#way hay and up he rises

[sweet4rafe]

HANDS-ON LESSON ˎˊ˗

summary: your dad lets rafe help out around the farm, and he takes it upon himself to teach you how to ride. not just the horses. you’re inexperienced, all shy smiles and hesitant touches, but rafe is more than happy to guide you through it.

your daddy had always been protective, especially when it came to the ranch hands. "stay away from them boys," he’d say. "they ain’t nothing but trouble." but rafe cameron? rafe was different. at least, that’s what he made you think.

you’d never been much of a rider. you helped around the farm in other ways, picking berries, baking pies, tending the garden, but your father had decided it was time for you to learn how to handle a horse. and rafe? well, he took it upon himself to be your teacher.

"put your foot in the stirrup, sweetheart," rafe murmured, standing close behind you. his hands found your waist, calloused fingers pressing into the soft fabric of your dress as he helped you hoist yourself up. your cheeks warmed at the touch, but you did as he said, gripping the saddle with shaky fingers.

he climbed up behind you, his chest pressing firm against your back. "good girl," he muttered, voice thick like honey. his breath was warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

"i don’t know if i can do this," you admitted, gripping the reins a little too tightly.

rafe chuckled, one hand sliding down to rest against your thigh, the other covering your hands. "that’s what i’m here for, darlin’," he drawled, squeezing gently. "just relax. let me take care of you."

the words sent a different kind of shiver through you, one that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with the way rafe’s fingers traced lazy circles against your leg.

the horse started to move, slow and steady, but your mind was no longer on the ride. not when rafe’s touch lingered, teasing. not when his lips brushed against your ear, whispering things you’d never heard from any other man.

"see?" he murmured. "told you i’d take care of you."

and somehow, you knew he wasn’t just talking about the horse.

the warm scent of hay lingers in the air, mixing with something headier, something distinctly him. rafe sits back on the haystack, his legs spread wide, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes as you settle between them.

"c'mere, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement and something darker, something that makes your stomach flip. he tilts your chin up with two fingers, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "you sure you wanna learn?"

you nod, too eager, too trusting.

his lips quirk into a smirk. "then listen real close, yeah?"

his voice is steady, guiding. patient in a way that has your skin burning. his large hand wraps around yours, leading it where he wants, slow and deliberate. "spit on your hand, sweets," he drawls, his tone teasing. "makes it easier."

your breath catches, fingers trembling slightly as you follow his instruction. he hums in approval, his head tipping back against the wooden beams. "just like that," he praises, voice roughening as you get bolder, more confident. "twist your wrist, there you go, baby, just fine."

his chest rises and falls, the warm glow of the barn lanterns casting shadows over his sharp features. he watches you the whole time, eyes dark, half-lidded, lips parting slightly as you pick up his rhythm.

"start from the base," he instructs, his voice barely above a whisper now, hoarse with restraint. "then work your way up—ah, shit, just like that."

his hand threads into your hair, not pushing, just guiding. his breath is uneven, fingers tightening slightly as he tips his head back against the wood, giving in to the pleasure, to you.

outside, the crickets chirp, the night carrying on as if nothing’s changed.

but in here, in the quiet hum of the barn, everything has.

[moonstruckme]

hai lovie!!! im not sure of youve written something like this for emt!marauders yet but could you write something where they come home from work to reader lying on the floor on the hallway due to having low blood pressure and shed tried to go get something to eat or something but had started feeling faint and had to lie down? and then when they come up to reader she starts to cry because being unwell makes her anxious (im not fussed if you dont add that last part up to you <3). i had really low blood pressure the other day and bad to lie on the floor for a good two hours and it really stressed me out :< anyway thanks lovie i hope youre doing well !!!!

Thanks for requesting <3

cw: mention of dizziness, nausea, worries about being alone when unwell and also being unwell in general

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You’re half propped up with your elbow on a step when you hear the front door open. 

“Hello?” 

“Hello!” comes James’ chipper reply, followed by Sirius’ groan and the clunking of shoes as he no doubt kicks them off, beelining for the couch. After a moment of you not appearing to greet them, James asks, “Where are you?” 

“I’m—here.” You soften your voice when Sirius walks by the stairs, his step faltering as he locks eyes with you. 

His eyebrows bunch, concerned before he really knows why. “What’re you doing?” 

“I’m…” You shrug limply, trying on a helpless smile. Tears threaten to spill over from the way your eyes squish up. “I don’t feel right.” 

Sirius has only taken his first, slow step toward you, bemusement written across his features, before James and Remus are behind him at the base of the stairs. 

“Oh. Hi, angel.” James’ voice matches his expression, all gentleness, and worry hidden beneath counterfeit cheer. “Having a little lie down?” 

“Yeah,” you say. Sirius’ touch is a relief as he reaches you. He cups your face and feels your forehead, brows stitched together. You’re happy to be in capable hands. “I started to fall, so I just laid down here. I’m a bit dizzy.” 

There’s only so many of you that can fit on the stairs. James makes it to you next, crouching beside Sirius to take your hand in his and press his fingers to your pulse, so Remus is left peering over them both. He frowns, looking conflicted about his inability to help and worried in general. You try another smile for his sake; unfortunately, this time, the tears do spill. 

“Hey, don’t do that,” Sirius says, no real chiding in his tone as he knuckles them from your cheeks. 

“Sorry.” You force yourself to breathe, but new ones come anyway. It’s a slow sort of cry, the result of a good long while feeling sorry for yourself. “I just, I felt sick, so I tried to go upstairs to the toilet, but then I started to faint and I didn’t think I could make it back down to my phone, and I didn’t know when you would be home, or if anyone would find me…” 

“We’re here now, though, sweetheart,” Remus stops you gently. “It all worked out alright. You’re okay.” 

“Yeah.” You wipe underneath your eyes. “I think my blood pressure just dropped all of a sudden or something, but I still feel weird. It was scary.” 

“I think you’re right,” James says. He runs his thumb over your wrist. “I mean, I’d like to think it’s just because we’re home and you’re pleased to see us, but your heart’s going pretty fast, m’love. How long ago did you lie down here?” 

“I don’t know,” you reply, sniffling, feeling silly. “I don’t have my phone. Less than an hour, I think.” 

Remus hums. “That’s still a long while.” 

Honestly, you feel better just having your boyfriends here with you. Partly because of the security, of course, that you know you won’t faint and hit your head with no one to help you, but also, perhaps, there’s a small part of you that enjoys their fussing. The concerned set of Sirius’ brow, the way Remus’ mouth puckers thoughtfully, how James keeps rubbing his thumb over your wrist like he can soothe your heart back into its regular rhythm. 

“Well, then.” Sirius pats your hip, rising from his crouch. “Not much point in figuring it all out here, is there? C’mon, pretty girl, that step has to be killing your side.” 

It’s true; you think the edge of the step probably leaves an indent in your waist after you let Sirius haul you up, supporting you down the stairs and over to the couch. 

“I don’t feel as dizzy as I was expecting,” you admit. “Maybe I was overreacting.” 

“You?” Sirius exclaims, feigning astoundment. 

“Better to be safe,” says Remus. He claims a spot next to you quickly, as though seizing his opportunity. It makes your lips tug. “I’m glad you were careful, love.” 

You lean your head on his shoulder in a silent plea for coddling; he appeases you, pressing his lips to your hair while Sirius pinches the skin of your forearm gently. You watch him with mild interest. 

“When was the last time you drank water?” he asks. 

“Um…” You think back. 

Sirius lets go of your skin and tuts. “Yeah, seems like it’s been long enough for you not to remember.” 

“On it,” James announces, coming back from the kitchen with a large glass of water. He passes it to you over the back of the couch, and it’s so full a tiny bit spills over the rim onto your wrist, making you shiver. “It’s more common than you’d think for dehydration to do that to you. Gotta be careful.” 

“Yes,” says Remus drily, though his arm comes around your shoulders. “Rather easily avoidable.” 

You shrink, mumbling, “Sorry,” into your glass. 

James awws and bends over the back of the couch to plant a kiss on your head, his good cheer restored, genuinely now. “We all forget sometimes, lovie.” 

“Don’t enable her,” Sirius tells him. He cradles your arm in his hand, stroking the skin he’d pinched as though in apology for his treatment of it. “Don’t listen to him. It’s a grave oversight and you must repent forever.” 

“Forever?” Your smile still feels weak, but you’re coming back to yourself some. “How will I do that?” 

“Mm,” Sirius takes to kissing your arm instead, mumbling with a sternness that borders upon silly, “start with filling your water bottle every day before leaving the house, and at least three times after that.” 

You go quiet, gaze sliding to Remus skeptically. 

He raises an eyebrow. “What?” 

“Is that…really how much I’m supposed to have?”

His other eyebrow lifts, too. “Yes.” 

“Every day?” 

“Yes.” Remus laughs, exasperated. “Yes, that’s the water intake your body needs.” 

“There’s no way everyone’s doing that.” 

“They’re not,” James agrees. “Instead, everyone is getting dizzy and calling us so we can go pick them up from halfway up the stairs.” 

You bring the glass back to your lips, muttering, “I didn’t call, you just found me.” 

James kisses your head again, fiercely. “And we always will, lucky girl.”

[rubystudios-yt]

He held the small thing in his hands, gently shifting it from side to side, careful to not puncture it's frail flesh with pointed bone. Softly poking at it's face with a knuckle to see the skin move with it and it squirm at the feeling.

The tuff of wool on top of it's head looked clean, thoroughly washed and cared for. He only wished his flesh hadn't rotted off some time ago, maybe then he'd be able to feel it's warm softness, even if just a smidge.

The little sheep had made it's way up the hill to greet him, and took it upon itself to try and climb up his robes when he didn't respond. He had to catch it when it started to slip.

He hadn't ignored it on purpose, he had simply just not heard the sheep's little bleats. Far too small to make a sound really that loud enough for him to hear when it had been on the ground.

But with him cradling it in his palms with his legs pulled up by his chest, leaning back onto an old redwood tree, he could hear it just fine. He wasn't entirely sure what it had been babbling on about, only really half paying attention. He did hear it ask what the scars on his bones that where his wrists where. The question went unanswered.

The sheep didn't seem to mind the old god prying at it or his lack of any vocal responses, after a while it did seem to finally tire itself out of talking and were content with taking a nap as he held it.

It was intriguing to him.

He watched it's chest rise and fall as it breathed small and evenly through it's slumber. The way it's face twitched and softened, a reflection of it's dreams it held onto.

It was fragile and light, any wrong move of his could crush bones and tear it's flesh apart. Surely the creature knew of this as well, and yet it still entrusted it's life within his hands.

He looked up over at the village that the mortal had come from, nearly hidden in the dense forest of Darkwood. It was a cute little place, decorated beautifully with bright florals and different brilliant shades of green. Roofs of straw and hay bundled together tightly to protect from the weather outside sat atop of wooden walls with carved windows.

He wondered which one the sleeping sheep had come from. Did it have any family? Did he? The four gods who had found him in chains called him their brother, so he supposed he had them. But their every movement and word seemed like they didn't know what to do with him. They were afraid to touch him, like he would wither away if they pressed on his bones too roughly, spoke with shaking soft voices that sounded forced. Like they didn't want to speak with him, he never reciprocated their words so he knows not why they forced themselves to.

In a way he knew why, having the need to use a slickly scythe designed for combat as nothing more than a walking stick (which now lay against the same tree as he), easily falling down as his legs felt as though caving in on themselves. But those where nothing time couldn't fix, if he kept walking without over exceeding himself then he wouldn't have to walk with one of the gods trailing close behind any longer. He wouldn't have to be a burden to them, it was troublesome enough as is.

He had managed to find escape away from the worm this time around. He felt terrible using his blindness to his own advantage, but he felt as though they had been suffocating him, coddling him as though he couldn't do anything at all on his own. He felt pathetically small around them, despite his height causing him to practically loom over the four of them.

The sky that overcasted the village was dark with the night's colorful blues and blacks. Stars twinkled bright above them. It felt like only minutes before the colors shifted to allow room for the sun's early morning rays. Highlighting the shadowy purples with pinks and golden orange and yellows. It made the village below feel more full in a way. Like this was how it was meant to be viewed as.

small doodle for a snippet I wrote a couple of months ago lol

[acynicalsweetheart]

hai… quick dad curly drabble that no one asked for LOL umm. read cws

content warning: 18+, dead dove do not eat, daddy-daughter incest, daddy kink, faux innocence, etc etc

“Dad...” you whine, lips pulled into a pout as you clutch onto his arms. “Daddy, it hurts.”

“Where does it hurt, baby? You okay?” Curly looks shaken-up, concern plastered all over his face. He smooths his hand comfortingly over your hair. 

You have to look away for a second to hide the way the corners of your lips twitch up.

“Down here,” his gaze follows your hand as it cups your mound through your skirt, “hurts so bad, daddy. Can you kiss it better?”

Dad’s face instantly flushes, a cute cherry blossom shade colouring his cheeks and ears—looking aghast in the most fuckable way possible. 

You were just kidding, unless...

“Baby, I...” his mouth hangs open, speechless. He blinks at you. Once. Twice. “How bad does it hurt?”

“Real bad, daddy.”

Curly runs his hand over his face, like he can’t believe what he’s about to do. “Daddy’s gonna... have a look, okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your grin sneaks itself into your voice.

The couch squeaks when dad gets off of it, hesitant to kneel in front of you. Warm hands find your thighs, trailing up under your skirt before grabbing ahold of your panties, pulling them down ever so slowly. 

Safe to say Curly doesn’t let the string of stickiness stuck to the fabric go unnoticed, “Jesus.”

“What’s wrong, daddy?” You ask oh-so-cluelessly, like something isn’t rising in dad’s pants. Something other than Jesus. 

“Nothing,” his eyes are glued to your pussy, staring as if in a trance, can’t take them off her even when he lifts your skirt up further, “just... hold onto this for me, okay? Gonna kiss it better.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, holding up your skirt to give him access, watching him intently. Curly slides your legs over his shoulders, looking like he’s trying to not combust all the while. 

It’s hard—actively resisting the urge to just grab dad’s hair and force his head deeper between your thighs right here and now. 

Curly places a soft kiss to your entrance, you make an effort to whimper, keeling like a puppy but out of sheer impatience. “More... hurts really, really bad, daddy.” 

“I know, baby.” He mumbles into your pussy, giving your clit a few earnest pecks before starting to make out with your stickiness. 

Your hips squirm against the couch, cunt fluttering against dad’s mouth for every kiss and every lick. He’s moaning, suctioning his lips to your bud until your head falls back, gasping for air already.

He’s... really good, you’ll give him that. 

It’s not long before your legs tense shut around his head, toes curling and back arching as you cream on daddy’s tongue for the first time. “Daddy!” 

Curly hums, unwrapping your legs from around him, face flushed with a heat you’ve never had the pleasure of seeing before. His curls stick to his damp forehead, lips parted—panting like a dog. “Still hurts?”

“No,” you shake your head, voice breathless ‘cause of how dad nearly knocked the wind out of you with his mouth alone. “All good now, thanks, daddy.”

His fingers tremble in tandem with your legs as he helps you get your panties back on. You think a flash of guilt saddens his expression for a second, but it passes once you blink—a fond smile taking its place. Curly pats you on the head. 

It’s a shame, dad looks like he’s in need of a couple of kisses himself—glossy-eyed and glossy-lipped like that. Too bad this can’t ever turn into something more. 

“Well, I’ll, uh... go and make dinner now, honey.” It’s said sheepishly, averting his gaze and scratching the back of his neck. 

As if nothing had ever happened. 

“Okay, dad,” you stare at his bulge, blinking at it longingly. 

[cookiekissers]

I got an idea that would be hilarious! Royal margarine x a reader who is so sweet yet oblivious...like they'd mistake flirting as compliments, gestures of flirting as kindness, 'accidents' such as tripping and pinning y/n against a wall as legit accidents...even checking his wrist to see if they're OK.

Just all the way to the point where royal margarine has to be as blunt as possible...like to the point of him shaking y/n and being like 'I AM TRYING TO FLIRT WITH YOU! NOTICE THE HINT! I LOVE YOU! NOTICE ME!!!'

can be hcs or a story...heads up, might send a future request of shadow milk with the same reader to see how he would do the snap of 'ok subtlety clearly isn't working, I have to be as blunt as possible!'

On My Knees [Royal Margarine Cookie x Oblivious Reader]

[oneshot] [fluff]

Royal Margarine Cookie was at the end of his rope. With his face in a mug of ale, he lamented all his woes to his dragon companion, Buttercream.

"And then, I gave Y/N Cookie my most dashing smile, and they didn't even notice!" He complained. Royal Margarine Cookie pouted and leaned against Buttercream's side as the dragon tilted their head in confusion at him. "Oh, Buttercream, how can such a cute Cookie be so oblivious?" He mumbled. "Do I have to get down on my knees and beg?!" Royal Margarine Cookie shouted to no one in particular. He tossed his wooden mug in frustration out of the stables, and it bounced off the cinnamon cobblestone streets, sliding to a halt at the feet of another Cookie.

Royal Margarine Cookie sighed heavily and let his head hang in defeat. Buttercream turned their attention to an approaching Cookie, they urgently nudged their drunk rider with their snout to get his attention, but Royal Margarine glumly swatted the dragon away. At the sound of footsteps, Royal Margarine Cookie lifted his head sadly and nearly jumped out of his dough at the sight of you staring at him curiously.

"Royal Margarine Cookie? What are you doing?" You asked in confusion.

"Y/N Cookie?!" Royal Margarine shouted in surprise. In his tipsy state, the dragon rider struggled to rise to his feet gracefully.

Concerned that he might stumble and hurt himself, you reached out a hand to steady him. Royal Margarine Cookie tried to regain his composure. He quickly smoothed back his pale blonde hair with his butter knife and flashed you a charming grin. Unable to contain yourself, you laughed, which caused Royal Margarine Cookie's expression to shift to one of confusion.

“W-What's so funny? Ahem, what are you doing out so late? It's not safe to be out alone at night.” Royal Margarine Cookie sputtered.

It was charming in a strange way. Seeing the charismatic dragon rider covered in hay while babbling to his dragon. You gingerly picked a piece of straw from his hair and smiled.

"I always like to take night-time walks." You explained. Royal Margarine Cookie gawked at you, his cheeks flushed. You picked another dry stalk from his collar and flicked it away.

Royal Margarine Cookie quickly grasped your hand.

"You're right! It's such a beautiful night, Y/N Cookie. So why don't you and I take a romantic flight on Buttercream, hm?" He purred. You blinked and furrowed your brows slightly in concern.

"I don't think it would be a good idea for you to fly while drunk, Royal Margarine Cookie." You pointed out. "Why don't I walk you home?" You offered kindly.

Royal Margarine stared at you in disbelief as you gently tugged on his sleeve to get him to follow you.

You jumped as the dragon rider suddenly dropped to his knees and sobbed. Royal Margarine Cookie shuffled on his knees and wrapped his arms around your legs, nearly making you fall.

"Y/N COOKIE!!" He cried pitifully.

"R-Royal Margarine Cookie? What in the world has gotten into you?!" You shouted. Buttercream emerged from the alleyway, and you glanced up at the dragon for some kind of explanation, but they just watched silently.

"Y/N Cookie, please, notice me!" Royal Margarine Cookie blubbered. You tried to console the dragon rider awkwardly while he clung to your legs. You glanced around nervously.

"What? What do you mean?" You questioned in confusion.

"I LOVE YOU, Y/N COOKIE! I LOVE YOU, PLEASE PLEASE GO OUT WITH ME!! I'LL DO ANYTHING!" Royal Margarine Cookie exclaimed desperately. You stared in disbelief as the words registered. There's no way he meant that, he was completely drunk. Since when did Royal Margarine Cookie have a crush on you?

"You've had way too much to drink..." You muttered.

"No!! It's true, Y/N Cookie! I've loved you from the beginning! I've been flirting with you for months, and you haven't noticed! Why haven't you noticed!?" Royal Margarine Cookie shouted. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and drool stained your pants as you desperately tried to control his drunken grip on you. You glanced behind you in embarrassment to see if anyone else was seeing this, but thankfully the street was deserted.

"Don't you remember those flowers I brought you? I went to a very frightening part of the Dragon's Valley to pick those rare flowers just for you! I wouldn't do that for anyone else, Y/N Cookie! I love you!" Royal Margarine confessed.

Suddenly, everything clicked in your brain. All the letters of admiration on freshly picked bouquets of flowers, the flood of compliments, him buying you dinner so many times... you had thought he was just being nice. At the realization, your face turned red.

"IS THAT WHY YOU WERE ALWAYS ACTING SO WEIRD?!" You exclaimed bashfully. Royal Margarine Cookie gasped and looked up at you with teary eyes.

"You did notice!" He cried in relief. Royal Margarine Cookie desperately climbed up your frame until he could stand. He threw himself on you, making you stumble back as his arms wrapped around your neck, and he kissed you passionately. You froze at first, surprised by his sudden gesture, but then you melted into his embrace. Your heart beat wildly in your chest as you returned his kiss with equal passion.

You broke away with a gasp, the taste of ale on your tongue.

"Y/N Cookie... please go out with me." Royal Margarine Cookie pleaded. Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt dizzy. You leaned against Royal Margarine Cookie and buried your face in his shoulder.

This could have happened a lot sooner if Royal Margarine had just been straightforward about his feelings from the beginning.

"Yes... I will." You replied shyly.

[redbird-tf]

Wild dog

dean x little sister

synopsis; A vampire hunt goes horribly wrong, leaving you injured in more ways the one, by the person you'd least expect.

inspired by

Word count; 2.6k (officially my longest story, please dont let it flop)

Warning: hurt/comfort, injury, john, violence, language

No no no, this couldnt be happening. You all knew taking on a vampire nest was a dangerous mission, but this mistake should have never happened. Now, here you lay on the cold, hay-covered floor of an old barn. Pain pulses through your body, your mind teetering on the edge of consciousness, and Dean looming over you.

The barn was crawling with those nasty blood-sucking monsters—20, maybe more. You three had been tracking them for weeks and prepared well. Hiding in the bushes, you waited until the nest was deep in slumber before making your move. You had to move quietly. Killing as many in their sleep as possible until one awoke. Its shrill scream shattered the silence, jolting the rest of the nest awake. "Split!" Dean's voice rang out, and in an instant, you all scattered.

Dean skidded to a stop as he faced a dead end. His grip tightened around the machete, turning to face the vamps closing in. “come get it you sick son of a bitch” he growled. He swung in every direction, blood soaking his clothes. When Dean got like this he turned into a killing machine. No thoughts just, swing-hit-kill, swing-hit-kill. A vamp hurled down at him from the ceiling, yet without flinching Dean grabbed it by the throat slamming it against the wall behind him and slicing its head clean off. Only when the head rolled past his feet did he take a breath and allow his shoulder to slump.

The sound of fast footsteps made him whirl around, swinging his machete wildly, his fist connecting with the creature's face, sending it crashing to the ground. “Dean stop!” Sams horrified voice rang pulling Dean from his soilder like state. Deans eyes widened in shock and the machete slipped from his hand. “Oh my god” his voice broke. It was you. You who was running up on him. You who’s side he sliced into. It was you who lay in front of him now.

Dean collapsed to his knees, and his hands came up to cradle your face “Sweetheart, sweetheart can you hear me” he begged with desperation. You let out a painful groan, and Dean let out a heavy sigh of relief. Sam lifted your shirt, inspecting the cut that was pouring blood. His concerned gaze met Dean, “What?” Dean demanded, panic rising in his chest. “We can’t stitch this dean, we need to take her to the hospital now” Sam replied with quick urgency. He pushed Dean aside, scooping you into his arms. You let out another agonizing moan. “Sorry bug” Sam whispered. “And say what?” Dean frantically snapped while darting toward the car. “I don't know Dean, let's worry about that when our sisters insides aren’t visible!” Sam shouted in frustration.

————-

When they reached the hospital, Dean shouted for help, and within seconds doctors surrounded them, lifting your limp body from Sam's arms and onto a bed. Deans eyes never left you as you were wheeled away, only breaking when pushed past white doors. It was then the adrenaline wore off and guilt flooded his body. He stood frozen, Sam’s voice was mumbled trying to convince the nurse it had been a bear or something.

“Sir, sir, SIR” Dean's trance was broken by the nurse's voice. “Does your hand feel alright?” She asked kindly. Dean furrowed his brows in confusion, then looked down at his fist. His knuckles were bruised and the image of his fist connecting with your face made his lip quiver.

Dean and Sam sat in the silence of the waiting room. Dean's head hung low, his thumb rubbing over his bandaged hand. Sams head jerked up at the sound of heavy footsteps, “what the hell” he muttered. Deans eyes widened at the sight of John. They both quickly stood from their seat “Dad what are you-“Sam was cut off. “What the hell happened?” John asked sternly, gazing between the brothers. There was a tense pause before Dean spoke up “It was me… she ran up from behind me. i should have been more careful…” Dean spoke quietly, half to keep the nurses from hearing and half because he couldn’t raise his voice without the risk of breaking down. John sighed heavily “How many goddamn times have i told her not to do that-“John started “It's not her fault” Dean quickly rebutted. John opened his mouth but fell silent at the sight of a nurse approaching. “How is she?” John asked, his body tensed, bracing for the worst. “Shell be alright” the boys shoulders dropped. “Shell have to take it easy for a few months to prevent tearing stitches….” The nurse paused, hesitating to continue “Her injury was very severe, it's a miracle she's still alive” The room fell silent again. “Can we see her?” Sam asked in an urgent tone.

The three of them hurried to your room. Sam and John rushed to your bedside, except for Dean who stood frozen in the doorway, watching you slowly gain consciousness.” what happened?” You asked groggily. Sam spoke softly to you but the Anastasia still weighed heavy, making it hard to understand his words. A shiver ran through your body and your head cocked to the side catching a glimpse of Dean. Dean jumped out of sight, pressing his back against the wall. He swallowed sharply, his heart hammering in his chest. “De…” he heard you call. “Dean” again, and again. A moment later John stepped out, “she's cold. She wants a jacket” he stated firmly. Without a word, Dean shrugged off his jacket and pushed it into John's hand. “Go home. We’ll talk later” he ordered. “Yes sir,” Dean said lowly, his hand dragged down his face, then he turned his heel.

—————-

“What do you remember?” Sam asked, sitting at the edge of your bed. You thought for a moment, your mind capturing bits and pieces. A look of shock came over your face. “I was running to Dean and then…” Your breath hitched and your hand clutched your side “he didn't mean to” you whispered with turned-up brows. Sams brows furrowed in contrast “Of course he didn’t” he reassured you, placing his hand over yours. “Here you go kid” John stepped forward, passing Dean's jacket to you. “Where's Dean?” You asked. “Let's get going before the cops get here” John continued ignoring your question. “He didn't mean to Dad! It's my fault” you blurted out. Johns's gaze sharpened “you were reckless. and he acted like a goddamn wild dog. This is on both of you, i hope you've learned something. Now come on” he snapped coldly, turning his back.

——

The drive back to the motel in John's truck was silent with unbearable tension. When John pulled into the lot you noticed Dean's impala was nowhere in sight. “I'll check into another room. You two go to bed,” John said gruffly, pointing between you and Sam before walking off. Sam carried the bags into the room as you limped in behind him. “Where Dean?” You asked, turning to Sam with a confused look. “He’s probably just grabbing a drink” he explained, while unpacking his bag. “Can we call him, just to make sure” you nervously fidgeted with your fingers, “let's just give him some space right now,” Sam spoke quietly, giving you sympathetic eyes.

You had been tossing and turning for hours. Unable to sleep thanks to the pain meds wearing off. You stared at the ceiling until the glow of headlights flickered into the room. You listened closely to the squeak of brakes, followed by the jingles of keys. You quickly closed your eyes pretending to sleep. Footsteps crept their way into the room, then faded back out. You peeked around the room, seeing nothing changed. Slowly you sat up, cradling your side as you pushed yourself from the bed. Grabbing Dean's jacket from the nightstand, you tiptoed to the door making sure not to wake Sammy while you slipped out.

The wind bit at your cheeks. You quickly draped the jacket over your shoulders, pulling it tight. The Impala was parked in front of you, but no still dean in sight. Your eyes scanned the lot. It wasn't until you squinted your eyes that you spotted a figure in the distance, sitting on a bench, beneath a large oak tree. After a few minutes of limping, and grunting, you finally reached the bench. Dean swung around at the sound. “I got your jacket…” you said awkwardly. “Keep it,” he muttered after giving you a once over and taking a sip of his drink. You slowly took a seat next to him. The rustle of the tree blowing in the wind surrounding you two. “I shouldn’t have run up on you-“ you tried to reason “It's not your fault” Dean cut you off, his voice firm, eyes locked on the ground. “You've told me over and over again not to “ “so i should have known. I shouldn’t have looked before…” his voice strained.

Another silence settled. “I don't blame you Dean” you stated softly. “Well, i do.” He replied sharply, taking another swing of his drink. You watched him for a moment before shifting closer, resting your head on his shoulder. You could feel him relax beneath your touch. “You know when we were younger, I'd come home from school and Dad would be gone, but you'd be there.” You kept your voice steady. “Then Sam left, and i was sure you would to…but you never did. You've always been there for me Dean” you spoke softly. You saw his grip tighten around the bottle. “You know what hurt most of all” your voice barely a whisper. “when i called for you from the bed…and you didn't come” Your voice wavered before you could stop it and you bit down on your lip. Deans body stiffened. For the first time that night, he looked you in the eyes. His green eyes were a storm of emotions. “I'm sorry, kid” his voice painfully sincere. He lifted his hand to cradle the side of your face, his thumb smoothing over the bruise beneath your eye. “Dean i know you won't forgive yourself, but can you make me a promise” Your voice shook terribly, trying to keep your tears at bay. Dean nodded immediately. “promise you'll always come when i call you” you pleaded. Dean's face cringed realizing the pain he caused you, some worse than the physical. “I promise, baby” His voice was firm, unwavering. A gust of wind cut through the air causing you both to shiver violently. “We should go in now” Dean suggested to which you quickly nodded, earning a soft chuckle from him.

As You both stood up, a sharp pain radiated down your side, stopping you in your tracks. Dean turned to you in an instant, hearing you wince. “what's wrong?” He asked concerned. “My side” you breathed out, clutching at your ribs while bent over. Dean crouched down in front of you “How about i give you a ride” Dean recommended. You couldn’t help but smile as you wrapped your arms around his shoulder, allowing him to slowly lift you off the ground. His warmth engulfed you. Your eyes grew heavy, sleep pulling you in as you rested against him. until his voice pulled you back. “You know I'll always protect you too. Even if that means from me sometimes” he said quietly, but his voice laced with a sense of seriousness. You pressed your face into his shoulder, letting yourself relax again before softly murmuring.

“Dean Winchester, my own wild dog”

[littlelamy]

Another of cowboy rafe and shy reader first time together smut plss is soo good

lamy's note: let me know if the dialogue is cringey. i tried to make it more cowboyish but...

your heart pounded against your ribcage as you sat perched on the edge of a hay bale, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt, your nerves frayed and humming with anticipation.

rafe leaned against the wooden post of the barn, his hat pulled low over his eyes, his silhouette rugged and imposing against the fading light. he watched you, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips, his eyes glinting with something you couldn't quite name—something that made your breath catch in your throat and your thighs press together instinctively.

"you nervous, darlin'?" his voice was low, drawling, the rich timbre of it sending a shiver down your spine.

you swallowed hard, your fingers twisting in the fabric of your skirt as you looked up at him through your lashes. "i'm not... used to this, rafe," you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

he pushed off the post, his boots crunching against the dry earth as he crossed the short distance between you. every step he took seemed to pulse in time with your heartbeat, the slow, deliberate way he moved making the tension between you coil tighter, hotter. when he reached you, he knelt down, his calloused hands gently wrapping around your wrists, stilling your fidgeting fingers.

"ain't nothin' to be afraid of," he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours, intense and unyielding. "we'll take it slow, sugar. ain't in no rush." his thumbs brushed soothingly over your skin, his touch a balm to your frayed nerves.

you nodded, the heat in your cheeks rising as you tried to steady your breathing. the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—made your heart swell, your body thrumming with a heady mixture of anxiety and desire.

"c'mere," he said, his voice softening as he pulled you to your feet. his hands rested on your waist, guiding you toward him as he took a step back into the shadowed barn, the golden light of the setting sun casting long, languid shadows across the straw-strewn floor.

your pulse quickened as he led you deeper into the barn, the cool, earthy scent of hay and leather mingling with the faint musk of his cologne. his hat was tossed aside, revealing his tousled golden hair, his sharp features softened by the flickering lantern light. you couldn't tear your eyes away from him, the way his shirt clung to the hard lines of his chest, the way his fingers tightened on your hips as he drew you closer.

"you're beautiful, y'know that?" he whispered, his voice rough with want as he leaned down, his lips ghosting over the curve of your jaw. "been thinkin' 'bout this... 'bout you... for so damn long."

you felt the heat bloom in your chest, your skin tingling beneath his touch as his lips finally met yours, gentle at first, a slow, teasing caress that left you breathless. his hands roamed your body, sliding up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your blouse to brush against the bare skin of your back.

"rafe..." your voice was a shaky whisper against his mouth, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as you clung to him, the solid, warm presence of his body grounding you, soothing the nervous flutter of your heart.

"shh, darlin'," he murmured, his lips trailing down the column of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin, each one sending a spark of heat straight to your core. "let me take care of you."

his hands worked the buttons of your blouse with practiced ease, peeling the fabric from your shoulders, letting it fall to the hay-strewn floor. you shivered under his gaze, his eyes dark and hungry as they roamed over your exposed skin, taking in every curve, every freckle, every inch of you like you were a vision carved from the stars themselves.

"goddamn," he breathed, his hands finding your waist again, pulling you flush against him. you could feel the hard press of him against your stomach, the roughness of his jeans a stark contrast to the softness of your skin. "been wantin' to feel you like this... taste you..."

he dropped to his knees, his hands sliding down your thighs, fingers curling under the hem of your skirt, pushing it up slowly, reverently, until it pooled around your hips. his breath was hot against your skin, his mouth trailing kisses along the inside of your thigh, each one making your knees weaken, your breath hitch in your throat.

"please," you whispered, your voice trembling, a desperate plea for more, for him, for everything.

rafe looked up at you, his eyes blazing with something primal, something possessive. "you gotta tell me what you need, sweetheart," he rasped, his fingers teasing the edges of your panties, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just above. "wanna hear you say it."

"i need you," you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders for support as his mouth worked its way higher, closer to where you were aching for him. "please, rafe... i need you."

he groaned, the sound vibrating against your skin as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs, leaving you bare before him. he pressed a lingering kiss to your hip before rising to his feet, his hands sliding up your sides, pulling you back into his arms.

"gonna give you everything, darlin'," he promised, his voice a husky whisper against your ear as he backed you up against the wall of the barn, his body pressing into yours, pinning you in place. "just tell me if it gets too much."

you nodded, your fingers clutching at his shirt as he kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against yours, the taste of him intoxicating, overwhelming. his hands found the back of your thighs, lifting you easily, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you harder into the wall.

the feel of him, hot and hard against you, made your head spin, your body arching into his, seeking more, desperate for the release only he could give you.

"i've got you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he rocked his hips against yours, the friction setting your nerves on fire. "let me make you feel good, sugar."

and with that, he claimed you fully, his body moving with yours in a rhythm as old as time, each thrust sending you higher, closer to the edge, the world fading into a haze of pleasure and heat. the stars above bore witness as you cried out his name, your body trembling in his arms, your heart racing as you fell apart together, lost in the wild, passion of the night.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl

[theonottsbxtch]

DONT WANNA BE SAVED | MV1

an: mafia!max i DO want to be saved, please do not mix me up with the main character she's just a bit silly. also single dad!max hmu, yeah? i hope you're aware of how much googling i had to do this for request because i know NOTHING about dressage.

wc: 6.2k

The rhythmic crunch of gravel under the tyres was the only sound that cut through the quiet tension in the air. Max Verstappen drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, his sharp jaw clenched. He wasn’t used to venturing into parts of town that didn’t know his name, but for his little girl, he’d do anything—even if it meant swallowing his pride and knocking on the door of a horse trainer who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

The GPS barked at him, announcing the final turn. Max squinted through the windscreen at the small, unassuming ranch sprawled out in the middle of nowhere. The place looked sturdy but unpolished, a far cry from the grand estates he usually associated with trainers who were supposedly “the best.” He cut the engine and stepped out, the crisp bite of the afternoon wind tugging at the tailored lapels of his suit.

The barn doors creaked open, and she emerged.

She was nothing like he expected. For someone with a reputation of being the finest dressage instructor on this side of the country, she didn’t look the part. Her hair was loosely tied back, strands falling into her face as she adjusted the cuff of her sleeve. Her boots were scuffed, her hands calloused, and there was a streak of dirt smeared across her cheek. Yet, the confidence in the way she moved was unmistakable—deliberate, purposeful, like she could size him up in a heartbeat and decide exactly how much of her time he deserved.

Max straightened as she approached, his usual commanding air faltering under her cool, appraising gaze. “Mr Verstappen?” she asked, voice calm and low, though there was a slight arch to her brow as she clocked his expensive suit against the rustic backdrop.

“That’s right,” he replied, recovering quickly. “I called about my daughter, Stella.”

“I remember.” Her tone was unreadable as she wiped her hands on her jeans and extended one to him. He hesitated a second too long before shaking it. Firm grip. No nonsense.

“She’s serious about competing,” Max continued, trying to soften the edge in his voice. “I’ve been told you’re the best, and I don’t settle for less when it comes to her.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, almost like a smile, but not quite. “Dressage isn’t about settling or not settling,” she said. “It’s about discipline, patience, and trust. None of which can be bought.”

Max’s jaw ticked at the subtle dig, but he didn’t rise to it. He was here for Stella, not to flex his ego. “You’ll have all the resources you need,” he said instead. “Money isn’t an issue.”

Her eyes flicked to him, sharp as a blade. “Good. Because if your daughter’s going to train with me, I’m going to need more than that.” She turned abruptly, gesturing for him to follow her towards the barn. “I’ll meet Stella, and we’ll go from there. But just so we’re clear—I don’t babysit, and I don’t do miracles.”

Max trailed behind her, a slow smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. She was bold, he’d give her that. Most people were too afraid to speak to him like that. Maybe she really was the best.

His shoes crunched against the gravel as he followed her into the barn. The earthy scent of hay and leather mingled with the faint sweetness of horses, instantly grounding the space. Inside, sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting golden streaks across the straw-scattered floor. A bay mare in one of the stables tossed her head, her ears twitching at the sound of their footsteps.

She leaned against the edge of the stall, absently running her fingers along the edge of the wood. “How old is Stella?” she asked, her voice carrying the clipped efficiency of someone who didn’t waste time on niceties.

“Nine,” Max said, stepping closer. “She’s ridden before, but it’s always been a hobby. Now, she’s ready to take it seriously.”

“Is she?” she asked, glancing at him.

Max frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, is she ready? Or are you?” She crossed her arms, leaning her weight casually against the stable door.

His nostrils flared, but he bit back his instinctive retort. People didn’t question him—not in his world. But this was different. For Stella, he’d let his temper take a back seat. “Stella’s the one who asked. She’s determined, and I support her in whatever she wants.”

For the first time, her expression softened, just slightly. “Good. A lot of parents want this more than the kids. It shows in the way they push them, and that pressure never works. Horses aren’t machines. They pick up on that tension, and it ruins the trust.”

He nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure he liked being lectured. “Trust, discipline, patience,” he said, his voice taking on a dry edge. “I got it.”

Her lips twitched again, and this time he was certain it was a smile, however faint. “You don’t strike me as the patient type.”

Max chuckled, low and sharp. “You’d be surprised. I know when to wait. I also know when to act.”

Something flickered in her gaze at that, but she didn’t let it linger. Instead, she straightened and pushed open the stable door, letting the mare step out. The horse was sleek and graceful, her muscles shifting smoothly under her polished coat.

“This is Luna,” she said, patting the mare’s neck. “She’s my best. If Stella wants to learn, she’ll start with her.”

“Stella doesn’t have her own horse yet,” Max admitted, studying the animal.

“Good. That makes it easier. Luna’s a good judge of character. If Stella’s nervous, Luna will know. And if Luna doesn’t trust her...” She shrugged, leaving the rest unsaid.

Max raised an eyebrow. “What happens then?”

“She doesn’t ride,” she said simply.

He appreciated her bluntness, even if it grated at him. She wasn’t someone he could charm or intimidate, and oddly, that made him more intrigued.

As if sensing his thoughts, she brushed past him, leading Luna to a bridle rack. “Bring Stella by tomorrow. I’ll see what we’re working with.”

“And what about you?” Max asked, his voice dropping slightly, almost testing.

She turned, brow furrowing. “What about me?”

“You seem to have high expectations,” he said. “If Stella’s the one being judged, does that mean you’ve already made up your mind about me?”

Her gaze lingered on him, steady and unflinching. “You’re not the one I’m here to teach, Mr Verstappen. But if you’re asking...” She paused, her lips curving into the faintest smirk. “I’ve met plenty of men like you. You don’t scare me.”

Max tilted his head, his mouth pulling into a slow, deliberate grin. “Plenty of men like me? Somehow, I doubt that.”

The month following his first meeting with her passed in a blur of early mornings, long afternoons, and the kind of quiet determination that Max had to admit impressed him. Stella had taken to the training better than he could have hoped, and her instructor—well, she’d more than lived up to her reputation.

She was tough but fair, demanding excellence without suffocating his daughter’s enthusiasm. Max had watched every session from the sidelines, arms crossed, keeping a respectful distance but always observing. And more than once, he found his attention drifting—not to Stella, but to her instructor.

There was something about her. A kind of grit that didn’t falter, even when she was teaching patience to a headstrong nine-year-old. Her quiet confidence didn’t demand attention; it commanded it. Max had seen plenty of people fake authority, but she wore it like second skin.

He liked that.

What he hadn’t expected, however, was to see her a month later, in a completely different world.

The pounding bass hit him first, reverberating through his chest as he pushed through the crowd. The club was dimly lit, alive with movement—people dancing, drinks clinking, laughter rising over the music. It wasn’t his usual scene, but a meeting had brought him here, one of those backroom negotiations that needed the anonymity of chaos.

He’d wrapped up the deal without trouble, but as he made his way back to the main floor, something—or rather, someone—caught his eye.

There she was, behind the bar.

Her hair was down, loose waves brushing her shoulders, and she wasn’t in scuffed boots or faded jeans anymore. Instead, she wore a fitted black top and a skater skirt, a thin chain glinting at her neck under the neon lights. She moved with an easy rhythm, pouring drinks and flashing quick smiles to the patrons leaning against the bar.

For a moment, Max thought he’d imagined it. But then she turned slightly, catching his profile out of the corner of her eye, and froze.

Her eyes widened for just a second—barely noticeable—but enough for him to catch it. She recovered quickly, though, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow as if to say, What are you doing here?

Max didn’t answer her unspoken question. Instead, he made his way to the bar, sliding between two drunken men slouched over their cocktails. He rested his elbows on the polished surface, waiting for her to acknowledge him.

“Mr Verstappen,” she said finally, leaning forward slightly. Her voice was calm, but there was a flicker of something else in her expression—annoyance, maybe, or surprise. “Didn’t think this was your kind of place.”

“It’s not,” he admitted, letting his eyes roam the bottles behind her before settling back on her face. “But it seems I’m full of surprises tonight.”

She snorted softly, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. She placed it in front of him, her smirk sharp. “You look like you need this more than a whiskey.”

Max chuckled, low and rough. “Not here for a drink. Just curious.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Didn’t peg you for the nightlife type.”

“Didn’t think you were paying that much attention,” she shot back, wiping her hands on a bar towel.

“More than you realise,” Max murmured. He wasn’t sure if she caught the softness in his tone over the thumping music, but her eyes narrowed slightly, her posture stiffening.

“I could say the same about you,” she replied, shifting her weight. “What’s the boss of half the city doing in a place like this?”

“Business,” he said simply, straightening. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

She leaned closer, resting her hands on the bar. “You’re full of questions tonight, aren’t you?”

“Just one.” His voice dipped, his gaze unwavering. “Why are you here?”

She rolled her eyes, breaking the tension with a dry laugh. “It’s called having bills to pay, Verstappen. Not all of us have cash to burn. This keeps the lights on when teaching doesn’t.”

Max didn’t miss the edge to her words, and he wondered, not for the first time, just how much she kept buried beneath that sharp exterior. She didn’t need saving—that much was obvious—but the thought of her working this job, with the late hours and the leering patrons, stirred something primal in him.

“How long have you been doing this?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“Long enough,” she said, shrugging. “And I’m good at it. Don’t look so shocked.”

“I’m not shocked.” He paused, letting the moment hang between them. “But I’m not exactly thrilled, either.”

Her expression hardened slightly, and she straightened, putting more distance between them. “Don’t start with that ‘I know what’s best’ routine. I get enough of that already.”

Max raised his hands, palms out in mock surrender. “No routine. Just... noticing things.”

“Noticed enough, then?” she asked, turning away to serve another customer.

For the first time in a long time, Max found himself on uneven ground. He wasn’t sure if he was impressed, frustrated, or just intrigued. But one thing was certain: she had a way of staying in his head, and it was starting to feel less like an annoyance and more like an inevitability.

As she moved down the bar, he lingered, watching her work. No, she didn’t need saving. But the urge to shield her from this world, to pull her away from the late nights and the reckless strangers, was already starting to claw its way to the surface.

And Max Verstappen wasn’t the kind of man to ignore an instinct like that.

For weeks after the encounter at the club, Max couldn’t shake the image of her behind the bar. It wasn’t just the stark contrast to her usual self—confident, commanding, utterly at home in the arena—but the way it gnawed at something deep inside him.

She didn’t belong in that place, surrounded by cheap cologne and drunken hands reaching for more than drinks. The thought of her dealing with that night after night twisted in his gut like a blade.

It wasn’t just about Stella anymore. He’d grown to respect her over the past month—the way she pushed his daughter without breaking her spirit, the way she handled herself with a quiet strength that most people in his world didn’t have.

That respect, though, was starting to blur into something more. And Max wasn’t sure what to do with that.

He finally brought it up on a crisp Friday morning, just after Stella’s session. The three of them stood by the paddock, Luna grazing lazily a few feet away. Stella was laughing at something, her cheeks flushed from the chill and the effort she’d put into the lesson. Max felt a swell of pride watching her, but his gaze kept drifting back to her instructor.

When Stella wandered off to grab a snack from the car, he seized the moment.

“You’ve been doing good work with her,” he began, his voice low and steady.

She gave him a side glance, adjusting the bridle she was holding. “Thanks.”

“You know,” he continued, his tone carefully casual, “I’ve been thinking about your rate.”

Her hands froze for a split second before she turned to face him fully. “My rate?”

He nodded. “You’re worth more than what I’m paying you. A lot more. I’d like to fix that.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring immediately. “Fix it, huh?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’re not charging enough for the kind of work you do. I’m doubling it.”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “And what’s this really about, Max? Feeling generous all of a sudden?”

“It’s not generosity,” he said, his jaw tightening. “It’s fairness.”

Her laugh was sharp, almost bitter. “Fairness. Right. Is that what you call pity now?”

His brows shot up. “Pity? You think I pity you?”

“What else am I supposed to think? You see me working a second job and suddenly decide to play knight in shining armour?” She shook her head, a hard edge to her voice. “Keep your money, Verstappen. I don’t need your charity.”

“It’s not charity!” His voice rose slightly, and she blinked at the rare flash of frustration. He took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. “Is it a sin,” he said, his voice quieter now, “that I want to make sure you’ve got a roof over your head?”

She stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she sighed and leaned against the paddock fence. “You’ve got a hell of a way of showing it,” she muttered.

“What do you want from me?” Max asked, spreading his hands. “You work yourself to the bone here, and then you go to that—” He stopped himself, his voice tight. “That place. And you think I’m just supposed to ignore it? Pretend I don’t care?”

Her lips quirked into a smirk, though there was little humour in it. “Careful, Max. You’re starting to sound like a softie.”

He barked a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re raising a nine-year-old daughter on your own. And her closest friends are her unofficial uncles in the mafia.”

Her brows shot up, and for a moment, her lips twitched like she was fighting the urge to laugh. “That right?”

“That’s right,” he said, his tone lighter now, but his eyes still serious. “And maybe I don’t want to see someone else I—” He stopped, catching himself before he said too much. “Someone I respect running herself ragged.”

She studied him, her gaze softer now, but still guarded. “Max, I’m fine. Really. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, and I don’t need anyone swooping in to do it for me.”

“I know you don’t need it,” he said quietly. “But maybe I need to do it anyway.”

The honesty in his voice left her momentarily speechless. She glanced away, focusing on the horizon. “You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“Maybe,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But I don’t give up easily. Ask Stella.”

“Trust me, I’ve noticed,” she said, shaking her head. “Fine. If you’re so desperate to throw your money around, I’ll let you pay me more. But only because you’ll keep bugging me if I don’t.”

“That’s probably true,” he said with a shrug.

“But,” she added, pointing a finger at him, “if you start thinking this means I owe you something, I will kick you off this property.”

Max grinned, the tension between them easing slightly. “Noted.”

For now, it was enough. But as she walked away, her shoulders straight and her head held high, Max couldn’t help but think that his concern for her was starting to go beyond what he could justify as simple admiration.

And that thought both thrilled and terrified him.

He wasn’t sure when exactly it started happening—the subtle shift from guarded respect to something warmer, more playful. At first, he’d chalked it up to her stubborn streak. She never missed an opportunity to challenge him, whether it was a pointed remark about his suit and tie being out of place at the barn or her light jabs at his overprotective tendencies.

But as the weeks went on, those jabs started to feel less like walls and more like invitations.

It began innocently enough. One morning, Max showed up to Stella’s session with two coffees in hand—one black, the way he liked it, and one sweet and milky, based on an educated guess.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to her as she adjusted a saddle.

She glanced at the cup and then back at him, one eyebrow raised. “What’s this?”

“Coffee,” he replied dryly.

Her lips twitched. “I can see that. What I mean is, why are you giving it to me?”

“Because it’s cold, and I’m not completely heartless,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She took the cup, sniffed it cautiously, then sipped. Her eyes lit up for a brief second before narrowing. “Let me guess—someone else made this choice for you, didn’t they? No way you guessed right on your own.”

He grinned. “You caught me. Stella might have mentioned you have a sweet tooth.”

“Mm-hmm.” She set the cup on a nearby ledge, her expression neutral. “Thanks, Verstappen. I’ll try not to read too much into it.”

“You do that,” he said, but his smirk lingered for the rest of the morning.

It was then a Wednesday afternoon, and Max had just arrived at the barn when he caught her pulling a boot from a deep puddle of mud.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he said, leaning against the fence with his arms crossed.

She shot him a look, her nose scrunching. “Don’t start. This is your daughter’s fault, by the way. She decided Luna needed a little adventure off the trail.”

“She’s nine,” Max said, his tone mock-defensive. “You can’t hold her responsible for everything.”

She stomped her now-filthy boot back into place and gave him a pointed once-over. “No, but I can hold you responsible. You’re the one who raised her.”

Max laughed, loud and genuine, and it startled her for a second. She recovered quickly, shaking her head as she brushed past him. “You’re lucky I like Stella.”

“Lucky, huh?” he called after her. “I’ll take that as a win.”

The following week Max was standing at the edge of the paddock, watching Stella trot a clean figure-eight, when he felt her step up beside him.

“She’s getting better,” she said, her voice low and even.

“She’s got a good teacher,” Max replied, not looking away from the horse and rider.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her roll her eyes. “Flattery doesn’t work on me, Verstappen.”

“Wasn’t trying to flatter,” he said, turning to face her fully. “Just stating facts.”

She squinted at him, clearly suspicious. “You’re in a good mood today.”

“Maybe,” he said, his smirk returning. “Or maybe it’s just that you’re finally starting to warm up to me.”

She snorted. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” But her lips curved into a reluctant smile, and Max couldn’t help but feel like he’d scored a small victory.

By the fourth week, the playful banter had become a regular part of their routine. It was after Stella’s lesson, with the late afternoon sun casting golden light over the barn, that Max finally decided to push the boundary just a little further.

“So,” he said casually, leaning against the fence as she packed away the gear. “What do you do for fun? When you’re not working two jobs and pretending you don’t like my coffee.”

She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Why do you care?”

“Call it curiosity,” he said, shrugging. “Or maybe I’m trying to figure out if you’re even capable of fun.”

She laughed, tossing a saddle pad into the tack room. “I’m plenty capable, thank you very much. I just don’t have a lot of time for it.”

“That’s a shame,” Max said, his voice dropping slightly. “Maybe you should make time.”

She paused, turning to face him fully. Her expression was wary, but there was a flicker of something else—something that made his pulse quicken. “And what would I do with all this hypothetical free time?”

“Well,” he said, stepping closer, his tone careful but deliberate, “you could start by letting me buy you dinner.”

Her eyes widened, just a fraction, before she masked her surprise with a smirk. “Dinner, huh? Is this another one of your attempts to ‘make sure I’ve got a roof over my head’?”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “No. This is me asking you to spend time with me. No strings, no pity money. Just dinner.”

She hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the bridle she’d been holding. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said, his voice softening. “Unless, of course, you’re too scared.”

That did it. Her chin lifted, and her smirk turned into a full-blown grin. “Scared? Of you? Not likely.”

“Good,” Max said, his own smile widening. “How about Friday night?”

She tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Alright, Verstappen. You’ve got yourself a deal. But don’t think this means I’m going easy on Stella.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his chest lighter than it had been in weeks.

As she turned to finish her work, Max couldn’t help but feel like he’d just won the most important negotiation of his life.

Leading up to that Friday night, Max had been on edge all day, and he didn’t know why.

Everything had been going smoothly—Stella’s training, his business, even his tentative plans for dinner. But there was a gnawing unease in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t shake. He’d checked his phone more times than he cared to admit, waiting for a text from her confirming their meeting, but the screen stayed stubbornly blank.

By the time the sun started setting, his patience ran out. Max grabbed his keys and headed for his car, his gut screaming at him to go now.

When he pulled up outside her small cottage, the sight of her truck with its tailgate open and half-packed belongings hit him like a punch to the chest.

He stepped out of the car, his brows furrowing as he called out, “What’s going on?”

She looked up sharply, startled. For a split second, he saw something in her eyes—panic, maybe, or guilt—but she masked it quickly, busying herself with stuffing a duffel bag into the truck bed.

“Nothing,” she said, her voice tight. “Just... handling some stuff.”

Max crossed the distance between them in a few long strides, his tone sharp. “Don’t lie to me. What’s going on?”

“I’m not lying,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “It’s none of your business, Max.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” he shot back, grabbing the edge of the truck bed. “We had plans tonight, and now I find you packing up your life like you’re running from something. Talk to me.”

She let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. “Look, it’s complicated, alright? I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“You might not,” Max said, his voice lowering, “but I’m not leaving until you give me one.”

For a moment, she stood there, glaring at him like she was debating whether to push him away or tell him to mind his own business. But then something in her resolve cracked.

“Fine,” she muttered. “You want to know? I screwed up when I was younger. Got mixed up with the wrong people—the Tifosi. And now they’ve decided it’s payback time.”

The name hit Max like a freight train. The Tifosi were no joke. Ruthless, calculating, and vindictive, they didn’t let debts slide, no matter how old.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice tight with a mixture of anger and concern.

“Because it’s not your problem,” she said, her tone sharp. “I don’t need you swooping in to play hero, Max. I’ve handled worse.”

“That’s not the point!” His voice rose, frustration bleeding into his words. “You should’ve told me. I could’ve—”

“Could’ve what?” she snapped, her eyes flashing. “Fixed it? Made it all go away? Newsflash, Verstappen: not everything is yours to control. I don’t need to be saved!”

Max’s jaw clenched as her words sank in. He took a step back, his hands gripping the edge of the truck bed so tightly his knuckles turned white. Then, without a word, he grabbed the duffel bag she’d just loaded and yanked it back out.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, her voice rising.

“You’re not running,” he said firmly, throwing the bag into the back of his car. “You’re coming with me.”

“The hell I am!” She stepped forward, trying to grab the bag, but Max blocked her, his voice like steel.

“Yes, you are. My daughter needs an instructor, and I’m not letting her down because of some silly little debt.”

Her mouth fell open in disbelief, anger flashing across her face. “Silly little debt? Are you out of your mind? You know who they are!”

“I do,” Max said, his tone calm but unyielding. “And I know how to deal with them.”

“You don’t understand—”

“I understand plenty,” he cut her off, stepping closer. “You think you’re the only one who’s had the Tifosi breathing down their neck? You think I don’t know what it’s like to owe them?”

Her eyes widened, her anger faltering for the first time.

“I’ve dealt with them before,” Max continued, his voice softer now but no less determined. “And I’m still standing. You don’t have to do this alone.”

She stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to process his words. Finally, she shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because,” he said, his gaze locking onto hers, “I don’t let people I care about get crushed by this life. And whether you like it or not, I care about you.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Then she turned away, her shoulders tense. “Max, this is a mistake. You don’t need to get involved.”

“It’s not a mistake,” he said firmly. “And you’re coming with me, whether you like it or not. End of discussion.”

Before she could argue, he grabbed the rest of her bags, loading them into his car with a finality that left no room for debate.

She stood there, torn between fury and something she didn’t want to name, as Max closed the trunk and opened the passenger door.

“Get in,” he said, his voice steady but not unkind.

For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then, with a resigned sigh, she walked toward the car and slid into the passenger seat.

As Max got behind the wheel, he glanced at her, his expression softening just enough to show her he meant what he’d said.

“You’re not alone in this,” he murmured.

She didn’t respond, but the way her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly told him she’d heard him loud and clear.

The ride back to Max’s estate was silent, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel under the tires. She sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the road ahead.

Max glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to say something, to fill the tense quiet with words that might reassure her, but he knew better. She wasn’t the type to be soothed by platitudes, and besides, she’d made it clear she didn’t want his help.

Too bad, he thought grimly. She was getting it whether she wanted it or not.

When they pulled into his driveway, the sprawling estate loomed in the moonlight, its imposing structure a sharp contrast to her modest cottage. Max stepped out of the car and rounded to the trunk without a word, hauling her bags out with practiced ease.

“Where’s the rest?” he asked as she stepped out of the car.

“The rest of what?” she said, her tone clipped.

“Your horses.”

She blinked, taken aback. “They’re still at the barn. I wasn’t planning on leaving them.”

Max pulled his phone from his pocket, already dialling. “They’ll be here by morning.”

“Wait—what?” she sputtered, her voice rising. “You can’t just—”

“Watch me,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He spoke briefly into the phone, his words curt and to the point. When he hung up, he turned back to her, his expression calm but firm. “They’ll be transported safely. You’ll have stalls for them here.”

She stared at him, her frustration clear. “You don’t get to make decisions for me, Max.”

He shrugged, hefting one of her bags onto his shoulder. “I just did.”

The house was quiet as they entered, the kind of silence that spoke of thick walls and careful security. Max led her through the spacious halls, his steps sure and unhurried despite the tension in the air.

He stopped at a door on the second floor and pushed it open, revealing a neatly furnished room with warm, neutral tones.

“This is yours,” he said, setting her bags down near the bed.

She glanced around, taking in the plush rug, the antique dresser, and the large window overlooking the grounds. “It’s... nice,” she admitted reluctantly.

“It’ll do,” he said with a faint smirk.

He gestured for her to follow him down the hall, stopping at another door. This time, he knocked lightly before opening it.

Stella’s room was a whirlwind of bright colours and cheerful chaos. Posters of horses adorned the walls, and the bed was covered in a tangle of blankets and stuffed animals.

Stella looked up from where she was brushing her hair, her face lighting up when she saw her instructor. “You’re here!” she exclaimed, bounding over. “Are you having a sleepover?!”

She laughed softly, some of the tension easing from her posture. “Something like that, kiddo.”

“This is so cool!” Stella said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Wait till I tell Uncle Oz—oh, can Uncle Ozzy meet you in the morning? She’ll be so happy!”

Max chuckled, ruffling Stella’s hair. “Alright, alright. You can tell Oscar in the morning. Let her rest she’s just got here. And if anything happens, you call Uncle Lan. Got it?”

Stella nodded solemnly, her big eyes darting between her father and her instructor. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Just for a bit,” Max said, his voice gentle.

She pouted but didn’t argue, which made Max’s heart twist a little. He glanced at her instructor, who was watching the exchange with a quiet intensity.

When they stepped back into the hallway, she turned to him, arms crossed. “Where are you going?”

“Business,” he said simply, heading toward the stairs.

She followed him, her tone sharp. “You mean the Tifosi.”

Max paused, turning to face her. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held an edge of steel. “I said I’d handle it.”

Her jaw tightened. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” he said firmly. “They made it my business the second they came after you.”

She stared at him, her emotions warring between gratitude and frustration. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Max’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I’ve been told.”

And with that, he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the grand staircase as she stood there, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and something she couldn’t quite name.

The clock read just past midnight as Max pulled into the driveway, the quiet rumble of his car breaking the stillness of the night. The meeting with the Tifosi had gone as expected—tense, with more threats than he cared to count—but he’d made his position clear. They wouldn’t touch her. Not if they wanted to keep breathing.

He stepped inside the house, letting out a breath as the familiar warmth of home washed over him. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he moved through the quiet halls. When he reached the living room, the sight before him stopped him in his tracks.

There they were: his daughter curled up on the sofa, her small frame nestled against the armrest, and next to her, her instructor. The TV flickered softly, showing clips of a younger, brighter version of the woman beside his daughter.

He stood there for a moment, watching as the faint strains of applause and commentary played from the screen. The sight of her expertly guiding a horse through intricate dressage routines stirred something in him. But it was the way she slept now, her head tilted back, her features softened in the glow of the TV, that made his chest ache.

Max stepped closer, careful not to wake them. Stella’s head rested against the woman’s arm, her little hand clutching a stuffed horse. Max smiled faintly, his heart swelling as he reached down to scoop his daughter up.

Stella stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open for a moment before closing again. “Daddy?” she mumbled sleepily.

“Shh,” Max whispered, kissing her temple. “Just putting you to bed, sweetheart.”

She sighed contentedly, already slipping back into sleep as he carried her upstairs. After tucking her in, he noticed her water bottle was empty and picked it up to fill it in the kitchen.

When Max made his way to the kitchen, he found Lando leaning against the counter, tidying up a canister of cocoa powder.

“Lando?” Max said, his brow furrowing. “What are you doing here?”

Lando turned, his usual smirk firmly in place. “Emergency call.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Emergency?”

“Your kid called me in a panic because you’re apparently out of hot chocolate powder. Thought the world was ending.” Lando chuckled, placing the canister in its rightful spot. “I brought some over, but they knocked out before I could even make it.”

Max let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Thanks. I owe you.”

Lando waved a hand dismissively. “No big deal. I live for the drama. Besides, it’s Stella. She’s got me wrapped around her finger.”

Max smiled, grateful for his friend’s unwavering presence. “Get home. You’ve done enough.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando said, grabbing his coat. “Good luck with her, though.” He gestured vaguely toward the living room with a knowing look before heading out.

Filling up the water bottle and putting it back in its place Max returned to the living room, finding her still sound asleep on the sofa. The TV had switched to a dim, idle screen, and her breathing was soft and even.

He crouched down beside her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. For someone so fierce and guarded, she looked almost fragile like this. Vulnerable.

Without a second thought, he slipped his arms under her, lifting her gently. She stirred, her head naturally finding its place against his chest.

“Max?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

“It’s me,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

She shifted slightly, nuzzling closer into him. “Thank you,” she whispered, barely audible.

His heart twisted at the simple words, and he tightened his hold on her instinctively.

“Always,” he said softly, carrying her upstairs.

When he reached his room, he laid her down carefully on the bed, pulling the blankets over her. She murmured something incoherent, her lips curving into a faint smile.

Max stood there for a moment, watching her as she drifted back into deep sleep. The weight of the night’s events pressed on him, but so did the warmth of knowing she was safe, here in his home, with his family.

For the first time in a long time, it felt like he wasn’t just protecting someone—it felt like he was building something

the end.

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

[konigsblog]

farmer's daughter and the farmhand.

farmhand!könig x afab!reader.

you're the farmer's daughter, a hardworking woman who spends the majority of her day feeding the animals and harvesting the fruits and vegetables. könig spends a lot of time taking care of the animals too, but finds himself getting easily distracted by you.

you tease him so much, walking past him in a short sundress that doesn't do a good job of covering your body. his gaze wanders and becomes perverted, knowing your father would kill him if he was so touchy with his sweet daughter. in your father's eyes, you do no wrong; if anything, it's that awkward and creepy farmhand who can't keep his filthy hands to himself.

könig tries to hold himself back from taking you then and there, with the only thing preventing him being your strict, terrifying, and frustrated father, who is overly protective of his girl. you grin at him playfully, hooking your finger onto the necklace around his nape and dragging him into the barn before pushing him down against the ground, the hay sticking to his jeans.

truth be told, könig isn't experienced when it comes to women. he's usually feared by most for his large size, yet you don't care whatsoever—if anything, you're curious to see more, to see what sounds you can force out of the large male. you giggle at his flustered, bashful reaction when you straddle his broad hips, telling him how your father isn't home and that it's just the two of you together today. fuck, könig would be lying if he said he wasn't achingly hard at the sight of you, his eyes fixated on your soft breasts, his eyes wide with thrill and excitement, and his jaw slack.

you keep him awake at night, with his mind replaying moments where you have touched innocently, your hand brushing against his, fantasising about finally getting into your pretty lace panties and taking you. könig's sturdy chest rises and falls rapidly, pushing his t-shirt up and unfastening his leather belt, his girthy and lengthy dick twitching at your soft and sensual touch. könig heaves and gasps, his eyes wide with shock, his dick throbbing at the sound of your sultry and seductive voice.

you push your panties to the side, sinking down onto his lengthy dick, underestimating how much of a stretch this would be. your breathing is shaky, quiet, and shallow. you whine softly, beginning to bounce onto his weeping shaft, his head thrown back, admiring the way you take his hard, big dick so well. könig's calloused, dirty hands grip your waist, his grasp tight and firm, filling your sticky and sweet wetness with his hung cock, the tightness causing him to growl out and buck his hips skyward into you. your folds are coated in your pearly arousal, coating his shaft in a glimmer of your release, beginning to quicken your pace when you rub your clit in small circles.

your core tightens at the stimulation against your sweet and sensitive nub, and the head of könig's leaking dick rubs against your gummy cervix. you're going to leave him addicted, liebling, to the velvety, smooth texture of your drooling pussy around his lengthy cock. he's humiliated when he comes before you, stuffing your tight cunt with globs of his creamy, milky semen, oozing into your pretty pussy, fucked into your cunt, breathless and delirious.

[0x-cinder]

GN!Reader gets lost for a night. Law isn't very happy when they find their way back to the Polar Tang the next morning....

Content Warnings: mentions of alcohol, angst, a bit suggestive if you look hard enough.

"I would have torn that town to pieces"

You strolled through the town on your way back to Polar Tang, your head throbbing, an after-effect of the night before. You couldn't remember much after Ikkaku handed you your 6th shot of the night. I thought you remembered dancing with her? Or at least…Dancing with someone? The next thing you knew, you awoke hidden inside a hay wagon with no clue how you got there. You chuckled to yourself and vowed never to drink again…At least for the rest of the week. 

As you approached the rocks that served as the hiding place for the yellow submarine, you sighed in relief to see that it was still there. You'd half expected them to have left you there. Law preferred everyone to be present and accounted for on the Tang by nightfall. That said, you were undoubtedly in for a stern talking-to from the Heart Pirates' captain once you boarded. 

Weaving your way around the rocky shore, you spotted Bepo standing on the deck of the Tang and waved. 

The Bear's paws rushed to his mouth in a gasp, and he scrambled to lower the ramp, "They're back!" He called behind him before rushing towards you, trapping you in a tight, fuzzy hug. 

"Bepo…I can't breathe…" You wheezed, squirming to free yourself from his arms.

"Oh!" Bepo gasped, releasing you, "Sorry." 

You stepped back, brushing yourself off. Then you noticed the anxious look painted on the Bear's face as he looked you up and down.

 "What? Is something wrong?" You asked. Had something happened while you were gone?

"You- are you okay?" The bear questioned, still scanning your body for any sign of harm.

"Yeah? I think so? You're making me nervous, Bepo." You replied with a chuckle.

"You were really drunk last night. I turned my back on you for one second to get you some water and you disappeared! No one saw you leave the tavern. The Captain-" Bepo started to ramble. 

Guilt began to creep its way into your consciousness.

"Look who finally showed up." A rough voice resonated from the Tang. 

You peered over Bepo's shoulder to see a very pissed-off Trafalgar Law descending the ramp toward you. Shit. You thought. You'd wanted to at least take a nap before facing the captain's wrath.

"My office. Now." He ordered.

Bepo gave you a sympathetic look as you strode past him to follow Law. "I'm glad you're okay." 

You nodded with a sheepish smile before following your fuming captain onto his ship and into his office, passing multiple crew members who watched you with relieved looks on their faces.

Law opened the door for you. Once you were inside, he followed and closed the door behind him. He then walked to his desk, still completely silent, his back turned to you. You felt the anxiety start to rise in your chest at the uncomfortable silence. 

"Law I'm-" you started to apologize.

"Are you hurt?" He interrupted, clenching and unclenching his inked hands, as though he was trying to release some of his pent-up anger. You'd seen Law angry before, but never this angry. 

You were in some serious trouble. 

"No. I mean, I have a crazy hangover, but-" you began to explain before he cut you off again. 

"Where the hell were you?" 

"Well, I woke up in a hay wagon…I think I may have blacked out. Oops."

Law tensed, balling his hands into tight fists. "You're telling me you were wandering around. Alone. After dark. Drunk out of your mind. Are you insane?" His calm demeanor was starting to scare you. 

"I didn't mean to wander off…At least I don't think I did? I don't remember much from last night." You chuckled nervously, fidgeting with the tips of your fingers.

He spun around to face you, and the pained expression he wore on his face startled you, somewhere between intense worry and seething anger. You stepped backward, but your back hit the wall, preventing you from putting any more space between you and the furious man in front of you.  

"You think this is funny?" Law asked, still maintaining that eerily calm tone, "What if something happened to you? What if someone tried to hurt you or-" he cut off, his voice cracking slightly. He was slowly losing it.

Guilt shot through your body once again and you looked away, beginning to crumble under the pressure of the captain's intense gaze. 

"I guess you'd have to patch me up again then, huh, doc?" You joked, rubbing your arm awkwardly in an attempt to ease the tension that engulfed the room.

Law exploded. In seconds, he moved from the center of the room to hover over you. "This isn't a fucking joke." He seethed, his jaw clenched tight.

You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed yourself against the wall as if you could fall through it and escape this situation. You didn't. He was so close you could feel his rapid breathing on your hair.

"I-" you stumbled over your words. Taking a deep breath before continuing, "I didn't think anyone would-"

Law cut you off by slamming his hand into the wall behind you, making you jump. "Fucking look at me, god damn it!" 

You winced and opened your eyes, slowly bringing your gaze to meet his. His brows were creased with anger, but the vulnerability in his eyes shot a dagger through your heart. 

"You didn't think anyone would what?" he continued after a moment, "That anyone would care? Ikkaku didn't sleep last night. Neither did Bepo. Penguin and Sachi were out until 1AM looking for you, and I-"

He choked.

The doctor's anger softened ever so slightly as he brought his hand up to cup your cheek gently, "I would have torn that town to pieces until I found you if Penguin hadn't-" He paused, taking a deep breath.

Your eyes widened at his words. "Law.." You breathed, "I'm fine- you didn't have to-"

The man cut you off by running his thumb across your lips, his eyes darkened. Your heart pounded as they flickered down to your lips and then back up to meet yours, calculating. Questioning. 

He swallowed. "I'm just.." he trailed off. You could feel his shaky breath against your lips. He leaned closer, bringing his face centimeters away from yours, "terrified of losing you.." he finished.

Then his lips brushed against yours hesitantly. As if he was testing you. Making sure this was okay. 

You closed your eyes and pushed your lips to his, giving him your approval.

That was all Law needed.

Releasing the breath he was holding, he moved his lips against yours desperately, bringing his other hand to the other side of your face, caging you between his calloused hands.

He tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss as you melted into him, running your hands up his chest to rest around his neck.

The doctor let out a muffled groaned as one of his tattooed hands wove its way into your hair while the other slid down to your hips, his thumb slipped under the hem of your shirt igniting a fire that spread throughout your whole body. 

The captain flinched as if something had shocked him. Hesitating for a moment. You bit down on his lip softly, wanting more. He recovered instantly, pulling your hips against his while his other hand grabbed a fistful of your hair. You felt your knees grow weak beneath you, stumbling as they gave out entirely.

Law caught you, sliding his whole hand underneath your shirt to settle on your back, holding you tight against him as his mouth devoured yours; slowly, full of desire and self-indulgence. 

Everything other than him melted away and you moved your hands to rest on his jawline, holding his face, his lips, exactly where they were as you responded with a passion that almost rivaled his.

Eventually, you both remembered you needed to breathe and reluctantly pulled away, your bodies heaving together as you waited for your lungs to catch up. 

The reality of what just happened dawned on you in an instant. You'd just kissed the captain. Heat rushed to your face as your widened eyes met Law's. His cheeks were flushed, and his hair was a mess. The sight made your stomach flutter.

He touched his forehead to yours. "Now do you understand?" he asked breathlessly, his inked thumb drawing small circles over your cheek.

"I think so.." You gave him a nervous smile. "Are you still angry with me?"

"Yes. But I'll get over it." He sighed. "Just don't ever disappear like that again."

[cozymoko]

Wild, Wild West 𐚁

Introduction fic for my cowboy OC idea. I hope you guys like this. This was in my drafts for at least half a year, haha.

Pairing: Yandere Cowboy x City Girl! Reader

Format: Short fic; 1.4k words

WARNING(S): Yandere themes, possessive, minor insecurity from reader.

Synopsis: Jealousy, Jealousy, read all about it! When in a new environment, insecurities are bound to surface. Why don't you go get you a drink to simmer down a bit?

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

The old Texas sun was relentless, harsher than usual, beating down on the skin of those poor townspeople just going about their day. Its temper reminded you of your late grandmother, always nagging and pestering like there's no tomorrow.

You found refuge near the large clumps of hay by the stables. The smell was mundane, simple as though it were straight from a story book—unpleasant, sure, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

Why the hell were you out here anyways? Damn you for wanting to tag along to keep that big oaf company. He couldn’t stop poking fun at you, pushing you past your limits. It was like he knew you inside and out, from the surface of your pampered skin to the depths of your fluttering heart. For a man who wasn’t too fond of school, he sure seemed to study you quite a ton.

And speak of the devil. There he is.

He wiped dirt and grime off the worn denim that hung low at his waist. “What’s the matter, darlin’?” he called out, glancing over his shoulder to meet your eyes. “You don’t look too hot.”

Hell, that was an understatement.

He sauntered over, slipping his hat off his head. His long strides had him at your side in moments, staring down at your seated position. Pushing his deep auburn hair from his damp skin, he squatted next to you. “What’s the matter?” he asked, placing the hat back on his head with a lazy grin.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, torn between telling him and keeping your indignation to yourself. You weren’t even doing any of the heavy lifting, just spectating, but somehow, that made the heat even worse.

“It’s hot,” you mumbled, swallowing your pride.

“Then take ya' shirt off.” He grinned, raising a brow. “It’s just you ‘n me today, and it’s not like I haven’t seen you without it anyhow—”

“Stop!” you shouted, hugging your knees to your chest. If not for the heat, you were sure you'dve flushed even redder.

“Alright, suit yourself.” Jamie smirked, planting a quick kiss on your temple before rising to his feet in one swift motion. He turned back to his polished truck, the one he treated like gold. Sometimes, you swore he loved that hunk of metal more than anything, but you’d soon learn that his world revolved around you.

Your eyes followed his back, tracing the way his muscles moved with each twist of the wrench. Jamie was a tease, but damn if he wasn’t easy on the eyes. Your gaze drifted to the tattoos scattered across his tanned skin, lingering on the intricate, slightly faded markings near his jugular—your name, carved right there. The sight of it made you hot all over, and you even found yourself popping open a few buttons.

You had told that stubborn fool not to get it, warning him that tattoos were permanent and took hours of pain to remove.

“Why’re you sayin’ something like that?” he’d chuckled back then. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I get this baby removed, sugarplum. Dont worry about me nun’.”

The memory made you want to laugh. Jamie was as stubborn as a bull—and as big as one too. Too bad all that stubbornness would be the death of him. Not literally, of course.

“You wanna help me with the cattle? Think they need some lovin’, too.”

You tilted your head, a spark of hope flaring up. Maybe he was serious about wanting your help, about spending time together—maybe he was letting you be part of this place, tending to your shared home. But then he shrugged.

“Or I could get Mary Anne to come by. She’s always good with ’em—knows her way around horses like she was born with ’em.”

Mary Anne. Just the mention of her name made your blood boil. You’d seen her—all soft curls and sweet smiles, the kind of girl who fit right in here. Unlike you.

Your lips thinned, the jealousy rising like a rattlesnake. “Oh, is that so?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even despite the bitterness creeping in. “Mary Anne this, Mary Anne that—why don’t you just go on and ask her, then, since she’s not a ‘city girl’?”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Hey now, what’s got you so riled up, sugar?”

“What’s got me riled up?” you snapped, rising to your feet. “You know damn well, Jamie. You think I don’t notice how you bring her up every time it’s my turn to help?”

You took a deep breath. “I know I’m not as capable as the others, but this is my home too. I’ve been here for over a year, and you still don’t ask me to help.”

He rolled his eyes, sighing as he straightened up, towering over you. “Aw, hell, [Name]. You actin’ like this ’cause you’re on the rag or somethin’? Ain’t no need to get all hot ’n bothered over nothin’.”

The words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, disbelief turning into a wave of fury. “You think that’s what this is about?” you hissed, your voice sharp as a knife. “You think that just because I’m upset, it’s gotta be because of that?”

Jamie shrugged, unfazed, and that was the last straw. You spun on your heel, the dusty ground kicking up beneath your boots as you stormed off. “Go on and call her, then!” you shouted over your shoulder. “I’m sure she’s just itching to help you!”

You didn’t wait for his response. You marched across the sunbaked field, fists clenched tight. You needed to get away—somewhere he wasn’t. The barn blurred into blobs of red as tears stung at the corners of your eyes. But you weren’t about to let him see you cry. Not now, not ever.

This is not where you wanted to end up. An old, run-of-the-mill saloon on a Friday night, surrounded by drunkards and divorcees, the air thick with the stench of stale tobacco. Voices murmur, glasses clink, and the laughter around you is harsh and grating. To hell with it all. To hell with them.

The whiskey settles in your veins, warm and familiar as you lean against the sticky bar. Neon lights flicker, casting a red glow across your half-empty glass, and you blink to clear your vision. You know you’ve had too much, but the night’s long, and the noise makes it easy to drown out everything.

"Fuck," you mutter, rubbing your temples.

You’ve never been much of a drinker. After moving to the countryside to be with Jamie, life on the ranch demanded your focus. Jamie hated liquor, practically despised it.

Dammit, [Name], forget about him. You shake the thought away.

“Now, darlin’, looks like your glass is ‘bout empty,” a smooth, slow drawl cuts through your thoughts. The man tilts the brim of his hat back just enough for you to catch a glint in his eyes—cold, calculating, like a snake. “Why don’t you let me get you another?”

Oh, right. You weren’t exactly alone.

“Sound good?” he asks again, his voice dripping with intentions you’re too drunk to untangle, coaxing you with the rough pad of his thumb tracing over your knuckles.

You hum. “Thank you.”

For a moment, you try to recall his name—Michael? Richard? Ashton? Danny? None of them sound right. Nothing about him feels familiar. Just another face in the blur. You decide he’s irrelevant.

"You don’t want it to get cold now, do ya?"

A voice in your head tells you to stop, to head home before you cross a line. Something about him makes your stomach churn, but you blame it on the alcohol. It doesn’t take much persuasion before you reach for the glass.

The liquor is bitter but good. But once it slips down your throat, the room spins. You blink hard, trying to steady yourself.

The barstool creaks as you sway, gripping the counter for balance. The stranger’s grin stretches wider, eyes watching you like a hawk. You know you shouldn’t have taken that drink, but it’s too late. The world starts tilting.

You turn, ready to brush off the man beside you, when you hear the heavy boots. They echo on the old floorboards, slow and deliberate, each step sending a chill down your spine. Then, a hand rests on your shoulder, the grip firm, possessive.

“Takin’ drinks from strangers now, sugar?” His voice is low, a whisper against your ear. “Why’d you go and do that for? You know better.”

Jamie.

His breath is warm, almost too close, as his fingers dig into your shoulder just enough to keep you anchored. The stranger’s hand pulls back, and you catch the flicker of fear in his eyes.

Jamie’s fingers tighten, not enough to hurt, but enough to warn. “Ain’t polite to drink without me, darlin’.” His tone is calm, but there’s a tension in it, like a leash pulled too tight.

You look up at him, the soft light catching the curve of his grin. The cowboy hat sits low, loose curls brushing the nape of his neck, his button-up shirt hugging the broad stretch of his shoulders. His forearms, tanned and strong, are exposed as his sleeves are rolled up. His eyes, though—dark and unreadable—pin you in place. There’s a hunger in them, one that makes your skin prickle.

He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, wiping off the smudge of your lipstick. His grin widens, revealing sharp canines that peek between his lips. It’s friendly enough—too friendly. Like the way foxes smile when they’re circling prey.

“Mm, you’re drunk.” He says it like it’s a fact he’s already known for hours. “How much you had tonight, sugarplum?”

You stare at your glass, pretending you don’t know. You don’t want to admit to your carelessness.

Jamie chuckles, a low, knowing sound. “So, quite a bit, huh?”

His laugh is loud, and it feels like a warning. He leans in, his hand settling on your hip, fingers curling possessively. “And flirtin’ with some nobody at the bar. That’s new.” His eyes narrow. “So, you gonna tell me who he is?”

The stranger shifts uneasily, glancing between you and Jamie. His bravado fades, and he mumbles, “Look, I didn’t mean no harm. Just thought she could use some company.”

Jamie doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are locked on yours, sharp and unyielding. “Ain’t that sweet?” he says, his voice soft, but his grip on your hip tightens, like he’s claiming a prize. “But I think she’s got all the company she needs.”

The man hesitates, looks like he’s weighing his options, then backs off with a muttered apology, disappearing into the crowd.

The world tilts again, and you’re struggling to stay upright. The bar fades around you, the noise drowning in the back of your mind. The room swims, and your vision blurs, the faces blending into nothing but shadows.

Jamie’s presence feels suffocating. His eyes linger on you, dark and intent, like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s testing you. And you know, deep down, that he doesn’t just hate you drinking—he hates you here, surrounded by people who aren’t him.

“Let’s get you home, darlin’.” His tone is almost gentle, but there’s an edge beneath it, something nasty and foreign brewing beneath the surface.

Before you can protest—before the room spins again—he’s there, pulling you into him, lifting you off your feet like you weigh nothing. His arms wrap around your waist, and the world blurs as you’re hoisted over his shoulder, carried out the bar like a mere sack of potatoes.

The night air bites at your cheeks as he strides through the darkness, the cold wind cutting through the haze in your mind. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and sure beneath you, and his fingers grip your thigh, possessive and unyielding. He’s not letting you go.

Everything in you says to fight back, to push away, but he smells like home—like honey and oak. The world narrows down to him, the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his touch.

“Man, you’re gettin’ heavy. Eating too much pumpkin pie, huh, sugarplum?”

“Fuck you,” you manage, but it’s weak, and the smile he gives you is sharp and satisfied.

You close your eyes, the world tilting again, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into it. Maybe this isn’t so bad.

Maybe this is just how it’s meant to be.

⠀⠀𐚁

⠀. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

©CozyMoko, all rights reserved. Don't repost my work on other platforms.

[spatialwave]

"yes, sir."

pairing: pre-war!cooper howard x fem!reader word count: 3k ask: “Cooper x Reader where reader’s a girl with a kink for cowboys, and Cooper plays it up for her? Kind of a roleplay situation (smut), also if he’s into how small she is, that’d be great.” warnings/tags: mdni! smut, porn with plot, cowboy/cowgirl kink, size difference, age difference, dom!cooper, sub!reader, oral (m+f receiving), doggy-style, riding/cowgirl, edging/denial, praising, slight verbal degradation, bondage, gagging, you’re cooper’s babygirl. notes: big thank you to the anon who asked for a cowboy kink/size difference fic, hehe. i hope it was okay that i wrote pre war cooper, but when i think of cowboy, i think of him in that slutty little cowboy fit, lol.

“come on, coop, don’t be a prude,” you said with a big smile, standing in front of your partner with your hands interlocked in his, “you played a sheriff before, why can’t you do it for me?”

his lips curved into a smile as he titled his head down, his hat covering the red blush rising on his cheeks, “maybe i am turning into a prude,” he chuckled, rousing a laugh from you as you led him into the bedroom with a coy smile spread on your lips.

you’d been seeing cooper howard exclusively for a few weeks, having weaseled your way into his life a few short months after his divorce had been finalized. you were a young stable girl at the ranch where he’d kept sugarfoot, no longer living with barb in their old house meant he didn’t have the capacity to care for her on his own anymore. it was difficult, but he trusted one of the best ranchers just out of los angeles.

it was a stroke of luck to have been the one to help him the first day he stopped by your grandfather’s ranch, keeping yourself from bursting into excitement as you got his mare situated in her new home. there was immediate chemistry flowing between each other, but you knew cooper was tiptoeing around you, and you couldn’t blame him. 

you were certainly much younger than he was.

the movie star came around often, and although he’d spent most of his time riding sugarfoot, you couldn’t count on two hands the amount of times you’d caught him staring at you, covering it up by hiding his eyes behind the cowboy hat you’d always seen him wearing.

the sexual tension was mutual, so you acted on it.

you saw first-hand how incredibly pent-up he was, but you still couldn’t believe how quick he was to say yes when you offered him a blowjob a few days later. you didn’t beat around the bush when you knew what you wanted.

you led him behind one of the stables, covered up by a stack of hay bails, as you took him down your throat like the good girl you were. cooper didn’t last long, choking out a moan as he came in your mouth after a minute or two. 

since then, cooper was head over heels for you—the country girl he always wanted. someone who would say yes in a heartbeat if he asked you to go up to bakersfield with him to live on a ranch. it was dangerous territory, he was sure of it, but he’d never once felt so much fire in his heart when he was around you. you kept his spirit young.

likewise, cooper howard was everything you could’ve dreamed of in a man. handsome, kind-hearted, and eager to please.

that’s why he couldn’t say no when you asked so nicely for him to do some roleplaying with you in bed. wasn’t your fault that you had a thing for cowboys, and he just happened to be the hottest one you’d ever set eyes on.

so, there you were in his bedroom in nothing but a skimpy bra and panties set that he bought you a week earlier. red, see-through lace that cupped your perky tits and accentuated the curves of your ass. you made sure he was fully dressed, though, from a cowboy hat all the way down to the worn-in boots.

“see, baby?” you purred, kneeling on the edge of his bed like a minx, “there’s no one sexier than you, cowboy.”

it was hard to miss the flicker of interest in cooper’s eyes as you cooed at him. his cock twitching under his denim jeans that he desperately wanted off.

if this is what you wanted, then he’d sure as hell give it to you.

“don’t talk like you’re the one in charge here. i’m the sheriff around these parts,” he drawled through a smirk, his voice alone making you wet in anticipation, “so, be a good girl and listen to me,” cooper stepped forward, towering over your small frame as a calloused hand tilted your chin up to look at him, “ya’ think ya’ can do that for me, sweetheart?”

“yes, sir,” you murmured, a soft squeak escaping your lips when he pressed his lips against yours in a sudden, passionate kiss that made your stomach twist and turn in all the right ways. his tongue forced its way into your mouth, and you opened your lips for him to taste all of you, but he pulled back just to leave you craving more, “please.” you whimpered.

“shhh,” his lips pulled into a half-grin, and you knew then and there that he was enjoying this power dynamic as much as you were, “i need ya’ to be nice and quiet for me. don’t want anyone else in town listenin’ to what i do to you.”

your lips trembled as you sat patiently in front of him, heat building in your abdomen as your cunt squeezed and ached around nothing. cooper took off his hat, placing it nicely over your head—claiming you as his.

“lay back, darlin’,” he whispered, dipping his head low and following you as you landed onto the soft bed. he crawled over you, pressing wet kisses to your neck, down your chest until his lips teased around the band of your panties, “now, look at how wet you are. i barely even touched ya’,” he chuckled, leaning in to kiss your cunt over the wet fabric.

you held onto his hat, keeping it on your head, as you arched your back and chewed down on your lip to keep yourself from crying out in pleasure. 

he tongued at the fabric, finding your swollen clit and giving it attention that you would’ve preferred without your underwear on. you kept quiet, though, knowing that if you were on your best behaviour, ‘the sheriff’ would be sure to give you everything you needed.

a whimper barely escaped your lips when he tugged the fabric aside, cool air making you pulse and twitch.

“christ, baby,” he groaned, “you want my cock so bad, don’t you? i bet you wanna’ ride me until you’re screamin’ my name and beggin’ for me to let you cum.”

you were fighting for your life as cooper’s thumb pressed slow circles on your bundle of nerves, the words falling from his tongue sending your stomach into a fit of butterflies. he had never been so vulgar with the way he spoke, you weren’t sure you’d be lasting long if he kept it up.

“cooper, please,” the words spilled from you before you could stop, a moan choking in your throat, “shit—i mean, sir,” you whined.

a man of his word, cooper pulled away from you, standing at the edge of the bed and watching the way you squirmed without his touch.

“i told you to be quiet,” he clicked his tongue in disappointment, unbuttoning the blue and yellow top that looked so perfect on him. accented with leather fringes hanging off his broad shoulder, and a little golden star on the left side—just like a sheriff, “i thought you’ were goin’ to be a good girl for me,” he sighed, “suppose i need to punish you, until you learn to behave.”

he finished unbuttoning the top, leaving his chest exposed, as he reached down and undid his belt buckle with one hand. cooper pulled the leather out from the belt loops of his denim, and your mind went haywire at the sharp sound.

“lay on your stomach,” he commanded, watching with a smirk as you obeyed. his hands took your wrists, pulling them behind you so he could snag them together until his belt had them forcefully restricted. he let out a whistle, “you look goddamn’ pretty all tied up,” he smiled, large hands reaching down and massaging your ass before pulling your panties off.

you looked over your shoulder at the cowboy, trying to pry your wrists apart, but he was good with a belt. eyes settled on his exposed chest and your mouth pooled with saliva, wishing you could turn around and let him fuck you while your fingernails scratched against his abs and left reddened marks on his skin.

cooper’s hands moved to your hips and lifted you onto spread knees on the edge of the bed, just high enough so he had the perfect angle to fuck you as good as he believed you deserved. you kept your face turned to the side, breathing heavy and biting back moans as you felt his fingers rub through your folds. already you felt your knees wanting to give up, but you willed yourself to stay upright. the last thing you needed was to upset him and be edged for hours—or worse, not allowed to cum at all.

he pushed a finger inside you, heavy-lidded hazel eyes watching your expression as your tight cunt contracted around his digit. your fingers bent and dug into the leather belt as he slid in a second, roughly finger fucking you as your eyes had begun to roll into the back of your head. it was so damned good, but it wasn’t enough—you rocked your hips back against his fingers, silently begging for him to fuck you harder and deeper. 

you held back a moan, the sound radiating deep in your chest and loud enough for cooper to hear.

“now, now, babygirl,” he murmured gently, free hand holding your hips still, “once i start fuckin’ you, i promise you can try bein’ as loud as you want.”

that alone made another whimper come from you, an agonizing feeling swallowing you whole when his fingers pulled out and left you empty and exposed. 

you opened your mouth, ready to talk out of turn and beg for his cock desperately, but you were met with your panties being shoved between your lips, rightly so. a makeshift gag that would make it near impossible to get any sounds out.

“good girl,” cooper uttered, his hand brushing back hair so he could see your face, “i did say ‘try’, didn’t i?” he chuckled, taking far too much pleasure in the dominance he had over you, and by the looks of you, he knew you loved it.

he shimmied the opened shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground as he unzipped his jeans and pushed them to his thighs, so his cock sprung free. the cowboy didn’t waste time running the head along your wet pussy, watching as his pre-cum dripped out and coated your entrance. the lace gag muffled your moans as each stroke along you made your thighs quake in pleasure, leaving you a complete fucking mess.

“fuck,” he groaned lowly, holding the base of his cock with his right hand, the other holding your hip up so you didn’t collapse, “i don’t know how you’re gonna’ take this cock,” he breathed heavy, slowly pushing into your cunt, “so small… just a sweet little thing.” 

you groaned, your tongue pressing against the fabric in your mouth when tears stung your ears as his cock filled you. he wasn’t wrong, you weren’t sure how you managed to take him; he towered over you in height, and he was very well-endowed. he often fucked you so deep that your stomach bulged with each rough snap of his hips, his hand would press against your lower tummy so he could feel his cock fucking you dumb.

cooper groaned when he reached the hilt, giving you only a few seconds to adjust to the fullness you were a good girl who could take it, you’d proven that many times.

his thick cock slid through your swollen walls and stretched you with each forward push of his hips, balls slapping hard against your clit. you were gagging on the fabric pathetically, the sounds from you nothing more than muffled whimpers.

his hand tugged on the belt strapped tight around your wrists, using it as leverage as he fucked you so hard you felt like you might pass out. your eyes fluttered closed as they rolled back, body shaking in tandem with the bed as spit dripped down your chin after your panties fully soaked in your mouth.

with how tight you were squeezing around his cock, cooper knew you were close. 

“don’t cum, yet, baby,” he moaned, head falling back as he rocked hard against you, tugging harder on your wrists so you were pulled up from the bed, tits bouncing with every thrust.

you were seconds away from cumming when cooper dropped your wrists and pulled out—your cunt dripping with juices down your thighs. you landed hard against the bed, face buried in the blanket as it swallowed up the tears streaming down your cheeks from the denial. your lover undid the belt around your wrists, and you were quick to pull them apart, relishing in the freedom to touch where you wanted.

cooper bent down and pressed his tongue to your abused cunt, lapping at you wildly and getting a good taste. you pulled the gag out of your mouth just in time to let out a strangled moan, vibrating deep from your chest.

“fuck, cooper—“ you cried, hips and knees shaking uncontrollably, “you’re gonna’ make me cum, please, don’t stop. i wanna’ cum so bad.”

“you cum when i tell you, you can,” he mumbled against you, hands grabbing tight at your ass as his tongue pushed inside you.

it took everything for you to focus on holding back your climax, the way his tongue penetrated you nearly threw you over the edge, but he was good at knowing your triggers. he pulled back from you, licking his lips as he stood back up on his feet and kicked off his boots and jeans.

“ride me,” he said breathlessly, watching you crawl to your hands and knees as he moved to lay back on the bed with his head in the pillows, “you like ridin’ cowboys, don’t you?”

“yes, sir,” you mewled, chewing on your bottom lip as you moved to straddle him. cooper had never looked sexier to you, his forehead and chest were damp with sweat and his cheeks flushed a perfect shade of pink. 

with one hand, he reached behind you and unhooked the clasp of your bra, snagging the fabric from your body and tossing it off the bed. his hands were quick to massage your tits, squeezing your nipples between his fingers as you sunk down on his cock with one quick drop of your hips. 

you and cooper moaned together as he stretched you out, your body flushed hot as you pressed your hands to his chest and rocked your hips. 

he praised you often, saying sweet little nothing's and showering you in compliments as you rode him just the way he liked it. there was no better gratification than watching the way his face twisted in pleasure as he moaned your name over and over like a prayer.

“i want you to cum in me,” you said through a quick inhale, beginning to lose your breath, “please, sir. i’ve been so good for you.”

a guttural growl came from him as he grabbed at your jaw and yanked you down roughly into a hungry kiss. he licked into your mouth, and you were much too willing to part your lips and let him take your breath away.

cooper lifted his hips with his remaining strength, just enough so he could pull his cock from you and thrust back up, fucking you relentlessly. you buried your face against his neck, gurgled moans bubbling up your throat and into his ear as your body rolled toward the edge once again. his stubble rubbed against your cheek, and it was the only thing you focused on as you held back your orgasm until he gave you permission.

you had become nothing but a toy of pleasure for him, your body limp as he slammed his hips into yours, and the sound of your skin slapping together echoed louder than the headboard banging against the wall.

“you take my cock so fuckin’ good, baby. i want you to cum with me,” cooper whined into your ear, and you could hear his voice shaking, “fuck, i’m gonna’ cum,” he growled.

cooper reached a hand between you and thumbed at your clit, circling it several times in a quick pattern—all you needed for your pleasure to erupt you into a state of euphoria. you saw stars, a fucked out smile on your lips as your cunt tightened around his cock and left you babbling his name as cooper continued to fuck you. his thrusts stuttered a few times, unable to keep up the rhythm as your pulsing cunt milked out his orgasm. he came inside you with a deep-throated groan, filling you with wet, sticky cum.

his body finally gave in, and he collapsed back on the bed with you dropping to his chest. you were both covered in sweat, chests heaving as you caught your breath and gave your bodies time to be still and quiet. relishing in the aftermath of one of your kinkiest rendezvous.

cooper was the first to groan and shift in his position, his body already sore and knowing he’d be aching for a couple days. those beautiful hazel eyes of his stayed focused on your face as you leaned your head back to get a good look at him. he smiled lopsided, making you blush, as his hand brushed hair out of your face that clung to the sweat gathering on your skin.

“you’re so damn perfect,” he whispered to you in that thick southern accent, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips that made you fall in love with him all over again, “my babygirl.”

[pitlanepeach]

FROM EDEN | Chapter Two (2/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety, depressive episodes + very brief references to skin-picking. Mental health shaming.

Notes — Lots of dialogue + messages in this one. Next chapter will be posted on (or before) Thursday!

The family group chat was already at thirteen unread messages by the time Francesca mustered the courage to look at it.

Mum: June flights are cheaper if you book now xx

Izzy: I’ll be home that week too! Dad said he’s going to do a BBQ. I’m bringing Zack. 

Mum: It’s been ages, Fran. Everyone wants to see you.

Francesca read the messages slowly, one by one, her gut curling with that all too familiar guilt.

She should want to go home for the summer. She hadn’t seen any of them since Christmas. She missed them, in her own way. But the thought of travelling, especially alone — of trains, of planes, of conversations she couldn’t quietly log off from — made her want to disappear. 

She opened the notes app on her phone and rehearsed her response:

Hey, I don’t think I’ll be able to come this summer. It’s a really bad time for me, mentally.

She stared at it. Deleted it. 

Retyped:

Hey, I’ll have to see. Work is really full on right now.

That one she copied and pasted into the chat. Sent it. 

Immediately, three little bubbles popped up. Her pulse spiked.

Mum: It’s only one weekend. I’m sure your little channel survive. 

Izzy: Oh come on, Francesca. It’s one weekend. Dad misses you. 

Francesca locked her phone and turned it screen-side down on her bed. 

Henry stirred where he was curled up against her side, sensing the shift in energy.

She pressed her hand into his soft fur and whispered, “You’d hate it. Too many people. Not enough snacks. Mum will get hay fever and and blame her runny nose on you.”

He blinked up at her. Loyal. Unbothered. Her co-conspirator.

She picked up her phone again. She could feel the heat rising in her chest — a familiar, creeping anger she usually buried so deep that it didn’t even get a name.

Not today.

Her thumbs moved before her brain could stop them.

Has it ever occurred to you that you could come here instead?

She blinked at the snappiness of her outburst, her breath catching in her throat.

Then:

You’re always asking me to come home and expecting me to be okay with the travel. But none of you have been to London since I moved here. It’s just always assumed that I’ll suddenly be fine travelling by myself. Which I’m not. 

Her heart pounded. She hovered over the message, the way she always did.

And then she hit send.

Almost immediately, panic flooded in behind the adrenaline.

Too much. Too harsh. She could almost hear the stunned silence that would follow.

The chat stayed still for a minute. Then two. Then—

Mum: We’re just trying to help you, sweetheart. You need to learn how to push yourself out of your comfort zone. You’re an adult now. 

Izzy: Lol. Yikes. 

Francesca sighed and closed her eyes, pressing her head back against her headboard.

She didn’t regret letting herself say it. Not really.

Even though it hadn’t seemed to make a difference. 

She didn’t need to push herself. She had boundaries and that was okay.

Henry nosed her hand with his head, and she scratched behind his ears absently.

“I know,” she murmured. “That could’ve gone better. But still.”

She thumbed through her apps again, not to the chat this time, but Instagram. She found herself staring — almost absently — at Oscar’s profile, her thumb hovering over the follow button.

It wasn’t the same, she told herself. But somehow, it still felt like the same kind of bravery.

She pressed her thumb down and watched the icon shift from Follow to Following.

There. Done.

Her heart beat a little too fast, but she didn’t unlock her phone again. Not yet.

She glanced at the time and let out a quiet, slightly disbelieving laugh.

It wasn’t even eleven a.m. and she’d done two scary things.

She was unstoppable.

— 

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Katie: 

You followed him back.

Francesca: 

should i have asked for permission first?

Katie:

You’re sassy today

Francesca: 

i had to interact with my sister  

Katie:

Ew.

—

Like she did every Friday night, Francesca ordered a takeaway — Thai, because she was predictable — and curled up with Henry while she worked through her notifications.

She responded to YouTube comments first. Then Instagram. Then TikTok.

“Loved this rec!”

“Adding this to my TBR.”

“You have the coziest voice, please do ASMR.”

She typed thank yous, sent emojis, liked everything in sight.

By the time she opened her DMs, she was comfortably full and lulled into a rhythm — heart-reacting sweet messages, replying to the odd question about where she got her bookshelf lights.

She didn’t expect to see it.

Didn’t expect him.

An unopened message. From a verified account. Sitting halfway down the screen like it had been waiting for her.

Instagram DM's — Oscar Piastri > Francesca Gold

Oscar Piastri Thank you. Are you a McLaren fan?

And then a few hours later, he’d followed up with: 

I just wanted to say I really liked your last video. It made my flight way less boring.

She froze. Actually froze.

Her eyes scanned the messages again, and again, as if they would change.

And then, with dawning horror, she realised what had happened. 

She’d sent it. In the process of clumsily exiting out of the app, she’d sent the message congratulating him on his podium.

And he’d seen it. 

And responded to it. 

His response hadn’t been there yesterday. Had it?

She wasn’t sure. Her inbox was always a bit of a mess, but still—

She let her phone drop to her lap, stared at the ceiling, and let out a sound that was somewhere between a squeak and a yell.

Henry looked up from his loaf position and stared at her. 

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “I’m totally fine.”

She wasn’t.

She was an idiot. A fat-thumbed idiot. 

She didn’t reply straight away.

Instead, she opened the message thread again. Then again. Then three more times, pacing between her couch and the kitchen like some kind of Victorian ghost haunting her flat.

Henry trailed after her for the first few laps before giving up and flopping down with a lazy sigh.

One sentence. Barely even a thing. But it was him, telling her that he’d enjoyed her last video, after asking her if she supported the team he drove for, and that changed everything.

She drafted five different replies, none of them good.

Too casual. Too try-hard. Too weird.

She threw her phone across the room, onto the couch, and stared at the wall for a full minute before groaning into her hands.

Eventually, after she’d stress-eaten three mini chocolate muffins that she didn’t even like, she picked up her phone and typed, quickly this time, before she could overthink it:

Francesca Gold Thanks. I’m glad I made it easier for you. 

And I don’t know much about McLaren. Just cheering for you, I guess. 

She stared at it.

It was true. It was honest. It didn’t sound like she wanted to marry him, probably.

She pressed send.

Immediately put her phone face down.

Then picked it back up, just to check.

Then turned it off entirely.

Henry meowed like he disapproved of her cowardice.

She glared at him. “Shut up, Garfield.” 

He glowered at her. 

—

Katie had arranged for an Uber to pick her up right outside of her flat and bring her straight to the office. No walking, no public transport, no unnecessary variables. Just door-to-door.

It was the kindest version of a nightmare.

Francesca perched on the edge of the back seat, hands curled in her lap, her breath shallow despite the driver's quiet humming and the soft instrumental music playing through the speakers. She had her AirPods in but wasn’t listening to anything — she just needed a barrier between her and the world.

Every red light made her stomach twist tighter. Every bump in the road sent a flicker of nausea through her chest. It felt ridiculous — it was ridiculous — but having self-awareness didn’t make it any easier.

She glanced at her phone without thinking.

And then blinked at the notification she was met with.

Instagram DM's — Oscar Piastri > Francesca Gold

Oscar Piastri I feel special. And kind of like I need to point at Lando and laugh at him

A small, startled laugh escaped her. It sounded foreign in the confined space.

Another message popped up, and her eyes went wide as she realised what was happening; they were both in the chat at the same time.

Oscar Piastri But now I have to ask — favourite driver who isn’t me?

A tiny smile pulled at the corners of her lips before she could stop it. Her fingers moved quickly over the screen. 

Francesca Gold I’n very new to the sport, but I have a few favourites, I guess. 

Oscar Piastri How new? 

She bit her lip. 

Francesca Gold

Watched my first qualifying the day after u followed me. 

Lol

Oscar Piastri 

No way

Really? 

That’s really cool, actually. 

Did you enjoy it then?

The tightness in her chest eased. Not completely. But enough.

The hum of the road didn’t feel so sharp. Her jaw unclenched.

She leaned her head against the window, let the cool glass ground her, and typed back:

Francesca Gold Sure. 

My cat wasn’t so keen. 

The three little dots appeared instantly.

And suddenly, the office didn’t feel quite so far away.

Oscar Piastri

The ginger one?

Francesca Gold

Haha. Yes. His name is Henry. 

Oscar Piastri I like cats :) Sry, gtg. Being glared at for being on my phone in a meeting.

Francesca stared at the message, her fingers tightening around her phone like it might float away if she let go.

He was messaging her when he was supposed to be working? Like, at work-working. With people. In a meeting. While probably wearing a team shirt and doing serious, important racing driver things.

Her heart did this awkward little somersault in her chest.

Francesca Gold 

Have fun. 

—

The Uber rolled to a stop outside the sleek glass building, and Francesca's heart started thudding again, loud and clumsy in her chest.

But before she could spiral, the door swung open and Katie’s familiar voice filled the car.

“There she is,” she said brightly, reaching in with one arm to haul Francesca up like she was a tiny dog and not a grown adult. “I was starting to think you’d made the driver turn around.” She leaned between the front seats and said, “Cheers, mate. Have a good day.” To the driver. 

“I considered it,” Francesca muttered, tucking her phone into her coat pocket and willing the blush on her cheeks to cool.

Katie narrowed her eyes the moment they stepped onto the pavement. “Why are you blushing?”

“I’m not—blushing,” Francesca lied, immediately and unconvincingly.

Katie stopped walking. “You are!”

Francesca shot her a warning look but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her mouth. “You’re being so dramatic.”

Katie just grinned, triumphant. “I’m right. You were blushing.”

Francesca shook her head, her fingers twitching inside her coat sleeves. Then, quieter, she said, “Thank you. For organising the car. And… for understanding. About all of this.”

Katie blinked at her like she’d just announced that she was moving to the moon.

“Babe,” she said simply, “you don’t thank people for turning on a light in the dark. It’s just what you do.”

Francesca swallowed hard. 

And then Katie, who never could leave a moment un-teased, added, “Now will you please tell me what made you blush?”

She exhaled slowly, pressing her knuckles to her lips.

Then, deadpan, to Katie: “He said he likes cats.”

Katie blinked. “He? Who’s he?”

Francesca just smiled down at the pavement.

Katie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to be unbearable, aren’t you?”

“I’m already unbearable.”

“Well. At least you’re self-aware.”

—

It was late, and the empty pizza box sat open on Francesca’s coffee table was like a monument to their gluttony. Henry had given up trying to sneak crusts and was now dozing on the back of the couch like a furry gargoyle, his tail flicking every so often.

Katie wiped her hands on a napkin and leaned back with a contented sigh. “Okay, we should eat like this every week. I don’t care if it gives me cheese-induced nightmares.”

Francesca laughed softly, tucking her legs beneath her and cradling her thin-stemmed wine glass close. “Hard agree.”

Katie nodded, then tilted her head, studying her. “How are you doing? With everything, I mean.”

Francesca took a breath. Then another. She watched the wine swirl in her glass, the way the lamplight caught it and made it look warmer than it was. 

“I’m… okay,” she said eventually. “Some days are harder than others. Today wasn’t the worst.”

Katie didn’t press. Just waited.

“I still haven’t been out on my own for months,” Francesca added, quieter now. “And I get panicky just thinking about having to travel home. I hate how heavy it all feels, sometimes.”

Katie reached for the bottle and topped up both their glasses, like that was the kind of answer that required more wine. It probably was. 

“It’s okay to feel heavy,” she said. “You’re the one living with it. You can feel however you want.”

Francesca’s eyes stung.

“I know,” she whispered. “It’s just exhausting. Like, I feel like I’m never doing enough.”

“Don’t say that,” Katie said firmly. “You’re successful. You’re kind. And you’re working really damn hard to get better. I know you are. Not just the therapy, but the medication, and the whole posting more of your face thing? Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” She said. “I think you’re really bloody brave.” 

Francesca smiled, brittle and small. “Tell that to my family.”

Katie rolled her eyes and raised her wine glass with a thin, vexed smile. “I hate your family. Let’s toast. To boundaries.”

Francesca clinked her glass with Katie’s. “To wine.”

They drank in silence for a beat, and then Katie smirked. “And to Oscar Piastri’s stupidly pretty face.”

Francesca choked on her sip, her face heating immediately. “God. I can’t even look at a picture of him properly without blushing.”

“So don’t look. Just keep messaging him and pretend he’s a normal boy with a normal job and a slightly ridiculous gluten allergy or something.”

Francesca frowned. “You think he has a gluten allergy?” 

She hadn’t seen any mention of one on his wikipedia page. 

Katie shrugged. “It feels like something rich men have.”

Francesca giggled, shaking her head at her best friends ridiculousness. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how you keep checking your phone every five minutes.”

Francesca scrunched up her nose in embarrassment and let her head fall back against the couch. “I’m pathetic.”

Katie grinned. “No, you’re not. But if you’re going to keep dm’ing Australia’s golden boy, I feel like I deserve to live vicariously.”

“He’s not—” She stopped herself, huffing out a breath. “He’s just… nice. And funny. And—”

“And gorgeous,” Katie supplied with a smirk.

Francesca covered her face with her hands. “He’s so gorgeous. It’s actually rude.”

Katie let out a delighted cackle.

“But,” Francesca added, quieter this time, “he’s from another planet. Like, look at my flat, and look at me. And then think about his world. I can’t even make myself go to the shop most days, and he’s flying around the world, at the top of his sport, walking red carpets, getting papped at airports…” 

Katie sobered a little, her eyes kind. “Yeah, but he followed you. And he’s still here.”

“I know,” Francesca whispered, resting her glass on the edge of the table. “But what could actually come of this? Realistically? His fans already hate me. Twitter made that very clear.” 

There was silence for a beat.

Then Katie shrugged. “Okay, then maybe it’ll mean nothing. Or maybe… you just keep talking and see what happens. You don’t have to map out the next ten years right now.”

Francesca gave a small, tired smile. “I wish I could think like that.”

“You will,” Katie said confidently, nudging her shoulder. “Maybe not today. But eventually. And until then, I’ll be here to eat carbs and overanalyse his emojis with you.”

Francesca chuckled, leaning into the familiar comfort of her best friend. 

—

After Katie left, Francesca moved around her flat in a soft, post-wine haze — putting away clean glasses, tucking the pizza box into the bin, flicking off the overhead lights in favour of the warm lamplight she always preferred. Henry had already curled up in his usual spot at the foot of her bed, purring faintly. The perfect white noise.

She changed into an oversized T-shirt, made herself a cup of peppermint tea she’d probably forget to drink, and slid under her duvet with her phone in hand — mostly to scroll aimlessly until she eventually fell asleep. 

Instead, she found a new message waiting.

Instagram DM's — Oscar Piastri > Francesca Gold

Oscar Piastri Hi again :) sry for earlier Do you have any book recs for a birthday gift? It’s for my sister. I forgot to plan ahead. And you seem like the right person to ask.

Francesca stared at the message, then at the time: 11:42 PM. Her heart did that familiar, silly twist, and she pulled the duvet a little higher around her.

Francesca Gold hi. it’s fine any idea what she likes?

The reply came almost immediately.

Oscar Piastri Umm. She reads a lot Sometimes romance. Sometimes thrillers. She’s smarter than me. Is that a genre?

Francesca let out a fond laugh, covering her mouth so she wouldn’t startle Henry. She could picture him typing, awkward but earnest, and it was too endearing for her peace of mind.

Francesca Gold not a genre but i can work with that

She paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. There was something oddly intimate about choosing a book for someone else. Like passing along a tiny piece of yourself.

She thought for a moment, then started typing again.

Francesca Gold okay — can i send you a link to a list?

Oscar Piastri Yes. 100%

Francesca Gold *goodreads list named ‘Oscar’s Sister’*

Oscar Piastri Found them all on amazon. Thank you! Should i tell her that her birthday books were chosen by her favourite booktuber? Haha

She stared at the first message.

There was no reason for her to be surprised. He was a professional athlete — of course he had money — but the list she’d thrown together in less than five minutes had at least twenty books on it. Twenty.

And he’d gone and bought them all.

She shook her head, incredulous.

Francesca Gold if you want what if she doesn’t like them?

Oscar Piastri Figured if she doesn’t like some, she’ll just lend them to me

Francesca when was the last time you read a book? be honest

Oscar Piastri Pre-prema days probably

She stared blankly at the words.

Francesca Gold i have no idea what that means. sorry

There was a short pause, then:

Oscar Piastri Cute :) Before I joined F1, I was in the lower formulas. I was with a team called Prema. That’s the last time I remember reading a book.

Cute. He’d called her cute.

She reread the message at least four times, just to be sure she hadn’t hallucinated it.

Nope. Still there.

She was blushing so hard it felt like her face might actually combust. It was ridiculous. Entirely inappropriate. She was a grown woman — a grown woman who’d once had a panic attack in a Tesco Express and was currently hiding under a weighted blanket like it might save her from the implications of the word cute.

This was uncharted territory. Dangerous, flirty territory. And the worst part?

She kind of liked it.

— 

A week later, Oscar sat in front of the McLaren media backdrop, posture relaxed, eyes half-lidded beneath the bright spotlights. The interview had been going on for ten minutes. Same questions. Slightly different wording.

And then:

“Last one for you, Oscar — what’s something you’ve been enjoying lately? Doesn’t have to be racing-related. Music? TV? Podcasts?”

Oscar paused for a beat, lips twitching. “There’s this YouTuber I’ve been watching. She talks about books.” He shrugs, playing it off as casually as he can. “It’s kind of calming. I’ve been into that lately.”

He moved on to the next question, pointedly ignoring the deer-in-headlights stare from Lando. 

— 

Francesca hadn’t tuned in to watch any of the driver press conferences. She had too much editing to do and not enough time to get it all done before her deadlines.

She was knee-deep in timestamps, captions, and a particularly annoying bit of background noise she couldn’t quite scrub out when her phone buzzed once.

Then again. And again.

And then Katie texted her in all caps.

iMessage — Francesca & Katie

Katie: OSCAR. MENTIONED. YOU.

Katie: LIKE OUT LOUD. IN FRONT OF ACTUAL PEOPLE.

*link*

Feeling numb, she clicked the link and watched the 10-second clip.

And then she watched it again.

And again.

“There’s this YouTuber I’ve been watching. She talks about books. It’s kind of calming.”

No name. No direct reference. But the moment hung in the air like a secret someone had shouted through a megaphone. She almost laughed at the expression on Lando’s face — pure astonishment. 

Her Instagram notifications were already spiralling. A few thousand new followers. Two brand accounts she’d never heard of trying to DM her. And someone had already screen-recorded the moment and posted it to Twitter.

“BOOKTUBE GIRLIE IS BOOKTUBING INTO OSCAR PIASTRI’S HEART”

“he’s so real for watching a comfort girl on youtube before bed”

“get her name now i want to see her tiktoks before the algorithm ruins it”

Francesca blinked at her phone. 

Oh. That was… better than last time, at least. 

Then again, they had no idea who she was yet. They were just blindly trusting their idols opinion. As soon as they looked further into her channel, watched a few videos, they’d realise that she wasn’t exactly… normal. 

She swallowed thickly. 

Her phone pinged with a message.

Katie:

You okay? 

Francesca: 

Yeah

—

Instagram DM’s — Oscar Piastri > Francesca Gold

Oscar Piastri Sorry. Hope that wasn’t weird Reckon I should’ve checked with you before I did that 

She inhaled sharply, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Francesca Gold bit overwhelmed tbh but i like that you like my vids enough to actually talk about them

Oscar Piastri I really do Do you have any new ones coming soon? I'm travelling a lot over the next few weeks 

She buried her face in her hands, sighing loudly.

Because she was smiling.

— 

She wasn’t expecting it.

She’d woken up later than planned, face smooshed into her pillow, hair doing some kind of modern art sculpture around her head. Her phone was tucked under the duvet with her — a terrible habit — and she blinked at the bright screen as it buzzed once in her hand.

Oscar Piastri sent a voice message.

Her heart stopped. She stared at the notification with shock. 

A voice message. At 8:13 a.m. On a Friday.

“No,” she whispered aloud, already flailing to sit up, which only caused Henry to jump down from her legs with a dramatic mrrrow of protest. “Henry. He’s sent us a voice note. A bloody voice note.” 

Henry didn’t react. 

She hesitated for a solid minute before pressing play, holding the phone just close enough that she could hear it, but far enough away that she could easily throw it across the room if she needed to. You know… precautions. 

Oscar’s voice filtered through the speaker, low and rough with sleep, the edge of a yawn tangled in his tone.

“Morning. Sorry for the voice thing — texting felt like too much effort and I’m not awake enough to type properly yet. Just wanted to say thanks for the book ideas. She loved them. You’ve officially saved my status as Best Brother Ever.” There was a beat of silence, and then he added, quietly, “Hope you slept okay.”

And the message ended.

Francesca stared at her phone. “No.” She whispered. 

Henry, now settled beside her again, chirped.

“No, Henry. You don’t understand. That was his morning voice. That’s like... illegal.” She choked out, feeling like she’d been turned inside-out. 

Henry purred and rubbed his head against her phone. 

She stared at her cat with bewilderment. “Oh my god. You like him. You like his voice.”

She pressed a hand to her chest and fell backward into her pillows.

“What do I even say to that?” she muttered to the ceiling. “Do I... send a voice note back? No. That’s psychotic. I don’t sound like… sexy. Not in the morning. Not any time.” She panicked. 

Henry meowed again. 

Before she could do anything, her phone lit up again—this time with a FaceTime call.

“Katie, no,” she groaned, but her thumb betrayed her and answered anyway.

Katie’s face appeared, framed by her usual messy bun and a spoon hanging out of her mouth. “Hey, I’m eating yoghurt and I just had a feeling.”

Francesca stared at her, incredulous. “What kind of psychic yoghurt-fuelled sixth sense do you have?”

“The kind that goes off when you ignore my morning text.” She squinted. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

Francesca wordlessly switched to the Instagram app and tapped to replay the voice note.

Katie leaned in, eyes wide. The moment Oscar’s gravelly morning voice hit the speaker, she dropped her spoon and sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Oh my god,” she said, slow and reverent. “He sent you a bed voice note?”

“Don’t call it that.” Francesca hissed, absolutely mortified. 

“What else do you want me to call it? He sounds like he literally just rolled out of bed and thought, ‘You know what? Let me send Francesca a little audio kiss to start her day.’”

Francesca curled into a tight ball of limbs. “Oh my god, shut up. He was thanking me for the book suggestions. It was innocent.”

“Babe. That voice was not innocent. That voice had vibes.” 

Henry meowed from where he was curled up once again, clearly in agreement.

“Oh god,” Francesca muttered, forlorn at this turn of events. “Even Henry likes him.”

Katie beamed. “Because Henry’s got taste. Also, side note—you need to respond.”

“I can’t respond! What if I sound like a frog? What if I say something weird? I almost told him he has a nice voice and then realised I’d have to move to another country out of embarrassment.”

“If you don’t respond, I will,” Katie threatened, sitting cross-legged in her chair like she had all the power in the world.

Francesca’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

Katie raised a perfectly groomed brow. “I literally have your login, Francesca. Try me. I’ll tell him you fainted from the sheer sex appeal of his voice. I’ll sign it off with sparkles.”

Francesca gasped. “You are evil. Actual evil.”

“Not evil,” Katie said sweetly. “Just a manager who refuses to let her best friend fumble a flirtation with, arguably, the hottest F1 driver on the grid.” 

Francesca hung up on her.

Rudely. Desperately. With the kind of energy reserved for someone trying to escape a burning building.

Then she went back to the Instagram app, thumb hovering over the little microphone icon. She stared at it for a full minute, heart pounding, brain spinning, stomach flipping.

She cleared her throat. Twice.

And then, because thinking only made things worse, she closed her eyes… and spoke.

“Hi, um. Sorry—voice notes are terrifying, but you sent one first, so… fair’s fair?” She winced at her own voice. “Anyway. I hope your sister really did like the books. If she didn’t, that’s totally okay. You don’t have to pretend. I won’t be offended. Probably.”

Her cheeks were on fire now. She forced herself to keep going.

“I also Googled Prema. I knew you’d won F2 and F3, but I had no idea what teams you’d driven for. So…” She laughed under her breath, light and awkward. “Anyway. Thanks for the voice note. You—uh, have a nice voice. Okay. Bye.”

She hit send before she could stop herself, phone clutched to her chest. 

Henry turned to stare at her. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, flopping sideways. “You’d be a mess too if a ridiculously handsome Australian race car driver voice-noted you.”

Her phone buzzed almost instantly, a message that time. Thank god. She wasn’t sure how much more deep, manly Australian accent she could handle. 

Oscar Piastri I definitely win for most awkward voice note. Yours was cute. Also, she loved the books. You’re 1 for 1.

She smiled so hard it hurt.

Francesca Gold what’s her instagram user? 

Oscar Piastri @hattiepiastri 

Francesca Gold <3 thanks 

—

Instagram DM’s — Francesca Gold > Hattie Piastri 

Francesca Gold Hey! Sry if this is weird, just wanted to say happy late bday and I’m really glad you’re enjoying the books. I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I threw a bunch of genre’s together and just hoped for the best. 

Hattie Piastri 

Oh my god, HI! First of all, I just want to tell you how much I love your videos. I’ve been subscribed since your channel was like, 2 months old haha. 

Thank you so much for helping Oscar out. He’s a useless gift giver, but I know he tries. He was really happy to be able to give me something I actually liked this year. So, yeah. Thank you. 

Francesca Gold

I was scared you'd hate them all. I'm glad you didn't. :)

—

Francesca Gold just followed Hattie Piastri 

—

iMessage — Hattie & Nicole 

Hattie:

Oscar has literally met his soulmate and has no idea 

He’s such an idiot omg hahahahaha

Nicole: 

Come downstairs. I need to know everything. 

CHAPTER THREE

[bombuni]

contains: cowboy!sanhwa x fem!bratty!reader, city girl? reader, teasing, mean seonghwa & mean san, riding, threesome

“Is that as deep as you can go?”

You can’t really reply to Seonghwa with San’s cock halfway inside you. Your mind is numbed by him, your entire body on fire as you stretch to fit him in. Seonghwa’s words do get to you, but they only spur you on to take San’s cock whole.

Your eyes focus on San’s rapidly rising chest, but you can hear Seonghwa’s panting breath as he watches you, “Didn’t peg you for a dirty pervert, Hwa,”

Your voice is breathless and weak, barely there as your instinct to bite back overtakes the pleasure from San. Seonghwa only chuckles in response, squeezing his cock to hold back from cumming in his jeans at the sight of San bottoming out inside you. Your body relaxes against San’s below you, who’s hips you have to forcefully still.

Seonghwa stares back at your challenging eyes when you look up at him, “What? You think you’ve already tamed him?”

You grind your hips and San’s hands fly to dig into your hips, his guttural groan floating straight to your core. Your smile is venomous as it stares down at San, who’s worried he’s entered a dangerous territory, “He’s putty in my hands.”

Seonghwa leans against the hay bales behind him, legs spread as he smirks down at you like you’ve said a ridiculous thing. You don’t say anything about the bulge that stares back at you.

His buckle shines in the sun as he fiddles with it, “San’s a bucking stud, sweetheart. Can’t be tamed, right, Sannie?”

San nods, but his fingers are squeezing you so hard you’re sure they’ll bruise. He lets out a breath as if he’s trying to steady himself.

Seonghwa continues, even though he already knows how weak San really is. He just likes to watch the way his blushing cheeks glow underneath you, “‘Specially by a city girl,”

Seonghwa knows how to get under your skin. He pretends to be nice and sweet, but underneath that first layer of him is another layer of pure, unbridled sadism. Ever since you had first come to their ranch, Seonghwa’s comments about your origin were always there. A background noise to whatever endeavors you were up to. San, unfortunately, just found himself to be caught in the middle of whatever kind of battle this was.

Seriously, what were you actually trying to prove here? You’d sort of forgotten whatever it was that started this. You just knew that riding lessons with Seonghwa were a bad idea, because now you were riding something completely different.

While you were adrift in your thoughts, you hadn’t realized you’d been squeezing down on San so tightly. Once he finally reached his breaking point, he easily broke out of the flimsy hold you had on him and pulled you down to hold you against his chest. You felt his sweaty, warm pecs under your hands as you tried to brace yourself against him. The force of his hips as he thrust up against you had you grasping for any hold, his wet cock filling you like it was made to.

You tried to hold back your moans, tried to get San to stop, but to no avail. His big, glistening arms held you tight in your place. He abuses your pussy like it belongs to him, ramming into you over and over as your juices flow between your bodies and down his abdomen.

From where he sits, Seonghwa can see San’s balls slapping against your wet pussy so clearly. The wet spot on his working pants just grows bigger and bigger, cock straining to be free and inside you too.

Your point is moot now, but San’s big cock slamming inside you makes up for Seonghwa’s teasing to come. San growls in your ear, arms tightening around you when you tighten around him.

Seonghwa can’t stop shaking now, hands working himself against the fabric of his jeans, “See, sweetheart? So fucking bratty for no reason, but I know better. You just needed a cock inside you to shut you up,”

You moan pathetically against San’s neck and he can’t help but coo at you. He slows his thrusts down, but he doesn’t show mercy. He slowly fills you to the hilt, letting your pussy memorize every inch of his before pulling out completely and repeating the process. He aims to break you completely.

You’re still whining and San tsk’s, “She still won’t shut up, Hwa.”

Seonghwa finally stands from where he watches over you, the sound of his buckle ringing through your ears as he takes off his pants, “Well, the lesson ain’t over.”

bom note: i got a little carried away 🕴️as the worlds number one (1) american western history nerd and general cowboy thirster i just have to write every time they do anything cowboy .. if u haven’t played the red dead series and u like cowboys go play it!

[fushiguruuzzzz]

જ⁀ SAY IT TO MY FACE

“It was rare for Yuji Itadori to keep things from you. He didn’t like keeping secrets, it made something tight bud in his chest and made him feel guilty every time he looked at you. He only ever kept one secret, not only from you, but from the world.”

Now playing :: Rises The Moon — Liana Flores

Yuji Itadori x F!Reader

Words — 5.7k

Contents — 4+1 fic, violence, kidnapping, distress, mentions of death/loss, I can’t write fights for shit, no actual angst this time because I feel bad for hurting people again and again oops, but maybe angst if you squint?, I don’t proofread, lmk if I missed any <3

In a mess of crushing expectations and unfamiliar fluttering in your chest, you somehow cross paths with Tokyo’s one and only Spiderman. Maybe the eerie similarity he has to your best friend isn’t a coincidence at all, nor is the odd care he has for you. OR Four times Spiderman loved you, one time Yuji did it himself.

a/n — hi sofia yes this is for you teehee @rreveurdoll . I actually love spiderman yuji so much he’s been sitting in my notes app since august he just suits it saurrrrrrrr well I can’t do this it’s so uhghhughf. Also iera agreed with me so it was my final push hai ily

There was always a certain sort of familiarity about spiderman, a tranquil warmth that reminded you of something you could never quite put your finger on. It radiated from him like aura, constantly flowing but never really explaining itself. It was apparent in the way he held you—arm under your knees and another around your shoulders, almost as if he knew you were ticklish in the sides, like he knew you better than you knew yourself. The way he talked to you like he’d done it a million times before, his eyes lingering on the curve of your lips for just a beat too long, it was just so… knowing. Every time he interacted with you, it felt like he knew something you didn’t. That was because, well, he did.

It was rare for Yuji Itadori to keep things from you. He didn’t like keeping secrets, it made something wretched bud in his chest and made him feel guilty every time he looked at you. He only ever kept one secret, not only from you, but from the world. The hundreds, maybe thousands of people that might kill him if given the chance. And if you knew, maybe they’d get to you too. He couldn’t have that. It already haunted his every waking moment and it hadn’t even happened yet. Yet. That was the thing, it could happen at any moment. If he was the cause of your demise, he couldn’t forgive himself. So he tried his best, tried to keep his lips sealed the best he could, even if he struggled sometimes.

The first time you met spiderman, he almost screwed up. Already.

You’d somehow gotten caught up in the midst of a battle, the bakery you worked at getting completely annihilated by the commotion, so being the ever brave and courageous citizen you were, you ran for your fucking life. You somehow found it in you to remain at least relatively calm… until barely dodging a chunk of concrete thrown your way. The composure seemed to fade from there. You could feel your heart jumping out of your chest, but all you could think about was that you were lucky it was still beating.

That’s when he came swinging in. Literally. It was a flash of red out of the corner of your eye at first, you barely even paid any mind to it. But then his voice rang out with a call to you, and you couldn’t look the other way anymore.

“Hey! Y- miss!”

You took a moment to glance back, your loss of breath catching up to you as you panted and heaved. His feet hitting the ground was nothing but a small thump, swallowed up by the chaos bleeding in around you. “You can’t be out in the open like this. It’s dangerous.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you could basically hear the furrow of his brows. Through your pants, you managed gasp out a reply that you fear was just a bit too sassy. “I know. That’s why I’m running.”

His face fell just the slightest bit under the mask, but beneath that layer of latex was almost a smile. He found it hard to be amused right now, because honestly, when he saw you he felt like throwing up. Even before that, when he’d looked at the destroyed shell of what was your workplace, something sick twisted in his gut. It wasn’t fear, no, more than that. After every punch at the enemy came a glance among the crowd, desperately hoping to see you in one piece. When he landed in front of you and the first thing you’d said was dry and sassy and completely you, he couldn’t help the way his nerves felt just a little less racked. He wanted to hug you, to pull you into his arms and tell you how happy he was to see you, maybe get a kiss if he was lucky– huh?

But he wasn’t Yuji, and only Yuji had that sort of privilege. He was spiderman. He was a masked vigilante that you’d never been face to face with, so he tried to keep up the act. Therefore all he did was reply with a soft “yeah” before scooping you up and carrying you to safety, because that’s what spiderman does. He would’ve done it for anyone, really! But he handled you with just a bit more care, just a bit more warmth in those blank white eyes of his suit, because you weren’t just anyone. You were you.

He left you on the side of an untouched street feeling breathless and confused. Maybe you were naive, because his voice alone should’ve told you exactly who it was from the beginning. But there was a ringing in your ears from the noise, and your knees felt wobbly as well as your lips. You could barely think straight, so who could blame you? Mentally unmasking Tokyos famous spiderman wasn’t a common task in any situation, especially yours. Assuming it was your best friend felt crazy. Instead you remained oblivious and shaken on the side of the street, and he remained determined in the fight thinking of nothing but you.

— ⋮ ᰔ

The second time you met spiderman, the circumstances still weren’t great, but this time your life wasn’t on the line. Well, at least not literally.

The nights air was cold, nipping at your tear stained cheeks and clinging to the dampness left in its wake. Your eyes stung, both from the chill and the bitterness that welled up in your waterline and spilled over, only to drip down and fade away into the fabric of your jeans. Completely insignificant, but to you, they fell heavy. They beat down on you in a mocking rhythm, every droplet a reminder of the crushing weight of your failure. It was suffocating, but truly, would the lightness be any better? Would the complete lack of fulfillment, whether that be bliss or anguish, be less unbearable than the ache in your shoulders and the squeezing in your chest? You think that if it were, you wouldn’t still be sticking around. You wouldn’t be doing this. You just would’ve liked to feel less alone in the midst of it.

Your legs dangled freely over the stairs, the rusted metal of the fire escape not doing much to cage you in. As you swung them, felt nothing but air and the awareness of the ground so distant below, you got a taste of the lightness. A taste of your freedom, of your insignificance. Maybe that was all you needed to handle the rest of the weight.

As if your longing had been personally alerted to the universe, you heard a shuffling behind you. Your head whipped around just a little too fast—making something in your neck pop and reminding you that you really need to stop hunching over your laptop—enough to make your panic rather obvious. You were about to wonder how someone even made it up here, but then you saw him. The culprit stopped in his tracks, raising his two covered hands in an (unnecessary) surrender. It wasn’t like you could defend yourself if you tried, anyway. You were sat awkwardly on a set of rusted metal stairs with about two feet of space to run. You were no match for him. Fortunately for you, Yuj- spiderman wouldn’t dare hurt you. When you continued to stare at him through your teary eyes with a question he couldn’t answer, he realized he hadn’t come up with something to say. Luckily, you beat him to it.

“…spiderman?” Your voice was confused, small and almost weak as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. He stared at you for a moment, only then remembering who he was. Right now he was spiderman, a stranger, and he had to act accordingly. The thing was—Yuji didn’t know how to act like a stranger to you. You’d become such a constant in each others lives that treating you as if you were unfamiliar simply defied the blood in his veins, the beating of his heart. He felt it thump angrily in his chest at the mere thought, because how could he feign distance when you were the one it beat for?

He cleared his throat. “Hi.”

A million questions ran through your head, countless quips or remarks, but your throat constricted around them and forbid them from jumping out. “Why are you… here?” you asked. Your voice was uncharacteristically bland, tired. He didn’t like it.

He shrugged, head tilting to the side. He leaned against the building, an attempt to be casual, but the brick was digging into his back and every sense he had was screaming at him to leap forward and hold you, to take the mask off and be who you needed. But when he considered the thought, the images of what might follow flashed through his mind like memories yet to come. He kept the mask on.

“Well, I was out… you know… doing spiderman things. And then I saw you. Looked like you could use a friend.”

Honestly? Yuji being out here was no sort of coincidence. The moment he’d felt a familiar tingling in the back of his mind, he was landing here before he could question why. In his soul, he knew why, knew it better than anyone. If Yuji couldn’t be there for you because he was spiderman, spiderman would have to fill in.

He paused, eyes trailing over the sag in your shoulders and the darkness under your eyes. You looked different than the last time he’d seen you—had it been weeks? A pang of something glum shot through him at the realization.

“What about you?” he asked, that teasing, spiderman-esque tone fading into something softer.

“Huh?”

“What’re you doing out here?”

You swallowed thickly. You felt as if you were stuck on a tightrope, looking between a reaching hand and the ground below. Let him slip his hand into yours, hoping it pulls you up, or fall? You were willing to take that risk. “Just… been fucking up a lot lately, I guess. This is my escape.”

He paused for a second. “Was that a pun?”

He felt victorious as he took in the subtle curl of your lips. “But forreal, what do you mean screwing up?”

A soft sigh left your lips, the air pooling in what looked like smoke around your face. You liked that—you could tell yourself that was the reason for your blurry vision, not that you were crying. Your fingers were twitching, and he wished he could take them.

“Just… nothing has been going right. Got my ass kicked by finals, I feel like shit, and- and usually I’d have my best friend, but…” you felt a painful throbbing in your chest, what you were about to admit feeling sour and wrong on your tongue. “He hasn’t been answering lately, he’s been… distant. Maybe he’s getting sick of me or something, I wish I knew.”

Yuji felt a tightening in his chest that was almost painful. Him. It was him. His spider sense had called him to fix a problem that he was the cause of. Sick of you? No, he could never be sick of you, but right now he felt ill. “He’d never,” he blurted without thinking, only realizing how odd that sounded once it had already reached your ears. “I mean– I’m sure he loves you.” His eyes widened comically. He kept blabbering, and it was only making things worse. “You seem lovely. Uh-“

To his surprise, you laughed. “Okay, okay, I get the point. Thanks… I think?”

He felt the heat that was crawling up his neck lower, simmer into a comfortable nothingness. “You’re welcome.”

By some strange coincidence, Yuji showed up at your door what must’ve been a mere three hours after your masked friend swung away into the night.

He seemed out of breath—almost panting, as if he’d just run a marathon (or fought the green goblin). He stood in your doorway, pink locks of hair rubbed in all different directions, chest rising and falling erratically.

Before you could open your mouth—ask what he was doing here and what sort of physical activity he was doing in the middle of the night, maybe—he was hugging you. His firm arms slithered around your waist, tugging you towards his chest without a word. He held you just a little tighter than usual, like he’d been waiting to do it for far too long. He had been.

“I haven’t seen you in two weeks,” he murmured, breath warm against your skin.

“I know.” Your words held a sense of bitterness, but you were hugging him back with a tenderness that contrasted what you wanted to feel.

“I missed you.”

How could he say something like that? How could he disappear for weeks and then come back and make your heart clench, because you know he means it? This was Yuji. Your Yuji. He talked to stray cats on the side of the road and was always there to lend a helping hand, whether that be to a sweet old lady or a convicted felon. He wouldn’t say he missed you if he didn’t, and either way, you knew he did. Whether it felt like it or not, you knew Yuji. You knew he missed you, felt it in the way his fingers gripped at the fabric of your shirt. It was almost desperate, like he was a shell of a man in need of fulfillment. As much as you wished you hated it, you wanted to be that for him.

That’s how you ended curled in bed, Yuji’s eyes trailing over your face for just a little too long, so much so that you weren’t sure he’d paid any attention to the movie in the first place. You didn’t say anything, but Yuji kept you just a little bit closer that night.

— ⋮ ᰔ

The third time you crossed paths with spiderman, it was you who sought him out. Well, sought is a strong word, you’d prefer to say that you gravitated towards him naturally. That wasn’t completely a lie, there truly was some sort of magnetic pull to him drawing you near, but your approach was completely by choice. But that wasn’t a conversation you were ready for, many layers of psychological complexities that you weren’t prepared to peel back, so you instead focused on the blurry red feet dangling from the rooftop and how you’d get up there to join them.

After a number of laps around the building that you’d need two hands to count, you hit the jackpot. Sitting humbly within the shadows of the dark, grey alley was a ladder. It was rickety and rusted and you feared it would be the last thing you ever saw—but it was a chance. Everyone took chances, didn’t they? Everything was a chance, in its own way. Love, hate, that answer scribbled into the last page of your exam that you’re not quite sure about. Spiderman took a chance every time he rounded a new building with those webs of his, took an even greater one with every fight and interaction with the public. He took a chance when he came to see you on that sullen night, and you still didn’t know why, but you knew you’d make it your mission to at least somewhat return the favour.

The metal was piercingly cold as your fingers wrapped around it, eliciting a wince from you, but only prompting you to hold on tighter. The sound of your boots clanking against the steps, the small grunt that left your lips as you threw yourself onto the roof—so many sounds barely heard beneath the never ending roar of the city. You heard sirens in the distance, and you wondered why spiderman was sitting in front of you instead of trailing near them.

His eyes met yours (sort of), and Yuji felt something warm flow through his veins. He felt his heart beat just a little quicker, thumping in time with your approaching footsteps. Suddenly the sirens didn’t seem so loud, the curse of his heightened senses not feeling so overwhelming as your face came into the light cast from below.

“Hey, y/n.” He spoke gently, like the words were something delicate, and they’d shatter if said too harshly.

He watched the way your eyes widened just slightly, brows twitching upwards in mild surprise. “You know my name?”

With a slightly wonky smile that you couldn’t see, he nodded. “Small world.”

“Isn’t it?”

Your words were meant to be a light response, but they only made the weight in his chest feel all the more dense. He turned back ahead, the cartoonish white eyes of his mask reflecting an infinite, erratic pattern of streetlights. His shoulders hung a little lower than usual, something you didn’t fail to catch. You sat beside him, legs hanging over the side of the building. The structure was sturdy and solid beneath your thighs, far more than both the barely-there balance of the ladder and his trembling breaths.

“It’s not, though,” he said softly, so quiet that it was almost whisked away by the winds of the evening. “The world is big. Too big.”

You tilted your head, hands pressing into the concrete to support your weight, but itching to reach out to him. You couldn’t give a reason why if asked, nothing other than the unspoken tranquility between you, like you knew much more than you spoke aloud. “What do you mean?” you asked.

“It’s too big. There’s too many people, so many that I can’t… I can’t save everyone. There’s always casualty in the wake of disaster, because the amount of people barely goes down each time. But- but they’re all people, they all deserve to be saved, but… they can’t.”

His words hung in the air, and invisible force between you that pushed down on his shoulders and deepened the furrow in his brows.

“You’re right,” you said. His head turned more quickly than it should’ve—he wasn’t expecting that response from you. Maybe you’d have given Yuji a different answer than you would spiderman. “Not everybody can be saved, but you still save people. A lot of them. Imagine if you never showed up, how many more people would die? A lot. Maybe you can’t save everyone, but you still save people, and that is what makes you good.”

It was as if your words were a sirens song, soothing him to silence and easing his thumping heart. For the first time ever, Yuji wasn’t exactly sure what to say. “Yeah,” he breathed after a moment, voice choked. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He looked up at you for a beat longer, taking in the way the ridges of your face were cast over by shadows, the way your hair fluttered and danced with every gust of wind. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “That friend you mentioned before… he’s lucky to have you.”

You shook your head gently. “If you met him, you’d think otherwise,” you said, oblivious to the fact that though spiderman hadn’t technically met Yuji Itadori, he knew him very well. “He’s great. Much better than me.” The corners of your lips quirked up fondly, something he could only describe as love being the force that pushed your smile wider. “He’s great,” you said, more breathily this time.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The next hour or so was spent sharing mindless conversation, reminiscing over teenagehood in a way that made spiderman feel so close, but so far. He couldn’t rid himself of that odd feeling beneath his ribcage, the one that felt like his heart was trying to escape, wailing your name and clawing at him from the inside out. Luckily, the spider-suit did enough to keep it contained.

— ⋮ ᰔ

The atmosphere was tumultuous, the sound of the concrete around them crumbling accompanied by an occasional hiss of web shooting from Yuji’s suit. He moved with a choppy sort of grace, bouncing across alleys and buildings alike.

“I’m sure you could do better than that,” he teased, faux cockiness thick in his tone. A tense, tightly strung determination bled through his tone, too intense to be concealed by thickly coated boyish charm. He lingered on the wall of one building just for the sake of mocking his foe, head tilted to the side almost as if he was genuinely interested.

He quickly flung himself away, just barely missing the swinging, mechanical arm aimed at him.

“Ah ah, keep up!” he quipped, though his voice rose with a small yelp as he finished his sentence. It was clear his opponent only got further angered with every tease, wails of rage growing louder with every swing. Spiderman smiled bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hah… guess I shouldn’t get too cocky…”

His opponent was some big guy, clad in countless layers of precocious technology that reflected the suns light like a mirror. What he assumed was his chest beneath all that metal was heaving, pants leaving his mouth. Suppose tech can’t compete with physical stamina, at least not in this scenario.

“You’ll regret this, spiderman!” he roared, voice scratchy, like he hadn’t used it in ages. “Surrender now, or I’ll have to do something I don’t want to. Don’t– don’t make it difficult.” His words got darker with every proceeding syllable, almost enough to make Yuji nervous. He was used to these threats, and they were empty more often than not.

“Yeahhh…” he drawled, unconvinced. But there was something in him that twisted his gut—not his spider-sense, but something… different. Something in his heart told him to worry.

Shaking his head, he made another advance in the direction of the enemy. He hadn’t bothered to remember his name, he’d never been a problem until now.

Swerving his hit, the big man continued. “I’ve been studying you, spiderman-“ he cut himself off with a groan, his incessant speech resulting in an impact meeting his side.

He grinned, malicious and knowing. As if he knew this was a game of cat and mouse, and he had him trapped like a rat. Something about it made Yuji hesitate, made that unfamiliar feeling in his heart throb. Yuji opened his mouth to retort, to at least attempt some sort of return that suited his sarcastic, spiderman fashion, but he was cut off.

“Or rather, I’ve been studying Yuji Itadori.”

He felt himself go immobile, felt his body freeze like an icicle in the midst of winter. His blood felt equally as cold, as if one move would make him shatter. People studied spiderman all of the time. There were news articles and personal reports and attempts at interviews—everyone knew everything about spiderman, except for his identity. At least, they did.

In that split second, Yuji had a terrible epiphany. With Yuji Itadori came Y/n L/n, always. A plethora of your shared moments flashed through his mind. Walking you to class, late night trips to the convenience store, all of the places around you that there’d been someone lurking. Someone just waiting for the right moment, gauging his behaviour and every aspect of his life, no doubt including the way he looked at you. Yuji might’ve seemed dense, but he was perfectly aware of how clear his love for you was. He loved everything, he loved the way the sun casted over the city and the way people lit up when he smiled at them on the street. He loved you most.

The figure looming over him smiled sickly, Yuji’s reaction telling him all he needed to know. As he began circling Yuji like a predator ready to pounce, he couldn’t stop him. All he could do was feel the pounding of his heart in his chest and wondering if yours was still able to do the same.

“So I was thinking…” the man began, trailing off for the sake of suspense no doubt. “What’s a better power to have over someone than love?”

The sinister words swirled in his ears like an echo. His mouth felt dry, the rest of the world fading to TV static as he tried to glance around for any sign of you, but his gaze was far too frantic to make out the shape of the person in front of him let alone you.

With a devilish snigger, you were revealed. Simply based off of the widened state of your eyes and the way you writhed in the rope you were restricted by, it was fairly clear this was news to you. Had your mouth not been taped, he was sure you’d have plenty to say. As his eyes locked with yours, the world slowed to a halt around you. Your gazes spoke louder than any words, louder than any scream into the dead of night. It spoke of love and fear all the same.

“Stop,” was all he could croak out. “Stop!” he shouted, louder this time as his gaze turned.

“Mm.. so I was correct, then?” said the near cyborg beast beside you.

Yuji’s gaze flickered to you, just for a split second. He contemplated lying, but he just… couldn’t. The words felt bitter and out of place on his tongue, even before they were spoken. So he chose bravery, in every sense of the word, and kept with his offence.

“Maybe, that’s none of your business,” he grunted, words emphasized with a hit to the man’s gnarly face. Yuji had a new sense of determination, the animalistic instinct to protect you. He’d already lost so many, lost his parents and his brother and the sense of humanity he grasped on to like the thread he hung by. He wouldn’t lose you.

All you could do was watch. You could only sit there like the helpless bystander you loathed to be, staring in horror as who might’ve been the love of your life was pummelled into the ground. It was like a twisted pattern of pain and the red of his blood darkening his suit. With every hit he landed he received tenfold, but somehow he always got back up. That was Yuji for you.

As the fight continued, you couldn’t help but begin to notice the obvious similarities between the vigilante and your own best friend. You felt utterly idiotic. Why else would he care so much, who else would you have shared those conversations with? Why else would Yuji look at you just a little different every time you met with spiderman? It all made sense. All of the “I’m sure your best friend is lucky to have you”’s and the explanations to Yuji’s actions that seemed just a bit too personal. Now you knew why, and you couldn’t even respond to the information, imprisoned by the tape over your mouth and the weight of your obliviousness as the sound of fist against face rang through the streets.

A weak, muffled cry fell from your lips as he was knocked to the ground.

Everything was going in slow motion. The robotic arm raised, hovering over Yuji like a sledgehammer just waiting to pound down. But then there was a metallic whine, and a halt. Panic washed over the man’s face as he froze—well, the metal parts of him froze, and those were the only parts that amounted to much.

He sputter and panicked, watching as the countless officers surrounding the area became aware of his suspended movement. It was over, just like that? He seemed just as surprised as you were, and as your eyes met, you were shocked to feel anything in common with him.

When you were freed of the twine that had been keeping you in place, you wasted no time in rushing to Yuji. The red and blue of the lights surrounding you blanketed him, making him appear as nothing but a puddle in the street. He looked completely melted—limp, and for a moment you thought he might not live to hear what you had to say.

You pulled his mask up over his face, disregarding the people around you and their wandering eyes. His face was battered and bruised, but undeniably still his, still alive. You felt your shoulders deflate as his throat bobbed, the small, otherwise unimportant motion doing numbers to ease your nerves. He was still here. You could still learn to love spiderman as you did Yuji, you’d still get the chance to feel their hearts beat as one.

His eyes fluttered open, vision bleary from the flashing lights and his lack of consciousness. “Y/n?” he muttered, voice nearly inaudible. It was the first thought in his mind when he woke, even before the fuzzy outline of your face came into view. His eyes flickered brighter when they saw you. He knew that face anywhere. “Y/n,” he breathed, softer this time.

“Yuji-“

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” he mumbled quickly. His hands reached for yours, the shaky, bruised skin wrapping itself in yours. It stung, but the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his was enough to soothe the ache. He was convinced that if you were to kiss every injured part of him, his bones would straighten themselves out for the sole purpose of holding you, because broken arms can not cradle. Snapped fingers cannot run through your hair, so if he were broken, he would repair himself as long as it meant loving you. No amount of bloodshed would keep him away, he would return to you in the winds if he had to.

You chuckled lightly despite the distress of the moment. “For not telling me what? That you’re spiderman or that you’re in love with me?”

He grinned tiredly, canines peeking out brightly, white against the pink of his lips. “Both.”

— ⋮ ᰔ

The sound of knuckles against your window was dull and hollow, but not unexpected. It did little to startle you, barely bothering to look up from your textbook as you hunched over your desk.

“It’s open!” you called over your shoulder, followed by the creak of the glass sliding open. The sound of Yuji’s feet meeting the ground pulled you from your school immersed daze, office chair swivelling around to face him.

“You know, leaving your window open at night is dangerous,” he said, half joking. His mask was already pulled from his face, messy pink hair matted and messy on his head. He was making quick work to pull off the rest of his suit as he spoke, hopping around on one foot as he tried to pry it from his skin.

You responded with an underlaugh, “I’m on the fourth floor. Nobody except spiderman is sliding open my window at eleven at night on a Tuesday.”

“Well-“ he cut himself off by knocking into your bedframe. He glanced back to you, cheeks warming in the slightest as he tried to balance himself and remain authoritative. “Well, they might!” he exclaimed. His eyes narrowed, but you didn’t find any sense of irritation in them. Within his shining brown irises was concern, the lingering anxiety that came with the events not long before. Yuji had been on edge ever since, constantly glancing around corners and panicking when you were out of sight for even a moment. In the corners of his vision lingered the sight of you helpless, burned into his mind like a tattoo he never wanted.

He tossed the red article somewhere on your floor, disregarding it entirely. He stood above you, arms crossed and trying to look annoyed, but resulting in a different, much cuter pout. He was many things that he wouldn’t admit. Tired—very much so—from spending his day trying restlessly to save lives, scared, and craving the tenderness in your touch that he never received with the mask over his face. When you locked gazes, holding it felt particularly hard for him tonight, because he knew you could see right through him. He felt bare, and not just because you were looking at his real face.

You sighed softly, standing up from the chair. You guess your studying could wait another night, because you knew Yuji couldn’t. Your chest throbbed with the thought of the danger he came face to face with constantly, the responsibility he carried on his back through every waking moment. The weight was heavy, and it was exhausting.

Placing a chaste, fleeting kiss on his cheek, you tugged him over to the bed. His hand was soft in yours, a contrast to the callouses and scrapes adorning the skin there.

“Come lie down,” you mumbled.

He glanced between you and the desk you previously occupied, brows knitting together. “Weren’t you busy?”

“I’m not anymore. Just come rest with me, please.” You shook your head, earnestly reflecting in your eyes.

He hesitated, opening his mouth to speak. “You don’t have to…” he began, but he stopped himself. He really, really did want to rest. He wanted to listen to your heart beat against your chest and have your breath fan over his skin, he wanted to curl into your embrace and be reminded that in this cruel world was a place of love. He knew that deep down, his heart resided with you, and he never felt it truly thump until he was in your arms. “…okay.”

So he crawled into bed with you, tired and almost clingy in his actions. His body slotted against yours like the missing piece of a puzzle, his arms slithering around your waist and face nuzzling into the crook of your neck like it was always meant to be there. He let his ear press against your shirt and hear the life beneath your skin, letting out a breath and physically melting into your arms. He looked so much more gentle like this. He wasn’t the sarcastic or silly figure the world knew spiderman to be, he was just a boy that wanted to help. He was just a kid like you who needed to know that there were things left to cherish.

Some would say you had two lovers. One a courageous figure in the night, the other a warm hearted, pink haired student barely making it into college. But you knew that spiderman was nothing but the parts of Yuji that had always lived within, and the bits that defined him most.

That night you traced every line and freckle on his face, committing it to memory because now there was no suit between you. You admired him as he slept, relishing in the tranquility of it all. It was just you and Yuji, flesh and love and transparency all in one.

From then onwards, Yuji fought his battles with just a bit more hope, because he knew you’d be waiting for him by the window when he won.

I MISSED writing for Yuji ugghhhhhhhhhh. If I wrote a part 2 of a strangers heart would yall fw that or nah (wouldn’t be for a while tho). I cannot write action at all im so sorry 😭 also cba to give big scary villain a name so it got repetitive

Jjk/gen taglist — @sh0ot1ngst4r @anotherwriternamedclara @ruruisru @lizbix @bubybubsters @azinniyaa @kashee-h @fiannee

— I did not tag those who could not be tagged. If you were on the general taglist and don’t see yourself, it’s because your tag settings stopped me from doing so.

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

Ehem* Ehem* carefully slides over a pack of oreos “more cow reader content please:>”

Hmmm more cow reader au?? What else could i write about? Cow reader x multiple bulls? 👀

CW: cow hybrid reader, fem reader (reader has breasts and vagina, referred to as a "girl"), multiple partners, smut, dubcon, orgy (F/M/M/M/M), breeding kink

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Imagine your farm hands' surprise when they find out that your owners purchased several bull hybrids.

It was a spur of the moment decision: there was a nearby farm that was shutting down and about four bull hybrids had nowhere to go. Your owners, being the sweet people they were, decided to give them a home. They already had a cow hybrid—i.e. you—so taking care of bull hybrids shouldn't be that different, right?

It was a big adjustment having four bulls added to your barn. They were all so similar and yet so different, and you found your brain fuzzy when you tried to keep track of all of them. They were big and noisy and were already friends with each other, making you feel left out. You often found yourself alone in your pen or out in the field, the four bulls hanging out at the opposite end. Of course, one or two were polite enough to invite you over, but you never stayed long, feeling unwelcome in their tight knit group.

Yes, it would seem that your new roommates just weren't interested in you. You supposed that was fine, you still had your farmhands who gave you plenty of attention, you didn't need to be friends with those bulls.

But then your heat came around, and things quickly changed.

Your heat started in the middle of the day. You were alone in the barn when you felt a tingling sensation run down your spine, your cunt twitching to life, weeping slick down your thighs. You whined for your farmhands, begging them to come take care of you. You couldn't help but present yourself in the empty barn, so hot and sticky, your pussy aching to be filled.

"Y/N?"

You froze, slowly glancing over your shoulder, eyes meeting one of the bulls. He must have come back from the pasture early today; maybe he forgot something. It didn't matter really: you could already tell where this was going to go.

The bull sniffed the air, his tail twitching, eyes crossing oh so slightly.

"Yer—shit, are ya in heat?"

You whined, trying not to wave your hips back and forth, forcing yourself to stay still. Despite your efforts to not tempt him, the bull was already seduced by your scent, making his way into the barn, his cock beginning to stand at attention.

"Ya need help? Huh? Need to be filled up?"

You hiccuped, biting your lip, pushing down a moan when he kneeled behind you and grabbed your hips.

"I-I'm fine! The farm boys will help me; you don't have to—"

"The farm boys?" He clicked his tongue. "Nah, they won't be able to help ya, sweetcheeks. They can't give ya what ya need. But me—" he began running the head of his cock through your folds, "—I can give it to ya real good."

"W-Wait, I—"

"Shhhh, just relax, pretty baby. Lemme fill ya up nice and good."

And fill you up he did. He pushed his cock in steadily, his thick girth splitting you open, reaching every inch of your gummy walls. You cried out, hands curling in the hay beneath you, back arching. His hips met yours, his cock bumping up against your cervix, leaving you dizzy.

"See? What'd I tell ya? Ya don't need no farm boys—ya got a real bull right here."

With that, he pulled out, slamming back into you. You gasped, bracing yourself for his harsh thrusts, scrambling for purchase on the dirt floor. His thrusts were hard, rough, his balls making pap pap pap noises as they slapped against your soaking cunt. You could feel a fire burning in your belly, toes curling as you felt it rise higher and higher, eyes rolling back as you tumbled over the edge. You came with a wail, cunt spasming around the bull's heavy cock, his hips not stopping as you creamed around his dick.

"What's goin on—"

The bull's voice died out as he saw the two of you before him, his friend's cock stuffed deep inside your pretty little cunt. He watched in amazement as his friend leaned over you, thrusting even faster than before, making you cry out with each slam of his hips against yours. The bull approached the two of you, staring as his friend finished off, pushing his hips flush to yours and cumming inside, filling your womb with his seed, his cum overflowing around the sides.

"Woah," he whispered in awe. "That's a lotta cum."

"Sure is," the first bull exclaimed, pulling out and watching his cum leak out of you. "This'll definitely get her pregnant."

The second bull scoffed, pulling on his friend's shoulder, kneeling behind you. He manhandled you until your hips were presented to him, his now-hard cock rubbing up against your folds.

"Betcha my cum will get 'er pregnant first."

"Yeah right! My sperm is way stronger!"

The second bull pushed into you, filling you up, pushing out the cum from the first bull. Loud squelching filled the room as he began thrusting into you, his hands digging into your plush hips, bound to leave marks behind. You moaned weakly, letting him have his way with you, barely registering that he and the first bull were still arguing over who would get you pregnant.

"What's goin on in here?"

You raised your head as best as you could, making out the silhouette of the other two bulls walking into the barn.

"We're just makin a bet on who can get Y/N pregnant first."

"And I'm gonna win in just a bit."

"Shut up—"

"Psshhh, yall think you can get her pregnant? I'd bet a whole barrel of apples that I can get her pregnant before all of yall."

"Oh, buddy, I'd have a way better chance than you."

The four bulls began arguing above you, the bull inside you still stirring up your insides, soon making you cum on his cock.

"Oh shit, she's tight—"

The second bull came inside you, but you weren't given time to breathe before another bull pulled you towards him and mounted you.

That's how it went the rest of the night: the four large bulls in a circle, passing you around and fucking you until they came inside, fucking the other bulls' cum out of you. They continued making bets, upping the stakes, arguing over who would be strong enough to get you pregnant. By the time your farmhands come by to check on you, you're collapsed on the floor, a gallon of cum spilled down your thighs.

You thought that would be the end of it, that the bulls would lose interest in you and go back to focusing on themselves, but they surprised you. After they fucked you senseless, they started doting on you, following you wherever you went, questioning you about your likes and interests. You thought they were just being polite, being friendly after they fucked you so much, but one day you heard them arguing in the barn.

"No, I'm gonna be her mate."

"No way, I came in her first."

"I came in her the most."

"As if."

"Alright, alright, that's enough. What if we just shared her? Ya know, took turns and stuff?"

"What the fuck?"

"No way in hell."

"Well... maybe it wouldn't be too bad. At least then we'd get to have her and nobody's feelings would get hurt."

"Yeah, and just imagine it: we could take turns looking out for her and we wouldn't get tired out."

"Plus, we know she takes us all like a champ."

"Yer right, I've never seen a heifer take four bulls before."

You tried to lean closer to hear better, but you ended up knocking over a spading fork in the process. It fell with a loud clang, making the bull's jump and turn rapidly.

"Y/N?"

"What're ya doin, baby?"

"I-I'm sorry!" you stuttered. "I'm sorry for eavesdropping, I just—"

"Awww, you were eavesdropping?? Naughty girl."

The other bulls caught on, smirking as they all began to approach you.

"Y/N, Y/N, shame on you for listening in on us."

"Naughty thing."

"We oughta teach you a lesson, huh?"

"Yeah, gotta teach this bad girl some manners."

You were surrounded with nowhere to go, the four bulls towering over you, their cocks growing with each passing second. And before you could try to defend yourself for listening to their conversation, they were already coaxing you onto your hands and knees, arguing over who got to fuck you first.

Safe to say, you're gonna have to get used to your new farm mates.

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