About • Hi! On here I’m Lore or L.R. ✧ 27, she/her, ace, adhd plagued, patron saint of cringe, fandom nut, tumblr veteran, melomaniac, unofficial human IMDb. 18+ blog for the most part. (please understand if you follow me and you’re a minor, i will block you. sorry.)
Reach Me • discord: dearfreddie, dms and asks are always open (promise I am friendly, just feral), my current side blogs are:
recent fics: One More Tomorrow (Ray Garraty x fem!OC)
When the Dust Settles (Daniel Blake x fem!OC)
Writeblr • writer type: pantser ✧ genre: romance, erotica ✧ sub genres: post apocalyptic, dystopian, suspense, crime, new adult, paranormal ✧ rating: mature/explicit ✧ tropes & themes: plus size characters, enemies to lovers, characters finding themselves, age gap, found family, living is more than surviving ✧
History • I’ve been writing since I can remember but seriously started getting into the craft about nine years ago. In that time I have finished five significant works, between procrastination and burnout: Sid (43,397 words) ✧ The Secrets of Cranerise Valley (32,173 words) ✧ Coming of Age (100,863 words) ✧ Sweet Dreams (94,095 words) ✧ The Night We Met (181,988 words)
Goals • I don’t plan to publish. Writing is my joy and if I can continue to create worlds, characters and stories consistently, that would be my ultimate dream. I’d love to make friends in the community who share that love of creation and writing (who may also enjoy the romance genre).
I also write fanfiction for multiple fandoms when I’m not working on my original stories and love to talk about anything fandom and fanfic writing related as well.
A/N : Holy shit people. I really can not believe I let @cryingwriter convince me to post this. This is my first time ever and I mean EVER writing daddy kink. So if that is not your thing do not fucking click on the read more. It's light, but its there.
This story is really personal. I live with chronic pain every day. So I thought, why not write a story for the girlies that also feel pain every day. We deserve love too :). So please be kind. I don't have the heart for hate . Not edited. Be warned. Header by @cryingwriter 💙
Pairing: husband!Jack Abbot x female!Reader
Word count: 2,956
Warnings ⚠️: smut, p in v sex, soft daddy kink, mentions of chronic pain/chronic illness, unprotected sex (wrap it up), some descriptions of hair, some mentions of female bodies, use of nicknames like baby and sweetheart, use of the word "daddy"
I tried hard not to be too descriptive with the reader. Yes I used first person, but there are no mentions of names. But again this fic was originally directed at me and @cryingwriter so again read at your own risks.
From the very moment I open my eyes that familiar uncomfortable discomfort settles into my bones. As I try to get up my hips are stiff and I can barely stand on my feet. The walk from our bed to the bathroom is slow as I work the tension out of my back and legs. It was a constant state of being for me, but today was worse than normal. Perhaps it was the constant rain outside, the way I slept last night, or how bent up my husband had me last night before he went to work. The cause was unclear, but the constant throbbing was there.
I lean against the counter as I enter the bathroom using my hands as a prop to keep myself steady. My face contorting with pain as I try to stretch and ease the pain but it doesn't work. If anything it might have made it worse. This was the unfortunate reality of being chronically ill. Constant pain that often came out of nowhere and you never knew what triggered it.
I take a deep breath and run the water, cupping some in my hands I bring it up to my face. The coolness refreshes my senses as I wake up. I knew that today would be less than thrilling as I navigated the flare up. After doing my business I slowly went down the stairs to the kitchen so I could make something to eat. Much to my surprise there was something pre-made in the fridge. A note signed J on the top of it. A small smile spreads across my lips despite the pain. My ever thoughtful husband takes care of me even in his absence.
As I heat up the food I watch the birds in the birdbath outside. Remembering how I had begged Jack to let me put it out there. He had grumbled about it being unsanitary and messy, but ultimately he gave in and did exactly as I wanted. The thought of him made me warm and made me smile like an idiot to myself.
After breakfast I try to tend to the house chores I usually do, but I was in far too much pain this morning to do so. Instead I head into the bathroom downstairs and grab the Tylenol from the cabinet. A constant must have in our home, as well as ibuprofen. Jack always cautioned about taking too much and the effects it has on your body. Which I understood, but he also understood the reality of living in constant pain and sometimes needing relief.
He would be home in a little over 2 hours and to say I needed him was an understatement. The pain often made me needy and whiny and only he could make it better. Which he knew after all this time together. Though I often didn't tell him when I was in pain, and that always frustrated him. He'd always give me that stern doctor look when I waited until it was unbearable to come to him.
I decided to take it easy and sit on the couch telling myself the house chores could wait until I felt better. The time slips away from me and I fall asleep on the couch. Which is usually a very bad idea.
My senses come alive again when I feel a soft brush of warmth against my forehead. A soft groan escapes my lips as I try to sit up. “Jack?” I call softly.
His warm hands wrap around my wrists gently pulling me up before my eyes register his presence.
“Hey, sweetheart. You okay?” He asks softly. His voice sent shivers down my spine as it always did.
I grumble and lean forward resting my head against his chest. He hums softly, his warm hand coming up to cup the back of my neck as he presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“Daddy,” slips from my lips easily.
“Shh, baby. You hurtin?” He asks, strong fingers kneading the back of my scalp.
I simply nod, still unable to lift my head and look at him properly. Only wanting warmth and presence instead of talking properly. He knew then what I needed and what I wanted. Jack carefully guides me back against the couch cushion, his hands moving to my shoulders as he does so.
He squats down in front of me, his hands resting on my thighs squeezing softly as he looks up at me. My eyes finally flutter open as he sits waiting. My gaze sweeps over his face, taking in his tired expression and feeling guilty.
“Don't look at me like that.” He warns. His voice was stern but soft.
I put my hand palm up on my thigh. A quiet plea for contact. His fingertips trace over my hand as he looks at me. I hold his gaze.
“Talk to me.” He commands softly.
“Hurt, everywhere.” I murmur, closing my eyes again.
His eyes soften, and he moves up onto the couch beside me. The cool metal of his prosthetic pressing into my left calf. He pulls me into his chest holding me tighter than before. A soft sigh escapes his lips. I knew he was worried.
“Come on,” he instructs, pulling me up with him.
I let him guide me through the living room and up the stairs. His hand is warm in mine as he leads me to our bedroom. My right side throbs as I walk behind him. I try to take deep breaths to ease the pain, but it doesn't help.
When we reach our room I nearly collapse onto the bed. A soft groan escaping my lips as I do so.
I hear Jack's soft chuckle as I snuggle into his side of the bed. The bed dips when he sits beside me.
He pushes my shirt up slowly exposing my back. I can feel his fingers begin to slowly knead the muscles along my spine and I let out a soft whine. It hurt, but also felt amazing. I feel his lips brush against my spine and I shiver a needy sound escaping my lips.
“Tell me what you need, baby.” He encourages softly.
It killed me when he did that. Always making me speak up and ask for things. I sigh, my body relaxing further into the mattress.
“A massage. Please.” I mumble, my voice muffled by the pillow.
He presses another gentle kiss to my spine before shifting. Jack pulls his prosthetic off to get on the bed with me and throws his leg over my hips straddling me from behind. I awkwardly pull my shirt off my hair covering my face as I do so. Jack unclasps my bra, pushing it off my arms.
“Right side.” I murmur into the pillows.
His firm hands press into my skin applying gentle pressure at first and gradually getting harder. A soft groan escapes my lips as he hits one particularly tender spot.
“Good baby?” He asks, his lips brushing the back of my neck. His hands moved to gently squeeze my ass.
I nod my eyes closing.
“Use your words.” He whispers against my ear. His voice sent shivers down my spine again.
I internally groan. “Yes, daddy.” I whisper.
He kisses my neck again. “Good girl. Let me run you a bath. I'll be right back.”
The weight of his body lifts from mine and I let out a soft sound of resistance. I didn't want him to stop touching me. He steps into our bathroom and turns the water on. The sound fills the room and my eyes droop. I was still hurting, but I felt better.
I roll over onto my back pulling my bra the rest of the way off and throwing it on the floor. Jack returns a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He stands quietly, watching and observing as I lay spread out on the bed. My breasts are on full display with no shame. As if there ever could be with Jack.
“Come on.” He instructs softly.
Slowly I sit up and slide off the bed. Walking over to him I stop in front of him once again pressing my face into his chest. His rough palms glide over my back as he rubs soothingly.
“So needy.” He muses, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Don't make fun of me.” I pout.
He grips my shoulders pushing me back so he can meet my eyes with his own. “Watch your mouth.” He warns playfully.
I wrap my arms around his neck and lean into him again. “Sorry.” I murmur.
He reaches up and cups my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he leans down and kisses me softly. His scruff scratches my cheeks in that delicious way I love. Even when I was in pain. My fingers curl in the hair at the nape of his neck as I kiss him back, almost desperately.
When he pulls away I whine softly. “Why'd you stop?”
“Because you need to get your ass in that tub.” He states, his hands sliding down my hips and squeezing my ass again.
“Go.” He says giving a gentle smack.
I do as I'm told and go into the bathroom. Jack comes up behind me and carefully pulls my pajama shorts down along with my panties before helping me into the tub. When he doesn't join me I look up at him with furrowed brows.
“Why aren't you coming in?” I ask.
He presses his thumb between my brows, smoothing away the furrow. “Sh, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” He assures.
I sigh softly, but listen leaning back against the tub and closing my eyes. Jack sits on the edge of the tub and watches as I soak in the warm water. I lean my head on the edge of the tub looking up at him. He runs his fingers through my hair, tucking some of it behind my ear.
I could see it in his eyes. The worry about the pain I was currently in. He didn't want to hover or ask too many questions because he knew at the end of the day with chronic pain it could happen at any time. Jack would often experience similar things with his leg.
“Are you sure you're okay?” He asks softly. The concern is real and genuine
I nod softly, reaching up and grabbing his hand in my hair bringing it to my lips.
His gaze softens and he presses his thumb against my lips. I press a kiss to the pad of his thumb and let go of his hand. Closing my eyes I rest my head on his thigh as I continue soaking in the tub.
“I need you.” I murmur softly.
Jack's thigh tenses beneath my cheek.
“No.” He says firmly.
My eyes open wide at his denial.
“No?” I furrow my brow.
“Yeah, no. We aren't having sex. Not with the pain you're in.” He states, his tone final.
I sat up then. “Jack.” I whisper. The slightest bit of heartbreak in my voice.
He never denied. Ever. His eyes held mine as he crossed his arms over his chest. A true sign he wasn't going to budge on his decision. A sense of betrayal flashed through my eyes.
Jack sighs heavily. “Sweetheart, you're in pain. What if I make it worse.” He asks, genuine concern in his voice.
“Then it gets worse. You know you're the only thing that makes me feel better Jack.” I told him.
He watches me for a long time, silently warring with himself on whether or not to give into what his wife wants.
“If we didn't have sex when I was in pain we'd never have sex Jack. I'm in pain every day. Every single day. You are the only thing that makes it bearable.” I state.
He crumbles. “Jesus, baby.” He whispers.
“Don't make me beg you for sex.” I whisper. “Please.”
His demeanor shifts. “Alright. But I swear to god if it hurts too bad you fucking tell me.” He states, grabbing my chin firmly.
“I will.” I smile.
When he releases my chin he grabs my hand and pulls me up out of the water. He takes my towel and wraps it around me as I step out of the tub.
“Go sit on the bed.” He instructs.
I do as he says and walk back into the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed. I felt like a scolded child and mentally laughed at myself.
When he comes out of the bathroom he's naked. My eyes trace over his body shamelessly. He stands still for a moment letting me get a good look. A soft smile appears on my lips as I take in his prosthetic. Finally, my eyes meet his and only then does he close the distance between us. When he reaches me he cups my face with both hands and kisses me deeply.
I could taste the worry on his lips as his fingers moved to grasp my hair. My hands find purchase on his thighs as he stands in front of me kissing me. They move on their own, inching closer to his cock as he deepens the kiss. When my fingers wrap around his cock he jerks a soft hiss falling from his lips.
“Eager.” He groans against my mouth.
“For you.” I pant as I kiss him again.
I begin stroking him and he stands up straight allowing me better access. My other hand squeezes his thigh. He groans as I lean forward and lick at the tip of his cock.
“Behave.” He rasps.
My eyes flicker up to meet his as I take him into my mouth. He lets out a breathy moan, his head tipping back.
“Fuck, baby. Doing so well.” He praises, his fingers tightening in my hair.
I stroke and suck his cock until his legs shake. Finally, he pushes me away. “Enough.” He rasps.
He reaches for my towel and practically rips it off.
“Which position?” He asks, gently squeezing my breasts.
“Prone.” I state, looking up at him.
“Get on your belly.” He instructs, pushing me back softly.
I do as I'm told and get on my stomach. He grabs a pillow and pushes it under my hips. My legs spread to accommodate him from behind. But it's far less strain than being on my back and legs spread. Missionary was great until my hips hurt and I could barely lift my legs.
He presses against my slick entrance from behind. Rubbing my arousal on his length before easily pushing inside. We both moan and I press my face into the mattress. He held still for a moment, gaining strength not to bust immediately after I blew him. His chest presses against my back as he lays over me for a moment. Pressing gentle kisses to my back and neck as he holds himself deep inside of me.
After over a minute of waiting I was getting impatient. My pussy clenches around him wet and needy. “Daddy, please.” I whimper. He lets out a soft groan.
“Shh, daddy's got you.” He practically moans in my ear as he rocks his hips pushing deeper.
My pussy makes a wet sound and he moans. “Fuck you're so wet.” He praises.
A whimper escapes my lips as he still hasn't moved. I squirm beneath him and he grasps my hips.
“Not uh.” He huffs.
“Please.” I beg.
“Please what?” He pants in my ear.
“Please, daddy. Fuck me.” I whimper. No shame in how desperate I was.
“Good girl.” He hums in my ear.
Slowly he pulls almost all the way out before pushing back in all the way. Over and over he goes at this torturous pace. Never fully stimulating, only enough to leave me wanting more. My pussy dripped around his cock as he slowly fucked me.
“I won't break. I need more. Please.” I pant.
He nips my earlobe and starts moving faster. His hips hitting mine with a wet smack from our combined arousal. A moan escapes my lips as I finally get what I want.
“Is this what you wanted, baby?” He growls in my ear. “Daddy's cock buried deep?”
A pathetic mewl leaves my lips and he chuckles. His hand grips my shoulder as he begins to move harder. His cock pounding into me. Dragging against my g-spot with every thrust. A whine escapes my lips as my pussy flutters around his cock.
“Close aren't you.” He chuckles. “So obsessed with it.”
My vision blurs from pleasure. I was so close. My toes curled and my legs began to shake as he pounded into me harder. Every moany breath he let out brought me closer to the edge.
“Gonna come.” I whine.
He grips the back of my neck. “Come for me.” He demands.
I moan as the dam breaks and I come. Clenching desperately around him as he continues to fuck me through my orgasm. He doesn't stop until he comes inside of me with a groan. Pressing kiss after kiss to the back of my neck as he stayed there.
“So good for me.” He murmurs between kisses. “Love you so much.”
Despite the earlier pain I felt so good it wasn't funny. Just something about my husband's cock always made me feel better. I smile at the thought.
Eventually he pulls out of me and rolls me gently onto my back. He kisses me softly and deeply, pouring his heart into it.
“I love you, sweetheart.” He whispers against my lips.
lt. derrick “mac” macdonald x step mama!reader, waylon macdonald
word count: 1k+
summary: Corroded Coffin or Die Photo Prompt Server Challenge | Waylon brings home something Mac definitely doesn’t want.
warnings: Mac is not a cat person
notes: Mac and Mama are trying their best to not let Waylon overrun them LMAO. Feel free to let me know if there are any mistakes.
The couch cushions dip slightly under Mac's weight when he shifts beside you, his arm heavy and warm across the back of your shoulders. You've got the TV on, playing something that started off as a rerun of this morning's news and has devolved into a western you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Mac’s mom play. After about twenty minutes, it'd just turned into background noise as you soak in your husband's warmth. His thumb is dragging slow, absent minded lines along your arm as you sit. Then the front door slams open.
"Hey!" You start to sit up and twist your head, only to be met by a blur and the sound of footsteps hurrying down the hall. Your mother-in-law steps into view at the door and waves. You wave back, smiling.
"He's got his bag." She says softly, smiling like shes amused with herself. "Love you both."
"Love you!" you echo as she pulls the door closed. Your eyes follow the line of the hallway where Waylon had disappeared, his footsteps fast and uneven. You hear his bedroom door slam shut a second later. Mac's hand stops moving on your arm.
"That was weird." He chuckles softly.
You nod, frowning as you glance towards your son's room. "Yeah… He didn't even come say hi."
Mac sighs and moves his arm from around you, placing his hands on his knees like he's about to stand. "Let me go check—"
"I got it." You say softly as you push yourself up. "You just got comfortable." You press a kiss against his head and head down the hall. You knock gently on the door before twisting the handle and peeking inside.
He's kneeling in front of his bed, his eyes go wide when he sees you. "Hi." He says, trying his best to sound not guilty in the court of his mama.
You let your eyes run over him, checking to see if there were any new bumps, bruises, injuries, hair colors, anything, and smile softly when you don't find any. But then you see something move under the edge of his bed. You raise your eyebrows, "Waylon?"
He presses his lips together as a small orange head peeks it's head out. Then it's followed by a cream colored head. A tail shifts. It's two cats that are very much not supposed to be here. Waylon bites his lip, trying to tug his blanket over them before you can see.
But by the breath you let out, he already knows it's too late. You bring your hand up to your forehead, eyes slipping closed. "You brought cats home?"
"They were out by the shed at Mamaw and Papaw's… they didn't have a mom and it's cold at night and Papaw said they just showed up and I thought—"
You sigh, turning your head towards the living room, "Mac!" You call.
There's a moment of silence before you hear him call back, "what's up?"
You look at the cats for a moment and then your son's pleading eyes. If he would have asked. "You need to come here."
You hear the couch springs creak as he stands, and then the sounds of shuffling socked feet. "What'd he do?" He asks.
You lean back against the wall, eyes on the two furry companions, "just come look."
Mac appears in the doorway just a few moments later, eyeing the situation unfolding in front of him. He notices the tails peeking out first, then the heads, and their bodies. "No, no, no."
Waylon scrambles up from his knees, "dad, they don't have anywhere to go—"
"Waylon." Mac cuts him off and drags a hand down his face. He sighs, looking at the big brown eyes of his son before letting his gaze flick to the cats and then back. "Did you bring them all the way from Mamaw and Papaw's?" He asks. Suddenly, his mom's amused little smile seems to be fitting.
Waylon nods, cheeks bright red. "In my backpack."
Mac sighs and looks at you, shaking his head in disbelief. "Jesus Christ, Way."
"They were gonna stay outside!" Waylon frowns, "Papaw said they're just strays, but they're friendly—"
"Yeah, and now they're strays in my house." Mac sighs.
Waylon's frown grows sadder by the minute, "they're not strays… they're just little."
Mac sighs, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back against the wall next to you. "This was a bad call, bud."
Waylon's shoulders pull in a bit, his gaze dropping to the floor in front of him. You hear a sniffle, "but dad, they're gonna die out there."
Damn, this kid's big heart.
You sigh and step forward, crouching down in front of Waylon. You lift the blanket to peer down at the two kittens. You glance at Mac, who's cracking just as much as you are. Then you look at Waylon. "They can stay until they're a little bigger, okay? Then out to the barn. We'll set something up to keep them warm and dry—"
"We're gonna end up with ten of them." Mac sighs, letting his head thunk back against the wall.
You just roll your eyes and smile at Waylon, "or just two that keep the mice out, that you're gonna take care of." You say and pat Waylon's hand.
He looks up then, almost fast enough to make himself feel dizzy, "I swear I will."
Mac sighs, looking between the two of you. "You're both a pain in my ass." He jokes softly, which has you both smiling. "Go find 'em something to sleep in, we'll take 'em to the vet in the morning."
Waylon's on his feet before he can even finish the sentence and throws his arms around Mac's middle, hugging him tight. His head comes to just below Mac's chin now, that summer growth spurt showing off in it's entirety. Mac grunts under the impact, but his hand comes up and settles on the back of Waylon's head automatically.
You stay crouched on the floor, smiling as you watch your boys. Love settling deep in your chest. Then a small weight bumps against your fingers and you glance down to see the little orange one pressing it's face right up against you. You sigh softly. You're never getting rid of these things, not as long as Waylon's around.
Summary: Daniel and Teresa start to catch feelings.
Includes: Teresa feeling completely out of her element, Daniel being brought into the fold, and a first kiss. (18 + ONLY mdni)
Chapter 7 • 4,259 words • When the Dust Settles masterlist
Rather read on AO3? Click here!
The party is packed full of nicely dressed men and women when Teresa arrives at the fundraiser. She sticks to the corners of the room as she walks around, keeping her eye on everyone there. Fisk once had her run security detail for a poker game he held years ago. She learned then it’s best to be a fly on the wall rather than a socialite.
It takes some time before she recognizes anyone and even then it’s only by reputation. She doesn’t have any friends, not anymore, except maybe Daniel, if she can call him such. Buck and the Fisks were once her friends but now their relationship seems hinged purely on the professional side of things.
She procures a flute champagne off one of the waiter's trays and nurses it for a long time as she scans the room.
The mayor makes his rounds, speaking to different potential investors. Money is the name of the game tonight and Teresa is sure half the attendees or more are already opening their wallets for the big man. Others, not so much.
Buck sidles up next to her and clinks his glass against her empty one. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to mingle. These money bags are just looking for a reason . . . Go be the reason. Support our mayor.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Thought you had a more important job.”
He smiles. When another waiter passes, he grabs the glass from her hand and replaces it with a fresh one from the tray.
“It would be nice to be reminded there’s actually a person in that beautiful shell, Miss Hawke,” he says, but there doesn’t seem to be any intention behind it. More of an observation. Doesn’t he realize the same could go for him?
Before she can think of a smart reply, he takes off, turning only for a second to wink over his shoulder then disappears into the crowd.
Before the campaign, everything was different. The parts they played, the familiarity of their relationship. Now she’s Miss Hawke instead of Teresa and she’s had to get used to sirs and ma’ams and the whole script of the thing. It’s exhausting.
The room seems to shrink on her and her legs become restless, unrooted. On the opposite corner of the room there’s an exit, so she makes her way toward it quickly. It will be easy for her to slip out if she wants to but she’s not ready to make a break for it just yet. She’s still waiting on someone.
Vanessa finds her next. She’s wearing the dark green gown Teresa picked out and it looks excellent on her. There is no wonder why the mayor is head over heels for the gorgeous brunette. Vanessa is beautiful in a classic, regal way. A way that makes Teresa feel inadequate in comparison.
“I’m so happy you could come,” she says in her smooth accent. “Are the earrings too bold?”
Teresa laughs. “I’m sure you could wear a trash bag, Mrs. Fisk, and still look just as stunning.” There’s that awful, plastic script again. It’s Mrs. Fisk, when she used to be simply Vanessa.
“You flatter me.”
“It’s well deserved.”
Vanessa links her arm around Teresa’s and takes her across the room, toward the mayor. “For our next adventure to the boutique, I think you should pick something out for yourself.” She looks her up and down. Teresa’s wearing one of her work dresses. It’s black, peplum style, from Macy’s. Nothing special. “I, of course, will still want your help with my own dress. But I think you would look wonderful in something designer.”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs.
“My treat.” Vanessa looks at her under her lashes, batting them promisingly. At least someone is still treating her like old times.
Teresa laughs. “I couldn’t.”
“I’m offering!”
They reach Mayor Fisk and Vanessa trades Teresa’s arm for his. “Wilson, wouldn’t Miss Hawke look lovely in Hermés for the inaugural ball?”
“Hm? Yes, of course,” he gruffs, distracted.
Heat comes to Teresa’s cheeks, no doubt turning them pink. She hopes her makeup is truly as full coverage as advertised. Being the center of attention has never been a good feeling for her, no matter if Fisk is just agreeing to agree with his wife. She already longs to sink back into the shadowy corners and observe the party from there. But she doesn’t want to be rude, so she follows her employers through the room, smiling politely when people glance at her, but she’s purely decorative at this point, making no effort to be a salesman for Fisk’s passion project.
They’re about to make their way into another room full of money bags, as Buck called them, when the person she’s been waiting for arrives with the aforementioned right-hand man.
Daniel ruffles his hair then slicks it back as he strides toward them on a heavy step. He looks pale. Something is wrong, she can tell immediately and everything in her wants to go to him. It’s out of character, strange and wildly inappropriate but it’s consuming, eating her whole. She wants to ask if something has happened but Buck shoulder checks her as he passes, jostling her out of the way.
Mayor Fisk turns as if shocked by the hand on his shoulder. And for some odd reason, Buck looks to Daniel to provide the answer.
“There’s something you need to see,” he says, and bows his head.
Teresa’s pulse spikes. No . . . Did he do something else? Did he fuck up again so soon? Is this the mistake that unleashes what Fisk is truly capable of? Her heart leaps into her throat and she can’t breathe. Please, not him.
“Daniel,” she bursts, and they meet eyes.
Fisk puts a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll return in a moment. Keep Vanessa company, will you?”
Air expels from her lungs with the compliant answer she’s used to. “Yes, sir.”
In the shadowy cab of the SUV, Daniel flips through disturbing pictures of the crime scene for Mayor Fisk on his tablet. This sicko serial killer has been painting murals with his victims blood and now it seems his art is mocking the police. Daniel’s stomach churns as each photo reveals more detail.
Two women lie slumped against a brick, gore-graffitied wall, with their eyes gone. And for some weird reason, he thinks of the club and Teresa in that silver dress. He thinks of her being left like garbage as a message for the cops or the mayor. The image in his head is horrible—her lying there, covered in red, her beautiful glacier-blue eyes gouged out.
He looks away from the screen. The thoughts scare him. The pictures make him want to vomit. If this is part of his job then he’s starting to question it. Even more so when Fisk speaks.
“We can use this.”
Teresa follows Vanessa around until her feet start to hurt inside her heels. She forgot this pair always rubs the back of her ankle raw. Doesn’t matter either way though, her body is on high alert. Besides being overstimulated from conversation and the cheap fabric of her dress, whatever is going on with Daniel concerns her.
Thankfully it doesn’t take them hours to return to the party because she would have resorted to heavy contemplation and what-if-spirals. But it doesn’t make her feel better that when she sees him coming down the hall, Daniel is paler than before.
The mayor takes his wife back on his arm and Buck eventually minds his business so Teresa takes the moment to grab Daniel by the arm and lead him away.
“Where are we going?” he asks, but his voice is off, not excited like he might be if his head was in the place it usually is.
She doesn’t answer, dragging him down the hall until she finds a utility closet, opening the door swiftly. It isn’t only so they can talk in private, she needs the quiet to refocus. Electricity buzzes when she pulls the string for the hanging bulb light. Then she shuts them in together.
There’s a flicker in his eye beyond the questioning look he has stapled to his face. Ah, he is still thinking about their moment in her car. She has to ignore the fact that she promised him later because right now is not the time.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“Nothing.”
“Daniel.”
His shoulders slump under her demand. “You know how they’ve been finding bodies and stuff. Weird graffiti.”
She nods. “There’s a serial killer.”
“The feds sent some pictures of this guy's newest work.” He swallows hard, grimacing like he’s remembering them now. “I don’t know what it was about it. Like, I’ve seen some shit. I just . . . What if it was someone I knew, you know?”
He looks so defeated, which is an odd thing to be in this situation. She expects disgust or horror, and there's some of that too, but defeat is new. Maybe he’s thinking about whether or not he's capable of saving people. His sad brown eyes stick her straight in the heart.
There’s nothing to do then but hold him. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him against her slow and soft. It takes him a second to calibrate before his hands slide hesitantly over her hips and around her lower back.
“No one should have to see that.” She reaches up and pets the back of his head. “I’m sorry you did.”
He sighs like she let out a pin that was holding in all his tension and he relaxes against her. “I can’t imagine if something like that happened to you.”
His words honestly shake her. Because this isn’t some dumb, horny kid being sorry to see her go for the simple reason that he hasn’t had his penis in her yet. It’s different. He sounds . . . She has no idea. No one has ever said that to her before. Maybe he has the same sick worry that she does about him. That something could happen and she’d realize too late what it actually meant having him in her life.
Something is happening between them.
No. It’s too early to make that call.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, comforting him anyway. “Promise.”
Daniel pulls away like she bit him and her arms fall to her sides. “You can’t promise something like that. I’m starting to notice this job is more dangerous than I thought it’d be. That there is way more to it, working for Fisk. And if you get in the middle of something and you . . .” He can’t say it and she doesn’t make him.
The pictures he saw must’ve really rattled him. Normally she’d tease him about it, make him feel like he’s silly for worrying, but he’s starting to catch on. And Fisk is starting to let him in on things.
“I dunno,” he continues. “Maybe I’m whipped. Maybe I care about you. Either way, if something happened to you, I’d be crushed. You know . . .”
Her body feels a thousand degrees and ice cold at the same time. She shivers, reaching back out to touch him, and until she gets ahold of his shoulders again, she isn’t sure if it’s to ground herself or to comfort him. This time he surges forward to meet her, wrapping his thick arms around her waist.
He nuzzles into her neck, lips wet against her skin. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”
“We don’t have to,” she whispers, trying to control her impulses.
“I don’t wanna think.”
When he pulls away to look at her, his eyes are half-lidded. The look that signals what he’s about to do. His hand goes for her face, and before he’s even gotten there, he’s leaning in with his eyes closed.
She seizes his throat and his eyes shoot open. “Ask me nicely first.”
He gasps unevenly. “May I . . . kiss you?” She holds his stare. At least he’s proper, but she’s waiting for the word that sounds so pretty from his mouth. And like sweet perfection, he doesn’t waste a second. “Please,” he breathes out, desperately.
Hesitantly, she moves forward, allowing herself the satisfaction of feeling for the first time in a long time. Lets herself press into him, seeking warmth and the weight of another body against hers. It’s almost too much.
They move into each other slowly, arms tangling and untangling until they’re slotted together without room for a thing between them. She brushes her lips against his mouth, testing, teasing, sending tingles down her own body as well as his. She feels the way he shivers.
Her belly tightens. It’s been too damn long since she’s felt someone wanting her like this. His hips shift, seeking the juncture of her legs but the skirt of her dress restricts him and they both let out a frustrated sound at that.
“Kiss me,” she says, fingers in his hair, tugging.
Daniel moans into it, his mouth engulfing hers. It’s messy and intense and she is driven to moaning herself as his tongue slides against hers. She puts a hand around his throat again and sucks his bottom lip as she pulls away to look at him.
His sleepy eyes dart everywhere he can look, panting hard, his cheeks and ears and neck all red from how bad he wants her.
The hand around his throat seems to have a mind of his own as it travels up to grip his chin. She sticks out her tongue to lick his lips and he does the same, chasing her as she retreats. Then she drops back into another kiss, open mouthed, wet, and hard.
His thick hands travel down her back to cup her ass. He pulls her against him, squeezing, and she can feel his hard cock pressed to her abdomen. She advances into the excitement. God, she could come undone right here. Her moan is broken as she rubs against him, eagerly pursuing the friction.
This has to stop but it feels too damn good.
She has to stop.
She has to.
He breaks free of her bruising kiss and nips at her jaw, following the underside until he’s settling into the curve of her neck, licking her sweat and sucking the skin. One of his hands slips between them, sliding up her thigh to knead gently. Her hips jerk at the sensation. He’s so close to touching her and she’d be done for if he did. She’s so wet, they could do it right here in the closet without a worry in the world.
His other hand comes up and paws at her breast, stroking her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. Thank God it’s so cheap. Her head falls back. There’s no stopping herself from letting this one weak moan go.
“Oh, fuck,” Daniel groans, his breath coming out in a steady rhythm against the slick stripe he’s made up her neck. “Can I touch you? Please. Christ, I need to touch you.”
Damn it.
They have to stop. She really has to. She has to stop him now because if she doesn’t she’s going to let him do exactly what he’s asking.
“We can’t do this here,” she says, out of breath, and already hating herself for it. For once she’d like to be reckless, to let him slip his fingers inside her and get her off.
He laughs awkwardly as he pulls back. “I didn’t think so.” His cheeks are still cute and pink from kissing and his slight humiliation. “Not that I wasn’t wishing,” he adds quietly.
She can’t hide her smile. “Next time we’re alone and in private, I swear I will give you what I’ve been promising. How about that?”
He gives her a hopeful look.
Her brain seems to turn back on and she realizes she’s making it too easy on him. “On one condition.”
He shakes his head, still dazed. “Totally.”
The stipulation is born of pure dominance and a ridiculous, baseless jealousy that she cannot let go on further. If it wasn’t enough dragging him into the closet, if it wasn’t enough showing him a different side of her, or putting her hands on him in that cab, then let it be known now that she is staking her claim.
“You have to stop letting Miss Urich take advantage of you,” she says in a whisper, in a voice he’s only heard when her hand is around his erection. Only she gets to take advantage.
He swallows. “Yeah. Yes. Already past that.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods, almost too eagerly. He wants his reward but that’s about the only motivation. She doesn’t expect he’ll drop contact altogether with BB, in fact she doesn’t want him to. He needs a friend his age. He needs someone outside of this circle he’s quickly falling into with Fisk. Teresa wants him to have that. But she wants to be sure that she’s the only place he comes when he wants . . . a reward.
“I want you to succeed,” she coos, combing his hair back and caressing his flushed face. “I want to see you become the man that Mayor Fisk thinks you can be. I already see it, Daniel. You’re gonna move up and it’ll be all because you owned your shit and because you’re so loyal.”
He listens intently, nodding like he’s claiming the words as subliminal affirmations.
She embraces him fully and his weight presses against her, heavy and warm, as if he’s sinking into the feeling. He sighs, lips on her throat. And the praise comes out of her unfiltered and raw. “You’re such a good boy.”
With a groan, he nuzzles into her neck. “I don’t wanna leave this closet.”
Neither does she. But she doesn’t give either of them the satisfaction of saying so. Instead, she pulls away and straightens his clothes like a mother would her son's first prom suit.
He chews his inner cheek. “I could come to your place later.”
She chuckles. He will have to take care of that tempting arousal all by himself. “You will go home, eat something moderately healthy, take a shower, and then get some sleep. Alright?”
He raises a brow. “Is that an order?”
“Yes, Daniel. That’s an order.”
Gracie Mansion is dark when Teresa finds Mayor Fisk in the dining room. He’d asked her to meet him and said they needed to talk after she got back to the party with Daniel. She worries that someone saw them leave the closet after their moment, there are eyes everywhere after all. And some of those eyes are set out to destroy what Fisk is building.
“You wanted to see me,” she says, hands clasped in front of her as she makes her way down alongside the table toward him at the head.
“Yes,” he says, no indication of what about.
She’s unable to read him and it scares her. Maybe she’s losing her touch, living on borrowed rest since the campaign began. Or maybe, more likely, she’s been distracted. Which is concerning. Normally she’s in tune with Fisk, she has been for a time longer than she can measure. Only recently has that connection started to slip.
“Have a seat.” He gestures to the chair and waits for her, folding his arms. Once she’s seated, he smiles gently but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Vanessa told me earlier that she talked to you about a new wardrobe.”
This is what he wanted to see her about? The fact that he’s out growing his clothes? Vanessa was vague about it but with this newly assigned stylist gig, she supposes it's in the job description to dress him too. “Uh, yes, sir. I’ll look around and bring some catalogues for you to look at. Would you prefer I bring them here or the office?”
“Here,” he says simply.
“Of course.”
“And if you could schedule an appointment with a tailor . . . Someone we’ve worked with before.”
“Yes. I’ll check with Sheila first thing tomorrow to see when will be a good time.”
“Thank you, Teresa,” he says with a heavy sigh.
It turns out the fundraiser hadn’t gone as well as they’d all hoped. It seems Fisk is getting tired and a bit in over his head. It would be a lot for anybody but it’s a whole other world for someone like him. He isn’t used to not getting what he wants in his preferred time frame. Though, he’s never been one to back down. Neither has Teresa.
It’s felt lately that she’s been demoted entirely to the errand girl for clothing rather than an actual asset to Fisk’s empire. She’s been many things for him over the years but this has reduced her to near nothing. It pains her to feel so useless. “Sir,” she starts, cautiously. “I want to know what Daniel and Buck came to see you about.”
“It was nothing.”
“Wilson,” she says, using his name because she’s tired of the charades. It’s almost insulting having to call him sir or Mayor or even Fisk, when Wilson is what she called him for years before she worked for him, when she was a girl. “Please don’t edge me out.”
He softens only slightly. “It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with.”
“It’s about the killer. Muse.” She doesn’t miss the way he almost snarls, thinking someone has told her when they weren’t supposed to. And she supposes they did but she keeps Daniel’s name out of her mouth. “It’s the only thing I can think of that would make Buck so tense. And the poor Blake kid looked sick. I don’t understand why you don’t talk to me about these things anymore.”
He frowns. “Your brother would want you to be kept free from the burden of these things now that you can be.”
She almost laughs. That was never a problem when he tried to turn her into her brother after he died. So why start now? “I’m capable of handling things myself and you know that.”
When things had gone badly for Wilson, when he’d been imprisoned, Teresa was the one to follow Vanessa to Europe. It was thought that no one would suspect a female bodyguard—they could pose as friends on a trip and no one would bat an eye. Except Vanessa was never friendly then. She was hurt and lonely and they both missed Wilson so it wasn’t hard for Teresa to understand and let it go.
At one time or another, she’d been a friend to him. A confidant. She’d left an entire life behind to fill a hole the great James Wesley created when he got himself shot to death. He kept her to replace her brother, someone she could never live up to. There were others too but they always fell through. She was the only one who stayed. And maybe part of that was because Wilson was all she had left of James and she all Wilson had left. Their only true connection now is the grief her brother left behind.
“Your brother would want to see you safe. I have to honor that,” he says but it feels hollow. And untrue. “In this new life endeavor, I can secure that as a promise. You do not have to see the ugly side of things anymore.”
Her throat is tight but before she lets herself get emotional, she swallows it down and says, “It’s too hard for me. I can’t be nothing.”
“You are not nothing, Teresa. Not to me.” He reaches out and places a hand over hers where they’re clasped and resting on her knees. He seems to understand exactly what she means. Whether it’s because he knows her or because he himself misses the thrill of his old life. Yet she gets the strange urge to pull away. “What position would you have me put you in?”
It doesn’t seem like he wants her anywhere near fixing level, so she leaves that to Buck. Although there isn’t much else for her to do, that doesn’t involve some kind of risk. That’s when she thinks of the only thing that she’s been thinking about for days.
“I could mentor. I could mentor Daniel Blake. Make sure he’s not going off script.”
Her heart pounds and she hopes Fisk doesn’t question it. It’s much more than just her budding need to direct Daniel in every sense, to conquer, and attract or arouse him. It’s also the attachment forming, the one that has her scared of losing him to the ugly side of this job. If she can coach him, be his master for all intents and purposes, then she can stop what happened to her brother from happening to him. Which in many ways would be worse. Daniel is innocent.
“Mentoring someone is . . . not as easy as it seems.” Fisk leans back in his chair and sighs. “But I see the boy means something to you.” Of course he can tell. She waits with bated breath. “So . . . you want him?”
Her ability to read what he means by that is gone. She has no idea what he’s truly asking and the question feels loaded, like a gun, her answer being the thing that does or doesn’t pull his trigger. Maybe the answer is yes regardless of the meaning, but she decides to play things safe and reiterate where her loyalties lie. She knows better. “I can make him ours, sir.”
One of the best things about being a writer is thinking of something small you can add to your work that’s just. Devastating. Like you’re sitting there going. Oh. That would be diabolical. People would get really riled up about that. Exquisite. Let’s do it.
