#Fuzzy Door Productions

[demifiendrsa]

The Naked Gun (2025 Movie) | Official Trailer

Poster

Synopsis

Only one man has the particular set of skills… to lead Police Squad and save the world! Lt. Frank Drebin Jr. follows in his father’s footsteps

[they-have-the-same-va]

Megatron "Meg" Griffin in Family Guy Presents: Stewie Griffin: The Untold Story shares a singing voice with Lightning from the Final Fantasy XIII Trilogy.

Voiced by Ali Hillis

[st4-bby]

thunder buddy

i love the ted movies and what I’ve seen of the tv show to pieces and I wanted to draw the teddy bear of the hour

[dylanrosales25]

[rogers-attic]

HELL YEAH!!!!

[peascribbles]

soft!sylus x gn!reader, menstruating reader, quick drabble about him preparing for your period cause I'm dying from cramps right now

In the days before you move into the Onychinus base, Sylus prepares everything he can possibly think of to make it as accommodating as it can be.

He's thorough when it comes to counterintelligence operations in his deals—and really, this is no different, this task of researching, understanding, and catering to your every need. There's not much left to do with how much this place has melded around your presence already, but he runs a final inventory anyway: it's of particular importance to Sylus that everything is in place for your period.

In the bathrooms—all six of them—the cabinets are filled as if they're stockpiles for an apocalypse. Every possible kind of product is available: pads, winged, wingless, overnights and liners, tampons, period underwear, menstrual cups. An assortment of heat packs next to them, to help ease your cramps.

In the kitchens—all four of them—the fridges and cupboards are filled with your favourite snacks. Tea canisters topped up with your favourite blends from the various kinds he's shown you over the months, the pantry restocked with honey and ginger. His chef has been instructed on a special menu for your period, consisting of your ultimate comfort meals—but since you like his cooking too, he's got some ingredients ready to make a hearty, warm soup from scratch, if you want it.

In the home cinemas—both of them—pre-loaded with your go-to movies and shows. He's replaced the individual chairs with a bed, suspecting you might want to cuddle instead of being sequestered from him. As a finishing touch, he's put an assortment of plushies and fuzzy blankets on it.

And, finally, Sylus himself—filled with restless anticipation for the moment you'll walk through his front door, with the intention of staying for good this time. He can't wait.

[karmicmortal]

content warnings stepcest, noncon, oral sex, munch!jake, somnophilia, petnames (princess, baby), sex dreams, slightly rushed and abrupt ending

don’t like it? don’t read it!

notes this drabble was originally posted to istjisung. i am istjisung. if you see my drabbles posted on any account other than istjisung or karmicmortal, or the ao3 accounts of the same name, that is not me.

you’re not sure when the dreams started, but oftentimes lately, you find yourself having sex dreams. the kind of sex dreams that, weirdly, are all surrounding jake. jake, your stepbrother. the kind, gentle, energetic, wholesome jake. the one who always treats you like royalty. calls you princess or baby. would never step out of line and do something as dirty as this, with you of all people. you feel disgusting and perverted and disgustingly perverted for even allowing your subconscious to go that far.

but something about these dreams feel too real, too…much to be just a product of your imagination.

you feel like if you focus hard enough, you can smell jake, the scent of his shampoo and cologne flooding your nose, feel his touch. more often than not, you wake up with panties so sticky and wet that you couldn’t believe it was just from leaking while you dreamt about your stepbrother. perhaps you had touched yourself in your sleep, or angled your hips a certain way in which you could grind them and soak your panties. somehow, though, you have a gut feeling that that’s not the case.

the dreams never went much further than some touching, a bit of fingering, or oral at the furthest. the image was fuzzy, but it felt real. again, too real to just be a figment of your imagination. you’d never confirmed your suspicions, though, until now.

you’re having one of those dreams again. this time, you were laying on your back, the blankets thrown off of your body and the cool air of the night was chilling your body. but you felt hot. your legs were spread, knees bent to angle your hips, and he was buried between your plush thighs. his soft hair tickled your skin as he dives deep into your pussy, tongue licking over the slit, collecting your juices before he closes his lips around your clit and suckles. you swore you could feel the shock waves of pleasure as he alternated between flattening his tongue against your whole pussy, and tightening the muscle to a point, flicking it over your clit or fucking it into your tight and wet hole.

rocking your hips, you feel the tip of his nose bumping against your hard and sensitive bud, sending a jolt of electricity through your body, causing you to begin to stir awake. you were sure once you wake up, the pleasure would go away, but the more you regain you consciousness, albeit fuzzy, the more you feel it. you can hear the wet noises of the slurping, saliva mixing with your messy arousal, and they keep getting louder.

you open your eyes one at a time, staring up at your ceiling. sleep still blurred your eyes, so you tried blinking it away. when you finally feel that you can see well enough, you start to look around the room. nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except for the fact that your door was cracked open when you thought you’d closed it before going to sleep. maybe you didn’t latch it, so the draft throughout the house pushed it open. but then you looked down.

and there he was. jake, your stepbrother, between your legs.

you can see him clearly through the small stream of light from the hallway light seeping through the cracks in your door. jake is laying on his stomach between your legs. his large hands have your thighs pushed apart, knees bent so he can have full access to your cunt. it feels like ten minutes have passed as you take in the sight before you realize that this shouldn’t be happening. this is wrong.

with a gasp, you try reaching heavy, tired hands down to push him away from your center. unfortunately, his lips were wrapped around your clit and the attempt at shoving him away only made him suck deliciously on the delicate bundle of nerves.

“jake,” you whispered, voice hoarse with sleep. “stop…you can’t do this. it’s wrong…”

jake looks up at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. he smirked as he pulled away. he breathes out a laugh. “you’re dreaming. go back to sleep, baby. jakey will take such good care of you.”

[balioc]

Looking at the world from a manager's perspective, you can productively model the pool of workers as being divided into a few basic groups, which are defined and characterized by their driving motivations.

Insert all the usual disclaimers for this sort of thing - this is the roughest type of rough typology. I pulled these categories out of my raw intuition, and possibly a few more would crop up with some additional thought. In reality, the boundaries of these categories are incredibly fuzzy, and almost every individual is actually going to be motivated by a complicated mix of all the relevant motivations; we're talking REALLY SIMPLE HEURISTICS here. Etc.

There have been other well-known worker typologies that share a lot in common with my thoughts here; this is mostly not novel, it's mostly meant to refine a few ideas for particular purposes.

Hustlers are motivated by concrete personal advantage. Most commonly, and most straightforwardly, they want money - as much of it as they can get. They may also be interested in fame, idiosyncratic perks, etc. They do whatever they have to do in order to get what they want.

No surprise: you see huge preponderances of these guys in fields that provide outsize concrete rewards, e.g. finance, the upper echelons of management, etc. But not every natural-born Hustler is in a position to enter a glitzy high-paying field, and in fact you find Hustlers all throughout society and all throughout the economy, finding or making hustles wherever they go.

Having Hustlers working for you is mostly pretty great. They get shit done. They can be induced to work incredibly hard - probably harder than anyone else, under most circumstances - and they'll shank their own mothers if the price is right. If you need anything really important from them, anything at all, it's just a matter of bribing them enough.

...they will also, of course, cheerfully shank you if the price is right. Hustlers aren't the only wellsprings of institutional politics and infighting, but they're the most dangerous ones; they're always potential rivals to everyone around them. Also, you need to keep the tangible rewards flowing in a steady stream in order to get anything out of them, or else they'll put most of their effort into jumping ship (one way or another).

Craftsmen are motivated by the desire to do good work in their chosen fields, for its own sake and for the sake of their treasured self-image as people who do good work.

As you'd expect, for the most part, they're excellent workers and should be prized. But they're not perfect workers. Common weaknesses and downsides include:

They tend to have their own ideas about How Things Should Get Done; they're often resistant to externally-imposed product/service requirements or process changes (and bad at implementing those things) (no matter how important or well-conceived they are), and they're very resistant to "just get it out the door, right now done is better than good."

Being driven chiefly by internal motivation is great, but sometimes it's useful to be able to push things along with external motivators, and Craftsmen are pretty resistant to those. They don't like working more or harder than they're naturally inclined to work, they mostly sneer at carrots, and sticks make them sad and unproductive.

It's important to note that, while noteworthy skill within a field correlates with having a Craftsman temperament and motivation suite - for obvious reasons - those things are not identical at all. Plenty of Craftsmen are bad at their jobs, or just average, and plenty of the best workers are most motivated by things other than the Excellence of the Work Itself.

Fanatics are a relatively rare and specialized group, whom you find mostly within a few specific sorts of culturally-valorized fields. They're motivated by a desire to be part of something Important and Good in a Broader Sense: to Save the World, or some smaller-bore version of that.

They make amazing front-line soldiers, in the sorts of institutions that have "front-line soldiers." They work super hard, and you don't even need to bribe them, you just need to keep them hopped up on inspiration.

The big problem with them is that they're mostly motivated by a feeling - the feeling of Being Righteous - and it's not easy to control where they get that feeling, in any kind of precise way. They're just as resistant to external motivators as Craftsmen are, or even more so, but they're also not being guided by an ideal of effective quality. (No, not even if their chosen cause is theoretically all about an ideal of effective quality, hem hem.) They will happily waste vast amounts of time and money doing useless things, or even counterproductive things, so long as they're engaged in tasks that hit the right psychological buttons for them. There's also a constant risk that a Fanatic will decide that his employer is unrighteous, or that one of his coworkers is unrighteous, and start an internal conflict; the risk scales in a more-than-linear fashion with the number of Fanatics you keep around.

The biggest group, unsurprisingly, is the Normies. In most fields, it is much the biggest group. Normies are motivated by the desire to be members in good standing of their communities, to have positive relationships with the people around them, and to live up to basic norms and expectations.

Managerial skills, in the traditional sense, are incredibly important with Normies. If you want them to do good work for you - and you should want that, as a manager, you've almost certainly got a whole bunch of them - not only do you have to keep them pointed in the right direction, you have to make sure that they're supporting each other. With Hustlers, you just have to throw money at them (and avoid their power plays); with Craftsmen, you just have to let them do their thing, and occasionally badger them into giving you what you need; with Fanatics, you just have to be inspirational; but with Normies, you have to lead, and construct a productive community. You have to set reasonable, achievable norms and expectations that will get you what you need.

This wouldn't be complete if I didn't talk about the Defectors. The Defectors are motivated by not working. They don't want to be there, they resent having to do their jobs, and their primary goal is to shirk as much as possible. They will, by default, put much more effort into shirking than into their assigned tasks.

Obviously, managers don't want to have to deal with them, for good reason. But they're out there, in large numbers - not always in the places and fields where you'd expect to find them - and learning to manage them is sometimes more viable than trying to get rid of them. ("Moving Heaven and Earth to find them jobs that will change their attitude" is often a good plan, although of course it's not always possible and not always worth it.)

Crucially, Defectors are not Normies. If you start with the assumption that the average baseline worker is lazy and sour, you will make some incredibly stupid decisions. There are some fields where, for structural reasons, you can expect that a very large number of your workers will be Defectors; this is a huge and complicated challenge, well beyond the scope of this post, and good luck to you if you have to handle it, but it's not the default.

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

Once you have those categories in your head, and can play with them, a number of obvious-seeming ideas present themselves. Just a couple, for now:

Most high-level executives are Hustlers, or have strong Hustler tendencies, for obvious reasons. Most of the people around them are Hustlers, or have strong Hustler tendencies. This means that they tend to overweight the Hustler outlook, by a lot, when they try to model what their workers are like. More specifically, I'd wager that a lot of them intuitively divide the world into "good workers" ( = Hustlers) and "bad workers" ( = Defectors). This will lead to a heavy overreliance on tangible rewards, a systematic shortchanging of community-building, etc. Which is in fact just what we see.

In particular - crucially - Hustlers and Defectors are the only worker types who ever become more productive under heavy stress. Hustlers actually benefit from it, because it raises the stakes of the game that they're already playing. (If you succeed, you'll be king of the world! If you fail, you'll be shark food! Go go go!) Defectors suffer terribly from stress, of course, but they can sometimes be spooked into doing their jobs as opposed to doing nothing, and sometimes that's the best/easiest way to get something out of them. But stress is terrible for everyone else. Craftsmen lose their focus. Fanatics lose their hope. It's worst of all for Normies, because they take all their cues from the vibes around them; they're productive when they learn to associate work with comfort and happiness, and when you fill their working world with frantic desperation, you just put them in a permanent cringe state.

stop trying to pit your Normies against each other in competitions for status and rewards dear God what are you stupid

To some extent, you can control your institution by controlling what types of workers you have. But only to some extent. There are only so many Hustlers and Craftsmen to go around, and if you want them, you will have to (a) be able to identify them reliably on little information [HINT: you are probably very bad at this], and (b) provide them with what they want [tangible rewards / comfortable security and interesting work]. "We are going to employ only the good special people" is feasible if you're an outfit of four workers; at a dozen, it's already become a stretch; at a few hundred, uh, pfffffffft. If you want to operate at scale, you need to be able to make Normies do good work, there is no substitute for it.

[littlelovelunette]

can you write something about being sevikas (non official) girl and coming really EXHAUSTED from work late at night and having her to care about reader? like, yk, clothes off, massage, put to sleep. just fluff no smut

More Than Just Roomies

Sevika x Roommate!Reader, fluff and comfort

Sevika, your very messy and grumpy roommate, has had a few rounds of sex with you. So what? That didn't make you a couple. As if it was just the sex, it was every other thing too. Your friends mistake you and her for being together, and generally tease you a lot about it too. You know Sevika is not the type to settle down and whatever right now, she has sex with multiple other girls too. Atleast she used to.

You got home after a long exhausting day at work, kicking your shoes off and stumbling inside the house like a freshly infected zombie. Sevika heard your uneven footsteps and walked out of the room, looking you dead in the eye and for a while she didn't say anything.

"Why are you still awake?" You asked her, taking your coat off and throwing it on the coat hanger, it hung perfectly.

"Why do you look like that?" Sevika asked, crossing her arms and leaning sideways into the doorframe.

"I just had a borderline painful shift at work, that's why," you replied with your lips pressed in a thin line. The headache building was almost excruciating.

"I'm awake because I was worried you hadn't returned, and thought maybe I'd have to pick any other girl off the shelter," Sevika joked.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you, too."

Sevika watched as you walked to your room, almost falling as you did. "Careful, bunny," she mumbled and followed you to your room.

"Just been a hectic day," you said, slipping off your purse on the vanity and starting to undo your shirt buttons.

"I can tell," Sevika helped you undress, "You look sleep deprived for atleast seventy two hours."

"I am," you said, sitting at the edge of the bed, "Had to pull a few all nighters to finish up on a case study."

"Really?" Sevika pulled you up off the bed using your arms as an anchor, guiding you to the bathroom, "Couldn't have guessed," she said sarcastically.

You plopped into the tub, naked, as Sevika put the essentials on the rack, hanging a fuzzy towel at the corner of the bathroom.

Sevika turned the faucet on, fixing the perfect temperature for you which wasn't too hot or too cold. You hummed out in comfort, leaning your head back as you enjoyed the bath.

"Don't soak for too long, I'm gonna go get you something to eat," Sevika got up and walked to the bathroom door, exiting.

For a while you stayed there before slowly getting up, curiousity getting the best of you and perhaps the aching of your hungry tummy also contributed to your movements.

You wrapped the towel around your torso and slowly stepped out of the bathroom, shivering as the cold air hit your legs.

You dressed up in only a big T-shirt, laziness getting the best of you. Your hair was in a messy loose bun, feet padding down the stairs as you walked to the kitchen.

Sevika gave you a bowl full of strawberries coated in chocolate, you grinned at the sight, "Thanks," you started eating standing there making Sevika roll her eyes.

"Geez, you're starved," she mumbled guiding you back to your room, "Lay back," Sevika said, taking out your numerous moisturising products.

"Mmm," you laid back with your back against the bedframe and extended your legs for Sevika to moisturise while you continued eating your strawberries, sucking the chocolate off your fingertips.

You finished eating and were already drifting off to sleep because of how good Sevika's big hands felt on your legs, massaging the cream into the skin.

You had no idea when you fell asleep, but you could've sworn you felt Sevika kiss a goodnight's kiss onto your forehead before the lights were turned off, her soft deep voice mumbling, "Goodnight, menace."

[writingoddess1125]

Window Visit

Masterlist <<

>> Kofi cause I'm Poor

Kurt Wagner x GN Reader

Fluffy Fluff Ass Fluff!

Soft snores filled your small one bedroom apartment, you having had a rather long day had been dead to the world- Drool staining your pillow as you were off in the land of fluffy clouds.

Tap Tap...

Why were the clouds making a tapping noise?

Tap Tap Tap..

The Fuc-

Tap Tap Tap Tap!

You wake up from your odd dream with a start, looking around confused as you hear the tapping sound once again. Looking to your window as you just saw- Darkness? Turning on your light quickly you almost give a soft shriek as you see Kurt, AKA The Amazing Nightcrawler and your dear friend on your window seal waving at you with a clearly busted face and cheeky smile.

"Oh my God Kurt!" You rush over falling from your bed and to the floor to the window and slide it open quickly, pulling the blue man inside as he holds his side and chuckles.

"Surprise!" He says far too cheerfully for your taste.

"Why didn't you just teleport inside!? Youre injured!" You hiss at him still a bit asleep as you look over him a bit frantically, luckily you saw only a few scraps and probably some bruising however nothing seemed to serious off first glance.

"Its Rude to just appear in someone's home Schatz" He said with a chuckle before wincing softly, You shaking your head at his antics.

"Think anything is broken or are you just bruised?" You ask, Kurt gives a soft shrug. "Bruised mostly, a few nice cuts. Nothing too bad"

You nod, leading him towards the bathroom.

"Best to get you washed up first, then I can get you bandaged up" You say, Kurt nodding as he followed you, watching you grab some stuff for him.

"Come on, Pop the top" You say as you wave your hand for his shirt, he chuckles and peels it off and hands it to you, being mindful of his injuries. You exchanging it for a fluffy towel, spare toothbrush and a wash cloth.

"Wanting to stare?" He teased as he gestured to his naked torso, You rolling your eyes and giving a fake purr at him.

"Of course Blue~ Now. Freshen Up, You smell" You say sticking your tongue out at him which made Kurt laugh and wave you away. You taking his top with you and close the bathroom door behind you, chucking his shirt in the wash as you hear some water running.

Kurt sighs as he looks around your space- Seeing the different products you kept and such before jumping in the shower to get cleaned up.

He spent a good 20 minutes in the shower, which allowed you time to grab some extra blankets and pillows to toss on your bed. Making sure to also lock the window. When the water shut off you walked back over and knocked, The door swinging open as Kurt stood with the towel around his waist brushing his teeth.

"Vo 'ou 'always ha'e 'xtra tuu'th 'rushes?" (Do you always have extra tooth brushes?) He asked taking time to get his fangs and spitting-

"Yes your suppose to get a new one ever 3 months blue-" His brows raised at this in surprise as he set the brush down.

"3 Monate?!" He exclaimed as you nod.

"Come on, sit on the throne, it will be easier to get you bandaged anyway" You say as you walk into your bathroom turning on the warm water and grab the med kit under the sink, Kurt chuckles as he takes a seat on the closed toilet while keeping the towel around his waist tighter to keep modest, you beginning to take a warm rag to any noticeable cuts, making the man hiss in pain.

"Big Baby- Now why aren't you at Xavier's were Doc Mccoy can give you some proper medical care" You question, cleaning a would would some rubbing alcohol as you placed a large bandage across it.

"Ah Meine bessere Hälfte, you make it sound like you don't want me vere" He said with a cheeky smile, You giving him a playful glare as you began to wrap his torso in a thick bandage.

"You know that's not what I meant Fuzzy-"

"Nein, I was on the way back and we flew near by your place. Decided to stop by and visit" He admitted, while you wanted to be mad at him for doing something like that you couldn't. Instead going and placing some bandages on his face after wiping the blood clean.

"Well- Next time just teleport in, Id hate for you to catch a cold trying to visit" You say, shooting him a smile as you wrap up his fingers last- seeing a few cuts on them most likely from the handle of his sword.

"And All done! There!" You beam a smile at him which he returns, wiggling his three fingers at you.

"Danke"

You slide the med kit back and clean up the bits of trash from the counter. Kurt rolling up with a sigh as he followed you out still in his towel as he saw you chuck his pants into the wash having grabbed them from the floor on your way out.

"Uhh Engel my-" He gestured to his clothes in the wash.

"Ill give you something to wear, besides its late anyway- Just spend the night" You call out from your room, the sound of shuffling going on as Kurt turned to your tiny apartment couch.

"Ah Do you want me on the Couc-"

He was cut off as a pair of your shorts hit his face, Him pulling it off with his tail as he glanced in your direction. Seeing you already climbing in bed as you pat the space next to you.

"Get in the Bed Fuzzy-"

You call out, Kurt seeming to freeze for a moment before smiling- Stepping just out of your view to slip into the shorts before teleporting himself next to your bed.

"Goodnight Engel" Kurt said softly, his tail wrapping around your waist as you yawn closing your eyes and letting sleep reclaim you, a smile now on your lips.

Kurt slowly sliding into your bed as he gave a loud groan- clearly his body exhausted from his mission and a soft bed was more then welcome, Pulling the blankets over both of you as you cuddle into the Blue man, he hesitates but only for a second as he wraps his arms around you with a content sigh.

"Goodnight Blue"

[demifiendrsa]

New official poster for The Naked Gun (2025 Movie)

[they-have-the-same-va]

Guy Fieri in American Dad shares a voice actor with Sonic the Hedgehog from the Sonic the Hedgehog series (since 2010).

Voiced by Roger Craig Smith

[st4-bby]

rewatched these movies the past couple days (and am heavily considering rewatching the tv show). wanted to draw this fuzzy freak again

[seiwas]

bakugo can’t sleep until you’re home.

it’s weird and wholly unexpected of himself, staying up past the bedtime he’s spent his entire youth following. but then, he guesses, that’s just one of the things you’ve managed to affect in him.

there’s no reason he should feel this uneasy; you share your location and reply regularly. your last message to him was 5 minutes ago and you’d even sent a selfie.

he knows the people you’re out with, knows the place your friends have chosen to party in. there are plenty of reasons for him to believe that you’ll make it back home safely.

but there’s always that one probability, that one off-chance that something happens—that something goes wrong.

he shuts his eyes, turning to face the ceiling after an unsuccessful 30 minutes of attempting to sleep on his side. his breathing speeds up ever so slightly, chest rising and falling in tandem with the thumps growing louder in his ears.

bakugo fidgets every time he blinks underneath his closed eyes—little zaps beneath his skin telling him to stay awake, stay alert; stay on his toes.

it must be the hero in him.

a large exhale, before bright red burns through the ceiling—he stares so intently at the space above him it’s a wonder a gaping hole hasn’t formed from it.

the pillow to his right is still empty, but it smells so much like your shampoo, his senses are playing tricks on him. comfort accompanied by worry.

he huffs out, finally getting up to slip his feet into his house slippers—a pair of fluffy orange he wouldn’t dare be caught in.

(but it’s from you, and it matches your black ones too.)

he paces around the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of cold water. the time on the wall reads 1:34 in the morning—he has to be up in 3 hours for an early start at the gym before patrol.

you’d told him he should go ahead and sleep but he can’t—he never can when he’s thinking about you.

a yawn escapes him, eyes watering. he might as well be productive and look over some of yesterday’s—

then you enter the door.

you’re a little bit of a stumbling mess as you turn the lock behind you, toeing off your heels on the genkan while holding onto the walls for support. you barely notice him until you spot those familiar orange fuzzy slippers in front of you.

“g’na fall over like this,” he mumbles, voice rough as he follows it with a tut, “stay still.”

before you fully realize it, he’s already knelt to the floor, cradling your ankle on his thigh with a gentleness reserved just for you.

“katsuki,” you whisper in surprise, “you’re still up.”

he hums, pressing his thumbs all over the sole of your foot before picking up the other.

“couldn’t sleep.”

he’ll spare you the details, the thrum of his heartbeat steadying, slowing now that you’re here with him. he yawns again, eyes starting to feel just a bit heavy. comfort and relief.

it must be because he loves you, he thinks.

[hai7ani]

familiar / haitani rindou

Haitani Rindou turns 32, gets married, and he silently wonders why people are so nice to him now.

the old retired ladies promoting milk powders and selling fresh fruits in the grocery store rushes up to him at any chance they get. one time when browsing for milk formulas one of them had tapped him on the shoulder, pointed at a brand she was not promoting for but thought was amazing when her own grandchild had tried it, and then placed a bunch of other stuff in his cart that she thinks his wife would need. an example would be containers of freshly cut mixed fruits that her colleague had just prepared. you remember him telling you that her tone was a lot more different than the average grocery store promoter trying to sell you a product ー it was almost as if she was talking to her own son.

when shopping for flowers just like he does every Sunday suddenly the part-timer who is usually silent, does her job and only responds to customers' needs had stepped up to him and pointed out a few selections that she believes are lovely for expecting parents. she was even smiling when doing so. and you remember he came home to you that day with two bouquets of fresh flowers ー chrysanthemum and baby's breath ー one in each hand.

today when taking you out for dinner in the local family-owned restaurant the daughter had served you a warm bowl of beef bone soup. neither of you had ordered it for yourselves, and you were about to tell her that, but her mother speaks before you can. "drink it, love. the soup is good for you." she yells a little from where she sits at the cashier with a grin. when Rindou stands to pay after finishing up her husband then refuses to take your bill for the night. "it's okay, son. dinner's on the house this time." he pats his shoulder and pushes you both out the door. "take care, you two. the next time you come i'll cook tofu for you, alright?" it was directed to you and you'd laughed, a little embarrassed but feeling warm and fuzzy nonetheless.

and now you are listening to your own husband ramble on and on about his new mysteries while he massages your feet on the couch.

"i seriously don't get it. i've been going to these places for years now and they were never this nice to us. i mean, they are nice, but never this nice, you know? it's the first time we've ever gotten a free meal from Kobayashi's."

we. us.

you brush his hair back, admiring the light wrinkles that have started to form on his skin. "that's exactly it, don't you think?" you bring it up and he hums in confusion.

"perhaps the reason why they've been so nice lately is exactly because you've been going to these places for years now. they know you."

"huh?"

"if you think about it, they've watched you go from an ordinary man to a husband, then a father. watched you bring a girl they've never seen before to these places more often and suddenly we go together all the time, you have a ring on your finger and i am pregnant. perhaps it is why. a sense of familiarity, maybe?"

Rindou looks at you as if you are love and warmth and everything pink and red and blue and purple and-

you are right, actually. you'd went from a girl he met at a bar to becoming the love of his life, the woman who is now carrying the love you both share. and the ladies at the grocery store, the Kobayashi's, the part timer who's been around even after graduating university years ago? they've all watched him grow.

when Rindou was 17 and had gotten ambushed by a rival gang alone, it was madam Kobayashi who'd ushered him into their store way past the last call and offered to cook him a nice meal, had her medical student son patch him up, her husband to chase away the remaining guys who were waiting for Rindou to come back out. her daughter had been about Rindou's age then, hiding behind the cashier and watching as he ate in silence with a cut to his lip, another on his eyebrow. (to this day still no one except for you, her, and him, knows that the reason he'd gotten ambushed that day was because he'd stood up for miss Kobayashi when she was getting bullied by one of the delinquents. she still thanks him for what he'd done whenever you both finish up your meal and get ready to leave.) Rindou was 17 when he'd first discovered what it was like to care for people; to be a human before anything else.

the two ladies from the grocery store wasn't yet retired and working this job back then. the promoter lady used to be the janitor who was working in the office building of his first job. she'd watched him gone through periods of unknowing, confusion, stress, to become a solid man of status today. the lady who is selling fruits used to work as a professional tutor and had been the one to tutor Rindou and his brother on Mathematics. although she is mute and can't respond in words when her students have confusing questions to ask, the brothers still thought of her as a good teacher because of the way she taught, which is why they'd stuck around and refused to switch teachers despite their parents' disapproval. because she is mute, she can only count on her colleague to dump containers of freshly cut fruits into his cart while motioning for her to tell him things that she actually wants to say to him whenever he visits the store.

the part timer at the florist is a lot younger than he is, but she have been working there for a very long time. watched him when he was still an inexperienced bachelor pacing around the store wondering which flower would be good on a first date to buying the same flowers every Sunday because you'd liked the lilies that she recommended.

it'd be heartwarming for anyone to see the boy you watch grow around love, into love, finding love, to marrying her and becoming a father.

"...yeah. maybe."

[writing-girlie]

Smoke & Sweat

Pairing: Early 20s Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Blurb: You came around just for a cigarette and his quiet company but heat builds, touches linger, and teasing turns into something more.

WC: 3.1k

Warnings: SMUT, drugs

Notes: This is my first TWD fic, hopefully will get more out soon

You pull up to the trailer park just as the sun starts to fall behind the trees. It casts an orange tint on everything, almost making it look pretty. You park next to Daryl and kill the engine on your bike, swinging your leg over to get off. Gravel crunches under your boots as you make your way to his.

The busted screen door is banging against the frame just like it always does every time the wind picks up. You shed your leather jacket, slinging it over your arm. It was a relief; the heat was horrible, and you could feel the sweat dripping along your back. 

You don't knock; just walk in. The inside of the trailer smells like weed and petrol mixed with some cheap deodorant. It’s just as hot inside. He has a small fan, on its highest setting, rattling on the counter, but all it's doing is pushing the hot air around. 

Daryl is sitting on the couch, deep cracks rooted in the leather. His arm is thrown along the top, and his legs are spread wide in a lazy way. He's wearing one of his sleeveless button-ups, three buttons undone, his skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat. 

You kick off your boots, throw your jacket over them, and drop down beside him. Some old movie is playing on the TV; the picture is grainy and the audio sounds fuzzy. 

A cigarette sits between his lips as he finally looks over at you; he nods before handing it to you. You take it, slowly inhaling. He fishes a lighter out of his pocket; it has flames painted on it, done with nail polish from when you were bored. He picks up another cigarette, lighting it for himself. 

You eventually finish yours, stubbing it out on the ashtray on the coffee table. The second it's out, you reach over, plucking it out of his mouth. 

“Hey!” He mutters, but he doesn't do anything about it. He just watches, and his mouth twitches into a faint smile.

“You gave me your used one when I came in. It's only fair.” You shrug, giving him a smile, the smoke softly curling out of your mouth. He shakes his head and leans back. After a minute you squish it into the tray until it dies. 

You sit back, the TV is softly playing, the fan clanks with every spin, and a car backfires loudly, making you jump. Daryl laughs at your reaction, and you flip him off. Then you look over at him with your chin tilted slightly and a smile he hasn't quite figured out to ignore. 

“Have anything else? Just to give us a little buzz?” You ask, voice low and soft. Your eyes stay on him, just waiting. He raises an eyebrow.

“This ain't enough for you?” He says it just to tease, knowing it's not. He nods towards the ashtray, and a small pout forms on your lips. 

“Please” You barely finish asking, and he's already leaning forward, grabbing the tin box that sits in a nook under the table. He drops it into your lap, telling you to take what you want. 

“You roll. You've got smaller hands; roll them quicker.” You grin, opening the box, sifting through the product. 

“Just admit you like watching me do it.” He leans back again, tossing his arm behind you. His eyes stay on your hands as you work, rolling it between your fingers. You lick and seal it, holding it up, showing him. He plucks it from you, licking his lower lip before putting it between his teeth. 

“Perfect” he hums before bringing the lighter up. He takes a long drag before exhaling, slowly, right in your face with a chuckle. 

“Asshole” you playfully push his face to the side. “Made that for myself.” You take it from him, taking a few hits. “You’re lucky I’m high enough to forgive you.”

“You’re not high yet.” Daryl grins, lazy and lopsided.

“Give it a minute.” You lean back into the couch, bringing the joint to your lips. “Had some before I came, also, used your good stuff; shouldn't take too long.” He steals it off you again.

“That's why I deserve it. Using my stash. My expensive product. Hey?” You narrow your eyes at him, though it has no bite. You watch him, mainly his mouth, the way the smoke twirls around. A giggle slips out, and you roll your head back, it rests against his arm but neither of you makes an effort to move. He places the rolled paper between your lips, his fingers resting on them as he lets you have another puff. Then it's gone again. You both sit quietly, watching the TV, while he finishes. The plot is too far along to understand what's happening, but it keeps you busy. 

It doesn't take forever till your eyelids feel a little heavy and you're mumbling to yourself, having a whole conversation, back and forth. Daryl looks over with an amused look. 

“Already seem high as hell, Fuckin’ lightweight” he mutters, but he says it like it’s funny. Entertained that your eyes are a little glassy and your mouth hangs open just a little.

“I’m not a lightweight,” you defend, voice thick but soft. 

“You’re mumblin’ to the damn TV.”

“I was making a point.” you argue. 

“Sure you were.” You mumble back before sliding down into his side and resting your head on his chest. He doesn't stop you; he just moves slightly so you fit better. His arm drops down, resting on your waist. 

“Comfy?” He mumbles, looking down at you.

“Yeah.” You let out a sigh, melting further into his side. He keeps his hand still for a moment, but when you don't pull away, his fingers brush up and down. They slip under your shirt and follow the curve of your side. The rough calluses against your skin makes you suck in a breath, and a shiver runs up your spine. 

Then his hand settles, cupped around your breast. He doesn't move, not sure if he should. 

“You ain’t gonna tell me to knock it off?” he mutters. You tip your head up just enough to look at him, cheek still pressed to his chest. 

“You want me to?”

“No.” His voice is slightly gruff. 

“Then don't” I shrug, lowering my head. He exhales deeply, like he's been holding it since first touching your skin. His thumb brushes over your nipple, the touch so soft, like he's waiting for you to change your mind, but you stay, so he does it again. 

He settles a bit more, fingers switching between both, lightly pinching and pulling at them. He watches your reactions, testing how far he can go. You notice his cock hardening in his jeans.

“Didn’t think you’d be that easy, Dixon.” You softly tease. 

“Ain’t easy. Just… been thinkin’ about this for a while.” He admits, roughness in his voice. You hum at his confession, letting it sit for a moment. 

“How long is a while?” Your hand rests on his stomach, fiddling with the buttons.

“Couple months”

“And you didn't tell me?” You whisper.

“Not too good at that part.” He laughs, and you look up at him again. 

“Guess I should be flattered you groped me then” He grins.

“Just testin’ the waters” You sit up fully, but your eyes don't leave him. A smirk tugs at your lips as an idea comes to mind. You straddle him, pushing your knee between his hip and the couch arm; he moves to make room. 

“Just testin' the waters” you mimic him. He leans back. His hands start to wander, up along your thighs, your hips, then grabbing your shirt, up over your head, and tossing it behind you. His hands glide back down and rest on your waist. 

“You sure about this?” he questions, but there's no hesitation in the way he holds you. You nod. 

“You’ve been thinking about this for months.” you murmur. “Don't back out now, Dixon.” Your hands brace against his chest. His hands come around to your bare back, pulling you closer. You lean in the last few inches and kiss him. 

His lips are warm and a little chapped, but the way they move with yours is divine. There's tension and hesitation, but neither of you pull away. Your fingers curl into his shirt, deepening the kiss. His hand slips into your hair, holding you in place. You press your body closer, and his other hand grips your waist tighter. 

When you finally break the kiss, it’s only because you need air. Your foreheads rest against each other briefly before he pulls back a little, asking if you're okay. You nod.

“Are you?” You ask, your breath is a little shaky.

“Feelin’ like I might combust.” He says with a scoff. Your hands graze over his chest and onto his shoulders. 

“So dramatic.” You smile, slow and teasing.

“I'm not. You sittin’ on me like that, kissin’ me like that…” He shakes his head like he's trying to collect his thoughts. “Gonna drive me insane.” You toy with the collar of his shirt. 

“Yeah?” You gently roll your hips, slowly, pressing against his erection through his jeans. 

“I'm not gonna be a gentleman for much longer if you keep that up.” He mutters, his jaw tense. 

“You? A gentleman?” You smirk at his claim, and he huffs a soft laugh. 

“I’ve been tryin’ to keep my shit in check. Keep it respectful.” His gaze drops to where you're pressed against him, then drags them slowly back up. “But you? You're not exactly makin’ it easy.”

“I never asked you to be good, Daryl.” Your fingers tease along his collar again. His eyes stay locked on yours, and his hand trails up your spine –deliberate and slow– like he’s memorising you. 

“If I start, might not wanna stop.”

“Good” Your fingers slide up the nape of his neck, nails grazing lightly through his hair. “You don’t have to.”

He exhales sharply, then his lips crash onto yours again; there's no hesitation this time, just need. You respond, moaning into the kiss, tugging at his shirt. Your fingers find the buttons, fumbling with them, undoing them until you grow too annoyed, ripping the rest of them. It hangs open, one of your hands explores his skin, while the other finds his hair again. Your lips then press against his cheek, then his jaw.

“You sure about this?” he rasps. You nod without hesitation. 

“Don’t make me beg, Dixon.” You whisper by his ear.

“You say that like I wouldn’t enjoy it.” He turns his head to find your lips again, softer this time. Your noses bump into each other, and your hands wander. The kiss deepens with slow certainty, his lips parting just enough to pull another soft sound from you. He pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Gonna ruin you for anyone else,” he mutters, breath hot against your cheek.

“Good. I don’t want anyone else.” Your hands slide over his chest, down his stomach, until you’re working at the button of his jeans. He tenses when your fingers brush against the skin just above his waistband. You pop the button open and ease the zipper down. That’s enough for him. He grabs the backs of your thighs and lifts you with him as he stands, carrying you the few steps to the bedroom. His mouth is never far from your skin, kissing your shoulder and jaw.

The mattress shifts as he lays you down, his arms caging you in. His head dips, kissing your neck and then collarbones, working his way down, over the curve of your boobs. He slowly drags his tongue over your nipple before closing his mouth around it, sucking and gently biting before pulling back with a pop and repeating it on the other. Your back arches slightly, and you focus on keeping your breath steady. His mouth continues down your stomach, all over –left to right– making you giggle softly. He stops when he reaches the top of your jeans, standing up slowly.

“Look at you.” His eyes roam over every part of your skin, the sheen of sweat, places where he kissed a little too long leaving soft pink marks, up to your neck with the slow-forming hickey and your flushed face. He tugs at the waistband roughly, peeling them off and letting them fall wherever they land. 

His hands trail back up, over your knees, your thighs, until his fingers dip just under the thin band of your panties. You lift your hips for him, and he slides them down, his knuckles brushing your skin. The thin fabric slips past your ankles and he lets it drop without care. 

Then he grabs you by the hips and pulls, dragging you closer to the edge of the bed until your legs are off the bed, feet on the floor, and thighs spread around his frame. He shoves his jeans down his hips along with his underwear in one motion, kicking them aside. 

His hands wrap around the backs of your thighs, lifting your legs and pushing them apart. It leaves you feeling vulnerable; you're completely bare and open, but his gaze provides a weird sense of comfort.

“Just like that,” he mutters, “Keep ’em open for me.” He grabs his cock, guiding it to rest heavy on your centre before dragging it along the slick seam. 

With his free hand he spreads your lips apart, exposing your wetness fully to his hungry eyes. Then, he presses the swollen head of his cock against your clit, moving it side to side, making your mouth open with a soft moan. He moves his hips slowly towards yours, sliding the underside of his cock up through the slick. When he drags it back down, his head lines up with your entrance.

“You ready?” His eyes are focused on your pussy, too preoccupied to look at your face, but you eagerly nod. 

“Please” You nibble on your bottom lip. He slips the head in, stretching you just enough to make your eyes flutter shut. But before you can really even process it, he pulls back out. Your hips jolt on instinct, chasing him. “Daryl, don't…Please” You whine softly, not sure if you can take any teasing. You just want to feel him. He grins down at you, spitting on your pussy and slapping his cock down on it a few times.

“Please, what?” Your breath hitches. 

“I need you.” He chuckles at your soft tone. 

“Yeah? That right?” Another slow glide of his length over your clit and down again, nudging your entrance but not giving in. “You sure you can take it?” You nod again, a soft plea on your lips. One of his large hands slides up and grips your thigh. He pushes in, slow and steady, stealing the breath from your lungs inch by inch.

“We're getting there. Just keep your pretty eyes on me.” he mutters, his jaw clenched tight with restraint. His other hand now rests on the other thigh, keeping them open as he continues to slowly push. The final push makes you gasp, fingers fisting the sheets beneath you. When he doesn't start moving, you roll your hips. His hands quickly move from your thighs to your hips, holding you still. 

“Easy,” his voice is low, and he laughs. “Be patient, darlin’. You’re squeezin’ me so damn tight.” His thumb strokes gently over your hipbone, a contrast to the firm grip. “There ya go.” Your breath hitches as you try to adjust to the fullness. When your eyes meet each other, you nod, wanting him to move. He starts moving, each slow, deep thrust measured as if he's savouring the moment. 

“You feel that?” he murmurs. “How tight you are for me? Like you were made to take it.”

“Yeah” Pleasure pools low in your belly with every deep stroke. One of his hands slides up your side, fingers splayed against your ribcage before cupping your boob. You arch into his touch. He leans in, tongue flicking over the other nipple before sucking it into his mouth. Your fingers tangle into his hair, massaging against his scalp. 

You pull at his hair, bringing him level with you. You kiss him with deep need, moaning as he grinds into you. 

“Daryl,” you whimper, hips rocking up to meet his. “Please don’t stop.” He growls against your skin.

“I’m just gettin’ started.” His mouth is on your throat, marking you up so there's no forgetting what happened. His teeth graze your pulse point while mumbling about how good it feels. You like that he knows he has all of you. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. His pupils are blown, and his lips are semi-swollen. 

“You’re takin’ it so damn good, baby. So good for me.” He stands back up, both hands coming back to your hips as he thrusts a little rougher, a little deeper. Your hands scramble for something to hold onto; one grabs his wrist, the other finds the sheets. Your mouth drops open on a moan.

“Daryl! Oh my god-” 

“I know!” He uses the leverage to pull you towards him. Your head pushes back into the blanket. “Uh-uh.” He grabs your hair, forcing your head up to look down at where you're connected. “Eyes down, baby. Look at how good you’re takin’ me.” The sight is overwhelming –his cock disappearing into you over and over. “Keep watching” He moves his hand away and down to your clit, thumb rubbing tight, firm circles. “C’mon, I want to feel you.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your orgasm rushes through you. He doesn't let up even when you're whimpering and squirming. His pace stutters, hips jerking erratically before he groans your name and drives deep one last time, spilling inside you with a groan.

He pulls out and flops onto the bed beside you, folding his arms behind his head. You both take a minute to catch your breath; you can feel him spilling out of you and onto the sheets. He sits up and rummages through the bedside drawer. He finds a single cigarette and lights it. He leans back, resting on his forearm, facing you. After the first inhale, he grabs your jaw, making you look at him. He gets closer, blowing the smoke into your mouth, causing a soft laugh from both of you. 

“You are perfect.” His lips press against yours a final time.