#when i say my mind went to a SCREECHING halt

[fraternum-momentum]

Do you …. Kiss girls …??? 🤨🤨🤨🤨

perhaps,,,,,, but they scare me so i am quite in a pickle here

[blkkizzat]

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟺........... THE SORCERER SALARYMAN ......filed under the that's not my jjk man series

visitor log: your sweet boyfriend, nanami kento, promised he'd come visit you tonight bunny. awe baby, don't cry, you're sure that's actually him at the door but you'll run through your checklist just to make sure, won't you?

classifications: huge crybaby!reader, bunny nickname in lieu of y/n, praise kink, an actual plot and backstory lol, dumbification, heavy dacryphillia, pet play, tights kink, raw dog, riding, breeding, manipulation, heavy cuteness aggression, slightly yandere nanami (maybe not so slight lol), angst but comfort, feelings of isolation, fluffy sweet moments of genuine romance, post-shibuya nanami (he survived with burns), burn trauma, jjk society sucks and a gojo cameo lol.

incidents: 6.1k

special shoutout to @yung-notorious who i bounced ideas off of and who had super sweet things to say about this story in general and is the reason i went so deep with this. 🥹

*knock-knock*

A firm yet familiar knock jolts you awake. 

The clock reads a little past 3 am, its faint ticking the only sound filling the dimly lit stillness of your condo’s living room.

You had tried—and failed—to stay awake for Nanami. Determined to wait for him, you curled up on your cloud-like sofa with your Switch. But by 1 am, sleep had claimed you. Not even the promise of a solid turnip trade in Animal Crossing could keep your eyes open.

Yet Nanami rarely came over this late, always mindful of your sleep schedule—or lack thereof. He’d often remind you that you didn’t get enough rest anyway, and he wasn’t wrong.

One thing was certain though: Nanami had always kept his word when he’d promise to visit.

You missed Nanami terribly, only being able to see him via FaceTime for the past few days. So despite the unusual hour, a rush of excitement courses through you. Springing off the couch you practically run to the door.

But your enthusiasm is cut short. Your cozy, thigh-high-covered legs came to a screeching halt just short of answering the door. Mind racing, you think on you the exact reason why you hadn't seen your overworked boyfriend in so long.

Doppelgänger curses. 

What if it wasn’t your Kento at the door?

The intrusive thought grows more persistent as silent tears begin to shimmer, pooling in your long lashes.

“Bunny, you awake, my love? I’m so sorry I’m this late, doll—I’ve missed you.” Sniffling you calm a bit hearing the familiar voice.

Well, it certainly sounded like Nanami.

“Um, y-yeah, K-Ken, m’here.”

As much as you try to hold back your sniffles, the cracks in your voice are evident as you move more cautiously this time towards the door. Fiddling with the hem of the overly large white tee you are swimming in (one of Nanami’s undershirts), you perch up on your tippy toes to reach the peephole. 

Peering out into the hallway, you conclude that it certainly looks like Nanami too. 

Tall, well-put together in his usual glasses, suit and tie. Not to mention ridiculously handsome, even with the burn scars that riddled half his body—they never bothered you anyway. You just want to be in his arms and have to fight the urge right then to lower the barrier and fling the door open. 

“Now, now Bunny baby, don’t cry. I know it's very late but don’t be scared—you remember what you’re supposed to do now, right love?”

The checklist.

“Y-Yeah, I remember Ken—*hiccups*—but m’scared.”

You practically sob out the words, unable to control your anxious tears from rolling down your cheeks as you try to take steadier breaths. 

The checklist had been Nanami’s idea, a sure fire way for you not to worry and verify it was actually him at the door. Always considerate, he was so sweet to you—even though you felt unworthy of him.

You are a sorcerer in your own right and yet your fight-or-flight response is completely fucked—you simply just freeze-up and cry.

It wasn’t entirely your fault though, growing up in a well-to-do non-sorcerer family that pampered you, keeping you sheltered from most of the world. 

Not out of cruelty though, it was genuinely for your own protection. 

Surprisingly, they believed you without question when you confessed to seeing spirits. From an early age, you couldn’t set foot anywhere without encountering grotesque figures clinging to people or lurking around objects. As you grew older, you came to understand that these monsters—twisted and varied in shape and size—were everywhere. They moved freely, unnoticed by anyone else, even daring to roam the streets in broad daylight without a hint of fear.

As a result, you were homeschooled. Often lonely, you found it impossible to make friends outside of your own siblings and cousins. Whenever you did meet other kids, they dismissed you as an attention-seeker—or worse, labeled you a freak—whenever your abilities to see the supernatural were revealed.

Yet at the age of 13 is when already dire matters escalated exponentially. You discovered that when frightened your cursed energy, that you knew nothing of then, would run amuck. You couldn’t control your powers, unintentionally injuring others and nearly killing one of your beloved younger cousins when they jumped out of the pantry to give you a playful scare.

After the incident you voluntarily isolated yourself even more, terrified of the world and yourself for the 6 years that followed with no contact with anyone but your immediate family. Until out of the blue, your parents would bring an Assistant Manager representative from one of the many Jujutsu schools. They gave you more insight into the curses you were seeing and promised you’d even learn to master them if you'd work for them.

You hated to leave your family but you were aware of the ever growing threat you are to them so long as you can’t control your powers. 

Not to mention, the promise of meeting others like you had your heart racing with excitement, you’d almost forgotten the feeling resigning yourself to your feelings of loneliness. You thought you were completely alone but there apparently was a whole other world you weren’t aware of right in front of your face this whole time!

Unfortunately, like the many others who enter the Jujutsu world from outside families, you received a rude awakening—one that you’d learn was far more isolating than being locked away in your home as your hopes of being understood were quickly disillusioned. 

Well, they understood you fine, they just don’t care.

Especially as it is made apparent quickly you were classified at the highest level.

Special grade. 

Yet despite your ranking you find zero camaraderie and very little empathy as the majority of sorcerers you encountered came from generationally gifted families who regarded someone like you with either envy, annoyance or scorn as the competition. Compounded with the fact you were a certified scaredy cat despite having a power very few could compete with made you into the running joke of Jujutsu society.

Your fear crippled your ability to fully utilize your powers which was seen as weakness.

This earned you the title of ‘The Bunny Sorcerer’ or just “Bunny” for short. 

It was cruel but fitting since you did startle easily, just like a little bunny rabbit. Even the presence of a weak curse, one you could crush under your shoe, sent your heart racing and your wide eyes darting around in panic.

You hated it more than anything, but you didn’t run.

Where could you even go?

You refused to put your family at risk again. They had protected you for so long, even when it meant endangering themselves. Even if this new world rejected you, at least your presence here wouldn’t jeopardize them like before.

So, you gritted your teeth and endured, swallowing the bitterness of being reduced to nothing more than a tool—a "breeding mare" to be kept alive for future use.

All for your family.

With a deep breath, you pushed the painful memories aside, exhaling slowly as you forced yourself to refocus on the present.

Things are different now though with Nanami in your corner believing in you.

“I-I remember the checklist Ken, b-but how will I know it’s really you?”

There’s a tense pause before Nanami speaks again, the fatigue edged in his tone given the late hour rationalizes the delay in your mind. 

“Everything will be okay Bun, you’ll know, I promise. Just use the checklist like we practiced, doll. I believe in you.”

Clutching onto Nanami’s shirt, you nod your head despite him being unable to see it through the door. 

*sniff* ”...m’kay.”

You can do this! 

Nanami believed in you.

Like he always did.

From the very start of him becoming your mentor by the end of your second year in Jujutsu society.

You arrived to him as quite the pitiful little thing. Dejected and broken, you shrank yourself into being as obedient as possible. No one wanted to deal with the headache of looking after you—the three mentors in two different office locations before finally being transferred to Tokyo was proof of that.

Unceremoniously handed over to Nanami, you were to be his problem. He was to look after you until you learned to control your powers enough to be married off.

Nanami had been semi-retired since recovering from an unfortunate incident with a curse that had caused the entire left side of his body to be burned, he was lucky to keep his eye. His first real assignment back and he had to be burdened with you. Yet despite your many short-comings as a sorcerer, you were never a joke to Nanami. Nanami did not seem to mind that you had a soul far too sensitive and gentle for any real battle. 

Ironically enough, you actually begin to love the nickname 'Bunny' when he calls you it. The name was always accompanied by a small endearing smile that soothed your spooked nerves, as he reassures you that he too ’finds the world a little too harsh and unpredictable at times.’

Nanami would always tell you—‘Being afraid isn't a weakness—it’s proof that you care, that you are alive and want to continue to live—that’s what we are fighting for. You just do it in your own way Bunny, don’t worry about the rest.’ 

With the patience that would rival a saint, Nanami never ridiculed nor expressed disappointment in your failures, they weren’t failures he would tell you—only roadblocks for you to overcome. He’d overcome his injuries, like you could overcome your fears.

And you had. 

Clinging to him like a lifeline, you felt you owe the semi-normal life you live now to his support and unwavering belief in you. Over the past three years with him, you have conquered so many of your fears.

Nevertheless, it still wasn’t enough to keep this doppelgänger fiasco from regressing you back to the state you were in before meeting Nanami. Technically someone of your strength should have been out there fighting and exercising curses too.

Even though most doppels were low-level curses, their energy patterns mimicked their human counterparts, and their sheer numbers were overwhelming. The fear of making a mistake and accidentally killing a real human left you paralyzed. 

The higher ups quickly decided you’d be better off waiting in quarantine, like a civilian. 

For the first time in a long time you feel like a nuisance. You knew that Nanami would have to take on your burdens as he always did, now working harder than ever. 

You missed Nanami terribly over the last few days so you just want this to be your sweet boyfriend so badly, but this is the first time you've had to do this. 

Even with all the times you and Nanami practiced, preparing for this very moment, you still don’t know if you can go through with it.

Sniffling back tears, you steady yourself. 

The first thing on the list was to check his appearance. 

Starting from the top, there wasn’t even a hair out of place. Nanami looks dashing with his slicked back 7:3 salaryman style with slightly tapered sides, the density somewhat thinner on his injured left side. You bite your lip, as your gaze slides lower, his goggle glasses were the right shade and color. As well, with the exception of his scarring, his face nor body had no abnormal markings or features, just his familiar strong jawline set into a firm neutral expression. 

Nanami’s clothing passed inspection too. Not a wrinkle in sight. He wears his speckled yellow print tie and nicely pressed suit, with a single brown leather glove on his left hand to protect his marred thinned skin during battles, same as always. Nanami, although often worn by the end of the day, always kept a neat, well put-together appearance.

“Well, my love?”

The small smile that edges his lips makes you bounce on your toes and you can’t wait to let him in and jump into his arms but you know you still have one more set of checks to be done.

“You passed, Ken.. but mmm, we’re not done yet! N-Next are the questions!”

You hear Nanami lightly chuckle at the door clearly finding your nervous determination to correctly identify him endearing. 

And just as you were hoping for, Nanami passes the questions with flying colors too. 

“Alright doll, are you satisfied that it’s me? May I come in now?”

Chewing on the nail of your thumb you don’t know why you are still wavering.

He’d answered all the questions right and his appearance was flawless from what you could tell. 

However something just didn’t feel right and a renewed panic shoots down your spine. 

“Um, IDK… Ken, I-I want it to be you and I think it's you…b-but…”

Looking away, you pressed your forehead against the door unsure of what to do next. 

“Don’t think too hard now about it Bunny, you’ll start second guessing yourself again.”

Nanami answered all the questions correctly, just as the real Nanami would.

So why couldn’t you shake this feeling of something being off? 

You whimper as you just want to hold him and look up into his soft brown—and it dawned on you.

His eyes!

“T-Take off your glasses, Ken.”

A heavy silence follows, longer and far more tense than the one before.

“S-Show me your eyes Kento…please? T-Then I’ll believe it's you, then I’ll let you in. I promise!”

You're desperate to see his warm hazel eyes, even if they were strained with an exerted tinge of red—it was the final thing you needed to calm your worried heart and know for sure. 

You’d spent so much time gazing up into them, there's no way even the most perfect clone could duplicate them for you.

“Now, my Bunny…” 

Nanami’s tone shifted, turning cold and devoid of the usual warmth—a chilling, almost menacing edge that wrecked shivers down your spine, as if the person speaking wasn’t him at all.

“...why would you ask that of me? Open the door for me lil’ Bunny. I’m beginning to lose my patience with you.”

Nanami? Losing his patience…?

Your brows furrowed as the ominous tension hits you like a pound of bricks, the cracks in the doppelgänger's facade rapidly crumbling away.

Swallowing a hard lump, you have to confirm it with your own eyes.

“S-Show me!”

Nanami just chuckles, removing his glasses to reveal himself as a doppelgänger with two pitch-black holes oozing thick, dark fluid where his gentle brown eyes should be. The doppel hears your sobs through the door, and you stumble back, falling on your ass as the door frame trembles from the curse rattling against the barrier.

The curse was strong, stronger than normal reportings and before you knew it the door flew open, almost completely off the hinges. However it wasn’t enough to break your barrier and have them enter.

“Heh, didn’t think you would suspect me at all—dealing with someone as weak-minded as you.” 

Fear wrecks through your body as the words coming from the clone sound more distorted and monstrous than ever.

“Now when I do get in there, you’re really going to regret it—you pathetic sniveling skinbag. I think I’ll peel it off you slowly, skin you just like a little rabbit, Bunny. Would you like to be my meal?”

Tears spill freely now, your bleary eyes blinking against the steady flow. Yet, for the first time, the emotion rising in your chest isn’t just fear—it’s anger. Raw and undeniable.

This disgusting curse really had the audacity to mimic your precious Nanami!

Resolute, your legs shake like a newborn fawn yet you still manage to draw yourself to your feet. Your eyes are closed, screwed shut as you attempt to drown out its taunts and provocations. But you can still sense it before you, which was good because you didn’t want to have to look at the grotesque form of the person who meant the most to you any longer than you had to.

“Awe, did I upset the wittle Bunny?” 

The doppelgänger's voice returned to a pitch similar to Nanami's, making a mockery of the both of you further before his voice turned more twisted than ever. 

“Because I guarantee the huge disappointment you are is even more upsetting to the real Nanami.”

“No, that’s not true! The real Nanami would never say that!”

Sparks dance at your fingertips as you concentrate, pouring your energy into the barrier. You have the strength, but his cutting insults and the relentless pounding against the shield gnaw at your focus. Doubt creeps in, and your energy falters, flickering as you fight to hold onto your resolve.

Come on girl, get it together now!

Just as Nanami taught you, you steady your mind with slow, deliberate breaths, shutting out the doppelgänger’s cruel taunts. The deep, calming flow of air through the back of your throat soothes your heart, which had been pounding like a drum, and sends a surge of energy coursing through your veins. With each exhale, your power gathers—stronger, sharper, and more focused than before.

Yet, as your eyes finally open and you ready yourself to unleash your ability, the doppelgänger is suddenly silenced. Going mute before a choked gurgle escapes its lips before its head splits into pieces—cut down by Nanami’s precise ratio technique.

The new Nanami that appears before you immediately removes his glasses, and when you meet his soft hazel eyes, they’re exactly as you remembered: gentle, tender, and reassuring.

There’s no doubt about!

He’s the real deal—he’s your Nanami!

Instantly dropping the barrier, Nanami catches you as you leap into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Evening Bunny, my heart.” 

Hearing the words coming from him, the actual Nanami, has you falling apart in his arms ugly crying into his chest with happiness and relief. 

But your tears could never be ugly to the real Nanami, who holds you tighter as he coos how proud he is of you and how he’s so sorry for being late and leaving you all alone for so long. 

ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩

The fact stands, Nanami finds immense beauty in your tears. 

And although he has never failed to pronounce your beauty no matter how much of a distressed state you were in, the direct affection for your cries isn’t something he’d ever elaborate on.

Nanami is terrified of what he might say. 

The underlying truth being that you awoke a ferociously strong lust in the form of cuteness aggression whenever Nanami saw even the tiniest bit of wetness dew on your lids.

“HAA! D-Daddy, D-Daddy puhlease! I-I cannnnnnn’t!”

However, the flowing tears that Nanami could pull from your sweet puffy eyes while you so dutifully bounce on his cock are definitely his favorite. 

Once in his arms you had pulled him down to the floor, ripping off all his clothes as the rush of varying emotions had gone straight to your pussy. And of course, you being the perfect peach you were for him, volunteered to ride him—without a condom—for the first time.

You claimed you wanted to feel all of the him inside you, no more barriers between the two of you. 

Nanami certainly is more than happy to oblige you as always. 

Mounting him, your manicured nails find purchase on his solid abdominals for leverage, assisting your feet planted on the ground as you bounced—much like an actual bunny—on his cock, feeling the pulse of every vein dragging along your walls. 

This was another reason loved to call you Bunny as you certainly wanted to fuck like one.

“Hm? Wasn’t it you? My slutty doll, who begged to ride me though, pet?”  

Your pretty mewls of protest only make him harder as your gooey cunt quivers when he refers to you as his ‘pet’.

A soft girl to the core despite the strength you possess, you loved the way Nanami claimed you by calling you his pet. There was a comforting simplicity in it—no expectations, no pressure to be anything but yourself. 

Just the quiet assurance that he would care for you, exactly as you are.

This was evident by all the affection he would shower you with daily as well as the pretty pink leather collar with a hollow rose gold heart that said “Bunny” in matching rose gold cursive. You'd been wearing it this entire time, wanting to greet him at the door with it on.

“You can Bunny. How many times must I tell you, my love? This is what you were waiting for, yes? Having the nerve to play with my pussy before I came home—you weren't even wearing panties under my shirt, pet.”

By now Nanami's shirt has been long discarded from your body. You are completely bare save for the thick leg warmers digging into your plush thighs and your collar twinkling in the dim living room lighting. 

You knew exactly what you were doing too, fully aware of how much he loved seeing you in his oversized undershirt. The material, drenched in the musk from a hard day's work, hung loosely over you, draping your curves perfectly to tease and captivate.

You were deadly to him.

In combination with the tights you wear revealing just a fleeting silver of skin with each subtle step ignited a feral dominating urge Nanami otherwise tried to keep in check. A guaranteed way for your pussy to end up stuffed and your ass spanked as he folded you over the nearest piece of furniture.

It goes without saying you wouldn’t greet him after so long wearing anything else—you even naughtily played with your pussy earlier so you'd could have him inside of you as we walked through the door.

Likewise, you know the dedicated efforts you exert now that has sweat glistening off your jiggling tits, core muscles clenching for stability and leaves you panting, pleases him to watch as well.

Nanami grins lovingly at your labors, he is convince you have to be a masochist at heart. As big of a scaredy cat as you are, you rarely ever run from his cock.

Even now when the force needed to bully his thickness into your slick pussy over and over had your tongue lolling out and your eyes lodged deep into the back of your skull murmuring gibberish.

You’d easily fuck yourself dumb for him.

You still persist, even when it feels like his immense girth might split you into two from the intensity of your pleasure. Being with Nanami is the first time since entering the Jujutsu world where you didn’t feel alone, where someone didn’t mock or ridicule you or expect you to be a tool for their benefit. 

So you’d push through for him, through anything. 

Even though your stomach flutters with butterflies full of uneasy anticipation every time you’d plead with your burning thighs to lift you once more—knowing soon the laws of gravity would prevail and you'll have the very wind knocked out of you when your cervix slams down hard onto his portly tip.

“Always such a sweet slutty girl for me, my love…” 

One of his hands strokes your calf encouragingly while the other runs along the bend in your knee, briefly toying with the hem of fabric at your thighs, before resting on your belly. Nanami is too enthralled by the way your stomach bulges and deflates again, his cock scraping along your gummy walls making a complete mess of you.

“....Can you feel me here too, pet?”

When Nanami hands dip into the soft rolls of your tummy just below your navel it’s intentional and directly over your g spot. Your nails dig into his abdominals as you sew your eyes shut. You're oh so close to cumming and you want to milk Nanami’s cock, twitching against your womb, for all its worth.

“K—HNN!”

“What was that? Speak up my love, or I won’t be able to hear you over your pretty crybaby pussy, you aren’t going to let her be louder than you, hm?”

Nanami gifts your ass with a firm open palmed smack.

“HAAA—MMMMN—Not f-fair K-Knghh!”  

The creamy squelching of your pussy threatens to cry even louder as you continuously impale yourself on his cock. You pout crying through barely intelligible complaints but your lustful hips never stop, no matter how much they ache from spreading wide across his broad pelvis.

You could barely think, let alone form words so if your pussy wanted to speak up for you in this case, you’d let her. You were too busy trying to remember to breathe, spittle depositing on the sides of your lips from the way you swore you had somehow pushed Nanami’s long dick all the up up into your ribcage. 

His big strong hand cups your cheek, thumb gently swiping through your tears and sweat as Nanami encourages you to keep going for him. The act seems so lovingly selfless but truly it’s to push the strands of hair away from covering your face so Nanami could see your wild tears unhindered. 

Nanami understands quite well how twisted it is of him to get off on your tears to the extent he does. That said, it’s those moments of softness, when you are at your most fragile and desperate, are the ones he cherished above all others.

Those were the moments you only look to him.

You not only made Nanami feel wanted—you made him feel needed. 

Truthfully, even now he felt as if he was undeserving of all your perfection. It was clear, you were a diamond in the rough. Beautiful, strong, and a rather sweet and friendly disposition once you felt comfortable enough in your surroundings to open up. Not to mention you had youth on your side, just barely reaching your mid-twenties while Nanami was well into his thirties. 

Aging and horrifically disfigured on his left side, he had long resigned himself to solitude even before his disfigurement. Nanami being the consummate workaholic salaryman of Jujutsu society, he already had no life beyond his job responsibilities.

Pathetically, even in his rare moments of daydreaming—imagining the soft beaches of Malaysia he had more than enough vacation days accrued to visit—he walked those sandy shores alone in his mind.

Nanami, if anything, was a realist. He knew he might as well be a curse among regular civilians given his appearance now. He pretends even now not to notice the double take stares or whispers, the looks from sympathy to pure horror.  

So it's no surprise Nanami never dared to consider anything other than his reality.

Until you came along and changed that.

“MNNNN K-KEN—M’GONNACUMM’GONNACUM!”

Your words slur as your ass slams down in his lap with more fervor. The increase in friction of your clit against his pubic bone causes your squirt along with the milky fluids at the base of his shaft to gush everywhere. Your arousals soil his torso and causes your soggy tights to slouch around your thighs.

Your hands lose traction in the mess you made on Nanami's taut stomach, the muscles flexing and quivering from your frantic slippery gropes at his flesh. Nanami's balls grow more sore with every impact of your flesh rippling together. His sack is so eager to release the viscous surge of syrupy white fluids he’d built up in his absence.  

Completely on autopilot, his words barely register. It isn’t until Nanami’s voice cracks, repeating himself twice more, that his words finally break through the haze of ecstasy clouding your mind.

“HAAA—Can’t stawppp—FFFFUH—jus’ put it in m’tummy d-daddy!”

As if on the command of your words and spasming cunt reaching its spine-tingling nirvana, he does just that. Grunting loudly and throwing his head back, Nanami almost chokes on his own spit from how tight a hold your filthy pussy has on him when the geyser in his loins suddenly bursts, sloshing inside you.

A keen cry slips from your lips at the feeling of his hot cum swirling in your womb, marking you. Nanami fills your pussy to absolute capacity until dribbles of cum trickle out of your hole. As your adrenaline breaks its crest you can now feel the arches of your feet screaming at you as your legs can no longer support yourself. Exhausted you fall forward onto his bare sweat-slicked chest, your mission finally complete. 

Nanami too for a moment feels sated. However as soon as you caught your breath you just had to peer up from his chest to bashfully give him a small innocent smile like you weren’t just brazenly riding his dick like a starved cockhungry whore.

“Missed you, Ken.”

You whimpered softly, pressing a tender kiss to the scarred skin over his heart before resting your cheek there. Your heart-eyed gaze locks with his, unwavering and full of loving devotion.

Fuck.  

Something snaps and a tyrannical urge tingles on the tip of Nanami's every nerve, ignited by sweet adorable nature.

Pulling you into a kiss you Nanami as he wholly devours you, not allowing you rest. The taste of your slobbering moans into his mouth are simply addicting and he could spend hours teasing and suckling on your cute little tongue if you’d allow him.

Rolling you under him and onto your back in a mating press, you mewl at the electricity shooting through your cunt upon his length swelling again. This position makes it easy for his cock to restretch your sloppy spongy core he thrusts slow and deep into you. 

Your hands instantly push against his hips, squirming while trying to prevent him from disturbing your still spasming womb. 

Yet Nanami was having none of it. Restraining both your hands in one of his own overhead.

“I know my pretty pussy isn’t acting all scared of cock now? Not after the way she greedily drained me and gobbled up my seed.”

Now was Nanami’s turn to savor every part of you.

There’s fresh sobs that spill down your puffy face again when his cockhead roughly prods into your cervix. 

“T-That’s it, let em all out—HAAA—Show Daddy how much that crybaby pussy loves getting slutted out, pet,” 

Nanami's words amplify the quivering of your cunt with each new thrust spurring his hips to slam back into yours. The slick moisture on his balls causes a harsh sting every time they slap against your ass and encourages him to go faster, increasing your tears and pleasure.

Getting off on you being his tight wet little fleshlight, Nanami considers if he's still too twisted to be with you.

Had the burns from the incineration of half his body seared him so severely it sullied his very soul into the sadistic form it is now?

The truth lies in the withheld secret that Nanami had, in fact, stalked his own doppelgänger, following it all the way to your high-rise condo. He could have stopped the creature long before it ever reached your door. However his own darkness—slimy and sadistic—held him back.

A part of him feels ashamed, guilty for standing by and allowing your tears when he could have prevented them. But he did truly believe in you. Nanami was knew you were far stronger than you gave yourself credit for, and, in his own flawed way, he wanted to show you that strength.

You could have easily blasted his doppelganger curse to hell, yet Nanami wasn’t such a beast he'd traumatize you by making you harm something that looked so much like him.

No, he only truly enjoyed your tears when you were under him like this, so drunk off his cock you’d forget about any other fear.

"K-K-FUH—NNN!"

Your hands are still above your head as Nanami continues to pound you like a madman. Your mouth gapes open to wordless cries that beg him to let you cum. The lewd gurgles and slurps from your pussy wringing out his cock echo in your ears—she's sobbing enough for the both of you and it’s mozart to Nanami’s ears.

Honestly, Nanami never wanted to be apart from you that long ever again. 

It’s In that moment, deep in your guts as your ecstasy renders you dumb, chest arching up like a beacon. Nanami realizes that your presence is as essential to his existence as the sun itself.

You are his sun.

Your warmth is more comforting, tempering his traumas and offering a soothing peace he never imagined was possible. The tranquility he envisions, basking in under golden rays, only matter if you’re beside him sharing in that serenity.

Now when Nanami pictures himself walking carefree along sandy shores in his mind's eye, you’re there with him, hand in hand.

The thought of you being married off to some ancient sorcerer clan, destined for mistreatment, fills him with a quiet rage. He’d die before allowing that to happen.

No—he would make you his. Forever. 

Because now, the idea of a life without you feels unbearable and from the desperate way you creamed on him as if his cum was sustenance for your needy succubus pussy let’s him know you feel the same way even if you can't verbalize it in the moment. 

Nanami had known how you felt ever since the day you first met Gojo. He’d managed to keep you off Gojo’s radar for 4 months, but hiding you forever was impossible. When you finally crossed paths, Gojo, ever the smarmy jester, wasted no time teasing and flirting with you relentlessly, despite your timid nature.

Yet things had taken an unexpected turn when Gojo casually suggested that a sorcerer of your grade should train with him instead. Nanami stood next to you stoically, his face in a hard line. He knew Gojo wasn’t entirely wrong—you likely would progress faster under his tutelage even though he'd likely terrorize your nerves in the process. With Gojo, you wouldn’t have to endure training sessions cut short by Nanami’s bouts of phantom pain or the constant disruptions caused by the unpredictable chills and sweats that had plagued him since losing the ability to regulate half his body temperature.

Still, neither of them could have anticipated your reaction.

The moment Gojo made the suggestion, fat tears brimmed in your eyes, spilling over in seconds. Nanami’s heart shattered into pieces as your small fist clung desperately to sleeve like a lifeline. Your plump bottom lip trembled, and when you finally spoke, your dejected voice was so soft it was barely more than a whisper.

“You're going to get rid of me too, Nanami?”

The question came out more like a statement, like you'd expected him to eventually. It's in that instant that the damn Nanami’s carefully restrained feelings broke. His heart ached with a deeper affection he could no longer deny. Gojo, for his part, immediately backed off, though he made it a point to tease Nanami mercilessly afterward.

“Your little crybaby bunny got so upset thinking I’d steal them away.”

Frankly, as long as Gojo left you alone, Nanami didn’t care what the hell he said nor anyone said or did. All that mattered was you staying by his side.

Nanami decides he's had enough as a new clarity washes over him.

Fuck these doppelgangers. 

Fuck his job. 

And most importantly?

Fuck the Jujutsu world.

Nanami knew Gojo had been dicking around for whatever reason when they should have been rid of these doppelgangers long before this point. However, Nanami couldn’t bring himself to care anymore, refusing to be apart from you working himself to the bone if Gojo was also not taking this seriously.

For the first-time in his career as as sorcerer—Nanami is taking a vacation.

He's booking 2 first-class tickets to Malaysia—tomorrow.

“Bunny, we’ll have to get you a new collar, my pet. Wouldn’t want the metal to heat up too much on the beach and scar your perfect skin.”

Wha? A beach? 

"Hnnn—m'kay K-Ken..."

Agreeing to anything, you're reduced to goo from the way Nanami has been tearing through your guts like he was in a trance.

You have zero clue what Nanami is talking about.

However, that's probably for the best to be honest.

Otherwise the amount of nervous, apprehensive tears that would leak from your eyes upon learning his plans to bust your pussy wide open like a coconut over and over on a public beach of all places would surely have earned you three more rounds.

......RESULT: PASSED 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘! 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙽𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚖��—𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚗𝚎-𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚊. 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍. 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔—𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚎. 𝙽𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚞𝚝𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍.

that's not my jjk man series (visit series page for full animation)

lmk what you think~!

comment and reblog! next up a no-nut-nov multific!

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

[withahappyrefrain]

Ruin the Friendship- Bob Floyd

Warnings: Best friends to lovers trope, it’s so obvious they love each other they’re stupid, language, filth, some angst (why not?), unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), Bob being pussy drunk.

Summary: The night before Bob leaves for Boot Camp, he's learned no one has gone down on his best friend. He's determined to fix that.

Words: 4.8K

This is for @attapullman's Bob Fucks celebration!

When you've been friends with someone since preschool, you get to know them like the back of your hand. Certain quirks and sayings that no longer surprise you. 

“God, I wish that were me.”

It wasn't the first time Bob heard you say that. Usually there was a cute dog around, or a sushi boat being delivered at a restaurant when you said it. 

But saying it during an oral sex scene in a movie was new. 

It also brought up many questions. 

Questions Bob shouldn't ask, considering he's known you since preschool. Questions Bob couldn't ask right now, because he was too preoccupied looking at you. 

Your eyes were fixated on the screen, focused on the actress withering. Occasionally, they would dart to the other actor who was between the actress’ thighs. Bob noticed the increased rise and fall of your chest, how your front teeth dug into your bottom lip, how when you lean forward, the v-line cut of your shirt showed off the tops of your breasts. The soft glow of the lamps highlighted the beautiful features on your face. 

All things he shouldn’t be noticing about his best friend. But then again, best friends shouldn’t be watching a French film together whose plot line focused on sexual liberation before he went off to Navy boot camp. 

Granted, you and Bob haven’t had a conventional best friend relationship in a while, if at all, considering both sets of parents claimed you two promised to marry each other at the age of four. 

Promises or not, best friends shouldn’t be one another’s first kiss. Or make out practice partners. Or each other’s New Year's kiss when y'all were single. Or spend Valentine's Day together at the local dinner. 

The line between friends and something more was blurry, saved by a comment that ensured the other to think that the feelings that had been brewing weren't reciprocated. 

“You’re a good kisser. Kelsey McCoy is going to think so too.”

“If Tommy Delaine doesn't like you, he's a dumbass.” 

“I’m sure next year you’ll have someone.”

“If I had to spend it with anyone, I want it to be with my best friend.”

“You’re an amazing friend, you know that?”

Why say that if you harbor romantic feelings? Surely, all those kisses and talk of marriage meant nothing to them. 

At least that's what the other thought. 

It's because of this blurry line that Bob doesn't bite his tongue, doesn't throw away the comment to be forgotten. Instead, he speaks up. 

“Been awhile?” 

And because it's Bob, the guy you've known your whole life, the guy you tell everything to, your response rolls off your tongue without a second thought. 

“Try never.” 

It takes Bob a moment to process your words as the way your lips wrap around the beer bottle is far too distracting. But just like processing a car accident, once it registers, your words bring his brain to a screeching halt. 

“Wait, never?” The shrug you give isn’t satisfactory. He grabs the remote to pause the movie, ignoring your cries of protest. 

“Real talk; are you saying that no one has ever gone down on you?” 

You sigh, regretting saying anything in the first place. One would think that after years of friendship, you’d know well enough that once Bob set his mind to something, he wouldn't relent until satisfied. 

You down the remnants of your beer, mentally preparing for this conversation. 

“No Robby. I've never had someone eat me out. Happy now?” Reaching for the remote was all in vain, as he just held it further away from you. 

Darn those long limbs. 

“But you've been with people…..so what did they do?” When you looked at him, there was no malice, just Bob looking genuinely baffled. His gentle blue eyes put you at ease, giving you the comfort to explain. 

“They would touch me,” you motioned to the lower half of your body, “And like finger me. Enough to get me ready, I guess.” 

Bob raised an eyebrow, “You guess?” 

College was supposed to be a time for you to explore, to figure yourself out, to interact with new people. 

And yet, when it came to the relationship aspect, everything had fizzled. You were now going into your junior year having yet to experience a meaningful romantic relationship. 

Did you just have shit luck? Or was it because your mind would wander back to a bespectacled best friend when you were in bed with someone else? 

“So instead of eating you out, which would actually be enjoyable on your end, you're telling me they just stuck their hand down there and hoped they were rubbing your clit? You didn't ever ask them to do something else?” 

Bob didn't have the pristine mouth that parents thought he possessed. You knew, and had known for a while. And yet, hearing him say the phrase your clit in his deep, slightly twangy voice felt different. 

You rubbed your thighs together. 

“Are you shaming the people I've been with or me?” 

Bob closed the difference between you and him on the couch, placing a hand on your bare knee. 

Have his hands always been so big and veiny? 

Fuck, did you have a thing for hands? 

“I'm not shaming you. I’m shaming the people you've been with because well,” he ran a hand up and down the back of his neck, “Well, I enjoy giving….I like doing it. So I guess I'm surprised other people don't?” 

His statement was shocking because everyone else you had been with viewed it as a chore, as something to use every excuse in the book to avoid doing. 

Too tired. Takes too long. Wet enough so what's the point? 

“You…like doing it?” 

The tops of his cheeks reddened, despite a smirk beginning to form, “Yeah. I like giving and I like making them feel good. It's also a confidence booster, being able to make someone fall apart with your mouth.” 

It shouldn't come as a surprise, it was Bob after all. The same Bob who always brought an extra pencil with him to algebra, in case you forgot yours. The same Bob who shared his Dunkaroos because your mom refused to buy them. The same Bob who made his dream of serving his country finally come true after years of hard work. 

He was selfless. But this didn't feel like selflessness. Hearing him talk about giving pleasure, making someone fall apart with his mouth, was different. Even his voice when he said it was different, raspier than usual. 

“Well,” you scooted closer to the edge of the couch, trying to widen the gap so he couldn't feel how hot your body was, “I can't wait ‘til I meet someone who feels the same way.” 

“You don't have to wait.” 

The grip on your beer bottle tightened, the alcohol getting caught in your throat. There's no way he could have just said that, no way he could be implying what you're thinking. 

But when you look at Bob, he was staring back with raised eyebrows and thin lips curled into a little smirk. The same look he’s given you countless times before when he mumbles a smartass comment only your ears were privy to hear. 

You heard me. 

“What-are you…” You stared at him, mouth agape. Bob appeared unphase by it, like he had just offered something totally normal and rational. 

Perhaps it was the three beers he had downed. Perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline kicking in after realizing this was his last chance at making a move before he left. 

“Wouldn't that be like crossing a line?” Your head was racing, alternating between flashbacks of when you kissed Bob and imagining what it would be like to have his mouth on your body. 

“Wouldn't be much different from what we’ve already done.” 

All the air was sucked out of the room by his comment. Because of course he wasn't doing this because he wanted to, because he wanted you. This would be meaningless, just like everything else. If you went through with this, you’d wake up the next day to Bob leaving with nothing changed, still in this seemingly endless limbo. 

Long, nimble fingers hooked themselves under your chin, gently forcing you to look up. 

The look he gave you was unfamiliar. His eyes remained focused on your face, though it seemed like they were searching. 

For what, you couldn't tell. 

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Do you want it to be different?” 

What good was telling him if he didn’t feel the same way, thus ruining a great friendship?

“Do you want it to be different Robby?” You countered back. 

He leaned in, his breath hot on your face, “I asked you first.”

He thought he had the upper hand. But you were like a lightning bug, faster.  

“I asked you second, Robby.”

Like a rubber band, the tension snapped as Bob was unable to hold back a snort of laughter. The tension left your shoulders, the sight of him laughing familiar and safe. 

“I’m going to really miss your resounding maturity,” Bob deadpanned after gaining the ability to compose himself, though a sweet crooked smile remained. 

It was now your turn to roll your eyes, though it didn’t stop the smile currently forming on your face. Seeing this side of Bob was always fun; most folks thought he was quiet and meek. The truth was that he liked to observe and didn’t find value in speaking when it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t hold back with you, didn’t feel the need to sit and observe. He truly conversed with you and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel special. 

He was never that way with the other girls he dated. 

“You love me,” you teased back. It was a comment you've said countless times, always with that sweet, albeit mischievous smile that made Bob's heart flutter. 

But this time instead of shaking his head or rolling his eyes, he leaned forward until your foreheads were touching. 

Seeing him up close took your breath away. You could see how his roots were beginning to darken, the blonde fading as he got older. The little scar on his chin from a BB Gun incident when he was ten. Eyes bluer than the ocean. The ends of his hair were beginning to curl, something you'd greatly miss when he'd get the military mandated buzz cut. 

“Yeah, I do.” There was no teasing in his voice. No mischief in his eyes. Instead of playfully shaking your shoulder, his hand found its way to the back of your neck, fingers cupping your warm skin. He was moving quickly, making you unable to truly process what he had just said. 

Despite it being new territory, he was handling it beautifully. You, on the other hand, were torn between wondering if your increased heart beat was medically concerning and how large Bob’s hands were. 

“You gotta….if you want to stop, tell me,” His breathing had increased, like it did when he had finished his part in the marching band. But this wasn’t marching band practice and y’all weren’t on the high school field. You were in your parents’ basement, with Bob’s lips quickly closing the gap between yours and his. 

It wasn’t your first time kissing Bob, but it might as well have been. Years of experience had given him more confidence. He knew where to put his hands now, one still on your neck to guide you, the other gripping the soft flesh of your hip. He didn’t hesitate to slide his tongue across your bottom lip, successfully driving you wild. 

When the rounded tip of his nose brushed against yours, a soft laugh escaped your lips. Bob didn’t mind, using the chance to let his tongue explore your mouth. Your body leaned towards him, hands gripping the soft fabric of his old Warped Tour T-shirt. 

“I thought you,” your words were slurred, a weak moan interrupting your speech due to his lips moving down to your neck, “Thought you were gonna eat me out.” 

Bob’s moan vibrated against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands traveled to your breasts, gripping them through your T-shirt. It wasn't a hard squeeze, which is what you were used to. 

It was pleasurable. Bob was pleasurable. 

“Did none of the guys you were with do foreplay?” He asked, his hands continuing their ministrations. 

“I-fuck- yes they did, it just never took this long,” you grunted against his lips. 

“God, you have terrible taste in men.”

You wanted to let Bob know that he was now included in that group. But then his fingers hooked themselves around the band of your shorts, pulling them down. Had you known what tonight would entail, you would have opted for underwear that wasn't so worn. The long hairs on his arms tickled your sensitive skin as he moved to kneel on the floor, the cool basement air making you realize just how wet you were. 

How could he do that so quickly? 

He pinned your hips against the soft couch cushions. With anyone else, you would complain with how hard he was gripping your soft skin. But with Bob, you’d love it. It meant hand-shaped bruises that would stay after he left, reminding you of tonight. 

When his sharp nose nudged your clothed slit, a loud gasp erupted from your mouth. 

Thank god your parents were on vacation. 

His tongue was so wide as it stroked the quickly dampening fabric. How was he able to find your clit so quickly? Most struggled to find it even after your panties had been taken off. 

Bob couldn’t help but chuckle upon hearing your strained whimpers. You were practically squirming, hips erratically jerking with every touch. 

“Wha-why did you stop?” You whined, looking down to find him staring up to you. 

“Are you-I just need to know, do you still want this?” God, he was so fucking considerate. In any other moment, you’d find it endearingly sweet. 

But if his tongue felt that good against your covered cunt, you were dying to feel it without the barrier. 

“Robby, I swear to god, if you don’t eat me out, I’m going upstairs and using my vibrator,” Your voice was strained, your knuckles turning white from gripping the couch cushions.  

He laughed.  Bob knew you were bluffing. He had just gotten started and you were already so wet. 

Slowly, he took his glasses off, placing them on the coffee table behind him, making a show of it. 

“Won’t need those. I’m nearsighted after all.”

“You little-” The insult remained unsaid, as Bob pushed your underwear to the side, his mouth instantly latching onto your swollen clit. 

His mouth was warm. The pressure wasn’t too much, just enough to make you wither in pleasure. It felt so good, so fucking good. When Bob looked up, he found your mouth open, despite no sounds coming out. 

Good. 

You deserved to know what it was like, to have someone care about your pleasure, to focus solely on making you feel incredible. 

God, he could feel his cock throbbed. You looked so pretty with your eyes glazed over, mouth agape as you watched him, completely enthralled. 

And he had just gotten started. 

He wanted to do more than make you come, he wanted to blow your mind. Call it selfish, but Bob wanted to ruin you for anyone else. He had always held back his tongue when it came to the people you dated, knowing sooner or later you'd realized they weren't worth your time. 

But now he had his chance and Bob sure as hell wasn't going to let it slip away. 

The loud sound of fabric ripping broke you out of the pleasure filled haze you were in. Before you could make a sound about your now ripped underwear, your knees were pinned to your chest, giving Bob complete access to your soaked core.

“So fucking sweet,” He groaned against your cunt, sending vibrations all through your body, “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” 

“Robby.” 

To say Bob dreamed of hearing you moan his name would be the understatement of the fucking century. 

Your whole body was on fire, unable to do anything else but take everything Bob was giving. 

A resounding moan fell from your lips as Bob thrusted two fingers inside you, your walls struggling to accommodate the unexpected stretch. 

Was he this thick elsewhere?

You wanted to find out. Wanted to feel it inside you, in your mouth. You shamelessly wanted it all. But you couldn’t even voice that because Bob was tracing figure eights on your clit, his fingers brushing against a spot you thought Cosmo had made up. 

Fuck, he was doing a number on you. His soft hair threaded through your fingers as you gripped the strands. Your hips involuntarily jerked upwards, desperate to get as much of Bob as possible. 

You kept expecting him to stop, considering you were wet enough for him to fuck you. That's what everyone else did. 

But Bob Floyd wasn't like everyone else. Far from it. 

He was fucking delighted to hear all the cute, strained noises coming from you as he continued.  Each time you tugged on his hair, a groan would fall from his lips. It was the prettiest sound you had ever heard. 

Why did either of you wait this long? 

You tried to communicate, to let him know you were close, tugging on his hair, trying to move away from his mouth. 

But Bob was deceivingly strong, using his free hand to pin your hip back to the couch, his mouth firmly on your pussy. 

When you looked down, you were in awe of how blissed Bob looked. His eyes were closed as his mouth remained latched to your clit. The sounds of your own wetness were obscene, but barely audible over the moans Bob was letting out. 

He really did enjoy it.

“Come. Wanna taste ya,” His voice was muffled as he added a third finger inside you. 

Worried thoughts of coming on his face left your brain as pleasure coursed through your veins. Without any warning, the band that had been tightening came undone.

Bob used both hands to hold your hips firmly in place, his tongue lapping up your release. 

You don't recall coming this hard or this long before. It wasn't a small wave, it felt like the whole damn ocean was taking you under. 

His fingers continued to stretch you open, prolonging your high. The Navy was the perfect fit for him, considering he could apparently hold his breath for an impressive amount of time. 

The soft fabric of the couch cushions brushed as the back of your head, your eyes half closed. You couldn't even voice an acknowledge when Bob’s mouth and fingers withdrew from your abused cunt. 

“You're so pretty when you come,” Bob murmured, his lips brushing against yours. 

Your hands tugged on the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

“M-my turn,” you whined, hips jerking up towards his. 

Bob shook his head, “Wanna be inside ya.” 

How was this the same guy who feared clowns as a kid? 

Before you could even question it, Bob had sat down on the couch, gripping your hips to help you straddle his lap. When had he taken off his jeans? How was he so quick- 

Jesus Christ, he was huge. 

“Fuck, she was right.” 

Bob looked up from where you two were about to connect, a very confused look on his face, “Excuse me?” 

“Betsey Thomas said you had a huge dick,” you confessed, wishing that you'd think before speaking for once. 

Bob’s brows knitted together in confusion, “Betsey Thomas has never seen my dick, the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Said she could tell you were packing because of the gym shorts you'd wear for PE class.” Bob signed, shaking his head as he muttered something about the required uniform. 

“I….we can unpack this later-” 

You snorted, “Why? Too busy packing here?” 

Your laughter was cut short by Bob rubbing his cock against your soaked cunt. Memories of high school escaped your brain, the only thing you could focus on now was Bob and his huge dick. 

Curious wasn't accurate. Frankly, you were desperate for him. Had been since middle school, if you were being truthful. 

“Woah, hey. Easy baby, easy,” his voice made your thighs clench, made you whine into his shoulder as you tried to line your aching hole with his cock. 

Finally, you felt him at your entrance. Slowly, he filled you up inch by inch. Every time you tried to urge him to go faster, Bob would simply shake his head before pressing a kiss against your cheek. 

“Don't want to hurt ya darlin’.” 

Darlin. You were his darlin. 

He made you feel so full, and you didn't even have it all inside of you yet. All you could do was cling to him as he whispered praises in your ears. 

Once you reached the base, it felt like you and Bob were the only ones in the world. At least, that’s what you pretended. It was better than thinking about how he would be gone for who knows how long after tonight. After boot camp was done, he would be off to train for the Navy. 

Even he didn't know when he would return home. 

It wasn't fair, finally expressing your feelings for one another just to be separated immediately after. You wanted him to stay, to go on dates with him, to visit him on the weekends when school started, just like everyone else in a long distance relationship. 

“Hey, what's wrong? Do you- we can stop if you want, it's okay.” Bob’s voice was soft, full of concern. 

His hand lifted your chin up from his shoulder, revealing your watery eyes. 

“I don't want you to go.” 

“I know,” his voice was barely a whisper, matching your volume. Long fingers gently traced over your face, as if he was trying to memorize them. 

“I know it's horrible timing, but we'll figure it out, okay? I want to figure it out with you, I promise,” He peppered your face with soft kisses, earning a small smile out of you. 

“But for now, can I make ya feel good? Because I'm willing to bet no guy has made you come while fucking ya.” 

Unlike in the past, where Bob’s smartass comments earned him a shove, you pressed your lips against his. 

“I'm gonna start moving now, okay?” Even though he warned you, nothing could have prepared you for how full Bob made you when his hips thrusted upwards. 

“You're-fuck- you feel so good, oh my God.” 

Your fingers tangled into Bob’s hair, trying to commit the feeling to memory. 

Bob was trying to do the same, his hands roaming over your body as he took in your scent. Maybe if he asked nicely, you'd let him take a bottle of your perfume with him. 

He was going to need it for the next few months. 

Your mouth clashed against his, tongue desperate to taste him. Wandering hands desperate to feel everything everywhere. 

“When-fuck- when I come back, wanna take you out. W-we can go to that Italian place by your school. The one where you have to wear a tie.” How Bob was able to talk coherently while fucking you was beyond comprehension. 

The Navy will be lucky to have his great ability to multitask. 

“Gonna bring ya flowers too. Sunflowers ‘cause they're-oh my god- you're favorite.” You didn't think you could recall your full name with the way Bob is thrusting into you, much less favorite things. 

Your walls clench around Bob’s thick cock, eliciting a desperate groan from him, rather than the instant ejaculation you were used to. 

“If you keep doing that, I'm gonna come,” Bob whined into the crook of your neck.

“That’s-shit- the point,” you grunted, your hips picking up speed. 

Bob shook his head, “Need you to come first.” 

Confusion caused you to still your hips, “Bob, I already-” 

“Don't finish that sentence, don't you dare,” Bob ended his command with a strong thrust that made you feel as if he was splitting you open on his cock. 

Your head dropped down to the crook of his neck. His skin was so warm and the smell of sage was nearly overwhelming. You knew exactly what body wash he had used, as it was the same one he wore ever since junior year, when you commented on how nice it was. 

In hindsight, it was painfully obvious. 

His lips found yours, capturing them in a desperate kiss. When you felt his fingers draw circles on your clit, you saw stars. 

You didn't know it could feel this good with someone. This was more than a quick fuck, as you actually felt cared for. It was intense, the sensitivity of your first orgasm still echoing every time the thick head of his cock brushed against your walls. 

It's audible how wet you are for Bob. He can feel it at the base of his cock, which makes him wonder what it would be like to have you on your knees, or better, your back, all spread out for him. 

“C’mon sweet girl,” he’s panting, voice desperate and raspy, “Wanna-fuck! Wanna feel you come s’bad, please, please baby.” 

Each circle drawn on your clit causes the band in your stomach to tighten. Combined with Bob’s words, you knew you wouldn't last much longer. 

“You're incredible, shit, I-fuck. All yours. Wanna be all yours. Fuck fuck fuck, clenching me so hard, fuck, don't stop.” Obscene was not a word many, if any, would use to describe Bob Floyd. 

Up until thirty minutes ago, you would have considered yourself part of that group. 

But now? Now you were falling apart on his cock. The rush of pleasure had hit like a brick, coursing through your veins. It hit harder than anything else, harder than the now banned alcohol caffeine combo drink, or any controlled substance doctors had prescribed to help you focus. 

His finger-fuck, usually you had to use two of your own- didn’t stop rubbing your clit, nor does he stop thrusting in and out of your pulsing cunt. It's almost as if-no, you know Bob’s enjoying making you feel euphoria. 

That's what blows your mind. His laser focus on your pleasure, rather than his own. Truthfully, he could have come already and you wouldn't have thought twice about it. 

But now it was all you could think about. How much he cared, how good he felt. How incredible it was for him to pull your hips flushed against his, filling you to the brim with his cock. 

“Holy shit you're so tight-I, sh-should I pull out?” 

Instead of answering, you used all your strength to rock your hips against him. Considering he made you come twice, the least you could do was help him find his release. 

Your fingers gripped his hair, tugging on the strands as your mouth clashed against his. 

The downright guttural groan he releases against your mouth has you clamping down on his cock. The motion finally leads to Bob’s undoing, causing him to come deep inside you, warmth flooding your body. 

His arms are wrapped around your body, clinging onto you as if he thinks you'll disappear if he lets go. 

You’d be a damn fool to. 

The basement is now quiet, apart from the heavy breathing coming from both you and Bob. 

After several minutes pass by, you gather the courage to break the silence, “Did you mean all that? Taking me out on a date and being mine?” 

Bob’s cheek burned a bright red as he timidly nodded his head, “I….yeah. I didn't mean to say it when we were, you know. I'm sorry.” 

You pressed a reassuring kiss to his warm cheek, “Robby, what do you feel the need to apologize for?” 

He looked up to you, those earnest blue eyes sparkling, “Shit timing?” 

“You're not wrong about that, but like you said earlier, I want to work it out with you.” Your words brought comfort, giving Bob the confidence to place a sweet kiss right on your lips. His smile was burning into yours, causing your stomach to flutter. 

“I know it's not that Italian restaurant, but can I take you out to breakfast tomorrow?” 

The local diner had been a go-to since y'all were thirteen. But this time would be different. This time you wouldn't feel the urge to look away when he caught you staring. This time neither one would correct the waitress when she'd make a comment about y'all being a cute couple. 

The soft call of your name pulled you out of your thoughts. 

“Uh can I….eat you out again? Tomorrow obviously! Like before we go to the diner?” 

Good Lord this man was going to be the death of you.

---------------------------------------------------------

@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @attapullman @ryebecca @sio-ina-bottle @rhettabbotts @callsignspark @roosterforme @lewmagoo @hangmanapologist @justabovewater20 @theharddeck @cumholland @bobfloydsbabe @sometimesanalice @heartfairy @auroralightsthesky

[holllandtrash]

fragile line | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader

You and I walk a fragile line I have known it all this time But I never thought I'd live to see it break

what happens when the driver daniel falls in love with, ends up being the one who brings his career to a screeching halt? word count: 7.7k (im so sorry) warnings/tags: fluff-ish, plot with implied/very little smut, angst, mclaren danny, zak brown (gross), some incorrect f2 stats but whatever, time jumps, really just a lot of angst, its a rollercoaster

“What do you know?”

“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you, the emphasis making it clear as day that you both carried the same career-altering information. 

His signature grin and comforting optimism were nowhere to be seen. Instead, Daniel’s expression could be described in a variety of ways. Solemn, disappointed, hurt. 

“What was I supposed to do?” You asked, going straight to the defensive. You couldn’t be helpful in this scenario, you just needed to explain yourself. He wouldn’t understand it from your perspective, but you had to try. 

“Not take the seat,” he offered a solution, as if it was that simple. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”

“For the sake of the team,” you corrected. You had no say in this. McLaren had plenty of driver options for the 2023 season. There were rumours of Daniel’s contract coming to an end a year early anyway, everyone heard them, everyone ignored them. The only thing that remained uncertain for a while was who would replace him should the rumours be true.

You. 

“You don’t even like McLaren.” You told him, voice raising a little as if that helped get the point across. “You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”

“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”

Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Daniel noticed the way your bottom lip quivered. He caught the way your eyes dropped from his, even just for a split second. There was something unspoken between you, something that weighed on your mind and Daniel stepped forward, wanting to know what exactly it was. 

“Zak-” you started, reluctant to even say this. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”

Here meaning Daniel’s flat in Monaco. The place you spent more nights at than your own. You played it off by saying his view was better but that was such a bullshit answer. Daniel’s flat always felt more like home than yours ever did. 

You had formally met the Australian driver a few years ago, but god did time fly. It was at a race in Monza. You could pretend you didn’t know the date but of course you did, you had it memorised. September 3rd, 2020. There was no way you could forget the day your life changed for the better. 

Or possibly, for the worse. It was up in the air at this point. 

You were new to the Formula 2 series. The only female driver on the grid as you raced with Prema alongside Mick Schumacher. F3 proved to be quite a successful stint for you and you had your eyes set on the coveted Formula 1 series. You wanted to be in the big leagues. 

Daniel saw that. He saw how determined you were to not only make waves in Motorsport, but to make something of yourself. You trained just as hard, if not harder than the other drivers in the junior series and Daniel had seen that for a while. He was often surprised to see you at the hotel gym, already working up a sweat when he walked in at a little after 6am. He would be even more surprised when he saw you there in the evening when other drivers went and called it a night or even went and celebrated. 

Your race weekends were the same as F1 weekends, but you just had limited ones. It was a shorter season, less intense, but whenever you were there. Daniel saw you. He saw you and he paid attention. He even rooted for you, very publicly as well whenever he could, despite the two of you never having exchanged a word. 

The first time you heard about Daniel cheering you on was after the Monaco race, quite early on into your first season. You qualified 7th, not ideal for a track like Monaco where the opportunities to overtake were far and few between, but somehow you did it. And then you did it again. And you could say it was luck but it was really smart strategy and an insane amount of driver skill that had you finishing fifth. In Monaco. 

Those were Daniel’s words. He was asked pre-race if he watched the F2 run and he said of course. He said he “wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” wanting to see what you could do this weekend. 

“It’s not luck, she’s incredibly talented,” Daniel had told the Sky Sports reporter. “She’s doing big things in the series, and I’m rooting for her. Truly. It’s rare a driver comes around with such raw natural talent, where you look at them and you know racing’s just in their blood, but it’s in hers. I would love to see her in Formula 1 one day.”

You watched that interview clip about twenty times. Daniel Ricciardo, the Daniel Ricciardo who had won Monaco a few years back, was complimenting you. He was rooting for you. 

It wasn’t until Monza, nearing the end of your season that he finally approached you. 

“I want to work with you,” Daniel said, straight to the point. You were in the middle of stretching in the hotel's fitness centre. It was only Thursday, the race weekend itself had barely started but Daniel knew he’d find you in there. 

You pulled your airpods out and looked up at him in the mirror, “You what?”

“I want to work with you,” Daniel repeated, this time sitting down on the floor next to you. He kept your stare in the reflection. “I’m not a trainer by any means, but I want to work with you. I want to see you in Formula 1.”

You were flattered, honoured really, but you didn’t know what that entailed. “Work with me how?”

“Well, regular fitness training for starters,” he said. “But managing, really. I want to help you with everything that it takes to move up. Media training, mental preparedness, finding sponsors, getting you in touch with the right people. Let me help you, Y/N.”

You weren’t sure what brought this on. Part of you was convinced it was because he knew this would look good on his behalf. If you did make it to Formula 1 and Daniel’s name was attached to yours, he’d look like a genius. A hero. He would be known as the first person from F1 to publicly support you. 

But that wasn’t what it was at all. When you agreed and accepted his help, you soon came to learn that Daniel didn’t want to be in your spotlight at all. He found the opportunities that you needed and then stepped back. He didn’t mention to the media at all that he was helping you, he didn’t see a need to. He saw your potential and he truly wanted to help you make something off.

So there he was during the off season, meeting you in London where you resided. He trained with you, set you up with the right people, did weekly check-ins, he really was like a sort of manager. 

He was there during pre-season testing the following year, literally. He stood in the Prema garage like he was just another member of the team. No one really questioned it, not when you said he was acting as a mentor to you. Everyone loved Daniel’s presence there and he was told he was welcome whenever. 

He was there during race weekends whenever he could find time in his own busy schedule. He was never there during the actual race, needing that time to prepare for his own, but he always watched from his drivers room or had someone in his ear updating where you were and what was happening.

He was there in Silverstone, when you crashed during Saturday's Sprint Race.

It was one of the last sessions of the day, Daniel had already finished qualifying and he was standing in the back of your garage, arms crossed over his chest, eyes glued to the screen. 

He was the first voice you heard when you spun, losing the breaks in mere seconds and all you could do was brace yourself for the impact of the barriers. 

“Tell me you’re okay.” Daniel’s voice came through your radio. Not your engineer, not your team principal. Daniel. “Say something, sweets, tell me you're okay.”

Sweets, he called you. But only ever in private, or in front of close friends. What started as a joke when you complained about him not having any sweets in his flat the first time you visited in Monaco, stuck. 

But everyone had access to the team radios. It could be heard by other engineers, other teams, fans even and those watching at home should F1TV choose to broadcast it.

Of course they did. They aired the exchange for everyone to hear and it spread like wildfire. It was all anyone on social media could talk about. 

“Say something, sweets. Tell me you’re okay.” 

“I’m okay,” you sputtered out, hands shaking as you unclenched them. It was an instinct to pull them off the steering wheel and tuck your arms to your chest, physically bracing where you could. 

“Good,” Daniel breathed out a very obvious sigh of relief. “Good.” He paused, and then with a quiet chuckle added, “What the fuck was that then?” 

You laughed in response, needing the humour at such a traumatic time. You had crashed before, but this was a bad one. You didn’t even need to step out of the vehicle to know you were lucky to not feel any immediate injuries, but there was a ringing in your ear and the adrenaline was preventing you from really understanding the damage your body had sustained. 

It wouldn’t have helped, though, to have gotten an earful, not like it was your fault anyway. It also wouldn’t have helped if you were asked again and again if you were okay. The more people asked, the more stressed you would grow. Daniel knew you needed a bit of lightheartedness at this time. 

“No brakes, Danny,” you answered through a soft laugh.

“That just sounds like an excuse to me,” he muttered, the sarcasm evident even through the crackling radio.

“Are you going to continue to question my driving abilities or are you going to send medical out here to help me?”

That whole interaction went viral. From the radio message, to the clips of Daniel accompanying you to the medical centre, to the photos of the two of you smiling in the paddock despite the bruising on your body, the concussion you were diagnosed with and the instruction from the doctor that you were not stable enough to race on Sunday.  

Which sucked, to put it plainly. But you were with Daniel. He made the situation bearable. With his arm around your shoulder, he walked you to the car at the end of the day, having waited with you the whole time. 

People speculated, of course. Questions were asked. 

Why was Daniel Ricciardo paying such close attention to you? Why did he get over the radio when he crashed? Why did it sound so flirty? Had he been in your garages the whole time and no one noticed? Was he a mentor? A friend? More?

You had put out a statement when you got to the hotel, thanking everyone for the kind words and well wishes. You shared that you would not be driving on Sunday and you also shared that you were thankful for the support of Daniel Ricciardo, your mentor, who reminded you that even the best of the best crash out sometimes. 

Mentor, you publicly called him That’s what he was, right? Or trainer. Or Manager. Or friend, really. There were a lot of words to describe his relationship to you. 

People online didn’t believe it. They thought there was more because, who looks at each other like that if they’re not fucking? 

But you weren’t. Honest to god, that line with Daniel was never crossed. You never even considered it. Always content with his companionship and his advice, you didn’t want anything physical or romantic. 

At least, you thought you didn’t. 

Daniel dragged you into his room instead of letting you go up to yours because you were under strict instructions to not be left alone for the next twelve hours should the concussion worsen. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, handing you a glass of water. “I know I joked over the radio, but I was worried. It wasn’t a pretty crash.”

“Are any crashes pretty?”

He sat down next to you, closer than normal considering when he rested his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers were within the distance needed to play with the strands of your hair. 

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, “I guess it depends on the driver. I make the crashes pretty.” 

The comedic gasp you let out as you clenched your chest had him laughing. 

“Daniel Ricciardo, are you calling me ugly?”

“Don’t twist my words!” He exclaimed, eyes squinting as his smile widened. “I said I was pretty.” 

You hummed, “You pretty much said I made the crush ugly.” 

“I didn’t say you were ugly,” Daniel playfully tugged on a strand of your hair. “You’re not- I mean, you-”

And then the humour faded. He met your eyes, his hand fell to your shoulder. He was still smiling but it was the sort of gentle smile one wears when they figure out the answer to a question that had been eating at them for a while. 

Something clicked for Daniel. At this very moment. 

He wasn’t going to let it escape him. 

“Pretty doesn’t do you justice,” Daniel told you, voice lowering. “You’re breaktaking, Y/N. On the racetrack, at home, at events, you put everyone around you to shame. And it’s not- it isn’t just your appearance, it’s you. Everything about you. Your heart, your charisma, the way your eyes light up when you smile but only if you’re talking to people you like,” he chuckled, having experienced it first hand and having seen the way you don’t look nearly as pleased when someone you dislike approaches you. 

You were speechless, though. Frozen where you sat as this admission came out of seemingly nowhere. 

And Daniel was attractive, that was an undeniable fact, he was everything anyone could ever want in a man. But you never allowed yourself to look at him the way other people would. He was your trainer, manager, mentor, friend. 

You had no words to explain the way he was staring at you now. Nor could you explain why it made you feel more alive than driving a racecar at inhumane speeds ever could. 

Daniel took another breath, eyes never leaving yours. “You are unlike anyone I have ever come across and I know, in my lifetime, I will never find someone who could ever compare to even a fraction of who you are.”

There was no way you could continue to be just friends after those words passed his lips. 

You kissed him. You had to. It wasn’t like there was anything you could say that would match what he had already said, nor could you even find the words. 

You kissed him and Daniel pulled you onto his laps, your legs moving to straddle either side of his hips. His hands roamed your body, sliding up the Prema shirt you still had on as your tongue roamed every possible inch of his mouth. 

His hand gripped your waist, rolling you over top of him so you could feel in a matter of seconds how this conversation had now taken a turn. His cock started to harden, constricted by his pants, but you still felt it underneath you each time he shifted, each time you grinded against him. 

When you reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, Daniel leaned back, both of you taking that second to catch your breath and question if you were really going to do this.

“Is this a mistake?” You whispered, your thumb gently tracing over his lips. Your working relationship was perfect. This could ruin everything. You had fears, doubts, worries. One night could lead to dozens of complications. 

But Daniel shook his head and all of those thoughts vanished.

“No,” he said, sounding so sure of himself with that one syllable. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life but you are not one of them.”

That was the only validation you needed. You kissed him again, more lust, more passion, than before as Daniel stood up, carrying you towards the bed at the back of the room. He dropped you down on the edge of it, smiling at the squeal that escaped your lips.

Daniel wanted to worship you every way he could. He was gentle with you, with your body, as he dipped his head between your thighs, making you feel a wave of euphoria that no one had ever brought you too before. 

It wasn’t until you were begging for more did Daniel realise he didn’t need to be gentle the entire night. He slid two fingers past your folds, lifting his head and hovering his body over yours, wanting to feel your desperate breaths hit his face as he rapidly thrusted his digits in and out of you, your walls clenching around him.

When he attached his lips to that spot on your neck, his teeth pressing against your skin, you saw stars. Daniel’s motions didn’t let up as you came around his fingers, loving the way your legs shook and how you dragged your hand through the hair on the back of his head.

He was cautious about doing anything else, knowing you were injured, he didn’t want to overstimulate you or cause any more pain. 

But you needed him. You reached for the zipper of his pants and tugged it down, telling Daniel you wanted this, as if the way you looked up at him didn’t already make that perfectly clear. 

He was careful when he entered you, patient. The tip of his cock slid past your folds slowly and he kissed your collarbone so gently you almost didn’t feel it as you adjusted to his size, quiet moans emitting from the back of your throat. 

He had praised you before, but only ever at the race track, so there was something so familiar yet so foreign about the way he whispered against your skin. It lit a fire within you.

“You take me so well, sweets,” he fought back a groan as your walls tightened around him when you clenched your legs. “So good for me.”

It was safe to say the dynamic between you two changed after that night. 

Daniel adored you already, admired you greatly for your achievements and growth in the sport. But now he fought with himself every weekend, knowing that he couldn’t touch you how he wanted. He couldn’t show you the attention he so desperately wanted. He couldn’t kiss you when you got that podium in Belgium, despite finding a way to sneak out of the pre-race duties for a second to run to the barrier to be there for you with the rest of the Prema team. 

Whatever was going on between you, it was unlabelled and it was private. The rest of the world didn’t need to know you were sleeping with the man you looked up to, the one who helped you become a great athlete in such a short period of time. 

People continued to speculate. You were private, sure, but you weren’t overly careful. 

You were seen landing in Monaco over the summer. You were spotted hanging out with Daniel on plenty of occasions. Even though you kept your hands off of each other and refused to act like anything more than friends out in public, you were different when you returned after the break. You both were. Everyone noticed. 

Daniel was, if it was even possible, happier. And you were less stressed it seemed. While you were still fighting a constant battle of being the only female in F2, it no longer seemed as heavy because the weight of it wasn’t just on your shoulders anymore. Daniel was there too. 

It wasn’t just physical, what you had. The emotional connection you shared was undeniable. Daniel was always there for you, and you, him. During the bad days, the good ones, and everyday in between. 

When you finished the season 5th in the drivers championship, the only person you wanted to celebrate with was Daniel. He was so proud of you. He watched you go from finishing 13th last year to 5th. He played a huge part in that, but when you tried to tell him that, he only brushed it off, saying that it was all you, he was just happy to be there for the ride. 

It was his idea for you to test drive for McLaren at the end of the year, too. ‘We’ll get you in a real F1 car’ he said. And you didn’t question it when the offer was brought forward to participate in a few practice sessions. It was exhilarating and terrifying and you cried tears of joy when you stepped out of his car because this was what you dreamed of. Driving a Formula 1 car. 

Now you just needed a permanent seat and Daniel wanted that for you too. He was your biggest supporter, and you only grew closer as the days went on.

You met his family over the holidays. He spent New Years Eve in London with you. 

When the season started again, he spent more time with you and Prema. When there were no scheduled F2 races during F1 weekends, you accompanied him in the McLaren garage. 

At this point, quite a few people knew you were together, or at least they assumed it.

You didn’t post about it, you didn’t want to, you didn’t need to. Daniel didn’t need to show you off, nor did you feel obligated to let everyone know you were with him. What you had was private, it was sacred, it was only for the two of you. 

But of course whenever you had a good performance, whether it be from a practice session, qualifying or a race, he’d share your celebration picture to his Instagram story. 

“Would you ever do a shoey?” Daniel asked you one Tuesday night, zooming in on a photo of you, more specifically on the smile on your face as you clenched your second place trophy from Imola on Sunday. 

You rolled your eyes but the smile was impossible to hide as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you into his chest. 

“Next time you win,” Daniel suggested with a laugh. “I expect a shoey.”

“I’m not Australian.”

“You’re dating one, sweets.”

You never actually discussed what you were. The term boyfriend-girlfriend seemed so childish. Dating was, in a sense, accurate, but again, there were no labels. He had your heart, you had his. That was the only thing that mattered. 

“The world doesn’t know that,” you pointed out. 

“They kind of do,” Daniel kissed your cheek, giving your side a squeeze as he stepped aside to help you prepare dinner. 

You weren’t even sure when you fell into such a domestic lifestyle but there you were, practically moved into Daniel’s place in Monaco at this point  and he was at your side, chopping carrots for the salad while you prepared the chicken breasts. 

“A shoey would confirm it,” you glanced up at him, but the smile on his face told you he wasn’t completely against the idea. 

Daniel stepped behind you, fingers playfully pinching your waist, “Just think about it. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I just reckon it would be entertaining for everyone.”

He didn’t bring it up again, not even when you got third in Spain and didn’t do it. It was your first time getting a back to back podium since you started racing and of course it was something to celebrate, but the idea of a shoey made your stomach churn. You weren’t sure if you were ready for the world to know about your commitment to Daniel. 

You walked a thin line, being with him. And while you enjoyed every possible minute spent with him, you knew the world was cruel. The second you officially went public, you’d lose respect in the motorsport industry. 

The only female F2 driver dating an F1 driver? How scandalous.

Despite the rumours, the correct rumours, you were still in a bubble with him. You could pretend you were just friends, close friends. The tabloids had nothing to go off except your polite interactions and maybe a little too friendly smiles and so what if you were there in the McLaren garage cheering him on? 

You were his biggest supporter and he was yours.

But it didn’t help that while your performance was improving, his was rapidly declining. While you had less races than his, already your stats were better. You qualified in the top 5 for the first three races. You finished second in Imola, third in Spain, already better than how you started the season last year.

Monaco was next. Daniel loved Monaco, you both did. Everyone did, it was the pinnacle of Formula 1. 

It was unfortunate that your weekends ended up so drastically different. 

Daniel qualified 14th and then finished 13th. He wasn’t proud of it, but he did his best to hide his disappointment for you, especially since you were starting on the front row, P2, for the feature race. 

And somehow, you won. 

After trailing behind Drugovich for the majority of the race, you were starting to believe you would finish behind him too. And you probably would have, had there not been a safety car almost six laps after he boxed for fresh tyres, giving you the advantage of newer tyres and less wasted time. It was a strategy your team was banking on, waiting for a safety car. It was risky, but it paid off. Overtaking was nearly impossible with Formula 1 cars, but you had a better chance in your series and somehow, by the grace of god, you did it. You pulled ahead and swiped the lead from Felipe. 

You made history that weekend. The first female F2 driver to not only podium, but to win at Monaco. You gripped that first place trophy so tight your hand turned red. 

Usually, F2 didn’t draw nearly as big of a crowd, but this weekend was different. Everyone was a fan of the series after that performance, a fan of you. You saw people in the crowd wearing Red Bull gear, Ferrari merch, McLaren hats, and they were all applauding you. 

Of course, you were blown away by the support. Hearing your national anthem play was an incredible sound. There were tears in your eyes and your entire body was trembling, yet somehow you managed to find Daniel. Right in front, with your team. 

He was so proud of you. 

Despite his shitty qualifying, despite knowing he had such a low shot at earning points at his race that was in just under an hour, he was there for you. You couldn’t tell if he was cheering the loudest, or if you were just so prone to finding him in a crowd that you couldn’t process anything or anyone else. 

You weren’t sure what came over you, but once you grabbed the champagne bottle, you found yourself taking your shoe off as well. As Felipe and Théo started spraying their bottles in celebration, you poured the bubbly liquid into the sole of your racing shoe and lifted it up to your lips, pointing directly at Daniel who couldn’t believe what he was watching. 

It was rancid, as you figured it would. It was champagne out of a sweaty shoe, you knew it wouldn’t taste good, but it was a shoey and it was for Daniel. Felipe patted your back, laughing at your reaction and muttering something about how Daniel would get a kick out of that. 

He was right, but Daniel wasn’t the only one who found it entertaining. 

Your name was once again trending following the Monaco Grand Prix. Not Checo’s, even though he won the F1 race. Your name. 

Not that you really cared that night. How could you care about what the internet was saying when the man you were with told you that he loved you for the first time? Nothing online mattered, not when Daniel took your face in his hands and told you he was madly in love with you. He was proud, he was happy, he was in love. 

And you knew you loved him too. You had known this for a while. Monaco was just the perfect time to say it. 

After going about as public as you could without physically coming out and saying you were dating the Australian driver, Monaco was the perfect place to tell him you loved him. You were on cloud 9, you were making history, you were in love. 

You continued to deny, or at least ignore, the rumours that followed, still. You both did. You were in love with each other, not the whole world. Things would get complicated if you announced you were dating. You were vying for a Formula 1 seat and you wanted it without Daniels’ influence. 

But at the following race in Baku you were asked similar questions. 

“Your shoey last week, did that have anything to do with Daniel Ricciardo being there to cheer you on? You two have gotten pretty close in the last few months, he’s one of your mentors, isn’t he?” 

You shifted your weight to one leg, wondering what the fuck kind of post-qualifying question that was. You had just completed three back to back podiums, you were on a hot streak now, starting third at this next race and the reporter only cared about what happened at the podium celebration last weekend.

“Sorry, did you have a question about this week's race?” You asked, and when he stammered over his words, you just nodded and walked away, a tight smile on your face. 

Daniel’s conversation went a bit differently. 

“Y/N’s shoey last week, we all saw it. Was that your influence?”

“Yeah I never thought she’d actually do it, it was sweet,” Daniel laughed. “It was great though, I happily pass the tradition onto her.”

“She’s really come along in Formula 2 since she started back in 2020, do you think she has what it takes to be Formula 1’s first full-time female driver?”

“Absolutely,” there wasn’t a shred of doubt or hesitation. He was happy to talk about you, to explain to the rest of the world why you were up and coming and should be taken seriously as a real contender for a Formula 1 seat. He probably would have continued on if his PR rep hadn’t pulled him away, reminding him of other duties.

The next few races were similar to your first ones. A couple more podiums, some outstanding qualifying sessions, more history being made. Your phone was blowing up weekly, everybody wanted to talk to you now and you knew Daniel had something to do with it. Him constantly sharing the faith he had in you did wonders for your reputation. 

You might have been on top of the world, but you were well aware you were alone up there.

Daniels’ performances were anything but newsworthy. He had gotten a few points in Austria and France, but nothing to be extremely proud of, especially when he compared his 9th place finish at the Red Bull Ring to your first place podium, making it your second one this season. 

He never let his disappointment for himself and McLaren stand in the way of your achievements. In fact, you didn’t often speak about the races when you were together. You were aware Daniel was having issues with the team, with Zak, with the car, but he didn’t want to weigh you down with his own problems, even though you assured him time and time again you could handle it. 

Really, if Daniel had come to you with his struggles, you would have thought twice when Zak Brown approached you prior to the Hungarian Grand Prix. You probably would have slammed the door to your drivers room in his face if you knew how Daniel was being treated at McLaren. 

But Daniel held his cards close to his chest while Zak laid his all out on the table.

“If a spot opened up for you,” he said, after spending the last ten minutes talking about the rich history of the team and praising your accolades. “Would you consider it?”

It wasn’t an official contract, just the start of a conversation that could lead to one.

Of course you thought of Daniel. And Lando, having grown close with him simply through Daniel. 

“For 2024?” You asked, knowing both of them were set to continue driving through to at least the end of 2023. 

“No,” Zak shook his head. You didn’t like how harsh his tone had turned, having no remorse for what he was about to say. “Daniel’s contract would be ending early.”

You leaned back in your chair, fingers tapping the table as you tried to recall Daniel ever telling you that he was leaving McLaren. “Is he- he wants out?”

“It’s mutual,” Zak assured you. “He knows we can’t give him the car he wants and unfortunately, he’s not delivering what we need. We had high hopes with Daniel, but the working relationship isn’t what any of us thought it would be.”

It’s mutual. Those two words was all it took to convince you that Zak Brown and Daniel had already had a conversation about this, about terminating the contract a year early. 

It didn’t help that Zak brought up your test sessions in the McLaren from last year, pointing out that you had better times than Lando, even. He went on to praise what you were doing this year at Prema and said, multiple times, that you would be an asset to McLaren should you choose to go that route.

And who were you to turn that down?

A team principal of a Formula 1 team wanted to sign you. Was it unfortunate that it was Daniel’s seat? Yes, obviously this situation was less than ideal, but he wanted out. You were convinced he wanted out, that he was done with McLaren. A 45 minute conversation with Zak Brown convinced you of that.

You should have been wary when at the end of the conversation he said, “Don’t tell anyone about this, yet. You know how the public can be, let’s just keep this to ourselves for the meantime.”

“But I can talk to Dan, right?” You asked. 

Zak knew you were dating Daniel, it was a little harder to hide that from his team than it was the rest of the world. Maybe that’s why hesitated before answering, knowing that keeping a secret, something as big as this, from a partner had the potential to cause chaos.

But he shook his head, “Between us, yeah?”

And you listened to him. You wanted that Formula 1 seat so of course you followed orders. 

You desperately wanted to talk to Daniel about it, but you knew you couldn’t. And either he sensed that something was off, or he was dealing with his own problems again and wouldn’t share, you really couldn’t tell when the summer break started and things just seemed…different. 

You didn’t go to Monaco for starters, even though Daniel invited you to. But there were so many meetings with Zak and the board at McLaren that it made more sense for you to stay in London for the start of the break. 

Daniel didn’t call as often and you wanted to give him space, knowing that this break was probably needed for him. You expected he was out with friends, letting loose, getting the weight of a horrible season off his back even if just temporarily. 

The plan was to go to Monaco for the last week and a half and then travel to Belgium together. You had to delay that plan, however, when Zak called you and said it was official.

The 2023 seat was yours. 

You wanted to celebrate, with Daniel, but how could you celebrate with the person you were replacing?

It was strange that Daniel had said nothing to you about leaving the team during the summer break, especially since Zak had said time and time again they were on the same page, that Daniel was ready to leave. The only thing that crossed your mind was he was given strict instructions to not say anything to anyone either, at least until McLaren went public with the news. 

But with it being official, with you having just signed on the dotted line, you were tired of keeping it to yourself. You may not have been able to share the news with anyone else, but you had a right to have a conversation with Daniel about it.

You didn’t know how he would react. Surely he’d be happy for you, right? You were getting a seat in Formula 1, something that both of you desperately wanted to happen. And again, you were under the impression the departure from McLaren was mutual. He would be happy that someone he loved was taking his seat, right?

Right?

You had to tell yourself that the entire ride over to his place. You unlocked the front door to his building and took the elevator up to the fourth level. You didn’t think to knock, knowing he never locked it when he was home so you pushed open the door and stepped in, your suitcase trailing behind you.

You were happy to see him. He was always a breath of fresh air, despite the odd distance between you, you still loved him. You always would. He muted whatever was playing on the screen and stood up from the couch when he heard you walk in.

Usually, Daniel would greet you with a kiss.

Usually, he’d be smiling so hard his jaw would be hurting.

Usually, he was happy to see you.

You left the suitcase by the door and met him halfway, only he stopped walking when there was about a foot of space between your bodies. To you, it felt like you were still miles apart.

“Do you have something you want to tell me?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest. 

Your heart sank. 

You had convinced yourself, Zak had convinced you, the whole back of house team had convinced you, that Daniel was aware of this upcoming change. That the termination was mutual. You taking his seat might have been a surprise, but it was never supposed to be a blindside.

“What do you know?” you asked. 

“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you.

You were both fully aware of the exact same information. Daniel was leaving. You were taking his seat. Only, you had been informed this much earlier than he had.

“What was I supposed to do?” 

“Not take the seat,” he scoffed. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”

“For the sake of the team,” you said and then added, “You don’t even like McLaren. You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”

“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”

Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”

“Zak-” you started, finding it difficult to hold his stare. This wasn’t the Daniel you knew. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”

He rubbed his hands over his face, taking a few steps away from you. It hurt, watching as he tried to physically distance himself from you. Like being in too close of proximity would set him off.

“I struggled with the team, yes, but I’m not ready to give up racing. You have now left me without a seat.”

It was easy for Daniel to blame you, you were standing right in front of him. You were quite literally the driver set to replace him.

But the real villain was Zak, for not having opened up this line of communication earlier. For making you believe everyone was on the same page. It was Zak’s fault for rushing to end the contract with Daniel instead of putting in the effort to work with him. He saw the shiny new toy that was you, that Daniel helped create, and he wasn’t going to let someone else take it first.

Daniel wanted to blame himself too, but he wouldn’t let himself think about that until much later. He was the one who did everything he could to help you grow in this sport. He was the one who introduced you to Zak and the rest of the McLaren team. He was the one who got you in the car for the practice sessions, his car. Foreshadowing at its finest.

“You are unbelievable,” Daniel spoke quietly, heated with anger but his words were like ice as they sunk deep into you. “After everything I’ve done to help you for you to betray me like this, I just- I don’t think-”

You knew where this was going and you wanted to put a pin in it before he could finish any of his thoughts.

“Don’t finish that sentence, Daniel,” you whispered. “Please. Please, we can figure something out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” his mind was made up. “You took my seat.”

“Wouldn’t you rather it me than someone you don’t know? Someone you don’t trust?” You tried to turn this around, have him look at the positives, if there were any. “Daniel, everyone on the grid loves you, you’ll find a new team. One that helps you grow and get to where you want. McLaren isn’t that, we both know it.”

“I think you should go,” was his only response. 

“If I hadn’t signed that contact, someone else would have,” you pointed out, grasping at straws here, painfully honest straws, but straws nonetheless. “Piastri, O’Ward…McLaren had options, Dan. Aren’t you at least happy for me that I out-qualified all of those guys?”

Daniel actually laughed, “You want me to be happy for you? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Dan-”

“Leave.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You need to,” he was stern. He was angry. He was done. With you, with the team, with everything he used to love and cherish. He was done. 

You thought you knew Daniel. You thought you knew how this conversation would play out. You figured it would still be rocky, but god you now realised how naive you were to believe you could still make things work. 

“I love you,” you told him, because what else could you say except remind him that you were so hopelessly in love with him, that he was all you would ever want in life. 

Except, that wasn’t exactly true, was it?

You wanted a seat in Formula 1 too. You just never thought you’d have to sacrifice one dream for the other. 

Daniel’s stare was cold. He only looked away for a second to nod his head towards the door behind you, “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have done this.”

You stepped forward, desperate at this point because how could he do this? How could he throw away what you had, over a seat?

Or was it you, who had ultimately thrown away what you had when you sat down with Zak Brown all those weeks ago?

It pained you to think about the strong possibility of that being the case.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, because you were. You were sorry about how this turned out, how he was betrayed, how this was coming to an end. You grabbed hold of your suitcase and nodded, backing up towards the door, “I really am sorry, Dan.”

He didn’t believe you. Why would he? In his eyes, Formula 1 was more important to you than he was. A career decision that benefited you, but ruined him, mattered more than your relationship. It was a bold move, a cold move, one that you didn’t think would lead to this.

Neither of you could have predicted this. On September 3rd, 2020, when Daniel first said he wanted to work with you, neither of you thought it would end like this.

Just as you grabbed the handle of the door, Daniel opened his mouth, wanting to get the final word in. And you really wished he hadn’t because those final words destroyed you. 

“I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, but I never thought you would turn out to be one of them.”

You said nothing. You walked out of that Monaco flat with your head low and your heart even lower. You couldn’t even be excited about the next season, or the remainder of this one where you had the potential to finish in the top three. 

You weren't happy, you were empty, you were defeated. And painfully so, you were also still in love.

Despite what was said, you knew it would take a while to get over Daniel. He was your rock for so long, he was always there for you and even though he could disappear without so much as a second thought, your feelings couldn’t, the memories couldn’t. It would take a long time until you felt whole again.

You didn’t know it yet, but the decision to take that McLaren seat would haunt you as you moved forward in your career. 

This was not going to be the last time you ever saw Daniel. 

part 2 haunted

[xxsabitoxx]

How the Pillars react to your death

Important note: all of these deaths occur during the infinity castle arc, heavy and implied spoilers. Rengoku’s reaction to your death takes place before Mugen Train! Reader’s gender is unspecified.

Warnings: this post contains spoilers for the final arc of the manga. This includes implied spoilers for various characters. Please do not read this if you don’t want to be spoiled and don’t blame me if you go ahead and read it anyways lol

A/N: I wrote this whole post in my head while showering last night and I’m honestly offended it took me 3x as long to actually write it.

Giyu 

“CAWWW! DEAD! KOCHO SHINOBU AND L/N Y/N ARE DEAD! THEY DIED AFTER A CONFRONTATION WITH UPPER MOON TWO!” Giyu’s body comes to a screeching halt, Tanjiro shooting past him before falling to his knees as violent sobs wracked his body. Giyu, on the other hand, is frozen in place, a sob stuck in his throat. Shinobu’s death was a punch to the gut, but you? For the first time since Sabito had died, Giyu felt tears burning at the back of his eyes. Yet, nothing would come out, those tears wouldn’t break the barrier and slip down his cheeks. His tight throat would not let the sob escape. There was no possible way you were gone, you promised him you’d be okay. Though, childish beliefs like that reminded him of his own faults. Once again, he couldn’t protect the people he cared about. Rather than wallowing in sudden grief, he began moving again, past Tanjiro who was struggling to get back up. He needed to keep moving, if he didn’t stop, he was certain he would collapse entirely and never get up again. He couldn’t let your sacrifice go to waste. 

Shinobu 

Her feet barely hit the ground, body manoeuvring through the endless castle with one destination in mind. “CAWWW! DEAD! L/N Y/N IS DEAD! THEY DIED AFTER ENCOUNTERING UPPER MOON TWO!” She stumbles, shock hitting her like a bucket of ice water being dumped over her head. Her mind is racing, not willing to believe what the crow had just said to be true. You had steered away from the plan. In a desperate attempt to save Shinobu’s life you tried to defeat Upper Two yourself. Hot, angry tears are spilling down her cheeks, hand clutching her heart as she tries to understand. “Why would you do this? Why wouldn’t you take my word for it and go with Tomioka? Look what you did… you went and got yourself killed,” Yet again, Upper Two had taken something precious to her. One word flashed through her mind, alongside your beautiful face. Revenge. She would get her revenge, not only for Kanae, but for you. “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll be with you soon.” 

Rengoku 

It’s quiet, too quiet even. You should be back by now, the sun has fully risen. Kyojuro’s heart is hammering in his chest, doom creeping up his spine. He has an unshakable bad feeling about your late arrival. His worst fears are confirmed when your crow arrives without you. “No…” breathless, as if all the air is being ripped from his lungs. “Don’t say it…” his knees are giving out as your crow lands on the wooden porch. “T-they’re gone…aren’t they?” he chokes it out, the words are as bitter and burning as bile. Your crow only caws, soft and full of sorrow, unable to share the proper message as Kyojuro begins to sob. He’s curling in on himself, crying so loudly but unable to hear it due to the intensity of the ringing in his ears. It’s a panic attack manifesting in the most intense form. He can’t fathom a world without you, nevermind having to live in one. Senjuro is rushing to his brother's aid, seeing your crow gives him more than enough information to know as tears well in his eyes. 

Tengen

He’s kneeling dutifully outside of Nezuko’s room, Shinjuro by his side. His wives are inside, too stubborn to sit out and not help at all. Their excuse being that Nezuko saved his life, they owe her the same kind of protection now. You on the other hand, were too determined, leaving your retirement to fight the battle against the demon lord himself. Nothing Tengen nor his wives said could convince you to stay on the sidelines. His heart is sinking the moment your crow appears in the distance, he’d recognize it anywhere. “N-no… don’t you dare…” Tengen’s voice is cracking as it lands, Shinjuro is turning his head the other way, knowing what is to come. “Don’t you dare say they are dead…” his voice is rising in his panic, he knows the answer. The commotion has Makio, Suma and Hinatsuru running outside. The moment Hina’s eyes land on your crow, a violent sob escapes her chest, falling to her knees as Makio and Suma come to the same conclusion. “T-they’re dead…aren’t they?!” Makio sobs, Tengen can’t raise his head as your crow delivers your final message. 

Mitsuri 

She’s frozen in place as a crow comes directly for her, fear is ebbing through her body, a cold sweat forming on her brow. She knows the message before the crow can even utter it. “No! Go back! I don’t want to hear it!” Obanai is frozen beside her, grabbing her arm so she doesn’t collapse. The crow circles around her, cawing woefully as she begins to cry. “I-I don’t want to know! Don’t tell me!” she’s hiccupping as Obanai tries to pull her forward, they need to keep moving. “Mitsuri…” his voice is surprisingly soft, the crow is still circling overhead. “We need to hear the message…” she shakes her head, hands coming up to cover her ears as tears slip down her cheeks. The crow caws again, Obanai signals for it to deliver the message. “CAWWW! L/N Y/N IS DEAD! THEY DIED AFTER AN ALTERCATION WITH UPPER MOON ONE!” The crow continued on about who lived and who died, what was important is that upper moon one was dead. That didn’t matter to her though, no she couldn’t even hear the rest of the message over the ringing in her years. Mitsuri let Obanai tug her along, they needed to keep moving at whatever the cost. 

Muichiro 

“CAWWW! L/N Y/N IS DEAD!” He keeps running, uncertain as to why he feels a tightness in his chest at the crow’s message. “THEY DIED DURING A CONFLICT WITH UPPER TWO!” He’s still moving, more so concerned over his unexpected and overwhelming sadness. Why am I sad? I don’t even remember that name… but then your kind smile is flashing before his eyes and the world is crashing down around him. He comes to a screeching halt, eyes wide as he finally pieces together the message. “y/n…” how could he ever forget? Before he realizes it, he’s sniffling. Tears blur his vision for a moment before he blinks them away. He begins to move again, the sadness gripping his chest is slowly fading, fading until he can’t even remember why he got teary eyed in the first place. He needs to remember the task at hand… where was he heading again? 

Obanai

The flapping of wings catches him off guard, head craning upwards as the crow begins to caw. The noise is full of sorrow, which can only mean it bears bad news. “Obanai…” Mitsuri is watching the animal circle above them, her heart pounding erratically at the endless possibilities of the message it may share. “CAWWW! L/N Y/N IS DEAD! THEY DIED IN BATTLE AGAINST UPPER MOON ONE!” Obanai’s feet are slowing, hitting the floor beneath him with a little too much force as the message rings through his head over and over. “N-no… oh… Iguro I…” Mitsuri is crying, staring at the man beside her as the world seems to cave in on him. It’s as if everything is in slow motion for a few beats in time. The words the crow uttered felt foreign, your name paired with ‘dead’ didn’t make any sense in his mind. It was impossible really, there was no way you were dead. You had gone to face Upper One with Gyomei, Sanemi, Muichiro… four hashira against upper One and you didn’t make it? You were so strong… no the message can’t be correct. “Kanroji… let’s keep moving.” he’s turning it off, every swelling emotion is being suppressed as he takes off again. Mitsuri is left with no choice but to wipe her tears and follow. 

Sanemi

Upper Moon One is standing before him, Gyomei at his side. This battle needed to be won, if not, everything would be lost. The demon before him needed to be put down, there was no other option. He’s talking, but he couldn’t be bothered to listen. Rather, Sanemi is gauging every vital point he can strike and how to go about doing it. “CAWW! I BRING A MESSAGE!” he doesn’t glace up, nothing that crow could say would be able to break his focus. “L/N Y/N IS DEAD!” except for that. Sanemi inhales deeply, eyes widening significantly as he debates on if he heard the message correctly. “THEY DIED DURING AN ALTERCATION WITH UPPER MOON TWO! UPPER MOON TWO IS NOW DEAD!” it feels as if all the air in the room had been sucked away with the crow’s flapping wings. Upper One no longer seemed smug about the message after the addition of Upper Two being defeated. Beside him, Gyomei is crying. Sanemi doesn’t realize it, but so is he. He’s oblivious to the hot, angry tears rolling down his cheeks. Still, his patience remains intact, waiting for Gyomei’s signal to attack the high ranked demon. Now, he has absolutely nothing to lose. Kagaya is gone, now you are gone, it is likely the rest of the Hashira wouldn’t make it out of this… he has nothing left to fight for. 

Gyomei “CAWWW! L/N Y/N IS DEAD! THEY DIED AFTER ENCOUNTERING MUZAN!” Tears flow freely as he fights, part of him wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the message in the first place. You had met the unfortunate fate of encountering Muzan himself. It was likely that you were alone, if you weren’t, you were likely the strongest in your group. It pained him, knowing you likely died a brutal death. That pain fueled his attacks, taking every ounce of heartbreak and despair out on the demon before him. You didn’t deserve that, nobody deserved a fate that cruel. He keeps moving, mind reeling yet completely focused. It’s as if he is fighting in a bubble, the world muffled around him yet perfectly clear all at once. Too many emotions are raging through his soul to really pinpoint just one of them. He can only hope you’ll wait for him on the other side, he can only pray you’re watching over him at this very moment. Guiding him, giving him strength. “I’ll meet you again soon, don’t worry. I promise I won’t keep you waiting much longer. Wait for me, please? You will, won’t you?”

[creamflix]

my guy pretty like a girl! — gender neutral reader content warnings: trans (ftm) choso, implied bisexual reader, childhood friends to lovers ????, reunion, fluff, i love choso and so should you!! flix would like to address you: uhmmm choso brainrot and i like boys so…. — masterlist here ☆

the rhythmic hum of the metro filled the air as you settled into your seat, lost in thought. the day had been unremarkable, yet your mind wandered back to a vivid memory of your childhood — a friend you hadn’t seen in years. 

on her twelfth birthday, you spent hours crafting a notebook, each page carefully bound by hand. it was your way of saying goodbye before she moved to the city. the thought of her lingered, bittersweet. 

maybe it was more than a simple childhood friendship — maybe it was a soft, unspoken affection you had no name for at the time.

you were mulling over the past when the train screeched to a halt, snapping you out of your reverie. the doors hissed open, and a boy stepped in, immediately drawing your attention.

he was striking — not in an in-your-face way, but with a quiet allure that turned heads without meaning to. his long, dark brown hair was tied into two high ponytails, jutting outward like wings. his small, dark brown eyes seemed thoughtful, even in their idle flicker around the car. black markings stretched across the bridge of his nose like ink spilled deliberately, framing his thin brows. his outfit was an eclectic mix of thrifted and alternative pieces: a vintage band tee tucked into wide-legged black pants, combat boots with scuffed edges, and a chain harness slung loosely over his shoulder.

and then, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on your already fragile composure, he sat next to you.

you swallowed hard and turned your attention to your phone, trying to act casual while your heart was ready to break into a sprint. “it’s not every day someone this fine picks the seat next to you,” you thought.

the train started moving, and you kept stealing glances at him — until he pulled something out of his bag.

your stomach dropped.

the notebook.

it wasn’t just similar to the one you made; it was the one you made. the same hand-drawn floral design on the cover, now faded and a little worn but unmistakable. 

your mind reeled. how could it be? your old friend didn’t have a brother, and surely she wouldn’t just give it away. unless…

you hesitated before speaking, your voice quieter than you intended. “that’s… a nice notebook.”

he glanced at you, startled for a second before smiling softly. “thanks. it’s special. a friend made it for me when we were kids.”

your heart skipped. no way. no way.

you leaned forward slightly, your curiosity overriding your nervousness. “where’d you get it? i mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

he hesitated, clearly a little surprised by your persistence but answered anyway. “from an old friend. back when i still went by a different name.”

it clicked. your friend hadn’t given it away — they’d grown, changed, and here they were, sitting right next to you.

“wait…” you started, your words tumbling over themselves as you stared at him. “you’re not — do you happen to be…?”

his small smile turned into something more amused, yet understanding. “choso. i used to go by a different name, but yeah… it’s me.”

you blinked, your thoughts scrambling to process it all. the friend you hadn’t seen in years, the one you’d made that notebook for, the one you maybe kind of definitely had feelings for…

“holy shit,” you finally said, laughing nervously as the absurdity of it all hit you. “it’s you?!”

“it’s me,” he confirmed, chuckling softly. “you’ve changed a lot too.”

“i — yeah, but — wow, you’re… you look amazing.” it slipped out before you could stop yourself, and you cringed internally, but choso didn’t seem fazed.

“thanks,” he said, his tone warm but teasing. “you’re not too bad yourself.”

there was a brief silence, comfortable but charged with unspoken things.

“so… choso, huh?” you asked, testing the name out, and it felt right, natural.

he nodded, his expression softening. “yeah. it’s been a journey, but it feels good.”

you looked at the notebook in his hands, your mind spinning with memories and feelings that were suddenly, startlingly fresh again. 

“i’m glad it’s you,” you said finally, the words carrying more weight than you intended.

choso tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “me too,” he said quietly, and the train slowed as the next station approached.

you wanted to say more, ask him about everything that had happened, tell him how much you’d thought about him over the years. but the moment hung there, suspended, until he broke it with a simple question.

“do you want to grab coffee sometime? catch up properly?”

you smiled, your heart fluttering. “yeah, i’d like that.”

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡ banners by cafekitsune

[mokulule]

A Pinch of Salt - snippet 2

Okay, so I have been reminded by @clockwayswrites that I could post some things instead of just hoarding them like the dragon in my icon. So here ya go. Maybe I'll even get around to updating Catnip in the coming days who knows. Previous

Fuck, Danny cursed internally as he struggled to keep up with the long-legged stride of Trenchcoat. Whatever had happened to that ghost to make it into something like that was not good, he needed to do something! But as long as Trenchcoat was here he couldn’t exactly do as he usually would: transform and punch it. The man had seemed very ready to do something to Danny and the unspeakable soul situation going on had Danny extremely leery of finding out what that something was.

At least getting eaten seemed unlikely from the man’s earlier horrified response.

So running.

They went down a hallway, up a staircase, down another hallway and into a would have been shop. They stopped for a moment in the square space catching their breath. Trenchcoat let go of him to go peek back around the corner. Finally Trenchcoat’s shoulders relaxed.

“We lost it for now.” Actually it was more like the ghost lost interest in them; as they’d gotten further and further away from the central plaza of the mall the ghost had stopped following them. Not that Danny was going to tell Trenchcoat that. He had no idea how he’d explain it in a way that didn’t make him extremely suspicious. His hair was dripping salty water making it hard to forget he’d already been assaulted twice - he did not wanna know what else the man stored up his sleeves.

Preferably, somehow he’d get Trenchcoat to leave.

The moment of inattention cost him as he was grabbed once again by Trenchcoat and towed through the would-maybe-someday be a store to a door in the back. This led to a store room and a door to the outside. It was unlocked it turned out and Danny realized this was probably how the man had gotten in.

“Alright, kiddo, time to leave.”

Trenchcoat opened the door and pushed at Danny’s back.

“No way!” Danny exclaimed digging his heels in.

“Yes way,” Trenchcoat mocked, “go home kid, I’m a professional.”



 There was no way Danny was leaving, not at this point. Ghosts were his area of expertise - or well, Danny couldn’t really claim to be an expert, but they were his responsibility at least! He had a unique skillset and no matter what Trenchcoat claimed, he did not look any sort of professional. He made his opinion of his claim known by giving the man his most dubious look.
 - 
John hated teenagers and this teenager in particular.

He didn’t know what it was about teenagers, but they were just merciless in their judgment in a way adults were probably usually too polite to be. In any case that little up and down there, with the slightly raised eyebrow made him feel like he’d worn a clown costume to an accounting job.

“Bloody Hell, will you just leave before I decide to feed you to the specter!”

The boy crossed his arms, standing his ground. “You can try.”

John dragged a hand down his face, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“What are you even doing here?” “I’m here for the ghost.” Plain, even, said with not a smidge of hesitation. “You’re here for the-“ John cut himself off, hands opening and closing, inwardly cursing children and their stupid dares. “And what pray tell where ya gonna do when you found the ghost?”“I figured I’d try talking to them.”“You what?!” John spluttered. He’d expected him to say he hadn’t expected to find a ghost, there went his theory of this being a dare.

“There is no talking to that!” He pointed vaguely in the direction they’d lost the spectral storm. “Of all the sodden-“

“Them.”

John’s thoughts screeched to a halt. “What?” “Them. They are a them, not an it or a that.”

John opened and closed his mouth. Was he really getting a lecture on pronouns?

“It is a spectral storm. Whatever poor spirit it used to be, is not there anymore. There’s no mind there, it’s pure emotion out of control. There’s no way back from that.”

The boy scowled at him, clearly disagreeing. It didn’t matter. 
John pointed at the door.

“Leave.” “No.” They stared at each other neither giving an inch.

Urgh, this had to be why Batman was so grumpy all the time. John could not do this. He threw up his hands and turned around. He worked around things, not through them and here he was engaging in the folly of arguing with a bloody teenager.

“Suit yourself.”

Gods, he needed a smoke. He’d hardly finished the thought before he was pulling the package of smokes out of its pocket with practiced ease. He was lighting the smoke by the time he noticed the unimpressed look he was getting. Satisfied, he took a deep drag and slowly breathed out the smoke. The kid grimaced and John smirked.

“Those are gonna kill you.” “As opposed to the rest of my lifestyle?” He returned with a nod in the direction of the Storm that probably couldn’t kill him, but the kid didn’t know that. Satisfied at the way the kid’s nose scrunched, he walked back the way they came from.

“And what are you supposed to be?” Kid asked falling in step with him, and John just knew he was being annoying on purpose with that tone of voice. He was not gonna bite. He was an adult. He kept his gaze straight ahead as the kid started guessing.

“Excorcist? Ghostbusters wannabe?”

There was a pause, then a flash of a sly smirk John only caught because he’d stopped to look down the hallway.

“Ectologist?” The suggestion hit John like a metaphysical sledgehammer and he recoiled in disgust.

“Fuck. No.” He shuddered an extra time as if that would remove the oily feeling. “I’m an occult detective. You happy now? Shit kid, you don’t pull your punches do you?”

-

“So what’s the plan, Trenchcoat?”

“Trenchcoat,” John mouthed to himself before shaking his head. “The plan is you keep out of the way and I deal with the raging ghostie.”

“Yeah, no, you’re gonna do better than that. This is not my first time dealing with a ghost. But I don’t know what occult detectives do.”

John pondered the statement about this not being the first time he’d dealt with a ghost, and maybe there was something to the death magics he gave off after all. He groaned internally, why was he doing this?

“Standard practice, kid. Contain and banish.” He held up first one finger then two.

Danny rolled his eyes. It didn’t sound too different from his approach to ghosts, he caught them and sent them back to the ghost zone, but Mr Occult Detective didn’t exactly carry around a Fenton thermos.

“And how do you contain? No,” he offset the clearly sarcastic response. “I mean what are your requirements?”

Trenchcoat rolled his eyes, but humored him.

“I need a large enough open space and a small moment of preparation, then just gotta lure it in and do a binding spell.”

Danny narrowed his eyes and looked towards where he felt the raging storm of ghost energy. “Like the plaza.”

“Ideally yes.”

“So you need a distraction.” Danny started walking. A hand fell on his shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going? If you’re so insistent to stay, you’re not leaving my sight.”

Danny shrugged off the hand and turned around.

“The plaza is the center of the their power. You need someone to lure them away.” Danny watched the emotions flash across the man’s face with a small bit of amusement. He really didn’t want Danny involved if he could help it. Finally the man’s face settled on exasperation.

“I will figure something out.”

Danny smiled, taking a step backwards.

“No, you will give me a ten minutes headstart to lure our ghost friend far enough away they won’t immediately notice your stench so close to the heart of their haunt.”

As if sensing his intentions Trenchcoat made another grab for him which he dodged. And then he ran. He was sure it was only the threat of the ghost that prevented the man from yelling after him.

He just hoped he’d listened, because Danny was about to go piss off an already raging spirit. Trenchcoat better be ready.

Fun times.

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

my love has no direction (and my anger is a vice)

love is not designed for the cynical - series masterlist here

pairing: jason todd x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1k

genre: hurt/comfort, angst (happy ending)

warnings: reader is physically injured but it doesn't specify the cause, jason is big protective and tries so so hard to be gentle

a/n: alright alright y'all know the drill there's more written lemme know if you want it

You're staring at your reflection in the mirror, gnawing your bottom lip as you wonder how you'll explain the bruises across your cheekbone and around your eye. You hope, somewhere in the back of your mind, that Jason doesn't get back when he says he will - that whatever work he's away doing as Redhood will take just a few extra days and you'll heal enough to be able to hide it.

Your thoughts screech to a halt, though, when the man himself steps into the doorway of the bathroom and lets his duffle bag drop to the floor when he sees you.

"Who the fuck did this to you?" Jason questions immediately as he stares at you, his eyes trailing over your form, scanning for more injuries. Instinctively, you go to cover your wrist and forearm, cursing internally when you realize that the only thing that did was bring his attention to the hand-shaped bruises littering your skin.

"Hi," you say quietly. "...how was your trip?" Jason all but snarls and stalks toward you, bringing his hand to your face so that he can gently, gently, hold your chin with his thumb and forefinger and tilt your head, examining the bruises. You can tell he's noticed the small cuts from rings making contact with your skin when his jaw clenches even more and his eyes focus on yours.

"Baby," he starts, and the edge in his voice makes you still. He's angry, you realize, in a way you've never seen before. It's right there, under the surface, straining to get out, and the only thing stopping it is the fact that you haven't given him a direction to shoot in yet. "You are not going to pretend this is fine. We are not ignoring this. You need to tell me what happened."

"I know, Jase," you respond, shoulders slumping. You're tired, he realizes, and it's most likely that the adrenaline of whatever happened is wearing off. He slides an arm around you and lets you lean into him, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "I just… I'm not just deflecting, you know. You're okay? Everything went okay?"

"Nothing worse than some scrapes" he soothes, going to wrap his other arm around your waist. You flinch, though, small enough that he wouldn't notice if he wasn't so attuned to you. But you're you, his person, and every fibre of his being is trained on you right now. So, of course, he notices. He notices the way you ever so slightly suck in a breath and tense in his arms.

"Baby…" he begins. You drop your gaze away from his. "Let me see, yea? We can wait to talk about what happened until you're ready, but I gotta make sure you're okay."

"I am okay," you mumble, still determinedly keeping your eyes away from his as you fiddle with the front of his Redhood armour.

"Can I check?" he prompts, and he's so gentle about it, so soft and caring and loving that it makes your bottom lip tremble. You nod in response and he presses a kiss against your forehead, murmuring thanks into your skin.

You step away from him so that you can begin to lift yourself onto the counter, but Jason makes a strained sort of noise and stops you, instead lifting you gently up onto it, keeping a careful eye on you to ensure he's not hurting you at all. Once you're sat on the counter, you spread your legs so that he can slot his hips between them and he places his hands on either side of your hips.

"Can I lift your shirt, sweetheart?" he asks softly and the whole thing, how kind and considerate he's being, chips away at you a little too much. Your breath hitches and your hands tighten their grip on the counter and you rip your gaze away from his.

"You just got home, Jase. You gotta be tired - why don't you shower, get out of your armour and stuff. We can do this later."

"Baby," Jason sighs as he cups your unbruised cheek in his palm and brings your face back to his. When you realize you can't avoid his gaze anymore you simply close your eyes, refusing to see the way he looks at you. "Can you look at me, sweetheart? Come on, hey, I'm here to keep you safe, yea? I'm gonna help you. I'm gotta make sure you're alright."

And that's all it takes for a sob to make its way out of your throat. You move to hide your face in your hands as you begin to cry, but Jason stops you gently, using a hand on the back of your head to guide you into his chest, letting you bury your face there and weep.

"Shh, shh, baby. It's okay. You go ahead and cry, get it all out. You're safe now, yea? I'm not gonna let anything happen to you." Jason soothes as your hands grab at the jacket that serves as the outer layer of his armour. Truth be told, he is tired. He was away for a week dealing with this job and he can feel the way his body is aching and his head is swimming with exhaustion. But none of that, nothing else in the world matters when he has you, bruised and bloody and weeping into his chest.

Truthfully, there's not much that scares him more than this, and seeing you in this state has him rattled, forcing his own tiredness to the back of his mind. You, his baby, who is always so brave and stoic, who he remembers as a teenager getting into street fights and laughing through a mouthful of blood on several occasions, is trembling in his arms from fear and exhaustion and he's not even sure what else because he doesn't know what happened and you're in no state to tell him. So all he can do is stand there, keeping you in his arms and whispering any sort of reassurance he can think of into your hair. His aching legs be damned, there is nothing, nothing, that is going to make him move an inch until you are good and ready.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Dreams

Simon Riley x Reader

Warnings: mentions of death, angst

A/N: just a little angsty type short blurb I had in my head.

--‐------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Since when did Simon Riley get so romantic?” You jeered, booping him on the nose playfully. “I won’t complain, though, this is nice.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” Simon whispered to you, as he stroked your hair lightly. “You are my everything, Y/n.”

The two of you were lying in bed together, wrapped up in each other's arms. Neither of you had moved for hours.

“I’ve always been this romantic, don’t know what you’re on about.” 

You chuckled as you shoved your face into Simon's chest, inhaling his scent. “ I love you.”

“I love you too, kid. Always.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.

You sighed deeply into the kiss, and moved so you were sitting on top of him, straddling his waist. Pulling away, you smirked down at him with a devious look in your eyes.

“What are you up to?” He asked, matching your smirk.

*RING*

“Nothin.”

"Nah, I know that look."

"Don't know what you're talking about, just showing my man how much I appreciate him is all." You bit back a giggle, an elated smile forming on your face.

Simon was jolted awake by his phone going off. He sat up in his bed and sighed. That’s right, that was all just a dream. You’ve been dead for over a year. He grabbed his phone off the bedside table and saw Price’s caller ID flashing on the screen.

“Simon, meet me in my office. We’ve got to discuss something. Urgently.” 

“Hello?” Simon grumbled, answering the call.

Price hung up the call immediately after. 

Simon tossed the phone to the side and threw his head into his hands. He'd been having more and more dreams about you lately. It seems his mind wouldn't give him a break from you. Even when he wasn't conscious, you'd still find your way into his head.

He looked at his nightstand and saw the watch you'd given to him as a birthday present, just a few weeks before you died. It was the only thing from you he had left. He never went anywhere without the watch. Grabbing it and slipping it on, he went to get ready to meet Price.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the way to Price’s office, Simon let his thoughts drift to you once more. He missed you terribly. You were his everything before you died. Though the two of you weren’t in a relationship, it was clear the two of you had feelings for one another. You were his shadow, and he was yours. He’d have done anything to save you.

He took exhaled deeply and composed himself before entering Price’s office. He slowed as he was met with a rather solemn look on his captain's face. 

“Simon. We’ve got news. Why don’t you have a seat.” Price nodded at Simon and pointed to the chair across from him.

“‘M fine standing, what’s this about?”

“We need to talk about Verdansk.”

Simon's blood chilled at the mention of the mission. The mission in which he’d lost you. Ever since that day, he refused to ever go into detail about the mission. It hurt too much for him to replay it. He watched as you’d gotten shot right in front of him, taking the bullet that was meant for him. Your eyes had found his before your body hit the ground. Everything happened so fast, and he wasn't able to get to you in time. He had to watch on helplessly as the enemy dragged your dead body away from him.

“No, no. I’m not talking about that. We’ve agreed to never speak about that again.”

“Lieutenant, listen to -.”

“NO! I am not going to stand here and rehash this shit again. I can’t and won’t do it. You promised.”

“Simon, we found her. She’s alive.”

Simon’s entire world came screeching to a halt as he took in Price's words. “What did you say?”

“I said we found her, Simon. Y/N is alive.”

----------------------------------------------------

A/N: Not sure if I want to turn this into a mini series??

[vampologie]

FRUITS OF MY LABOR

summary: in which you are interrupted at work

word count: 811

a/n: um. i've only been thinking about nicholas chavez for the past two weeks.

It felt like Hell out here. Or what you’d imagine it to feel like, at least. 

Out in the gardens, nuns at every flower bed getting to work. The hot rays of the September sun beaming down on you.  Beads of sweat dripped under your habit, the neckline of your white long-sleeve feeling tighter than ever before. You were assisting Mother Superior in collecting food for tonight’s supper.

“Sister, please go gather the strawberries in the greenhouse. They should be fresh enough,” Mother Superior ordered, handing you an old, woven basket. You didn’t hesitate, wanting to find solace in the cold greenhouse. You opened the doors, already cooling down as a chill breeze wafted over you. The doors shut and you began to peruse the aisles between the strawberry beds. 

With the heatwave hitting your small, desert town, most of the fruits and vegetables were hardly surviving outside in the gardens. But here, the strawberries thrived. Fresh, red as blood, laying beautifully in their beds. You wanted to pick them all. 

Pushing your sleeves up your arms, you grabbed the first big, red strawberry you saw, picking it off and dusting it off on the black fabric of your habit. You brought it to your lips, inhaling the fresh scent of the fruit. 

“Theft is a sin, Sister.”

At the familiar voice, you looked up, spotting Father Charlie on the other side of the strawberry bed from you. You stared at him, noticing his tense face. Then, slowly, you took a bite of the strawberry. Red juices coated your lips, dripping down your chin and staining the white shirt you wore under your habit.  

Father Charlie cracked a grin, a chuckle leaving his lips as he began to walk around the strawberry beds. He got to the end of the aisle when he started speaking. 

“Mind if I help you, Sister?” he asked, his red boots clicking against the cold tile of the greenhouse, getting closer and closer. You nodded just as he stopped, leaving a foot of space between you two. 

“Of course, Father,” you smiled, holding out the basket for him. His hand covered yours on the handle, your eyes meeting for a moment too long before you looked away. He took the basket fully from you, standing by your side as you began to pick the fruit. As the basket got half full, Father Charlie spoke again. 

“Your hands are getting stained,” he mentioned, making you look down at your hands. A faint, red color covered your fingers, making you sigh. You went to brush it off on your habit, but Father Charlie’s hand reached out. He grabbed your wrist, bringing your hand to his lips. Then, with his dark eyes locked on yours, he wrapped his lips around your pointer and middle fingers, cleaning the stain with swirls of his tongue. Your eyes watched as he sucked lightly on your fingers, and when he pulled away, you were speechless. 

“Say thank you, Sister,” he said lowly, still holding onto your wrist. His grip was tight–tight enough for you to notice. You blinked, still in a daze. 

“Thank you, Father,” you whispered, noticing a small smirk meet his lips. He turned your wrist in his hand, looking down at your palm. He brushed his fingers over the skin, humming. 

“Such soft hands, Sister,” he murmured, his calloused fingers rubbing against your hand. They trailed down to your wrist and forearm, tracing your veins. “You shouldn’t be doing all this labor. I’ll get someone to take over for you, okay?”

You were taken out of your daze as he released your hand, starting to leave down the aisle. You picked up your skirt and rushed after him. 

“Father, it’s alright,” you tried to tell him as he headed to the door. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Yes you do,” he interrupted, stopping in his tracks. You nearly bumped into his back, your shoes screeching to a halt. He turned on his heel, and you looked up at him, eyes wide. “You’re helping me prepare for my Pedaling Priest session, Sister. Don’t you remember?” 

No, you didn’t, because you hadn’t discussed it before. But you couldn’t deny him, not with the way he was looking down at you. 

“Right,” you breathed, nodding slowly. “It must’ve slipped my mind. I’m sorry, Father.”

He smiled, bringing his thumb to his lips. He licked the pad of his digit before moving to cup your cheek and wipe the strawberry juice from your chin earlier. Then, his thumb pressed against your lips, pushing into your mouth. “I forgive you, Sister,” he murmured, leaning in and watching you suck on his thumb. He pulled his hand away, gently patting your cheek before waving for you to follow him. “Now, come. I need to prep you. It’ll be a long session.”

[danikamariewrites]

Hi! Could you write a story where the reader has a very high fever and she has nightmares and Azriel takes care of her? Thank you!

I adore your stories and you're one of my favorite writers.🤗

Fever Dreams

Azriel x reader

A/n: hi anon! Thank you that’s so kind of you to say. I hope you enjoy this, I love comfort!Az

Warnings: angst and comfort

A violent cough shakes your body as you reach for the glass of water on your bedside table. The lights in the room were dim due to your headache, making it hard to see the glass through your watery eyes. Azriel rubbed your back and handed you the water as your couch calmed down.

You had a fever for a few days thanks to the flu that was currently infecting the citizens of Velaris. Azriel didn’t want you to be alone so he had been working in the bedroom all week. Having Az take care of you was wonderful. He knew when you wanted space, made you your favorite foods, and cuddled you whenever you wanted. He didn’t care that you were sick, you needed him and that was all that mattered.

Once the glass was finally in your hands you gulped water down like your life depended on it. “Slow down or you’ll make yourself sick again, love.” Azriel said, pulling on the glass a little. You let go and Azriel takes it from your lips, setting back down on the table.

“I have to go talk to Rhys and Cass for a bit. Try and get some rest and I’ll be back soon.” He places a gentle kiss on your forehead before leaving. Az let out a disapproving hum at your temperature. The fact that your fever hadn’t broke yet was scaring him, but Madja had done all she could for now.

As you lay down you mumble an ok. Closing your eyes you hear the door close softly and Azriel’s footsteps receding down the hall. You shiver, your eyes getting heavy with sleep. You decide to give in and finally rest.

You were running as fast as you possibly could. It felt like you were getting nowhere. Finally, you crash through the door and fly down the stone stairs, following the screaming. Azriel’s screaming.

Your heart was pounding. Sweat dripped down your forehead. You come to a screeching halt at the end of the long hall. Your eyes going wide at the sickening sight in front of you. Azriel was chained to the wall, his back exposed and wings dripping blood.

One of stepbrothers was standing behind him holding a dagger, the other dancing his fingers over a table laden with an arrangement of weapons. You went to enter the room but bounced back at the threshold. They look at you, vile smirks on their faces as they taunt you. You felt faint, like you were about to empty the contents of your stomach on the floor.

You kept running and banging on the invisible barrier keeping you from your mate. The males mouths were moving but you couldn’t hear them. The one with the dagger made a slice on Azriel’s wing. You couldn’t hear their words, but they sure as hell made sure you could hear Azriel’s cries of pain.

One of the stepbrothers approaches the invisible barrier. A taunting smile on his lips as he intensely stares into your eyes. You get closer to the barrier, putting on a stone face. He slams his fist down in front of your face and you black out.

Jolting awake, you feel the cold sweat coating your body. Your heart was still racing as you whip your head around the dark room looking for Azriel. You were shaking violently. Between your sickness and the dream that felt too real your mind was confused.

You rip the tangled sheets from your body and drop to the floor on your hands and knees. Pulling yourself up you stumble over to the door. Your stomach squeezing with each step. Your bones ache and knees scream in protest of your movement.

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. You had to see Azriel with your own eyes. Know that this sickness wasn’t caused by his wicked stepbrothers. Gods, you were so disoriented.

You finally made it to the hallway. The cool air from the open windows freezing the sweat on your body, easing some of your nausea. You hold yourself up on the wall as you hobble as fast as you can to Rhys’ office.

You’re so close to the door. Just a few more steps and you’ll be there. You notice Cassian coming up from the other end of the hall. He tilts his head in confusion at your hunched over frame. Noticing it’s you he runs over, grasping your arms to hold you up.

“Y/n? What are you doing out of bed?” His brows knit together and concern flashes in his eyes. You steady yourself on his broad chest, your eyes staying glued to the office door the whole time. “Y/n?” He says louder.

“Azriel.” You mumble out and push off him. “What about Az?” You keep walking to the door. Cassian finally notices you are far from ok. He steadys you from behind, flinging the door open. “Az!” He calls out in panic.

You free yourself from Cassian once more and quickly stumble to your mate. He clears the room in two long strides and scoops you into his arms. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Panic is clear in his face. His eyes roam over you. You lift your shaking arms to place your hands on the sides of his face.

“You’re ok.” Your words come out broken and scratchy thanks to your dry throat. “Yeah I’m ok. What happened, baby?” You lick your dry lips while trying to find your voice. “Bad dream.” He nods and starts to walk back to your room.

Azriel places you back down in bed. He leaves your side for a moment and you let out a cry. Thinking that if he walked away he would never come back. He returned a moment later with a cold wet cloth for your face. Placing it over your eyes you feel the bed dip next to you as he sits.

He runs his fingers through your hair slowly as he hums to calm you down. You feel your heart beat return to normal and your nausea die down. Your shaking stops and your body relaxes into the mattress. “Az?” He lifts the cloth so you can see him. “Thank you. For taking care of me.”

Azriel gives you a small smile and pulls you close to him. Snuggling into his side you feel yourself regain some strength. Like his presence is curing you. “You don’t need to thank me, my love. I’m your mate. It’s what I’m supposed to do.” You let out a hum and feel a wave of exhaustion hit you. Sleep claiming you again.

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane @aroseinvelaris @twsssmlmaa

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Seven Minutes

Y/N’s crush on her boss is obvious to everyone, including his co-stars, leading the two into some sticky situations.

Johnny Knoxville X Fem!Reader

(Fluff)

2.4k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, nudity, flirting, praise

An: Thank you so much for the requests!! I really love the Assistant!Au and would love to continue it, specifically with Bam! I would love to see how he would mess with and push around our lovely assistant Y/N XD Anyways, keep sending those requests and let me know what you think!

Clutching your little brown clipboard, you were nearly shaking as you gazed up at the piece of paper sloppily scotch taped to the white trailer door. One would’ve thought that the first name on the billing would be treated with a little more prestige. You had no idea how you got the job, really. Horribly under qualified, virtually zero experience- a real combination for success. I mean, before today, you’d never stepped foot on a movie set, and here you were, Y/N: assistant to the stars. More than that, according to what Paramount told you, you would be an assistant to America’s favorite hot lunatic: Johnny Knoxville. You hadn’t seen a thing he was in, but from what you gathered, teenagers thought of him as the modern PT Barnum, while the churchgoing growd called him the devil incarnate, and you were going to be working under him. Timidly reaching out, you knocked a few times on the trailer to no answer. “Hey, uh- Johnny! Jeff needs you on set soon!” After maybe thirty seconds of waiting and no answer, you decided to try the handle, assuming he was too busy doing whatever movie stars do and just couldn’t hear you.

Boy, did you get an eyeful. There, standing in that silent trailer with his clothes draped over a chair, was the man himself, naked as a jaybird and without a care in the world that you saw him. He was all tanned muscle, Hollywood man meat. You, on the other hand, felt heat rush to your cheeks as your eyes swelled to the size of dinner plates. Stuttering out an apology, you turned away, “Oh! Oh my god, I am-“ Completely unphased, Johnny continued getting dressed, talking to you like he was talking about something as simple as taking out the trash. “Hold on a sec. Just gotta get some clothes on…” Does this happen often with movie stars, or only to him? It had to, you thought, based on how relaxed he was to be naked in front of a total stranger. Is he naked in front of strangers often? All you could do was face the wall of the trailer as your mind went wild, the heat flooding in from outside through the still open door doing nothing to aid the sweat you were already breaking. Your train of thought was brought to a screeching halt when you heard the metallic jingling of Johnny doing up his belt behind you, bringing to mind a flood of thoughts that you weren't exactly proud of. Still, you couldn’t help the urge to sneak another look at his half clothed body but you quickly turned back.

As sneaky as you thought you were being, Johnny noticed your little glance and, more than that, he didn’t seem to mind. Cracking a smirk at the events that were unfolding in front of him, he couldn’t help but want to tease this sweet little assistant of his a bit more. You didn’t even know he was dressed until you felt a tap on your shoulder and you turned around, nearly nose to nose with him while Johnny was still buttoning up his shirt with one hand, sporting that knowing, crooked smile. God, you practically fainted when he spoke, his voice barely above a murmur, “You needed somethin’?” Well yes, there was something you needed, but you weren't going to say that sort of thing out loud, much less to your boss on your first day. Too flustered to articulate yourself, you gestured for him to take a couple steps back, which he complied with, before you attempted to compose yourself, “U- uh…Jeff, he- uh, he asked me to get you for that- that Toro Totter stunt today…”

Johnny loved that you remembered his coffee order, even though that was a part of your job. Not that it was hard to remember- black coffee with two sugars. Every morning when you met up with him on set, you’d tell him good morning when you handed him the steaming hot styrofoam cup, and Johnny would take it from you with a smile that was still tired from partying the night before. He’d take a long sip and get this charmed look on his face and make some joke about how he couldn't believe that you remembered his order. As you worked with him longer and you started growing closer, he would tack on an appreciative, “Atta’ girl!” and reach out to rub your back or ruffle your hair. All the guys on set would whisper and joke about the two of you, especially Bam, who no matter how many times it was explained to him, still couldn’t get why Knoxville hadn’t ‘tapped that’. You didn’t care to admit how much you liked when Johnny treated you like that- all affectionately. Maybe you were nervous about working with a big movie star and really needed some approval to keep you going. On the other hand, you had been busting your ass for the past month making sure everything on set went as smoothly as possible, so it could also be that you felt like you needed the recognition. But most likely, you just liked hearing those words come from Johnny’s mouth.

So that’s why you went up to see him in his motel room. Well, that and he was half an hour late and Jeff wanted you to find out why the hell he hadn’t shown up on set. Carrying the well creased list of stunts for the day in your pocket, you walked through the dingy hallways of the cheap place the cast was set up at, carefully stepping over where Steve-O was passed out, drooling face down on the carpet. After finding Johnny’s door, you knocked on the cheap plywood and it swung open without resistance. Wondering what was with this guy and leaving doors open, you timidly called out into the room, “Uh, is everything alright, Joh-?“ Well, that explains why he hadn’t shown up- he wasn’t even out of bed. Shifting slightly at your noise, Johnny sat up with a groan, rubbing the back of his head as the sheets that covered his torso slid down to pool at his hips. “M’fine…god, just- just c'mere.” As he waved you over, patting the side of the bed for you to sit down, you couldn’t help but stare at him now that you were close enough to feel the heat radiating off of his body, and especially since you had more time to look him over. The cheap, frameless bed creaked under you as you sat down next to him on top of the sheets, fiddling with your hands. Johnny, who saw the paper sticking out from the front pocket of your jeans, snaked an arm past your hips nonchalantly to grab it, unfolding it with his muscular arm still around you.

He looked over the list, blinking groggily and quietly commenting about some stunts they should shuffle around to make the day run smoother or how he would change some setups. There was no way in hell you would be able to pay attention to anything that was coming out of his mouth. God, you were awful. It was like the second you got within five feet of him, your brain started slipping out of your ears. Still dazed, you were shaken out of your trance when Johnny wordlessly grabbed the coffee from your hands, bringing it to his lips and taking a drink. The corners of his eyes crinkled up when he swallowed deeply, his voice rough as he slid his arm up to squeeze your shoulder affectionately with a warm smile, “That’s my girl.”

He played you like a fiddle, goddamn it, and you were helpless to do anything about it. He just really got a kick out of messing with you, batting you around like the way a cat plays with its food before it eats it. Of course, this didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the cast who, although you had mostly ignored their comments and jeering, found your nervous reactions even more entertaining than Johnny did. They’d go out of their way to get you and him into situations where you would be forced to be in close proximity, but because of how often they pulled these pranks and your inexperience working on set, you couldn’t always tell the difference between when you were really needed for something or when they were trying to mess with you, so you naively complied with their requests every time. That’s how you got into situations like this.

“Hey, Y/N!” Steve called to you in passing on set one day, “Can’y grab a couple’a those cowboy hats from wardrobe?” Usually you only tended to what Johnny asked you to do, but since it was a pretty innocuous request, and you had nothing to do, you didn’t give it a second thought as you made your way to the costume department. It wasn't so much of a department as it was a small closet. In the past, the guys made jokes about getting you all dressed up in some skimpy outfit to sit in the background of a stunt on the basis that they really needed some sex appeal in the new movie, so you took a few peeks in there out of curiosity. This is all to say that you knew about it. What you didn’t know, however, was that at the same time Steve was sending you off, Chris was asking the same question to Johnny. See, this was a well coordinated attack, and if there was only one thing these bumbling idiots could coordinate together to do, it was fucking with people.

As soon as you hurriedly stumbled into the dark closet, you bumped face first into something warm which you quickly realized was a person, leaving you a little dazed before the door loudly slammed shut behind you, making you jump a little. The only noise you heard was snickering, courtesy of Bam, who had hidden barely out of sight when you walked in and jammed a chair under the handle of the door. There was only one person you would end up in there with, “Oh, come on, guys!” The familiar southern drawl in his voice made your stomach jump as you recognized Johnny who, while he was trying not to make his annoyance apparent, leaned around you to knock on the door as he yelled to the guys on the other side, “I gotta be on set in five- Jeff’s gonna kill me!” Still, nothing but snickers. You began to realize exactly how close your body was to his- Johnny didn’t even seem to notice nor care that your face was nearly buried in his chest, but you were so freaked out that you could bring your mouth to move or make any noise. It wasn’t until he groaned, leaning back to sit on a costume trunk in front of you that you took a breath.

“Well, we might be here a while…” Johnny mused, and while you couldn’t see it, you definitely heard the smile in his voice as he continued, “Y’know this kinda reminds me a lot of that game- seven minutes in heaven?” Of course you knew what he was talking about, and you would be an idiot to pass this kind of thing up. Unfortunately, under these conditions, you kind of became one. “I, uh- I’ve never played that- that game before…” Well, it wasn't a lie- you really hadn’t, but you knew what he meant. Your response was a half hearted stammer, your heart pounding so hard that you half expected it to thrum out of your chest, cartoon style, and you were sure he could feel it. You were aware he was getting a kick out of your nervousness, but you weren't exactly sure how to feel about that. Johnny’s voice slipped into that low, teasing register as he met your eyes, leaning towards you. “I could always teach you.” You practically let out a squeak at his suggestion. Oh god, it’s happening. He wanted to kiss you, didn’t he? Your brain struggled to form words, but luckily Johnny broke the tension before you dropped dead from the little game he was playing with you. Flashing a playful smile, he chuckled reassuringly, “Ah, I’m just messin’ with ya.”

There was something warm, something comforting and infectious that followed Johnny around wherever he went- a product of his charisma, surely, that just put everyone at ease. Well, everyone except you, but even now that was starting to change. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’ve gotta little crush on me, Y/N.” You thanked the darkness for giving you an excuse not to look him in the eyes, because otherwise he’d find it cute and probably do that thing they do in romance movies- where the guy tilts the girl’s chin up a little, and if he did that then you would be as good as a puddle on the ground. “O-oh, really?” Part of you was tempted to ask if it was that obvious, but you were unfortunately not that bold. “Mmhm. And lucky for me too, cause I was itchin’ to get an opportunity to ask you about gettin’ drinks sometime! Guess that makes my job a little easier, right?” Trying to be slick, Johnny put his arm on the door behind you and leaned, assuming it was still locked. However, against all assumptions, the door of the closet flew open, and as you were still startled from how he just so nonchalantly asked you out, your stiff body tumbled backward, landing flat on your behind. While you were talking, Bam apparently got bored when the ‘action’ hadn’t started, so he got up and left, taking the chair with him. Panicking and confused, the first thing Johnny did was lean down, giving you his hand, “Oh shit, Y/N! You alright?” In any other situation, the genuine concern in his voice and the feeling of his large, warm hand wrapping around yours protectively would be enough to get you weak at the knees, but your mind was elsewhere. Hell, you didn’t even care about how sore you felt as you stumbled to stand, tripping over your own words, “I’m fine, yeah! A, uh- a date! Drinks- that would be great!”

[fayes-fics]

A Helping Hand

2k Celebration Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Modern AU. Benedict walks in on reader whilst she’s fantasising about him...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, masturbation, voyeurism, vaginal fingering, female orgasm.

Word Count: 2.9 K (hahah "250-word drabble")

Authors Note: Eighth in my 2k follower celebration "drabbles". This is a request fill for @silverhallow from their ask HERE. This went WAYYYYYY over a drabble, sorry, I tried to reign it in, I really did. Unbetaed. Enjoy! <3

The uttering of his name is what catches his attention. 

It’s muffled and distant to his ears as he quietly closes the front door. He's just here to visit his little sister El, but he knows some of her flatmates' work shifts, so he always enters quietly, almost furtive. Tucking the key into his pocket, he shakes his head, convinced it was just an auditory ghost. 

But then he hears it again, closer now that he has moved down the corridor. It’s female but sounds edged with desperation. The hair on the back of his neck prickles, suddenly filled with concern that someone may require assistance, trapped perhaps under some heavy furniture. The fact no one knows he is even in the flat doesn't occur to him.

_____

You wish you didn't. 

Want him as much as you do.

Benedict bloody Bridgerton.

He's your best friend’s older brother, never a good idea, but damn if he isn't every single thing you desire in a man. Tall, lithe, chestnut hair, hazy eyes, large, artistic hands and a troublesome crooked grin that makes butterflies erupt every time. Every. Damn. Time. And so, almost reluctantly, he is to be the star of your masturbatory fantasy tonight, indeed most nights lately. 

Freshly showered, you peel off your robe, turn down your bedside light to a faint glow, and climb into your newly made bed, savouring the clean scent and the fluffiness of your pillows. Choosing to lay right in the middle of your double bed, your hands start to wander over your body, thoughts of him, his smiling face, filling your mind. As your fingers brush your nipples, you can't help his name escaping your lips.

“Ben…” it's breathy and feels wonderful in your mouth as your mind swirls with the image burned into your retina. It’s of him getting out of the pool last summer, water sluicing down the slim toned lines of his body as he shook out his hair like some bloody model. You almost bit through your damn lip, trying to keep in the sigh.

Your hands wander lower, swirling patterns over your belly that make you giggle in that same coquettish way you do when he cracks a joke in your presence. Part of you resents him for making you so damn giggly, to begin with; part of you wants him to make you laugh every day forever.

Then your fingers slide between your legs, and you call his name for real now as you encounter slick wetness, which is entirely his fault. 

“Benedict…” you moan, louder this time, using his full name.

Suddenly overheated as you begin to make little circles with your middle finger, you throw back the covers around your ankles and screw your eyes shut, concentrating even harder on that mental Rolodex of memories of a man you should not be fantasising about. 

“Benedict…” There is no disguising your moan now. Or your apparent addiction to saying his name. A slight clench deep in your gut every time you do, just heightening every sensation.

_____

He pushes open the door, filled with concern.

And screeches to a halt.

Oh god. It's YOU.

He didn't know this was YOUR room.

And oh fuck you are entirely naked, eyes closed, and… holy shit, you are masturbating.

His entire being is haywire. Chemicals flood his system making his head pound and his chest restrict. And his blood flow is entirely redirected southwards.

If there is one person who has always been on his ‘danger, danger’ list for as long as he can remember, it's you. But you are his little sister's best friend, which somehow seems wrong. But now. Dammit, nothing in him can remember why that is such a bad idea. 

His eyes can't help sliding down your body, knowing how wrong it is to do this. To watch, to spy, to be a voyeur without your permission. And yet…. He doesn't stop. In fact, he does the opposite—slumping back onto the door so it accidentally clicks closed. Gaze roaming, drinking in your naked body, the line of your neck, the peak of your breasts, the flare of your hips, the shape of your legs as they writhe and oh god, the sound. The sound of your moans, your feet as they drag on the sheet, and best, or perhaps worst of all, the sound of your body, the slick wetness of your arousal as you finger yourself, dripping onto your hand.

“Benedict…..”

Oh FUCK. He is in trouble now—just throbbing hot and insistently against his fly. He shuts his eyes and tilts his head back, knowing it's wrong. His logical brain trying to fight its way in. It's possible that you could be thinking about a different Benedict. Yes, that’s it, he tells himself, trying desperately to calm his arousal. It's probably that Cumberbatch fellow she is all hot and bothered about. The thought it's not about him seems to work, shaking the hypnotic state, and he turns around and grabs the door handle, trying to escape silently without you realising. 

“Bridgerton… please,” you groan, muffled as you turn your head and bite your pillow, still oblivious to his presence.

His forehead hits the door. Well, that's fucked it. Now he couldn't leave even if he wanted to. Which he really, really doesn’t. He's just going to have to style this out, and hope you will accept his presence. He's trying to decide the best approach that isn't creepy when you call out, and his instincts just take over.

“Oh god, please make me come…” 

“I will,” he growls, whipping around to face you.

And all movement in the bed ceases.

_____

Your eyes fly open, and for a split second, you blink, utterly nonplussed; your fantasy object appears to have actualised by your bedroom door.

Then he moves, and you squeal, realising that it is very much not a mirage. That is Benedict. The real Benedict.

You grab at the duvet around your ankles and scramble under it. 

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god!!!

How the fuck are you going to explain this???

Calling his name and…. Wait. 

Did he say….?

You peek out from under the covers, and he is still there. One pace closer but not invading your space.

“Wh… what are you doing here?” 

“I heard my name… I thought maybe someone needed help…” he seems sheepish.

I do! I do need help, your mind screams; I need those long fingers inside me!

You pull down the cover a little more so your face is visible. “Did you…?” You can't even bring yourself to complete the question.

“Yes, I saw, and I am so sorry,” he offers mutely, contrite. “I genuinely didn't mean to invade your privacy,” his tone sincere.

You sit up a little, your gaze falling to his jeans and holy fuck, he is aroused. Very aroused. 

Is there a chance?! He wants you back?

“Don't be,” you try for nonchalance, unable to look away from the outline in the denim, your mouth salivating.

“Do you want some help?” his ask is so soft that for a moment, you swear you misheard, but your gaze cuts to his face, and his eyes are burning intensely, pupils blown. 

“Yes, please,” you murmur back without thought. The warm smile that spreads across his face makes your heart gallop.

“Lay back down,” he says; the tone has changed. It's husky and deeper, and oh god, yes, please. “Pull down the covers.”

You do as bidden, your frame almost shaking with victory and apprehension as he takes a seat on the bed next to you.

“Touch me.” 

It's out of your lips before you can stop it. Then an entirely different, wolfish grin breaks out.

“Where?” he challenges.

“Anywhere…” you offer, desperate for his hands on your body.

He is staring at you like you are a buffet of delicious options; all you can do is lay there, breathing unevenly, awaiting his choice. When fingertips brush the inside of your wrist, you want to swoon. It's light, almost imperceptible, causing a shiver to run down your spine; goosebumps breaking out all over your limbs. You meet his fiery gaze and have to bite your lip as those warm fingers make their way slowly up the sensitive skin of your inner forearm, then onto your bicep. The tease of it is completely enthralling. When he reaches your shoulder, he changes to a drag of his palm as he maps your clavicle.

“May I kiss you?” he asks so sweetly that something warm blooms in your chest.

“Please…” your response soft.

He leans in, then his lips meet yours and something inside you melts, bends, alters. It’s chaste at first, but your hunger for him is barely slaked, so when you open your lips, and his tongue brushes yours, the atmosphere changes. He senses your need, and while you kiss ferociously, over and over, his hand slides to cup your breast. He flicks the pad of his thumb over your nipple, making you cry out into his mouth. Your own body shocking you, how much that touch is a lightning rod straight to your core.

“How do you want me to be?” he murmurs as he drops kisses across your cheek.

“What do you mean?” your voice unfocussed, pressing up into his touch, his thumb still brushing teasingly over your pebbled nipple.

“Do you like silence or talking? Light touches or a firm hand? Praise or be called a bad girl? Do you like to be treated like a precious jewel or bossed around?” the casual way he asks hot into your ear, his lips catching your earlobe, makes your mind boggle. No one has ever asked what you want; they just sort of guessed and hoped you liked it. Or had no idea how do to anything different to what they did.

“I…” you stutter; all of the above are the words blinking like a neon sign in your mind.

_____

He chuckles outwardly at your lack of an answer but inwardly is indignant at every man who has ever been with you and not thought to ask.

“How about I try some things, and you tell me if you like them?” he suggests, enjoying your enthusiastic nodding, which makes him chuckle again, feeling you shiver under him as the vibration moves from his chest into you. So very responsive.

“What about you? Your preferences?” you ask belatedly with closed eyes as his lips map the column of your neck, tasting your shower gel and the warmth there, his thumb delighting in circling your areola.

“Irrelevant,” he dismisses into your skin, then pulls away to clarify after feeling your slight pout against his forehead. “Tonight, let's focus on your pleasure. Then if you enjoy yourself, perhaps we can discuss mine another time?”

He watches as you exhale a shaky, almost disbelieving okay, your stare locked on his. Again he is almost angry on your behalf that this appears to be the first time someone has offered you something expecting nothing in return. Part of him wants to yell at you for accepting mediocrity; part of him - the competitive, possessive part - wants to make this so good you never desire another man.

He kisses a line from your neck to your breast, feeling your weighted, anticipatory stare as he runs his nose lightly over your nipple before drawing it into his mouth, suckling hard, tasting the sweetness of your skin, the puffiness under his lips. Victory crests in his veins as your hand flies into his hair, silently asking for more, pushing up into his mouth. As he suckles, he runs a hand down your body, a firmer touch over your tummy that you appear to appreciate, and he can feel your pulse and breaths quickening under him as his destination becomes apparent.

“Now you were already so occupied here when I entered…” he rumbles into your breast, his fingers slipping between your thighs, which he is pleased to note seem to fall open on instinct. He revels in your sharp inhale and moans as he ploughs his fingers into your soaked flesh without a moment's hesitation. The viscous heat making his cock throb hard in his jeans. “Wow,” he breathes, kissing over to your other breast, “you are absolutely soaking, aren't you?”

It's rhetorical, but you appear incapable of answering anyway, just squirming into his touch, almost as if you want more and less all at once. 

“Harder,” you implore mutely, and he looks up from your breast.

“What was that?” he teases, watching micro-expressions of desire and abashment flutter over your features.

“Touch me, go harder,” you puff, almost cringing, which he happens to find utterly charming.

“Now we are getting somewhere…” he smirks, the press of his fingers becoming more determined. Finding your swollen clit with unerring precision and teasing flicks over it. The engorged nub feels delightful under the pads of his fingers; he has to tamp down the urge to pinch it and make you scream—for another time, perhaps.

He definitely needs to be the best you've ever had, a burning need under his ribs.

_____

You mutter nonsense and his name as he sucks on your nipple and nudges your clit at just the right speed to make you burn hot, mouth going slack, eyes fluttering shut.

“That’s it,” he murmurs into you, something about the praising tone firing your synapses. 

“Don’t stop,” your voice wrecked, almost a sob, as you feel yourself ascending an invisible ladder. “Please, just don’t stop.”

“I won't,” he promises duskily, “in fact…..”

And that is all the warning you get before he drives two fingers inside your weeping pussy, and you almost rocket off the bed. Those long elegant fingers reaching places you never have or could, the swell of his knuckles pressing your walls open. It's even better than you ever imagined. 

You chant his name and grip his arm, loving the flex of tendons as he rhythmically rocks into you. He watches you as you spiral, his eyes sparkling in the low lamplight. Being his sole focus makes everything melt away, turning molten and sweet, like warm toffee. 

Needing to reciprocate in some way, make him as unleashed as you, your hand falls instinctively to his lap and grasps his rigid cock. He groans loudly, his fingers inside you flexing, his teeth scraping your breasts, lighting a fire over your skin. 

He senses your urgency, your need for more, to push you higher. So his motions get stronger, firmer; he snags your nipple between his teeth and tugs gently, his thumb presses harder onto your clit, circling faster as his fingers start to hook and graze your walls, knowing when he has reached a sensitive spot by the flex of your fingers around his clothed cock and your biting of your lip.

“That's it, good girl,” he murmurs, moving up to capture your lips with a searing kiss. 

His other hand, which has been taking his weight on the mattress next to you, moves to cup the back of your neck, pull you up off the pillow slightly, grasping the hair at the base of your skull. Not painfully, just enough to heighten things.

“Look at me,” he demands gruffly, and you do, panting and mouth slightly agape, his eyes hungry and expression proud as you dangle so close to a precipice. “You look breathtaking, untamed, wild; I want to fuck you so hard you scream my name,” he confesses in more of a snarl than words, diving in for another kiss.

“Please….” you beg, uncertain what for, except more.

No one has been this primal with you before, meeting a need you didn't even know you had. Your cerebral processes taking a backseat, just rooted in your body and strung out on a tide of chemicals and sensations.

A few more moves of his fingers and you are palpitating inside; the pressure breaking like a dam, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, so much he has to angle himself over you to hold you down as your muscles convulse; he has to push hard to keep his fingers inside you as you clench and release with a strength that makes him growl. You are crying out so loud the hand entwined in your hair moves and clamps over your mouth, gagging you and hushing you, leaning into your cheek with hot breaths, reminding you there are others in this flat, that you need to be quieter. Although all the while, as he says it, you can see the trace of smug hubris on his face that he is the cause. It makes you want to suck those fingers between your lips and bite him. 

As you flop, still panting, he withdraws his fingers and, just to tease, slides them into his mouth as you watch, disbelieving, clenching around nothing as his face contorts into ecstasy at your taste. Then he kisses you deeply, rolling your own flavour onto your tongue as his hands draw delicate lines over your torso.

“How was that?” he smirks as he pulls away. 

Your eyes are still closed from the kiss, suddenly awash with a drowsy sated pull deep in your being. Unfussed with words, in response, you move the hand idly twisted in his lap and grab his cock again, squeezing hard. 

“Stop that,” he groans but doesn't bat your hand away; he pushes into it, in fact. 

You just ghost a smile, eyes still closed, and lick your lips, pressing the flat of your palm against his length.

“Don't make me come in my underwear like a teenage boy,” he hums, tinged with recklessness.

“Take them off then,” your goad in a whisper, eyes popping open and meeting his, re-energised by the feral hunger you find there.

“Lock. The. Door.” he orders slowly and deadly, staring you down.

You can’t scramble for the door fast enough.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23

[ghostboneswrites2]

part three

obsession

series masterlist .. taglist .. masterlist

warnings: profanity, TWD things

recommended reads: Need .. Hazelnut .. Strong Broken Things ..

like an outsider

“Thanks again, Dale. Really.” You said as you shook the old man’s firm hand, smiling into his kind eyes. You’d grown to really like him over the past week. He had a way of making you feel at home. That was probably why Amy and Andrea liked him so much, too.

Particularly, you were grateful to him now for letting you take watch on top of the RV. A job like that felt like a vacation to you. You literally sat in a lawn chair looking at trees with binoculars all day.

“Nah, really.” He waved you off. “I get tired of staring at trees all day.”

“I was just thinking about how nice it was to stare at trees all day, for a change.” You chuckled.

“Dale!” An excited Carl called as he ran over, kicking dust up as he screeched to a halt, Lori shuffling behind him to catch up. “My mom’s coming to ask if you can keep an eye on me!”

“Carl..” Lori shook her head and sighed as she caught up, eyeing him with that signature mom-glare. “What did I tell you about runnin’ off from me?”

“Sorry momma.” The boy apologized.

“Sorry, Dale. Shane just needed to talk to me and—“

“No apologies necessary.” Dale cut Lori off. “I was just about to take over on watch and I wouldn’t mind a second set of eyes.” Carl’s face lit up as Dale handed him the binoculars and ushered the boy up the ladder. Lori thanked Dale and offered you an awkward half-smile before she went to find Shane and you followed Dale up the ladder behind Carl. As Dale helped his young sidekick get settled and adjust his binoculars, you glanced around camp.

Shane and Lori could be seen walking toward the westward edge of the camp. The sun was beginning to set, casting a shadow from the trees behind them. Sophia and Carol were sifting around in the sand down by the quarry. The Morales family were down there too, washing up the kids for the night. Amy and Andrea were working on a fire. Things were calm and everyone seemed to have found comfortable schedules to carry on about their daily lives. As far as coexisting, people seemed to manage.

The real concern was the rate at which supplies were running low. Food, medicine, clothes, hygienic supplies. People were falling short on daily necessities left and right. You could relate. You didn’t have much anymore. You barely had anything when you got to camp. You’d heard talk around camp about an upcoming supply run, though. A boy named Glenn said he knew his way around the city pretty well, and a few others were willing to go. You’d considered volunteering yourself, in hopes to find some fresh clothes without burdening anyone else for them. You were just worried Shane wouldn’t let you go. Then again, maybe if you went, he wouldn’t treat you like an outsider anymore

“So what if I see something?” Carl asked, bringing you back to focus.

“Well,” Dale pondered. “I guess you’d… tell me and then… Well, I’d tell everyone else and we’d act accordingly.”

“Why can’t I just tell everyone?” Carl wondered.

“Maybe we can all three warn everyone together.” You suggested.

“I can do it.” Carl insisted.

“Just because you can do something alone doesn’t mean you should.” You argued.

“She’s got a point.” Dale agreed. “Don’t you think it would be much faster if the three of us worked as a team to tell everyone?”

“I guess…” Carl sighed. “But we don’t need three people on watch.” The boy looked at you. “Shane says everyone should be working and playing their part.”

“I was on watch before you.” You assured him. “And I work every day. I’ve never seen you or your mom—“

“Okay!” Dale spoke over you. “Okay, let’s give Y/N the binoculars and go patrol the perimeter. That’s part of a lookout’s job.” He told Carl as he guided him toward the ladder. As Carl began to climb down, Dale leaned in and told you, “Remember. It’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”

“Okay.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Better get to patrolling, Atticus Finch.” You teased as you snatched away the binoculars. As you paced the top of the RV your mind lingered on Dale’s remark. You were well acquainted with that saying, being that it came from one of your dad’s favorite books. He’d always quote Atticus Finch when you argued with your sister.

You guessed he was right. The boy was only repeating what he’d heard, nothing more.

Only about fifteen minutes passed before Dale returned with Carl, and in that time nothing particularly exciting happened, or even out of the ordinary. Trees swaying in a breeze that was too gentle to relive you of the heat, the occasional takeoff of a bird leaving her nest.

“Anything exciting?” Dale asked as he hoisted himself back atop the RV, Carl right behind him.

“No.” You sighed. “Same old treetops.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a good thing.” Dale shrugged.

“Suppose so.” You agreed.

With the afternoon preparing for its slow retreat into the night, and two sets of eyes already on watch, you figured you’d leave the guys to it and go relax somewhere. By the time dinner rolled around, you’d managed to get nearly an hour of peace in your tent. It was refreshing. So much so that you decided to join everyone around the fire that night, as opposed to your usual spot in your tent.

“This is actually kinda good.” You commented to Carol, who sat beside you to your right. Sophia was next to her, followed by Ed.

“Yeah.” Sophia chuckled timidly. “It is.”

“It’s food. Don’t matter if it’s good. You just shut up and eat it. It’s called gratitude.” Ed lectured the girl. You glanced at Carol for only a moment before shooting visual daggers at Ed. His eyes remained on the fire, distant and angry. What a rotten fool, you thought to yourself as you turned your attention back to the meal you were scraping out of a reused tin can. How anyone as kind and gentle as Carol could stick around someone like that was beyond you. But then again, maybe that’s what made her his perfect victim. She was soft and malleable, and he had the brute strength to beat her into whatever he needed her to be.

“‘S good ‘cause I killed it and cooked it myself.” Daryl pitched in, turning the heads of you and the Peletiers. He had been standing behind you all, scarfing down his share. He usually didn’t join the rest of the camp for anything, but he seemed to linger when you were eating the meat he cooked. You weren’t sure why, it’s not like he seemed to enjoy cooking.

“Oh.” Sophia muttered, keeping her eyes down. Daryl felt a twinge of sympathy for the child. Every time he looked at her sad eyes, suddenly he was the same scared kid all over again.

“Yup.” He continued. “‘S a few squirrels. I’ll have to remember you like ‘em next time I’m out there.”

With that, he scraped the last bite of his tree-rat-stew down his guzzler and tossed his can and fork into the pile to be washed.

You muddled on that conversation for hours as you tossed and turned in your tent. It was nothing, really. A small act of solidarity for a kid being treated unfairly was something you’d have considered the bare minimum, in terms of human decency. Still, it shocked you. It seemed so out of character for a man who nearly crushed your jaw just a few nights ago, simply because you said the wrong word.

God, you internally groaned. Why couldn’t you ever get a good nights rest without being tormented by your own mind?

With a huff of frustration you sat yourself up and rubbed your hands over your face. If you couldn’t sleep, you’d do something productive with your time. But what? It was pitch black outside by that point. The fire had dwindled to ash, not even a fleck of an ember floating up into the sky as you unzipped your tent and poked your head out. Everything was still.

Thoughtlessly, you crawled out of your tent and stretched your arms and legs, scanning your eyes over the camp as you did. You decided you’d just parole the perimeter until you felt tired enough to try your hand at rest once more.

As you made your way to the tree line which created a natural border around the tents and vehicles, you could hear muffled voices from the woods. A twinge of nerves quickened your pulse as you leaned against a tree and strained your ear to pick up on the conversation. You were sure it was Shane and Lori, but you couldn’t quite make out what was being said.

Carefully — quietly — you stepped beyond the shoreline of trees and into the woodsy shadows, taking slow steps forward until you were close enough to make out their words.

“—and if you didn’t come back I—“

“I’ll come back.” Shane cut Lori’s words short, a gentle plea.

“You don’t know that.” Lori argued. “You couldn’t possibly know what could go wrong out there. You send as many people as you need to, Shane, but you stay here. You are not leaving me to figure this out on my own.”

They’re talking about a run to the city, you concluded.

From where you stood, you could hear Lori’s breaths as she spoke to him through gritted teeth. A few beats pass before Shane could be heard exhaling slowly. Lori had won this battle.

“Alright.” He surrenders. “I won’t send nobody out there without me.” He insists. “Just volunteers.”

Deciding you’d heard enough, you retreated back to the clearing and began patrolling as your originally intended. You tossed Shane’s words around in your head as your feet carried you forward.

Did that mean you could volunteer?

The next morning, you were up bright and early, waiting for Shane to call one of his meetings to announce the city run, eager to volunteer yourself. Since Carol and Mrs.Morales were still getting themselves and their kids ready for the day, you took over getting the water boiled for consumption. Usually, Carol and Mrs.Morales did the water in the morning and filled everyone’s canteens and bottles.

“Alright everyone.” Shane’s voice carried over the morning buzz of campers, who slowly gathered around without needing to be asked. “It’s no secret that our supplies are getting low. Hygiene essentials, food, dishes, first aid, ammunition, clothes… You name it, we need it.”

Everyone seemed to nod in agreement as you prodded the fire beneath the pot of water.

“Now, the most practical location to find these necessities is unfortunately that overrun city right behind us.” He continued, pointing over his shoulder in the general direction of Atlanta. “Which means, the team we put together to make this run needs to be the most capable of the bunch.”

His eyes scan the crowd of survivors, no doubt assessing them to pick out the most capable. You don’t miss the way his eyes don’t even graze over you. Asshole.

“But,” he carries on, “—we can’t leave everyone else here defenseless, either. We’re gonna need fighters both here, and out there.”

A hum of agreement washes over the camp. You chew at your lip.

“I’ve talked with a few people.” He says. With Lori, you mentally retort. “We’ve come to the decision that maybe I shouldn’t lead a team into the city like I planned. Maybe I should stay back, make sure the team that runs to Atlanta has a camp to come back to.”

Now, people seemed a little torn. Some nodded in agreement, others glanced amongst each other as if criticizing their leader.

“Listen..” Shane ran a stressful hand through his hair and over his face as he chose his next words. “I’d never make anyone do something I’m not doin’ myself. I don’t even like asking that of you all. We all know the risks. What I’m asking for is volunteers. People who can use a gun, people who can follow a plan and stick to it.”

As he spoke, Glenn stepped forward to his side.

“Glenn has volunteered to lead a group of us into the city. He knows his way around, and he’s fast. This won’t be his first run into the city, but it will be his first with a team.” Shane nodded at everyone. “Anyone willing to follow him, go ahead and step forward.”

Andrea is one of the first to volunteer, despite Amy’s pleas for her to stay behind. Next is T-Dog, who isn’t held tightly by his family, because he has none. Jacqui volunteered too, along with Mr.Morales.

“Okay.” Shane nodded. “If that’s all—“

His words were cut short when you stepped away from the finally boiling water and over to the group of volunteers. Something like annoyance flashes in his eyes as you take your place beside Jacqui.

“Alright. Thank you all for volunteering—“

“Hold on, now.” Merle rasped as he stepped forward too. The agitation radiating from Shane’s built form was palpable. Merle took his place beside you.

Shane glanced at Glenn, who just shrugged. “More people means more supplies, right?” The boy reasoned. Shane nodded.

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix @superbowlisgay @liizzygrant @eddiemunsonsupremecy @raeraegoaway @ophelialaufey @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfsalltheway @negansbestie @mfnqueen1 @raynelbabe

[sebsxphia]

Thinking about preacher!rhett wearing little lambs purity ring on a necklace around his neck…and wearing it in front of their father 🤭

￫ a/n: JENNA YOU SICK— your wish is my command baby 🤭 ilysm <3 a short drabble for the ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ universe.

￫ c/w: heavy religious themes and preacher!rhett abbott.

it’s not like your parents made any big deal out of your purity ring anyway. you went to college and back, and still you only wore it on formal occasions, especially for church. it was perfectly fine when your preacher toyed with it on your finger, as you sat on his naked lap in his desk chair, in his back office. right?

your bodies stuck together with thick sweat from rhett taking you over his desk. you were both coming down from your individual highs and floating in the post-orgasm haze, and his attention drew to your ring. he rung it around your finger a handful of times before slipping it off and twisting it in his own. he placed it down on his desk and slid it across.

“y’ don’t need this anymore, do you? y’ don’t wan’ bein’ seen with it on when we both know it’s not true?”

“no…. but, what if people ask, like my parents?”

“whatever y’ daddy says, it don’t matter. only you ‘nd i know the truth. y’ tell them you’ve given yourself to God, ‘nd you have, haven’t you, little lamb? to me?”

you sucked in your bottom lip and hummed in agreement. in return rhett placed a soft kiss to your cheek, feeling his stubble and slick hair tickle against your skin.

“‘atta girl. i’ll keep it safe. somewhere only me ‘nd you are to know.”

and you trusted your preacher, like always.

so when the next sunday rolled around and you caught rhett by the table holding refreshments, narrowly avoiding having to hold the conversation he was having with your dad, your mind raced to believed that your parents still wouldn’t make a big deal out of your purity ring. especially considering that it was now hanging off a gold chain, wrapped around preacher abbott’s neck and poking out of the button on his shirt.

“rhett… what the fu—”

your tone was hushed and harsh, but with an edge of panic to it. you’d both always been so careful together and your heart began to race at the prospect of your guidance with preacher abbott coming to a screeching halt.

“it’s safe. somewhere only me ‘nd you know is under this shirt. behave. besides, your da’ thought it was a ring from some girl out state. you’re not bein’ taken from me ‘nytime soon, little lamb.”

by the end of the sentence and the sweet name that he called you, his mouth was hot by your ear and his voice was a low growl. your heart was now racing at how close he was to you in such a public proximity. you could feel your throat closing up, your mouth drying, but all the while, your thighs clenched. goosebumps trailed over the back of your neck and rhett drew back with a smirk so slick, no man, or God could hide it.

the last thing he whispered close to you ear, with his eyes darting around the room to make a swift and calculated move, was, “you’ll see y’ ring again after we clear up here, darlin’.”

[i-heart-yellowstone]

15 - Vow to the Sky

Part 16

Raised Fair Share of Hell

Tag list @bvbwestfall @hcwthewestwaswcn @child-of-of-the-sunshine @elenavampire21 @keep-the-wolves-close @kmc1989 @tallrock35

Keeping my body pressed up against the stone brick wall I kept my eyes closed thinking about what my sister had done to me and the father of my child. We had slept in this cell the whole night and it was the middle of the day and we still haven’t been let out.

Kayce was previously sitting on the ground across the room from me but now he was currently pacing back and forth where his boots would screech across the floor every now and then. Covering my ears with my hands I couldn’t stand the squeaking anymore so I snapped my voice up at him. “Can you please stop squeaking your dang boots across the floor. I can’t take it anymore!”

“Oh I'm sorry , am I annoying you?” He halted in his tracks glaring at me for only a minute then going back to pacing the room.

Glaring at the cowboy before me I didn’t remove my hands from over my ears. “Yes you are.”

“Well I’m sorry but I can’t stand being locked up and not having a way out. I - I feel like- urgh never mind you wouldn’t want to know why I don’t like being in here.”

Slowly raising myself to my feet I got up sending him a snarcky reply. “Is it because you can’t stand the fact that I don’t love you anymore huh?”

“It only has a little bit to do with you.” He responded to me.

Crossing my arms over my chest I tilted my head to the side. “Okay so what’s running through your head?”

“I can’t be locked up in a room with the woman that I love. But she wants nothing to do with me!” Kayce turned on his feet raising his voice at me getting up in front of me where our chests were pressing against one another.

Lifting my head I pushed my nose up against his own, feeling my hot breath mixing with the others. “I have wanted you since the night you asked me to be your girlfriend. I have wanted you even after I got pregnant at 16. I have wanted you during all the years of raising our daughter. I’ve never stopped wanting to be with you, Kayce.”

“Then what the hell were you doing sleeping with one of my fathers ranch hands?” He throws his arms out away from his sides.

Covering my face with my hands I screamed into my palms. “How much longer are you going to keep bringing that up? It happened, Kayce. I had sex with someone else. And in case you keep forgetting you slept with Monica while you were dating me.”

“That was a mistake. I ended up with you. I chose you, Alissa. I’ll always choose you until the day I die.” He declares taking two steps forward getting closer to me. “I don’t know how to fix this, Alissa. I don’t know how to not be with you, not talk with you, not be around you or my daughter. You’re my wife. You’re my best friend.”

Raising my voice I shoved him harshly away from me where his black Cowboy hat fell off of his head. “I don’t believe you. You used to be honest with me but I don’t believe a word you say nowadays.”

“I swear on Lee and my mothers grave!” Kayce suddenly shouted causing me to stumble backwards slightly. Raising a hand to my lips I completely froze in front of him. The last time he said those words was when we got married. He has always kept his wedding vows.

The main door of the Lambert house got opened by my father who was standing on the porch all dressed up in a suit and tie. He didn't have a cowboy hat on like he normally does, but this was a special one time occasion. I stroll out the door wearing a white dress that went down to my knees that had light brown cowgirl boots. “You look absolutely beautiful, Alissa Rae.” He beams a smile seeing that i had my hair loose except for some of it pinned up in a crown.

“Thank you, daddy.” I sent him a smile back.

He extended his arm to me, searching my face for any signs of doubt. “Are you ready to do this?”

“Yes, daddy.” I nodded, looping my arm through his before we began walking down the steps and made our way over to the side gate that butted up with the Dutton's fence.

By the time we reached the fence line I saw my mom and sister standing beside Beth. John, Lee and Jamie were standing by their brother Kayce. Yet Kayce was standing on the side of his fence dressed in a black shirt and tie, his nicest blue jeans and dirty brown boots. “You better take good care of my daughter and grandchild, Dutton. You know I'll come after you if you don't.” My father warned the young boy as he placed my hands in Kayce’s.

“You’re not too snug in that dress are you?” My best friend asked me, eyeing me up and down. I had told him that we would have to do a flash wedding since you would start to see that I was pregnant and my clothes would start to not fit right anymore till I have the baby.

Shaking my head, I squeezed his hands in mine. “I'm fine, Kayce. I just want to marry you already.”

“I want to call you my wife here and now.” He grinned looking over to his oldest brother Lee.

Lee removed his cowboy hat holding it in his hands beginning to perform the ceremony. “You two can begin reading your vows now.”

Tucking some of my hair behind my ears doing my best to not start bawling out in tears. “Kayce John Dutton, we've been in each other's life since we were five years old. I can say for certain that your siblings have always felt like my siblings and I can only assume that yours feel the same way about me and my sister Alana. When we started dating I couldn't imagine being with anybody else but you and I am overjoyed to be calling you my husband from this day forward. You are my other half and I hope I am the same to you.”

“Alissa Rae, I used to get so embarrassed when Beth would tease me saying I was in love with you and I am grateful she saw something in you before I did cause now I'm calling you my wife…uhh sorry.” Kayce moved one hand up to rub his eyes making me almost start crying. “You know me better than I probably know myself and you can say the same thing about me when it comes to you. I swear that I'll love you even more than I do right now. You are my whole world now and forever.”

Kayce slipped my wedding ring on my left ring and I slipped his black band on his finger. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You're officially a Dutton, Alissa.” Lee declared with a cheeky grin plastered on his face. He scooped me up in his arms, suddenly making me squeal.

“Lee!” Lee sat me down directly in front of my husband but now I was standing on the side of the fence that belonged to the Dutton's.

“Now you get to keep his hat forever.” Beth came up behind me placing Kayce's dusty black cowboy hat on my head making me giggle.

Kayce wrapped his arms around my waist tugging me against his chest kissing me long and slow. “It's been yours along with my heart since we were five years old, Lissa Rae.”

“That’s Lissa Rae Dutton to you.” I drew back from the kiss, correcting his words. He chuckled before I cupped the sides of his face in my hands bringing him in for another kiss.

Blinking tears away from my vision I barely got a word out before Kayce crossed the room and closed the space between us. He crashed his lips down hungrily onto mine, where I gripped his shoulders kissing him back ever so slowly. “Kayce, you’re still my best friend-“

He raised his hands up to cradle my face in his palms. He tilted my chin upward and bent his knees some so I wasn’t standing on my tippy toes to kiss him. Flinging my arms around his neck I drew him in for another kiss and he hoisted me up by my thighs wrapping them around his waist never breaking the kiss. “Alissa-“

“Kayc - I’m sorry.” I muttered in between kisses while he pushed my back against the wall and laced one of his hands into my hair.

He broke the kiss needing to catch his breath as he rested his forehead against mine. “Don’t apologize. I shouldn’t - I shouldn’t have spied on you and Ryan. It - that was my mistake. I’m - I’m sorry, Lissa Rae.”

“Kayce, I was hurt. I tried to move on from you because I thought you’d moved on from me. I thought you - I thought you’d chosen Monica.” I sniffed, pushing back some tears.

Kayce moved his thumb up gently, wiping them away. “Hey, hey, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I love you no matter what happens.”

We quickly turned our heads in the direction of the outside door opening at the same time as a loud unlocking alarm sounded off. Footsteps entered the room where we saw an officer entering the room coming to our cell door. “You two finally made bail.”

“She paid the money.” I sighed in relief.

The officer nodded, unlocking the cell door. “Yes. She did. I’d suggest not doing something like this again. Tell your sister we can’t lock you two up for a relationship issue.”

“We’ll keep that in mind, deputy. Come on, let’s get home before the kids start to worry about their parents.” Kauce draped his arm over my shoulder where we walked out together holding hands, heading out to his truck once we were given our stuff back.