watching the sunset. Soft blues were chased out of the sky by pinks, oranges, and the softest purples blending into the pitch black sky. 

Stars winked on as if there were tiny caretakers igniting each one. Your mind spun with idea after idea, but these you would let pass. Not everything had to be about writing. Some things just needed to be experienced. 

The tea kept you warm as the temperature dropped more and more. When your nose got too cold and you sniffed one too many times, you finally packed it in and went back to cleaning. Your playlist kept you upbeat as you cleaned out the bathroom.

Done with everything, you finally felt comfortable enough to shower. Scrubbing the day away with your favorite soap nearly made you ascend to another plane. You giggled to yourself as your mind spun once more, crafting a whole silly scenario just because. 

You sighed. You needed a man. Well, okay, ‘needed’ was a strong word. But you were giving up comedy gold over here. There should be someone around to witness it! Then again, did you really want to explain your quirks to someone? 

You shook your head. You were not here for all of that. You were here to get some much needed writing done away from your family and friends. You knew they meant well, but it was almost pathological with the way they relied so heavily on you. 

As much you knew that they loved you, you also wondered if they even saw you as a human being with your own interests. They knew you needed to write and yet they came bursting in anyway, calling, texting, bugging to no end. You were tired of explaining that you weren’t rejecting them, you just needed to focus on writing. 

Either they truly didn’t get it or they willfully ignored your needs. And you just didn’t have time for that. When your editor, Vanessa, suggested that you made enough money now that a writing retreat was well within your budget, it was like a wake up call. 

Of course. The solution was right there. You immediately hopped on Google to determine which place called to you more. You always wanted a winter writing escape and a few keystrokes later, you were on your way with your family scratching their heads. 

You dried yourself off in the bathroom and lotioned yourself up. You left the bathroom in a cloud of scented steam. You opted for a pair of panties and an oversized red T-shirt that reached down to your knees. The place had central heating but you didn’t want to turn it up too much. Just enough to warm the wooden flooring.

You spent the next hour making tacos, the heavenly aroma of meat and salsa making your mouth water. You cleaned as you went, not wanting to spend the next morning doing dishes. The cabinet below the sink squeaked and you debated telling Mr. Omar about it. It was something small but if you were going to be there for a while, you’d rather not deal with the inconvenience. Ehh, it was small. No need to bother the man for that. 

All done, you brought your plate to the living room and camped out, finding something to watch. You had been hearing so much about that show called Rivals on Hulu so you decided to watch it. When the first episode started, you screeched at the TV. It literally opened with someone joining the Mile High Club. 

For the rest of the night, you relaxed and zoned out. It was hard for you to truly relax, to truly turn your brain off and just enjoy something. But practice made perfect, so practice you will. 

When you yawned for the fifth time in two minutes, you finally gave up the ghost. You turned everything off and put up the food you made. Then you turned everything off as you headed down the short hallway to the bedroom. 

It was pitch black inside. Perfect. You only used your bedroom for sleeping and fucking. It signaled to your body that enough was truly enough. No distractions, no connections, nothing to prevent your body from sinking into sleep. And it worked every time. 

You crawled into the comfy bed, soothed by the familiar smell of your bedsheets. Your brain blissfully shut up and you fell into a lovely, dream-filled sleep. 

You woke up naturally early in the morning. The white curtains in this room were heavier than what was in the rest of the house, allowing limited lighting to reach the bed. Plus, the sun didn’t shine on this side so the added shade soothed your overworked eyes as soon as you got up. 

This…you sighed. This was what you needed. You felt so good having true silence for once. No one around, no one bugging you, no one bringing you into their drama, no one leaning on you, no one calling you. It got to the point where you were beginning to hate the sound of your name. Too many people used it to demand your attention, demand your time, and then curse you in the same breath when you retreated and wanted to recharge your mental batteries.

This would likely have to become a tradition. From now on, you would have to choose an Air B&B to get the first draft over with. At least after that, you had the idea out of your head and you could cobble it together among the noise of your demanding family. The brainstorming stage was the most crucial; you could not afford distractions.

You were itching to write but you knew that you needed to eat something first. You got up from bed, scratching beneath your bonnet as you picked your way down the short hallway to the other side of the house. 

A heavy boot clanged on something metal, drawing your attention to the kitchen where a tall man dug through your cabinets. You screamed, hopping in place from foot to foot. The man turned around with a jump revealing…a pretty face.

You ran towards the fireplace and grabbed a poker, brandishing it like a spear. “Who the fuck are you?!” You demanded, pulling your shirt down. Fuck. You should’ve worn pants. Well, no, fuck that, he shouldn’t be in your place! 

The man lifted his hands and revealed a screwdriver in his hand. “Wait, hol’ on,” he said. His deep voice was unexpected, sounding like a crack of fire on a cold, wintery night. 

You moved the poker around in the air, looking around for any other men that may be lurking. The cabin was small enough, the kitchen not too far from the living room. But, besides the bathroom, you could see everything at a glance. You looked out of the windows anyway, searching for any other cars or trucks outside. 

“I’m Mr. Omar’s handyman. He asked me to fix the cabinet,” the man said. His scruffy facial hair framed his symmetrical face and hid his lush lips. His eyes were intense, the color of a storm right as it kissed the ocean, and his eyebrows arched severely. He was unreal. But hot or not, he was still a stranger.

His eyes drew down to your legs and you tugged on your shirt as if you could conjure more material. “You think I’m going to buy that? What are you really doing here? You read his mail?” You asked.

You hadn’t seen any mail laying around the place when you cleaned the day before, but that didn’t mean anything. Maybe he dug through the trash or hacked Mr. Omar’s emails.

The man sighed and shook his head. “You watch too much TV,” he said. 

“And you need to answer my questions. Who the hell are you?” You asked. 

The man kept his hands up but lowered his elbows. “I’m the handyman,” he said, putting emphasis on the word as if that helped. “Terry.” 

You squinted at him as you looked around the living room for your phone. You had plugged it in before you went to sleep, but it was hard to look for it and keep an eye on the man. 

He watched you and tilted his head. You scowled. Was he just humoring you? If that motherfucker tried anything, he’d lose one of those perfectly sculpted eyes. 

You snatched your phone from the end table besides the couch. You held the poker up as a deterrent but the man - “Terry” - didn’t move. He watched you, hands up, calm as a cucumber. If he was a thief or a rapist, he was the worst one you’d ever seen. Or maybe he was the smartest. 

You sized him up as you dialed the homeowner’s phone number. “We’re gonna see about you, nigga,” you said. You brought the phone to your ear as Terry smirked. 

“I’d believe that more if your voice wasn’t so squeaky,” he said.

“I do not have a squeaky voice!” You yelled.

Terry smirked again, tilting his head as if you just proved his point. “Can I put my hands down?” 

“No,” you said. Mr. Omar didn’t answer on the first ring so you tried again. 

“Just like a chipmunk,” Terry said. Terry sighed and then leaned against the nearest sink, making you look at the full length of him. He wore dark wash jeans, heavy tan boots, and a black hoodie. He also wore a cream colored beanie pulled low over his head. It ought to be a damn sin to be so fine.

“Hello?” Mr. Omar’s accented voice came on the line. The subtle African pronunciations made you curious about where he was from but you were too chicken to ask. 

“Mr. Omar! There is a man in the rental claiming to be your ‘handyman��,” you said, managing to give Terry air quotes around the poker. 

Terry smirked and licked his lips, drawing attention to them. They were so pink and big. The more you paid attention to his features, the more striking he became. He looked like a painting made real. Or like one of those artist renditions of Egyptian royalty. 

“Ah yes, Terry-Terry. Good man,” Mr. Omar said. 

You sighed and turned your head. “What does he look like then?” You asked. 

The poker grew heavier now that Mr. Omar vouched for the man. However, you weren’t ready to lower it just yet. 

“Tall and like Mufasa,” Mr. Omar said. 

You snapped your eyes to Terry, comparing him to a lion. Nah, he was more like a Scar to be honest. But still, the image wouldn’t leave your mind and your thighs responded, tingling with awareness. 

You scowled at Terry who pressed his lips together. “Can I lower them now?” He asked, amusement written all over his face.

“Where’s your ID?” You asked. 

Terry sighed. “I’m not handing over my ID to a chipmunk,” he said.

You squeaked with an indignant huff and Terry shrugged his shoulders. “Is that all you need?” Mr. Omar asked.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was coming by?” You asked. You lowered the poker down by your waist, business end sticking out in case this Terry character wanted to try you. 

“Forgive me, my memory. I’m an old man,” he said. You rolled your eyes. He was far from an old man, in his early fifties and looked young enough to be a senior at college. The man kept himself fit and in shape, telling you all about his fitness journey during the many conversations you had about the property. 

“Right. Thanks, Mr. Omar,” you grumbled and hung up with him. Okay, so the man was legit. But that didn’t explain why he didn’t ring the doorbell. 

“I didn’t know anyone was here, I’m sorry. Just let me fix a few things on my list and I’ll be out your hair,” he said.

“Can’t you come back when I’m…” you trailed off and clicked your mouth shut. You were going to tell him to come back when your getaway was over but he didn’t need to know your timeline. He could swing back around and murk your ass. 

“When you’re done gathering nuts to hibernate?” He asked.

“Fuck you, I’m not a chipmunk,” you said, smiling despite yourself. 

Terry lowered his arms and then made a show of putting the screwdriver down. “Do I get to know your name?” He asked. 

You debated giving him even that much, but the manners that were drilled into you refused to let you be rude. You tugged on your shirt and his eyes followed the motion. His focus was…unnerving. You cleared your throat and told him your name. He repeated it one more time and you nodded, a tingle going up your spine at the way he rolled the syllables around with that slight Carolina accent. 

“Nice to meet you. Now that we’re good, can you point that somewhere else?” He asked.

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Like you were even scared of it,” you said. You placed the poker down on the coffee table. The metal clinked against the glass top but your eyes were glued to Terry’s.

Terry chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. “You and your mouseketeers are s’posed to be good at fencing,” he said.

“You know what! You get on my damn nerves!” You said and laughed, giving in to his bad jokes. 

“Can I do my job?” He asked. 

You were still wary about him being in the house while you were practically naked. You glanced away from him, looking at how far the bedroom was. “How many things do you have to do?” You asked.

“Mr. Omar left me a honey-do,” he said. 

You sighed. You didn’t like this one bit. You hadn’t planned on having a visitor while you got into the rhythm of things. But you also didn’t want this man to come back. Though…that wouldn’t totally be the worst thing. 

You licked your lips and looked between him and the bedroom. You didn’t want to linger on him but fuck, it was like one look wasn’t enough. Every time you looked at him, you noticed something different about him. 

“Tell you what. I’ll spread it out. I’ll only do a few things at a time. Deal?” He asked. He held out his hand, beckoning you to come closer. That was how all horror movies started. The devil himself smirked at you and you scowled, understanding exactly how Eve broke. Had you been her, you wouldn’t have stopped at just the apple. 

“Deal, I guess,” you said. 

Terry lowered his hand and nodded. “Deal. You won’t even know I’m here,” he said.

Riiiiight. “Just…stay out here. I hear a boot coming down the hall and it’s game over,” you said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, making his accent thicker. The mischief in his eyes made you scowl harder. But his eyes dropped lower and lower and you pulled on your shirt. 

You made a beeline to your room, slammed the door shut, and sighed heavily. This was unreal. Absolutely unreal. 

You grabbed the nearest pair of sweatpants, yanked it on, and then took a few more deep breaths. You listened for any sense of movement, any creak of the floorboards, or sound of breathing. When there wasn’t any, you cracked open the door. 

You headed towards the kitchen to find Terry exactly where you left him, bent over the cabinet as he fixed the hinge. At your approach, he stopped and looked sideways at you. His side profile was lethal, jawline sharp enough to cut glass. 

Your belly flipped and you held it like it was a traitor. As if it could give you away. You breezed past him and grabbed your laptop off of the kitchen island, clutching it to your chest as you carried it to the living room and curled up in the corner of the couch. 

From this angle, Terry couldn’t sneak behind you and you had a full view of him as he worked. You opened your laptop and opened up your notes for your latest novel. You had the major plot ideas down but you needed to flesh in your characters.

As you researched, adding pins on Pinterest for inspiration, you couldn’t forget that Terry was there no matter what else you did. 

He moved with grace like he was completely in tune with his body. The delicate way he held and used the tools drew your attention to his long, thick fingers. Every so often, his tongue stuck out of his mouth as he worked, screwing the bolt down or digging for another screw. He was a distraction and a half. 

“You need a picture?” 

You gasped as you blinked, coming back to reality. Terry looked sideways at you, his eyes low and sleepy-like. 

Wow, your thoughts were not holy. You mentally slapped some sense into yourself. This man was a stranger. A very fine, gorgeous stranger, but an hour ago, you thought he was going to kill you. Be so real right now.

“What?” You asked.

“You were staring,” he said.

“Was not,” you said and sat back on the couch.

“Was to,” he said, testing the cabinet by swinging it back and forth. It didn’t squeak so Terry dropped into a squat to investigate the cabinet below the sink. The stretch of the squat revealed a gorgeous ass to match.

That was it. The man wasn’t real. He had to be conjured from God’s own imagination. God was just showing out when he made Terry and it wasn’t fair. All that fine piece of meat…

Speaking of, you added “piece of meat” under your male character’s profile in your notes. “For your nosy information, staring off into the distance is part of my process. If you happen to step into my line of sight, that’s on you,” you said. 

“That right?” He asked and you could hear the humor in his deep voice.

“Uh-huh,” you said. You typed a few more notes, taking in tiny details about Terry. The slope of his shoulders. The curve of his brow. His high cheekbones. Your male character came together more quickly in your mind now that you had a model to work off of. 

The cabinet squeaked, breaking you of your thoughts. “It’s singing the song of your people, you know,” Terry said. 

You sucked your teeth and Terry chuckled. “Me and you are going to fight,” you said. 

“I got a ladder if you want to use it,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes and pinched your lips together. He was really going to make you scream. “Are you always this annoying?” You asked.

“I can be worse,” he said. 

You stared off into an invisible camera. You could hear the laugh track now. You shook your head and decided to ignore his shenanigans. You fell into a comfortable silence somehow, typing away as more and more ideas came to you. It was no longer weird that there was a strange man in the cabin. Despite being so big, he had an uncanny ability to take up as little space as possible. 

“What are you working on? You a writer or somethin’?” He asked. 

“Yeah, what gave me away?” You asked.

“The laptop,” he said.

You sucked your teeth and hid your smile behind your hands, pretending like you were suffering the sting of a thousand cuts. Terry chuckled. “I know you want to laugh,” he said.

“Do not,” you said and moved your hands, settling on a smile. That was all his fine ass deserved. 

“You write anything I may have read?” He asked. The hinge on the cabinet knocked against the wood as Terry pried it off with the screwdriver. His hands really were huge and you briefly wondered what it’d feel like wrapped around your ass. 

You pressed your thighs together and adjusted yourself on the couch. This man was proving dangerous afterall. One meeting with him and you were picturing disgusting scenarios to write. 

“Umm, no, my books wouldn’t be your speed,” you said. 

“I like nature though. I’m sure a chipmunk survival guide would be right up my alley,” he said.

“The door is right there,” you said, chuckling. He truly got on your damn nerves. But you wanted to hear more. His voice was smooth and deep, a weakness for sure. Your voice kink was in hyperdrive, teasing out every way he sounded out words and syllables to be replayed later in your mind. 

“C’mon, what do you write?” He asked. He glanced at you briefly before returning to replacing the hinge. He dropped to his knees as he worked, putting him in a position to arch his back. 

Mm, mm, mm. You eye-fucked him as he leaned forward, holding the hinge in place while he screwed in the first screw. He leaned back to dig into the tool box by his feet and you looked away, heat flashing over your skin. 

You did not know this man. You did not know this man. You did not –

“Not gon’ tell me?” He asked. 

“What happened to not knowing you were even there?” You asked. He was worse than your folks at home. If you wanted to be harassed, you would have saved yourself the money. 

“You’re the one staring,” he said.

You took a deep breath to keep from cussing. Maybe it was his face. Maybe he was too pretty to yell at. Or maybe he was so pretty it spurned you to want to hit him. Because as much as you wanted to smack him, you wanted to smack his ass even more. 

Sweet fuck you needed to get laid. Maybe you’d redownload that dating app your friends made you download after your last book. You deleted it because apparently, guys took offense when all you wanted was sex from them.

“I write books,” you said, chickening out at the last minute. It wasn’t exactly easy to tell people that you wrote explicit shifter romances. Urban fantasy settings let you have the best of both worlds. Modern technology combined with fantasy and magic, blended together, and created something that scratched all of your itches. 

“What kind of books?” He asked.

“Paperbacks,” you said.

Terry chuckled and shook his head. “If you don’t say, I’m going to start guessing,” he said. 

You groaned and Terry chuckled at your theatrics. You held up your hand. “Please, spare me. If you must know, I write romance novels,” you said. 

“Romance novels…like the ones where the guys have a forty inch dick, eight feet tall, and long flowing red hair?” Terry asked.

You howled with mirth as that image was now seared into your brain. “Ew, yuck! Why! Why would you make me picture that?” You asked when you had enough air in your lungs to breathe. 

“I’m just shooting the shit. That’s wassup though,” he said. 

“Thank you,” you said slowly, full suspicion. Terry chuckled but didn’t say anything further as he continued working on the cabinets. 

You went back to your brainstorming, filling in details about your female main character. You searched for her fatal flaw, the lie she told herself in order to survive before the meet cute with the main male character. 

You sighed. You ought to give them names. But you were not prepared to deal with the ads on Nameberry or clicking endlessly on name generators. But you couldn’t very well keep calling them ‘female main character’ and ‘male main character’. 

You brought up Nameberry first in the hopes that you’d find something quicker using the alphabet lists. A Q name would be cute. Qianna? Ugh, there weren’t many cute Q names. 

“I didn’t know writing could be so hard core,” Terry said.

You looked at him over the top of your laptop with a scowl. “Are you almost done? You’re stinking up the place,” you said.

Terry chuckled and shook his head. “I’ll finish out the cabinets and come by tomorrow for the shower and air filters,” he said.

“What’s wrong with the shower?” You asked. The way he said it…he could make even the most innocent words sound naughty. Because now, you were thinking of the shower. And him in the shower. And all those suds dripping down his naked body…

“Water bill is going up. So Mr. Omar wants me to check for a leak,” he said. 

You hadn’t noticed anything but you weren’t a professional handyman either. “How’d you come to be here, Terry?” You asked.

Terry slanted his eyes towards you. “Curious about me?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes. “I could go back to ignoring you,” you said. 

“I’d believe that if you weren’t staring so much.” 

You took a deep breath and Terry waved you off. “I’ll stop. I got into some deep shit a year back. I wanted to take my mind off it by being as busy as possible. Working with my hands relaxes my mind,” he said.

You nodded. You could respect that. “You live around here?” 

“Mr. Omar has another spot up the ways. I work on his properties and I get to stay for free,” he responded. 

You sighed wistfully. The things you would do to be able to have an arrangement like that. Only without the handyman part, because fuuuuuck that. “Your family doesn’t miss you?” You asked.

Terry took a measured breath and paused briefly inworking. He then screwed in the final screw and tested the cabinet door, no squeak to be found. “Naw. Not really,” he said quietly. 

Duly noted. Shutting up. This was why you weren’t that social. You had a particular knack for picking up on shit people didn’t want to discuss. You hid behind your laptop screen, hunting for more names for your main characters. 

Gabrielle was always a cute girl name to you. Now for the perfect boy name…Rashad…Theo…Wesley? Wesley and Gabrielle? That sounded kind of cute together. You put it on the list of maybes and continued hunting for different pairs just in case. Though each one you found didn’t spark as much interest as Wesley and Gabrielle. 

“I’m done for the day. In case you had a change of heart,” Terry said.

“Nice try. I didn’t get any work done because of you,” you said. 

Terry smirked, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Then my job’s really done,” he said. 

You groaned playfully and put your laptop down on the coffee table. You had pants on now but you still felt exposed. Like you were still standing there half-naked. Terry’s eyes tracked down your body as if he recalled your bare legs as well. 

You weren’t stupid. You knew he had a passing interest. But what man wouldn’t after living up in the mountains of North Carolina? You doubted he was starving for female attention and you had a book to finish, come hell or high water. Pretty distractions like him did you no justice.

You’d just have to pull out ole reliable, Laz Alonso. Thinking of that man already had you hot and bothered and the vibrator you brought with you would have to be more than sufficient to get you through the winter. 

You approached Terry cautiously as he packed away his tools. You openly stared at his backside as he closed the tool box and stood up to his full height. He was so damn tall. Guys like him just didn’t exist in real life. It wasn’t fair.

Terry walked to the front door ahead of you. You kept some distance, not wanting to give him a chance to get too close. Your alarms were still on high alert though he did a good job of putting you at ease.

As he crossed the threshold, your stomach rumbled. Loudly. In all the excitement and hubbub, you forgot to grab food. Terry turned to the sound, stopping a few feet from the front door. 

“There’s a bar down the mountain if you ever want to get out the house,” he said. 

You pinched your lips. “That doesn’t sound too bad. But maybe not today,” you said and leaned against the door jam. The cold air blew into the warm house, instantly raising goosebumps on your arms. 

Terry nodded. “You change your mind, let me know,” he said. “And if you notice anything that needs fixing, definitely let me know.”

You smiled. The thoughts he conjured…”Thanks, I truly appreciate it. But how would I let you know?”

Terry chuckled. He nodded towards the kitchen. “I left my number on the fridge. Need anything, just call.”

You glanced back towards the fridge and saw a few sticky notes on it. You turned to him and nodded. “I’m glad you turned out to not be a creep.” 

Terry nodded. “I’m glad you take your safety seriously. Most people don’t. Lock up after me,” he said. 

“Yes, sir,” you said, deepening your voice. 

Terry huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Can’t hide that voice, sorry,” he said. 

“Shut up! And get home safely, Terry,” you said. 

Terry took the steps down fast and then spun around to walk backwards. “Worried about me, chipmunk?” 

You rolled your eyes. “No, I’d rather not explain to Mr. Omar why his handyman couldn’t finish around the house,” you called out to him, raising your voice the further away he walked. 

He waved to you, making it to his truck parked a ways in front of the front door. It was a big blue truck with a larger bed than most you’ve seen. It suited him though. And his rugged appearance. He didn’t strike you as the type to drive a luxury SUV and complain about his shoes getting soaked through from the snow.

You went back into the warm house, shut the door, and locked it behind you. You tapped on it once, turning away with a smile. Now…down to real business.

True to his word, Terry came over nearly every day for the next two weeks fixing things around the house. He managed to find a way to annoy the ever loving hell out of you, but he also made you laugh so hard, you nearly snorted tea out of your nose. 

You found inspiration with the little things he did or said. Until “Wesley”, your male main character, started to move and sound like Terry in your mind. You would feel bad, except there was no chance in hell Terry would ever read this book. Ever. 

The beginning came together smoothly in your mind. Wesley, the too-serious wolf shifter investigator, was married to his work, only going home long enough to eat, shower, and sleep. Gabrielle, the famous tech genius by day, was also a major thief by night. And as a surprise to no one, Wesley didn’t know he was investigating Gabrielle’s latest crime, the theft of a magic orb from a private collection. 

Now…where could they bump into each other… a blind date sounded interesting to you but nothing too easy. Nothing too cliche. Hmm…grocery store? She stumbles upon him after shift? Maybe it’s a full moon and he protects her? 

You groaned and backspaced. You were thinking too hard on this one. This one wasn’t coming together in your mind. You looked back over your character descriptions; maybe there was something there to spark interest. 

Heavy boots stomped down the hallway from the bedroom as Terry had taken a look at the closet door. So many broken hinges. What were people renting this house for? Parties where they pretended to be animals, swinging from the ceiling? 

You snorted at your own joke just as Terry entered the living room. You looked at him and stopped laughing but Terry raised an eyebrow. “Don’t stop on my account,” he said. 

He chose a dark gray hoodie this time, the same cream colored beanie, and dark jeans. His toolbox was held loosely in his big hands, and your body flushed with heat. Lost in the brainstorming fog, you hadn’t had a chance to play with Laz and your body reminded you of that. Painfully. 

“All done in the bedroom?” You asked.

Terry eyed you and you blinked innocently at him. Even as his eyes made your pussy flutter. Down girl, down girl, DOWN girl…

“Done. Unless you found something I need to fix?” He asked. 

You squinted at him but for once, his face was unreadable. You couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a double entendre or not. Maybe you were just a horny mess. You’d have to look at your period tracker to see if you were ovulating. Because at the moment, you were one step away from asking that man to fix your dripping pussy.

“No, no, no, no. All good,” you muttered. If you couldn’t get some, then at least you could write the filthiest things for Wesley and Gabrielle. As soon as you figured out how they meet. 

Terry moved into the kitchen, setting his toolbox down. “I’ll check the windows. There’s a storm moving up here in a week or so. You good on firewood?” He asked.

“I can’t just use the heater?” You asked. 

“What if the power goes out?” He asked.

“That really happens? Or are you trying to scare me?” You asked. Well damn. You didn’t have the power going out on your list of tragedies that could happen while you were out here. You knew it could happen but it was rare that you experienced it. One of the pitfalls of staying in someone else’s place. You didn’t have all of your emergency kits. 

There was one in your rental car but that was inadequate as hell. You sighed. Fuck. You were going to have to venture into town anyway. You glanced at your laptop. You had the major story beats fleshed out, but filling in the rest was giving you a headache behind your eye. 

Still, you itched to keep going after it with a hammer. You wanted to keep pushing yourself and see if you couldn’t solve your problem. It was like you just weren’t feeling this one for some reason, despite being overjoyed at the sexy idea.

“Not trying to scare you,” he promised.

You pouted. “I haven’t tried lighting a fire yet. So I don’t know about the firewood,” you said, feeling like you were five years old for not checking something so crucial. But! You would give yourself grace. You didn’t know before but now you’d make it a point to check everything before venturing off to la la land in your head. 

Terry nodded. “I’ll check then,” he said. 

“Thank you. Really,” you said.

“My pleasure, chipmunk,” he said with a chuckle.

“You get on my damn nerves!” You yelled after him as he left the house with a booming chuckle. You shook your head as you waited for him to return. 

Though this was meant to be a retreat for you, to explore on your own without the watchful eye of your family, you kind of liked having Terry around. He managed to pull you from your spiraling about your writing in the nick of time. You were able to return to your novel with a second wave of inspiration. 

But this meet cute was kicking your Black ass. Like this should have been the easiest part. But it was often the easiest parts that tripped you up the most. 

Terry reentered the house, kicking his shoes on the mat before stepping inside. The door banged shut behind him, a strong wind passing over you before dispersing in the warm house. 

“Firewood’s low. After it thaws a bit, I’ll chop more,” he said.

Mmm, Terry…chopping wood…mm, mm, mm. You had to go on a date with Laz tonight. Maybe a little post nut clarity would work in your favor. 

“Thanks. Is there anything I can get you from the store? I’ll need to head down the mountain after all,” you said.

“Road may be slippery right now. You’d be better off going tomorrow,” he said. He pulled his toolbox closer and flipped it open. 

You placed your laptop on the coffee table in front of you and then stood up, letting your inside throw blanket slip from your shoulders. You stretched, your limbs and back popping in some areas as you twisted one way and then another. 

You crossed closer to him, going towards the kitchen for a cup of tea. If you were going to brave the outside world, you’d need a little help. As the kettle warmed up on the counter, you faced Terry and leaned against the edge. 

How to put this without sounding batshit crazy? “It’s important for me to go today,” you said. “Preferably before the sun goes down.”

Terry scrunched up his face. “Is there a special vampire version of chipmunks I don’t know about?” 

“You get on my nerves!” You said and giggled. Terry smirked with you as you giggled and you slowly quieted down. You cleared your throat. “No, it’s just important. I do take my safety seriously. Maybe more so than most.” 

Terry eyed you with those beautiful eyes of his before nodding. “Alright, I’ll take you,” he said.

“Wait, what? No, no, no, that’s not what I meant. I can get down myself,” you said. 

“No one said you couldn’t. But the roads really can get slippery if you don’t know where to look. The snow doesn’t stick to the ground like it used to and it can make driving those twisting roads more dangerous.” 

You put your hands on your hips and stepped closer, nothing but the narrow corner of the kitchen island between you. “I don’t need a babysitter, Terry,” you said. 

Terry held up his hands. “I’m not a babysitter. I’m a handyman,” he said.

You pinched your lips together to keep from smiling. He was truly going to make you put him through the wall. 

“I wouldn’t feel right letting you go down the mountain by yourself. Not that you’re not capable. But because the roads really are that dangerous. And I’d rather not have to come dig your ass out of a ditch,” he said.

“Ouch,” you said, picturing just that scenario. The roads seemed like a twisty maze, full of sharp corners and narrow lanes. Driving up when the roads were clear in the morning hadn’t been that much of a hassle but you weren’t too sure about going back down. It was why you tried to bring as much stuff with you as you could, to avoid that exact circumstance.

“Go get dressed,” he said, his voice deep and commanding. 

You prickled. “Don’t tell me what to do,” you said. Did he hear the breathiness in your voice? Because holy hell. That voice needed to boss you around more often.

Terry lifted his sleeve to look at his watch. “Daylight’s wasting,” he said.

You scowled. “I’m getting dressed because I decided to and because I concede that I don’t know these roads that well. Not because you told me to,” you said. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, eyes dancing with mischief. Ugh. You bet he ran his mama ragged growing up. 

The kettle clicked as it was done, the boiling water settling down. You poured a mug full and took it with you to the bedroom and sipped it while you got dressed. 

You opted for a simple pair of jeans, boots, and your favorite purple hoodie. You didn’t know how Terry didn’t walk around with a jacket as well. Every bite of air you felt outside chilled you down to the bone. 

Leaving your bedroom, Terry eyed you up and down before jerking his head for you to follow. You locked the door behind you and then followed Terry to his truck. Your combined footsteps crunched on the snow underfoot, leaving footprints that quickly disappeared in the gentle snowfall. 

You looked up towards the sky, grinning at the overcast sky. Flurries floated down, landing on your cheeks, eyelashes, and lips. You licked away a snowflake that landed on you and looked towards Terry, smiling softly at you.

“You must think I’m silly,” you said.

“Not what I’m thinking,” he said. You stared but he didn’t say anything more. He just smirked and held open the passenger door for you. The truck was bigger up close and you had a hard time holding onto the door and climbing in.

“Here,” Terry said, gently sliding his hands around your waist. You looked over your shoulder at him. He was close enough to see how pretty and long his eyelashes were. It wasn’t fair that he was pretty down to the individual hairs on his lashes. 

His big hands felt like heaven on your hips as he helped you lift into his truck. His hands slid from your waist and you missed the heat of it instantly. Terry cleared his throat and then closed the door. 

You eyed him as he rounded the front of his truck, climbed in, and started the car. He turned the heater on full blast and before long, you were headed down the mountain. The type of road you were on was paved and everything, but every so often, you’d hit a patch of woods on the side of the road and there were guard rails to prevent you from toppling over.

Terry took the turns slowly, but expertly. Your eyes were drawn to his hands every time the steering wheel slipped through his fingers while he turned. He kept his nails trimmed and clean, causing you to bite your lip, thinking of him fingering you. 

No, you stop that, you chastised yourself. He was not a piece of meat. But sweet fuck, the packaging was pretty.

“How’s the writing going?” Terry asked.

“Huh?” You asked. You heard him, you just needed more time to let your brain get off nasty mode. Though, who were you kidding? It stayed nasty. 

Terry repeated his question. He took a long turn that caused you to lean against your seatbelt. It dug across your chest and you moved it to a more comfortable spot. 

“Good. I think. I can never tell. But I’m still trying to figure out how the characters meet,” you said.

“It’s that important?” He asked. 

You nodded, though he didn’t see because he was being a good driver. He kept his eyes faced forward, driving carefully down the road. Every so often, the woods would break and there would be someone’s property, full of horses or cows. You marveled at a large brown cow hanging out just because. 

“The meet cute is one of the most important parts of the book. It sets the tone for the relationship,” you said.

“Yeah? How so?” He asked.

“Are you sure you want to hear about all this? You don’t have to be polite,” you said, giving him an easy out. 

“I like listening to you,” he said.

Oh. You smiled, looking down at your hands in your lap. You launched into the nitty gritty of romance writing. The less glamorous side of it. It took you a long time to learn when to linger, when to skip ahead, and when to let the characters give into the chemistry. You weren’t always sure you pulled it off, but your sales were steady so you’d take it. 

Terry listened the entire time, asking more and more questions to feed his curiosity. He still threw in teases about your voice, the subject matter, and your little smut buddies, your writing group that talked about sex all day long. 

He pulled the truck into a plaza with a few different stores spread out. “You’re gonna tell me guys don’t talk about sex all day? Why’s it a problem when women do it?” 

Terry pulled into an available parking spot and turned the car off. The chill from outside immediately crept in, forcing the warm air to evaporate. “Sure, but we don’t write it down or send porn to each other,” he said.

“We do not send porn!” You said. Liar, liar. You had sent a porn link to your group chat earlier to discuss the inspo for Wesley. 

Terry gave you an incredulous look before getting out of the truck. Your heartbeat sped up as he walked around to your side. His hands would be on you again. You liked it. Perhaps too much, because when he opened the door, you jumped. 

“You good?” He asked.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. Terry steadied you by the waist as you climbed out of his massive truck. When he set you on the ground, your hands lingered on his forearms. Realizing you were holding on, you hummed and stepped away with a smile.

You went shopping, picking up essentials for a quick emergency kit. Flashlight with extra batteries, bottled water, granola bars with a long shelf life, back up portable chargers for your phone, extra over the counter meds, first aid kit, whistle, Lysol wipes, hand sanitizer, paper soap, and matches. 

Terry’s eyebrows rose with each new item you picked up, working off your memory of your home and work kits. So you liked to be prepared, so what. You were only mildly embarrassed as he walked with you down each aisle, adding in things you hadn’t thought of for snow weather. Extra thick socks, thermals, extra scarf and beanie. Just in case. 

“Thank you, Terry, really,” you said as Terry helped put the items in the bed of his truck. 

“You can thank me by swinging by the bar with me. I’m pretty hungry. You?” He asked. 

You grinned. “Was this your plan all along?” You asked.

“Maybe,” he said and smirked. Ugh. He was too fucking pretty. It made you sick really. Sick with fucking lust. Maybe a drink was just what the doctor ordered. 

“Fine. But you could have just asked, you know,” you said.

“I know.” After he helped you in the car, he made the short trip to the bar he told you about.

The parking lot was large but mostly empty. It was nearing the evening and the temperature dropped bit by bit, your breath escaping in clouds. Terry escorted you up the long wooden stairs towards the earthy bar.

Inside, the place was bigger than you expected with two distinct sections. On the right, there were dining tables set up for bigger groups. Some of those tables were filled up and there were TVs stationed around turned to various games. 

Terry said hello to the staff as he escorted you to the left, where the main bar was set up. The tables on this side sat higher off the ground and it had bar stools pushed close to the table. There was a door that led out onto a patio for outside dining but no one sat outside at the moment. 

Terry pulled out a bar stool for you and helped you climb on. He effortlessly sat, his long legs having no trouble touching the ground. Bastard. 

The bartender, introduced as Adam, came around to take your drink orders. “I am a cider girlie. What’s good?” You asked Adam.

Adam stroked his silky salt and pepper beard and looked behind him. “We got a few things. How you feel about blueberry?” 

“Blueberry cider?” You asked.

Adam grinned. “If you don’t like it, it’s on the house,” he said. Adam leaned forward on the bar top and you smiled back. Oh, he was adorable. 

Terry cleared his throat. “How’s Melissa?” Terry asked, bringing a beer to his lips and sipping. 

Adam’s smile didn’t waver. “She left me. I’m all alone in my modest, but spacious house,” Adam said, never taking his eyes from you.

You giggled and waved him off. “Oh stop!” You said. 

“With a beautiful woman like you, how can I?” Adam asked. 

Terry made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a growl. You side eyed him as he shared a glance with Adam. Adam knocked on the bar top with a grin and then moved away to grab you a blueberry cider. He popped the top for you and waited for you to take a sip.

It was…actually delicious. You nodded. “Okay, not bad, Adam,” you said.

Adam’s permanent grin spread wider. “I aim to please,” he said. 

You hid your giggle behind your hand and shook your head. “Did Melissa really leave you?” You asked. 

Adam groaned and looked at Terry. “Thanks, T. Yes, she really did. But only to visit her parents. I still needed to work,” Adam said. 

“Aw, why’d you get stuck with holiday duty? You piss off the boss?” 

“He is the boss,” Terry grumbled. 

You smiled at him. These two. “I bet ya’ll get into so much trouble together,” you said.

“Too much. And it was always Terry’s idea,” Adam said. 

“Fuck outta here,” Terry said and chuckled. Adam launched into a story about growing up with Terry, running around like the latch key kids they were. Adam had dared Terry to jump off a rock formation near a creek which got both their asses handed to them by Terry’s mama. 

You laughed through the story, Adam an amazing storyteller. Terry filled in details grudgingly, pulled from him the more Adam kept going. 

Your food arrived in the middle of Adam speaking. You ordered tiger sauce wings and the chicken was huge. It came with fries and you immediately dug in, your hunger taking over something vicious. 

Adam finally left you two alone as Adam had to tend to more and more people as the night dragged on. 

“Your friend is funny,” you said. 

Terry grunted. “But he doesn’t get on your nerves?” He asked. 

“Nope. Guess you bring it out of me,” you said. 

Terry rolled his eyes but dug into his own steak and potatoes. You both lobbed questions back and forth, learning more about each other now than over the two weeks he fixed minor things around the rental. 

You downed cider after cider, getting lost in the way Terry told stories. He had a slower approach than Adam, but he was no less engaging. With that voice of his, he set the scene perfectly as a narrator. 

The cider warmed you from the inside out, making your face flush with heat. But it was Terry’s voice that had something else flushing as well. Your pussy fluttered every time he licked the corner of his mouth while he spoke. 

It ached every time you spoke and his focus was completely on you. He didn’t blink away, he didn’t look down, he didn’t interrupt. It only highlighted how much you craved that. Your family and friends only had so much patience for you before they were off, dominating the conversation in ways you couldn’t actively participate in. It felt more like they just wanted someone to talk at, not with.

Not the case with Terry. He included you in the conversation, stretching it, and flowed effortlessly from one topic to the next. There was rarely a lull in your conversation and your heads dipped closer and closer together the more you spoke. 

The crisp apple and blueberry taste coated your tongue but also loosened your lips. “I see it all so clearly in my head, but then I get too much in my head, and it all comes crashing down. I can’t connect with this one for some reason,” you said. 

Terry had asked you more about novel writing, the concept completely foreign to him. He confessed that he didn’t think that much effort went into it. Maybe not for others. But for you, it felt like you agonized over every single word. Were you true to the characters? Did anything make sense? Would it hit for others like it hit for you? 

“Why’s it not connecting for you?” Terry sipped his second beer, as sober as a judge. While you felt too relaxed. 

You sighed and looked away from him, peeling the label off of the bottle with your nail. “No offense, but men. I usually have a man to play with while writing to keep the inspiration going but sex-only arrangements only work if the guy initiates it. If I tell them I don’t want anything more, that’s when they get in their feelings,” you said with a shiver. 

Terry’s grin spread slowly across his lips, revealing a neat row of teeth. Oh, my. He was damn delicious. “So you treat them like a ho and they get mad?” 

“Yes!” You tapped his shoulder. Finally, a man who got you. “Like ugh, I know what I want and it’s not these dudes I find. I won’t settle for anything less than what I write about on the daily. So no, I don’t want to date, a girl just wants to get fucked, you know? No talking, no giggling, just work me over like a screen door in a hurricane and then get the fuck out,” you said. You nodded your head to emphasize your point. 

You sighed deeply and smiled at Terry, your eyes drooping. You were a little tipsy. Terry lifted an eyebrow and then your words echoed in your mind. Your jaw dropped. Oh god. You were mortified. 

“I-I am so sorry. That was so rude,” you said.

Terry lifted his fingers in a small wave. “Naw, you’re good,” he said.

“No, wow. That was inappropriate. I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry. We should go, please,” you said. 

Terry turned towards you on the bar stool. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one that asked, chipmunk,” he said. 

Your cheeks were still on fire. It was one thing to talk like this with your girlfriends or your sister, or even your writing group. That was normal. But you talked with Terry as if you’d known him forever. It took you one business year to make friends, putting them through the gauntlet to see if they’d actually stick around. More than that to let your freak flag fly. 

“If you truly want to go, we will. But I promise, we’re cool. You don’t have to censor yourself around me,” he said.

And somehow, that permission made your shoulders droop from around your ears. You nodded, taking a sip of water. You didn’t have to apologize for being true to yourself. And it was like you crossed some invisible social boundary with Terry. Conversation flowed more smoothly, your heads dipped closer together, and your shoulders brushed against each other.

“So what are you looking for then? If not these dudes you meet,” he said. 

You spent the rest of the night diving into past dating history and what you looked for in a partner. Terry shared what he liked as well. Someone that laughed at his world-stopping jokes, someone kind, and someone goofy.

Instantly, you compared yourself to the small list of women he’d been with. The traits he looked for. Did you fit the bill? Were you someone he could shove through the mattress? 

It seemed wild to think about that even though you already swore him off. It wasn’t that you weren’t interested. You were too interested. Too aware. Too conscious of him. Of the way he moved, talked, or laughed. You anticipated what would make him smile, what would make him groan, or what would make him roll his eyes. 

He was hands down the only man that could make you lose your marbles and you hadn’t even taken him to bed. The thought filled you with so much dread and fear, that you had to push him away to stay sane. You had to keep him firmly on the other side of the brain before your inner romantic started planning your wedding in your mind.

You could easily fall for Terry Richmond. And you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to survive if he couldn’t. Not in the way you wanted. Not in the way you craved. Not in the way you wrote about, book after book, story after story, chasing a phantom man in your mind that loved you in the way you hungered for. 

Adam called last call and gave Terry the sober vibe check. Which consisted of Terry holding his middle finger to nose while standing on one leg for a minute. You laughed at the sight, instantly taking a picture because there was no chance in hell you wanted to forget the look on his face. 

He flipped you the bird while he settled with Adam and then escorted you outside. The wind was bitter, biting through your jacket and hoodie. Terry stepped closer to you, taking the brunt of it as the wind came from his direction.

You joked on the way to his truck, nudging him every so often as you walked. The liquor loosened you both up, navigating the newfound familiarity together. Whether it was by intention or by accident, the touches were not unwelcome.

At his car, you leaned against the truck. You nudged your chin towards the bar. “It’s a great place. I see why you wanted to show it to me,” you said.

He leaned a hand against the car, blocking most of the wind. But it had the added benefit of bringing him warmth closer. He smelled delicious like the outside air he belonged to. Like pine needles and cinnamon. 

“Figured you might. Did it help with your book?” He asked.

You gasped. “Was that the goal?” You asked.

He shrugged. “A little. I figured you were too in your head,” he said.

“You think you know me, Terry Richmond,” you said and tapped his chest. He rocked back on his heels as if it actually hurt him and you rolled your eyes.

“No. But I’m learning to,” he said.

You giggled nervously as you blinked up at him. Light from the signs on the bar barely reached, but it highlighted him from behind. Light cut across his jaw and cheek and made his lashes glow at the tip.

Terry stepped closer, giving you all the room to step away or block him. But that was the last thing your body wanted. You stayed put, sliding your hands against his broad chest. Your fingers curled around the fabric and he sighed. 

He brought his face closer to yours and inhaled. You hummed just as his lips pressed against yours. There was nothing hurried about it. Nothing filthy or salacious. But it warmed you from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. 

Terry drew back and looked you in the eyes. You didn’t need to say anything. Didn’t need to share anything. You supposed kissing him was inevitable. Fated. 

Terry tucked you into his truck and his hands lingered, reluctantly letting you go only because you were seated and there was nothing to help with anymore. You smiled at him and he finally closed the door. It gave you enough time to let loose the breath you held as he walked around.

He drove carefully back up the mountain. Snow had stuck to the road in some areas, so Terry went extra slow to be careful. If it weren’t for his huge lights, you wouldn’t be able to see a got damn thing.

It was pitch black outside, as if the world had disappeared during your ascent. As soon as the headlights passed on to something else, the darkness encroached and gobbled it back up. It was trippy. Yet strangely called to your inner emo. 

The ride was mostly silent, soft music playing on the radio too low for you to pick up words. Terry found your rental without a hitch and came around to let you out of his truck. He walked with you to the front door and hovered outside of it while you stepped in.

You put your head on the door, swinging back and forth. In a minute, Terry would have to fix that one too. You giggled at your joke and Terry smirked.

“What’s so funny, chipmunk?” He asked. 

You told him and Terry groaned and shook his head. “That was a terrible joke,” he said.

“What! No it wasn’t!” You squeaked with your outrage, sputtering for the right words to defend yourself. You could call your jokes bad, he couldn’t. You didn’t know why just yet, but he couldn’t. 

“Was to,” he said and stepped closer. Terry’s eyes drooped as he leaned his shoulder against the door frame. He took up the majority of it, so large and imposing. Yet his energy was nothing but peaceful and quiet, setting you at ease in a way only a thorough cleaning could achieve.

“Was not,” you said, holding your ground. You wanted to invite him in. Wanted to go ahead and explore what he started.

Terry sighed and dug his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Goodnight, chipmunk,” he said. 

Oh. You matched his sigh and rolled your eyes. “Good night, Terry,” you said. You’d have to think of a good nickname for him. Like Big Bird…Clifford…whenever it came to you, you were gonna hit him with it. 

Terry stepped back and waited while you closed and locked the door. You heard his boots travel down the steps and into his awaiting truck. 

You leaned your back against the cold door and sighed once more. If you were a chipmunk, then the only tree you wanted to climb was him.

“Girl,” you said, drawing the word out.

“Girl, what?” Your best friend, Whitley, asked. 

“This motherfucker out here chopping wood on Christmas Eve,” you said. Terry stopped by a week later, finally coming around to chop more wood for the fireplace. You had forgotten all about it, feeling better now that you had an upgraded emergency kit.

But then Terry took off his hoodie, revealing a silver blue T-shirt that really brought out the blue in his eyes. He blamed the storm, criticizing you for not paying more attention to the weather channel.

Um, and miss bingeing Alex Cross for the umpteenth time? Yeah, no thanks. You called him an old man while he grinned and went outside, round to the side. There was a tree stump there and a small pile of chopped firewood. 

Terry took the larger, whole pieces and went to work. Some he cracked in one go, his powerful muscles bunching and contracting with the effort. The axe was decisive, snapping and echoing in the surrounding woods. 

Terry used the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow and you got a front row seat to his abs. 

You moaned into the phone and Whitley grunted. “Girl, uh uh. Put me on video or something. You can’t be moaning like that and I don’t get to see too.”

Fair, she was right. You hurried and put her on video, tilting the phone to look at him through the window. Though he faced forward, he rarely looked up while he worked on the firewood as if it stole something from him.

You bit your lip, needing that same focus while he fucked you stupid. You wanted to be fucked so hard that you forgot your ABCs.

“Oh damn,” Whitley said, moaning with you. 

Lord, he was fine. This so wasn’t fair. Not even in the slightest. “And you ain’t rode that big dawg yet?” Whitley asked.

“Girl, no. Look at him. He would snap my ass in half and then eat my heart on his way out,” you said. 

Terry took a break, lodging the axe in the tree stump. He wiped his forehead with his shirt once more and you and Whitley sighed in appreciation. Wisps of his breath clouded in the air, sunlight shining brightly on Terry. 

“I say this with all the love in my heart. You stupid ho, go ride that man!” Whitley yelled into the phone. Since she was on speaker, you ducked in case Terry looked towards you. He didn’t need to see you being a creeper. 

When you deemed it safe, you slowly stood back up. Terry stretched his thick biceps, causing his shirt to ride up. His belly peeked from underneath, giving you a glimpse of his belly button. You felt no better than an 18th century man but your core was in full agreement. Your clit throbbed, painfully. His tattoos poked out from beneath his short sleeves and you wondered what the story was behind each one. 

“Now what if he looked over here? Now we both looking stupid ‘cause you don’t know how to shut up,” you said. 

Whitley giggled and sighed. Terry picked up the axe and continued chopping. He leaned forward, grabbing a whole piece, and then placed it on the stump. He hefted the axe above his head and let it fall with force behind it, splitting it in two. 

“Got damn. Maybe I need to visit you up there, friend,” Whitley teased.

“Um, no,” you said.

Whitley giggled. “Then if that’s your man, go get him!” 

You grumbled to her, listing off reasons why you absolutely shouldn’t. But night after night, little Laz Alonso wasn’t cutting it. Ever since the bar, ever since the kiss, you hadn’t been able to keep him from your mind.

It was his face that you stroked yourself too. His voice that you moaned to. His eyes that set you off but it was empty. Sure it felt good, but you needed more. You needed the heft of a man on top of you, splitting you open, talking nasty in ya ear.

Spicy audios and a vibrator just didn’t have the same effect. Not when you wanted some body heat. When you wanted the rough scratch of a beard on your skin. Fingers buried to the knuckle. 

“What am I gonna do when he get me addicted to that monster in his pants and I can’t have no more? You really want me out here like a crackhead, begging for dick? You wanna come bail me out of jail because I was banging on his door at 3am?” You asked.

Whitley howled with laughter as you kept going, describing all the ways Terry would have you acting out of character. And you wouldn’t feel a lick of shame about it. You’d stand outside buck ass nekkid in the cold, brutal winter if it meant you’d get to hop on it again. 

“Stop, my stomach hurt! Stop it!” Whitley yelled in between pulls of air. 

You finally giggled with her, eyes still on Terry. The pile of wood next to him grew more and more and you wondered how long he expected this storm to last? Or if he had that little faith in the central heating. 

Terry glanced towards the house and you ducked, heart in your throat. “I think he saw me,” you whispered. 

Whitley giggled and shook her head. “How you gonna explain that one?” She asked. 

“I’ll tell if you if works,” you said. You hung up with her and then grabbed two bottles of water from the pantry. 

You threw on your hoodie and jacket, leaving the house. You slid-walked towards the side of the house, the snow giving way and making you earn it. You huffed as you made it around the side.

Terry stopped chopping and watched you struggle. He lodged the axe into the stump and then placed his hands on his narrow hips. The silver blue T-shirt clung to his body with sweat. If he were to wring it out, you’d bet it’d fill a bucket. 

When you got closer, Terry lifted an eyebrow. “You know chipmunks s’posed to hibernate in the winter,” he said. 

“Oh shut up,” you said, shaking your head. “I saw you struggling so I decided to come give you the break you needed.”

You handed him the bottle of water and then unscrewed your own. “Saw me struggling, huh,” he said, his voice deeper than normal. Or were you imagining it? Fuck. You were losing touch with reality now. 

His eyes slanted towards you as he tilted his head back and gulped down the bottle of water. He didn’t stop for a breath. He kept going, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the action. His bicep could probably crush steel. Veins ran down the length of his arm and saliva pooled in your mouth. 

“That’s a lot of firewood,” you said, your voice unnaturally rough. You cleared your throat and drank your own water. 

You finally figured out how Wesley and Gabrielle meet so the rest of Act 1 flew from your fingers. You made it to the part where they have sex for the first time and Gabrielle would discover that Wesley was an investigator. 

You’d had sex on the brain all day. A little obsessively so considering it was Christmas Eve. So Terry being out here, looking like that and chopping wood like that... It was like a cosmic nudge in the pants to ride him ‘till the cows came home. Your resolve weakened the more you spent in his presence. This was why you needed to stop listening to Whitley’s ass. 

“Want to make sure you’re prepared,” he said, his accent seeping through his words. 

You drank more of your water, shivering as a brutal wind kicked up. “Oh, that’s cold,” you said. Was that the universe telling you to take your ass in the house? Surely, it would be on your side, telling you to keep your eye on the prize and not fuck the incredibly hot handyman. 

The wind blew again, the cold light of the sun disappearing all together. You looked upwards. Clouds rolled across the sky as the temperature dropped ten degrees. “Fuck,” you shivered, rubbing your arms. 

Terry scowled. “The storm’s early. Go get inside,” he said. 

Overhead, trees swayed violently with the gathering wind. “What about the firewood?” You asked.

“I got it,” he said. He waved for you to go ahead of him but you didn’t want to just leave him to do all the work. He moved carefully, heading to the side of the house and grabbed a blue tarp. He jogged to the stump and loaded the tarp with firewood. “Go get inside!” 

“It’ll be faster if I help,” you called back over the wind. 

You ran towards the stack, helping him load it with the firewood he chopped. He scowled but he couldn’t argue with you once you started. In no time, you had it loaded with as much firewood as he could move. 

He pushed you towards the house, pulling on the tarp and dragged it across the snow. Snow flurries kicked up and swirled around you as you ran-slid towards the front door. Terry was hot on your heels, huffing, clouds of breath in front of him. 

You held onto the railing as you jogged up the steps, already knowing Terry wouldn’t want you to help with the wood. He gathered up all four corners and lifted with his knees, carrying the tarp up the stairs like it was nothing. 

You opened the door, the wind doing most of the work. The door banged against the wall and Terry stomped in after and dropped the firewood. “Close the door,” he said and went back outside.

“Wait!” You called after him. He kept walking so you did as he said, closing the door behind him. You had to push against the wind but you finally managed to close it. You looked outside of the window beside the door. 

The snow blew around hard and fast, obscuring visibility minute by minute. You could barely make out Terry’s outline as he ran to his truck and opened the bed. He pulled out a bag and then closed the bed of the truck, locking it behind him. He jogged towards the front door, holding his bare arm up as he did so. 

A second later, he opened the door, entered, and then closed it behind him. He shook himself out, flinging snow across the entrance. “I’ll clean that up,” he said. Water clung to his scruffy beard and plastered his shirt to his body. His nipples poked out and you dragged your eyes away. 

“You need to get in the shower, now,” you said.

“What?” Terry asked and his eyes went wide. 

“The last thing you want to do is get sick. Go warm your body up in the shower. I’ll throw your clothes in the dryer,” you said. Your words sunk in a second later and then you giggled. “I mean, leave your clothes outside the door, obviously.”

Terry smirked, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” he said. He nodded towards the fireplace. “You know how to start that? We should conserve power tonight, just in case.” 

“I agree. But no, still haven’t learned how to start it. You go get in the shower, the heater will be fine for now,” you said. 

Terry looked like he wanted to argue, pinching his lips together. But then he shook his head and took off towards the bathroom. He peeled off his shirt as he went and you bit your lip. 

Sweet fuck, that was not what you meant! Got damn. Your eyes widened as you looked at the dip in his back. The expanse of shoulders. The tattoo on the back of his right arm. Sweet fuck, almighty. 

Terry looked back at you as he went into the bathroom. He ducked to enter and then shut the door behind him. He caught you staring. He so, so caught you staring. A beat later, he opened the door and tossed out his shirt, jeans, and socks. Not his underwear though. Bastard.

You put the items in the dryer and let it run for a cycle. You closed the closet doors on the other side of the kitchen and then started up a kettle. Your fingers tapped on the countertop waiting for the water to finish.

All the while, the shower was loud through the walls. On the other side of it, Terry was showering. He was naked. He was running soap all over that massive, long body. Your panties grew so damp, you wondered if you had enough time to dry them before he got out of the shower.

You needed all the strength you could muster. Because right now, you couldn’t remember a single fucking reason why you couldn’t hop on Terry’s dick. Really, what was the price of heartbreak? A wild ride in the sack? It just may be worth it for Terry Richmond. 

The shower turned off just as the kettle clicked off beside you. You jumped and then closed your eyes. You were an adult. You could keep yourself in check. 

You poured some tea for yourself but you weren’t sure what he drank. You didn’t like beer so you didn’t have any in the house. You weren’t expecting any visitors. 

Wind blew against the window making you jump once more. You were too hyperaware. Too attune with every little noise or screech.

You retrieved his clothes from the dryer and then knocked on the door. Terry opened it a crack and you made sure to keep your eyes on his face. Nowhere south. “Clothes,” you said.

“Thanks,” he said. He opened the door wider and grabbed his clothes from you. His fingers grazed yours and you gasped. He was so soft and warm. Steam poured out the room, fanning across your face. He smelled like your soap and you bit back a moan.

“Yup,” you squeaked and then left him to it. Tea, tea, all you needed was some tea. Some sleepytime tea to do the trick. But you weren’t sure how you were going to sleep with a storm raging outside.

You hated to admit it but your winter getaway turned out to be anything but idyllic. And you had a teensy, smallish, not even worth mentioning fear of storms. It was the bigness of it. The fact that it made you feel so tiny, so insignificant, so aware of your mortality. That nature was the foremost authority and you lived and breathed by its good graces. 

It was an annoying feeling to you as a writer. You created entire worlds at whim. Played with characters like dolls. But you held no such power in real life. 

Terry left the bathroom, his footfalls softer now that he wasn’t wearing boots. Freshly dressed in his warm clothes, he looked younger without his beanie. He sported a mini, curled afro atop his head. It gave him a mountain man sort of look, like he would be at home out there in the woods. 

“Thanks,” he said. 

You nodded. “I wasn’t sure if you were into tea,” you said.

Terry waved you off. “Water is fine,” he said. He moved over towards the living room and opened the tarp on the floor. He knelt on one leg as he worked on stoking a fire to life. The flames gathered traction, flicking orange and yellow light across his features. 

You rolled the bag of tea around a spoon to squeeze excess water out. Then you doctored it how you liked, adding in cold water. You grabbed a bottle of water and headed to the living room as Terry finished with the fireplace.

Terry accepted the bottle, drinking down half of it while he turned off the main heater and sat on the other side of the couch. 

“Looks like we’re having a sleepover. Did you plan this too?” You asked.

“If I were powerful enough to control the weather, I’d use it for more nefarious purposes,” Terry said.

“Like what?” You asked, your curiosity piqued. 

Terry chuckled. “And give up my evil plan? Naw. I ain’t grow up on a chicken farm,” he said.

You laughed and shook your head. “What?” You asked, chuckling more. 

Terry laughed with you. “Chicken Run?” He asked.

“Shut up, you ain’t seen that movie,” you said.

Terry scoffed. “Bet,” he said.

“What’s the young rooster’s name?” You asked.

“Rocky, try again,” he said.

You squinted at him as you thought of your next question. Something only a true fan would know. “Who was the first chicken to go through Mrs. Tweedy’s chicken pie machine?” You asked.

Terry sucked in a breath and widened his eyes. “Okay, tough. But it was Ginger,” he said. 

You looked at him and raised your eyebrows, trying to cast doubt on his answer. He matched your stare, smirk on his lips, and didn’t fold. 

“Okay, fine, you’re right,” you huffed.

Terry laughed and drank the rest of his bottled water. You fell into a comfortable silence, both lost in your thoughts. “I haven’t seen Chicken Run in a while,” Terry said.

“Me neither. We should see if it’s streaming,” you said. You turned on the TV and snuggled under your inside throw blanket. With the heat blowing across your legs, you felt warmer than the heater could ever achieve. 

Before long, you were both laughing at the shenanigans of the claymation movie. You both tossed out quotes, going back and forth about things you noticed in the movie. 

One movie turned to two, throwing on How the Grinch Stole Christmas. It was among your favorite Christmas movies and a perfect distraction against the raging storm outside. The wind knocked harshly against the window every so often, causing your eyes to dart to it and your heart rate to speed up. You hated being such a baby sometimes. 

But, giving yourself grace, storms really could be scary. If it knocked the power out, it could also knock over trees into the house or onto someone’s car. Storms were devastating and of course you’d find them a bit scary. 

Terry scooted closer. “You afraid of storms?” He asked. His voice was like butter melting over a freshly baked biscuit. You hummed and decided to be honest. 

“There’s so many things that could happen in a storm,” you told him. 

He nodded. “I got something to help with that,” he said. 

You turned to him and hummed for him to respond. He scooted closer on the couch, close enough for your shoulder to lean on his. You giggled at his solution. “Stop hugging the throw too,” he murmured and you giggled. 

“This helps storms, huh?” 

Terry nodded. “Hell yeah. Feel better?” 

You pinched your lips together but went on and nodded. “It has its merits.”

As you worked on Wesley and Gabrielle’s relationship, you couldn’t help picturing how Terry would be in a relationship. Would he be the perfect boyfriend? Would he be as annoying as he usually was, always poking at you? 

“Before we get comfortable, we should grab some drinks. I only have tequila or wine,” you said. 

“I’ll take the tequila,” he said, making a face. You laughed and rolled your eyes at him. You got up and went to the kitchen, grabbing your favorite tequila and two shot glasses. You turned off the kitchen light on your way back, bathing the living room in darkness. The flames in the fireplace flickered across the wall, still pumping out delicious heat. 

You poured a shot for each of you, clinked the glasses, and then drank. During the movie, you talked and joked, also quoting this movie back and forth. Terry’s laugh was so adorable and infectious. Was there anything on this man that didn’t scramble your brain? 

He breathed and you were ready to drop your panties and beg for his dick. You were not above begging. But your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. You wanted it too badly but you wrestled with your brain. You shouldn’t but you oh so wanted to.

“Can I confess something?” Terry asked. 

You turned your head to him. You had managed to curl into his side, soaking in the heat of his body. You felt every rise and fall of his chest. You licked your lips and Terry’s eyes drooped down. 

“What is it, Terry?” You asked. 

Terry licked his own lips and you couldn’t resist following the movement with your eyes. His lips were so big, so juicy. 

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our kiss,” he said. His voice was so soft, so velvety, that your shoulders dropped and you leaned in. 

“Me neither,” you said. You shook your head. The kiss invaded all of your senses, leading to distraction even when Terry wasn’t there. All week, you caught yourself veering off to replay the kiss over and over again.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the moment you threatened me with a poker,” he said and smiled. 

Your chest rose and fell in waves, processing what he was saying. “Don’t play with me, Terry Richmond,” you said. You just couldn’t stand it if he were. 

“When you said what you said at the bar, I wondered what kind of man you’d take to bed. And then I started thinking that I wanted to be the only one in your bed,” he said.

Your mouth dropped open. It’s not that you didn’t know you were gorgeous. It’s not that you didn’t think you could pull someone like Terry. It was the fact that he said it so plainly. So openly. So clearly for your brain to not misinterpret his words. You didn’t have to guess with him. And that was one of the sexiest things ever. 

You blinked a few times. “I–”

“And then I started hoping that you’d let me audition,” he said.

“Audition?” You asked. What the hell was he on about? 

Terry grinned and then leaned closer, bringing his large hand to cup your face. His thumb stroked across your cheek. Your eyes slowly blinked closed, your skin tingling where he stroked. His warm breath fanned across your face, smelling faintly like tequila. 

He rubbed his lips against yours but it wasn’t a full kiss. And that made you want it more. You wanted his lips on yours. You would simply die without it. 

“Let me show off my skills. If I do well, you can use me as inspiration for your latest book,” he said.

You giggled, biting the inside of your cheek. “And what do you get out of the arrangement?” You asked.

“You,” he said.

You gasped, staring into his eyes. The low light made his features stand out more. It made his expressions more severe, more striking. You were at a loss for words. This man handed over everything you wanted on a silver platter.

You were so nervous to accept. You had been let down in so many ways by so many men. You had reached a point where you weren’t actively looking for a relationship. You didn’t need some raggedy boy in your phone. 

But Terry was a man. A huge, perfect, wonderful man who got on your last fucking nerve. He always had something smart to say or some new quip to lob at you. But he was also thoughtful. Kind. Funny. Sexy as fucking sin. 

“Are you sure? What if you don’t pass?” You asked.

“Then I’d like to keep trying until you tell me to leave,” he said. He licked your lips and you sighed, ending on a moan. 

“Okay, what will you do for your audition?” You asked. The tequila traveled straight south, making your pussy throb. Your inner thighs tingled even as your breathing increased. 

Terry smirked. He finally crashed his lips to yours, kissing you harshly, brutally. Like he had merely been caged before and you finally set him free. You brought your hands up to his neck, pulling him closer. 

Your moans combined and danced as you leaned closer, pushed harder, kissed back just as fiercely as he did. 

His hands moved underneath your shirt, hands wrapped around your sides, gripping onto your meaty flesh. You moaned, arching your back into him. Terry pulled you closer, made you straddle him. 

An impressive bulge rubbed against your core and you moaned, closing your eyes. Fuck, you were overstimulated already and nothing even happened yet. You knew he had a monster in his pants. You just knew it. 

You made out with Terry like a horny teenager, clashing teeth and biting at each other’s lips. You grinded in his lap, rubbing yourself against him. He groaned, hands lowering to cup your ass. He took two big scoops and squeezed hard, causing you to squeak.

“O-Oh fuck,” you moaned. The pain hurt so good. He kneaded your ass and you dropped your forehead to his shoulder. You moaned low, breathing harshly through your nose. 

“You are so fucking beatiful,” he murmured against your temple. 

“Terry, fuck, I’ve wanted you so bad,” you moaned. 

“Why didn’t you say?” He asked. 

You shook your head. You couldn’t speak. Didn’t want to speak. Your body moved on its own accord, rubbing against his hot erection. 

Terry moved one of his hands to grip your chin and force you to look at him. “Why?” He demanded. 

“You could break me. And that scares me,” you whispered. 

“How do you think I feel?” He asked. “You could rip me apart.” 

You crashed your lips to his, scratched at the nape of his neck. He returned his hand to your ass to squeeze, knead, and mold with his large hands. You moaned into his mouth, needing more friction. 

Terry grabbed you by the waist and pulled you off of him. He made quick work of your jeans, pulled them down your legs, and off in one quick snap. You squealed with laughter, at the physicality of him, yet he still remained sweet and gentle. 

Terry peeled your panties from your body and he groaned. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he whispered, his voice one of awe. He slipped your panties off as well, biting your thighs as he pulled, and tossed it over his shoulder. 

Your pussy throbbed looking at the way he stared at the heart of you. The smell of your arousal permeated the air and you moaned, smelling how turned on you were. He pushed at your thighs until they rested against your stomach. 

He blew his breath across your pussy gently. “Oh, shit,” you twitched, hand reaching down to cling to his afro.

Terry groaned and blew once more, lowering his face until he was close enough to lick you from entrance to clit and back again. Your back bucked off of the couch, grinding into his face. 

Terry moaned and wrapped his thick lips around your clit. He suckled sloppily, licking you like a dog with its favorite toy. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” you moaned, your stomach caving in and your eyes rolling back. 

His tongue was the sweetest torture of pleasure against your pussy. His drool mixed with your essence, causing his sloppy eating to echo in the living room. “Fuck, that pussy good,” he sputtered against your sopping wet pussy. 

“Oh fuck!” You screamed, your orgasm tearing through you too fast for you to comprehend. You flopped on the couch as your body shook and twisted with pleasure. Terry kept eating, slurping up the latest wave of essence on his tongue.

His beard grew more wet, sliding against your skin. It tickled and you wiggled, trying to move. Terry locked his arms around your thighs, shoving his face further into your pussy. His nose tickled the top of your mound and you groaned and moaned, loving the attention but unable to stand the tickling. 

“Hmmmm,” he moaned, shaking his head. His tongue flicked across your clit without mercy, suckling on the swollen nub. 

“Shit! Shit! Wait! Fuck!” You panted. You were out of breath, hardly able to make any sounds as Terry continued to eat you like a starving man to bread. Your stomach caved in once more, your lungs refusing to work any longer. 

You pushed at his forehead but he kept going. Your eyes rolled backwards, your thighs clenched around his head as another orgasm tore through you, yanking your soul around like a ping pong ball. 

Your pussy clenched and unclenched, wanting attention too. “Fuck me, fuck me,” you begged. You loved that he was a munch, Loved, loved it. But fuck you needed to be filled up. You needed to feel him deep in it. 

“Not done yet,” Terry said. He came up for air, his face shiny with your juices. He licked his lips and closed his eyes, savoring it. When he opened it again, he narrowed his eyes. “Show me those pretty chocolate nipples.” 

Your belly flipped painfully. Pussy throbbed. You lifted your shirt slowly, giving him a slight tease. Your overheated skin tingled with awareness as the cotton shifted across your body. 

You revealed your titties and Terry groaned and rolled his hips into the bed. He winked at you. “Play with them while I eat,” he said. He returned to lapping at your pussy and your thighs squeezed around his face. 

You were too sensitive. You jerked with every flick, every suck, and every glide of his lips. Your thighs shook with passion, tingled, and tensed. But you managed to pinch and roll your nipples, squeezing in time with his licks. “Please, please, Terry, fuck! I can’t!” 

He pushed two fingers inside to pump in and out of your entrance. He wrapped his lips around your clit and used some kind of devil, voodoo magic to create a sucking vortex that had you seeing an entire galaxy behind your eyelids. Your mind flashed with dense clouds of pinks, violets, fiery oranges, and the softest greens. 

You lost all ability to speak as another orgasm was wrung from you. You bowed forward, pushing his head into your clit as you came and came with howls and screams loud enough to wake the dead. 

White and black spots danced in your vision as you suffered through aftershocks, ribbons of pleasure causing your nerves to go haywire. “Fuck, fuck,” you twitched. 

You didn’t have the words nor the presence of mind to process what the hell just happened. You were spent. Put out. Dangle you on the clothesline to air out because you were out of it. 

Terry came up for air with a growl, kissing your inner thighs, then your stomach, then climbed up your body to capture your lips with his own. He smeared your essence all over your face and you locked tongues with him eagerly. 

You tasted too good on his tongue. Smelled too good on his lips. “Did I pass? I get the job?” Terry asked in between kissing you stupid. 

You nodded and licked your lips, tasting more of yourself. “You got it, you got it,” you panted. 

“I don’t have a condom, but–”

“I’m clean and on the pill,” you said. You kept up with that shit religiously, setting an alarm and everything. You were too chicken to try any other methods. 

“I swear I’m clean,” he said, going back to kissing your lips. You moaned, and rubbed against his body. 

“Fuck me,” you whined. 

Terry chuckled. “Keep begging, chipmunk,” he groaned. He managed to continue kissing you while he ditched his jeans and underwear. His jeans dropped to the floor with a loud flop. His shirt went next, his muscles bunching as he lifted it off of him. 

He removed your shirt as well, hands coming around to grab your titties. He pushed them together, lowering his mouth to suck on both nipples at the same time. You jerked and whined, grinding on the couch. 

“Please, Terry, fuck me. Fuck me, I need it. I need your big dick to split me open,” you begged.

Terry groaned and moved his right hand between you. He rubbed his dick up and down your folds, gathering up all the slick he could to coat his dick. He pushed into your entrance and your pussy started talking. 

“Mmm, growl at me,” he moaned. “Fuck.” 

He dipped the head of his dick in and out of you, slowly, your pussy doing more than growling as he toyed with your aching hole. You cried every time his tip stretched you. He was easily the biggest you’d ever taken. 

Terry put his left hand on your chest and moved his right hand up to your clit. This thumb pressed on your clit and a strangled noise burst from your throat. “I need you inside me,” you whined. “Please, please.” Your eyes watered.

You were going to lose your mind in a minute. You would dissolve into a puddle of goo or start barking like a dog if he teased you any more. 

Terry moved his thumb in circles around your clit, causing you to sputter and moan, completely lost to the sensation. “Eyes on me,” he commanded.

Your eyes snapped open to him. To the softest gray and darkest blue of his eyes. His eyebrows curved in a severe arch. The same focus he had while chopping wood, he brought to killing you slowly from the inside out. 

His thumb made your pussy relax enough for him to sink in deeper, further, aided by the fresh slick leaking out of you. If it weren’t for the throw blanket, you were sure you’d have to buy Mr. Omar a brand new couch. 

“So wet. Fuck, you’re gripping my shit tough,” he moaned. He flicked his thumb harder.

You sniffled, tears running down your cheeks. “Please, I can’t. I can’t no more!” You yelled. 

Terry leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. You moaned and played with his thick tongue, licked his juicy lips, and gently bit his bottom lip. He moaned. “I say when you’re done,” he said.

“Oh fuck,” you said as you lost all control over your body. Terry pushed all the way down to the hilt with a guttural groan. Veins popped out of his neck as he used you to hold some of his weight. 

His dick throbbed, pulsed in time with his own heartbeat inside you. His dick pushed up against your sweet spot and before long, you were cumming on his dick. 

“Yes, yes, cream this dick. Show me you need that shit,” he moaned. He pulled back until he was almost out and then he shoved back in. He increased his strokes the more he did it, your pussy growling on his dick, while he rolled his hips. 

Your nails scratched at his chest as he moved his hands to either side of your stomach. The couch dipped with his weight as he pounded your pussy, punished her for whatever perceived slight against him. 

“Terry!” You screamed. 

“Scream it, baby,” he moaned. He pounded faster, nothing but wet, nasty smacks echoing in the room. Your pussy welcomed him in easily. He glided and fucked you to within an inch of your life. 

“Why you fucking me like this?” You panted. Your thighs were weak against his hips. He pounded so fast that the hair on his thighs created a slight burn on yours. The burn only seeped into your skin, driving your pleasure through the roof. The next one was gonna kill you. 

“Because you cum so pretty. Give me another,” he demanded. How many was his limit? How many would he pull from you? You were scared to find out. 

Tears ran in tiny rivers down your cheeks. The pleasure was too much. Too big. Too wild. Too uncontrollable and fuck, you greedily wanted more. Your head flopped from side to side. You didn’t have another one in you. You couldn’t give him what wasn’t there.

His head dipped to nip at your chin, your neck, and your breast. He suckled your nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth. Like a wilted flower with fresh water, you came back to life. 

Electricity buzzed beneath your skin. Terry slipped out and then slapped his dick against your clit. Your pussy juices squelched and droplets bounced off. “Keep taking this dick like a good girl,” Terry moaned.

“Fuck, yes, Terry. Terry, Terry,” you moaned. 

“Cream that shit, fuck,” Terry moaned.

He fucked another orgasm from you. Your nails dug in hard enough to draw blood as you screamed with pleasure, your voice drowning out the roaring wind outside. Terry stroked three more times before finally releasing his nut.

He bathed your insides with hot, throbbing splashes of his cum. He jerked above you, head lolling from side to side as he rode out his climax. 

You both breathed heavily, bodies slick with sweat from the sex and from the still lit fire. You kissed each other with little pecks, needing air too much to lock lips. “Let me taste,” you said.

“Fuck,” Terry groaned. He slipped out of you carefully. You hissed as his glorious pipe slid out of you completely. His cum gushed out, pushed out by your pussy. You couldn’t stop clenching as you got onto your stomach.

You opened your mouth and looked at Terry. He stood up with one foot on the ground and one knee planted on the couch cushion. You gripped onto his waist and pulled him closer. Without hands, he made his dick jerk to attention, still fully hard. You took him in your mouth and hummed at the mix of your flavors. 

You relaxed your jaw and took him in as far as he wanted to go. You controlled your breathing as he gripped your head. He pushed you onto his dick, making you suckle the full length of him. Not all of it fit, so his dick started to poke against your cheek. 

“Lick it all up for me,” he said. His voice. His voice. He could command you to walk through burning flames and you would if it meant that he slutted you out like this every day from now on. 

You suckled him deep, your eyes never leaving his. You communicated without words that the final chink was in place. You were his. Locked in. Mind to mind. Body to body. Soul to soul. You were his to toy with, play with, his to do whatever he fucking wanted. Because you knew down to your bones that no one else would do it for you. No one else would be able to redefine the meaning of sex for you. 

His stare pulled you deeper and deeper into the pool of his eyes. Your eyes drooped as you let yourself get used. He thrust into your mouth, pulling your throat down on his dick. You gagged a bit and he moaned and jerked his hips. He lessened his strokes but kept up the pace. 

Saliva and his pre-cum mixed in your mouth and dribbled down your chin. Your gawking was loud and disgusting as you sucked him down. 

“You’re fucking perfect. Fucking perfect. Fuck, I’m finna bust,” he groaned, his chest rumbling with a growl.

His entire shaft throbbed as he held your head in place while he spilled down your throat. You swallowed his delicious cum, moaning at his taste. His eyes rolled back and you whined at the image. 

You suckled on his tip like candy and he stuttered with a chuckle. “Okay, okay, okay,” he tapped out, gently pushing at your shoulders. 

You giggled and then sat back and wiped your mouth. “Fuck. What the fuck was that?” You asked. 

Terry grinned. He leaned over, kissed you, and then sat next to you. He pulled you into his side, running his hand up and down your back. Your body felt more than relaxed. Floating on cloud nine in a way that you didn’t know was possible. 

“Ever since we met, I’ve been imagining what I’d do to you,” he said. 

“I love the way your mind works,” you huffed.

Terry chuckled and kissed your temple. “I’m just happy to be of service,” he said.

You tapped his chest. “I can’t stand you,” you said.

Terry rained kisses down the side of your face until he could nibble on your ear. “That wasn’t what you said earlier.”

“I cannot be held accountable for the shit I say while you’re balls deep,” you said, holding up your hand. 

Terry gripped your hand with a chuckle and brought it to his chest. He stared into your eyes and then kissed your hand. Then he moved your hand lower and lower, a grin spreading across his face. Your hand wrapped around his thickening dick. 

“Already?!” You asked. 

He shrugged. “Everything about you turns me the fuck on,” he said. 

Terry made quick work of putting out the fire. Then, he brought you into the shower to ‘clean off’. All he managed to do was haul you against the shower wall and dig into your guts once more, filling you to the brim with his searing hot cum. 

You dried each other off on the way to the bedroom before falling asleep as soon as your face hit the pillow. You smiled as you drifted off, the later half of your book filling in from your imagination. With Terry as inspiration, you had enough material to fill three books. 

The next morning, you were on fire. Well, not literally, but Terry’s body heat ensured you never needed a heater or a throw blanket again.

Feeling you move, Terry woke up and kissed your neck. He was curled behind you, his large arm dropped across your stomach. He was too cute when he first woke up. Eyes blinking open. Licking his lips. Face fussy and scrunched up.

“Hm, good morning to you too,” you said, wiggling your ass against his morning wood. 

Terry chuckled and moved his hand to your waist to still your movements. “Don’t play with me,” he said.

You continued to wiggle your ass. “Well, it is Christmas morning. Don’t I get a present?” You asked.

Terry hummed in your ear. “What kind of present?” He asked.

“You,” you said. 

“It’s my pleasure to serve,” he whispered in your ear before lowering himself in the bed, beneath the covers. Your legs fell open as he adjusted himself in between and went to work, licking and suckling and nibbling around your clit and entrance until you were a ball of putty in his hands.

Incoherent nonsense spilled from your lips as he made you glimpse heaven two times before coming up for air. He kissed you, face shiny once more with your essence. You licked it off of him, licked the corners of his mouth, and suckled his bottom lip. 

Terry groaned, sliding into you with ease. “Nasty ass,” he moaned.

But fuck, he was still so big. So nasty. He pounded into you, giving you long deep strokes. He lowered himself closer to your body so that your nipples rubbed against his chest. 

“You fucking me too good!” You screamed.

Terry moaned and closed his eyes. He placed kisses all over your chest, neck, and lips, keeping pace. He carved a Terry shaped hole in your pussy and in your heart, one that he would only be able to fill. 

“Cum on this dick. Let me feel it,” he begged.

Your moans increased. Like his words were just what you needed. You clenched around his dick and he groaned, hips jerking forward, before you finally gave in and gave him what he wanted. 

“Shit, fuck,” he moaned as he came with you, dick twitching and pulsing. You would never get sick of that feeling. Never, ever, ever. 

“Merry Christmas, chipmunk,” he said, panting for air.

“Merry Christmas, Terry.”

Terry spent the remainder of your stay fucking you into oblivion. Every morning, you woke up with new ideas, new tweaks to make the story better and improve on it. The sex scenes, in your very humble opinion, were the spiciest things you’d ever written. Filthy.

When you shared some snippets with your writing community, they about fell out with gleeful gifs and unhinged keyboard smashing. 

Every night, Terry fulfilled his promise of giving you plenty to work with for your books. He twisted you in more ways than one. Folded you like a pretzel. Moved you in positions you’d never heard of. And each session left you so spent, your brain unplugged for the night. 

On your last day there, you spent it wrapped up in the bed with Terry only coming up for air long enough to snack. And then he’d call you chipmunk or give you The Look. The one where he dipped his chin and his eyes lured you in. 

Then you were kissing, touching, and exploring. Then your hand was wrapped around his dick and his fingers were buried in your pussy to the knuckle. You made it a game on who would cum first. You should’ve known you’d lose that battle. Especially when he commanded that you cum on his fingers with that deep voice and Carolina accent.

He would shove his wet fingers into your mouth so you could taste yourself while he fucked you from behind. Or from the front. Or from the side. 

The side was becoming a favorite because you could look at him while still giving him access to your ass. He would smack it and squeeze it. Then you would hold your ass cheeks apart so he could watch his dick disappear inside you. 

Then he’d make a show of licking his thumb and swirling it around your clit to set you off like a bottle rocket. Then you’d scream and scream his name and beg and beg for him to fill you to the brim one last time. 

Just one last time. You just needed to feel it soaking your walls one last time. Really, the last time. Because you did have to get on the road soon. 

You promised to find a way to spend time together. You weren’t that far from the rental and since he had his own cabin, it wouldn’t be so bad to arrange dates and fuck sessions.

You didn’t know what kind of Christmas miracle this was or who upstairs was looking out for you, but Terry Richmond was the best present ever.

Merry Christmas, my loves! Love ya'll so bad!

The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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[burnforyou]

DREAMING OF YOU - LUIGI MANGIONE x READER

!SUMMARY! pure fluff, mutual pining, a bit more than friends. he's a good man savannah! wrote this while I was sleep deprived so... enjoy! 1.4k words

the door shuts with a tight click and a high squeak. a cold draft enters the room. you craned your neck to look at the door, expecting your flatmate. instead, Luigi was standing in your doorway looking straight at you. you shot up from the couch.

"Luigi?" all of the air in your lungs was lost as you stared at him.

"hey?" he tried, his voice coming out hoarse. you ran around the couch and jumped into his arms, your arms wrapping around his neck. his arms wrapped around your waist, his cold hands sending a shiver over your whole body. he pulls you into him more and your heels begin to leave the ground.

this is where i'm meant to be, forever, you both think.

"you're here," you whisper into his neck, bringing your head up to look at him. you're still in utter disbelief that this is real, that he is real. you cradle his head in your hands purely to feel him, his face as cold as ice. you can tell he hasn't shaved in a period of time, which is very unlike him, as his stubble prickles your palms. his nose has a rosy hue, one that reminds you of Rudolph. his eyes open and he studies your face.

"where have you been?" you ask breathfully. you're out of breath as if you just ran a marathon.

"I had a family emergency in- out of the country, I had to leave immediately and didn't really have time to talk to anyone. 'm sorry." he apologizes shamefully.

"hey, you don't need to apologize. I understand. I'm just glad you're here now." you smile slightly and search his dark eyes for answers.

you both cannot tear your hands or eyes off of each other, his hands running up and down your back and arms like he’s sculpting you out of clay with his bare hands. you hold him as if he's your military husband returning from war, when in reality, he was only gone for a week. but it felt like war being apart from him for however many days, you could never handle being apart for any longer than that, or ever again.

he takes his hand off your back and tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. your stomach flips at his icy, careful touch. he leaves his hand on your cheek and caresses your skin. he leans into you and his eyes flicker between your lips and eyes. your cheeks flush under his hand and a smile graces his face.

he's so unsure, so hesitant. all he wants to do is kiss you. all he wants to do is be yours, to have you be his. but he doesn't know if you want him the same way. he doesn't know that you dream of him the same way he dreams of you. your lips: your familiar, loving, lips.

little does he know, you feel the same way about him. you've always wanted your kids to have his eyes and nose.

"you're cold," you squeak out. his head jerks back. he looks away from you, embarrassed he even thought for even a second he had the honor of kissing you.

"I am cold." he says, his voice coarse.

"um, you can give me your coat," you awkwardly look down, stepping back from him. he takes off his backpack and drops it on the floor by the door with a thud. "do you want soup? I have tomato basil, vegetable, uh- I think mushroom, or if you don't want soup, I can make us chili, or ramen, or whatever you wa-"

"y/n, I'll eat whatever you make. make whatever you want and i'll eat it." he interrupts your rambling. you snap your head up to look at him, his dark eyes already looking at you.

"is Mac and cheese okay?" you squeak, your skin flushing with embarrassment. he nods and you rush to your small kitchen to start boiling the water, forgetting about his coat. you pour the water into the pot and focus on your breathing,

in,

and then out,

which doesn't seem to work because he's still got you all worked up. all hot and bothered.

on the other side of the wall, Luigi leans against the door and closes his eyes. he was so close to all hes wanted.

it's fine, he tells himself. we have all the time in the world.

when he finally finds the courage to face you again, he pushes off the wall and follows the familiar plan of your apartment to your kitchen. he leans on the island and watches you stir the pot. a couple minutes later you're sitting beside each other, basking in comfortable silence. he's simply just happy that he can be home with you again.

"if you don't mind me asking, um, what happened? with your family?"

"oh, my great uncle died and we had to sort out his will, for his land and money and stuff. we were close when I was growing up, but I haven't seen him in years. it just really hasn't set in yet, that I'm really never gonna see him again."

"I'm so sorry," you put your hand on his bicep. he blinks tiredly and gives you a tight-lipped smile in response. you notice dark eye bags developing beneath his eyes.

"when was the last time you slept?" you ask him. your care floods his heart with love.

"i'm not sure." he answers honestly.

"lu! you need to get to bed! you can sleep in my room tonight," you say, picking up your empty dishes before realizing what you said. "I'll take the couch," you add.

the idea of sleeping in your bed fills him with joy, almost a child-like giddiness. but he knows better.

"no, I'm not doing that. I'll sleep on the couch, it's no big deal." he slides off the chair and watches you in the kitchen. you place the dishes in the sink and turn around to look at him.

"not with those back problems you're not."

"I'd never make a woman sleep on a couch," he argues back.

"and I'd never make a man with back problems sleep on my hard couch that I picked up on the side of the street." you say, putting your hand on your hip.

"I can Uber home," he tries, even though he truly doesn't want to.

"no, you can't." you say stubbornly. you're not letting him go home. you don't even want to let him out of your eyesight for fucks sake.

"can't we just sleep in my bed together?" you blurt out before realizing the implications. your faces both grow red with embarrassment. you look down at your nails and bite the spot on your cuticle you've been picking at. he shivered at the thought of sleeping in a bed together. not just any bed, your bed.

"well, I'm going to bed," you begin walking to your room. "you can join me if you want."

you leave the decision in his hands. once you reach your bathroom, you lean on the sink and look at yourself in the mirror. is this real? you ask yourself. you quickly go through the motions of getting ready for bed, suppressing any thoughts of Luigi. any thoughts of sleeping in the same bed of Luigi. any thoughts of laying next to him as he sleeps and him pulling you flush into him as he sleeps, your backside molding into his front perfectly.

him wearing only boxers and you in a thin t-shirt, little to nothing keeping your skin apart.

fuck!

cold water splashing on your face pulls the wild thoughts out of your mind. your push it all away, walk to bed, and pull the covers over you.

a little while later, you feel the blanket pull and the bed dip. you blink your eyes open slowly and your met with luigi's dark brown eyes staring tiredly into your own, also struggling to stay open.

"Luigi," you croak, your mind not fully awake. you reach out for him and he shuffles closer to you. his skin is still cold to the touch. you pull his head into your chest and entwine your fingers in his curls. you share your heat with him under the blanket.

"are you cold now?" you ask, delirious with sleep.

"no," he replies simply, at a loss for words as you massage his scalp with your finger nails.

luigi picks his head up and stares deeply into your eyes, noticing speckles of color he's never noticed before. I'll never get tired of this sight, he thinks.

"I don't deserve you." he breathes out, his voice so deep with honesty.

"shhhh" you whisper, pushing his head back down onto your chest. your hand returns to massaging his curly hair. he sighs and shuts his eyes, dreaming of you.

MASTERLIST - PREV. WORK

!A/N! wrote this bc I wanted to portray him in a slightly better light than creep (lol) but I ended up loving it and now I cant stop having fluffy thoughts about him. send fluffy (or not) requests!

!TAGS!

@strawbrriess @bellobambino @f4nfic-lover @btcowboy @chmpgneprblem @soggysouppp @hereandqueer6540 @poohkie90 @bricapallen16 @miarosalie11 @v1rtualsalvat10n