being married to jack means sleeping on your tummy with one thigh hitched over his waist when he sleeps on his back. his broad hand & chubby wrist holding onto your warm skin, fingers curled around your thigh. you’re basically sleeping on top of him as he wiggles a little closer, lifting your leg up further so he can press his morning hard-on against the soft swell of your cunt.
one hand spreading your cheeks so he can wedge himself into you, while his foot plants flat on the mattress. a low, sleepy, raspy groan “fuuck.” oozing out of him as he settles himself inside.
when you stir, pushing your leg further into his tummy to keep him close, he’s instantly going for the kiss. hips bucking up in circles as he lazily laps at your tongue, “good morning, baby. kiss?”
slooooooooowwww makeout and fucking at 8am on his off-day </3
"両面 宿儺 ✶ SUKUNA RYOMEN," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ she's literally a princess and he's the devil. what the fuck. ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა artist credits: @/f_tality0 on insta reblog / like 2 support ⃘໋ׅ♡ 𝑤.𝑐: 1.1k ⁀ ˳ ⟡
♡⏝ ⸝⸝ 𝓦ARNINGS ˖ ❝ sfw fluff crack she/her pronouns satoru, nobara, itadori & megumi cameo reader is sweet and popular sweet/innocent!reader bully!sukuna 2006 timeline reader & sukuna are like 17 they're in high school only tooth rotting fluff no curses au 2006 Japan references sukuna & gojo besties 2nd person perspective ❞
── #⃝ MINA'S NOTES ( 💬 ) gojo ver. masterlist <3
SUKUNA RYOMEN was the devils incarnate. No, like literally that's what people whispered and believed.
"I saw horns on his head, and he was talking about killing a duck," 4 year old Nobara whispered and told 4 year old Megumi and Itadori. Nodding and pursing her lips as she had learnt from Gojo when he was gossiping with Geto and Shoko, mimicking his behaviour. Itadori widened his eyes before gasping and placing his hands on his cheeks, "HE WHAT? WHAT THE HECK!?," he looked distraught before huffing and pouting, as if the sun was exploding. He couldn’t believe his uncle, who was only around 13 years older than him, was so evil.
"She obviously didn't see that, idiot," Megumi looked at him in annoyance, curling his upper lip. "And stop copying how my babysitter acts!" he scoffed before tackling Yuuji.
The rumours didn't start and end with 4 year olds though, almost everyone in Jujutsu high believed that Sukuna was to be feared and that he would curse you if you stared too long. Almost everyone anyways, since there were two big exceptions. One being the most popular boy in school, the boy who was famous on Mixi and owned a Blackberry before anyone else in Japan did.
Satoru Gojo.
"Don't look," a girl whispered to her friend, holding her hand tightly and staring ahead into her dark locker, while heavy footsteps passed behind them.
She was pursing her lips, about to turn back to check before Gojo came up behind them both, resting his arms over their shoulders and smiling happily. "Who're we hiding from?" He beamed.
Her frozen expression didn't give much away, while her friend grew flustered and quickly looked over her other shoulder, locking eyes onto the only figure who wasn't in uniform. His pink hair standing out, hands shoved in his pockets, lolling his head back with a big sigh.
"Satoru, stop following me," he glared, turning back only to look at the white haired menace.
“But whyyyyy? You’re my best friend!” He whined, pouting and playing along, quickly tagging along behind him and chatting to him non-stop about the new game he was playing online and how they should go to an internet café again soon.
Other students walking by quickly changed their course of direction, looked away, or started to empty out their pockets in case Sukuna Ryomen decided that they were the ones who were going to pay for his next expense. Bullying? Sukuna's minions made haibara fear for his life until he transferred to a different school, which in turn caused Nanami to resent him.
All was changed when one of the students smelled the roses in the air, quickly smiling and looking towards the school entrance.
"It's Y/N!" One of the girls happily pointed, while another ran up to give you a hug. "Y/N-channnn! How was your weekend?"
Unlike Sukuna, your reputation was written in a fancy cursive and written in a sparkly pink gel pen. You were a breath of fresh air to many students there, not a single student had a negative energy towards you. Rumours about you sounded like they were out of a fairytale, which is why you were listed as "most likely to be a princess" in the yearbook in your last year of secondary school.
"She gave me her ice cream when she heard about my failed test," a second year boy sighed dreamily, before looking towards the entrance for a glimpse of you. "Is she singing?" His friend questioned, raising a confused eyebrow. You lived up to your name, skipping towards the entrance and humming, while squirrels, birds, raccoons, stray cats and some deers followed behind. A hummingbird even resting on your shoulder and tweeting along.
"Alright now, make sure you all get along and don't get hit by cars, okay?" You smiled and brushed off the bird, blowing a kiss in the direction that the animals scurried off before entering the school gates.
"Do you think I have a chance with her? I think she smiled at me like… more than usual yesterday," a first year boy named Haruto scratched the back of his neck. Flushing from his cheeks, and making quick glances towards your approaching figure. His friends looked unconvinced, all sharing the same look and one of them even holding onto his backpack so that he didn't do anything rash.
"She smiles at everyone, plus I heard she has a boyfriend," one of them shrugged, sighing and watching your figure. It was like all of them were communicating telepathically, trying to discern if you had a boyfriend from the way you walked.
Haruto was about to approach, "I don't think she has—" before freezing and clenching his jaw tightly when someone came up behind him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder tensely. His friends glancing over, only to take one look and be on their way, knowing there was nothing they could do.
"I'm pretty sure she has one." Sukuna mumbled, looking down at the younger boy with sharp eyes.
Haruto gulped, before nodding and looking up at the older boy shakily. "O-oh… sorry, I didn't know.." he mumbled, the air from his throat suddenly feeling like nails, increasingly hard to breathe in and out without sounding like a nervous wreck. "I'll g-go apologise to Gojo, sorry—"
"Gojo's not her boyfriend." Sukuna grumbled, tightening his grip on Haruto's shoulder, making the boy wince out. "I'm her boyfriend," he tsked down at him, narrowing his eyes, almost pouting before shoving the boy away and walking towards you.
People seeing what was happening were already pitying you and wishing that you'd stay safe.
Many people knew that you were dating Sukuna Ryomen, just as many people did not know. The reaction was always the same, whether they knew or not, whenever sukuna approached you. People looking at him in disdain, jealousy, anger, or even looking at you with pity.
"Poor girl, he's probably been manipulating her," whispers floated amongst the student body, people shaking their heads, teachers gossiping in their lounges. "She's too sweet for him, he doesn't deserve her!"
You knew the truth and Sukuna knew the truth.
"Hii!" You happily squealed, rushing up to him and hugging him. His body didn't stiffen or hesitate, as he'd gently wrap on arm around and pat your back, glancing back subtly so that no one saw him lose his edge. "…you're going to make me look like a softie," he whispered, flustered from seeing you, looking comically shy, trying to snarl down at you.
You blinked up at him curiously, tilting your head and playing dumb. "What edge? You're the cutest, most softest, sweetest and smartest guy I know!" You pinched his cheek, before humming and skipping past him, towards the steps of the entrance of the main building.
He paused, before pouting and quickly following after you.
Size difference/size kink, slight dumbification if you squint, p!in!v, fem reader, and more. IF YOU ARE A MINOR, GO AWAY! I WILL BLOCK YOU! If any of these things are triggering for you, then please look away🩷
Fem pet names used, plus size friendly, no mentions of size, height or shape. Black women friendly, no mentions of skin tone, hair color, hair type, or hair coverings/wraps. Intended for black women🤎Sooooo, I’m currently writing Michael smut and I actually have sooooo many unfinished drafts. One is for thriller era, and the one I’m currently writing is otw/thriller era. Their both half done but I keep getting other ideas while writing them, this came to me while I was writing one so to hopeful my focus better on those, I’m gonna post this😭it’s very sloppy and short, kinda all over the place idk but I wrote it in like 20mins I think. It’s unedited, so plz forgive me for any mistakes. It’s 12am and I got work in a few hours but ya girl has ZEROOOO self control sooooo…I hope you enjoy! Replies, reposts and likes are always appreciated and constructive criticism is always welcomed.
Jude cursed under his breath. You were so tight, not the type of tight that came from being uncomfortable, but like a glove that fit a bit too perfectly. He swore he wouldn’t move until you were ready, but it was impossible. You looked so pretty, sweat beaded on his forehead as he made a helpless face riddled with pleasure. “S’too big…J-Jude…please…” He shushed you, lovingly stroking your cheek as a chill ran down his spine.
“i know…just…stay still, ‘Kay?” He comforted, you nodded and clung to him, your nails dug into his shoulders as he pressed forward, his thick length splitting you open with every inch. Before he was fully buried inside of you, he pulled back, thrusting in and out of you in an effort to work you open and allow your body to adjust to his side. A quiet moan left his lips as you whimpered, stuck between the pleasure and the stinging stretch. “I…I’m sorry, love…m’sorry…fuck.” But as he spouts his apologies, his pace increases and he begins fucking you faster, deeper until the head is hitting your cervix. Sending jolts of mind numbing pleasure throughout your nervous system. “J-Jude…Jude…” You pant, calling his name as he began to go faster “I know…I-I know…”
Jermajesty was completely aware he might’ve been a little bit too big, nothing outrageous, but just enough that he might have to restrain himself. He tried his best to go slow, prep you with his fingers and get you to finish as many times as possible so you could be fully relaxed. But still, you whined, whimpering as you pressed a hand against his pelvis and told him it was too big.
He really didn’t want to hurt you, but he tried his best and he felt so impatient, his hips didn’t still. He kept going forward until he was buried deep inside of you, almost to the hilt—the only thing stopping him was your cervix, he pressed against it unapologetically but caressed your face and peppered it in kisses. “Mhm’sorry baby…d-daddy’s sorry…I know…it’s too—too big…” He nodded, loving the way your thighs quivered and your walls clenched around him. You felt like heaven. His dick throbbed inside of you and his jaw clenched as he fought himself not to fuck into you until your brain was too fuzzy from pleasure to recall the pain. “I’ll go slow…p-promise.” And he does, he goes as slow as possible. Long and deep slow strokes that make your whines of complaints turn into quiet muttering of praises. “that better baby? Hm?”
Jaafar swears you can take it, guiding you onto his lap so you can do the honors yourself. He wants you to have full control over how much you take, seeing as you’re already reasonably nervous about the size even after all the prepping hes done. The stretch makes you shut your eyes tightly and your legs shake. He coos and kisses you, trying to provide you comfort as you take him. “You’re doin’ such a good job, love.” He praises, “you’re taking me so well.” Even as you struggle, he does his best to talk you through it until you’re fully planted on top of him. Your hips hover just a bit, saving you from taking literally every inch. He takes notice to that but says nothing.
“Ja—Jaafar…” You hide your face in the crock of his neck and melt against him, though the stretch is just on the edge of painful pleasure, you move anyway. “Y-You’re so big…” While you’re careful to avoid taking all of him, Jaafar is almost completely overcome with how good you feel and without thinking, pulls you down onto him and begins thrusting into you. “Ja-Jaafar!” You cry out, “t-too b…oh my…” You press your hand against his chest and raise your hips but he continues to pull you down, trembling as he mutters apologies that sound almost genuine. “So—Sorry…S…Sorry…” yet, he only slows down, continuing to slam you down onto him until he’s touching a deep wall inside of you. “I…I’m sorry.” But the grin on his face says the opposite, so did the look of pure ecstasy on your face as your body relaxed into his. He could see the switch happen in real time, the way your head tipped back and your hips moved to meet his. “There you go love…takin’ me so good…”
Michael is actually surprised when you tell him he’s too big. The way your eyes water as your legs tremble against his shoulders makes him feel insane with lust. “m-Michael…it’s too big…” Something in him goes feral. He kisses the salty tears away and grinds himself deeper into you, his eyes fluttering at the way you whimper. He immediately feels guilty for enjoying it, but he can’t help it. Your voice is the perfect mixture of raw and sensual, and your walls bat around him so wildly as they split open for him and him only.
“I…I’m sorry…” His grinding turns into deep and slow strokes, the head of his thick length hitting your soft cervix with every thrust. He doesn’t know what feels better, how wet you are or how your heat hugs him with a soft embrace. “So sorry…” He mumbled while going just a little faster. “does it…mhm…does it hurt too much?” Only when you shook your head did he go faster. Hitting a spot deep inside of you over and over again until your mind numbed and the pain was fading away into the background. He pushed your legs a bit further back, fucking you faster while he watched your face twist in pleasure. “that’s right mama…takin’ all…all of me…so good.”
Jackie knows he’s absolutely massive. He would never force himself inside of you or fuck you before knowing you’re fully ready, but what can he do when you’re rushing him? He wasn’t going to until he knew for sure youd be able to take him, but with you bent over, looking back at him with your face smushed and your love leaking down your pussy, he couldn’t help but bury himself inside of you. While one hand spread you open just a bit more, the other guided his thick length inside of you. You both winced at the feeling, but unlike him, your body tensed and your back curled upward. “J-Jackie…” You whimpered out, “wa-wait…” You gripped the sheets and tried to catch your breath.
“Now you want me to wait…” He teased you but waited, leaning down to kiss between your shoulder blades. “You were just beggin’ for me, now you can’t take it, can you?” You shook your head, eyes fluttering as the arch in your back returned and a moan left your lips. He waited until he could feel your body relax a bit, but clearly not long enough. The moment he began moving again you whined, but he kept going, slow and deep until he was fully seethed inside of you. “Ja-Jackie…S’too much…” He shushed you and kissed your shoulder before leaning up straight and pulled you back into him. “I got you baby, daddy’s got you mama…you can take it.” You cried out and dropped against the sheets as he began drilling into you, almost ignoring the way you swore you couldn’t take it. “You can take it for me baby…c’mon…take it for me.”
Pairing: Elias "Stack" Moore & Billy (the goat who chose him)
Summary: After a court-ordered anger management sentence following the infamous "wing incident," Elias "Stack" Moore finds himself roped into goat yoga as an alternative therapy. He's not looking for healing or self-improvement, he's just trying to do his time and get back to his life. But one stubborn, troublemaking goat named Billy has other plans, deciding Elias is his person whether he likes it or not. What starts as an annoying punishment becomes an unexpected journey of self-discovery, proving that sometimes the most chaotic relationships are the ones that save us.
Warnings: Elias slowly becoming the goat dad he swore he'd never be, brotherly bonding, and one very unapologetic goat who runs the show.
Orange Chaos
The Wing Incident
The day had started with a hangover and ended with his boss, Mr. Henderson, looking at him over the rim of his glasses like Elias was something he'd scraped off his shoe. "Elias," he'd said, his voice tired and disappointed, "you can't keep showing up late because you were out 'networking' until 3 AM. This is a bar, not a nightclub. And you can't tell the new waitress her ass looks 'good enough to bite' in her first hour. We talked about this."
Elias had just nodded, jaw tight, knowing Mr. Henderson was right but hating him for it anyway. He loved his job as manager at The Southern Pour, loved the music and the energy and the way he could work a room like a politician, but sometimes his mouth moved faster than his brain. Today was one of those days.
By the time he pulled his truck onto his ten acres of land, the old farmhouse silhouetted against the setting sun, Elias was ready to burn the whole town down. All he wanted was peace, quiet, and the one thing that could fix any bad day: chicken wings from Wing Dynasty. Not just any wings—their signature "Delta Heat" wings, spicy enough to make you sweat and cry in the best way, expensive enough to feel like a real treat after a shit day like today.
He ordered them through the app, adding extra napkins and a side of ranch like a civilized man, then flopped onto his leather sofa to wait. The house was too quiet, too big for just him, but he liked it that way. Space to breathe, space to be loud without pissing anyone off, space to exist without Elijah's judgy cat eyes watching his every move.
Forty-five minutes later, his phone buzzed. "Your DoorDash order has arrived." Elias grabbed some cash from the jar on the counter—always tip in cash, his mama taught him that—and headed for the door.
The kid on his porch couldn't have been more than nineteen, skinny in that way that suggested he lived on energy drinks and regret. He was holding the Wing Dynasty bag, but something was off. It looked... light. Too light for the twenty wings Elias had ordered.
"'Sup," Elias said, holding out the cash. "Everything good in there?"
The kid shrugged, already reaching for the money. "Yeah, man. All here."
Elias's eyes narrowed. He'd managed enough restaurants to know when something wasn't right. "Nah, hold up. Let me check."
The kid's shoulders tightened. "It's fine, dude. I just delivered it."
"Dude?" Elias's voice dropped, that Sippi' accent thickening with irritation. "I ain't your 'dude.' And I said let me check the bag."
"It's fine," the kid insisted, backing away slightly. "I gotta go."
Elias stepped forward, blocking his path to the car. "You ain't going nowhere until I check my damn wings."
The kid's eyes darted around, looking anywhere but at Elias. "Look, man, I don't want any trouble—"
"Then open the bag," Elias said, his voice low now, dangerous. "Before I open it for you."
For a moment, they stood there, tension thick as Mississippi humidity in July. Then the kid sighed and held out the bag. "Fine. Whatever. But they're all there."
Elias snatched the bag and opened it. One look inside and his blood started to boil. There were maybe fifteen wings in there, not twenty. And one of them—oh, hell no—one of them had a bite taken out of it.
"You motherfucker," Elias breathed, holding up the half-eaten wing. "You ate my goddamn wings?"
The kid's face went pale. "It was an accident! I dropped one and—"
"You dropped one and decided to taste test it?" Elias stepped forward, backing the kid up against his own car. "You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know what a half-eaten wing looks like?"
"It was just one!" the kid squeaked. "I'll pay you back!"
"I don't want your damn money!" Elias roared, grabbing the kid by the front of his shirt. "I want my wings! I want my evening back! I want you to not be a thieving little shit who thinks he can just help himself to other people's food!"
The kid started crying, which somehow made Elias even angrier. "Please, man, I'm sorry—"
"Sorry don't put wings on my plate!" Elias shoved him against the car, hard. "Sorry don't fix the fact that I had a shit day and the one thing I was looking forward to—THE ONE THING—you decided to help yourself to like it was yours!"
That's when he threw the first punch. It wasn't his best work—he was too angry for proper form—but it connected with the kid's jaw, sending his head snapping back against the car door. The second punch was better, more controlled, landing right in the kid's stomach. He doubled over, gasping, and Elias might have gone for a third if Mrs. Johnson from next door hadn't appeared on her porch with her phone out.
"Elias Moore, you stop that right now!" she yelled. "I'm calling the police!"
Elias froze, fist still raised, breathing heavy. The kid was sobbing on the ground, holding his stomach, and suddenly Elias felt like the biggest asshole in the world. "Shit," he muttered, stepping back. "Shit."
But it was too late. Within ten minutes, Jackson's finest were pulling up his driveway, lights flashing but no sirens (thank God for small mercies). The cops who arrived knew him—they knew all the Moores, really—but their faces were grim as they handcuffed him and read him his rights.
"Really, Elias?" Officer Davis said, shaking his head as he led Elias to the squad car. "Over some chicken wings?"
"He stole them!" Elias insisted, his Delta accent thick with indignation. "Ate one right in the bag! You can't let people get away with that kinda shit!"
Officer Davis just sighed, like he'd heard it all before. And maybe he had. This wasn't Elias's first ride in the back of a squad car, though it was the first time the offense involved poultry.
The booking process was a special kind of hell. They took his belt, his shoelaces, his dignity. They fingerprinted him like he was some kind of real criminal, not just a man defending the sanctity of his dinner. The holding cell smelled like piss and desperation, and Elias sat there on the metal bench, head in his hands, wondering how his life had gotten so off track.
When they finally let him make his call, he debated who to dial. Elijah would lecture him for an hour straight. His mama would cry. His aunt would probably say he had it coming. In the end, he called no one, just posted his own bail and slunk out of the station at 3 AM like a criminal.
Two weeks later, he was standing before Judge Martinez, a woman who'd seen Elias in her courtroom more times than she cared to count. She looked at him over her glasses, her expression weary.
"Mr. Moore," she said, shuffling through his file. "Assault. Over a food delivery. Is there anything you'd like to say for yourself?"
"He stole my wings, Your Honor," Elias said, knowing even as he said it how pathetic it sounded.
Judge Martinez sighed. "Mr. Moore, I've had you in here for fighting at bars, for disturbing the peace, for reckless driving... but this might just be the most ridiculous offense yet. You assaulted a nineteen-year-old kid over chicken wings?"
"He ate them!" Elias insisted, his voice rising. "Right in the bag! Like he thought I wouldn't notice!"
The judge rubbed her temples. "I'm sentencing you to twelve months of probation, fifty hours of community service, and"—she paused, looking at him over her glasses—"mandatory anger management classes. Twice a week. Starting tomorrow."
Elias's jaw dropped. "Anger management? For what? Defending my dinner?"
"For punching a teenager who may or may not have eaten one of your chicken wings," Judge Martinez said firmly. "And if I see you in my courtroom again during those twelve months, you'll be spending some quality time in the county jail. Are we clear?"
"Yeah," Elias muttered, already plotting how he'd get out of it.
The first anger management class was everything Elias had expected and worse. It was held in a community center room that smelled like stale coffee and desperation, filled with people who looked just as miserable as he felt. There was a guy who'd beaten up his girlfriend's dog, a woman who'd thrown a brick through her ex's car window, and a kid who kept setting fires in trash cans. Elias sat in the back, arms crossed, radiating "don't talk to me" energy like it was his job.
And then there was Dr. Robinson. She wasn't what Elias expected at all. A Black woman in her late forties, dressed in a sharp pantsuit and looking like she could kill him with her stare, she stood at the front of the room with a clipboard and an expression that said she'd seen it all and wasn't impressed.
"Welcome," she said, her voice cutting through the room's low murmur. "I'm Dr. Robinson, and I'll be facilitating your anger management journey."
Elias snorted. Journey. Like this was some kind of spiritual quest instead of court-ordered bullshit.
Dr. Robinson's eyes landed on him immediately. "Something you'd like to share with the class?"
"Nah," Elias said, sinking lower in his chair. "I'm good."
"Good," she said, but her eyes stayed on him. "Because we're here to do some real work. Anger isn't just an emotion—it's a choice. A response. And you can learn to make different choices."
The class dragged on forever, with people sharing their feelings and Dr. Robinson nodding like she actually gave a shit. Elias tuned most of it out, just counting the minutes until he could escape back to his house and his peace and quiet.
At the end of class, as everyone was filing out, Dr. Robinson called his name. "Elias. A word."
Elias considered pretending he didn't hear her, but something in her tone made him stop. "Yeah?"
"I read your file," she said, leaning against her desk. "The wing incident."
Elias felt his face flush. "Man, fuck this. He stole my wings! You can't just let people get away with that shit!"
Dr. Robinson raised an eyebrow. "And your response was to assault him?"
"He was stealing! What was I supposed to do, let him walk away with my dinner?"
"You could have called the company. You could have requested a refund. You could have chosen not to let a minor incident ruin your evening and land you back in court."
Elias shrugged, defensive. "Different people handle things different ways."
"True," Dr. Robinson said, studying him. "But your ways keep landing you in my courtroom. So we're going to try something different. Something outside these walls."
"I'm good," Elias said immediately. "I'll just... come to class. Do my time."
"I'm assigning you some homework," Dr. Robinson continued, ignoring him completely. "There's a place about twenty minutes outside of town that offers goat yoga. Every Saturday morning. I want you to go."
Elias stared at her. "Goat what?"
"Goat yoga," she repeated, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Yoga with goats. It's supposed to be very calming. Very grounding."
"You want me to do yoga? With goats?" Elias couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Is this a joke?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Dr. Robinson asked, her expression dead serious. "You need to find a way to manage your anger that doesn't involve your fists. If traditional therapy isn't working, maybe something... unconventional will."
"This is bullshit," Elias muttered, already heading for the door. "I ain't doing no damn goat yoga."
"Either you go to goat yoga," Dr. Robinson called after him, "or I recommend to Judge Martinez that your probation be revoked. Your choice."
Elias stopped, hand on the doorknob, and considered his options. Jail or goat yoga. It wasn't even a choice, really.
"Fine," he said, turning back to face her. "I'll go. But you better believe I'm gonna hate every minute of it."
"I don't care if you hate it," Dr. Robinson said, smiling now. "I just care if you go."
As Elias walked out to his truck, already planning how he could fake an illness or find some other way out of goat yoga, he had no idea that his life was about to change in ways he never saw coming. All he could think about was the injustice of it all—the ridiculousness of being punished for defending what was his, and now being forced to do yoga with farm animals like some kind of city slicker who didn't know better.
"Goat yoga," he muttered, starting his truck. "What kind of bullshit is that?"
—
The First Encounter
Saturday morning arrived with the kind of oppressive heat that made Elias want to strip naked and sit in his freezer until October. Instead, he was pulling on a pair of $150 Lululemon pants he'd bought specifically to spite Dr. Robinson and this whole ridiculous situation. If he was gonna be forced to do goat yoga, he was damn sure gonna look good doing it.
The farm was exactly what Elias expected—a white picket fence, a red barn that looked like it belonged on a postcard, and a sign painted in cheerful letters that read "Sunny Meadows Farm: Home of Happy Goats & Yoga!" Elias parked his truck, killed the engine, and sat there for a minute, seriously considering just driving away and taking his chances with Dr. Robinson and Judge Martinez.
"Nah," he muttered, running a hand over his fade. "Might as well get this shit over with."
The yoga area was set up in a grassy field behind the barn, mats arranged in neat rows with a small platform at the front for the instructor. Most of the participants were women—white women, mostly, dressed in expensive athletic wear and chatting excitedly like this was some kind of adventure instead of a court-ordered punishment.
"Hi! Welcome!" A bubbly blonde woman with a ponytail that bounced when she walked approached him immediately. "I'm Brittany! I'll be your instructor today. Is this your first time?"
Elias looked her up and down, unimpressed. "What gave it away?"
Brittany's smile didn't falter. "Just a guess! We're so excited to have you. The goats love new energy."
"I bet they do," Elias said, finding a mat at the back of the group. "Don't get too excited. I'm just here for the court order."
Brittany's eyes widened slightly, but she recovered quickly. "Well, whatever brings you here, we're glad to have you. Just find a spot, and we'll get started in a few minutes."
Elias spread out his designer mat—black, of course, with a subtle logo that cost way too much, and stood with his arms crossed, watching the other participants stretch and chat. They all seemed so genuine, so earnest, like they actually wanted to be here stretching with goats instead of sleeping in on a Saturday morning like normal people.
"Alright, everyone!" Brittany called from the platform. "Find your mats and let's begin with some deep breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth."
Elias rolled his eyes but did as she said, mostly because he didn't want to draw attention to himself. The breathing part wasn't so bad, actually. Kinda calming, in a way. But then the goats came.
They poured out of the barn like a furry flood of chaos, big goats and small goats, spotted goats and solid-colored goats, all of them moving with that weird combination of grace and clumsiness that goats have. They immediately started causing trouble, jumping on mats, nibbling on yoga blocks, and generally making a mess of Brittany's carefully planned session.
"And remember," Brittany said, as if nothing unusual was happening, "goats are very intuitive. They'll come to you if you're open to their energy."
Elias snorted. "Ain't no energy here to be open to."
But as if summoned by his skepticism, one goat broke away from the herd. He was smaller than the others, with scruffy brown fur and horns that curved slightly backward, giving him a permanent look of mischief. His eyes were bright and intelligent, and he moved with a confidence that belied his size.
The goat made a beeline for Elias's mat.
"Oh no," Elias muttered. "Don't even think about it."
The goat ignored him completely, immediately trying to eat the corner of Elias's expensive yoga mat.
"Hey!" Elias shoved the goat away, gently at first. "Get off that. That cost more than your whole damn family at the meat market."
The goat—later revealed to be named Billy—just blinked slowly, then tried again, this time with more determination. Elias shoved him away again, a little harder this time.
"Man, what is wrong with you?" Elias asked, genuinely baffled. "Can't you see I'm trying to be miserable over here?"
Billy responded by headbutting Elias's shin, hard enough to make him grunt.
"Alright, that's it," Elias said, reaching down to grab the goat by whatever part he could reach. "You and me are gonna have a little talk."
But Billy was quick, darting away just as Elias's fingers closed around empty air. The goat trotted a few feet away, turned, and gave Elias a look that was pure sass before trotting back and trying to eat his mat again.
This went on for the entire session. Every time Elias tried to follow Brittany's instructions—downward dog, warrior pose, whatever the hell that twisting thing was called—Billy would be there, harassing him specifically. Eating his mat. Headbutting his legs. Trying to climb his back when he was in child's pose. The other participants were giggling and cooing over their goat interactions, but Elias? Elias was getting targeted.
"Man, get the hell away from me," Elias muttered, trying to hold a plank position while Billy attempted to climb onto his back. "You want me to cook you?"
Billy just bleated and tried harder, his little hooves finding purchase in the expensive fabric of Elias's Lullemon pants.
"I'm not playing with you," Elias warned, dropping to his knees to avoid being mounted. "I will dropkick you across this field. Don't think I won't."
The goat responded by licking Elias's face with a tongue that felt like sandpaper.
"Ugh! That's disgusting!" Elias wiped his face with the back of his hand, but he was laughing despite himself. "You nasty little nigga."
By the end of the session, Elias had interacted with Billy more than with any human there. He'd shoved the goat away at least a dozen times, dodged three headbutts, and narrowly avoided having his expensive yoga mat eaten. And through it all, Billy kept coming back for more, like Elias was some kind of Dr. Dolittle.
"And that's our time for today!" Brittany called, clapping her hands together. "Thank you all for coming! Don't forget to sign the guest book on your way out!"
Elias rolled up his mat—thankfully mostly intact—and headed for his truck, eager to get back to his house and his life without goats. But as he reached his truck, he heard footsteps behind him.
"Wait up!" It was one of the farm workers, a teenager with a face full of freckles and a panicked expression. "Have you seen Billy? He got out of his enclosure again."
Elias turned, searching the lot, and sure enough, there was Billy, trotting toward him like they were old friends. "This him?"
The farm worker nodded. "Yeah. He's always escaping. Mrs. Henderson says he's got Houdini blood in him."
"Well, he's right here," Elias said, gesturing to the goat who was now trying to eat his truck's tire. "Come get him before I change my mind about not dropkicking him."
The farm worker approached Billy cautiously, but the goat wasn't having it. He darted away, circling Elias's truck like he was casing it.
"Come on, Billy," the farm worker pleaded. "Time to go back."
Billy responded by jumping into Elias's backseat through the open door.
"Oh, fuck no," Elias muttered, peering into his truck at the goat who was now making himself comfortable on the expensive leather seats. "Get outta there."
Billy just blinked at him, then settled in like he planned to stay forever.
The farm worker sighed. "I'm so sorry. He does this sometimes. Just... let me get Mrs. Henderson. She'll know what to do."
Five minutes later, a woman in her sixties with kind eyes and dirt under her fingernails appeared beside Elias's truck. "I hear Billy's found himself a new home."
Elias gestured to his backseat, where Billy was now chewing on a discarded fast food bag. "He's not staying. I don't care how cute he is."
Mrs. Henderson smiled, like this was the most normal thing in the world. "Billy does what he wants. Always has. When he decides he likes someone, that's it. He's chosen you."
"Chosen me for what?" Elias asked, already dreading the answer. "To ruin my upholstery?"
"To be his person," Mrs. Henderson said. "Goats are like that. They pick who they pick."
"Well, he picked wrong," Elias said, reaching into the backseat to grab the goat. "I'm not a goat person. I'm not even a pet person."
Billy dodged his grasp, then headbutted his hand hard enough to make Elias yelp.
"He's got a funny way of showing it," Elias muttered, rubbing his hand.
Twenty minutes later, after much chasing and grabbing and dodging of headbutts, Billy was finally back in his enclosure. Elias climbed into his truck, exhausted and smelling like goat, he started the engine.
As he drove away, he glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Billy ( or he thought ) standing at the fence, watching him go. For a moment, Elias felt some regret, which was ridiculous because it was just a goat, and goats were stupid, and he was never coming back to Sunny Meadows Farm again.
"Good riddance," Elias muttered, turning onto the highway. "Hope you find some other sucker to harass."
But even as he said it, he knew he'd be back next Saturday. Court orders were a bitch like that.
Elias was halfway home when he heard it—a strange bleating sound coming from somewhere in his truck. He turned down the music, listening, and there it was again, clearer this time.
"No way," he said, glancing in his rearview mirror. "No fucking way."
But there he was, curled up on the floor behind the passenger seat like he'd been there the whole time: Billy, the escape artist goat, looking up at Elias with eyes that said, "What? You thought I'd actually stay there?"
Elias pulled over in a gas station parking lot and killed the engine, and just stared at the goat who had somehow, against all odds, been hiding in his truck.
"You got to be kidding me," Elias said, running a hand over his face. "This is some bullshit."
Billy bleated again, then jumped onto the passenger seat and tried to eat the dashboard.
As Elias sat there, goat in his truck, questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment, he had no idea that this was just the beginning. That this scrappy little goat with attitude problems and a talent for escape would change his life in ways he never saw coming.
All he could think was: "Judge Martinez is gonna love this."
—
The Unexpected Houseguest
The drive back home was a special kind of hell. Billy, having exhausted himself with his great escape, had curled up on the passenger seat and fallen asleep, occasionally letting out little bleats in his dreams. Every time Elias glanced over, the goat would twitch or kick his little legs, like he was chasing something in his sleep.
"You lucky you cute," Elias muttered, taking the exit toward his house. "And that I don't feel like explaining to Judge Martinez why I returned a goat with tire tracks on his back."
The sun was setting by the time he pulled into his driveway, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple that would have been beautiful if Elias wasn't so damn annoyed. His house, old but solid, with a wraparound porch and more space than one man really needed, stood silhouetted against the fading light.
"Alright, little dude," Elias said, cutting the engine. "Let's get you back where you belong before you destroy my life."
But as Billy hopped out of the truck and started exploring the yard with the curiosity of a toddler who'd just discovered the word "no," Elias's phone rang. It was the farm.
"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual. "I have your escape artist."
"Oh, thank God!" It was Mrs. Henderson, and she sounded relieved. "We've been looking everywhere. Did you have any trouble catching him?"
"Not really," Elias lied, thinking of the twenty minutes he'd spent chasing Billy around a gas station parking lot. "He was just hiding in my truck."
"Well, bring him on back," Mrs. Henderson said. "We'll be here until dark."
"Actually," Elias said, glancing at Billy, who was now attempting to eat his mailbox, "I was thinking I could just bring him back tomorrow morning. Save y'all the trouble of staying open late."
There was a pause on the other end. "Oh. Well, we close at six on Saturdays. And we're not open on Sundays."
Elias checked his watch. 5:57 PM.
"Shit," he muttered. "You serious?"
"Afraid so," Mrs. Henderson said. "But if you just leave him in the barn, he'll be fine. We'll find him in the morning."
Elias looked at Billy, who had moved on from the mailbox to the decorative bushes beside his porch. "Yeah, I don't think so. He'll probably escape again and end up mayor of Jackson by morning."
Mrs. Henderson laughed. "He's something, isn't he? Well, I suppose he can stay with you tonight. Just make sure he doesn't get into anything he shouldn't."
"Yeah," Elias said dryly. "I'll do my best."
After hanging up, Elias stood there for a moment, watching Billy systematically destroy his landscaping. "Well," he said to the goat, "guess you're staying the night. But we got rules, you hear me? Rule number one: don't touch shit. Rule number two: don't eat shit. Rule number three: don't break shit. You think you can handle that?"
Billy responded by eating a rose bush.
"That's a no, then," Elias sighed, scooping up the goat before he could do any more damage. "Come on, you little demolition expert. Let's get you inside."
The moment Elias set Billy down in his entryway, chaos erupted. The goat, apparently energized by his brief nap, took off like a shot, exploring every room with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just been given the keys to the kingdom.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Elias chased after him. "This ain't the damn White House tour. Stay in one room."
Billy ignored him completely, making a beeline for the living room and immediately jumping onto Elias's expensive leather sofa with the grace of a gymnast.
"Oh, hell no," Elias said, rushing over. "Get off that."
Billy responded by prancing across the sofa, his little hooves leaving scuff marks on the leather, then jumping onto the coffee table and knocking over a stack of magazines.
"That's it," Elias said, scooping the goat up again. "You're going in time-out."
He carried Billy to the guest bathroom—the one with the tile floor and nothing expensive to destroy—and set him down inside. "Stay," he commanded, pointing a finger. "Don't move."
Billy blinked at him, then immediately started eating the bath mat.
"What the fuck," Elias muttered, closing the door and leaning against it. "What is wrong with you?"
He lasted about five minutes before guilt started to creep in. What if the goat got lonely? What if he hurt himself? What if he ate the entire bath mat and died of intestinal blockage?
"Damn it," Elias said, opening the door to find Billy standing on the toilet, trying to eat the toilet paper holder.
"That's it," Elias said, grabbing the goat again. "You're just gonna have to stay where I can see you."
For the next hour, Elias tried to go about his evening routine, checking emails, scrolling through social media, pretending he didn't have a goat in his house, but Billy made it impossible. The goat was everywhere at once, eating his houseplants, chewing on his shoes, and somehow getting his head stuck in a decorative vase that had been a housewarming gift from his mama.
"Jesus Christ," Elias said while holding Billy in a headlock, wrestling the vase off Billy's head. "How did you even—never mind. I don't wanna know."
By 8 PM, Elias was ready to admit defeat. He'd tried containment, he'd tried supervision, he'd tried pleading with a goat who clearly didn't speak English. Nothing worked. Billy was a force of nature, a furry four-legged natural disaster with a particular talent for destruction.
That's when he called Elijah.
"Yo," Elijah answered, his voice calm and measured as always. "What's up?"
"I need help," Elias said, watching Billy attempt to climb his curtains. "And don't you dare laugh."
"I'm already laughing," Elijah said, and Elias could hear it in his voice. "What kind of trouble you gotten yourself into this time?"
"I got a goat in my house."
Silence. Then, "You what?"
"A goat," Elias repeated, as if that explained everything. "From the goat yoga place. He escaped and hid in my truck, and now he's destroying my house, and I don't know what to do."
More silence, followed by what sounded like Elijah trying not to laugh. "You. Stack. The man who once threatened to blow up a restaurant for using stale grease on your fish. You're asking for help with a goat?"
"It's not funny, nigga!" Elias said as Billy knocked over a lamp. "This little bitch is like a furry wrecking ball. He's already broken three things and eaten my favorite plant."
"I'm on my way," Elijah said, still laughing. "Don't let him near anything expensive."
"Too late," Elias muttered, ending the call.
Twenty minutes later, Elijah pulled up, carrying what looked like a pet store in his arms. "I brought supplies," he said, setting down bags filled with... stuff.
"What the hell is all this?" Elias asked, trying to catch Billy before he could eat the corner of the sofa again.
"Goat food, goat toys, goat treats," Elijah said, unpacking. "And some advice from your friendly neighborhood cat dad."
Elias raised an eyebrow. "You still have Marmalade?"
"Yeah, I gave in to being his personal servant," Elijah said, pulling out what looked like a small harness. "Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. Animals are all the same—stubborn, destructive, and secretly plotting to take over the world."
As if to prove Elijah's point, Billy made a run for the kitchen, knocking over a floor lamp on his way.
"See?" Elias said, gesturing to the chaos. "He's possessed."
"Or he's just a goat," Elijah said calmly, following the goat into the kitchen. "They're like that. High energy, curious, and prone to eating things they shouldn't."
They spent the next hour trying to corral Billy, who seemed to be enjoying the attention. He darted under tables, behind chairs, and at one point, somehow got onto the kitchen counter, where he proceeded to knock over everything in sight.
"Got him!" Elijah said finally, managing to scoop up the goat while Billy was distracted by a jar of pickles.
"Thank God," Elias said, leaning against the counter. "Now what?"
"Now we find him something to eat that isn't your house," Elijah said, setting Billy down. "And then we figure out how to tire him out."
That's when Billy discovered Elias's weed stash.
The goat had been exploring the lower cabinets when he found the baggie Elias kept hidden behind some cookbooks. Before either of the twins could stop him, Billy had torn open the bag and was happily munching away on what was supposed to be Elias's weekend supply.
"Oh, hell no," Elias said, lunging for the bag, but it was too late. Billy had already eaten at least half an ounce of premium-grade marijuana.
"Well," Elijah said, watching the goat chew thoughtfully. "This just got interesting."
For the next hour, Billy the goat was officially stoned. His eyes were red and glassy, his movements slow and deliberate, and he kept stopping to stare at things that weren't there with an intensity that suggested he was having some kind of spiritual revelation.
"Man," Elias said, watching Billy stare at a wall for ten solid minutes. "I didn't even know goats could get high."
"Apparently they can," Elijah said, trying not to laugh. "And apparently they really enjoy it."
The high goat chaos that followed was something Elias would never forget. Billy, now completely without inhibitions, jumped onto every surface in the kitchen, knocking over utensils, appliances, and anything else that wasn't nailed down. He tried to eat a banana peel, got his head stuck in a cereal box, and at one point, just stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, bleating softly to himself like he was having a deep conversation with the universe.
"This is your fault," Elias said, as Billy tried to climb into the refrigerator. "You and your damn cat dad advice."
"I didn't tell him to eat your weed," Elijah said calmly, pulling the goat away from the fridge. "Though I have to admit, he seems pretty chill now."
"He's not chill, he's high as a kite," Elias said, but he was laughing despite himself. "Look at him. He's having a religious experience."
By midnight, Billy had finally crashed, passing out on the kitchen floor on his back with his little goat legs in the air, surrounded by the destruction he'd caused. Elias and Elijah stood there, looking at the mess and the sleeping goat, and then at each other.
"Well," Elijah said, breaking the silence. "Could be worse."
"How?" Elias asked, gesturing to his destroyed kitchen. "How could this possibly be worse?"
"He could have eaten your entire stash," Elijah said, then laughed at Elias's expression. "Come on. Let's get this cleaned up before you wake up to find he's destroyed your living room too."
They spent the next hour cleaning up, Elias grumbling the whole time but secretly enjoying having his brother there. It had been a while since they'd just hung out, without the bar or family drama or women getting in the way.
"You know," Elijah said, as they were finishing up, "he's kinda cute when he's not destroying your house."
Elias looked at Billy, who was now snoring softly on the floor, and his heart gave an odd, unexpected tug. It wasn't annoyance or anger or even resignation. It was... fondness. Which was ridiculous because it was a goat, and goats were..... goats, and he was definitely not getting attached.
"He's alright," Elias said, which was as close as he'd get to admitting he actually liked the little bastard. "For a destructive, weed-eating menace."
The next morning, Elias woke up to find Billy curled up at the foot of his bed like a dog, watching him with those intelligent goat eyes. For a moment, Elias just stared back, caught somewhere between annoyance and curiosity.
"Morning, little dude," he said, his voice rough with sleep. "You sleep okay?"
Billy bleated softly, then jumped off the bed and trotted to the kitchen, presumably looking for breakfast.
As Elias followed him, stepping over the remnants of last night's chaos, he knew he should call the farm. He should arrange to return Billy immediately, before he got any more attached, before the goat destroyed anything else. He should end this madness before it really began.
But as he watched Billy attempt to open the refrigerator with his head, Elias hesitated. This little goat, with his attitude problems and talent for destruction, had somehow wormed his way into Elias's life—and maybe, just maybe, into his heart.
"I'll call them later," Elias told himself, opening the fridge to get Billy some actual food. "After I make sure he's okay."
But later never came. Instead, Elias found himself at the pet store, buying goat supplies "just in case." A proper feeding trough. Some goat toys. A collar with a little bell, because what if he got lost again?
"Just temporary," Elias told himself as he paid for the supplies. "Until I can take him back."
But even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. Billy wasn't temporary anymore. He was... something else. Something more.
And as Elias drove home with a car full of goat supplies and a heart full of denial, he had no idea that this scrappy little goat with attitude problems was exactly what he needed to tame the wildness inside himself. That sometimes, the most unexpected friendships are the ones that change us the most.
All he knew was that his life had gotten a lot more complicated, and a lot more interesting, since the day a goat decided to adopt him.
—
The Reluctant Guardian
Monday morning arrived with the kind of clarity that only comes after a weekend of chaos and three hours of sleep. Elias stood in his kitchen, surveying the damage like a general surveying a battlefield. The vase was a total loss, his favorite houseplant looked like it had been attacked by a lawnmower, and there were goat hoof prints on his leather sofa that would probably never come out.
"Alright, little dude," Elias said, finding Billy asleep in a laundry basket he'd dragged into the living room. "Time to go home."
The goat opened one eye, bleated softly, and went back to sleep.
"No, none of that," Elias said, scooping him up. "You've overstayed your welcome. Big time."
The drive to Sunny Meadows Farm was quiet, Billy curled up on the passenger seat, like the passenger prince he was. Elias kept telling himself this was the right thing to do—return the goat, reclaim his life, get back to normal. But every time he glanced over at Billy, a quiet warmth spread through his chest.
Mrs. Henderson was waiting for them at the barn, her expression a mixture of relief and amusement. "I was wondering when you'd bring him back," she said, taking Billy from Elias. "He cause much trouble?"
"You could say that," Elias said dryly, thinking of the destroyed vase and the weed incident. "He's... memorable."
"He is that," Mrs. Henderson said, scratching Billy behind the ears. "Well, thank you for bringing him home. We'll keep a closer eye on him."
As Elias walked back to his truck, Billy watched him go with those big goat eyes, and for a moment, Elias considered turning around. But he didn't. He got in his truck, started the engine, and drove away without looking back.
That should have been the end of it. Back to normal. No more goats, no more chaos, no more unexpected houseguests. But as the days passed, Elias found himself thinking about Billy constantly. Wondering if he was okay, if he'd escaped again, if he missed Elias as much as Elias missed him.
"This is ridiculous," Elias muttered to himself on Wednesday, scrolling through goat photos on his phone like some kind of creep. "He's a goat. Not a person."
But Thursday found him driving toward Sunny Meadows Farm, telling himself he was just "fulfilling his court order" by checking on the therapy animals. It had nothing to do with Billy specifically. Nothing at all.
The farm was busy with a school group when Elias arrived, kids screaming and laughing as they chased chickens and petted goats. Billy was in the middle of it all, holding court like a furry little king, letting kids pet him and occasionally headbutting the ones who got too rough.
"Hey," Elias said, approaching the pen where Billy was holding court.
Billy looked up, his eyes lighting up when he saw Elias. He trotted over immediately, pressing his head against the fence like he was greeting a long-lost friend.
"Miss me?" Elias asked, reaching through the fence to scratch the goat's head. "Or do you just want treats?"
Billy bleated and nudged his hand, demanding more attention.
"Yeah, I missed you too," Elias murmured, then caught himself. "I mean, whatever."
He stayed for an hour, watching Billy interact with the kids. This was better than anger management. Better than talking about his feelings or learning breathing techniques. This was... real.
Friday found Elias back at the farm, this time with goat treats he'd bought "just in case." Billy practically knocked him over with enthusiasm when he saw the treats, following Elias around the pen like a puppy.
"You're ridiculous," Elias said, but he was laughing as he said it. "You know that, right?"
Billy responded by trying to eat Elias's shoelaces.
Saturday, during goat yoga, Billy was on his best behavior—relatively speaking. He still harassed Elias specifically, but there was a playful quality to it now, like they were sharing a joke nobody else understood. Elias found himself looking forward to the goat's antics, even secretly enjoying them.
And then, during the chaos of packing up, Billy escaped again. One moment he was in his pen, the next he was trotting toward Elias's truck like he'd done it a hundred times before.
But Elias just sighed. "It's fine. I'll take him back tonight."
"Are you sure?" Mrs. Henderson asked, looking skeptical.
"Yeah," Elias said, opening the truck door for Billy. "Just for the night. To teach him a lesson."
The "just for the night" became a weekend, then a week. Elias told himself he was just helping out, that Billy needed a break from the farm, that he was doing Mrs. Henderson a favor. But as the days passed and Billy made himself more and more at home, Elias knew he was lying to himself.
He started making accommodations—goat-proofing his house by moving anything breakable or edible out of reach, buying proper goat food instead of just feeding Billy whatever was in the fridge, even building a small outdoor enclosure with Elijah's help.
"You're really doing this," Elijah said as they worked on the enclosure. "You're becoming a goat dad."
"Shut up," Elias muttered, hammering a nail into a fence post. "I'm just temporary housing. Until he can behave himself."
"Right," Elijah said, smiling. "Temporary. Like how Marmalade was temporary?"
"That's different," Elias insisted, but they both knew it wasn't.
The anger management sessions got easier too. Instead of sitting there silently, Elias found himself sharing stories about Billy—how he'd eaten an entire roll of paper towels, how he'd figured out how to open the refrigerator, how he'd somehow gotten his head stuck in a bucket and walked around like that for ten minutes before Elias noticed.
Dr. Robinson noticed the change immediately. "Seems like you've found your anger management strategy," she said during one session, her expression knowing.
"It's a goat," Elias said defensively. "I'm just temporary housing until he can go back to the farm."
"Right," Dr. Robinson said, but her eyes said she knew better. "And how's that temporary housing going?"
"Fine," Elias said, thinking of the goat-shaped cookie cutters he'd bought yesterday. "It's fine."
But it was more than fine. It was... good. Waking up to Billy curled up at the foot of his bed. Coming home to a goat who was genuinely excited to see him. Having someone—something—to talk to who didn't judge or interrupt or offer unwanted advice.
Elijah kept teasing him about his "goat son," but he also helped Elias build a proper outdoor enclosure, complete with a shelter and toys and everything a goat could want. They worked together in the hot sun, hammering and measuring and occasionally arguing about the best way to secure a fence post, and Elias felt something like peace settle over him.
"You know," Elijah said, as they finished the enclosure, "you've been a lot less... explosive lately."
"I'm always explosive," Elias said, but he knew it wasn't true. Since Billy had come into his life, he'd been calmer, more centered. Less likely to fly off the handle over small stuff.
"It's the goat," Elijah said, like he could read Elias's mind.
As the weeks passed, Elias started taking Billy to the park, mostly because the goat needed exercise but also because Elias enjoyed the attention. Women were drawn to the man with the goat, stopping to pet Billy and ask Elias questions, their eyes lingering just a little too long on Elias's arms, his smile, the way he talked to the goat like he was a person.
"Is he yours?" a woman with locs and a big smile that made Elias's stomach flip asked one afternoon.
"Just temporary," Elias said, but he was smiling back. "Until he can go back home."
"He seems to like you," she said, scratching Billy behind the ears. "Goats are picky like that. They don't just warm up to anyone."
"Yeah, well," Elias said, grinning. "I'm special like that."
She laughed, and Elias found himself asking for her number, which she gave him without hesitation. They went out the next Friday, and Elias spent the whole dinner talking about Billy like a proud parent.
"You're really into this goat thing, aren't you?" she asked over dessert.
"He's alright," Elias said, but he was smiling as he said it. "For a little nigga with attitude problems."
He began to see Billy as an asset rather than a liability, though he'd never admit it out loud. The goat was a conversation starter, a way to meet people, a reason to smile when he felt like scowling. Billy was... his. And that thought comforted him.
One night, a month after Billy had first "temporarily" moved in, Elias fell asleep on the couch watching TV. He woke up hours later to find Billy curled up beside him, head resting on Elias's chest like he was a dog instead of a goat.
For a long moment, Elias just lay there, staring at the ceiling while the goat snored against his side. He scrubbed a hand over his face. Of all the things he’d expected to get emotionally attached to in his lifetime, a foul-mouthed little menace with horns hadn’t even cracked the top hundred.
Billy had eaten three pairs of shoes, headbutted a mailman, tried to square up with a Roomba, and once somehow got stuck in the laundry room for six hours despite the door being wide the hell open. And yet… The goat had become his best friend. The goat just showed up, demanded snacks, invaded his personal space, and looked at him like he hung the damn moon.
"Guess you're staying, huh?" Elias murmured, stroking Billy's back. "Can't get rid of you now."
Billy bleated softly in his sleep, like he agreed.
As Elias drifted back to sleep, goat on his chest and house in disarray around him, he knew he was in trouble. He was attached. Completely and irrevocably attached to a goat who'd probably eat his favorite shoes if given half a chance.
—
Goat Dad
Two months later, Elias's morning routine had transformed into something he never would have recognized. The alarm still went off at 6:30 AM, but instead of hitting snooze three times and dragging himself out of bed, Elias was up immediately, listening for the familiar sounds of his houseguest stirring.
"Mornin', little dude," Elias murmured, swinging his legs out of bed and immediately stepping into something warm and squishy. "Aw, hell. Billy, we talked about this. No shitting in the house."
Billy, who was standing by the door with an expression that could only be described as guilty, bleated softly and nudged Elias's hand with his head.
"Yeah, yeah, I know you're sorry," Elias said, grabbing paper towels and cleaning supplies. "But we got rules, remember? Rule number one: no shitting in the house. Rule number two: no eating my shoes. Rule number three: no headbutting the mailman. We been over this."
As he cleaned up the mess, Elias glanced around his house, noticing for the first time how much had changed. There was a goat-shaped cookie jar on the counter (a gag gift from Elijah that he'd actually started using), a small herd of goat figurines on the bookshelf (collected during his "I'm not attached" phase), and even a goat-themed welcome mat that read "Welcome to the Goat Farm" (another joke gift that had somehow become permanent).
His house had goat-themed elements he didn't even notice anymore, like how he'd started referring to the spare bedroom as "Billy's room" or how he always bought extra carrots at the grocery store. This was his life now—goat poop, goat toys, goat everything—and somehow, it felt right.
After cleaning up the mess and feeding Billy his breakfast of special goat pellets and apple slices, Elias let him out into the backyard enclosure. The goat trotted around happily, checking his territory and occasionally headbutting the fence to remind it who was boss.
"Be good," Elias called, grabbing his keys. "I'll be back after class."
Billy bleated in response.
At anger management, Elias found himself participating, sharing stories about Billy's latest antics with a grudging affection that surprised even him.
"So then," Elias was saying, gesturing animatedly, "the little dude figured out how to open the refrigerator, right? And he's in there, just eating everything he can reach—leftovers, vegetables, a whole stick of butter. And I'm standing there watching him, like, how is this my life? How did I become the guy whose goat eats butter out of the fridge?"
The group laughed, even the guy who'd beaten up his girlfriend's dog, which was saying something.
"Sounds like he keeps you on your toes," one of the women said, smiling.
"Tell me about it," Elias said, grinning. "But you know what? I haven't wanted to punch anybody in weeks. So I guess there's that."
Another participant raised his hand. "You said you got him from goat yoga, right? Like, as part of the therapy?"
"Yeah," Elias said, suddenly feeling defensive. "But it's not like that. He's not my therapy animal or whatever. I'm just... temporary housing."
"Right," the guy said, but he was smiling like he didn't believe Elias for a second. "Temporary."
After class, as everyone was filing out, Dr. Robinson pulled Elias aside. "You've made remarkable progress," she said, her expression warm and genuine. "I don't think I've ever seen someone transform so completely in such a short time."
"It's just Billy," Elias said, shrugging like it was nothing. "Nothing special."
"Is that what you tell yourself?" Dr. Robinson asked, her eyes knowing. "That this Billy who's completely changed your life is 'nothing special'?"
Elias looked away, suddenly feeling exposed. "I mean, he's alright."
Dr. Robinson leaned forward slightly, her gaze softening with an understanding that made Elias's defenses waver. "You know, we spend so much time looking for the big answers," she said, her voice dropping to a more intimate register. "We think healing has to come from some grand revelation, some earth-shattering moment that changes everything. But that's not how it works, not really."
She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. "Sometimes the most healing relationships are the ones that ambush you. They show up when you're not looking, when you're too busy being angry or too proud to admit you need anything at all. They don't come with instructions or warning labels. They just... arrive. And they teach you what you need to learn without you even realizing you're being taught—until one day you wake up and you're not the same person you used to be, and you can't even pinpoint exactly when the change happened."
She smiled then, a genuine, knowing smile that made Elias feel like she could see right through all his bullshit. "That goat? He didn't just wander into your house, Elias. He wandered into your life and rearranged the furniture while you weren't paying attention. And somehow, in the middle of all that chaos, you found the one thing you'd been looking for all along."
"Yeah, well," Elias said, already heading for the door. "Whatever. I'll see you next week."
That weekend, Elias decided it was time for Billy to meet his cousin. Marmalade. The idea had been brewing for weeks—what would happen if the goat met the cat? Would they fight? Would they ignore each other? Would they form some interspecies alliance to take over the world?
"Alright, little dude," Elias said, struggling to get Billy into the harness he'd bought "just in case" they ever needed to go anywhere. "We're gonna go visit your uncle Elijah and your cousin Marmalade. Try not to embarrass me."
Billy responded by trying to eat the harness.
"Right," Elias said, finally getting it secured. "No pressure or anything."
The drive to Elijah's apartment was chaos, with Billy attempting to climb into the front seat, bleating at other cars, and generally making a nuisance of himself. By the time they arrived, Elias was sweating and regretting his decision to ever leave the house.
"Please behave," Elias said, unbuckling the goat. "Just for like, an hour. Can you do that?"
Billy responded by immediately trying to eat Elijah's doormat.
"Of course you can't," Elias sighed, knocking on the door.
Elijah answered, looking impossibly calm and put-together, until he saw the goat.
"You brought him here?" Elijah asked, raising an eyebrow. "To my apartment?"
"He's family," Elias said, pushing past him into the apartment. "Billy, this is your cousin Marmalade. Marmalade, this is your cousin Billy. Try not to kill each other."
Marmalade, who had been sleeping on the sofa, lifted his head and regarded the goat with what looked like disdain. Billy, for his part, trotted over to the cat and sniffed him curiously. For a moment, it seemed like they might ignore each other. But then Billy headbutted Marmalade, and Marmalade responded by hissing and swatting at the goat's nose.
"Oh, here we go," Elijah said, already reaching for the cat.
But before he could intervene, something unexpected happened. Marmalade stopped hissing and started rubbing against Billy's legs, purring like a motorboat. Billy, in turn, stopped headbutting and started licking the cat's head with that sandpaper tongue of his.
"Well," Elias said, watching the unlikely friendship blossom. "Would you look at that."
"They're plotting something," Elijah said, but he was smiling as he said it. "I can feel it."
For the next hour, the twins watched their "sons" interact, sharing a rare moment of brotherly bonding as the animals caused chaos together. Billy and Marmalade knocked over a lamp, ate a plant, and somehow managed to get tangled in the curtains together, all while looking like they were having the time of their lives.
"I never thought I'd say this," Elijah admitted as they worked together to untangle goat and cat from the curtains, “That demon with hooves has somehow made you a better person.”
Elias looked at Billy, who was now attempting to ride Marmalade like a horse. "Same goes for that orange devil of yours," he said, grinning. "Never thought I'd see the day when Smoke became a cat dad."
"Stranger things have happened," Elijah said, finally freeing Marmalade from the curtains. "Like my brother becoming a goat dad, for instance."
"Shut up," Elias said, but he was laughing as he said it.
That night, after they'd returned home and Elias had cleaned up yet another mess, he lay in bed watching Billy chew on a toy he'd bought "because it was on sale." The goat had his own bed now—a fancy orthopedic dog bed Elias had splurged on after Billy complained (by headbutting Elias's shins at 3 AM) about the floor being too hard. He had his own toys, his own treats, even a small sweater Elias had bought "because it was cold" (it was 75 degrees outside).
As Elias watched Billy play, he found himself reflecting on how much his life had changed since "the wing incident." That day—just a few months ago, though it felt like a lifetime—he'd been a man ruled by his temper, by his impulses, by the chaos that always seemed to swirl around him. He'd been angry, defensive, always ready for a fight.
Now? Now he was a man who talked to goats, who cleaned up poop without complaining (much), who found joy in the simple act of watching a goat play with a squeaky toy. He was calmer, more centered, somehow... softer. Not weak, not exactly, but more open, more willing to let people—and animals—in.
And it was all because of this scrappy little goat with attitude problems and a talent for finding trouble.
"Come here, little dude," Elias murmured, patting the bed beside him.
Billy immediately abandoned his toy and jumped onto the bed, curling up at Elias's feet like he'd been doing it his whole life. Elias reached down and stroked the goat's head, feeling the rough texture of his horns, the softness of his fur. "Best damn thing that ever happened to me, you know that?"
As Elias drifted off to sleep with the weight of his son at his feet, he knew this was it. This was what he'd been searching for through all the noise and fights and empty nights, not the quiet peace Elijah had found, but a purpose that roared. Something to pour his chaotic energy into, something to love fiercely and unapologetically, something that needed him as much as he needed it.
The wildest Moore twin hadn't been tamed. He'd been claimed. By the most unlikely of companions, a goat with more attitude than the whole Jackson police department and a talent for finding trouble that rivaled Elias's own. And as Billy snored softly at his feet, a little earthquake of snores and farts, Elias knew he wouldn't have it any other way.
Could u do James potter x black! Reader, him helping her with wash day I think would be cute loll
𝐼𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃
✎ᝰ. You’re boyfriend helping you wash your hair┊word count: 380
੭﹕﹒ james potter x black!reader
𓍢ִ໋🀦 genre + warnings: smut — fluff, kissing, curly-haired!reader, coily-haired!reader, reader is slightly overwhelmed and tired, james is kinda cocky with his hair skills, overall wholesome
𓇢𓆸 a/n: thank you anon for submitting!! this is my first request so i’m excited. this is proofread but any mistakes lmk! also, haven’t read anything marauders in months so i’m rusty in the boys but enjoy!!
Wash day had always been a tiring act. Hours of work with multiple products of different consistency; syrupy oils, creams, lotions, and custards. It could all be overwhelming,
You were on a stool in the bathroom. Your tongue wedged between your teeth has you concentrated on detangling the small section of hair.
“Ugh!” you groaned. A sound caused James to stick his head into the door. With fluffy curls and a toothy grin, he asked, “What’s the matter, sunshine?” in a sarcastic manner.
“Not right now, Jamie, I’m doing my hair.” You said softly, tone full of woe.
“I don’t feel like doing it, but if I don’t do it now, then I’ll never do it,” you breathed heavily. “It’s a lot to do in a reasonable amount of time."
“It can’t be that hard,” he shrugged with boyish arrogance. Before you could reply, a light bulb noticeably flicked in his eyes. “Maybe I can help?” he offered before speeding walking behind you.
“You think it’s not hard? No way!” You laughed, causing him to give you puppy dog eyes through the mirror. “Alright fine, you can help with the washing. But don’t pull my hair too hard!” you ordered.
“Just let me finish this last section.” you declared.
Later on, James stood over you as you laid your head back into the sink. His hands lathered in shampoo to massage your head. It took him a while to get a plausible method of hydrating your hair.
“Ooh, that feels nice, Jamie.” you sighed as relaxation took over your body.
You opened your eyes to see James staring at you, a warm smile plastered as the sun hit his face. Causing a scrunching motion from you with thinned-out lips. “Why are you staring at me like that?” laughing nervously.
“You look very beautiful, baby.” was all he stated with a gentle tone before giving your forehead a kiss and going quiet.
It wasn’t until the shampoo had dissipated in the conditioner washed away that you say you sat on the same bathroom stool while in James’ while he dried your hair.
Could u do James potter x black! Reader, him helping her with wash day I think would be cute loll
𝐼𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃
✎ᝰ. You’re boyfriend helping you wash your hair┊word count: 380
੭﹕﹒ james potter x black!reader
𓍢ִ໋🀦 genre + warnings: smut — fluff, kissing, curly-haired!reader, coily-haired!reader, reader is slightly overwhelmed and tired, james is kinda cocky with his hair skills, overall wholesome
𓇢𓆸 a/n: thank you anon for submitting!! this is my first request so i’m excited. this is proofread but any mistakes lmk! also, haven’t read anything marauders in months so i’m rusty in the boys but enjoy!!
Wash day had always been a tiring act. Hours of work with multiple products of different consistency; syrupy oils, creams, lotions, and custards. It could all be overwhelming,
You were on a stool in the bathroom. Your tongue wedged between your teeth has you concentrated on detangling the small section of hair.
“Ugh!” you groaned. A sound caused James to stick his head into the door. With fluffy curls and a toothy grin, he asked, “What’s the matter, sunshine?” in a sarcastic manner.
“Not right now, Jamie, I’m doing my hair.” You said softly, tone full of woe.
“I don’t feel like doing it, but if I don’t do it now, then I’ll never do it,” you breathed heavily. “It’s a lot to do in a reasonable amount of time."
“It can’t be that hard,” he shrugged with boyish arrogance. Before you could reply, a light bulb noticeably flicked in his eyes. “Maybe I can help?” he offered before speeding walking behind you.
“You think it’s not hard? No way!” You laughed, causing him to give you puppy dog eyes through the mirror. “Alright fine, you can help with the washing. But don’t pull my hair too hard!” you ordered.
“Just let me finish this last section.” you declared.
Later on, James stood over you as you laid your head back into the sink. His hands lathered in shampoo to massage your head. It took him a while to get a plausible method of hydrating your hair.
“Ooh, that feels nice, Jamie.” you sighed as relaxation took over your body.
You opened your eyes to see James staring at you, a warm smile plastered as the sun hit his face. Causing a scrunching motion from you with thinned-out lips. “Why are you staring at me like that?” laughing nervously.
“You look very beautiful, baby.” was all he stated with a gentle tone before giving your forehead a kiss and going quiet.
It wasn’t until the shampoo had dissipated in the conditioner washed away that you say you sat on the same bathroom stool while in James’ while he dried your hair.
Could u do James potter x black! Reader, him helping her with wash day I think would be cute loll
𝐼𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃
✎ᝰ. You’re boyfriend helping you wash your hair┊word count: 380
੭﹕﹒ james potter x black!reader
𓍢ִ໋🀦 genre + warnings: smut — fluff, kissing, curly-haired!reader, coily-haired!reader, reader is slightly overwhelmed and tired, james is kinda cocky with his hair skills, overall wholesome
𓇢𓆸 a/n: thank you anon for submitting!! this is my first request so i’m excited. this is proofread but any mistakes lmk! also, haven’t read anything marauders in months so i’m rusty in the boys but enjoy!!
Wash day had always been a tiring act. Hours of work with multiple products of different consistency; syrupy oils, creams, lotions, and custards. It could all be overwhelming.
You were on a stool in the bathroom. Your tongue wedged between your teeth has you concentrated on detangling the small section of hair.
“Ugh!” you groaned. A sound caused James to stick his head into the door. With fluffy curls and a toothy grin, he asked, “What’s the matter, sunshine?” in a sarcastic manner.
“Not right now, Jamie, I’m doing my hair.” You said softly, tone full of woe.
“I don’t feel like doing it, but if I don’t do it now, then I’ll never do it,” you breathed heavily. “It’s a lot to do in a reasonable amount of time."
“It can’t be that hard,” he shrugged with boyish arrogance. Before you could reply, a light bulb noticeably flicked in his eyes. “Maybe I can help?” he offered before speeding walking behind you.
“You think it’s not hard? No way!” You laughed, causing him to give you puppy dog eyes through the mirror. “Alright fine, you can help with the washing. But don’t pull my hair too hard!” you ordered.
“Just let me finish this last section.” you declared.
Later on, James stood over you as you laid your head back into the sink. His hands lathered in shampoo to massage your head. It took him a while to get a plausible method of hydrating your hair.
“Ooh, that feels nice, Jamie.” you sighed as relaxation took over your body.
You opened your eyes to see James staring at you, a warm smile plastered as the sun hit his face. Causing a scrunching motion from you with thinned-out lips. “Why are you staring at me like that?” laughing nervously.
“You look very beautiful, baby.” was all he stated with a gentle tone before giving your forehead a kiss and going quiet.
It wasn’t until the shampoo had dissipated in the conditioner washed away that you say you sat on the same bathroom stool while in James’ while he dried your hair.
jack can't keep up with your high sex drive...and neither can robby...
you were squeezed between them. their large hands held your body in a firm grip, leaving red marks in their wake, but it didn’t bother you – not when their lips tasted your sweaty skin, taking turns kissing your swollen ones, pushing their tongues inside your mouth, letting you taste your own juices.
your fingers were tangled in both men’s hair, tugging at the ends and pulling them closer to you, even when there was no space left between you – you were practically molded together. but you kept trying anyway, especially when their big cocks filled your sweet pussy so well that with every thrust, your mind, drunk on orgasms, made you feel as though they were so deep inside you – so very deep – that you could feel them both in your throat.
"feels good, baby?" jack asked, sliding one hand onto your jaw and turning your face towards him, wanting to see that pretty expression on your face when you’re getting fucked, the one you always have during sex.
"yes…oh god…yes, it feels so good, daddy, so so good" you whimpered, arching your back as robby pressed against that one hypersensitive spot inside your pussy, causing your vision to go white for a moment.
"yeah? tell robby, baby. tell him how good his cock makes you feel" he breathed hoarsely into your ear, kissing your earlobe as he moved lower down your neck, sucking and kissing the skin there.
"you fuck me so good, robby. please don’t stop" you moaned breathlessly, looking at him with those cloudy eyes that were practically screaming, "fuck me harder" , even when their cum was practically gushing out of your pussy, because of how many times they both had already filled you, flooding your womb full.
robby just growled when he saw this, thrusting his huge, long cock into you almost spitefully, forcing cries to escape from your throat, while jack fucked you slowly and deeply. both men could feel your gummy walls tightening more with every thrust they made inside you, causing them both to press their hands harder against your body, holding you down and cumming, making you cum too and milking every last drop out of them.
and when jack and robby wanted to pull out of you, their cocks both limp, all their cum now deep inside you, you whimpered in disapproval.
you looked at them, barely conscious, but still so desperate for more.
( 𝐗𝐗𝐈 ) ─── You gon get enough of pissing Smoke off.
⤷ ┃18+ drabble. black!reader. submissive!reader. bratty!crybaby!reader. mean!smoke. older!smoke. modern!smoke. rough!smoke. sexual themes. profanity used. size kink. forced riding. degrading. choking. bodily fluids—spitting. crying kink. pussy slapping. overstimulation. dirty talk. this is filthy .. don’t read if you not ready!
“You can’t take it, huh?” Smoke grunted, voice all gravel and vicious behind your ear. “That’s what all this squirming about?” Your thighs were already shaking and he hadn’t even bottomed out yet. You were straddling him in the middle of the living room, knees spread wide on the rough denim of his jeans, pussy split and dripping down the thick head of his dick like it was leaking for mercy and forgiveness.
He was leaned back into the couch, thighs spread, arms thrown lazily over the backrest like he had all night to watch you try and fail—to take his dick.
The problem was…Elijah Moore had the kind of dick that made your pussy stupid. Fat. Girthy. Veiny. Heavy in your hand. The kind of thick that made your walls burn before you even sat all the way down. Your lips had to stretch wide just to suck the tip. And your pussy clenched at the idea of it. You could barely get halfway before your breath caught and your hips stalled from the pressure.
And he was loving that. “Aww,” he mocked, one hand coming up to grip your throat as you whined again, hips trembling mid-drop. “Poor baby crying. Can’t fit grown man dick in that tight hole, huh?” You sniffled, fat lips parted, tears threatening to spill.
He gave your cheek a slap—not hard, just enough to make you gasp. “Don’t you fuckin cry now girl. You was talkin all that sweet shit earlier. Had all that attitude, walkin around my house damn near naked, beggin for attention.” You tried to rock your hips again. Barely made it an inch before your pussy clamped down hard. It was too much—too deep. Too wide. You could feel every inch of him splitting you open.
Smoke grabbed your waist with both hands, digging his thick fingers into your soft sides.“You don’t get to tap out on me,” he growled, eyes low. “Not when you got this sloppy ass drippin all over my jeans.” He forced your hips down a little more—slow, delicate, just enough for another inch to sink inside.
You cried out, head falling against his shoulder. “Elijah—” “What?” he barked. “Say it. Say you can’t take this dick.” “I can’t,” you whimpered. “I c-can’t take it, it’s too—” “Too fuckin what?” he hissed, grabbing your face in one hand and squeezing your cheeks. “Too big? Too thick for your greedy ass pussy? Then why’s she suckin me in like she missed me?”
He slapped your ass hard, once, then again—and bounced you on his lap without mercy. You screamed, legs flailing as he bottomed you out in one cruel motion. “Oh my God—” “That’s it,” he grunted, holding you there while your pussy pulsed and struggled around the stretch. “Take all of it. Cry on it. Sit that heavy fuckin ass down and milk my dick like the bratty bitch you is.”
You could barely breathe. Could barely think. His dick was everywhere—pressing against your gummy walls, knocking the air out of your lungs, rubbing so deep it felt like it was in your guts—hell he was in your guts.
Smoke grabbed your throat again and spat in your mouth. “Swallow it.” You did. Gasping. Shaking. He pulled your shirt up—just enough to expose your titties—and shoved one into his mouth, biting the soft flesh just hard enough to make you jolt. “Look at you,” he muttered against your skin. “Full of attitude, always runnin your smart ass mouth. But sit on some real dick and now you cryin. Fallin apart like a spoiled brat.”
You nodded, fucked-out and drooling, fat tears finally spilling down your face. “Say thank you.”“Th-Thank you, Elijah.” He slapped your swollen clit once. Then again. “Louder.” “Thank you, Elijah!” And he just laughed, licking his thumb and rubbing circles around your puffy clit while your body bucked like it couldn’t take anymore. “That’s what I thought,” he whispered. “Now ride it til I say you done.”
( 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐘’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ) ─── oh my god! who wrote this?? i may or may not have been listening to ego by beyonce. @/viviansturns on the dividers!
౨౿ ⁺ thinking about ex-husband!smoke. the divorce yall went through was quick and straight to the chase. you dropped the papers on his desk and he signed them without a messy fight, court hearings, or anything like that. ex-husband!smoke let you have the house in the divorce and moved into his own makeshift apartment, since he never wanted for much. ex-husband!smoke still comes over yall used to be shared house to fix on things that broke or to put groceries in your fridge.
“you said the sink acting up again?”, he asked with the phone pushed up on his shoulder while grabbing his keys and toolbox. “i’ll be over there mama.”
to be honest, smoke didn’t even fully process the divorce. he got that yall weren’t legally married, but in his eyes you were still his wife. he kept pictures of yall together up on his social medias, yall weddings pictures were still framed at his apartment, and your contact stayed “wife♥️.”
ex-husband!smoke will find any excuse to be in your presence again. you sick? he’s at the house with soup already on the stove and some nice lemon tea with honey ready for you. you going out with your girls? he’s yall personal driver. you tired at your job? he callin’ your boss to tell ‘em you not coming in tomorrow and sending you double what you make in a day. he honestly didn’t give a fuck yall was divorced.
ex-husband!smoke hasn’t touched another woman since yall divorce and he wasn’t planning on either. stack would often tease him about it, but no matter how many times his younger brother took him out for a night—no other woman could compare to his beautiful ass wife.
ex-husband!smoke who honestly can’t stop yearning for you and wants to wake up to you every morning in bed again. he knew you divorced him for a reason, and he was putting in the upmost effort to fix his issues and put that rock back on your finger.
ex-husband!smoke who finds himself back in the bed yall shared together when one of yall can’t sleep. “you had a nightmare, baby? ‘m sorry”, while slipping under the silk sheets and guiding you to lay on his bare chest—head rested right below the tattoo of your name on his collarbone.
ex-husband!smoke who’s actually a little delusional about you trying to head back into the dating scene. he would kill any nigga who thought they had a chance with you . . .
