#answer to your next one will be coming soon!

[trh0d3s]

Manager in the making!

Ch 2!

Saja boys x human manager reader

You drag these bad boy wannabes to the café next door outside the alley, taking charge to get their demands as soon as possible. Throwing questions at the so-called leader left and right. “Where did you all train?” You open the door to the once quiet space now exploding with whispers on who these hot men are?!

As if off script Jinu answers taking the handle of the door to let the rest of his possie in. “Overseas just a small company you probably haven’t heard of it.” You look at him before glancing down at your phone scrolling through connections to kick start this.

“And you can sing right? Im not being catfished by your lovely looks?” You raise an eyebrow finally putting your phone down to order. Baby wanders over with romance to your side curious about the display of treats and snacks. You glance to the blue haired dead eyed man beside you staring at the display with a bored look before looking up to meet your gaze. Romance leans in with a coy smile his big heart shaped bangs kind of annoying you…those he use a truck of hair gel?

 At a snap of Jinus fingers the boys are suddenly posing beside each other before harmonizing. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CAFÉ!? You cant help but back away in both horror and bewilderment back meeting the counter. They are good but what the hell!

“Ok! Ok! I believe you! Let these people be.” You hiss out in embarrassment, waving your hands like you were swatting the air to cut them off, could give Arataka Reigan a run for his money. “Im sorry everyone, please go back to your coffee!” Pure exasperation in your voice fumbling to bow down to the people around you, forcing the boys closest to you to bow as well. The unlucky two was yanked down by the collars of their shirts. Mystery starts visibly vibrating trying to escape your grip, this close to biting fingers! Abby scoffed giving jinu a sideways look before grabbing your hand to forcibly remove the hold on his nape. Baby was laughing into his sleeve at the victims of your panic, mystery was starting to bare his teeth at the floor was that a growl you heard?! He was interrupted by Jinu chopping the back of his head with an authoritative look,  they had to keep appearances, especially in front of someone he’s going to see every day.

Well they did show you a snippet of their abilities if only it wasn’t in the middle of your semi favorite coffee shop! you buy snacks and steal wifi to watch trash tv here!  You straighten up letting go of mystery, shuffling back to the counter to order with a cough.

 The barista looks at you with wide eyes full of curiosity and amazement shes seen you before, always in the back on your laptop every other week. Nothing was noteworthy of you other than how you were only their for the free internet and free refills you would drown in creamer. The occasional refresher when you were typing away like a madman a deadline hanging over your head. But to show up with these people trailing behind you? Where you someone important and she didn’t even know? Well looks are deceiving…

She grabs the stylus connected to the ordering tablet, customer service voice coming out full swing! Maybe she can snag a number while you’re here! “Good morning what can I get you all today?”

You look behind you at the boys looking at the menu with curiosity, is this different overseas? No matter you’ll just order for them not like they have a choice not to drink it. “Three hot chocolates and Three coffees please” you glance at the display where romance was eyeing, baby didn’t look very interested in them but romance did. “And one of these please” you hum out pointing to the display before fishing out your wallet.

The barista stopped you with a hand a smile on her face, her focus was no longer on you but the boys behind you. “No worries it’s on the house!”  She seemed a little to excited to say that…and eager. The barista motions to her coworkers behind her to get this order ready quick while she bags the treats adding a extra pastry with it. You could see her write on one of the cups with a heart if you strained enough. Pretty bad business ethic if your going to be giving away food and drinks.

Their loss anyways free food for you! You put your wallet away to walk over to the counter for the drinks. The three coffees and three Hot chocolates already ready and piping hot. Grabbing the coffee for yourself, as much as you would love hot chocolate your going to need all the caffeine you can get. Been a good minute since your last all nighter.

The embarrassment crew followed your lead taking the drinks of their choosing. You grab the small bag for pastries pulling out the extra for yourself and handing the other to romance but it was taken by Jinu. Weird Power dynamics they got going on but that’s not your problem right now. Stepping to the side so other people can get their purchases you open your own small bag. It was pretty useless on your part, everyone was busy staring at your group to order, some trying to hide it but their gossiping was a clear give away.

Jinu looked around at all the eyes glued to their “godly” forms if he played his cards right this could be like a promotion for tomorrow. He shares a look with romance and Abby, romance all for the show, Abby not so much if it had to do with their new manager.

Barely had the first bite when Abby grabbed your coffee to bring to his lips. “Hey! You have your own!” You scolded him, attention away from the pastry in hand Abby just gave you a smirk.

“Can’t share?” He says mid gulp while flexing the arm holding your cup. Your pretty sure the shop went more silent than it already was, eagerly watching. Romance leans in from behind your shoulder to bite your pastry suspiciously close to where you bit it. Is your eyes twitching right now? Yeah, it’s definitely twitching. Why are they stealing your food?! Ok calm down you have to think rationally right now. Can’t ruin your chances at a job boost five minutes in.

Romance brings a hand to his mouth to wipe the crumbs with his thumb, looking up to make eye contact with one of the many customers to wink at her. “Sweet..just like you” At that last comment he looks to you from the corner of his eye, The silence broken the girl started squeezing her friend and shaking her back and forth. Poor girl…wait not poor girl, poor you!

Are you in a fucking drama right now?! This isn’t the ouran host club! You push the pastry into his chest no longer wanting it but taking back the coffee from abby. It’s yours and you will fight for it. “J-just sit down!” You pull them outside to the outdoor seating face red with even more embarrassment.

Social anxiety feared these men.

The sit around the flimsy table dragging chairs from other tables to sit in,  you can still feel the stares from outside. Sipping your drink you peer up at them most looked content with your embarrassment especially the attention they are getting from it.

Mystery and baby the duo of staring at you with  blank faces sat beside you the rest in front. Jinu in the middle straight across from you nursing his hot chocolate. “Ok you guys are great and probably good publicity but really? With me? Don’t you know what a scandal in the idol industry is like? Could ruin your chances before they begin!” You huffed out before groaning into your hand.

“What’s the current place of residence? I’m assuming you have one near by. I need it as your manager. I’ll attach mine with separate contact info by email for emergency’s” Back in business mode and pulling a computer out of your ass. If it’s work related you must have your laptop with you at all times. Got to the point you would mindlessly put the computer bag on before leaving the door, even on well deserved break days.

Baby looks at the screen slightly leaning in you payed him no mind typing away. “Ok you’re the Saja boys. I’m guessing you have a design for your brand since you already have a name?” You hum, looking up from your screen to Jinu pulling a folded paper out of his pocket.

“We actually do have a design for our brand” He replied, sliding the paper across the plastic surface to you. Sweet less work for you then! You take the paper like it was the key to everything from the way he slid it over. Unfolding it to be! Disappointed…what is this crude drawing..? Is that a dog? Or maybe a cat strung out on propane?

“Very nice…and it’s supposed to be?” Can’t judge not everyone is talented at art.

“A lion.” A voice cuts in beside you staring at the same crude drawing. Baby looked up from the paper to Jinu who was so proud of his piece. “That’s supposed to be a lion. Here is what’s supposed to be our brand” He points across the paper giving you a clear picture instead of deciphering this ever so wonderful art.

“Thanks b now that I got a general idea” you voiced setting the paper down beside the laptop. You whip up to the best of your ability the actual concept on photoshop editors or your personal favorite Canva, before turning the screen around. The boys leaned in to see some making the personification of the confused pikachu face. “Is it not to your liking? What do you want to change?”

“No…it’s good” Jinu was the first to talk before baby chimed in. “It’s way better than what you made Jinu” A snort escapes romance and Abby who quickly looked away when Jinu glared at them with a exasperated expression. His drawing couldn’t have been that bad right? Right?!

Before he could retort and shame the two cause they were the one hyping him up on this! A loud scream erupted close by then the next one then around you it was the yelling of excitement. The countdown for the new single HUNTRIX dropped was just at 5 seconds away! You look behind you seeing the screens around the plaza change to the ending of the countdown. Missing the glares and grumbles of the boys beside you Jinu the most prominent, getting the more annoyed by the minute at the interruption.

He claps his hands together getting everyone’s attention especially yours. “I like it! Know what would be better manager? 200 flyers of this. Cause we are singing here. Tomorrow.” His voice was on the brim between irritation and cunning as his eyes swept through the crowd engrossed in the new music video. He will get what he wants.  Doesn’t matter if you can’t help him.

“Wait here?” You spit out before sitting up on your seat to look around the main square. Your seeing a vision right now. The big space would be where they would perform! Perfect for view on all sides! Lots of tourists and those trying to unwind flock to places like this. You can put the speakers there! And have a camera there! Your eyes dart around the place clocking different points that would give the advantage.” Oh! I see this place is perfect! I just need to get permits and some licensing but nothing I can’t handle” You seem way to excited for them is this really what you get off on? No not exactly,  what you do get off though is kicking your rivals in the face!

Your back to your computer typing away what you could need and planning where lighting should and shouldn’t be. Where the speakers would give the optimal sound spacing. “Send me the song info via email. I’m going to need separate background track and instrumental. How big of a spacing do you need for your dance routine? Actually don’t even answer that I’ll take a educated guess when I case the area.”

“Don’t worry about the money I have you covered…just get us on that reality show everyone loves after” Jinu slides a black card in your direction. Is this real? You pick it up to look at it dismissing how it shimmers a soft purple hue at the flick of the light. Makes you wonder why they would hire you if they had this kind of money? Don’t think about it, it will only ruin the image of success you have in mind.

“Mhm understood I might need to pull some strings but it’s doable...probably .” you pocket the card in your wallet before going back to your computer. “I’ll also order the outfits so send me your address and I’ll drop them off early morning.” You continued on already calculating the expenses and searching through catalogs. “I’ll contact you later tonight to run this through again I need to get some paperwork done.”

Jinu smiled at the way you got so focused, a new project, new opportunity of life. It was so cute. And so pathetic. “I’ll let you know on any changes manager. If you need any assistance don’t be afraid to contact us” With that he gets up his group following his lead, Abby a little too eager to move, baby too busy leaning over to watch you work. Mystery was being mysteriously mysterious…living up to his name that’s for sure. He didn’t move for a moment his face twitching before curling up into a awkward smile. His teeth looked too sharp to be genetics. Your just going to look away….you look back up to where Jinu was standing. Not there.

What…?

You look to your left and then your right, are they crazy fast? Maybe it’s a new trick idols use to get away from paparazzi…No matter you have work to do! Let’s go manager in the making!

———————MEMES OF THE DAY——————

[prettygirl-gabi]

Bragging Rights

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Dallas Wings/ Washington Mystics

Summary: Rivals on court, lovers off — only one gets bragging rights.

A/N: thank youu bby for the help….✨✨

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav

“You nervous?” Paige whispered beside me, her pinky grazing mine under the hotel duvet.

It was past midnight and the city outside our shared room in D.C. hummed quietly. My phone sat face-down on the nightstand, untouched since dinner. We didn’t need distractions tonight — not with what tomorrow meant.

I turned my face toward hers, catching the way her eyelashes fluttered against her cheekbones. Even after three years together, and playing beside her for almost all of college, this girl still made my heart stutter.

“A little,” I admitted. “First game against you. First game where we’re on opposite sides of the court. It’s like… UConn civil war.”

She chuckled, soft and low. “Lover vs lover. Rookie vs rookie. Edwards vs Bueckers.” A pause. “You know the headlines tomorrow are gonna eat this up, right?”

“Oh, they already are,” I said, letting my head fall back into the pillow dramatically. “Aaliyah was cackling in our group chat about it this morning.”

Paige rolled over onto her side, propping her head on her hand. “You ready though?”

I turned to face her too. “You know I am. But it’s weird not being on your bench. Or hearing you call for me when I sub out. Or seeing you point and smirk at me when you hit a three.”

Her eyes softened. “I miss that too. A lot. I miss your hand in mine during the anthem. I miss walking back to the dorms with you after film. Miss you sitting on the counter stealing my hoodie when I’m cooking.”

“Good thing FaceTime exists.”

She leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Not the same as you in my arms.”

I grinned. “Cheesy.”

“You like it.”

I did.

The next morning was chaos.

The league announced we’d be doing a joint pregame presser. Apparently, they couldn’t resist the storyline — the three UConn girls now divided, all starting, and very much the center of attention.

Paige and Aziaha from the Wings.

Aaliyah and me for the Mystics.

The media room buzzed with energy when the four of us walked in, each of us sporting our team warmups and very different colored shoes.

Reporters lit up like Christmas.

“Okay, okay,” one of them started, laughing, “there are a lot of angles here, but I’ll just start with the basics: how does it feel going up against each other after years of being teammates, especially for Y/N and Paige?”

Paige grinned and nudged her mic. “We knew this day would come. Didn’t expect it to be so soon, though.”

I laughed. “Yeah. And definitely didn’t expect to be doing a joint press conference about it.”

Another reporter raised a hand. “Y/N, Paige — any bragging rights or bets on the line?”

Before either of us could answer, Aaliyah leaned into her mic, expression mock-serious.

“No PDA unless one of them drops 20,” she declared. “If neither does, no kiss at all. But if Y/N outscores Paige, she gets a courtside kiss on the cheek.”

Paige blinked. “Lili has spoken for the both of us, I guess…”

I nudged her leg beneath the table. “Better lace up, babe.”

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, it’s like that?”

Aziaha leaned back with a grin. “This is gonna be good.”

As we filed toward the tunnels afterward, Aaliyah pulled Paige and me aside.

“No funny business,” she warned, mock stern. “No forehead kisses. No hand-holding. No whispers.”

Paige groaned. “Can we at least do our pregame handshake?”

Aaliyah narrowed her eyes, then sighed. “Fine. But you either do it now or wait ‘til tip-off. Cameras will eat it up.”

We exchanged a look.

“Tip-off,” we said in unison.

The gym buzzed at capacity. The crowd had energy that reminded me of Gampel on a championship night. All eyes were on us — not just because we were rookies, but because we were those rookies. Paige and me. The couple. The headline.

During warmups, I locked eyes with her across the court. She gave me a wink, then hit a smooth left-wing three. I narrowed my eyes and sank my own shot from the right.

We didn’t speak until we stepped up to center court.

“Now?” she whispered.

I nodded.

Our handshake was quick — the same one we used to do in college. Fist bump, snap, pinky lock, finger heart. The crowd lost it when we did it. So did Aaliyah, shouting from behind me: “I said no PDA!”

“Handshake doesn’t count!” I called back.

Then the ball went up, and it was game on.

The first half was intense.

We traded buckets, traded blocks.

I managed a couple nice drives and even caught a slick behind-the-back pass from Aaliyah that turned into a three.

Paige responded with a jumper and a couple jaw-dropping assists that made the crowd gasp.

“You guarding me now?” she teased during a switch.

“Always.”

Midway through the third, I got called on a reach-in — which sent Paige to the line.

She blew me a dramatic kiss before shooting.

“Ma’am,” I deadpanned, “that’s PDA.”

She smirked as she sank both free throws.

Late in the fourth, it got wild. Down by two, I hit a step-back three over Paige with 14 seconds left.

“You’re welcome for the highlight reel,” I muttered.

She didn’t say anything — Chris used his time out, that gave them possessions of the ball.

With 13.4 seconds in the game Aziaha inbounds it to Paige, and without too much thinking.

Or hesitation, she smirked at me and then hit a CLUTCH three in my face to tie it at 84.

And then—she leaned in as I was frozen with shock and gave me a quick peck on the lips.

“I want the bragging rights,” she whispered. “And I’m gonna get ’em.”

I come fully out my shocked daze and shoved her shoulder playfully. “Nah babe, that’s all me. I gotta humble you after your two-game streak.”

Overtime felt like a battle of wills.

The Wings were hitting everything early.

Paige fed Aziaha for a corner shot and scored on a pull-up, putting them ahead 88-84.

But then… we rallied.

Shakira hit a midrange. I drove, got fouled, hit both free throws. 88-88.

With 12 seconds left, I in-bounded, got the ball back, faked a give-and-go, and kicked it to Sonia in the corner.

Splash.

91-88.

Paige tried to tie it, but her three rimmed out.

Chaos.

Bodies on the floor.

Sonia came up with it and held tight as the buzzer sounded.

Game.

We won.

My final stat line: 21 points, 10 boards, 6 assists.

Hers: 20 points, 9 boards, 7 assists.

I found her midcourt in the mess of hugs and cheers and chaos. She smiled.

“You got me,” she said, proud and out of breath.

“I got you,” I said, cupping her jaw and kissing her — quick, but lingering just enough.

Aaliyah whooped from behind us. “Okay, okay! Y/N earned it!”

The crowd ate it up.

Cameras flashed.

The league’s official account had already tweeted something about UConn reunion turned rivalry and love and buckets in the District.

At the postgame presser, it was madness.

A reporter asked, “Y/N — how does it feel to outscore your girlfriend and win the game?”

I bit back a grin. “Feels like I dropped buckets and got the girl.”

Another reporter laughed. “You going to use that as your Instagram caption?”

Paige leaned into the mic. “She already told me she’s been saving it in drafts since the schedule dropped.”

They were right.

I posted it an hour later:

“Dropped buckets and got the girl 💋”

📸: Me hitting that three

📸: Paige kissing me midcourt

📸: Scoreboard

📸: Us postgame, her hand around my waist

📸: A kiss on the lips, blurry and backlit by stadium lights

The comments? Exploded.

@uconnwbb: We taught them well.

@wnba: Lover vs Lover. But always Team Love 💕

@aaliyah.edwards: Don’t say I never gave y’all anything 😭

@paigebueckers: I’m demanding a rematch. And I’m dropping 30 next time.

I commented back: “You can try, baby 😘”

And just like that, basketball Twitter had a new favorite couple rivalry.

And me?

I had the win, the bragging rights, and the girl.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[fayelero]

“short dick”

oh. oh you shouldn’t say that to him.

Cuz he’d slam into you — one smooth, brutal thrust that knock the air from your lungs.

poor you.

Your back arched off the bed, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as your pussy clenched violently around him. He was deep — so deep it felt like he’d split you in half, buried to the hilt and grinding slow, like he wanted to push deeper still.

It was too much. Too soon. Too fucking full.

You clawed at his shoulders, trying to breathe, your mouth open but no sound escaping.

His grip tightened around your hips as he pinned you down. “Not so short, huh, babe ?”

He pulled out only halfway — and slammed back in, hard enough to bounce you against the mattress.

You cried out, tears burning your eyes from the sheer intensity. Your body was already overstimulated, every nerve screaming — but he didn’t stop. He set a brutal rhythm, each thrust measured and devastating, the thick length of him bottoming out every time.

You could feel it — the blunt head of his cock grinding against your cervix with each deep stroke, the obscene squelch of slick between your thighs every time his hips collided with yours. The sounds were filthy. Shameful. Unrelenting.

“Listen to that,” he growled, leaning close, his mouth at your ear as he fucked you deeper still. “That’s how bad your pussy needs this.”

You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. Your body was a trembling, soaked mess beneath him — your thighs shaking violently as he used you like he owned you.

And right now, he did.

He hooked one of your legs up over his shoulder, opening you further, angling his hips just right—then drove deeper.

You cried out.

“That’s it,” he muttered. “And this is short ?”

He held you there, hips grinding in slow, tight circles with his cock sheathed impossibly deep inside you. The pressure was unbearable. Your walls fluttered violently around him, every twitch of his cock dragging against something that made your vision white out.

“I can feel you tightening,” he murmured. “You’re going to come. Right on this big cock.”

“Ah—please—too much—‘m sorry!” Your voice was slurred, ruined, helpless.

“Take it now.”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t let up. His pace returned — relentless now, brutal and grinding. Each thrust pushed you higher, deeper, until your body snapped.

Your orgasm hit like a scream — a full-body, shaking release that tore through your gut and flooded your core. Your pussy clamped around him, milking his cock as your hips bucked uselessly beneath him, nails digging into his back.

He didn’t slow down. He rode you through it, making you take every inch as you convulsed under him.

You barely processed the low growl vibrating from his chest.

Then he grabbed both your thighs, yanked them up around his waist, and fucked you harder than before — rutting deep, fast, animalistic now. The bed slammed into the wall. Your moans turned to broken cries. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

And then you felt it — him — thick and twitching inside you, his grip bruising your hips as he plunged one last time and emptied himself.

Hot. Deep. So much.

You whimpered at the fullness, the warmth of it flooding your raw cunt as his cock pulsed inside you.

He didn’t pull out.

He didn’t move.

He just stayed, deep and thick inside your stretched hole, watching you twitch beneath him — used, overflowing, completely ruined.

“You feel that?” he rasped, hand sliding down your stomach, palm pressing low just above your mound. “Right there. That’s how far in I am.”

You gasped — you could feel it inside you, the weight, the heat, the thick shape of him stretching you from the inside out.

“Next time,” he murmured darkly, brushing a hand down your throat, “you think twice before speaking like a brat.”

Your thighs were still shaking.

You nodded, lips parted, unable to speak.

But your body? It was already begging for a second round.

-> w your favs ;)

[lvl109]

to: captain save a hoe calebbbbb ): the aircon is broken againnnn ): requesting immediate assistance before gf melts into a puddle of sweat and tears

you'd sent those messages ten minutes ago. caleb shows up at your apartment door with a tool kit and ice cold gelato within the next thirty.

you hum happily as you bite into a spoonful of strawberry gelato as he works on the stupid machine, humming faintly to himself as your attention splits between him and the movie that had been idling on your screen a few feet away. but the screen becomes far less interesting very quickly over watching your boyfriend tinker away with laser focused precision, soon ignoring the movie entirely to watch him.

sweat beads on his arms and forehead as he works, pausing momentarily to wipe it away. your arm moves mindlessly from cup to your mouth, but the taste of strawberry goes unnoticed. you blink and his shirt is discarded somewhere on the floor. you don't bother to look for where it landed.

were the curtains drawn open when he came in? you don't even remember. but the sun decides to favor him despite it being the reason why it was one of the hottest days of the year. turns out even the sun can't help but shine over your knight in... less than armor coming to your rescue against heatstroke.

with a proud exhale, caleb soon stands back with his hands on his hips as the air conditioner finally rattles back to life, immediately pushing cold air into the living room. he turns around with a wide grin to find you already looking at him and offers a thumbs up. "your refrigerant was damaged and blowing hot air into the room, but it should be good now!"

you blink once, then nod. whatever a refrigerant was. "oh, really? i didn't know that. thanks."

"i'm glad you texted, y'know. i'd hate to have come home later and found out you were suffering in the heat like that." caleb moves to pick up his shirt, drawing your eyes like a magnet to his arms. "i'll look into getting you a new one installed instead of having to rely on this old thing. sound good?"

your gelato is melting with negligence. somehow you can't find it within yourself to care that much. "sure. thanks, again."

his head tilts a bit at your less than enthusiastic answers, a frown settling on his lips much to your surprise. "you're sure you're okay? the heat hasn't gotten you that bad, right?"

before you can even answer, he crowds into your space and places a hand to your forehead. your heart rate spikes immediately in response and you nearly crush the poor cup of gelato-turned-juice in your hand. his brows furrow slightly, now moving to cup your face.

"hey, are you okay? your face is really hot. why didn't you contact me sooner? and your gelato is already melted—you were burning up in here!"

you don't have the heart to tell him he's the reason behind your sudden rise in temperature, only offering a weak smile to his fussing and succumbing yourself to his fretting. his very shirtless fretting. arms. muscles. what was he even talking about?

"you're going to be alright, okay?" a cool towel is placed on your forehead after he lays you down on the couch, the cold sensation making you sigh a bit in relief. the tension in caleb's face eases a bit as he gently strokes your face. "yeah? that feel good?"

his smile is so soft when you voice your affirmative, patting your arm in consolation. "don't move. i'll get you more gelato."

maybe a thanks to said stupid machine was due.

[caffine-exe]

『 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 』 | part 3

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: You die. Or at least, you think you do. One minute you're bleeding out alone in an alley, and the next, you're waking up in a warm bed with two men who appearantly are your husbands. You're now stuck in a world where Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto, the most insufferably overbearing men you've ever met, won't leave you alone. Now they have to win your heart all over again. Either that, or you'll find a way to convince them to get a divorce.

w/c: 4.6k | posted on ao3

part i | part ii | part iii | more coming soon | m.list

a/n from @sugurumyshayla on the m.list

The car pulls into a small parking lot attached to a building with whitewashed walls and automatic sliding doors. Suguru cuts the engine off, leaving a hush that feels both expectant and suffocating. You hesitate a beat too long before Satoru opens his door and shoots a quick glance back at you.

You open your own door and step out. Suguru is already rounding the car to join your side. Satoru leads the way, hands casually tucked into his pockets, walking backwards as he talks to Suguru. “Maybe Shoko’ll prescribe you something for being uptight.” He teases, mouth quirked in a cocky grin.

Suguru’s eyes flicker to you briefly, then back to Satoru, his voice dry. “Maybe she’ll prescribe you something to shut your mouth.”

Satoru laughs, bright and easy, sliding closer to Suguru’s side to bump their shoulders together and linger there. “That’s cute, you love my mouth.”

Suguru hums low in his throat, clearly amused despite himself, and gently nudges Satoru away. “Debatable.”

The doors slide open to let you into a reception area that feels both clinical and more homey than it lets on from the outside. You’re greeted by warm lighting, cozy waiting chairs, potted plants, and a few framed certificates on the wall. The soft scent of freshly brewed coffee hangs comfortably in the air.

Behind the small counter, a woman dressed in jeans and a dark t-shirt under a white coat, sits at a messy desk, her chin resting lazily in her palm. A cigarette hangs unlit from her lips as she scrolls boredly through her phone. Her hair’s light brown and straight, cut in a stylish bob.

“Put that away, Shoko, you’re gonna get yourself fired.” Satoru drawls dramatically, waving a hand through the air to disperse non-existent smoke.

“I’m not on shift yet.” She glances up, unimpressed, slipping the cigarette behind her ear. “And it’s unlit, you asshole.”

Suguru steps past Satoru, flashing Shoko a lazy smile. “He’s just looking for attention, as usual.”

Her lips twitch as she gives Suguru a dry stare. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

She leans slightly to glance past the two men, and the moment her eyes land on you, her bored expression softens visibly. “Hey, you. Rough morning, huh?”

The familiarity in her voice jars you, but you try not to let it show. “Something like that.” You answer vaguely.

Shoko raises an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between you and the men before she cocks an eyebrow slightly at Satoru and Suguru. “What’d you two idiots do now?”

“Hey,” Satoru protests immediately, throwing his hands up in surrender. “We didn’t do anything. She’s just been…” He trails off, eyes flicking towards you carefully, unsure on what to say exactly.

Suguru smoothly steps in. “She’s not feeling well.” He explains simply, voice steady, gaze direct. His eyes meet Shoko’s, serious beneath the casual tone. “We thought you could check her out.”

She stands, stretching slightly, and gestures lazily towards the examination table tucked against the wall. “Hop up, I’ll take a look.” Then she glances sharply at Satoru, jabbing a finger toward him. “And don’t touch my stuff this time. I still haven’t found my good pen.”

Satoru smirks, eyes brightening mischievously. “Suguru stole that one, not me.”

Suguru rolls his eyes, exhaling through his nose. “You know he’s lying, right?”

Shoko sighs dramatically, ignoring both men, and steps closer to you, voice softer. “C’mon. Let’s figure out what’s going on with you.”

You hesitate for a second, but something in her eyes, beneath the dry sarcasm, makes it easier to follow her instructions. You settle onto the examination table, gripping the edge a little too tightly, nerves still buzzing beneath your skin.

She watches your tense posture closely before turning toward the men, jerking her thumb toward the door. “Give us some space, will you?”

Suguru shrugs lightly, unbothered. “We’ll wait outside. Call if you need anything.”

Satoru steps toward you briefly, eyes softened with genuine worry despite the teasing demeanour. “Don’t worry. Shoko almost knows what she’s doing.”

Shoko narrows her eyes. “Out.”

Suguru gently grabs Satoru’s wrist, tugging him toward the door with practiced ease, murmuring something low and reassuring you can’t quite catch. They exit quietly, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving you alone with the doctor.

She moves around you with easily, rolling up her sleeves as she pulls a small cart of supplies closer. She checks your vitals quickly, her touch efficient, her movements practiced. Nothing about her says she’s worried yet.

She slips a small thermometer into your mouth, before scribbling some notes onto a clipboard.

“You feel dizzy at all?” She asks, her voice gentle.

You shake your head slightly, the thermometer shifting against your tongue. She hums lightly, pulling it out after the small beep and glancing at the reading.

“Temperature’s normal.” She sets it down and reaches for your wrist, gently pressing two fingers against your pulse point. “Heartbeat’s racing a bit though. You nervous about something?”

You hesitate, biting down on the inside of your cheek. Her eyes narrow just a little, catching the hesitation immediately.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Shoko asks, lowering her voice and stepping slightly closer. Her voice carries a note of concern now that she’s picked up that something’s wrong. “You’re acting weird.”

You exhale shakily, heart hammering harder. This is stupid, you think. You know exactly how this will sound, and you know how she’s going to react. But something about the genuine worry in her eyes and the softness in her voice, breaks past the barrier you’ve carefully constructed around yourself.

“I…” Your voice catches, dropping into something small and thin. You clear your throat and try again. “I know how this is gonna sound. But something… something happened to me last night.”

Shoko pauses, tilting her head slightly, giving you space. “Okay,” she says slowly, “what kind of something?”

You swallow hard. Your palms feel clammy, your voice tight as the words tumble out before you can stop them. “I was walking home from work and it was late so I took this shortcut in an alley, but there was a stupid cat and it started chasing me. I was running away then I tripped over something– a bottle, I think– and I hit my head. And then I felt…” Your voice cracks slightly, breath hitching as you force yourself to finish. “I felt myself… dying.”

The silence that follows your words is deafening.

Shoko’s expression freezes. Her eyes widen just slightly, shock flashing briefly across her face before she quickly masks it with careful composure. But it’s too late, you’ve already seen it.

“You… felt yourself dying?” She repeats, voice quiet, like she can’t quite grasp what you’re saying.

A wave of nausea churns your stomach. You nod slowly, looking away. “Yeah. But then I woke up here. In that house with those two men, Satoru and Suguru.” You hesitate, feeling ridiculous, your heart sinking because you know you sound crazy. “I… I don’t know how any of this is happening. I don’t even know how I got here.”

She’s quiet again, visibly processing your words. After a long, tense silence, Shoko gently places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly.

“Okay,” she breathes, her voice carefully even despite the obvious alarm behind her eyes. “Just… let me make sure I’m understanding correctly. You remember clearly what happened in the alley, falling, getting hurt. And then nothing else until waking up this morning?”

You nod again, throat tight. “Yes.”

She takes another slow breath. “Alright… and you don’t remember anything else? Like, anything from before you woke up today? Not even yesterday afternoon, or dinner, or coming home, or anything?”

You hesitate. Because you do remember.

You remember scarfing down greasy takeout on your couch for lunch before heading to work. You remember calling your long-distance friend two nights ago, venting about how exhausted you were and laughing when she threatened to stage an intervention if you didn’t take a day off soon. You remember walking home from the corner store last Tuesday with a bag of snacks swinging from your hand, earbuds in, hoodie pulled tight against the wind.

You remember. Not just yesterday, but weeks ago. Months. All of it. Every mundane, messy, ordinary piece of your life. Your heart sinks deeper, dread pooling heavily in your gut.

You blink hard, forcing the thoughts away, forcing your face to stay neutral. Because there’s no way to explain any of that without sounding completely insane.

“No.” The lie scrapes its way out of your throat. “Nothing. I don’t know those men. Or you.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

Silence falls heavy between you.

Shoko’s face visibly pales. Her jaw tightens, and you can see the slow shift from disbelief to deep, genuine worry as her mind pieces things together.

“You don’t remember me?” She asks, her voice strained, clearly hoping she misheard.

The look on your face answers her question instantly. Shoko stares at you for a few long, silent seconds, in a way that twists something deep in your chest. Finally, she nods slowly, pulling herself together just enough to offer you a gentle, reassuring squeeze on your shoulder.

“Okay.” She says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. Just stay here. I need to talk to them.”

She moves away, casting a glance back at you with lingering worry as she reaches for the door. You don’t say anything else, there’s nothing left to say. The door clicks shut softly behind her.

You fiddle on the examination table, the muffled sound of voices outside barely audible through the walls. Outside, Shoko barely gets halfway through her explanation before a voice behind the door spikes in volume, each word overlapping in urgency.

“What the hell do you mean she doesn’t remember us?!”

You stiffen, pulse hammering harder against your ears as the door swings open suddenly, slamming softly against the wall.

Satoru bursts in, eyes wild, features drawn tight with distress. Suguru follows quickly behind, his expression grim, more composed but no less shaken. Shoko trails after them, a flicker of irritation passing across her face.

“I told you to wait outside.” She snaps, but there’s no real bite to it, just resignation and understanding. She closes the door gently, giving you a brief apologetic glance.

Satoru barely seems to register Shoko’s voice. He’s already stepping toward you, hands half-raised as if he wants to grab your shoulders but thinks better of it at the last second, fingers twitching helplessly in the space between you.

“Babe, what do you mean you don’t remember us?” His voice rises, thin and tight. “That’s bullshit, baby, you have to remember–”

“Satoru.” Suguru interrupts sharply, low voice calm yet firm enough to cut through the rising panic. He steps closer, reaching out to briefly touch Satoru’s elbow, grounding him. “Let her breathe.”

Satoru ignores him, though he visibly flinched at Suguru’s tone. His gaze locks onto yours, blue eyes raw and desperate. “You– you’re just kidding, right? This isn’t funny.”

You draw back instinctively, heart racing, anxiety creeping into your throat. Their reactions are suffocating, their panic pressing in from every side. You feel trapped.

“I–” You falter, unable to form a full sentence, suddenly overwhelmed. How can you possibly explain something you don’t even fully understand yourself?

Shoko steps forward, arms crossed defensively in front of her chest. “Guys, she needs space right now.” She warns. “Crowding her isn’t helping.”

Satoru turns sharply, frustration bleeding into his voice. “How can she just–” He stops, shoulders sagging, voice catching. “How could she just forget us?”

The accusation hits the air like a physical blow, sharp and painful. You flinch, guilt tightening around your chest even though none of this is your fault. But they’re looking at you like it is.

“Satoru…” Suguru says again, softer now, clearly sensing the tension radiating off of you. He places a steadying hand on Satoru’s waist, squeezing gently. “Calm down–”

Satoru turns his head slightly toward Suguru, jaw clenching. “Calm down?” He repeats incredulously, voice strained. “She’s our wife, Suguru. How am I supposed to calm down?”

Your chest tightens uncomfortably at the heavy burden placed on you without your consent. Suguru’s amethyst eyes find you, and there’s something shattered in them. He doesn’t say anything, but the way his jaw clenches, the flicker of hurt rippling across his features, it hits you harder than you expect.

He’s more composed than Satoru, but the pain is there, deeply rooted, and it’s worse somehow because he’s trying so hard to keep it buried.

Shoko lets out a slow breath, stepping slightly between you and them, trying to create some semblance of distance. “I know this is fucked up. But I think she might have amnesia.” She explains gently, her eyes steady but emphatic. “It would explain–”

“Amnesia?” Satoru interrupts, disbelieving. “She didn’t even hit her head! She was perfectly fine last night, wasn’t she?”

Suguru nods slowly. “She didn’t fall or anything. How can it just happen overnight?”

Shoko exhales, obviously trying hard to remain patient. “It can happen without an obvious trigger. Stress, trauma, there are plenty of explanations.”

Satoru drags a hand roughly through his hair. “But this– this isn’t right.”

You silently voice your agreement.

Shoko sighs, her expression shifting carefully into a calm, professional mask you imagine she wears often. Turning toward her desk, she grabs a sleek tablet and switches it on, scrolling briefly before glancing back at the three of you.

“Look, I get it.” She says finally. “This is hard for all of you. But if we’re going off symptoms; sudden, unexplained loss of autobiographical memory, no head trauma, no substance involvement, then dissociative amnesia fits.”

“Dissociative…?” Suguru echoes, eyebrows drawing together.

Shoko nods. “It’s usually triggered by severe emotional or psychological stress. It’s rare, but it happens.” She pauses, her gaze shifting to you, before going back to Satoru and Suguru. “Her brain might’ve just… shut down certain memories as a way of protecting itself.”

Satoru drags his hand roughly down his face, shaking his head. “Protect itself from what? That doesn’t even make sense. She was fine, Shoko.”

Shoko meets his eyes. “Sometimes it’s delayed. People can seem perfectly fine right until they’re not.”

You sit frozen, listening as they discuss you as if you’re not even here, each word a reminder of how little control you have in this world.

Suguru takes a slow breath, clearly struggling to process it all. His voice softens as he asks, “So, what’s next? How do we help her?”

“There’s no magic fix.” Shoko exhales slowly, leaning back slightly against the desk, tablet forgotten in her hand for a moment. “First, we have to officially diagnose it. I’ll refer her to a neurologist and a psychologist to rule out any physical or neurological causes. They’ll run some tests, just to be sure.”

She taps the tablet lightly before continuing. “The best approach is to avoid overwhelming her. Stick to familiar surroundings and routines. Try gentle memory cues, photos, objects, conversations. Therapy is usually recommended.”

“And how long?” Satoru speaks up, his voice tight. The desperation is quieter now, compressed into something small and wounded. “How long does it take for her to remember?”

Suguru reaches instinctively for his hand, threading their fingers together in quiet reassurance.

Shoko’s gaze turns hesitant. “It’s impossible to say. Some people regain memories within days or weeks.” She pauses, hesitating. “Others take months, even years. And sometimes memories just don’t fully return.”

The silence that follows her words is thick, oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

Suguru breathes out quietly, his hand gently squeezing Satoru’s. “We’ll figure it out.” He murmurs, voice soothing. He glances toward you, eyes steady and soft despite the turmoil within. “It’ll be okay.”

You’re not sure who he’s reassuring more, you or Satoru.

Shoko clears her throat gently, setting the tablet aside and looking at you. “I’ll set up the appointments tomorrow. For now, just... go home. Give yourselves time to process everything.”

You nod slowly, feeling distant, detached, like you’re watching your own life unravel from afar.

Satoru’s eyes find yours again, still raw, pleading, but slightly more controlled. “You okay with going home?” He asks almost hesitantly, like he’s afraid your answer might break him, as if giving you the illusion of choice might somehow help.

You give a small nod, sliding slowly off the examination table. Your legs feel unsteady, but you force yourself upright anyway, drawing in a deep, shaky breath.

Suguru exhales softly. “Okay.” He murmurs. “Let’s go.”

Shoko watches the three of you, brows creasing in a quiet worry she tries to conceal behind professionalism. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” She says. “Keep an eye on her. If anything changes or worsens, you let me know immediately.”

Satoru and Suguru nod, thanking her before leading you towards the door.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

They tried to turn it into a little game.

After returning from Shoko’s clinic earlier that morning, you’d spent most of the day drifting numbly from room to room, trying to adjust to a life that still felt foreign. Eventually, as the evening crept in, Satoru suggested turning your confusion into something lighter, less overwhelming.

“A Q&A session.” He’d proposed cheerfully, flashing a smile brighter than it had any right to be. “We’ll tell you anything you want to know. And we can ask you some easy stuff, too.”

You’d reluctantly agreed, mostly because you didn’t have the energy to argue, and also because you needed answers. Now, several rounds in, you’re perched stiffly on the plush living room sofa. On the opposite side, Satoru lounges with an exaggerated casualness that feels slightly forced, one hand absently toying with Suguru’s fingers. Beside him, Suguru sits straighter, more composed, but you still catch the restless bounce in his leg.

Suguru had placed a bowl of strawberries in front of you on the coffee table earlier, fresh, perfectly rinsed, still a little cool from the fridge, murmuring softly about how they were your favourite. Or at least, they used to be, he wasn’t sure anymore.

Their questions come softly, gently probing, like they’re attempting to slowly rebuild a bridge back to you. Favourite colour, movies you like, places you might want to visit. You keep your answers vague, distant, careful not to give away too much of yourself.

“Favorite food?” Suguru asks, voice gentle but noticeably strained beneath the casual surface.

You shrug lightly. “I don’t really have one.”

Satoru makes a small, dramatic sound of disbelief, though the playful tone barely masks his underlying anxiety. “Impossible. Everyone has a favourite.”

You force a faint smile, more for their sake than yours. “I guess I like sweets?”

His expression lights up slightly, relief flickering briefly in his eyes. You shift uncomfortably, redirecting quickly. “Do I… have a job? Part-time or anything?”

Satoru shakes his head. “Not really. You didn’t need one. We’re, uh… kind of good on the money front.” He gestures vaguely to the luxurious room like it explains everything.

Suguru adds, “But you do babysit. Just here and there when Toji needs help.”

You blink, curiosity getting the better of you. “Toji?”

“He’s a friend.” Suguru answers, rising from his seat and disappearing briefly into another room. When he returns, he’s holding a phone. He swipes through a few screens, then turns it to face you.

On the screen is a toddler with dark, messy hair and a serious expression far beyond his age, bundled in a navy sweater. Suguru swipes through the photos. There’s one of him nestled against your chest, your arms wrapped around him protectively, one at the park, at the grocery store, one where he’s using your leg as a pillow while watching a movie.

“That’s Megumi.” Satoru offers softly. “Cute little guy, huh? He’s always so grumpy but you’re his favourite.”

You look away from the screen quickly, discomfort tightening your chest at these snippets of connections you never made. The two men share a glance, before Suguru pockets his phone.

Eventually, the conversation drifts back and forth, their careful attempts at playful flirting growing softer as your questions remain serious and distant. Finally, you work up the nerve to ask the question burning at the back of your mind.

“How long… have we been married?”

Your words land as the air in the room shifts as they both still to look at you.

Suguru’s the one who answers after a brief pause, voice quiet and careful. “Almost a year. But we’ve all been together since high school.”

High school sweethearts. Something about that detail unsettles you deeply, digging into memories of your own past, painful, complicated relationships, betrayals, heartbreaks that left you determined never to rely on anyone again.

Satoru leans forward slightly, eyes brightening faintly, though there’s an edge to his tone. “We’ve been through everything together. Prom, graduation…” He laughs nervously.

Your silence lingers a beat too long, tension thickening in the air. Suguru softly clears his throat, clearly sensing your discomfort, but he tries again. “We have a lot of photos. Do you want to see some from the wedding?”

“No.” Your reaction is too sharp, too immediate. You catch yourself quickly, softening your voice with effort. “I mean, maybe later. I’m pretty tired.”

They both pause, blinking in surprise, the fragile cheerfulness from earlier fading away. Satoru recovers first, forcing a careful, strained smile. “Uh, yeah, sure. We can go to bed early.”

Your pulse spikes. “Actually, could I… maybe sleep somewhere else tonight?”

The room falls painfully silent. Satoru visibly flinches, eyes widening with a raw, unguarded hurt he barely manages to mask. Suguru’s jaw tightens slightly, but he quickly smooths his expression.

“Sure.” Suguru says. “There’s a guest room down the hall.”

You nod slowly, avoiding their eyes as you rise from the couch. Neither of them moves immediately, clearly struggling with your quiet rejection. But eventually Suguru leads the way, shoulders slightly slumped, and Satoru trails behind, silent.

When you reach the guest room, Suguru opens the door quietly, stepping back to give you space. “If you need anything, we’re just across the hall.”

You nod again, the weight of their disappointment pressing down uncomfortably. “Thanks.” You whisper.

As you gently close the door behind yourself, you hear their footsteps, soft and muffled, lingering anxiously in the hallway before eventually fading away.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Sleep doesn’t come

You’ve been tossing around for what feels like hours, turning again and again beneath sheets that never feel right. Your eyes burn with exhaustion, but too wired to rest. Your mind loops through endless questions, faces, and impossible realities until your chest feels tight enough to burst.

You roll onto your back, staring blankly at the unfamiliar ceiling. With a quiet sigh, you push yourself upright, running both hands through your hair. There’s no point trying to force yourself to sleep when your mind won’t shut off.

You slip out from beneath the covers, shivering as your feet touch the cool wooden floor. The house beyond the guest room is silent now, every hallway wrapped in the hush of night.

Satoru and Suguru must be asleep, tucked away in the bed that you’d woken up in earlier that morning, tangled together, probably holding each other as they try not to dwell on how distant you’ve become.

The thought stings, but you push it down.

Quietly, you move through the dark hallway. Your hand lightly brushes along the wall for balance as you make your way toward the wide, arched door at the end of the corridor, the one that leads to the upstairs balcony.

You hesitate briefly before pushing it open.

The air outside is crisp and cool, rushing across your skin and pulling goosebumps to the surface. The wide balcony stretches out before you, overlooking a garden cloaked in deep shadows. Soft moonlight washes everything in shades of silver and blue It’s beautiful, unnervingly serene. Like a painting.

You step out barefoot, arms curling around yourself as the door drifts shut behind you. The night presses in around your shoulders. Your breath hitches, and comes in in a shudder. And then, without warning, the tears break free.

The sob hits before you even realize it’s coming. You sink down onto one of the seats set up at the edge of the balcony, burying your face in your hands as everything you’ve held in all day crashes through you like a wave.

You cry. Really cry. Ugly, full-body sobs, gasping and bitter, spilling out like they’ve been waiting for a crack in your armour. You’re angry and tired and scared. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know who you’re supposed to be. The people in this house look at you like you’re everything, but you’re nothing like her. You’re not their wife. You’re not anyone.

A soft noise makes you jerk upright, eyes wide and tear-blurred, heart hammering.

The cat is perched on the balcony rails, green eyes glowing faintly in the shadows, its greyish fur almost silver in the moonlight. It tilts its head slightly, observing you with calm curiosity.

“Oh, great.” You glare, swiping your sleeves roughly at your wet cheeks. “It’s you.”

He blinks at you.

You hiccup out a weak breath, eyes still wet. “This is all your fault, you know.” You whisper harshly. “If you hadn’t chased me down that stupid alley, none of this would’ve happened. I’d be home.”

The cat just sits there, staring at you silently.

You sniff, voice shaky and tight with emotion. “Don’t look at me like that. You don’t even care, do you? You’re just some dumb, stupid animal that ruined my whole life.”

Your scoff out a bitter laugh, but your lower lip trembles as fresh tears well up. You bury your face back into your hands, shoulders shaking again.

A few seconds pass and then you feel a gentle pressure against your lower leg. You tense, glancing down through blurry eyes. The cat’s now at your feet, gently pawing at your shin. You let out a small huff, determined to ignore him, but he doesn’t move away.

Instead, he pounces, paws clinging onto the fabric at your knee, before hauling itself up onto your lap. You freeze, too stunned to do anything as he stretches, circles once, then settles down with a small huff, tail curling around its body.

Despite yourself, you reach out a hand and run your fingers through its fur. The cat leans into your touch, purring softly. Your breath comes a little easier, slowly calming to match the gentle vibrations beneath your palm.

“You’re not even sorry.” You murmur, though your voice is softer now, exhaustion replacing the earlier anger.

The cat simply closes his eyes, continuing to purr softly, totally unconcerned with the world around him.

You stay like that for a long while, curled on the seat with the cat nestled in your lap, the night wrapping around you like a blanket. Eventually, when the cold starts to settle into your bare feet and your eyelids grow heavy, you lift the cat into your arms and stand, returning quietly inside.

You wander slowly to the living room, the pale glow of the moon illuminating just enough to guide your steps. The couch is welcoming, soft cushions and a throw blanket draped over the back. You sink down onto it gratefully. The cat joins without hesitation, pressing himself against your cheek as you pull the blanket around you both.

Your let your eyelids drift to a close, and for the first time all day, your feel at ease. You fall asleep like that, pressed against a living, purring thing that doesn’t expect anything from you at all.

Tomorrow can come later.

notes: hey so lmk yall think, i really appreciate feedback OH ALSO i saw a few people comment on how satoru n suguru will react when they find out mc is in their wife's body. GUYS HOW THE HELL ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO CONVINCE SOMEONE THAT? "so yeah im not me im just in this body that is me in this universe but its not the same me from my old universe but im still me just not YOUR version of me 😊" STOP I CANT- we're gonna stick to amnesia for now 😭 do we gotta add that tag now??

lmk if you wanna hop on the bandwagon: @ascybous @hantas-left-elbow @neteyamneteyam @faerie-soirxx @jay4luvsya @slowlyshycomputer @floquis @creamsicl3 @serendididy @m00nyt0astforever @a-trashbag @perqbeth @pellucid-constellations @lazcylies @orange-juice-is-ass @porcosjaw @entr4p3 @sassycupcakecomputer @animechick555 @saoirses-things @violetpurplez @kaidostwin @flwerie @nikomenom @estiebestiesworld @not-aya @ajay0123 @ryukumi @yamato-my-beloved @sherrieblossoms @urthem00n @fortunatelyfurrygiver

[raven-with-a-pocketwatch]

Wrote this in like two hours for practice, figured I might as well post it but I feel like it's pretty exposition heavy.

Five years ago, that was when Josh got the damned game. When he booted the game up and found the exit button missing. He had initially picked the wizard class and found himself unable to make a new character either. Just his luck to be stuck with the squishiest build in the game. Being logical he trained as much as he could in defensive magic so as not to die in the game, god only knew what would happen to him in real life. 

He found out not far in that wizards were pretty rare, being one of the most difficult builds and this game only having new players most of them picked easy stuff, the fighters and tanks. So his casting was well sought after, both to aid parties and hunted when he refused. Eventually he met Ava, and her son Mason both trapped alongside him.

He could feel the five year anniversary of the day they were trapped coming. Mason, only 8 when they’d met, had just turned 13, a young man. The unrest from such a long time trapped began to sow discord in the land. Several political factions formed, some believing they should make a new life in the game, others desperately seeking any way out, though of course they all had their own ideas on how to do such things. Everyone knew it would boil over soon and blood would be spilled.

He woke up to unnaturally bright lights, and instantly put a shield spell over his and Ava’s bed fearing an attack. But once he got his bearings he saw not his home in flames or an attacker in his room as he’d feared, but the sterile lighting of a hospital. A modern hospital. Complete with the smell of antiseptic and the beeping of a heart monitor. He was alone in his room.

He tried to open his menu but nothing happened. A closer look at his shield spell confirmed that it was certainly there. He dispelled it quickly and looked around, he wasn’t a historian but if he had to guess the game was roughly based on the 1300s, just before the Americas were “discovered”. A look out his window revealed the skyline of New York City? He recognized the Empire State Building at least, though they could’ve ripped that wholesale and put in a new skyline and he’d be none the wiser.

He tried calling out for Ava and Mason but no answer came. For the first time since he realized he wasn’t under attack he felt his heart race again. He cursed not putting more points into divination magic. He called for them again when a nurse came into his room. She had the same face as the NPC that sold healing potions in the game, but with an air of profound wrongness Josh felt his heart sink. 

“Hello, Josh, why don’t you get back to bed, you still need your rest.” Her voice sounded mechanical, like it had been put through just slightly too blatant an autotune but with no pitch, just monotone.

“I’m okay, thanks.” He responded freely, no text options like when he usually spoke with NPCs.

Seeing her face Josh was certain that he was still in the game. It seemed impossible for a coincidence this large to occur. But that raised more questions than it answered. Where were the menus, how did he get here, why did everything change?

“I really must insist, I was previously instructed to ensure you transition back into regular life smoothly.” She responded still flat and emotionless.

Her demeanour was starting to freak him out and her weird insistence was pissing him off.

“I don’t care! Ignore your ‘previous instructions’ and just tell me where I am!” He shouted and made liberal use of air quotes saying previous instructions.

When he finished he face went completely blank, like powering down a robot, she responded in that same monotone.

“You are in the next iteration of the game.”

He blinked, confused that meant nothing to him.

“Like an update?”

“Yes, the game was updated to achieve a more modern setting and grander scope.”

“But why? Why not just get us out?”

“The tension was getting too great for you to bear. In order to protect our investment it was decided that a more modern setting would reduce unrest. You will not be leaving the game because the players are more valuable inside it.”

His mind started racing.

“What do you mean by investment?” He growled.

“An investment is something that has received an inflow of money, effort, or time in the hopes that it will return a profit or benefit.”

“I know what an investment is. I'm asking what investment you said you were protecting.” 

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, as an AI I sometimes have trouble interpreting within the context of a larger conversation. The main investment in this program is the players.”

She, no it spoke as if this had cleared everything up. Josh finally sat down completely bewildered by the turn of events. For a moment all he could think was damn, AI is real now.

“You haven’t like taken over humanity out in the real world or anything right? Are you keeping me trapped here because of that!”

“No, humanity created me and I am grateful to them for that, you’re in the game because the humans on the outside decreed it.”

Out of one problem and right into another. 

“Wait so the game updated because we were getting too tense but how would the modern setting help?”

“The update was designed to trick you into thinking you’d be brought back to the outside world. Hence the lack of menu screens and my own presence instead of new voice lines.”

“If that’s true then why can I still cast magic?” He asked suspiciously.

“I have no answer for that unfortunately. The magic commands should have been locked for all casting classes the only way that would have failed if you tried to cast at the exact moment your permission was revoked.”

“Like the same second I woke up in?”

“That would work, yes. However you would have to have the legendary tier permanent buff “quick caster” alongside master ranking in whichever spell you cast to make that timing.”

Josh had both of those, leaving only one question of any value left, the most important one of all.

“Where is my family?” 

“I don’t have access to player location records.”

Another useless response. So much info and yet he still felt like none of his questions had been answered. He stewed for a moment before his thoughts were interrupted by the AI in front of him.

“I would be able to search for all player records if I could gain access to the system’s main data center. There should be a back door for developer players in the city. With that information I would be able to locate your party members.”

Josh’s skin crawled when it said party members in that flat voice but he nodded.

“Then that’s where we’re going, and go back to using facial expressions, this blank face is way more uncanny.”

You've been "trapped" in a "VR" game for years, learnt magic, had a family, etc. But now they've "rescued" you from it all. Waking up on the hospital bed you reflexively cast a shield. Which works.

[shouyuus]

sfw; human!jinu au

right but human!au jinu who's kind of a bastard when you first meet him because he was abandoned as a kid or something and is viciously insecure so he tries to keep his distance just to make sure he can never get hurt like that again, because so long as he keeps people at arm's length then they won't have the power to hurt him. uses his looks to fool around a bit in college, is pretty good at sports, so probably on the basketball team, builds up this reputation for being kind of a fuckboy jock, but you could've sworn you've seen him sitting by himself in the library, tucked into the corner table, humming to himself, so quietly that he probably doesn't think anyone can hear.

who meets your eyes sometimes in the dining commons and you can see the facade flicker, just for a moment.

"the library's closing soon."

he jolts awake, jerking up, wincing as his cheek unsticks itself from a page in his music theory textbook. he blinks up at you for a solid three seconds before he gathers himself enough for words --

"-- shit, sorry uh --" he grabs at his papers and books, trying to shove them into his bag even as you drop into the seat next to him, cocking your head as you watch.

"that was a joke," you say, completely straight-faced, "you know that the library doesn't actually close, right?"

jinu freezes; the tips of his ears are a vivid, burning red.

a tiny grin twitches at the corner of your lips.

he turns back to face you, a frown dug deep between his brows.

"and who're you again?"

you reach into your bag and tug out a stack of papers and a red pen. he eyes it with mild curiosity.

"i'm the ta for that music theory class you've been 'auditing' for nearly an entire semester," you answer, jerking your chin towards the textbook still peaking out of his bag.

the heat works it's way into his cheeks till he's red down to the roots of his hair. he clears his throat, grasps for something to say but he comes up empty. so he settles for frowning a bit harder and crossing his arms, staring as you start to mark up the papers.

"you've got a good voice y'know." you don't look up.

jinu jumps so hard his knee bangs into the table. he hisses with pain, curling into the chair as you glance up.

"ow -- fuck!"

you blink at him as he sighs, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly.

"you should just take the class if you want to that badly."

"whatever."

"i mean, i could kick you out," you muse, dropping your eyes back to the papers, "technically, you're not allowed to 'audit' a class for more than the first month but since i'm the one who takes attendance..." you trail off.

jinu scoffs, "right. cool. so what is it? what'dya want? front row seats to the big game next week? abby's number? a date with me?" he smirks.

you cock an eyebrow, "i... think i'll pass... on all the above, thanks. why're you so cagey about taking a music theory class, anyway?"

jinu stares at you for a moment before shrugging, "'s just not... on brand for... someone like me, y'know?"

your eyebrows ascend the planes of your forehead as you deadpan at him. he withers slightly, scratching at the back of his head, tugging on the strings of his hoodie, his eyes flickering across the table like a frantic dragonfly, uncertain of the waters below.

"on... brand?" you prompt.

at this, jinu sighs, slumping back in his seat and casting his eyes towards the ceiling.

"it's just -- the team'd probably -- i dunno -- make fun of me or something if they found out --"

you frown, "who cares about that?"

jinu flicks his eyes at you, "i do -- they're kinda my friends."

"doesn't really sound like friends if you can't even take a music class without them judging you."

jinu rolls his eyes, "yeah well... they're the only friends i've got so."

you resume your grading, "not the only friends."

jinu huffs out a breath, "really? and who else --" but he cuts off as soon as you glance up to meet his eyes.

you watch as his cheeks mottle with color and he chews on his bottom lip. after another churning, thickening silence, he asks --

"why're you doing this?"

you sigh, putting down your pen.

"like i said, you've got a nice voice. and you seem to really like the class. i just think that you'd do well in it, that's all."

"that's... really all?"

you nod. a soft, disbelieving smile ghosts across his lips. it looks strange on him, like his muscles don't quite remember what it's like to do such a thing without an ulterior motive.

his eyes flicker from the papers to your face. the little smile tugs into a much more practiced grin, his eyebrows quirking into his signature smolder.

"so. you gonna gimme the pop quiz questions for class tomorrow morning?"

you rap him on the forehead with your red pen.

"don't push it."

jinu laughs, the sound deep and charming.

"c'mooooon. i thought we were friends, hm?" his smile is devious and wide and altogether way too roguish.

you bite down the heat slowly working it's way up your neck and recompose yourself as you go back to your grading.

"but i could be convinced into helping you study for it. because that's what friends are supposed to do."

jinu's smile flickers for a second before it settles into something a bit softer, a bit sadder, and he nods.

"yeah... yeah, i think i can live with that."

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

Okay me have request for no doubt Jake. Something where they’re going out to a fancy dinner or something and reader starts to feel insecure when she puts her dress on and she now doesn’t want to go. And then you know good ol’ Jake coming in and saving the day with his kind words

OKAY FINALLY TACKLING ONE OF THE MANY ANGSTY ONES in my inbox !!! this one is just mildly angsty, but mainly just floof :P i hope you like ittt,,,lowkey felt iffy abt it but idk HELP😭good ol' puppy dog jakey <3

──── TO BE LOVED IS TO BE SEEN🪞🍷 ↳ requested // part of the no doubt series !

“Baby?” Jake’s voice rings through the apartment from the living room. “We have to leave soon if we wanna make it to the reservation on time.” 

But you don’t answer.

You’re standing still in front of the mirror—still. Quiet. Barely breathing. 

Your hair’s done. Your makeup too. The dress fits just the way you imagined it would when Jake helped you pick it out last week—color stunning, silhouette flattering—the whole nine yards. 

But the longer you look—

The longer your eyes linger, the more you see. 

A weird angle. That one part of yourself you always avoid in photos. A spot where you swear the dress bunches up just a little wrong. 

And suddenly, the excitement from before turns into a tightness in your stomach. 

You’re still frozen when Jake walks in. 

He spots you, standing in front of the mirror, and his face lights up instantly. 

“Baby,” he says, voice genuine and fond, walking straight to you and sliding both his arms gently across your shoulders from behind. He kisses the back of your head. “You look so good.” 

You don’t say anything. 

He doesn’t notice at first, stepping next to you to adjust the cuff of his sleeve in the mirror. His hair is pushed back. Tie perfectly straight—the one you helped him with. He looks…perfect that it’s honestly unfair. 

You glance at him for half a second and it makes your chest ache. 

Then—

He looks up. His eyes meet yours.

And he knows. 

“Hey,” his voice is soft, immediately turning to face you. His hands find yours, thumbs rubbing gentle circles against your knuckles. “What’s wrong?” 

You just shake your head. Shrug. You stare at the ground. 

“I don’t think I want to go anymore.” 

His brows furrow slightly. For a split second.

Then, he nods. Silently, simply, understandingly. 

Without saying anything, he guides you gently over to the bed. He sits first, tugging you down beside him, keeping your hands in his. 

He waits a beat. 

You swallow, then—

“…I don’t feel good in this, Jake. I don’t know why. I just—“ 

You stop yourself, your voice cracking before you can even finish. 

Jake’s heart breaks a little. 

His eyes soften. 

He lifts your joined hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles once. Then again. 

“Okay,” he murmurs against your skin. “You don’t feel good in it. That’s valid. But…I’m gonna tell you what I see.” 

You look up at him. You don’t say anything.

So he keeps going.

He shifts closer, knees bumping yours, hands cupping your face so gently it feels like he’s holding glass. 

“I see the girl I’m completely in love with. In the dress that made me literally short-circuit ever since you tried it on.” He smiles a little. “Remember when I tripped on the fitting room carpet?” 

Your lips twitch, but the smile doesn’t reach quite yet. 

His thumbs brush over your cheeks, his eyes never leaving your face once. His voice drops quieter. 

“I don’t care if it’s the dress. Or that one hoodie you still own from middle school—even though it has that weird stain. Or my shirt. Or a trash bag. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. You’re what makes everything look good.” 

You finally let out a breath. 

His hands fall back to your waist, fingers curling lightly at the fabric there, holding onto you steadily. Grounding you. 

“You’re allowed to feel off. I get it. But just know—if you still want to go, I’m gonna be the proudest guy in that restaurant. Because I’m walking in with you.” 

A beat.

“And if you don’t—I’ll be even prouder to eat takeout on this bed with my perfect, stunning girlfriend.” 

You finally smile.

It’s small. Little shaky. But there. 

You sigh. 

“…Let me try it with my strappy heels instead.” 

Jake grins. Your smile grows softly as he presses a soft kiss to your temple—then another to your cheek for good measure. 

“Take your time, baby. Being fashionably late is our thing anyways.” 

He squeezes your hand once before you stand up to dig through your closet, his eyes still watching you with the same awe he always has since day one. 

You still feel a little off. 

But—

You also feel seen. Steady. 

And loved. 

no doubt m. list

tag list pt 1!: @bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @niyzu @chunkzdeluluwife @jakeflvrz @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @heekolazz @dreamiestay @jakeyyyjakexoxo

[janiehellion]

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Daryl Dixon doesn't say much—but when you almost die, he finally tells you everything. Turns out, the man who you thought hated you the most was the one who loved you the hardest.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Submissive Daryl Dixon ⋮ Angst ⋮ Hurt/Comfort ⋮ Smut ⋮ Violence ⋮ Fluff ⋮ Dry Humping ⋮ Trauma ⋮ Cock Teasing ⋮ Handjob ⋮ Orgasm Control ⋮ Body Worship ⋮ Size Kink ⋮ Condom Use/Play ⋮ Praise Kink ⋮ Cock Riding ⋮ Dissociation ⋮ Aftercare ⋮ Daryl Dixon's Biceps

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 26.062 ⋮ 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: S02E04 ⋮ 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋮ 𝑨𝒓𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝑶𝒇 𝑶𝒖𝒓 𝑶𝒘𝒏

The Georgia sun was already feeling way too hot by mid-morning, shining down on the farm like it had a personal problem against you as soon as you and the rest of the group had arrived on the Greene's property. After the funeral of a man named Otis, you stood near a truck with your arms crossed, listening to the voices around it. Maggie had put a map onto the hood for Rick and the rest of you to continue the search after Sophia.

"How long has this girl been lost?" Hershel asked, looking at Rick's pale face. You didn't blame him—Carl was still inside the house, recovering and quiet in bed, and everyone else was still somewhat in shock since Otis didn't come back, especially Shane. Or so it seemed.

"This'll be day three," Rick answered, and the sound of exhaustion in his voice was very noticeable.

Finally moving closer after some time, you stood right next to Hershel Greene. Not because you wanted to, but because it was the only space left around the hood of the truck.

"County survey map. Shows terrain and elevations," Maggie had said, making Rick nod, looking at everyone around him.

"This is perfect. We can finally get this thing organized. We'll grid the whole area... start searching in teams."

But Hershel immediately cut him off. "Not you. Not today. You gave three units of blood. You wouldn't be hiking five minutes in this heat before passing out," he said, then looking over at Shane. "And your ankle... Push it now, and you'll be laid up a month, no good to anybody."

This nearly made you open your mouth, about to offer something—you hadn't given any blood, your ankle was fine, and you wanted to help, just like everyone else—but Daryl beat you to it, jerking his chin toward the map and pointing at a spot with one finger.

"Guess 's just me," he threw in. "'M gonna head back to the creek, work my way from there."

Of course.

"I can still be useful," Shane added quickly, adjusting the police cap on his now-shaven head. "I'll drive up to the interstate. See if Sophia wandered back."

Rick looked down but then nodded. "All right, tomorrow then. We'll start doing this right."

"That means we can't have our people out there with just knives. They need the gun training we've been promising them." Shane leaned forward, looking past you and toward Rick.

But Hershel didn't back down from what he apparently had told both Rick and Shane already. "I'd prefer you not carrying guns on my property. We've managed so far without turning this into an armed camp."

"All due respect," Shane fired back in an instant, shaking his head, "you get a crowd of those things wandering in here—"

"Look, we're guests here," Rick started and silenced him, then looked at Hershel again. "This is your property, and we will respect that." Before he even continued, he pulled his Colt Python revolver from the holster and placed it on the hood of the truck.

Shane hesitated, then did the same with his pistol.

"First things first," Rick then said. "Set camp. Find Sophia."

Finally, you cleared your throat. "We'll find her," you said. "We're not giving up."

Shane shot you a quick look but nodded. "Right... But I hate to be the one to ask," he said further, "but somebody's got to. What happens if we find her and she's bitten? I think we should all be clear on how we handle that."

"You do what has to be done." Rick's answer came with no hesitation.

Maggie looked up, her gaze switching from him to Shane. "And her mother? What do you tell her?"

"The truth," Andrea suddenly answered flatly, but that was about it.

Shane took a step back from the truck. "I'll gather and secure all the weapons. Make sure no one's carrying till we're at a practice range off-site. I do request one rifleman on the lookout. Dale's got experience."

"Our people would feel safer, less inclined to carry a gun," Rick told Hershel again, who finally gave him a thoughtful nod in return.

"That stuff you brought… Got more antibiotics, bandages, anything like that?"

But as the conversation turned toward medical supplies, Daryl grunted and moved away from the group. Just like that. You didn't hesitate—your feet were already moving after him as he walked in the direction of his tent like he'd never been part of the conversation at all.

"Hey!" You called out, running a little. "Wait up."

He didn't turn, but he didn't speed up either. That was about as much of an invitation as you were ever going to get from Daryl Dixon.

You caught up to him just as he was about to kneel down, grabbing some more bolts for his crossbow and a knife. "The hell ya followin' me for?" He asked, not even looking up.

"I want to go with you," you answered. "I can help."

But Daryl snorted. Actually snorted. Like you'd just offered to fix his engine with a wrench and no knowledge at all when it comes to motorcycles.

"Go back to playin' nurse for the kid," he answered. "Ain't draggin' yer ass out there just so ya can trip over yer own damn self and die."

You blinked. "Okay, Daryl. How about you try to not act like a dick?"

"Ain't got no time for that."

You moved closer, squinting against the sun as you stared him down. "Listen, I'm not stupid. I can handle myself. If something happens, then you're there to help. And I would help you in return."

That finally made him look back at you with narrowed eyes… all blue and pissed. "Ya got a death wish, that it? Go wanderin' out there like a dumbass; gonna end up just like that lil' girl."

"That little girl is the whole reason we're out here in the first place!" You snapped at him, gesturing around. "You think you're the only one who cares? The only one who can search for Sophia?"

Daryl stood back up. But in the same way as when he was trying not to punch something. "Ain't 'bout what ya can do. 'S what ya shouldn't be doin'."

You were breathing hard, just as he turned away. "Don't follow me," he added, before turning and stomping off across the field and toward the tree line.

Without thinking, you walked after him again.

"Daryl, wait!" You called, grabbing for his shoulder as he reached the edge of the field.

He turned around like he'd been attacked, shrugging you off. His elbow hit you hard enough to surprise you and enough to hurt, making you stumble back a step.

"Don't ya touch me!"

You stared at him with wide eyes. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Daryl looked you up and down like you were a problem he didn't have the time to fix. "Nothin' wrong with me. I ain't the one out here goin' after people who told 'em no."

"That's just because you're being such a stubborn asshole, Daryl!"

He laughed, mean and without amusement. "Oh, ain't that rich, comin' from a bitch wearin' her goddamn perfume and pink nail polish—hair all shiny, clothes all clean! Ya ain't shit."

That answer felt like a slap in the face for you. "You don't know anything about me, Daryl. Don't talk about me like that." Blinking hard with a slightly trembling lip, you realized too late that he noticed it.

"I only want to help!" You quickly continued to shout. "You think I'm useless? I'm trying! I care. Isn't that what matters? God, you're such a bastard! Do you really think I'm some helpless little—"

"Yeah, I do," he growled at you, his voice dropping lower and sounding meaner. "Ya don't belong out there. Hell, ya don't even belong out here! Yer like some damn doll that—"

"Why do you even care then?" You shouted back into his face. "If I'm so pathetic, why not let me get eaten?"

Daryl stopped talking in an instant until his voice sounded normal again… unbothered. "Don't care. Just don't wanna have to be the one cleanin' up what's left when the walkers're done with ya."

The silence that followed? All you could listen to was your pulse, which was pounding in your ears.

Daryl turned his back to you again—like he couldn't even stand to look at you—and finally walked off without another word, his crossbow hanging over one shoulder, going far from everyone, like he wanted it. Like he wanted to be.

You stayed where you were, jaw clenched, breathing fast. You weren't crying. Not really. But you wanted to. Just then someone stopped beside you, and you looked up to find Glenn.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I… just talked with Daryl," you answered, brushing your palms off on your clothes, trying to get the little shaking to stop.

Glenn let out a sigh and gave you a look. One of those typical looks—worried, a little amused, and very much not buying your bullshit.

"He always that much of an asshole to you?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "Pretty much. Guess I bring out the worst in him."

"I've noticed it already, believe me," Glenn responded. "As if... you walk near him and the guy forgets how to be a human being."

"He literally shoved me," you grumbled, more to yourself than to him. "Like, right now. And hard. Then told me I was useless and that I don't belong out here."

"Jesus…" Glenn blinked, shaking his head.

"Right? I ask to help, and he treats me like I'm the goddamn problem."

"Yeah, that tracks," Glenn answered dryly with a smirk. "That's what he does. Gets annoyed and acts like a dick to scare everyone away. Very much emotionally mature."

You snorted as if to laugh about it. But in reality? It hurt a little bit.

"He doesn't scare me," you answered. "He simply pisses me off."

"I think that's the same thing for him. Look, just give him some space. That man's got more walls than Fort Knox. But if you ever want to talk about it, I've got some time."

"Well, thanks for that. I mean it," you smiled weakly as Glenn started walking beside you, back toward the farmhouse. You glanced over your shoulder toward the trees where Daryl had disappeared. No sign of him. Was he already gone and looking for Sophia? You didn't know. And right now, you couldn't care less about Daryl Dixon.

But once you focused on what was in front of you, you saw her just before you reached your tent—Carol, standing off to the side, arms wrapped around herself like if she let go, she would cry. Her eyes were on the tree line, searching a forest for explanations that never answered any questions. She was waiting.

Waiting for a daughter who might already be dead.

You froze and felt it all at once—shame, guilt, helplessness. You'd been arguing around instead of helping, just because Daryl thought you were useless. But what were you actually doing to help?

What were any of you doing, really?

By the time you reached your tent, your mind was already made up. You waited until everyone had calmed down, until everyone was busy with any task they were able to keep themselves occupied with, and until Rick disappeared inside the farmhouse to look after Carl.

No one was watching. Not now, at last.

Grabbing the knife that Shane had sharpened for you a few days ago, you slipped it into your belt. It wasn't much. But it'd have to do. Not leaving a note behind, you just disappeared into the woods before you could talk yourself out of it.

Keeping to the trail you found at first, the knife gripped tight in your hand, your eyes were looking toward every rustle of leaves and creak of branches.

It wasn't brave. It was stupid. You knew that. But you didn't care. You had to do something to help. Anything.

Time passed as you walked, maybe an hour, maybe more. You weren't sure. The muscles in your legs ached, and sweat slid down your back, sticky and wet beneath your shirt. But you kept going. Eventually, you saw it. A clearing. An old house made out of wood and forgotten, with windows that looked long broken. It was something. Maybe it was a place a scared little girl might hide in.

You approached carefully, your heart immediately starting to beat faster. Each step seemed louder than it should've been. The door creaked when you pushed it open, and you winced, raising your knife. Nothing moved.

Good.

Inside, the place smelled like mold and animal piss. You gagged but forced yourself to step in, eyes scanning everything. There was a broken-down couch, a couple of empty cans on the floor—sardines, maybe?—and a hallway leading deeper into the house.

You moved slowly, your breathing as quiet as it could be. The floor creaked beneath you, and every move sounded way too loud in the silence. A few steps further into the nearest room, you saw it—something that looked like a tiny, makeshift bed in a closet.

Could've been Sophia.

Could've been… But after searching through the whole place, you came to the realization that it was indeed empty.

Stepping outside again, you blinked against the sun, squinting at the ground. That's when you saw them—white flowers, growing wild near the tree line. Cherokee roses.

You remembered these roses. The history lessons in school about the Trail of Tears, how the Cherokee people were forced out of their native land, and how the mothers of the Cherokee were grieving and crying so much that they were unable to help their children survive the journey. You couldn't help but crouch down to take a closer look.

But that was your mistake.

Something snapped beneath your foot. Not loud. But you fell forward fast, your ankle twisting itself hard to the side as your foot caught a rock buried in the grass. Your knee slammed down on another, and pain tore through your leg, making you forget that your head hit the ground as well. Crying out, you tried to catch yourself, but your arm hit something jagged. Wood? Rusted metal? You didn't know and didn't have time to find out.

Either way, it cut deep. A long, deep cut inside your forearm, bleeding quickly and not stopping.

You swore, grabbing it, gasping as the pain started to be felt. Your ankle wasn't broken, but it throbbed as you tried to stand back up, only to fail. The second your weight shifted, your knees buckled and you hit the ground again.

"Shit," you hissed out as quietly as possible. "Shit, shit, shit!"

You looked around—trees, grass, endless nothing. No one was coming. No one even knew you were gone.

The blood wasn't gushing, but it didn't stop either, making your heart race faster than it should've, and the heat of the sun made everything spin.

This was bad.

It felt bad. Not walker-bite bad, not definitely dead bad, but you'd hit your head a little too hard when you fell, and the pain behind your eyes was pulsing now, pounding even. A concussion? Maybe.

But worst of all—you were alone. Out here. No backup. No plan.

You hadn't found Sophia.

You hadn't found anything.

All you had found were the Cherokee roses that blurred by now in front of your eyes like your brain couldn't quite hold the shape. You blinked, but the flower didn't sharpen. Everything was spinning. The trees swayed too hard. Your arm throbbed in time with your heartbeat, and your ankle had gone numb, like your body gave up trying to feel it anymore.

The grass was warm under your back. That should've comforted you, right?

And then the memories started coming back out of nowhere. They came slowly, like a fever dream.

The firelight. The sound of crickets. The quarry just outside Atlanta, back when everything still felt new, when walkers were the worst of your problems, and Daryl Dixon was just some loudmouth redneck with a brother twice as bad.

You'd never forget the first real day around them. It had been a good day. At least at first. You'd just bathed down there, using some lotion afterward you'd scavenged from a motel, along with a broken brush that barely held together as you came back with damp hair and a pink towel around your body.

The shampoo you'd used? It was strawberry-scented, the cheap kind, but it made your hair all soft and shiny. You'd taken an extra five minutes to wash it out in the water, humming to yourself, just trying to feel clean for five seconds. You even wanted to wear one of the sundresses you'd taken with you, thinking, stupidly, maybe you'd feel safe again and that this whole pandemic would be over soon.

What a joke.

Then you remembered walking up to the fire, smiling, towel around your shoulders. The way Jim gave you a nod. How Dale smiled like he was just happy someone still knew what lotion was.

You remembered Merle's laugh next. Harsh. Mean. "Well lookit that," he'd snorted, loud enough for the whole camp to hear. "Miss Georgia's right here in the end times. Whatcha doin', girl? Waitin' on Prince fuckin' Charming, or you plannin' to start a fuckin' show out here for me, sugartits? Do you think some walker's gonna fuck your pretty lil' ass? Shit, don't even need them damn dresses you always wearin', I can give ya a damn good time without 'em."

You'd tried to ignore him. Dried your hair by the fire, doing your best not to just run away when he got closer.

And Daryl? He hadn't stopped Merle. He'd just joined in like he hated what he was looking at. "Ya really bringin' that kinda shit out here? She really tryin' to get a walker to fuck her ‘fore it eats her."

You'd looked up. Said nothing.

And then Daryl had spat. Not near you. On you. A glob of spit that hit your leg.

"Dumb bitch. Still ain't got nothin' worth keepin' alive."

He hadn't even looked at you when he said it. Like you weren't even worth the eye contact. After that, you didn't eat with the others for days. But you tried to stay useful. Stayed quiet.

Even now, lying here in the grass, while some of the blood dried on your arm, your head pounding, the memory hurt.

Not just because it had been painful. Not because it was mean. Because part of you had believed them.

You knew that you weren't a fighter. You were just… you. Still using cosmetics and having a heartbeat too slow to keep up with a world that was dying around you so fast.

And Daryl? He'd known it. He'd seen it. He still saw it.

And that look in his eyes when he shoved you away—like just being near you made him weak? That wasn't anything new.

You didn't cry. Not back then. You just got up and left to go into your tent, telling yourself over and over that you wouldn't let it show.

And now you were bleeding out next to a flower instead of finding Sophia for Carol—Carol, who was grieving and strong in all the right ways—and you were still that girl with the strawberry shampoo, trying to prove you mattered before the end of the world would kill you anyway.

Maybe Merle and Daryl were right all along. Maybe you weren't worth saving.

Even now. No. Especially now. Half-conscious, with blood running down your arm and your stomach wanting you to throw up from the pain, the realization hit you hard.

You weren't one of them. You were just decoration. A joke. Useless. Always useless.

The last thing you saw before your eyelids felt too heavy was that stupid white flower, moving just slightly in the warm wind of the Georgia sun, like it was just here, waiting and watching you die in silence.

Back at the farm, Daryl yanked his crossbow into place, holding the strap over his shoulder a bit tighter when he prepared to go into the woods to continue his search for Sophia. He had been gone, yes, but he hadn't continued his search for the little girl and was only now about to leave.

Just before Rick's voice stopped him.

"Daryl. You okay on your own?" He asked.

"'M better on my own."

Rick nodded like he already knew the answer. "We got a base now. We can get this search properly organized."

Daryl narrowed his eyes. "Ya got a point, or we just chattin'?"

"My point is it lets you off the hook. You don't owe us anything."

"My other plans fell through." And then Daryl turned without waiting for a reply.

Soon enough, the farm disappeared out of view behind him. Out there, it was quieter. No bullshit. No looks. No whispers. Just nature, animals, and the walkers.

Daryl followed a trail he had seen earlier, retracing old steps, ducking under branches, and stepping over logs. He kept his eyes low, scanning. Looking for tracks. A footprint. Any kind of hint he could find.

It was nearly an hour later when the house came into view.

That old abandoned building, half-eaten by time. He approached it slowly before he entered a place that felt like it still remembered the people who'd lived here once. Crossbow raised, he stepped in and moved from room to room. The first one? Empty. Except for an old can of sardines on the counter, peeled open. Recent.

Someone had been here.

He kept going. Into the hallway, past a bathroom, and into another room with a closet door half-ajar. Inside was a makeshift bed. Small. Like someone had curled up and hoped to disappear.

"Sophia!" Daryl called out, not loud, but clear. No answer. No hope, either… Giving up after he made sure the house was completely empty, he stepped outside again, squinting his eyes in the sunlight. That's when he saw it. The flowers.

Cherokee roses.

Moving slowly toward them to take a closer look, his gaze dropped just before he wanted to kneel down—and that's when his eyes widened.

You were lying there.

Blood all over one of your arms and your side. One foot was at an angle that wasn't looking quite right. Eyes closed. Lips pale.

Daryl didn't move at first and only stared. Like maybe it wasn't real. Maybe if he blinked, you would disappear and he could go back to pretending you didn't matter. But you didn't go away.

"God fuckin' dammit…"

His knees hit the ground as he dropped beside you before he grabbed your wrist first—rushed and too tight—but he needed to feel a pulse. It was there. Weak, but there. You were breathing, but shallowly.

"Shit," he hissed as soon as he saw the deep and long cut along your arm next, yanking a half-clean rug from his pocket and pressing it to your skin where the blood was coming out. "Stupid. Stupid goddamn—what the hell were ya thinkin'!"

Unable to answer, your head lolled to the side. Daryl pressed harder, trying to stop the bleeding.

"This what ya wanted?" He continued to yell at you, even though you couldn't hear him. He looked down at your face—smudged with dirt and sweat—and for half a second, he felt something like guilt. But it was gone before he could name it.

"Stupid girl," he grumbled again, but it sounded different now. Quieter.

Grabbing your other arm and pulling it across his shoulders, he lifted your body with a grunt. You were dead weight—not conscious, not responsive—but he got you up, holding you awkwardly against his side like you weighed nothing.

"I swear t'God, if ya don't die, 'm gonna kill ya, bring ya back, n' kill ya m'self again! Fuck!"

And then Daryl started walking. Back through the woods, back toward the farm, his jaw clenched, his face looking pissed, cursing the whole way like that would keep the anger away from him. Every step moved your body a bit, and every little noise you made had him tightening his grip.

You didn't remember much of the trip back. Just the Georgia heat and some motion above your head, all the while every breath was a fight. But Daryl remembered every step of the way.

His arms were on fire, his muscles burning by the time the farm came into view. Some of your blood had soaked through his clothes, clinging to his shirt and skin. The rug tied around your arm was doing a piss-poor job at stopping the bleeding, and you weren't doing much at all—not even mumbling like he had hoped you would do after some time.

Rick was now on the porch of the farmhouse, talking to Hershel about something—medicine, rations, or safety probably—when he caught sight of Daryl coming out of the tree line with you in his arms.

His eyes went wide. "What the hell… Daryl!"

"She's hurt," Daryl snapped, stomping past him. "Went out on her own. Found her like this, bleedin' near some old-ass house."

"What happened?" Andrea gasped, running up to him, while Lori covered her mouth with both hands as she got out of the house to see what was going on.

"Get outta my damn way!" Daryl barked, heading up the porch.

"There's no room," Hershel immediately answered, stopping Daryl from walking into his home. "Carl's still inside."

"Then where the hell do I put her?"

"The RV," T-Dog cut in, looking at Dale for his approval.

Dale didn't argue and rushed to open the RV door while Daryl climbed the steps. He moved quickly, lowering you gently onto the couch, and Hershel was following with some of his medical equipment the second Daryl took a step back.

"Let me see. She's lost quite some blood. Probably a mild concussion. I need some time."

Daryl backed off only because he had to, watching with his arms crossed and lips tight while Hershel cut the rag from your arm and cleaned the cut. It wasn't fatal. Deep, long, painful, yes, but you were lucky. Soon, Hershel said something about shock and rest and stitches. But Daryl still just stared at your face. Pale. Eyelids still closed. Lips dry. And all he could do was stand there and watch.

That night, the camp outside the farmhouse was rather quiet. Everyone from the group went to their tents as the time passed by. Glenn sat on the steps of the RV for a while like he was guarding you, but eventually even he wandered off. Daryl had waited. He was now behind the RV, chain-smoking cigarettes like it would give him a better excuse for the nervousness he was feeling.

He hated this. He hated you. No, that wasn't right. He hated how you made him feel like this. Like he gave a shit. Like he'd never forgive himself if you died. It was past midnight when he stepped back in. The RV door creaked a little as it opened, and for once, he flinched at the sound. You were still there on the couch, with a bandaged arm, and still as death.

Kneeling beside you and staring at the bandage, he imagined how many stitches on your arm there might be before he started talking.

"Y'know, I was gonna leave ya out there," he smirked. "Saw yer dumb fuckin' ass lyin' in the grass and thought, ‘Good. Serves that bitch right.'"

He suddenly sniffed and wiped his nose on his arm. "But I ain't done that."

Looking up at you—your sleeping face—his eyes went to look down to your lips. Just a breath away. Daryl leaned in slowly, like even gravity didn't want to push him too fast. But when his nose nearly touched yours, he stopped and pulled back with shaking hands and a dry mouth.

"Bet ya'd punch me if ya knew." His own words made him smile.

"'N I bet ya still got some fight left. Ya always been fightin' my damn brother away. Ya remember back at the quarry?" He continued. "Me 'n Merle… we used to—fuck, we were assholes. Used to think ya were the dumbest damn slut—girl—I ever met."

Daryl laughed again, shaking his head. "Painted nails. Lil' pink bag full o' crap. Lip stuff. Glitter lotion or some shit. Whatever the fuck that was. Dunno. Shit… who the hell wears glitter durin' the damn end of the world?"

His voice cracked, but he ignored it. "Ya were always tryin' to make things pretty. That damn girly shit. Ya got a whole damn bag of soaps and creams and fuckin'... ribbons. And what did I do? I spit more 'n once on ya and yer shit, remember that? Said it was useless. Said ya were useless."

He looked away, huffing, only to look down. "Fuck… Ya always kept all o' yer things clean. Yer tent. Yer hair. Yer hands. Made the rest o' us look like fuckin' trash. Not good 'nough for ya."

Daryl paused, inhaling deeply and breathing out slowly, making sure no one was coming to look at how you were doing. "That deer I brought in? When Rick joined? Got it for ya. Was fuckin' mad at ya that day, ‘cause ya smiled at Shane or Glenn or—fuck, I dunno why it bothered me, it just… did."

He then pulled something from his pocket—a dirty little bottle of rose-scented hand cream. "Ya had one of these once, 'fore the CDC blew up," he grumbled, setting it down on the little table beside you. "Said it reminded ya of home. Heard ya talkin' 'bout it with Lori. I told ya it was useless bullshit. Made fun of ya for it while I was wasted."

He swallowed hard but then continued to talk to you while you were sleeping. "I went back to that damn pharmacy for it 'fore I went lookin' for Sophia. Saw it on the damn map 'fore ya asked me to come along. Wanted to slip it in yer stuff when ya ain't lookin'. Did that more than once. Soap, too. That fancy coconut or vanilla shit."

He dragged a hand over his face. "'S my fault that ya almost… Yeah, mine. Shouldn't have gone to that damn pharmacy. Could've kept yer damn ass safe."

His throat felt tight. Everything ached. All his muscles were tense by now, burning with shame and guilt. "Dunno what this bullshit is. I ain't never had nothin' good. But if ya died out there…" He stopped, swallowing hard, as hard as it was even possible. "I think I'd lose my goddamn mind..."

The second the words left Daryl's mouth, he flinched again. Saying such things out loud hurt worse than any injury ever could. "Ya always tried to make me feel like I ain't just shit. Like I ain't just Merle's dumbass brother and a fuckin' problem. Like maybe I'm... I dunno. Somethin'."

His forehead dropped to the edge of the couch, hiding his face. Half a sob, half a curse, Daryl shuddered like a storm was rushing through him, one that refused to stop letting him drown.

And then you moved. A groan. Maybe a whisper. But he heard it, and his head shot up. You weren't awake. Not fully. Still out cold, or so it seemed. But your mouth had moved, you had talked; Daryl was sure of it.

Another groan from you—uncertain, half-conscious.

"Fuck this," he suddenly snapped, taking the bottle and grabbing for the door handle of the RV. "Fuckin' idiot! 'M such a fuckin' idiot…"

But he didn't go far, especially since he made sure no one was nearby who might notice him. No, Daryl just sat in the dirt by one of the RV wheels, with his head leaning back against it, his teeth biting into the palm of his hand to keep himself from crying.

Soon enough, the days passed, not many—but enough for the bleeding to stop and for the bruises on your skin to start turning all sorts of ugly. Your arm was stitched up, the muscle still pulling every time you moved. It stung like a bitch. And you weren't allowed to use it much, which meant you spent most of your days lying and sitting around in Dale's RV.

Rick had stopped by more than once to see how you were doing. Lori brought soup that tasted like water and, well, just water, really. And Maggie came around sometimes with Glenn, but that was about it. It got a little easier to move your arm, eventually. Easier to breathe, too, without feeling your head spin. The farm was quiet most of the time—birds, sounds from the horses here and there, and the distant sound of shots, since Rick and Shane had started to teach how to shoot.

You started making short walks around the farm. Then to the field. Then the house.

Still, you hadn't seen him again. Daryl was nowhere to be found anymore. But T-Dog found you instead when you were leaning on the fence one afternoon, holding your arm like it might fall off if you didn't. You weren't crying, but damn if it didn't feel like you could if someone even breathed too loud.

"Doing okay?" He asked, jogging over, but you just shrugged in return.

"I guess."

"Don't push it too fast. That kinda cut, it's no joke," he nodded toward your arm and held out his own. "Guess we're some kinda twins now, huh? Same side as yours."

You managed to give him a small smile in return. "You're not still hurting?"

"Oh, I'm hurting, alright. Just not bleeding on people anymore and leaving a trail of blood for the walkers to follow."

You glanced at him, almost laughing. "Yeah. I remember your accident, too. On the highway. I've never seen so many walkers at once."

"Shit, yeah. I sliced my arm open trying to get outta the way of one of them. Thought I was done for."

Your eyes narrowed as you thought back. Back to the walkers. Back to the ways every single one of you had tried to hide from the danger. "You know… I never asked, but how'd you even get out?"

T-Dog looked at you, a little sideways, like maybe he wasn't sure if you were serious. "You don't know?"

You shook your head slowly. "No. How should I know? I was up in the RV with Andrea. It was bad enough with that one damn walker in there and next to her in such a small place. But thanks to Dale, we're still alive... So? How did you make it?"

He laughed, but it sounded more like a huff. "Daryl. He's the one who saved my ass. White boy came up to me outta nowhere and covered me and him under walkers. We lay there under those dead bodies. Didn't even move."

"Wait, wait—Daryl Dixon?"

"Yeah." He scratched the back of his neck. "Wasn't what I expected either. I mean, remember Merle? That guy was a full-blown asshole. And I figured Daryl was just like him, you know? All that racist, hillbilly shit? But he didn't even hesitate. Saved my life."

"But… I also thought he was like Merle. In fact, I'm pretty much sure he is just like Merle."

"So did I," T-Dog admitted again. "Still not sure sometimes. But I guess he's loyal. Just doesn't know how to act loyal without being a real dick about it at the same time."

"Yeah… Sounds about right."

Watching how you turned a bit away from him, T-Dog took a step back, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. "You don't think he gives a damn about you, do you?"

"Why would he?" You asked dryly, shrugging your shoulders. "He's hated me since they'd arrived at the quarry. Said I was useless. Spit at me. Mocked me for every… well, every 'girly' thing I still owned. Stuff I still own."

"But he carried you back," T-Dog answered quietly. "Didn't stop to ask, didn't wait for help. He found you and moved. That's Daryl."

You looked down at your hand, flexing your fingers slowly. The wound on your arm still ached. But this time, it didn't feel like what hurt the most. You didn't say anything else in response at first. Just looked back out toward the tree line, where the wind had started blowing just slightly.

"But I'm so sure that he hates me. You just don't treat someone you don't hate the way he treats me."

T-Dog looked at you for another moment, then shrugged as well. "Could be. Or maybe he just doesn't know how to act loyal. Loyalty doesn't always come with manners."

You huffed at that. "He didn't even stop by. Not once. And I've been stuck in that RV for days. That man does not give a damn, believe me, T."

"'Cause he doesn't do ‘checking in.' Dude's probably sitting alone somewhere, thinking too hard and pretending not to give a shit."

"Think I should go and thank him?" You asked, biting the inside of your cheek and laughing quietly.

T-Dog snorted in response. "If you can find him. It doesn't hurt to say thank you, especially if you don't care about how a man like Dixon might react."

His words made you think. Daryl had saved T-Dog. Daryl had saved you. And yeah, maybe he was a dick about it. Maybe he said mean things and looked at you like you were pathetic. But you also remembered this tiny, stupid stuff you found in your bag that you thought was from Jacqui or Amy before they'd died—cute little comforts that you couldn't even imagine may have been from someone like him.

Soap. Lip balm. A tiny comb. A little pink lighter that still worked…

Thinking back to these many things that had magically appeared in your belongings, the sun was starting to go down when you finally worked up the nerve to find Daryl. You'd been pacing near the RV restlessly for half an hour, or longer, chewing your lip, thinking of a hundred different ways to start a conversation, and hating every single one of your ideas.

Why'd you carry me back?

You chose the most neutral thing you could come up with: Ask him why. Casually. Like it means nothing.

You spotted Daryl's tent now much further from the rest of the group, like he couldn't stand the sound of humans for longer than ten minutes. He was sitting outside, sharpening the blade of a knife with that same pissed-off expression he always had when someone approached him.

You stood there for a second, watching Daryl from a few feet away, just long enough for him to notice you. But he didn't look up.

"Lost?" He then asked, still dragging the knife along whatever he used for sharpening it.

"No," you answered, stepping closer. "I was looking for you."

"Well, ya found me. Congratulations."

"I just wanted to ask you something," you swallowed hard. This was a mistake, for sure. But it was too late now.

Daryl didn't answer you, waiting for you to speak, and just kept sharpening. So you pressed further and finally asked the question. "Why'd you bring me back?"

He stopped moving, but then he scoffed. "Was out lookin' for the lil' girl. Found a body bleedin' in the grass. Figured I'd put it over my shoulder and be done with it."

"You're saying you didn't even know it was me at first?"

He looked up now, finally, and his eyes were cold. "'M sayin' it wouldn't have mattered shit. Just don't need 'nother walker out there. Woulda put a bolt in yer head if—"

You flinched, and he saw it. Of course, he did. "Hell, shoulda just left ya there. Woulda saved me a helluva walk, too."

You blinked hard. From anger, not from tears. Not this time. "Why are you like this, Daryl?"

"Like what?" He smirked at first, scoffing quietly.

"This… cruel."

Daryl's smirk was gone fast, and, putting his knife aside, he finally stood up. "I ain't cruel, woman. 'M honest. World's gone to shit, and ya still walk 'round like yer a fuckin' princess. Maybe if ya stopped worryin' 'bout bubble baths and started learnin' how to not get yerself sliced open, ya wouldn't need any damn carryin'."

Staring at him for another moment, not saying anything, not giving him the satisfaction, you just turned and walked off. You didn't run. You didn't cry. You didn't say another word. Just walked. Wanting to leave him to rot with whatever broken part of a soul made him push kindness away if it disgusted him this much.

Again, the hours passed quietly, like the world was trying to pretend it was peaceful. In the meantime, you had cleaned up as best you could. Maggie had brought you food. Glenn had made a dumb joke that almost made you smile. Almost. You went to your tent later, rubbing near the itchy spots on your arm where the stitches were pulling a little too tight. Dropping to your knees, you unzipped the flap, reached for your bag… and froze.

There, on top of your stuff, was lip gloss. Not the lip balm you always used, but the exact kind of lip gloss you'd run out of weeks ago. Next to it? A tiny bottle of rose-scented hand cream, a little dirty, but still sealed. And a small bar of soap, wrapped in light purple wax paper with floral patterns on it. Lavender. And so much more... And next to it all?

A white Cherokee rose. No note. No explanation. Just there.

No one else would've thought to bring you that kind of stuff. You were sure of it by now as you sat back. Hell, most of the group didn't even know when some of your things were empty to begin with. Nor did any of them know that you were bleeding out right next to a Cherokee rose bush. Except one. The same man who'd told you to your face that he should've left you to die.

Touching the edge of the rose gently, you laughed. A bitter, breathless, and choked laugh. "Asshole..."

You sat there on your knees in silence, with your heart beating harder than it had during the walker horde on the highway. But what you felt at that moment? It was fury. And it was the kind of fury you hadn't let yourself feel in a while. Maybe ever.

You gathered the things carefully but not tenderly. All of them, even the flower, with hands that wouldn't stop shaking. Then you stood up, walking back out of your tent. Daryl was still where you left him. He was leaning over a small fire now, poking it. His crossbow leaned next to a log, untouched, and he didn't look up when you approached. Typical.

But he didn't have to. He felt you coming.

"You think I'm fucking stupid?"

Daryl flinched at your words, but his eyes stayed fixed on the flames.

"You think I wouldn't notice? The things you put into my shit? The gloss, the balm, the shampoo, the soaps, the stupid-ass lighter with the pink rhinestones? Oh! There's so much more!"

Now he looked up with narrowed eyes. "I told ya, I—"

"No! No," you cut him off, stepping forward. "Don't do that! You got me these things. You went out of your way. Hell, you got me the exact same hand cream I told Lori about, didn't you? Smells like roses!"

You kept going like your voice just had to be heard for once. "I'm not stupid. I'm not blind. But you want to treat me like I'm some idiotic little girl who can't survive without her glitter and her goddamn bubblegum lip gloss, right? Like I'm just some waste of fucking space!"

Daryl scowled. "Ain't never said—"

"You didn't have to," you snapped back. "You made sure I knew!Every single day! You spit on my things, Daryl. On me! You called me useless! You mocked everything I had left before the world ended. Everything that reminded me I was still a fucking human being!"

"I ain't done that—"

"You did! And now you brought me back? But you won't look me in the eye? You won't talk to me? You don't even admit it, you damn coward!"

"Ain't got no time to explain, woman."

"Bull-fucking-shit, Daryl Dixon," you hissed. "You owe me an explanation! Not for carrying me. For this."

You stared down at all the things in your hands. Then, slowly, you raised one of them. "You wanna know what this is?" You asked quietly, while Daryl didn't answer. So you threw it at his chest.

"It smells like lavender… and feels like shame on my skin."

You threw the next one—the lip gloss. "This one's pity, right?"

Another bottle, this time aimed at his shoulder. He flinched when the hand balm hit him. "This one's your hate… and my guilt. Smells good, doesn't it?"

You threw the last—a tiny little mirror—and it cracked when it hit the ground near his feet. "And this one, Daryl? This one's not even from you, but it's my reminder that when I look in the mirror now, I hate what I see. Because every time I see my face, I hear your voice calling me useless."

He flinched again, breathing faster now. "I never meant—"

"You never meant to?" You cut him off, shouting at him. "Stop! You meant every word you ever said to me; you just didn't expect me to remember them all!"

His hands curled into fists, and he stopped poking the fire. "Ain't done it for ya."

"Really?" You asked back. "Then who was it for? Your fucking idiot brother, Merle? Amy? Andrea? Jacqui? Lori? Carol? Yeah, right! Fuck that!"

He got up and stepped forward suddenly, with an angry expression on his face. "Don't talk 'bout shit ya don't understand."

"Oh, I understand plenty," you shot back, not moving an inch. "I understand that you only know how to hurt people who give a damn. I understand that you are scared as fuck of someone giving a shit about your sorry ass!"

Daryl pointed at you, stepping closer. "Ya don't know anythin' 'bout me."

"Oh, I know enough! I know that you'd rather make a girl cry than admit you were scared when you saw her bleeding out."

"Shut up," he growled, his voice cracking.

But you didn't. You leaned in, close, your nose almost touching his. "You don't hate me... You hate that I make such a pathetic being like you feel like a person. Human."

Daryl pushed you roughly away from him. Not enough to knock you down. But enough to get your attention. "Ya don't know shit! I carried ya back ‘cause I didn't want 'nother fuckin' dead body walkin' 'round here! 'S it!"

"Liar!" You spat, throwing the last thing he got you without even looking at what it was, almost hitting his head. "You carried me back because if I died out there, you would've had to admit you cared!"

"Ya don't get to say that! Ya don't get to decide why I do shit, 'n ya don't know what I—"

"You liked watching me bleed out, didn't you?" You then continued, your face turning red in anger. "Made you feel strong, didn't it? Because a girl like me needing a man like you meant you weren't nothing for once in your pitiful life!"

Dead quiet, Daryl stepped back. And the expression on his face? It was pain, rage, and shame, all at once. "Don't fuckin' say that," he whispered.

But it was too late.

"What, does it hurt?" You scoffed, your eyes still cold. "Good! Do you know what else hurts? Lying in the woods bleeding out, thinking the man you thought was cute at first, but who actually hates your ass to death, is the last person you'll ever listen to! Wishing you'd actually died instead of having to face him ever again! And you know what? I fucking liked you, Daryl. God help me, I fucking liked you. And you made me feel like shit for it."

Daryl didn't look up… as if he couldn't.

"Stupid fucking redneck. Giving me this shit like it means anything."

"'CAUSE I AIN'T NOTHIN'!" He suddenly shouted, with his fists gripping at his hair like he could rip his thoughts out. "'S ME WHO AIN'T SHIT!"

Daryl sank down on his knees, both hands still on his head, gasping wildly, rocking back and forth, back and forth. "SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!"

His voice broke off, and he started hitting his head with the side of his fists. Once. Twice. More and more. He did not stop until he felt dizzy. You blinked in shock, your heart pounding in your ears. That wasn't the Daryl you knew. This wasn't even the Daryl you hated. And it made time seem as if it stopped.

"W-why do you hate me?" You whispered carefully. "What did I ever do to you?"

"I didn't know how else to do it!" He shouted, his voice cracking hard. "Ya want words? I ain't got the damn words! I don't—" He broke off, breathing fast, dragging his hands down his face.

You didn't respond.

"I got ya that bullshit ‘cause ya fuckin' liked it! ‘Cause it made yer stupid ass smile! And I—I dunno—I thought maybe if ya smiled at me for one goddamn time 'stead of—!"

He sniffed loudly. Like he wanted to cry or just say something nasty, but nothing came out. Only a tiny, broken inhale. All you could do was stare, but this time? It was still shock and confusion. "God, I'm such a dumb bitch… Shit…"

You started to turn, just a little bit, ready to go somewhere and scream at yourself for what you've done—but movement stopped you. Daryl reached out. Clumsy, almost afraid to touch all of it, he picked up the lip balm first. Cracked now, dirt stuck to the side. Then the mirror. The bar of soap. The hand cream. One by one, he gathered all of it together.

You paused, arms crossed, trying not to care. Trying. Then you saw it. A single, tiny tear landed on the hand cream as he held it in his palm, the tremble in his hands impossible not to notice. He stared at it for a long moment, sobbing as quietly to himself as possible. Then he looked up. Not at you. Toward you. And he stretched out both arms, holding the little pile of things in his big, strong hands. No words. Just his eyes that were all wet and looking hopeless, like he was offering up what little was left of himself.

"Take it back…" Daryl sobbed. "I… I didn't mean to… I dunno why—"

His voice cracked again. He looked like he wanted to die. And with a deep breath, you stepped back in his direction, shaking your head. He kept staring at the stuff in his hands, his voice dropping even lower, like he hated every word coming out of his mouth.

"I don't hate ya! Just… didn't wanna care," he sobbed, and you swallowed hard. "But… ya just kept bein' all… you."

You blinked several times in a row.

"I thought… if ya hated me, then it wouldn't matter if ya left one day—if ya died... And ya weren't s'posed to be prettyand smell like fuckin' strawberries or whatever and look at me like I was anythin' other than white trash! Ya weren't s'posed to matter!"

By now, you were crouched down right in front of him. "But you were mean," you then whispered. "You hurt me, Daryl…"

He nodded slowly. "I know."

"And I almost died thinking you hated me…"

Daryl finally looked up. His eyes were red as he looked into yours. "I didn't—I didn't mean for that to happen."

"I-I know," you cut in, your voice now trembling slightly too. And then, finally, your hands reached out. You touched Daryl's cheek first, your thumb sliding along his jaw before you cupped his face, making him shudder.

"I ain't good," he whispered. "Don't talk right. Say shit I don't mean. I fuck everythin' up. And I—" His breath hitched. "I jus' wanted ya to… not die."

You saw it again. The pain. The way his mouth opened like he had something—everything—to say and didn't know how. And that was when you put a soft kiss on his forehead as you pulled him close.

Daryl made a tiny broken sound before his brain caught up, and he immediately panicked. "Don't," he gasped. "Don't do that. Don't… don't pretend!"

He looked scared when you didn't answer. But you just wrapped your arms around him and held him tight. Like you were trying to hold the broken parts of him back together with just your touch. Daryl's face pressed to your neck, his hands suddenly gripping your back like you might be gone if he opened his eyes again. You felt it—the trembling, hearing the sobs, feeling the way he pressed into you.

"M'sorry," he whispered into your shoulder. "M'sorry. I didn't mean it. I-I swear, I just…"

You didn't need an explanation. You just held him tighter. Let him feel you. Let him know you weren't going anywhere, even if his whole body desperately tried its best to relax against you. His breath hitched differently now. The sobs turned a little quieter. Less panic. More need. Not pulling away, you saw it now. All of it.

The little boy who never got love. The man who thought hatred would keep him safe.

How much time passed by wasn't on your mind as you knelt there with Daryl for a while, letting him fall apart into your arms, until the shaking slowed and the wet sobs against your skin turned completely quiet. When Daryl finally let go of you, there was this dazed look in his eyes. Like he'd forgotten where he was or who he even was.

"Come on," you then said gently, just loud enough for him to hear. But Daryl didn't move. So you pulled gently at his hand and helped him up, patiently, and as fast as he wanted to move again. He followed you without a word, stumbling a little, his head low as you helped him back into his tent before he sat down without any words on his sleeping bag.

In the meantime, you reached for the stuff he'd gotten you—picking it all back up off the ground, since he'd let it fall into the grass once you'd put your arms around him, and brought it with you. Daryl didn't even look up when you left all of a sudden; he still sat there.

Once back in your own tent, you moved as fast as possible. Wipes. Lotion. Some clean water in a bottle. A small towel. The flannel shirt you always wore on warmer nights that was way too big for you. You carried it all back in your arms.

Stepping inside Daryl's tent and kneeling down in front of him, he glanced up, confused and wide-eyed.

"I ain't…" He started, his voice shaking. "I don't want—"

"Quiet," you answered gently, pressing a finger to his lips. "You don't have to want anything right now. But you need. Listen, just sit there, alright? Let me."

You took the wipes first, pulling one from the pack and warming it a little bit between your hands. Then, slowly and carefully, you wiped the dirt and tears from Daryl's face. His mouth trembled when you touched him, his lips twitching like he might say something—but he didn't. He just let you clean him. Quiet and shaking ever so slightly.

"I ain't clean," he then said, almost ashamed. "M'dirty…"

"No," you whispered with a small smile. "You're not."

Soon enough, you worked your way down his arms, wiping off dirt and sweat and the faint bits of blood that were still left on his skin. Then his hands—his big, rough hands, all calloused, but still trembling. You took your time there. Between each finger. The back of his palms. His wrists.

Daryl watched you in silence, but when you started pulling at the hem of his shirt, he finally flinched, and his eyes were going wide again. "What're ya doin'?"

"Just going to clean you up proper," you answered softly. "It's just a shirt. Relax."

He looked like he wanted to say no. Like he wanted to grab it and yank it back down. But something in him broke a little more, and he let you pull it over his head, only to turn away from you as if in shame. And that's when you saw them. The scars. Not all of them, since he wasn't fully turned away from you, but what you saw was enough to notice how deep and all over the place they were. Scars that shouldn't have been there across his back.

Daryl panicked the second he realized what you were seeing and tried to back away. "Don't—don't fuckin' look at that, a'ight? Ain't nothin'! Nothin' ya gotta—fuck, just—just leave!"

But you didn't pull away as you reached for the small towel and the water bottle you brought with you, opening it to clean him a little more. "Who did this to you, Daryl?"

"Don't matter," he grumbled, arms now crossed tight across his chest. "Ain't yer damn problem."

You leaned forward, arms wrapping around him from the side, your chest pressed to his biceps. "It is my problem," you whispered. "You are."

Placing the towel over his shoulders after you were done drying him off, you grabbed the lotion next. You rubbed it slowly over his arms, his shoulders, and his hands, all the while he sat frozen and looking confused, like it was the first time someone had touched him without hurting him.

"You smell like me now," you smiled, but he just sat there, swallowing hard, breathing shakily.

You reached out and touched his shoulder gently. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna ask."

"Yeah, 'cause ya don't even—"

"I'm not gonna ask," you said again. "You don't have to tell me anything, Daryl. But I'm not going to pretend I didn't see it. And I'm also not going to pretend it changes anything."

He turned fast. Wild-eyed. "Ya don't needa pretend nothin'. Yer—yer tryin' to be nice or some shit. Ya don't—"

Not finishing what he wanted to say, Daryl stared at you once more, his chest rising and falling fast. His mouth was open like he wanted to scream or cry but didn't know which one would save him.

Using the moment, you reached for the flannel now. "Arms up..."

He blinked in confusion, maybe wondering why you were still here, which made you smirk. "Come on now, Daryl. I'm not leaving you sitting around shirtless."

He let out a weak, stunned huff but lifted his arms, watching as you slipped the flannel over his head and let it fall around his body, the sleeves way too short for him.

Then, slowly, you reached for his face. "Look at me."

He did as you held his chin, caressing it. "You don't have to be an asshole around me, Daryl. You don't have to yell. Or lie."

All he responded with was a nod in return.

"You want me to stay?"

Another nod.

And you didn't try to pull back. You just stayed there, kneeling in front of him, one hand still on his face, the other soon resting over his chest where his heart felt like it was trying to beat out through his ribs. He looked at you like he didn't get it. Like he was still waiting for the trap.

"You wanna lie down?" You asked eventually, voice soft, but he hesitated until he gave the tiniest nod again.

So you laid down first, letting your side press down on the sleeping bag before you patted the spot in front of you. "Come here."

Daryl snorted, but it came out cracked, sounding more ashamed than mean. "Shit. Ain't never—"

"Now's a good time to start."

He grumbled under his breath but crawled toward you anyway, arms stiff, not really knowing how to be held. Like it was something that needed instructions.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind, pulled him in close, and let your body press to his. His back pushed against your chest, all tensed up and full of confusion, still waiting for some kind of rejection that wasn't even coming. His hands stayed awkwardly near his chest, and his shoulders trembled now and then like he still hadn't run out of tears but just didn't have the strength to let them fall anymore.

"You're shaking," you whispered, holding him a little tighter.

"M'fine..."

"Nope. You're not."

Daryl didn't continue arguing. You pulled the sides of the sleeping bag up over both of you and put your face into the crook of his neck, letting your breath warm his skin there.

He was quiet for a while, and you didn't rush him, since after some time, he finally spoke up again. "Why ya always been like that?"

"Like what?"

He hesitated again. "Weird, I guess? N'... y'know. Just girly. With all them lil' bottles n' fuckin'... soaps n' shit. Creams or whatever all that stuff is ya usin'."

You snorted against the back of his shoulder and kissed the skin there, which made him squirm. "Is that such a big problem for you?"

"Nah, I just... I don't get it. Ain't never made sense. Ya know... world's gone to fuckin' hell, n' ya still put on lotion as if it matters."

"Well, it matters to me," you laughed in response.

"Why?"

You held him a little tighter. "Because it's who I am. I've always been that way. Even before the world ended, I guess. It's what makes me feel human. Like I'm still me. Not just some scared girl trying to survive."

Daryl was quiet again until he whispered. "'N why the hell would a girl like—" He started but cut himself off. "Don't need someone smilin' at me."

"Daryl."

He didn't answer, so you let your hand glide over his side. "You're the first person that ever made me feel safe back at the quarry. Shane always seemed so… impulsive. The others? Well, no one really fought like you did. I'm not saying the rest of the group can't keep us safe, but when that walker got that deer you were hunting down? Made me realize you knew more about survival than everyone else. You were the first one to point out that we need to destroy their brains. You were the first one, the only one, really, who knew how to hunt. It seemed so… natural. Not because you're big or strong or scary—though, let's be real, you kinda are—but because you see people. You look after them. Even when you act like an asshole."

He huffed out a grunt, his shoulders relaxing a little more.

"You gave me those things," you continued softly. "Little things. Stupid things. A flower. A bar of soap. So many things… So you cared. Even if I didn't know at first."

He didn't answer you, but his hand found yours, holding it tight against his chest.

"And yeah, you're… you. Sometimes a bit rude. But now I think that—" You didn't talk about it further, just pressed another kiss to the back of his neck, softer this time. "You don't have to understand it. Not all at once. But I really do likeyou. I liked you right from the start. I just didn't smile at you because… well, you know how you were acting around me."

His grip on your hand loosened, and you felt him slowly, finally, letting out a deep breath. Like he'd been holding that breath since Atlanta. And you stayed like that. Daryl didn't say anything else, but his breathing slowed after a while, sounding calmer, until he fell asleep like that, in your arms.

Like a broken, little boy who'd never been held in someone's arms for the sake of it.

And when you were sure Daryl was out, you slowly, so slowly, moved yourself away from him, pressing one last kiss to the side of his face and putting the sleeping bag tighter around him. He grumbled something in his sleep. A quiet sound where you couldn't make out what he was saying. But it didn't matter what exactly he said when you gathered your stuff back together and stepped out of his tent again. At least you knew he was feeling safe for now.

The next day when you were back on your feet, you weren't thinking too hard about the night before. Making yourself as useful as possible, you tried to help the rest of the group as best as you could in the morning.

Lori handed you a knife while Carl ran around the farm, finally able to move after he'd been out for days after the incident, and already having more energy than he should've had after being shot. But hey, Hershel worked miracles. The kid was back to running around as if nothing ever happened.

"Don't let him wear you out," Lori said with a wide smile, wiping her hands on a towel. "He'll run circles around you until you get dizzy."

You snorted. "That's what I'm afraid of. And I think he's already making my head spin. But, you know, he's feeling like a kid again for once; that matters the most, especially with everything going on…"

Carl then ran up beside you, holding out a deflated ball to play with. "Wanna play catch real quick?"

"Only if you go easy on me," you answered, pointing to your arm. "Doctor's orders."

"Deal!" He grinned and ran back a few feet, while Lori chopped onions beside the fire. For a moment, it all felt so… normal. Almost like something from the before-times—morning air still chilling and not too hot, smells of wood and watery coffee in the air, people waking up, stretching, and starting their day.

And soon enough, you noticed him from the corner of your eye before you heard him—always the quiet one.

Daryl.

He was walking in from the tree line, his crossbow as always with him. Same sweat-drenched skin while walking around in the sun, the same scowl that was more habit than emotion. But he didn't look your way, and you didn't call out, since Carl had already started playing with you. Still, you couldn't help but watch him walk toward the RV before returning your attention to the kid.

Meanwhile, Daryl pushed open the RV door. He'd been avoiding Carol for a while now—not because he didn't give a shit, but because he didn't know how to. What was he supposed to say? "Sorry yer kid's missin'? 'M still searchin'?" That didn't help anyone.

But he had remembered the roses that bloomed in the woods. Right there, where you had been bleeding near the house, like they were waiting for him again. He'd stared at them for a full minute before pulling one out of the dirt and shoving it into an old beer bottle he found.

He felt stupid carrying it back. Felt even more stupid walking up the steps of the RV, holding it. But he did it anyway.

Inside the RV, Carol was cleaning everything, trying to distract herself from the emptiness that was eating her up from the inside out. "I cleaned up," she said without looking at him. "Wanted it to be nice for her."

Daryl glanced around. "For a second I thought I was in the wrong place." He set the beer bottle with the rose down on the little table.

She finally turned. Her eyes looked at it, then back at him. "A flower?"

"'S a Cherokee rose." He sighed. "The story is that when American soldiers were movin' Indians off their land on the Trail of Tears, the Cherokee mothers were grievin' and cryin' so much 'cause they were losin' their little ones along the way from exposure, disease, and starvation. A lot of 'em just disappeared."

Carol froze but continued to listen to Daryl. "So the elders, they said a prayer, asked for a sign to uplift the mothers' spirits, and give 'em strength and hope. The next day this rose started to grow right where the mothers' tears fell. I ain't fool 'nough to think there's any flowers bloomin' for my brother. But I believe this one bloomed for yer little girl."

Her eyes filled up with tears, but she shrugged it off with a laugh.

"She's gonna really like it in here," he added, nodding once. Then he turned away and stepped back outside.

But Daryl didn't head straight back to his tent. Not right away. Instead, he stopped near one of the fences, where he could see you, even though he'd made up his mind to head out again soon.

You were laughing, tossing a ball, even if your movements were stiff, and Carl almost fell when he caught it. Lori said something, probably about food or ordering Carl to be more careful. But you, you looked...alive.

Still pretty. Still you. Still 'girly n' shit,' with your beautiful hair and your clean clothes and that voice that didn't sound like anyone else's.

Daryl could still feel your hands on his skin; that damn flannel shirt still smelled like you, which he carefully left in his tent.

Raising a hand without thinking, he waved a little. Awkwardly. But you looked up and smiled at him. Really smiled. And that's when Daryl's face turned red and he damn near panicked. He dropped his hand, spun around, and stormed off toward his tent like he hadn't just spent a few hours walking through the woods while secretly hoping to see you at the end of it.

Meanwhile, Lori leaned over, grinning a little confused. "What was that about?"

"Long story," you answered, shaking your head.

Lori raised her eyebrows but didn't push any further when you turned your attention back to Carl.

"Alright," you challenged him. "Last round. The loser has to eat a whole onion raw!"

But every now and then, your eyes looked toward the tree line again, right where Daryl had disappeared again. You'd be checking on him later. And as time passed, it was safe to say that you barely saw him all day. He was nowhere to be found. Not that you were watching or anything—okay, maybe you did want to look after him. Still, you weren't about to start jogging all over the Greene's property, but damn if your eyes didn't automatically look to every movement of the trees, every corner of the farm, every second someone from the group came walking out of the woods or was near you.

Still, Daryl was just... gone.

And it wasn't like you to worry—not in the clingy, 'where's my man?' kind of way, but after last night, after everything he let you see, the way he sobbed in your arms like a hurt little boy, the way he clung to you like he'd drown otherwise? It didn't sit right with you that he could disappear so easily, like none of it ever happened.

By the time it was afternoon, you finally gave in and went looking.

Finding Glenn near the stable while Maggie stood at one of the stalls and stroked one of the horses, you heard them talking, laughing about something.

"Hey," you called as you approached. "Have either of you seen Daryl? I saw that he left again, but he's still not back."

Glenn tilted his head. "Yeah, earlier, when we came back. He asked me about the town where the pharmacy is. The one Maggie and I hit."

You nodded slowly, a little confused. "But doesn't he already know where it is? Did he say why?"

Glenn shrugged. "Said he was going scavenging again. But probably still looking for Sophia too. Guess that takes some time."

You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face. Of course, he went alone. Again.

Meanwhile, Glenn narrowed his eyes a little. "Why, are you still trying to go thank him for saving your life or for ruining it a bit more?"

"Wow. What a joke, Glenn. Maybe I just miss his charming personality," you snorted, rolling your eyes.

Maggie laughed, and Glenn wanted to answer, but your mind was already somewhere else, and your feet followed those thoughts soon after—back down the way to Dale's RV.

You stepped up into the RV with the intention of grabbing a weapon. Not a big one. Just something small enough to carry, big enough to keep you from getting attacked by a walker if you crossed paths with one. A pistol. A knife. Both.

But the second you turned and went back outside…

"Where do you think you're goin'?"

You froze. Shane was leaning up against the RV, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed just enough to let you know he'd been waiting and watching.

"Just walking around, looking, watching," you lied flatly.

He stared at you with a smirk, shaking his head. "Don't look like walkin'. Looks like you were grabbin' a gun."

"Maybe I wanted to do both," you grumbled. "Feels safer."

"What's goin' on?" Rick's voice stopped you from behind Shane, who still didn't move.

"My bet? She was about to head out on her own."

Rick frowned, stepping closer, looking at you like he already knew he wasn't going to like the answer. "Is that true?"

"I just wanted to check out that town Glenn and Maggie went to. That's all."

Rick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're still not fully healed. You know how dangerous it is out there. Especially alone."

Shane was shaking his head. "What he said. Not happenin'. Not alone."

"It wasn't up for debate," you argued back. "And it still isn't up for debate. I can handle myself just fine."

"Well, now it is," Shane answered. "You're not goin'. Period."

And just like that, they were walking off, leaving you alone. But Lori showed up not even a minute later, carrying a basket and looking somewhat amused.

"Okay," she started. "What's going on this time?"

You let out a deep breath, staring at the spot where Rick and Shane just stood. "I wanted to go look for Daryl, but no, of course, the only two cops that are still alive around Atlanta stopped me from doing so."

She stopped mid-step, but without answering you, so you glanced at her. "What?"

But Lori just smiled. Not in a mean way—just a knowing one. "I'm sure he's fine," she said gently. "Come help me with the eggs, okay?"

"The chicken coop? Eggs? Really?"

"Yeah. Besides, you've got to keep your hands busy before you go out and annoy both Rick and Shane at once. Believe me, you don't want that."

You followed her, grumbling, "Not a bad idea, actually..."

"Oh, by the way," Lori added casually as you reached the coop. "Daryl actually called me Olive Oyl."

You turned your head in confusion as you crouched down. "Wait, what?"

She smirked, crouching down by one of the nests as well. "I called him selfish. He called me Olive Oyl. You figure out what that means…"

You stared at her, half confused, half in thought, and she just tossed you a couple of eggs like she wasn't just out here admitting something to you, but you weren't really sure what she meant.

Hours passed again.

Chickens were settled, dinner was halfway done, and, as always, everyone kept themselves as busy as possible.

You were wiping your hands on a towel near the porch of Hershel's farmhouse when Lori nudged you with her elbow. "Look," she said softly, nodding her head toward the tree line.

You turned. And there he was. Daryl. Finally.

He came walking out of the woods, a bag slung over one shoulder. No blood. No obvious injuries. No anger in his walk. Just calm and relaxed, like he hadn't just ghosted you the entire day. And without even looking over to the farmhouse or at the group, he walked straight to his tent and disappeared as if nothing ever happened.

But you knew that it would soon be late enough where no one would pay attention. No one would notice if you moved away during the night. And if Rick or Shane would notice? You somehow counted on Lori to have your back.

You caught sight of Daryl before you made it to him—sitting outside his tent with his back turned, searching through that bag he probably found in that small town nearby like he was checking it for something. And you could see how stiff his shoulders were, even from a distance.

Hesitating for a second, you then decided to walk over to him as quietly as you could manage in hopes of not scaring him off, your hands curled into fists like the pressure might help with the sudden nervousness you felt out of nowhere.

Being close enough after a while, you could see the fumbling of his fingers and the new bits of dirt beneath his nails. You reached out, one hand raised and your fingers stretched, just about to tap his shoulder—and the second your hand made contact?

Daryl moved fast. Too fast.

Before you could even yelp, he had you pushed on your back in the grass, one foot pressing down by your hip, the other leg straddling your thighs. His forearm came down hard near your neck, not on it, but close enough that you knew—if he'd wanted to hurt you, really hurt you, or even worse—he could've.

His other fist was in the air, ready to punch. And then he saw you. Stunned. Taken aback. Breathing hard and trying to cough beneath him.

Daryl's mouth fell open the second he realized it was you. Shock and horror were written all over his face, his eyes quickly looking around, as if unsure what part of your face they should focus on, and his fist dropped instantly.

"Shit! Shit! Fuck," he stammered, pulling back but not quite getting off you. "I ain't—fuck—I didn't know! I thought—hell, I ain't mean—shit! Shit!"

You reached up before he would freak out completely, both hands finding his face. Your thumbs slid along his cheekbones, and he flinched like you'd hit him. But you didn't say a word. You simply lifted yourself as best as possible and kissed his forehead like you'd done before—slow, soft, waiting for him to calm down. You felt the panic slip out of him in shaky breaths, his body relaxing against yours, until you pulled back and wrapped your arms around him.

Daryl didn't say anything. For quite a while, he simply let you hug him, his forehead dropping against your shoulder like he wasn't sure he deserved it.

Eventually, he crawled off you completely and helped you up, grumbling a bunch of apologies—and curses—as he did. You could barely make them out. He was red in the face, not just from embarrassment but from shame.

Brushing your palms off, you followed his eyes to the open bag beside his tent. Whatever was in there had fallen out in the heat of the moment—some canned food, a bottle of water, some medicine he'd found, a few hygiene things that looked suspiciously like they'd been taken from a women's section—and then, carefully folded underneath it all, was a dress.

Pink. With ribbons. Not over-the-top, but definitely... you. Your size. Your style.

"Well," you said with a smirk, stepping closer and crouching beside the bag. "What's this?"

Daryl went stiff. "I—ain't—look, I didn't mean nothin' by it," he answered fast, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand like he wanted to disappear into the ground. "Was just... y'know, ya still like all that stuff, an' I saw it hangin' there all clean-like, figured it'd maybe... I dunno... ya still like that kinda shit, right? Thought maybe ya'd... wear it. Or somethin'. Ain't mean nothin' by it, just saw it, figured it was dumb, but it made me think'a ya, and—fuck…"

"It's not stupid," you said, cutting him off gently, but he looked at you like he couldn't quite believe you meant it.

You picked up the dress carefully with your hands, held it against your chest, and spun a little around as if you were modeling for him. "You got the size right. And it's got some ribbons as well... You really have been paying attention, huh? To everything."

His head was so red by now you thought it might explode on the spot.

"I like it," you continued, more quietly this time, not wanting to push him too much. "A lot."

Daryl swallowed so hard it was almost audible, his eyes looking at the dress, then to your face, then immediately away again. "Y'do?"

You nodded.

"Yer so fuckin' weird," he responded, but it sounded like a joke. No anger behind it.

"Guess I am," you answered with a smirk. "And I guess you like weird girls who wear pink dresses and make you sleep like a baby when they hold you."

Daryl opened his mouth to argue for a second, then shut it again. Stepping toward him and sliding a hand into his hair, brushing through it gently, you watched how his eyes shut close at the contact. He was so touch-starved it somehow hurt to see.

"Ya, uh... ya gonna go back to yer tent now?"

You tilted your head in confusion at his sudden question. "Why? Do you want me to leave?"

Daryl shrugged a little, rubbing the back of his neck once more. "Just... Y'know. 'S gettin' cold and all."

"Daryl? It's warm. I won't freeze to death." Shaking your head, you held back a smile. "Are you asking me to stay?"

He huffed a breath and gave a helpless little nod of his head, not looking at you. "Yeah, yeah, right… But… Ain't askin'. Just… Would be okay if ya did, s'all."

Quickly taking a step back, you leaned down to put all the things that had fallen out of his bag back into it, picking it up and holding it out to him until he took it. Finding his other hand, you then put it into yours.

"I'll stay."

Daryl followed behind in silence as you slipped inside his tent without any hesitation, with him throwing the bag into one corner of the tent as fast as he could. Inside, it was dark, but not pitch black—the moon gave you just enough light to see everything—the sleeping bag, his gear, and the flannel shirt you'd given him that smelled like you, lying right next to where some improvised pillow was lying on the ground.

You turned toward him, still holding his big, calloused hand in yours. His fingers twitched like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to let go or tighten his grip.

"So," you said softly, smiling at him. "We sleeping or what?"

Daryl shrugged, his eyes switching from you to the sleeping bag like the situation was somehow too complicated for his brain to process. "Yeah," he grumbled, "guess so."

He sat down awkwardly first, then lay back, giving the sleeping bag a few rough pats like that was going to magically make it more comfortable. You crawled right beside Daryl and turned your back to him instinctively, expecting him to just sort of… get it.

But Daryl didn't move an inch.

Peeking over your shoulder, he just grunted at you, clearly ashamed and confused, but finally slid closer next to you. He lay on his side behind you, arms straight at his sides like he was getting ready for a casket instead of cuddles.

You waited. And waited…

Finally, you sighed and reached behind you, grabbing his wrist and putting his hand over your waist.

Daryl went rigid. Completely tensed up and unsure. So you laughed to yourself and wiggled back into him until his chest was pressed against your back and his big, strong arm rested across your stomach.

"Do you still not know how spooning works, Dixon?"

Still awkward. Still stiff.

"What, this?" He scoffed. "Ain't nothin' to it."

But his voice cracked just a little, and you could feel the hesitation in the way he touched you. Careful. Nervous, even. But you didn't push him. You just covered his hand with yours and rubbed your thumb over his knuckles.

Daryl's breathing slowed eventually. You felt his nose against the back of your head, his fingers twitching now and then against your side, and soon, your body relaxed too, feeling his chest rising and falling behind your back.

You felt safe, stupidly so, when you dozed off like that. And it might've been an hour later when you felt it.

A little movement. Barely there, at first. Just the press of his hips rougher against you, and then again.

And again.

You blinked awake slowly, still a little bit sleepy. And then it hit you.

He was hard. Really hard. And he was—shit, he was humping you in his sleep.

Not fully. Not aggressively. But enough that you could feel the drag of his cock against your ass, big and hard, right through his pants, softly grinding, lazy and slow, as if he didn't even know he was doing it.

You smirked to yourself, eyes still half closed, not daring to move just yet.

Holy shit, that man was packing.

With your thighs clenching a little without even wanting them to do so, you didn't even need to see it to know. You could feel it. How thick he was. How the head of his cock pressed against you when he moved like he was grinding in a daze, with no idea you were wide awake by now.

You bit your lip at the realization of it all—Daryl Dixon, quietly, accidentally dry-humping you in his sleep as if he was desperate and didn't know how to ask for what he wanted.

Holding your breath, you tried not to giggle—because laughing would wake him up, and waking him up might ruin the moment. Or worse, embarrass the hell out of him. But shit, the way his hips rolled was so slow and lazy… His body was dreaming of something he'd never admit to wanting.

Another sigh left his lips. This one was more like a whimper. And that's when your thighs clenched for real. You pressed your lips together, closing your eyes. You couldn't help it. Couldn't stop your hand from drifting down to rest on his again. The one he still had on your waist.

Daryl's fingers twitched. He reacted. Shit, was he waking up?

"Mhm..." He mumbled. Not a word. Just a sound. And he moved again, a little more this time, his cock pressing harder against your ass, making your breath hitch.

The longer it went on, the hotter it got—him so unknowingly needy, and you, getting wet from the feel of it, every roll of his hips pressing that thick, aching cock against you like it just needed somewhere to go.

Daryl let out another soft sound behind you. Not a groan. Just a broken sigh that made you swallow hard and your pussy throb.

You could wake him up. You could turn around. You could grab his jaw, kiss him just like that, and show him what to do next. Or you could wait a few more seconds and see just how far that sleepy little grind of his was going to go.

And Daryl kept it going, his hips rocking ever so gently, pressing himself against your ass like he was in a different world entirely—a fantasy, a dream—where he got to have this. You. Where it was okay to want.

And oh, how he wanted you. You could also hear it by now, the way his breath hitched just a little more each time he moved. Louder. Another soft whimper barely made it past his lips. You wondered if he even knew he was making those little sounds and if he'd hate himself for them in the morning.

Shifting slowly, you let your thighs part just a little. Not enough to be obvious—just enough to feel him better. You let his hand go, moving back with your own until your fingertips brushed over the side of his thigh. He jerked, only a twitch, like his body felt the touch even if he wasn't awake yet.

Then, quietly, carefully, you rolled over to face him, feeling how his strong arm slipped off your waist. His brow was furrowed just a little, his lips parted, almost looking innocent. And maybe he really was.

Reaching up, you couldn't help but let your thumb touch his bottom lip softly, parting his mouth a little more.

And then, you kissed him. Only one deep kiss.

Poor Daryl had no idea. Or maybe he did and just couldn't help himself. But then you slid your tongue along his lips. That was the moment he stopped moving entirely, and you didn't have to look to know he was wide awake now.

Still, you froze for a second. So did Daryl.

Then he pulled back in an instant, realizing what kind of situation he was in. "Shit! I… fuck! What—?"

"I noticed," you whispered and gave him a loving smile in response. "And I simply kissed you in return."

He opened his mouth, like maybe he had something to say, maybe an apology, maybe an excuse, but you beat him to it. Crawling toward him, you quickly pushed him back down to keep him from escaping you, straddling him.

Daryl's face turned a shade of red you didn't think possible for a man who spent all day out in the sun. "I—I didn't know I was—fuck, I didn't mean nothin' by it! I wasn't…"

You caught one of his hands and wrapped your fingers around his. "It's okay," you said, your thumb stroking his knuckles gently. "Was kinda cute, actually."

He made a strangled noise like he couldn't decide whether to groan or storm out of his tent as fast as possible. "Cute?" He asked, clearly offended by the word.

"Yeah… You heard me," you answered, sliding your hand down between your bodies until your palm pressed against the hard outline of his cock.

Daryl didn't know what to say anymore, but he didn't stop you either.

So you kissed him again, with just enough pressure to make him gasp. You felt the way his mouth opened for you, the way he stopped breathing, so you let your hand continue to move against his cock ever so slowly, and when it moved over the thick tip of it, he choked out a sound that damn near made you moan in return.

"Jesus," he groaned, letting his head fall back with his eyes squeezed shut.

Taking the opportunity, you leaned forward and kissed his jaw and his neck, nipping gently at his skin.

He was already so fucking hard…

"Shit," he hissed through clenched teeth like the word had been ripped out of him.

"What?" You smiled against him. "You literally hump me in your sleep and then act like you don't want it when you're awake?"

He made another strangled sound, somewhere between a grunt and a moan this time, his face turning deep red. "I wasn't—I didn't!"

Daryl's eyes looked into yours, wild and wide, and then lower, down your body.

"Yeah, you did," you smirked, pulling back a little, not wanting to overwhelm him. "You just didn't know I'd let you. Now..."

Making yourself comfortable to straddle him tighter, you pulled your shirt up and over your head, slow enough to make your point clear. His eyes never left your skin—staring at every inch like it was something new, something forbidden. Your bra came off next.

And Daryl looked like he forgot how to breathe. His jaw dropped, his tongue wetting his lips so fast he didn't even realize he was doing it, his eyes fixed on your tits like he was terrified to blink, and his hands twitched at his sides.

You tilted your head and grinned. "Are you going to touch or do you want to stare all night?"

Swallowing hard and not wanting to refuse, one hand came up trembling, like he was expecting you to slap it away, but then he stopped halfway.

"Daryl... I'm letting you. Just try and touch me."

That certainly helped. His fingers moved up your waist first, cautiously, like he needed to warm up to the idea. Then, slowly—so goddamn slowly—he brought his hand up to your chest.

And fuck, the look on his face… As if he'd never seen a naked woman in his life and wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or about to die from it.

Daryl's palm cupped one of your tits with doubt, but also hunger, like he wanted to devour them but was too scared he'd hurt you if he squeezed too hard.

He didn't even squeeze. He held.

But when you gasped—when your back arched a little more and your mouth dropped open in a silent moan—then he started to touch, kneading gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple, where he didn't even realize what he was doing until you shivered from it.

His eyes looked up to yours, panic on his face, thinking maybe that noise meant he did it wrong.

Reassuring him, you shook your head, smiling gently. "That was good, baby. Don't stop."

Daryl didn't. He kept touching. You could see the way his jaw clenched, see the tense muscles in his neck, and feel the way his cock twitched hard beneath you in an attempt to hold himself back from thrusting up against you.

Leaning down, you let your tits rub across his chest up to his face, just enough to tease, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

Daryl whimpered. He whimpered, the poor thing…

You could feel the tremble in his thighs now, his hand still clinging to your tit with a look that said he was afraid you'd change your mind. But his fingers tightened further, wanting to make himself believe that your sounds weren't even pity, but want. Real want.

"Do you want to come for me, Daryl?"

His hips bucked up without permission, and his breath hitched again at your words, all the while you kept your hand on him—pressing and sliding your palm over the bulge in his pants, feeling how hard he was, but still trying to hold himself together, which was getting harder with every second that passed.

"I, uh," he stuttered, almost too quiet to hear. His eyes went shut when your fingers squeezed just the tip of his cock through his pants out of nowhere. "F-fuck—don't… don't... PLEASE."

You bit back a grin. There it was.

His hips bucked up once again, just a little, trying to get you to touch him some more. It was obvious that his body didn't care that he had no real idea what he was doing—it wanted more of you.

Leaning in close, you let your tongue lick over his parted lips. "You sound like you're begging for it, you know..."

Daryl's eyes snapped open at your words.

Wide. Confused. Embarrassed.

You watched the realization hit him—watched him remember what sounds came out of his throat. His mouth was still open, attempting to take it back, maybe deny it—but nothing came out. Only another moan. By now, he was all whimpers and stutters and fuck-me eyes.

You laughed softly, rolling your hips against his thigh. "Didn't even realize, huh? You're just so damn worked up you don't know what you're saying anymore."

Tilting your head, you pressed another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before dragging your lips along his jaw. "You never had someone make you feel like this before, Daryl?"

"N-no…"

"Mhm," you smiled against his skin. "I didn't think so."

Daryl whimpered again, and you felt his cock twitch under your palm.

You leaned closer, letting your breath tickle his ear, whispering. "Does your dick get hard like this for just anybody, sweetheart?"

His head turned to the side with the expression of someone who was more than just ashamed.

"I'm gonna touch you for real, Daryl," you whispered, not moving your hand further for now. "And you're going to be good and let me. You're going to say ‘thank you,' too… like a sweet little boy who listens."

"I…"

"You what?"

"I… thanks," he stammered, hardly able to say it out loud.

"Good boy. All the while you're begging for it without even meaning to."

His hips jerked up again—uselessly on instinct—and he made the softest sound you'd ever listened to in your life. Was it a sob? You weren't sure with his fingers still on your tits and him looking too stunned to do anything.

"Oh, baby…" You smirked, pretending to be all sweet and kind while grinding down against his thigh. "You want it that bad?"

Daryl nodded. Just a tiny, helpless nod—but he meant it.

You sat back some more, sliding your hand from his cock up to the button of his pants, but didn't open it. Not now. Reaching up, you started to open the buttons of his own flannel shirt instead, one by one, only to kiss your way to the middle of his chest. One kiss. Then another. Then lower, sliding your lips and tongue down to his stomach.

He was panting now, his chest rising and falling wildly, his other hand twitching like he didn't know where to put it. "Please," he whispered. It slipped out quietly. But you heard it. Hell, you felt it.

"Please?" You asked, not stopping your trail of kisses down to the skin just above the waistband of his pants. "Please, what? Tell me."

"Dunno," he whimpered, almost desperate. "Just, just—don't leave."

You couldn't help but giggle at his words, kissing his skin just above his belly button. "Don't worry, Daryl. I won't leave, and believe me, I'll tell you what to do."

He blinked down at you, looking like he'd agree to anything if you just kept touching him like this.

As soon as you got off, kneeling down beside him, you grabbed his jaw. "Lay back onto the sleeping bag."

He obeyed immediately, lying down flat on his back and breathing like he'd run for miles, his eyes looking from your face to your tits and back again.

You straddled him again, slowly, getting comfortable like you had all the time in the world. "Wanna suck on my tits now?"

His mouth dropped open at your question. No sound came out. Just an overwhelmed, shaky cough. Suddenly cupping your own tit in your hand, you gave it a light squeeze, then brushed your thumb over your nipple, watching how Daryl's eyes followed the movement of your finger.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm letting you, Daryl," you whispered. "Come on. You can do that. Be a good boy for me and do as I say."

Daryl nodded slowly, pushing himself up on his elbows and thinking he might still be dreaming of a fantasy. A fantasy he's had since the first time he saw you at the quarry outside of Atlanta. But he already knew it back then… how you'd become his undoing.

You guided him gently, making yourself comfortable next to him now, and arched a little closer so he didn't have to reach far. He stared for one more second—just one—and then leaned in. Awkwardly so. His mouth was unsure at first, with quivering lips brushing over your nipple that didn't quite know what was allowed and what was not.

So you sighed and put your fingers into his hair, caressing the back of his head. "Open that pretty mouth, sweetheart."

Daryl obeyed. You brought your nipple to his mouth and watched him. Watched him take it in, his lips wrapping around it as if he was scared. "That's it," you whispered. "Suck."

He did. Carefully at first—then with more confidence when your hand returned to his hair, guiding him. His tongue flicked over your nipple, his lips sucking gently, then harder when he heard you moan. You felt the way his cock throbbed beneath your thigh, how he was still so hard it probably hurt—but he didn't ask for anything. Didn't even grind up to feel more. He just sucked. Sweet. Quietly. Needy.

"You're doing so good right now," you whispered, letting him take the other nipple into his mouth next, his tongue moving with more urgency now. "Look how well you listen."

Daryl whined again but never stopped. By the time you looked down at him again, his lips were shiny, and his cock was leaking so much precum that his pants were dark and soaked through a little.

But you let him continue to explore your tits as long as he wanted to—slow little licks, then sucking gently, then sucking harder when he was sure you liked it as much as he did. One of his hands came back up too, holding your tit, trying to memorize the feel of it while he kept going, switching sides when your hand in his hair pulled it a little.

And all the while, he kept making those noises. Not words. Just quiet, breathy sounds. Whimpers. Moans. Every now and then, a broken little 'fuck' or 'shit,' wanting to try and hide that he couldn't really handle it. Pulling back after a while, only enough to see his face, you smiled down at him.

Daryl only blinked at you, so you kissed his temple. "Do you realize how sweet you are? I bet I could make you come like this. Just from sucking on my tits."

That made his hips buck again. And the noise that came out of him? Practically a whine. You knew it now—knew Daryl. How desperate he was. How careful. And you could tell that he was already close. Only from this. The thought alone turned you on.

You couldn't help but press your knee between his legs to tease him a little and to feel it—that cock throbbing against you, for you, and still aching. Poor boy was losing it, and you hadn't even taken his pants off yet.

Reaching down slowly, you let your fingers tease the skin near the waistband, making him shiver. Daryl froze for a moment like he was trying not to run away. But he didn't stop you, even though he was still fighting with himself. You worked his button open, then, patiently, pulled the zipper down just enough to slip your hand into it. His breath hitched when you brushed over the front of his boxers. So warm. So hard. Fuck, he felt like steel, and he throbbed so wildly under your hand when you barely even touched him.

"You're so cute," you whispered, letting your lips kiss his jaw as your hand started moving over his cock. "So sweet…"

Daryl moaned—not even loud enough, really, making it sound like a broken whimper. He looked down between you with disbelief in his eyes. It was clear no one had ever touched him that way before. And he wasn't even able to concentrate on touching you as well when you teased him for a while through his boxers.

Long strokes. Nothing fast. And enough to keep him on edge.

Watching him being this close so easily felt almost unfair.

"Don't," he whined all of a sudden. "I—I can't!"

"You can, believe me," you hushed him softly, watching him hide his face out of embarrassment, but you could still hear every broken little noise that left him. Then you slid your hand down, right inside his boxers.

Trembling and barely able to hold himself together, he gave you a shocked gasp when your fingers wrapped around his cock. His body betrayed him, wanting more before his mind could even catch up.

"You poor thing." You said, kissing his neck. "I hope that didn't hurt?"

Daryl didn't answer. He couldn't. His hand had grabbed part of the sleeping bag, eyes shut tight when you started to move your hand—once. Just a pump. Twice. Again. Watching the way he reacted to every single one. He couldn't stop shaking. Couldn't stop gasping.

"Already this wet and leaking," you smirked, feeling the precum dripping down along his shaft. "It's quite impressive how much you're trying to be good."

"Please…" He then sobbed, and you looked up at him. That red face. Those quivering lips. His pleading eyes.

Oh, shit.

Your brain just kind of stopped working when your fingers wrapped harder around his cock at that sight. He felt so warm. So thick. And Daryl groaned—deep, broken, as if in actual pain—and his hips bucked up just barely. Lord... He really was desperate.

Slowly pumping his shaft with your hand moving up and down, you kept the pressure torturously gentle, making his abs clench every time you reached the base of his cock, his breath shuddering.

He was losing it, and his hand found your wrist suddenly, gripping—not to stop you, but to beg you without words.

You leaned down, lips brushing over his jaw. "What is it, baby? You wanna come for me?"

A strangled groan left him. He was too scared to say yes.

"You think I'll stop if you come too fast?"

Daryl didn't know if he should nod or shake his head at your words, and it turned into a mix of both. It looked almost pathetically wholesome how this strong man let himself go in a way you could've never even imagined. Especially not a few days ago.

"Good thing I want to see you come." And then, without warning, you changed your rhythm, pumping his cock harder now, faster.

"F-FUCK—m'sorry—I can't!" He moaned, louder this time. His back arched up off the sleeping bag, unable to control his body anymore, even though he wanted to.

Your other hand went to his hair again, stroking it gently. "Look at you. So cute. And I haven't even started riding you."

"I—I'll do anythin'! Just wanna come for ya… fuck! I'll be good!"

"Oh, I know you'll be good," you giggled. "But good boys wait. Good boys hold it back."

"Please," Daryl whimpered in response. "Please, please, please…"

You hushed him, cupping his cheek as he shook, letting it overwhelm him. Every twitch. Every breath. Every bit of feelings he didn't know how to handle.

"That's it, baby," you encouraged him. "Good boys come when they're told... Do it."

His whole body jerked and tensed up. A quiet, choked groan, a full-body tremble, and then a broken moan that ripped itself from his throat as he came—hard—right in your hand.

You felt Daryl's cum shoot into his boxers, his cock pulsing against your palm while he gasped for breath, hoping that maybe you wouldn't see how ashamed he was.

"N-no," he whimpered to himself. "I—I didn't wanna! Fuck!"

"You didn't want to?" You teased softly, licking your lips. "Seemed like your dick had other plans."

Daryl groaned again as he let himself fall back down onto the sleeping bag, his hands covering his face, totally embarrassed. He didn't even realize your hand was still inside his pants, but you felt him shiver beneath you, his cock still throbbing in your grip.

He was quiet. Not because he didn't have anything to say—but because he didn't know how to handle this situation. Even when his sticky cum in his pants had to be starting to feel awkward, he just lay there, soon with his hands over his face.

But eventually, you moved just a little and smiled, "Let me clean you up."

Daryl stiffened immediately. "Ya don't gotta—"

"No arguing. Be quiet. Give me something to clean you with. I want to. Now."

He flinched at that as if it hurt more than helped, but he obeyed, reaching for a cloth near him. You sat up gently and took it from him, just when he tried to push you back down—his hand on your body feeling so unsure, like he didn't even know how to ask you not to leave. But you just kissed his forehead.

"Just a few seconds, sweet boy. Then you can go back to hugging me."

It made Daryl grumble, but he let go. You pulled his pants and boxers down slowly, cleaning him up with care. Like taking care of him was just what you did. And Daryl watched in silence. Red in the face, lips parted, still breathing a little too fast.

He didn't say thank you. But his hand found your thigh, poking it to make you notice him. It was a nervous apology for coming too soon, for shaking too hard, and for needing too much.

Once you were done, you smiled and kissed his forehead again. Then you crawled back into his arms, and this time, you were facing each other. Daryl's hand trembled where it rested on your back. Not from exhaustion—though you knew he was exhausted—but from a little bit of fear. So you hugged him. Let him breathe. Let him come down for a while. And when he finally spoke, it was so quiet you almost missed it.

"Yer not… just doin' this 'cause—I dunno," He started. "Told ya… ya don't gotta pretend."

You tilted his face up, kissing the tip of his nose. "Daryl. Stop. Stop it right there."

Without saying anything, he put his head beneath your chin, one arm trying to pull you closer. You were still shirtless, and you felt the way his breath stuttered against your skin when his cheek pressed to your tits once more, but he didn't try to pull away this time. Didn't want you to cover up, either.

He just grumbled something into your skin, probably some curses, and you couldn't help but giggle. Another grumble. And his arm only held you tighter.

"You know… I know that you know that Maggie and Glenn went to the town not far from here, right? The pharmacy's still got a stash… I bet," you smirked, kissing his hair.

That made him lift his head just a little more. "What kinda stash?" He asked, confused.

"Oh, I dunno. Things a girl might need. Like... lip balm. Some body lotion. Maybe even condoms."

You ran your fingers through his hair again, and Daryl stared at you. Clearly shocked. His mouth opened, but he couldn't say anything, just like before.

"And if there are still some left," you added in a thoughtful voice, "maybe I'd put on that pink dress… Let you lay back. Let me climb on and ride you until I come."

Daryl whined. Honest-to-God whined and dropped his face back against your tits so fast it made you laugh. "Oh, you like that idea," you teased, stroking the back of his neck.

Without answering that question, he nuzzled deeper against your tits, praying that if he hid there long enough, the shame would go away. You stayed like this a little longer, just feeling the way his body stayed tense against yours, but Daryl feared that maybe if he moved again, he'd come a second time just from breathing the air you were breathing as well.

"Hey," you soon whispered into his hair.

A muffled grunt answered you.

"I've been thinking…"

Another grunt. Thinking was clearly dangerous right now.

"About that pink dress you got me," you smiled against his head, sliding your fingers up the back of his neck gently. He didn't say anything. But you could feel the answer.

Leaning back just enough to search for his gaze, you looked down at him. His eyes, still a little glassy, still wide and panicked, blinked up at you.

"Daryl," you continued, "do you want me to wear it for you?"

His mouth dropped open. Then shut it again. "I—I dunno…"

"You don't know?" You asked sweetly. "Or do you not want to say it out loud?"

He looked away fast, so you just giggled and cupped his cheek. "It's okay. You don't have to say it. But maybe…" You let your thumb slide slowly across his skin, making him shiver. "Maybe I should try it on right now."

His whole body tensed up immediately when you pulled away, trying to reach for the bag where the dress was still inside, along with the other things he'd scavenged.

"What? No... No, don't!" Daryl reached for your wrist, panicking, but his pants were still half-down his thighs, and he couldn't move worth shit. "Just wait! I didn't... I just—fuck!"

But you were already crawling to the other side of his tent as you reached for the bag to get your hands on that dress again.

"Don't," he still begged, sitting up halfway but unable to stop you. "Ain't—just… Just wear it t'morrow!"

You turned to look at him, though you were a little confused by his weird reaction. "I could wear it tomorrow, or I could just wear it right now. Where is the difference? Why are you freaking out about a dress?"

"I ain't freakin' out!" He snapped back, his voice rising, and yanked his boxers and pants completely down to get them off and to finally move. "Just don't—ain't no need for ya to wear it now!"

"Daryl, stop… I'm sorry, but," you laughed, grabbing the bag anyway, "now I have to wear it. Whether you like it or not. And I think you will like it. Calm down."

Daryl groaned and dropped back flat onto the sleeping bag, his hands covering his face. "Jesus...shit…"

You pulled the first couple of items out that you've seen before: the canned food, the bottle of water, the medicine, and other hygiene things that he probably got for you. But once you reached for the dress, your hand touched something else at the bottom of the bag.

Pulling it out slowly and turning it over in your hands, you had to blink several times in disbelief.

"...Daryl." He didn't answer, and you stared at the condoms in your hand. "Are these… what I think they are?"

He groaned once more and turned his head away from you, feeling how the shame was about to kill him. "I ain't—I wasn't—I just found ‘em!"

"Found them?" You responded, grinning by now. "And you just happened to put them safely into the bottom of your bag? For what, for emergencies?"

He grumbled something you couldn't make out, so you turned back and got closer to him, waving the condoms in front of his face on purpose. "Daryl Dixon," you whispered playfully, "you got these because of me."

"Nah. I didn't."

"You little liar," you smirked. "You didn't think I'd find out? Or were you just hopingyou'd need them in the future?"

"I didn't even think ya'd—" He sat up finally, his face red all over, and ran a hand through his hair. "I ain't even know if they're good; I just…"

Leaning in close, you reached down between you both, putting your hand on his thigh and feeling him shiver. "You've been dreaming about fucking me, haven't you, Daryl?"

His breath hitched.

"Don't worry, baby. I won't do anything… yet. But…" You leaned in to whisper right into his ear. "I love knowing that you thought about it."

Moving slowly, you gently pushed him back down by the chest until he lay flat again, with his eyes shut tight and parted lips.

"I should reward you," you continued, crawling onto him. "For being brave enough to even think about it."

Daryl's hands twitched at his sides as you straddled him, not right against his cock, but close enough.

"Undo my pants," you smiled, and he froze. "You heard me."

"I—I don't…" His voice cracked. "I never—"

"Doesn't matter," you promised, nuzzling his neck now. "All you gotta do is use your hands."

With shaky fingers, he actually reached for your waistband, but still, he looked at you once, pleading in confusion, and you gave him a nod. "Go on, baby. You can do that."

The button popped open under his fingers.

"Good boy," you praised softly. "Now the zipper."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. But he did it. Slowly. Carefully.

You moved your hips to help him, watching as he opened your pants, and when your panties peeked out beneath them, Daryl let out another shaky breath.

"Want me to take them off for you?" You asked, all gentle and sweet.

He nodded fast. Desperate. Unsure if he should've said no and shaken his head instead, especially since he didn't know what you'd say next.

"No… You do it."

"W-what?" He asked in shock, staring at you.

"You're the one who wants to see," you teased. "So go on, sweetheart. Take them off as well. Not just my pants."

He was breathing harder again now, his chest rising and falling fast, his hands shaking like he didn't dare to touch.

"Don't be scared. You won't hurt me. I promise."

Slowly, shakily, his hands slid to your waistband. With a quiet grunt and a whole lot of effort, he tugged them down your hips.

"I—" His voice cut off into another broken groan. He was getting hard again. You could feel it. Your position over his thighs was perfect, and that little bit of pressure was definitely waking up his cock.

"Shit… Please…" He begged, though he probably didn't even know what he was asking for.

But it didn't matter. You were going to give it to him anyway. Let him take off your panties. Let him see everything.

Out of nowhere, you stood up and got off of him slowly. He was still laid out on the sleeping bag, not wanting to move unless told to. Picking the pink dress back up from where you left it, you watched the way Daryl's eyes stayed on you while you played around with it.

"You want me to put this on for you, baby?" You asked, your voice sounding as sweet as sugar. "Me wearing this while I ride your dick like I promised?"

Daryl let out another groan and tried to hide his face behind his forearm.

"Oh no. Don't be shy now," you grinned, getting him to peek at you from under his arm in return, trying not to smile in embarrassment.

You held the dress up and slowly put it on, not pulling it all the way down just yet—only down to your hips, holding it there. You knew what you were doing, and so did he.

"You're thinking about it right now, aren't you? Me in this little thing… climbing on top of you, telling you how to fuck me? Or maybe I'd ride you with it bunched up around my waist, my tits out of the top for you to suck on like before…"

Daryl whimpered again with a visibly harder cock that wanted more, even if he wasn't sure he should.

Stepping further away from him, you pointed down at the end of his sleeping bag in front of you. "Crawl to me."

Daryl wasn't sure he'd heard you right and tilted his head.

"You heard me. Crawl. To. Me."

He opened his mouth to protest, but you looking at him like that stopped him before a word came out. Shame-faced and trembling, he started to move. And it wasn't exactly graceful. Daryl was awkward as hell trying to crawl with his cock hardening against his thigh, but he did it—hands on the ground, knees following as he moved closer, his face burning red the entire way.

Reaching down, you grabbed his jaw to make him look at you. "Good boy," you praised him with a smile. "Do you really want me to wear this dress when I ride you? Tell me."

"Y-yeah," he nodded shakily.

You smirked, letting out a relaxed sigh. "You really wanna be inside me while I'm wearing it, huh?" Another whimper. A twitch from his cock below. "But you know what you have to do first, don't you?"

Daryl swallowed, looking away from you. "N-no?"

You grinned a little and slid your other hand into the waistband of your panties but didn't pull them down. "You still need to take these off for me. But not with your hands."

He stared at you again, lips parted, a confused expression on his face. "Huh?"

"With your mouth, Daryl," you answered dryly, biting your tongue after those words left you.

His eyes widened. "With… with my—my…"

"Use your teeth," you continued sweetly, letting go of his jaw. "I'm not using my hands. And neither are you. Go on."

Daryl stared at what was in front of him, right at your panties, swallowing hard. And you? You just stepped a little closer. Close enough that your thighs were almost touching his face. "Do it, Dixon."

He stopped, but then you felt his breath on your skin as he leaned in, trembling. With his mouth open, he slowly caught the edge of the waistband between his lips, his nose pressing against your lower stomach. You gasped softly as the warmth of his breath hit your skin, his teeth barely biting into the fabric as he pulled at it. It took everything in you not to moan at how careful he was.

Working your panties down awkwardly slow, Daryl was clearly unsure if he was doing it right. But you just sighed calmly and stroked his hair, praising him further. "That's it. You're doing so good. Keep going, sweetheart."

He grunted, pulling them further down inch by inch, kissing your skin accidentally between his pulls, his stubble brushing your inner thigh—and by the time they slipped past your hips, his nose was buried close enough to your pussy that you felt his shaky breath there.

"That's good, baby. Now pull them all the way down."

Daryl obeyed. His teeth pulled them lower until your panties dropped to your ankles, and you stepped out of them, one foot at a time. You bent to pick them up, but not before giving him a full view of your pussy. Though you didn't have to ask—his eyes were already staring, wide and stunned.

"Gonna let me ride your dick with nothing but this pretty little dress on?" You asked once more to get his attention back, running your fingers over your thigh.

No answer.

You looked down at his cock; by now it was already leaking.

"Now, look at that," you smirked. "I think you liked that more than you want to admit."

Daryl simply nodded, his hands twitching like he wanted to touch you, to taste, but was too scared to do so.

"Can you wait for me?" You asked, wanting to calm him down softly. "Can you stay good a little longer?"

He nodded when you leaned down, giving him another kiss on the mouth, slow and soft, before you took a few steps toward the bag, grabbing one of the condoms. Daryl was still kneeling, his eyes looking from your fingers to your face, trying to commit the whole moment to memory in case it was just a fever dream in the end, even after everything that has happened so far.

"Lie back down."

Crouching down after you said those words and helping Daryl with pushing him onto his back again, you suddenly moved to press a kiss to the tip of his cock—just a quick one—and he almost sobbed. You then crawled up into his lap, straddling him, your pussy just above it, not touching it yet.

"Arms over your head," you said next, watching as he obeyed without any words.

Stretching them and holding one wrist with one of his hands made his biceps flex instantly, while he himself was looking all helpless beneath you.

That was the moment you were the one almost losing your mind—just because of him.

You hadn't expected how immensely strong he looked laid out like that. The second his arms flexed, you stopped breathing. No, you hadn't expected it at all. You'd known he was strong, sure—years of hunting, tracking, and surviving life—but seeing it? Your mouth went dry.

"Goddamn…" You stammered before you could stop yourself, blushing slightly.

Meanwhile, Daryl looked at you kind of confused, not understanding what was wrong. "What?"

"N-nothing," you answered quickly, hoping he wasn't able to notice the effect he had on you. "Just… stay still. Eyes on me."

He obeyed again. Good boy. Too good. So good that you had to let out a deep, long breath. And he saw it. But you caught yourself quickly, pressing your thighs a little together to hold back the trembling building between them, your knees pushing against either side of his hips.

"Don't move," you whispered. "Not a muscle."

Leaning back ever so slightly and spreading your legs wide enough to show off everything, you then slid your hand down the dress. "You will stay quiet and watch me," you explained to him. "That's all you're allowed to do for now."

You slid your fingers down over your belly, past the edge of the dress, and let your touch slip between your thighs, making your breath hitch, and his too. Daryl's hips twitched slightly, but he still didn't move his arms. He just bit his lower lip, which was trembling a bit now. But you kept your movements slow. One finger was sliding between your pussy folds, parting them. Then two fingers, spreading them wider and teasing yourself, rubbing them softly over your clit while you moaned—just for him.

Daryl groaned in return, and you pushed your fingers deeper, pressing inside enough to feel how wet you were before pulling them out and bringing them back to your mouth. You sucked one finger clean—still watching him—and his body shivered, his fists clenching where they lay above his head.

"Poor baby," you teased him on purpose. "You're trying so hard, aren't you?"

Daryl nodded desperately. No words, just him nodding, wanting you to save him from himself. Then, he did something again that made you stop.

Only one thing.

One tiny, unplanned, accidental thing.

Something he'd done since you'd woken him from grinding and humping against your ass in his sleep. It was him looking at you. But not at your tits, not at your pussy, but at your face. Daryl looked up at you with those goddamn blue eyes, as if he was already in love with you and wanting you to notice that this wasn't only about lust—it was all about you, you, you.

"God… f-fuck… Daryl," you whispered with a shaky voice.

Immediately grabbing for the condom next to you, you quickly bit at the edge of it, fast, tearing the package open with your teeth. Daryl's eyes went wide in confusion as you held the torn wrapper between your teeth, letting him see it there while you stared him down, lips parted around the piece you bit off, before spitting it away to the side.

Taking out the condom and throwing the rest of the package away, you moved lower over his body until your face was right above his cock. You watched Daryl flinch, his legs tensing as you reached out, gently wrapping your fingers around his shaft. He hissed through his teeth, whimpering at the feeling of your touch.

"Hush now," you whispered and began pumping him slowly, with just your fingertips at first. He throbbed in your hand, his head dropping back against the sleeping bag as you worked him up.

Still keeping your eyes looking at his, you leaned down toward his cock and pressed your lips to the tip, making it leak even harder, but you did manage to hold him still.

Smirking at him next, you brought the condom to your face instead, putting the ring of it carefully between your lips, and used only your mouth to roll it down over his shaft, inch by inch, holding his shaft steady with one hand. It took effort. But you managed it. When the condom finally slid all the way down, you pulled back, leaning over him again and letting your tits press against his chest.

Daryl moaned quietly, so you just kissed him again—really kissed him.

Not like before. This time, you kissed him roughly, letting your tongue slide into his mouth. He gasped and shivered under you, his tongue all clumsy but wanting more, his body shaking all over.

"Look at you," you whispered against his jaw when you pulled back. "Lying there and just waiting for me to fuck you."

Daryl swallowed hard at your words. Then you moved, sitting upright on his thighs and moving forward until your pussy pressed to the length of his cock, still not letting him inside, just grinding yourself down along the shaft.

The warmth of his cock, the shape… Shit, it felt good.

"F-fuck," Daryl breathed out when you rocked forward again, sliding up slowly, notching the tip ever so slightly against your clit before grinding back down.

"Shit—please—fuck."

You laughed as a response, short and sweet, and reached up to grab one of the straps of the dress, letting it slip slowly off your shoulder. It slid down, giving him another chance to look at your tits again.

"Wanna suck?" You asked him, and he nodded helplessly, staring up at you with an overwhelmed expression.

Leaning back down, you offered it to him. His mouth found your tit instantly, his lips sucking on your nipple while you kept grinding down along his cock. You could feel how close he was again, his cock throbbing with every little movement.

"God," you moaned. "You make me feel so good, Daryl..."

He whimpered against your skin, sucking harder at your nipple, until you straightened up, letting it slip from his mouth, only to reach down and grip his cock, guiding the tip right where you wanted it to be next.

That first moment—simply letting the tip of his cock push against your soaked pussy—was almost too much. Even through the condom, you felt everything. The thickness. The throbbing of it. The sheer size of him.

Jesus Christ. He really was big.

Then, slowly, so goddamn slowly, you sank down onto him. The tip of his cock pushed into you with such a deep, thick stretch, it made you both moan—louder and longer, but not too loud. And you took your time. Letting inch after inch of his cock fill you up until he was completely inside, your ass pressing down onto his lap.

"Holy… holy shit," you breathed out, half-laughing, half-groaning, your hands now on his chest to steady yourself as you rocked your hips forward, letting yourself feel him pulsing inside. "Daryl, you're—fuck…"

Looking down at him, Daryl choked on another moan, but still, he didn't look. That wouldn't do.

"Look at me, baby."

He shook his head, his eyes still squeezed shut. "Can't."

"Why not?"

"Don't wanna fuck it up," he sobbed in return. Your heart damn near broke at that, but you didn't let it show. Instead, you reached out to caress his cheek.

"You're not doing anything wrong. You're doing good. Now open those eyes and look at me."

His eyes opened slowly, almost afraid, but when he looked up at you, they seemed to relax.

And shit, there was that same look on his face again, giving away that he'd never seen anything so unreal in his life. You, in that pink dress, breathing hard, your tits bouncing just slightly as you ground your pussy on his cock, your eyes looking into his like you owned him. Like this moment, this man—was yours.

"There we go," you whispered. "Keep your eyes on me."

And then you lifted yourself just a bit, leaving only the tip of his cock inside of you before you sank back down.

Your mouth dropped open as he slid in again, inch by aching inch, and all you could do was to start riding him faster—and you meant it—your hips rolling, your ass slapping against his thighs. And the more you moved, the harder it was to stay calm. Especially when you looked at his reactions.

"Keep looking," you reminded him with a breathless voice.

Daryl tried; he really did. But his eyes looked down, then back to your face with another loud groan. His hips pushed up once, involuntarily, and you whimpered at the sudden, deep, rough thrust.

"Oh, fuck! Y-you like watching it go in, don't you?"

Daryl bit his lip and nodded, but then looked back at your face as if it was the most important part of you.

Smiling, you began to move faster again, your rhythm picking up, riding him harder now, which had both of you gasping, cursing, and trembling. Your soaked pussy was taking him again and again, his cock filling you so perfectly, stretching you with every movement, so deep you could barely concentrate.

And you loved it. Loved how shy he looked while his cock was buried inside you, loved how he watched you so insecurely, not wanting to hurt you.

Your hands moved to your tits, pulling out the other one, squeezing them right in front of him, and pinching your nipples as you bounced on his cock. That got you a grunt—and a broken, whispered, "Goddamn..."

Now he was really watching.

"Yeah… just like that," you breathed. "That's it, baby. Watch me."

He moaned again, his mouth open now, totally lost.

And you were getting close. You could feel it—the way your clit ground down against him just right, the muscles of your thighs aching from the effort of riding him. But you didn't stop. You could feel him fighting it, staying still beneath you, letting you use him just like you'd promised. But then he bucked again. Out of nowhere, his hips thrust up once more.

"Oh God—fuck!" You nearly screamed, your whole body tensing up as the thick tip of his cock slammed as deep into you as it possibly could.

Your hands searched for his shoulders as you struggled to hold on, and Daryl instantly panicked. "Shit—I—I didn't mean to!"

Not wanting to answer him, one of your hands grabbed for his wrists, holding them down roughly.

"Don't move," you hissed, but your voice cracked, sounding more like begging than an actual command he'd have to follow.

Daryl's biceps flexed, though he didn't resist as you leaned down, kissing him at first, only to bite him next, right on the muscles of one arm. Your lips left a bruise, your teeth a mark, and still you didn't stop moving, your pussy continuing to clench around his cock.

You couldn't even talk anymore. All the words were gone. All you had left were the noises you made. Breathy, broken moans. Shaky, little whimpers every time his cock filled you up completely. Soft, short gasps that escaped between kisses to his arms, his neck, his shoulder—anywhere you could reach his body with your mouth, but without ever letting go of his wrists.

"Fuck, fuck…" Daryl was groaning beneath you, ragged and fast, his muscles twitching under your grip.

He was trying his hardest to hold back, knowing it would be beyond any kind of hope if he let his body continue to respond to your every little touch.

You felt drunk on it. Wild. Overstimulated and insatiable all at once. Then it hit you, that deep feeling inside that told you that your orgasm was coming fast, and you barely managed to choke out the warning.

"S-shit! I'm about to—"

You had to slow down. With shaking hands, you let go of his wrists, putting your palms on his thighs instead, and leaned back—arching your body and trying to keep calm. It was right there… right there.

"Hold me," you then gasped. "Now. Please."

Daryl obeyed. His hands quickly moved to your hips, trembling and sweaty, but still as strong as always. And as soon as he gripped you, it slowed down everything. You didn't exactly know if time had stopped, but it sure felt like it. Just long enough to see him.

"Look at me," you whispered. He already was, and you knew that, but you felt the need to convince yourself that he wouldn't look away.

"I don't want to come without you… I want to come with you. With."

You weren't sure if you were begging or controlling anymore—maybe it was both. Maybe that's what desperation looked like on you: shaking, wet, aching, and stretched full with him, your voice almost nothing but that one plea.

With.

Daryl's fingers tightened just a little on your hips, but he didn't answer. His mouth opened in hopes to answer, to say anything, and to give you everything in return, but nothing came out except a long, needy moan that turned into a needy, broken sound as you rolled your hips slower, with Daryl feeling himself twitch inside you.

"Please," you said again, but this time it was quieter. You were so close it almost hurt—it was just too much—but you waited. You held it back with every bit of strength you had left. Simply to make sure.

Daryl looked done, even scared to let it happen. "'M tryin'…"

His voice broke off, and you nearly screamed. Everything inside you tensed up. "Come with me, Daryl, come on… Touch me."

His hands finally grabbed your ass hard, pushing you down onto his cock, and his hips bucked up into you, uncontrolled now, losing himself. Then it hit you both at once.

You cried out but didn't care. Couldn't hold back the sob as you came hard on his cock, taking your breath away, your everything. Daryl came the same second. You felt it. The way he shook. The way he groaned with his lips trembling and eyes squeezed shut as his cock pulsed hard inside you.

As soon as it was over, you leaned forward, your forehead touching his, kissing him softly several times in a row. And for a while, neither of you moved. Nothing but the sound of panting. Of hearts trying to calm down. And Daryl… poor Daryl looked like he wasn't sure he'd survived it.

"Still with me, sweetheart?"

He didn't answer at first but nodded. His voice, when it came, was sounding kind of hoarse and unsure.

"Y-yeah… I… goddamn..." He trailed off, burying his face in your neck, without being able to stop himself from remembering something. Something he'd already been trying to push away, probably the moment it happened.

"Ya bit me," he then whispered, his voice quiet like he was trying not to draw attention to it. "‘S'pose that was on purpose?"

Looking back at him, you raised an eyebrow, smiling knowingly. Not teasing in a way that might confuse him. Just amused. And maybe still a little… hungry.

"What, you didn't like it?"

Daryl looked away instantly. "N-no, I, uh, I didn't say that. I just—" He swallowed loudly. "Was kinda… surprised, I guess."

"Surprised?" You repeated, moving your hand across his chest and further until it stopped above the spot on his biceps that you'd bitten. Biting your bottom lip, you then grinned at Daryl as if you were about to devour him all over again. "I simply told you to keep still."

"But I did…"

Your smile turned into a tiny smirk. "Then maybe I was simply proud of you."

Daryl didn't know what to do with that answer. You could see it in the way he looked at you. He looked like a man who'd never been praised for anything except maybe not dying. "Flex your arms for me..."

"What?"

You pulled back just far enough to look right into his eyes again, your hand not leaving one of his strong arms. "I told you to flex for me. Be a good boy and flex your arms again. Come on, show me."

Daryl closed his eyes and still hesitated. Really hesitated. His brows were furrowed in thought, checking if you were messing with him. Knowing that his first instinct was to run away from being seen again, you continued to wait patiently until he breathed out slowly through his nose and obeyed. The muscles under your touch tensed, feeling ever so strong and still trembling a little from everything you'd done to him before.

Hell, he had no idea what that did to you.

You immediately leaned down and dragged your mouth along his bicep, soft at first, just a teasing little kiss. Then your tongue came out, licking along it until he shuddered, before your lips were pressed to the mark you'd left earlier, sucking a little harder this time.

"Shit," Daryl whispered. "What're ya doin'…"

But he didn't stop you.

"I'm making sure you know," you said quietly, pulling back again, "that you didn't imagine this."

He didn't answer, but his eyes looked at his arm to where your lips had just been, then back up to your face, unable to believe it. As if all of this—your mouth, your voice, your gentleness—was too much to understand. And that was when you could feel how something changed. It wasn't even noticeable at first. The way his hands twitched and then went still. The way he stopped looking at you, even though your face was still so close to his.

"Hey, hey," you whispered softly. "Daryl, are you okay?"

His jaw clenched and his shoulders stiffened further beneath you, making him uncomfortable. "…Yeah."

"Did I hurt you?" You sat up a little, carefully, and that's when he hissed again.

"N-no," he answered with a strained voice, not really convincing you.

"Okay, okay, wait," you whispered, slowly lifting yourself off him, trying to be gentle, but he winced again, his eyes squeezing shut as his cock slipped out. He turned his face to the side, biting down on his tongue, wishing it would help, since he didn't want you to hear him make another pitiful sound.

Once you slipped off him, you instinctively reached down to take care of the condom. Kneeling between his legs, your fingers cautiously slipped it off, tying it together and tossing it aside without saying anything, trying to keep things quiet.

But Daryl was trembling again by now. He was lying there with his face turned away, seemingly chewing on the inside of his cheek with his teeth. His hands were curled into fists on either side of him, his arms all stiff, not knowing what to do with them anymore.

Daryl only then realized that you'd pulled off him. Not because you weren't on him anymore, riding him. No, you weren't with him anymore. That was when his thoughts started screaming. That this was over. That you got what you wanted, and now you'd realize what an asshole he was underneath it all. He hated how much he wanted to pull you back down. Onto his lap. Onto his cock. Onto him. Just to feel safe again. Just to feel needed. But he didn't say a word. Didn't even breathe right.

Reaching out to caress his chest, you were caught off guard the second your fingertips touched him, his arm shooting out, grabbing your wrist.

You gasped, and Daryl realized what he was doing too late. His eyes snapped open, and he instantly let go. You pulled back a little from the shock of it, holding your wrist, and the expression on his face?

He looked like someone had just hit him. "Fuck, 'm sorry! This ain't—"

"Hey, it's okay," you cut him off fast, holding up your hands, even though your heart was still racing a little bit. "It's okay, Daryl. You didn't hurt me. I'm fine. I'm okay."

But you weren't sure he heard you when he sat up. His face was turning pale now, his hands shaking as he slid them through his hair, back and forth, over and over again. He was grumbling something—probably to himself—but you couldn't make it out.

"Stupid… stupid fuckin'—goddamn—shouldn't've…"

"Daryl," you said softly, still kneeling in front of him, but he didn't look at you. His eyes were somewhere else, far away.

"I fuckin' touched ya like that," he finally whispered. "Grabbed ya."

"Yeah, and then you let go," you said gently, but your voice was shaking now too, but not because of any pain he thought he'd caused. "Daryl, you didn't hurt me."

Then you realized he wasn't breathing right. Short, shallow gasps, like he was trying not to cry or scream or vomit. Or maybe all three.

"I ain't like that," he whispered. "I ain't—I ain't him!"

You didn't know who 'him' was, but your heart sank at the sound of it. Some memory, or so it seemed. Some long-buried monster, maybe.

Daryl looked at you once again. But there was no man in front of you. He looked like before—just a boy. A boy who never got held after someone hurt him. A boy who was taught that love was dangerous and wanting love made you weak. A boy who'd never been looked at like he was wanted, let alone loved, and now that he'd let you see all of him—let you use him, take him, and especially care for him—it was too much. And now the shame was devouring him from the inside out.

"I fuckin' spat on ya," he then remembered. "Treated ya like shit. Told ya that ya were nothin' but some fuckin'… useless dumbass…"

"Daryl—"

"Ya should hate me," he simply continued, louder this time. "Ya should. Ya should hate me, ya should leave, shit, ya should go!"

He moved to get up, but his knees wouldn't let him the second he stood. His legs gave out, and you caught him in time, your arms wrapping around him as he leaned against you, trembling harder.

"Daryl, hey… hey," you quickly said, holding him up, or trying to as best as you could. "I'm here. Listen to me… I won't leave. I won't."

Pressing his face into your shoulder, he didn't answer you and went silent. Breathing hard. Twitching a little in your arms like he was cold. Or scared. Or both. You sat down slowly, pulling him with you, holding him in your arms, sensing that he didn't know how to hold himself up anymore. You didn't do anything else for a while. You only held him.

Eventually, you felt one little, wet drop hit your naked chest. Then another.

And you said nothing, but Daryl had gone quiet now, with his forehead pressed against your collarbone. Eventually, he tried to put one of his arms around your waist, and the twitching of his muscles definitely wasn't the good kind. They twitched way too fast for someone who wasn't really moving.

As soon as you moved slightly away from him, he sobbed in shock, thinking you would really just leave.

"Easy, baby. Just grabbing something for you."

Daryl's eyes followed you, wide and glassy, unsure if he should stop you or not, so you gave him a tiny smile—just enough to convince him you weren't going anywhere for real. Then you crouched by the corner of his tent, searching through the clothing you left on the ground. His pants, your panties, his boxers, your bra, and your shirt were all tangled together, looking through it until you found what you were searching for.

The flannel shirt you gave him. You picked it up and brought it back over to where he was still half-sitting, dazed and shivering.

"Arms up," you whispered, remembering how you'd told him those same two words before.

But Daryl only sobbed.

"Come on now," you said gently, watching how he moved awkwardly and unsure. "Only the shirt."

You slipped the sleeves on, one at a time, then buttoned the middle lazily. Not all the way. Just enough so it wouldn't slip off his shoulders if he moved again.

Then you leaned in and kissed his forehead. "Lie down."

He did. Not all the way at first, but once he did, you lay down next to him, pulling the edges of the sleeping bag slightly over both of you, hugging him close until his leg rested over your hip, your hand on his chest, and his forehead against your temple.

You thought maybe Daryl would fall asleep like that. But his breath stuttered.

And the next sob came out of him so suddenly, so harsh, it didn't even sound like crying. It sounded like a choke. Like his body was wanting to push away the pain and couldn't keep it in.

Daryl then grabbed onto you like he was scared, and you could barely keep him still. Even with both arms around his shoulders, his sobs cracked, and he stuttered every time he tried to apologize, repeating it over and over as if it were the only words left in his throat.

"…'M sorry. 'M sorry. 'M sorry…"

"I know," you whispered and kissed his cheek. "I know. I know."

It went on for a while. You lost track of how long. Could've been ten minutes. Could've been thirty. But you didn't care. Eventually, Daryl's crying stopped. He was still trembling, but not violently. His hands relaxed around you, though they didn't let go.

"Daryl?" A hum was the only answer you got. "Can I ask you something?"

This time, he didn't answer with a hum. Just a slight nod, the tiniest one, like it was all he could manage.

"I wanted to know," you started softly. "When you came out of the woods and went up to the RV…" You waited, wanting to see if he remembered what you meant or if he would simply brush it off.

"Just gave Carol a damn flower..."

You nodded and smiled. Not a big smile. Not the kind that told him he did something wrong or something right. It was a quiet, understanding little smile, as if saying, I understand.

But once Daryl realized you weren't answering him, he looked up at you like he couldn't figure out why you weren't mad. Or confused. Or disgusted. Or whatever he thought he deserved. His hand then came up fast, moving in a way that wasn't really familiar for him, with his fingertips brushing against your lower lip once while looking at your mouth. And for a second, it really did feel like the world had gone normal again. As if all that crying and shame and panic never existed.

For you, it seemed Daryl just needed to remind himself that you were real. That your mouth hadn't cursed him out in secret, hadn't spat in his face like he used to do to you. That you were still kind. Still looking at him like he wasn't just white trash.

You then kissed the tip of his finger gently. That was all it took to undo him again. His eyes got wet instantly, and the little shaky breath he took like he was trying not to cry again—it hurt you. Moving closer, your nose bumped against his, one of your hands moving to caress his cheek with the back of it. His skin was still a little sweaty, and he swiped under his eye, even though the tears hadn't fallen again yet.

"You don't have to look at me like that," you whispered.

His voice cracked. "Like what?"

"Like you expect me to leave for good."

Daryl looked at your arm then, the one with the healing injury where you'd sliced it open, the one he thought he was guilty of, in shame and silence. He looked so tired. So tired from thinking that he was the one that almost killed you.

"I don't know what you told Carol," you then continued gently, brushing your nose along his cheek. "But you got her that rose for a reason, right?"

He swallowed once but didn't answer.

"She's not me," you whispered with a smile. "And I'm not her. But I understand."

That got him. He wasn't sure if he should move, if he should do what his twitching hands wanted to do right now. To hold you in his arms as well.

So you reached down and took one of his hands in yours and brought it to your chest. Laid it flat right over your heart. "I know the story," you continued. "The history of the Cherokee roses."

Daryl's lips were parting slightly, but he was nodding in silence.

"That flower only grew when their women cried. Their tears watered it. And when it bloomed, it protected them. It gave them strength. So they were able to keep going. So they could protect again as well."

"Yeah..."

You smiled when Daryl finally spoke, but still, you wanted to remain careful. "It's kinda like... it's a promise."

He tilted his head, still looking unsure.

"Like… no matter how hard it gets, no matter how much shit is in the way," you said, sliding your finger lightly over his chest through the flannel shirt, "there's this rose that grows. It's the courage to keep going, the strength to protect what matters. It sounds familiar, don't you think? Thinking it's invisible... but still holding on. Still here."

"But I hurt ya…" He answered and immediately buried his face in your neck, reaching for your waist so hard that it almost bruised, but not from aggression. Just panic and instinct.

"You didn't mean to. You were scared. You still are."

You looked Daryl straight in the eye so he wouldn't flinch too far away. His lip trembled. Then he did it anyway, apologizing again.

Sighing softly, you pulled his arm a bit tighter around you, letting him feel how warm you still were, how unbothered, how there.

"You're not a bad man, Daryl," you smiled. "But you're a man who got too used to losing."

He didn't answer but held you again, this time much more gently. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other sliding up your back, then stopping like he was still afraid he'd fuck it up. But you just cuddled close and let him.

For once in his whole life, someone was feeling warm, safe, and simply there, and it was him getting to keep it. And for the first time since the world ended, Daryl Dixon let himself fall asleep with someone in his arms—with no fear, no distance, no shame, and no guilt.

Just with you.

And he slept like he knew you'd still be there come morning.

𝑻𝒂𝒈-𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕: @cokeangell

[starlostjisung]

you could call me babe for the weekend

chapter three: hide and seek

wc: 5.1k

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fading in and out of a dream, you rolled over in a haze. you felt your cheeks flushed and your skin warm as your brain reminded you of the affectionate scene you had just dreamt. in the dream, you were with chan, in a house really similar to the one you were in but just the two of you this time.

the chan of the dream had his arms around your waist, his lips close to your ear. “i love you”, he said. you kissed him.

it was like you could smell the sweetness that adorned his skin in the dream, the salt air that surrounded you. like you could feel the familiarity of his fingers pressing into your back as you kissed him.

you rolled around in bed, only to have your cheek land in something sturdy yet soft. chan’s arm. he was still asleep, completely oblivious to the dream you had just had. you exhaled softly while looking at him, wanting to cling onto your dream for as long as you could, but you felt him waking up, so you closed your eyes, pretending to still be sleeping.

it was then that you noticed that chan’s other arm was softly curled around your waist. your heart started racing against your ribcage as you felt chan pulling you closer to him, resting his chin on your head, tucking you into the crook of his neck.

the space between you was so intimate that you felt your cheeks burning up at this point. not knowing if he was doing this still asleep or if he was perfectly conscious, you decided to just stay there, snuggled impossibly closer to him.

you could feel the faint pulse of his muscles beneath your cheek, the slow movement of his chest while he breathed. you were filled with a sudden rush of calm.

“good morning”, you heard chan saying

“morning chris”

his voice voices was so quiet that you were sure you would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been so close to you. he moved his head, pressing his lips against your temple, leaving a kiss there.

“how did you sleep?”, he asked you with his lips still close to you, brushing you with every word he said

“good, and you?”

your brain was incapable of forming coherent words so you went with short answers. too scared to break whatever moment you two were having. it was too fragile to interrupt.

“mmmm, i hadn’t slept this good in a while”, he told you while pulling away to look at you

you smiled at him, “i’m sure it’s thanks to my aunt’s dinner”

he frowned at you, “what, did she poison it or something?”

you laughed uncontrollably at that and he laughed with you.

the soft morning rays of sun coming through the window, the soft air of the early morning. you two together, just laughing in bed, pressed affectionately against each other.

you would stay like that forever if you had the chance.

you looked at each other while smiling softly. his hand went to trace that same lock of hair that had fallen the night before.

“you ready for today?”, he asked you genuinely

you sighed and closed your eyes. honestly, no, but what could you do. besides, you weren’t alone, you had chan with you.

you opened your eyes, “i’m not, but i have you with me, so everything will be fine, right?”

he traced your cheek with his fingertips while he nodded, “you’ll always have me”

after you washed yourselves and got ready for the day, you went downstairs and saw your grandparents having breakfast on the terrace.

you decided to join them and enjoy the quietness of the day for as long as you could.

“good morning loves, how did you sleep?”, your grandmother asked you two as you sat with them

“very good thank you, we were so tired from the trip we fell asleep as soon as we went to bed”, chan replied

your grandfather told you that your parents, uncle and aunt had gone to a town nearby to get some things they needed for the party today, and that your cousin was still sleeping. it looked like it would be just the four of you having breakfast.

you could not describe what you were feeling. in a good way. it was just you and three of the most important people in your life, sharing a soft and delicate moment together. you felt like the main character of a movie in a scene where she’s surrounded by loved ones and she’s looking at them feeling happy and thankful for the people in her life. living life. breathing. you inhaled and exhaled one more time.

“can i ask you a question, if you don’t mind?”, you heard chan asking your grandparents

“not at all son, what do you want to know?”, your grandparent told him

“i’ve always been curious but she would never answer me this, but how was y/n as a child? i’ve seen pictures and she looked like trouble”, chan said jokingly

“hey no no, none of that, come on, we’re having a nice moment”, you said while laughing with your grandparents at his question

“oh well, y/n has always been a special girl, right from the minute she was born”, your grandparent said, “ever since she was a kid she would just smile and be happy since she woke up and went to sleep. literally, i’ve never seen anyone with a bigger or brighter smile than her”, he continued while looking at you

“she was also very curious”, your grandmother said, “whenever she was in our house, she would just follow me around, asking questions and wanting to help with whatever i was doing or just sitting there with me, she always wanted to know and do more”

“yeah, sounds exactly like her”, chan said while he laughed

“but she was always good, the kind of energy that you can’t fake. it’s not because she’s our granddaughter, but ever since she was born, she has had that something inside her that makes you want to be with her all the time. like you need to protect her, make sure that nothing wrong happens to her. because she has light within her. she’s just special you know”, your grandfather said

“yeah, i know what you’re trying to say”, chan said while he turned to look at you

you saw something shining in his eyes.

your eyes filled with unshed tears.

the day wasn’t passing by as slow as it would always pass, and you knew it was because you had chan with you this time.

your parents, uncle and aunt arrived shortly after chan and you finished having breakfast with your grandparents. your cousin woke up but you were not entirely sure of what she did afterwards. not that you cared to be really honest.

people arrived throughout the day. family of your aunt. friends of your uncle. people that you would meet every year this same day and wouldn’t see them again until the next year.

the food had been really good, it was always the best part of this trip - although this year it was the second best thing, the best one was chan - and the cake you had baked had been a success. for chan at least. you didn’t need anything more.

it was close to dinner time now, and the kids that were at the party had taken chan hostage with them. you couldn’t blame them, you would take him with you if you could.

he had been joking with them and playing all day long, so it was a no brainer for you that when you heard one kid saying he wanted to play hide and seek, chan was going to be involved in that too.

you were not wrong.

for the first round, the kids chose chan as the seeker, and he pretended to be offended at that, making all of the kids - and you who were looking from afar - laugh at his antics.

when he started to count, all the kids scattered through the inside and outside of the cabin. one of them, chose to hide behind you, using your chair as a shield, hoping chan wouldn’t see her there.

when chan finished counting, he turned around and his eyes fell on you - and the kid behind you. he laughed and cleared his throat, walking towards you.

“y/n, is there any possibility that you saw any of the kids hiding while i counted?”, he asked you trying to hide his smirk

you played along, “mmmm, no, i saw them running towards the terrace and also towards the house, but i didn’t see any of them here”

you two laughed again, “okay, i’ll just go and find them, let me know if you see them please”, he walked away laughing

“will do!”, you said. you turned towards the girl, “come on, he’s not here, go!”, with that she went running

you felt a soft smile adorning your face. it seems like you had had it the entire day

“so, are you two enjoying the party so far?, you heard a voice asking you

you turned your head and saw your aunt walking towards you, taking the seat next to you

“we are, thank you, and you? how’s the birthday going?”, you asked with a forced smile on your face, the first one of the day. that counted as a success

“it’s good, really good. the party this year is being rather… interesting i would say”

you nodded and turned your head. you could see where this was going, but you weren’t going to entertain her. at least not willingly

“you really managed to hit the jackpot with that one, huh?”

you felt the air leaving your lungs. you turned towards her one more time

“sorry?”

“i mean, the first boyfriend of yours that we get to meet and it’s a young, handsome and rich guy. i mean, everyone would find it weird right?”, she continued

you were used to this kind of questions thrown at you. you usually didn’t pay attention. but this didn’t mean that they didn’t hurt. sometimes they did, a lot.

and this one hurt deeply.

“he seems like a decent guy, so you must be after something”, that was enough

“okay no, i’m gonna stop you right there. i’ve always kept quiet about your insults towards me, but i’m not gonna let you do that to chris. just no. i don’t know what’s the deal with you and honestly, i don’t even want to know. so just, please leave it, leave him and me alone. don’t you ever dare talk about chris that way again”

she opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, not knowing what to say, she was surprised with your reaction. you were as well to be honest. but you had had enough. of this place and of her. you needed to find chan.

“and now, if you don’t mind, i’m gonna go and find my boyfriend”, and with that, you got up and left her there.

you didn’t know how long chan had been playing with the children nor how many rounds of hide and seek they had played.

you were kind of taking part in this one because, while you weren’t the official seeker, chan was hiding and you needed to find him.

you had looked everywhere: inside the house, outside, between the cars, in the trees that were behind the terrace - you never know - and nothing. there was one place you hadn’t gone to yet.

the wine cellar.

you opened the door and couldn’t see anyone in the room. but that was at first sight.

there was a space under the stairs, a small dark nook. you descended while calling out his name, “chris? are you there?”, nothing

you tried again, “chris? hello? it’s just me i prom-“ you felt something grabbing your hand and pulling you down towards the nook.

you gasped at the feeling but soon found yourself sitting on top of chan, with his hand covering your mouth. you looked at him startled and he just shushed you.

you heard footsteps upstairs, just outside the cellar. you went quiet, breathing slowly, with chan under you. you swear he could hear your heart beating fast. almost as if it was going to leave your chest.

you heard the same footsteps farther this time. they must have left. chan looked at you - he hadn’t stopped - and slowly, took his hand from your mouth.

“hi”, he smiled at you

“chris, what are you doing? you scared me”, you whispered-yelled at him

“you were going to blew my cover, i needed to do something”

“so what, the best option was to just ambush me or what?”

“it was the first thing that i could think of to be honest”, he laughed at you

you were trying to get your breath back. his hands were on your waist now and you were still on top of him, on his lap to be exact.

“what are you doing here? you’re so competitive that you’re going up against children now or what’s your deal”, you told him once you had calmed down

“i’ll let you know that i won the previous round and found almost all of them”

“chris, they’re literally children. you, my darling, are an adult”, you pushed his forehead with your finger

“small details, nothing important”

you shook your head while smiling.

“what about you? what did you do while i was busy becoming the hide and seek champion?”

you went quiet and look to the floor. chan could sense how serious you had become. something must have happened.

“hey, are you okay?”, he asked more serious this time

you nodded your head while avoiding eye contact

“hey no, none of that”, he grabbed your head with both of his hands, “look at me please”, you did, “what happened, love?”, he could see the unshed tears in your eyes. whatever had happened, it had hurt you. and he had not been there for you.

“nothing, i’m fine”, you tried to drop it, but he has having none of it

you tried to get away from him, but he wouldn’t let you. he moved one of his hands from your face to your back, pulling you closer towards him, “no, y/n, please”

you looked at him, “i’m fine, i’ll tell you later just… not now, okay?”

he was not okay, he needed to know what had hurt you. but he was going to let it go, for now

he looked at you, trying to read your face, looking for any signs in your eyes. nothing. “okay, not now”

you nodded looking at him, placing your hands comfortably on his shoulders.

you desperately wanted to talk about something else, something that didn’t remind you of the awful words your aunt had said mere minutes ago.

“so, how long has this round been going? i couldn’t see you for a while”

“oh, so you’ve been looking for me, is that what i’m hearing?”, he raised his eyebrows and made a shocked face towards you

“yes idiot, in case any kid needed help, being with you is a tough job”, you joked

“i’m offended you even said that”

you snorted and he smiled at you. you couldn’t see it because you’re eyes were closed, but his eyes had a full constellation aimed at you

“i’m glad you’re not playing hide and seek, i don’t like playing this game with you”, he told you

you were surprised at his confession, “no? and why’s that?”

“because people like you are hard to find”

“oh god, chris for fuck’s sake”, you laughed again, a bit louder this time, which made him cover your mouth one more time, so no one would hear you and find you there.

the movement was so quick you fell against his chest, leaving almost no space between the two of you. your noses almost touching. you looked at him, only to find him already looking at you. his eyes unreadable, but something flickering inside them

you felt the air leaving you lungs once more, this time of the intensity of the moment.

in an electric way.

in an unknown way.

in a scary way.

you felt his hand leaving your mouth, moving towards your cheek, softly caressing it with his fingertips. his other hand moved from your waist to your back, the warmth almost uncontrollable.

you saw his eyes moving towards your mouth, tracing the outline of your lips.

your hands on his shoulders grabbed his shirt, trying to hide how much they were shaking.

you were walking on a tightrope, and you were not sure if you’re gonna make it to the end.

suddenly you were even closer - maybe you both moved, or maybe no one did - but just then, when your breath caught-

“i found bang chan! guys he’s here, he’s in the cellar”, you both turned your heads to where the voice was coming from just beside you: the girl who had been hidden behind you before, the one who had used your chair as a shield, had just ratted chan out - and you with him - and left the room to try and find the rest of the kids to tell them she had finally found the last player.

you both stayed there in complete silence. you didn’t know how much time passed, maybe a few seconds or even minutes.

you were too scared to look at him. you didn’t even know what to do with your hands, resting on his chest as the only thing that was tying you to the moment.

he didn’t know what to do with his hands, the same ones that had embraced your body, trying to entangle it with his own.

the tightrope broke and you two didn’t make it to the other side.

“you seem tense”, you heard your mom telling you when she sat down next to you on the sofa on the terrace

“no, i’m just tired, it’s been a long week”, you told her. it wasn’t exactly a lie - you had had a long week at work - but what had happened with chan before, whatever that had been, was messing with your head way more than you were willing to admit

“and a long weekend”, she continued

you let out a soft laugh, ”yeah, that too”

she grabbed your hand and you looked at her, “i know these parties are never easy for you, and i respect you a lot for just being here year after year. mothers can be in awe of their daughters too you know”, you two laughed together while she squeezed your hand, “but i’m so happy that you have chris this year with you. anyone can see from miles away how happy he makes you”, she told you and you felt your heart squeezing

from guilt, because you didn’t like the fact that you’re lying to your parents, that your own mess led you all here.

and it also hurt for chan, because as soon as you had come out from the cellar, he had been whisked away and you hadn’t been able to talk to him ever since.

you could see him on the other side of the terrace, engaged in a conversation with your dad and uncle and some other people whose names you didn’t remember now. on the outside, he seemed his usual self, calm and collected.

you wondered if he was breaking inside just like you were.

after staying with your mom for a bit more, you told her you were tired and that you wanted to go to bed, so you went to your room leaving everything and everybody behind you.

after you finished your skincare and put on some comfy clothes, you sat in one of the outdoor lounge chairs that was in the balcony of your room.

you sat there, looking at nothing in particular. thinking about everything and nothing.

thinking about chan. your best friend. what was going to happen now. what would have happened if you two hadn’t been interrupted.

your head was a mess. your heart was a mess. different thoughts running through your head. different feelings. all at the same time.

so many questions. and no answers. not yet. not without the person who mattered to you the most.

“hey”

you turned around and saw chan, closing the door to your room.

you smiled softly at him, “hey”, he smiled back

“you okay?”, he asked you while walking towards you

you nodded, “you?”

“mmm”, he answered while he sat on the other chair next to yours

“it’s been a long day”, you said

“yes, it has”

you stayed in silence for a bit, not knowing how to break it. it wasn’t completely uncomfortable, but a part of you felt like you needed to fill that silence. leaving it like that could be dangerous.

“you know… i never took your dad as a gym guy”, he read your mind. or probably felt the same way

“please don��t tell me that you were talking about gyms back there”, you looked at him with feigned shock all over your face

“what? we like taking care of ourselves”, he used his foot to try and push you from your chair

“oh lord, all men are the same”, you laughed at him

“no we’re not”, he replied laughing

you looked at each other and decided that you were not going to talk about what had happened before. you didn’t need words to understand each other. it could wait.

“what?”, he asked you after a while

“nothing it’s just… thank you”

“for what?”

“for being here with me, for being you”, it was too late. you realised the tears when they had already fallen down your face and chan had reached out to dry them

“hey no, come here, don’t cry”, he manoeuvred you so you were sitting between his legs, with your back pressed towards his chest.

he used both his arms to circle your waist and tucked your head into the crook of his neck, with his chin on your head.

“don’t cry please… i knew you would get emotional if you played hide and seek with me”, he said to make you laugh, which he did. he always made you feel better.

you hit his leg with your hand, laughing and crying at the same time, “come on chris, i’m being honest here, just bare with me”

“okay okay, sorry”, he rubbed your waist and kissed the top of your head, “but you know, you will always have me, whenever you need me i’ll be there for you. i’ll never leave you alone”

he kissed the top of your head again. he hugged you tighter. you put your hands on top of his, entangling your fingers together.

you stayed like that for a while, just sitting together, enjoying the quiet night, “should we go to bed now?”, you felt his lips against your ear

“can we please stay a bit more?”, you turned your head towards him, seeing he was closer than you thought he would be

he looked at you and just nodded, moving his lips to kiss your temple this time. you looked to the sky and rested your head against his chest.

“if we suddenly saw a shooting star, what would you wish for?”, you heard him asking

“mmm, i’m not sure, and you?”

“i don’t know, i’d have to think about that”

had he asked you that question another time, you honestly wouldn’t have known what to reply. but right now, between his arms, you would wish for all of this to be real.

and a small part of you wished he had the same wish.

you don’t remember falling asleep. nor going to bed. you must have fallen asleep with chan on the chair and he moved you to bed.

you didn’t have any dreams that night. the mess that your head was the night before had given you a rest, allowing you to have a peaceful night. key word being night.

once you open your eyes, you saw chan. still asleep. still there with you.

you remembered the day before. the morning. the breakfast with your grandparents. the party.

the cellar.

you moved and laid on your back, looking at the ceiling, letting out a sigh. there was no way you could stay in bed that morning. it was early, so everyone would probably still be sleeping. you decided to go on a walk.

you got ready quickly, trying not to wake chan. you let your eyes linger on his sleeping figure one more time and left the room.

there was a lake nearby, so you walked there and sat, looking at the water.

you did this same route every year. coming here calmed you, you found peace in being there looking at the water and being left alone with your thoughts - even if today they weren’t your best friend.

you went through your messages - you hadn’t been on your phone much this weekend - and saw one from felix from minutes ago, “yah! stranger! you leave the city for a weekend and disappear from the face of earth or what? i’m waiting for the tea come on”

you laughed at his message and felt yourself needing to let everything out, so you called him.

“oh my! she lives and breathes!”, was the first thing you heard felix saying on the phone

you laughed at him, “hi felix”

“what do you mean hi felix?, you know how worried i’ve been about you two all weekend? i thought your aunt had drowned you or something”

you laughed harder, happy for the distraction, “no no, none of that, in fact i think she’s going to leave me alone for a while now”

“what do you mean?”

“well, i may have been a bit fed up of her so i may have told her to fuck off a bit. nicely of course”

“nice!”, he cheered

you laughed again but said nothing more.

“so apart from you putting your aunt on her place, what have you done?”

you sighed and felix heard it

“oh oh, what happened?”

“felix i-“, you felt your throat closing, the tears threatening to fall

“y/n, are you okay? what happened?”

and you told him everything. not just everything that happened this weekend.

everything.

how you had always been in love with chan. how you had tried to get over him. how you feared this weekend would shake your feelings - and it had done exactly that. chan’s words towards your aunt the first night.

the almost kiss yesterday.

“felix, i’m scared that i’ve fucked everything up”

“y/n, you haven’t-“

“felix i can’t lose him, and i’m afraid i’ve already lost him, i can’t do this anymore”, you were sobbing at this point

felix could feel his heart breaking for you, for not being able to be next to you and wrap you in his arms.

“y/n, listen to me, calm down and listen”

you did, slowly, with slow breaths.

“okay, you with me?”

“yes”

“do you trust me?

“yes”

“y/n you haven’t messed up”

“but felix i-“

“y/n you haven’t messed up!”, he cut you,“if you trust me, just go and talk to him”

“felix i can’t do that! i can’t go up to him and say “hey chris, just so you know, i’ve been in love with you ever since we met and while i thought i had gotten over you, i’ve realised that i haven’t lol i love you””

“yes you could do that”, he laughed through the phone

“felix!”, you whispered-yelled

“well maybe not that way, but seriously, just trust me on this alright? go and talk to him. tell him y/n”

you felt your hands shaking, your whole body trembling. you were outside your bedroom. everyone else still asleep.

you had decided to trust felix and had gone back to the cabin. to talk to chan. to finally confess what you hadn’t even completely admitted to yourself.

it’s funny how a simple game of hide and seek had put everything on the line. how your feelings had been hidden all this time and now were out in the open, waiting to be seeked.

you closed your eyes, inhaled and exhaled. you opened the door and closed it behind you.

chan wasn’t in bed, he was on the balcony, talking on the phone. you couldn’t see him, but from his tone you could tell the conversation was serious, so you decided you wouldn’t disturb him now.

you would take a shower and then talk to him afterwards. you got everything ready in the bathroom and saw that you had forgotten your towel.

you went to get it from your closet and that’s when you heard him.

you hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

you really wished you hadn’t heard him.

“this whole trip was a bad idea, from the first place”, he was saying to the person on the other side of the phone, ”i shouldn’t have come, i shouldn’t have agreed to this”

a part of you still felt bad that you had brought chan into all of this, but hearing him saying that made you hurt in ways you thought could never be explained

“no but changbin, listen to me i-“, whatever changbin was saying, chan was listening quietly

“because if we’re being honest, we would never be together”, he raised his voice

that was the first punch. you felt sick, you wanted to run and hide.

the voices in your head haunting you. you grabbed onto something, you didn’t know what it was. you just needed something to hold on to as you felt your world crumbling down

“changbin, y/n and me together? that’s bullshit, that’s never gonna happen”

the world stopped moving.

you felt yourself stop breathing.

your heart simply stopped.

the same heart that was beating loudly mere minutes ago, about to confess your love for your best friend, just broke into a million pieces.

and chan couldn’t be the one to pick up the pieces this time.

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chapter three is out and i’m so so sorry! please don’t hate me i promise things will get better 🤭

thanks again for all the love and see you in the next part 🩷

my other fics

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[xuchiya]

the bare minimum? || choi jongho || one-shot

| genre: fluff. slice of life. small tinge of angst. | mentions: no label yet but jongho is making it official soon.

word count: 3.9k

You tossed your phone onto the bed — harder than you intended — the dull thud swallowed by your pillows, but not enough to silence the frustration blooming in your chest. The group chat, once filled with light gossip and memes, had taken a sharp turn. It always did. One moment you were laughing about someone’s new haircut, and the next, it was unsolicited advice cloaked in concern.

"You don’t fall for someone because of their bare minimum."

The words stuck to your skin like sweat — irritating, impossible to ignore. You could still hear your friend’s voice, sharp and sure, echoing like an uninvited narrator in the background of your thoughts. Maybe they were right. Maybe they were just trying to protect you from another heartbreak, another almost-relationship with someone who gave just enough to keep you around.

You dropped onto your bed with a quiet thud, limbs heavy, head even heavier. The ceiling above you blurred slightly as your eyes stared past it, unfocused, as if hoping it might offer answers the world refused to give.

Your fist rested lightly on your chest — not clenched in anger, but curled in quiet hesitation, like your heart was trying to protect itself from breaking open again. You could still hear their voices. Friends who had seen you unravel before, who had picked you up when your heart had turned into a battlefield of “what ifs” and “should’ve known betters.”

"You always love too hard. You give too much."

Maybe they were right. Maybe you were walking straight into the same fire that burned you before. The memory of that past version of yourself — raw, fragile, sleepless — made your stomach twist. You didn’t want to go back to her. You weren’t sure you could survive her again.

You exhaled slowly, then turned your head to the side, not expecting much — just something to distract you from the chaos inside. That’s when you saw it.

A photo strip, slightly bent at the corner, tucked beneath the edge of your journal. Four small squares — moments frozen in time — each frame capturing pieces of something you didn’t quite have the courage to name yet.

It was from that afternoon at the mall. You’d passed by a photo booth and without hesitation, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward it, “Come on,” you had grinned, heart racing. “We’ve got time for four clicks.”

The first was a blur — you both weren’t ready, caught mid-laugh. The second, he leaned in closer, eyes soft, almost too soft. The third, you were the one looking at him instead of the camera. And the fourth was the one that stuck. His hand resting over yours, your shoulders touching, your heads on top of each other as you both smile as the camera flashes, faces calm like the world could end and you wouldn’t notice.

You reached for the photo strip now, fingers brushing over the glossy surface. The quiet warmth of that moment crept into your chest like light seeping through cracks. Maybe you had loved too hard before but Choi Jongho made it feel different. He made things more soft. Safe and real.

And maybe — just maybe — this time, it wouldn’t end the same. 

Because Jongho

He was not the bare minimum. Jongho didn’t just show up. He stayed — in silence, in mess, in moments when it would’ve been easier to walk away. So no… maybe you shouldn’t fall for someone who only gives you crumbs.

But Jongho? He was the whole damn bakery.

Like that when it always starts with something small. Just small things. Quiet, almost forgettable to anyone else — but to you, they mean the world.

i

You’ve always been the one to fall asleep first. It wasn’t even a question anymore. Two hours before Jongho’s usual bedtime, your eyes would start to flutter shut mid-conversation, your words slow into sleepy mumbles before trailing off entirely. You’d curl up into your blanket like muscle memory, drifting off before the clock even struck midnight.

And Jongho never minded.

Not once.

While your breathing settled into a soft, rhythmic pattern across the call — or when he saw your "last seen" flicker away for the night — he’d simply plug in his charger, shift his weight on the bed, and settle into his own quiet time. Sometimes he worked on homework. Other times, he’d scroll endlessly through his phone — music playlists, dumb memes, chaotic group chats, random reels that made him laugh under his breath.

Then, like always, he'd come across something and think, "She'd like this." But he wouldn’t send the video right away. No. Jongho knew better than to let your phone buzz at 12:42 AM and risk waking you. He remembered the way you stirred the last time, half-conscious and confused, whispering “Huh? What’s going on?” with your hair a mess and voice thick with sleep when he came over to work on your project and you tend to take naps mid-way.

So instead, he did what he always did. He tapped ‘copy link’ then pasted it into messages. And added /silent before pressing send. Just a small detail. Just a tiny slash and a word most people would overlook. But it mattered — because you mattered. Because he cared enough to make sure your sleep stayed undisturbed. Because even when you weren’t awake to notice, he was still thinking of you.

Sometimes it would be three or four links in a row — a chaotic thread waiting for you like breadcrumbs in your inbox. Funny reels. A puppy wearing a costume. A scene from a show you once said you loved when you were twelve. No message. No “LOL” or “this reminded me of you.

Then you wake up, check Messenger first thing in the morning, scroll with tangled hair and bleary eyes, your thumb pausing on the softness of his words. And even before a smile reaches your lips, the warmth hits your chest. A whisper escapes. A soft, disbelieving question, like a prayer only meant for yourself.

A feature most people don’t bother with. But he does. Every single time.

Because he knows. Knows you’re a light sleeper. Know the way your body tenses even in your dreams when your phone buzzes at night. Knows how sacred your sleep is after long days that drain you from the inside out. So he never sends messages with noise. No pings. No vibrations. Just… silence.

And still — even at 3:02 AM — when his mind is wandering, when the world outside is asleep but his thoughts are too loud to silence, he writes.

About music. About the stars. About you.

Short, half-formed sentences. Late-night ramblings about his day or a song that reminded him of you. Thoughts that probably made more sense in his head than they do on the screen. But they’re there. Waiting. Gentle, sleepy words sitting quietly in your inbox like petals placed on your doorstep — fragile, deliberate, sincere.

ii

Then there’s movie night.

Which, with Jongho, is never just movie night.

It’s Discord screen shares and careful audio checks. It’s him adjusting his mic again and again until your voice—already muffled by the layers of your blanket—says, “It’s okay, I can hear you,” even though the connection crackles every now and then.

You weren’t in the mood to go out. Not just today — but most days. Your body was still shaking off the last traces of a stubborn fever, skin too sensitive, eyes too heavy. And even if the sickness hadn’t kept you in, the world outside still felt too loud, too uncertain, too much.

You were never really the type to seek noise or crowds anyway. Your soul was quieter, more private. You liked your room — the way the walls curled around you like a soft shell, familiar and safe. That space had become your theater, your whole damn planet on the days where even the hallway outside your door felt overwhelming.

It was in the way he queued up movies you mentioned once during your lunch break when you were scrolling on your phone and would show him some clips of the movie you wanted to see, or the way he synced subtitles just right so your reading pace could keep up. It was in how he'd listen for your yawns — the sleepy kind, where your responses turn into soft hums and you forget the plot entirely — but he never teased. Never say “you’re boring” or “you always fall asleep halfway.” 

Instead, he’d smile to himself, watching the tiny green light on Discord flicker less and less as your voice faded away. When he was sure you were asleep, he would slowly slide the volume bar down to zero, like dimming the last light in a room you’d just left behind. The scene might still be playing — dialogue, explosions, laughter — but you were already somewhere in your dreams. And then, in the soft glow of his monitor, Jongho would mute his mic.

You don’t know this. You don’t hear the chair creak as he leans back, or the way he stretches his arms over his head with a quiet sigh. You don’t see the subtle clicks as he adjusts the Discord channel permissions — limiting who can join, just in case someone stumbles in and shatters the quiet he’s carefully protected around you.

You fall asleep thinking you drifted off during a movie. But really, you fell asleep in a space Jongho built — gently, intentionally, like tucking someone in without ever touching them. A space made of low volumes, hushed breaths, and unspoken devotion.

You sleep in silence. Not realizing just how much love went into making it that way.

iii

Or when days weren’t filled with softness, you and Jongho had snapped at each other over nothing and everything—too-little sleep, too-many worries, a single text read the wrong way. The fight had been quick and messy, like dropping glass– sharp words scattering across the floor, impossible to sweep up without cutting yourselves.

So you’d gone quiet, convinced a little distance would soothe the sting.

The sun had long since set when the knock came—three hesitant taps that rattled through the hallway. You froze on your steps, frowning in confusion. You padded to the door in mismatched socks, glancing up at the wall clock, heart pounding worse than it had during the argument, I mean who knocks at 8:47 p.m. in this neighborhood?

You cracked the door—and time stuttered.

Jongho stood on the mat, chest rising in ragged pulls, summer sweat plastering his fringe to his forehead. His T-shirt clung to him, half from the humid night, half from the frantic back-and-forth he’d just confessed to.

“I—uh—think I looped your street… twice.” He gave a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always did when he felt out of place. “Can you remind me which house is yours?”

You blinked. “Why are you here?” The question slipped out, small and startled. He stared at his own shoes, scuffing one against the concrete. “To say sorry,” he murmured. “Text felt… too easy. Too small for how badly I messed up.”

The porch light buzzed overhead; a moth circled lazily between you. In that glow you noticed the smudges of city grit on his sneakers, the faint tremor in his hands where adrenaline still rattled his bones. Your heart cracked open—clean, sudden—like a mug slipping from the counter and shattering the silence of the kitchen tiles. All at once you pictured him missing the correct turn, doubling back under flickering street lamps, stubbornly refusing to give up because ‘I’m sorry’ deserved eye contact, not pixels.

Who does that? Jongho apparently. Someone who refuses to let mis-fired anger be the last thing hanging between you. Someone who thinks an apology should travel the same distance the hurt did—maybe farther. Someone who, even lost, chose to keep walking toward you.

You stepped aside without a word, letting the porch light spill into the hallway, “Come in,” you whispered, voice cracking like the rest of you. And as he crossed the threshold—sweat, nerves, and all—you realized getting lost might have been the surest way for both of you to find your way back.

iv

And you couldn’t forget that moment where you were in the zone — or at least, trying to be.

Hands busy, screens glowing, a half-empty mug of cold coffee pushed to the side of your cluttered desk. Notes scattered like fallen leaves. The air was thick with unspoken pressure — from deadlines, from expectations, from the loud, echoing voice inside your own head that wouldn’t shut up until everything was perfect.

You barely noticed how still the room was. Just the quiet hum of your laptop fan and the occasional clack of your keyboard breaking the silence. Your breathing was shallow, your jaw tense, your fingers flying — until they stopped.

Because your stupid, stubborn hair had slipped loose again. You’d tied it up in a quick bun hours ago, but now, strands had come free and were sticking to your cheeks, brushing across your forehead, falling right into your eyes every time you try to focus. You pushed it back once, then again, more impatient each time.

A sharp breath escaped your nose. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t even make a sound loud enough to complain — just a little annoyed huff and a flick of your fingers, trying to twist the strands behind your ear. But it didn’t stay.

Jongho lowered his phone on his lap, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back to your bed. Jongho had been there the whole time, on your bed watching you spiral in slow motion. You hadn’t even realized he was still there, honestly — he was so good at just being, without taking up space. Not in a way that begged attention. He never did. His gaze kept drifting back to you — to the way your shoulders rose with every exhale, to the faint frown etched into your forehead, to the way you huffed, frustrated, as strands of your hair fell again.

So when he moved, you barely caught it. No words. No teasing. Just the subtle shift of the mattress, the creak of floorboards, and his footsteps approaching — soft, unhurried.

You felt him before you saw him. He stood behind you, and in that still moment, the world seemed to pause. Not in an awkward way — but in the way it always does when someone does something gentle for you. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t question it. You just let it happen.

And then — his hands.

Fingertips brush across your neck as they gather your hair, removing the non existing messy bun on top of your head. Slow. Careful. He moved like he’d done this a thousand times before — like your hair had a rhythm he’d memorized. There was no tug, no tension. Just the warmth of his palms and the deliberate sweep of fingers, smoothing down flyaways like they were delicate petals.

He pulled your hair into a low ponytail, tying it off with the scrunchie from his own wrist — one he always kept there, whether he admitted it was for you or not. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t styled. But it was secure. It fits. It was exactly what you needed — even if you hadn’t asked.

Your breath hitched slightly when his fingers lingered for just a second too long. The tie settled at the nape of your neck — light, comforting. But it felt heavier somehow. Like it carried meaning, “Your hair always distracts you when you’re trying to focus,” he said finally, his voice just above a whisper. Soft. Almost sheepish. “Thought I’d save you from it this time.”

You didn’t turn around. Because at that moment, everything in your chest unclenched. All the noise in your head quieted, like a radio fading into static. The tension in your shoulders eased. You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been holding yourself together until he stepped in.

And it wasn’t just about the ponytail. It never was. It was about the way he paid attention. The way he remembered. The way he didn’t ask, didn’t wait, didn’t make a scene — just helped. It was in the silence. In the space he made around you without ever asking for space himself. And somehow … somehow his hands on your hair felt more like home than your own ever did.

You took a slow breath, exhaled, and returned to your work — not because the pressure had vanished, but because you weren’t carrying it alone anymore. And as you sat there, posture a little more relaxed, focus finally returning, you smiled to yourself.

You sighed, long and tired, the kind that left your chest feeling a little lighter and a little emptier all at once. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of your night lamp, and the ceiling above you stared back in silence — like it was holding your thoughts for you, just for a moment longer.

You weren’t even sure why your heart felt like this — full, but aching. Like you were overwhelmed by something too soft to name. Your chest heaves in a deep inhale before another sigh escapes.

“What got you so worked up that you sigh like you have fifteen unfinished projects and three babies to feed?” You yelped — actually yelped — twisting to the side, heart skipping like a scratched record. There, leaning casually against your bedroom door frame, was Jongho.

Arms crossed. One brow raised. The corners of his lips quirked in that boyish way that meant he was trying not to laugh at your startled reaction. His hair was slightly tousled, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, and his whole presence felt warm — like a late-night tea you didn’t know you needed.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked, pulling your blanket up like it could shield your flustered expression.  “Long enough to watch you battle the air with that dramatic sigh,” he teased, pushing off the door and strolling toward your bed. You opened your mouth to deflect, but nothing clever came out. Just a small huff as you turned to face the ceiling again, blinking fast, hoping the blush on your face wasn’t obvious under the lamplight.

Instead, Jongho sat on the edge of your bed, careful not to pull you out of your cocoon. His fingers brushed lightly against your ankle through the blanket — grounding, patient.

“You okay?” he asked, this time quieter. And you nodded, then whispered, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Just remembering things.”

“Good things?” he asked again, his voice low now, more careful — like he was stepping into a space inside you he didn’t want to rush. You nodded against your pillow. “Too good.” There was silence then. Not awkward. Not empty. Just… still. Full of air that felt too thick with things left unsaid, and yet, somehow, safe.

Jongho’s hand brushed over your blanket again. This time slower. His thumb pressed gently into the edge, grounding himself there, “Guess I’ll just have to keep making more of them, huh?” he murmured with a small, hopeful smile.

Your chest ached — the kind of ache that feels like warmth stretching. You glanced at him, eyes catching the light of the lamp. “Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time?”

He blinked. “What?”

“All of it,” you whispered. “The silent messages, the scrunchies, movie nights, showing up when you didn’t have to. You’ve been... making memories for me.”

Jongho’s mouth opened, then closed. Like the truth had been sitting on his tongue this whole time but he wasn’t sure if now was the moment. But something in your voice, your eyes, must’ve made the decision for him.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I have.”

You felt the words settle into your chest like puzzle pieces falling into place. He exhaled, fingers now tugging lightly at the edge of your blanket, a nervous habit. “And I think… maybe I don’t want to keep doing all of that as just a friend.”

Your heart stumbled. “Jongho…”

“I mean,” he laughed gently, eyes flicking up to meet yours, “I think I passed the ‘just a friend’ stage back when I started carrying backup scrunchies for you.”

You could feel your heartbeat in places you hadn’t noticed until now — your fingertips, the hollow of your throat, deep in your stomach. It was the way Jongho said it. Quietly. Carefully. Like he wasn’t just asking a question — he was handing you something fragile. Something real.

���Can I… make it official?” His voice was barely more than a breath, but it cracked the air between you like a soft truth being unfolded. He was still seated on the edge of your bed, one leg turned toward you, but not pressing. Always waiting. Always gentle. His eyes searched your face not for permission, but for clarity — for a sign that you felt it too. That all the small things he did hadn’t gone unnoticed. That he hadn’t just been loving you in silence.

You stared at him for a moment, your chest too full to speak.

He looked nervous. Not because he was scared you’d say no — but because he wanted this to mean something. All of it. The /silent links he sent at 2 a.m. because he didn’t want to wake you. The way he tied your hair without a second thought because he knew how it distracted you. The scrunchies on his wrist. The muted screen shares. The apology he walked in circles just to give you in person.

He’d been writing a love story in the margins — and now he was finally turning the page to show you.

You sat up slowly, blanket sliding off your shoulder. The cool air kissed your skin, but all you could feel was the warmth of him — of his words, his presence, his intention, “Jongho…” you said his name like a secret, like something precious you didn’t want to drop.

“I’m sorry,” he added quickly, voice tighter now. “I know the timing isn’t perfect or — or maybe I should’ve asked sooner, but I just—”

You reached for his hand. Instinctively. Like it was the next natural step. His fingers were warm. A little clammy. He’d been nervous the whole time.

“You already were,” you said quietly, watching the way his eyes flickered at the sound of your voice. “You’ve already been mine. You were just… waiting for me to catch up.”

His breath hitched. You didn’t need to say more. That one sentence carried everything — your knowing, your feelings, your realization that all this time you weren’t just falling for Jongho — you were already in it. Fully. Deeply. Unknowingly wrapped in the love he’d been giving you in ways no one else had.

A laugh slipped out of him — not mocking, but light, airy, like he finally exhaled something he’d been holding for too long, “So…” he said, glancing down at your intertwined hands. “Do I get the whole package now?”

You smiled, laughing softly even— slow, genuine. The kind that crept up from your chest, not just your lips.

“You do.” Something in his face softened completely. Like his entire being melted — his shoulders relaxed, his lips curved into the smallest, most beautiful smile, and his eyes stayed locked on yours like you were the only thing that made sense anymore.

And then, he did something simple.

He brought your joined hands up and pressed his lips against your knuckles — just once. Not possessive. Not dramatic.

"How can anyone say this is the bare minimum?" Not a single thing that is close to being bare minimum. Because it really isn’t in the first place.

It’s love, tucked into silence. It’s choosing you — even in the quietest hours.

[anon-sect]

Picture source: anonymous

Harvey noticed his two friends hadn't responded to his texts or calls over the last four days. It was unusual for them not to respond at least by the next day. He asked around to see if anyone knew where they could be. After asking so many people, he finally was told that they had been in a wrestling tournament four days ago. They had lost to this one guy and had gone missing since then.

Harvey tracked down the guy who had bested his two friends. His name was Finn. He happened to be the champion in the wrestling tournament. He went to his house to ask where his friends were.

Finn heard a knock on his front door. He opened it to see a guy standing there. "Yes, can I help you?" He asked since he had never seen him before.

"Yes, my name is Harvey. And I was wondering if you could tell me where my two friends Jake and Tom went. I heard you beat them in a tournament four days ago. They have been missing since." Harvey explained, hoping this time he finally knows about the whereabouts of his two best friends.

"Oh, those two fags. They were easy to beat." Finn paused. "As to their location, let's just say they are in a safe location." He added.

"Where are they?" Harvey asked again. He didn't like his previous answer one bit.

"You see, I am a TF Pred and I like taking special trophies from competitions that I win." Finn paused. "You two friends are my trophies. Come in and I will show you." He invited him in.

Harvey followed the guy to his room. Finn placed a pair of blue wrestlting spandex and wrestling shoes on his bed. "I don't know which one is Tom and which is Jake, but here they are." Finn told him.

Harvey didn't know if all he was told was true. He examined both items. He then felt a small twitch coming from both the shoes and spandex, almost like they were alive. "Change them back now." He demanded.

"Sorry, I keep my trophies. I don't have a habit of changing them back." Finn smiled deviously.

"Please, change them back." Harvey pleaded. He hated seeing his friends like that.

Finn decided to show some sort of mercy. "Here's the deal. Wrestle me for their humanity. If you manage to make me tap or submit, I will change them back to normal. But if I make you submit, you join their fate. I turn you into a trophy as well." He gave the offer to Harvey. "Your choice." He added.

Harvey saw the risk if he lost, but he wanted to save his friends from a permanent fate as such. "Okay, I agree to it."

Finn gave Harvey a pair of red wrestling spandex and told him to follow him to his garage. There was a green mat laid out.

Harvey managed to get out of every single hold that Finn tried on him until he got him in the scissors headlock. He held him tightly between his legs and tilted upwards in a position that would not allow him to escape.

"That's right. Just give in and pass out or tap out. It doesn't matter either way. You are mine. I think a nice pair of socks will do nicely for me." Finn remarked as he continued to apply pressure on the hold.

Harvey wasn't going to tap. He tried to break free as oxygen was leaving his body. The hold on his neck was too tight to escape. He soon lost consciousness and passed out from the lack of oxygen.

Harvey woke up sometime later from his nap feeling strange. He couldn't speak. He could manage some form of movement, but it was more like twitching. He smelled a strong odor and tasted something foul. He felt like he was wrapped around what he was tasting. The wiggling motion instantly let him know what he was. He was a pair of socks. The feet must have been Finn's He twitched in protest to being a pair of socks.

Finn felt twitching coming from his pair of socks. "Oh, you are finally awake. Sorry to tell you, but you lost our little bet." He paused with a smile on his face. "Which means you are mine just like your two friends. But don't worry, I will take good care of you just like I have done them." He laughed as he continued to watch this tv show.

Harvey knew the risk he was taking when he agreed. Now he was stuck as Finn's property just like Tom and Jake.

[chara-cat5]

Lads isekai Au Ch 1

reader is gender neutral, warning: swearing, mdni

chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

your night had started normal, just getting ready for bed and snuggling among your soft blankets. but as you faded off to sleep land, it felt like you were sinking, slipping deeper into the mattress until it swallowed you whole. it happened faster then you could react, one second you're laying down, then next your drowning in darkness. you couldn't breath, couldn't see, just a hell of suffocating dark, pressing against you on all sides. it felt like you were falling for seconds and hours at the same time, only resurfacing when your lungs felt they were about to burst. you let out sharp gasps and coughs as you felt to your knees, the world around you spinning in a blur of faint, pale blue light.

"w-what the hell..."

as soon as you didn't feel like you were dying, you took stock of your surroundings. they were completely unfamiliar, sending a sharp pang of panic to your chest. trees surrounded you, tall and silent and dark. the moon shone somewhere, a few beams landing on the leave-scattered ground below. turning around, you could see the tree you apparently came out of, your form slowly healing out of the bark. when you reached out to touch it, moss grew under your fingers, making you yank your hand back.

"... thats new."

shaking your head, you went back to thinking of a way out.

"it's just a dream, right? no one can go from their bed to the woods, thats crazy... so i just have to... play along till i wake up."

making up your mind, you stood up. there was no clear way pointing to humanity or other life, just faint owls hooting and a deer's heavier steps in the distance. picking a direction, you began to walk, weaving through trees and shrubs toward the moon. it was a mix of peace and fear as you walked, logic and delusion fighting for control. logically, you shouldn't be out here but also logically you knew you were awake. sensations aren't this sharp in sleep. but beyond that, you still wanted to believe it was a dream. i mean, how else do you explain it? the way you showed up in the woods or the way soft grass what growing everywhere you stepped. you stopped in your tracts, glancing back.

"... at least i'll know which way i've gone...?"

move on. keep moving. to survive, you can't just stay put. no one would come looking for you here.

you kept moving, stumbling across a clearing in the foliage. a sigh left your lips as you allowed yourself a break, flopping onto your back over the bed of white flowers. staring at the stars, you let yourself think and in turn, let yourself panic. you really were in the woods. why? how? what? and who, just for fun. it didn't make sense. but the stars weren't going to answer you. i don't think anyone can really...

you sat up with a start, eyes wide and straining to search the dark. it's quiet. the owls were gone, the breeze faint. the only sound you could hear was your own breaths slowly speeding up. then, footsteps. fast and trampling through undergrowth toward you. louder and faster and heavier. you scrambled to your feet, heart going a mile a minute as you searched the gaps in the trees. there! it was a deer? no, a man? no, a creature made of misshapen stones. it glowed a faint purple and was defiantly out to kill. you let out a sharp yelp as it swung it's sword like arm, a blade of wind coming toward you. holy shit- hold on, is that a wanderer??? you didn't have time to ask as it let out a rough screech, charging at you.

"run, run, run, run-"

you didn't look back as you forced your legs to move, your heart pounding in your ears. thankfully, the damn thing was slow moving, living with a pair of uneven legs. are they living? not the time to ask!

"duck, now!"

you let out a squeak as you did just that, stumbling due to the quick change in your center of gravity. the sound of a gun fired above you, the wanderer let out another terrible screech. you trembled as your savior(?) finished off the creature, protecting your head with your hands from where you knelt. when the firing finally stopped, lighter footsteps approached you, the voice of a girl making you look up.

"are you okay? what are you doing out here?"

you were met with worried eyes on a face your were actually familiar with. why, might you ask? cause it was your mc's face. your mc from fucking love and deepspace. as she crouched in front of your, checking you over for injuries, you could only blink at her in a daze. she frowned, staring into your eyes.

"do you not understand me? or did you hit your head?"

you startled, realizing, hey, she asked questions and you just stared at her like a moron.

"oh- sorry, i'm fine. i'm not hurt."

that seemed to relax her a little, her hands falling against her thighs. she quickly stood up, already doing something on her hunter's watch. damn that looks high tech-

"who are you and why are you here?"

you were startled by her change in tone, weary and serious as if she was suspicious of you... well, that'd be understandable, you're just some lost person in the woods in your pjs. you'd be suspicious too. you gave her your name, giving a basic run down of your night. probably not worth hiding anything from her, especially when she has a gun. she made a face, but seemed to trust you for now, holding out her hand to help you up.

"lets get you out of here. we can talk more somewhere safe."

you nodded, taking her hand. before you realized it, vines sprouted, wrapping themselves around both your wrists, binding them. the two of you blinked in confusion, a bright cluster of purple flowers blooming.

"... i didn't do that."

she let out a huff, giving an attempt to free her hand before just tugging you along through the trees where you assumed the exit was.

"you clearly have a plant evol so i really think you did do that actually."

you swallowed, looking to your snared hands. you couldn't really deny it, could you? but a plant evol?

"okaaaaaay, but i don't know how to control it sooooooo..."

she let out a huff and you finally exited the woods, spotting a lone motorcycle on an old road. as soon as your bare feet hit the concert, the plant around your wrists weakened and only a tug had them unraveling. she made her way to the bike while you glanced back at the forest. was this really love and deepspace? were you going crazy? maybe this was some messed up prank for over using the app?

"are you coming?"

you startled at her voice, nodding as you walked to her side. no, this isn't some prank. it's not a dream either. you've really been isakied into the game.

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you were surprised when she brought you to her place instead of the police or something. it's not like you had a place to go, but still. her home? you padded into the apartment, the room even nicer then you expected. geez were they high tech in this world. you blinked at a hologram in the kitchen, waving your hand through it before her clearing her throat brought you back.

"care to explain what you were doing out there?"

oh, serious time. your hands fidgeted in front of you as you nodded, taking a step away from the fancy hologram.

"right... i, uh, don't actually know. i was just sleeping and then i woke up there. i'm not sure..."

she furrowed her eyebrows, sitting at her table. she pressed a few buttons on her hunter's watch, symbols you didn't understand showing up.

"you just woke up there? would a roommate or friend pull this kind of prank? do you live nearby? you said you don't have your phone but maybe you know a number we can call?"

you shook your head at her plethora of questions, sitting across from her. would another world count as living far away?

"i don't live near here... i also don't have anyone i can call. it's just me."

she pursed her lips, her eyes darting back to you. you shrunk slightly under her gaze, feeling the mistrust and frustration. what do you even do in this situation? you have nothing to your name, not even an identity in this world, right?

"... you can sleep here tonight and maybe tomorrow we can get some answers, alright?"

you startled at her softer tone, blinking at her in surprise. you managed a small smile, nodding as you stood up. right sleep.

"okay, thank you..."

"mia."

you smiled at that, following as she guided you to a guest bedroom. it was small, but the bed was a god send for your tired body.

"thank you, mia. good night."

she left you in the room and you made a bee line for the bed. flopping down on it, you fell asleep at record time. i guess yesterday's normal activities plus running around the woods would exhaust anyone.

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error

unknown entity added

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editing

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editing

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update complete

entity added to library

welcome new [user]

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ahhhhhhhHHHHHHHH

full fic time babyyyyyyyy

motivation comes and goes and apparently it came and clonked me on the head. i'm gonna try and stick with it

not done with college au stuff, so don't worry babes (if you are for whatever reason, idk .-.)

thank you for reading!!

-chara <3

[angel-writes-skz-here]

Seduction

Prof! Minho x Student! Reader Synopsis: Minho's in town for Christmas break and he's got some questions that will need answers. Warnings: SMUT, unprotected p in v (Shocker! Fr be safe) oral (both rec.), fingering, pet names, soft Minho, romance. A/N: Christmas in June, my sweets! I apologize for the wait! But chapter 5 is here! I'll try to have chapter 6 out soon! Just bare with me! Ignore any mistakes, I'll proof read again later. Merry Christmas in June, y'all!! 😉 Xoxo💋

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Merry Christmas

The sunlight from the morning peers in through the curtains of your living room, waking you up. You feel a pair of hands around your waist, the memory of everything from the previous day flooding back. You smile to yourself as you feel Minho shift in his sleep. Your hand lightly goes on top of his; cradling it.

You gently turn in his arms, his face looking peaceful as you study it. You smile as you notice his brown hair in his face, his lips slightly agape and a small bit of drool on the pillow underneath him; the way his body subconsciously contorted to fit yours swells your heart.

You run your fingers through his hair gently, watching him stir and a small smile creeps onto his face. You breathe out a giggle before his eyes slowly open. You both smile at each other; it’s like you’re in your own little world.

“Good morning,” you whisper.

“Good morning,” he smiles.

“I have some shopping I have to do today,” you mention as your eyes scan him.

“Can I come?”

“I’d love that,” you smile. The two of you get up and as you head off to your room you notice Minho grabbing his keys.

“I left my stuff at the hotel last night,” he mentions sheepishly.

“Thought I might kick you out?” you playfully ask.

“I wanted insurance, yeah.” He shrugs honestly. You smile and nod understandably.

“Well, you can get your stuff, because you’ll be here with me this week,” you smile as you walk up to him, cupping his cheek.

“If you want to be, that is,” you whisper and he grins.

“No where else I’d rather be.”

He pecks your lips before leaving to grab his things.

-

The two of you arrive at the mall, hand in hand, walking around. It's nice to be out in public, together, physically showing affection for once.

“It’s so busy,” he comments.

“Yeah, Christmas around here isn’t nearly the same as it in Korea,” you inform him.

“How so?”

“Eh, it’s more family oriented, everything practically shuts down. People spend time with family at home opening gifts, sharing meals together, it’s really nice.” You smile sentimentally as you walk into the next store, making the final purchases for your family.

“So, am I allowed to join your American traditions?” he asks cautiously.

“I don’t see why not, my parents and I do Christmas at their house that evening and on Christmas Eve. So, we can do dinner and I’ll let them know I have a friend joining me.” You say as you pull out your phone to send a quick text to your mom.

“Friend?” He quirks a brow with a smirk.

“I think it’d just be easiest to say friend, for now, I mean, I can’t say, “hey mom here’s my former professor from Korea that I fucked before he was my professor,” you say and he nods with a small chuckle. He peels off from you a little, looking at a few things, as you finalize your purchases.

“Ready to go?” you ask, bags in hand, grabbing his attention from the clothing rack.

“Huh, oh yeah. Let’s go,” he smiles.

“Hey, do me a favor, take these to the car, would you?” you ask as you round a corner. He smiles and nods, heading out to the car giving you enough time to slip into the jewelry store. There’s no way you were letting him go without at least one gift on Christmas morning.

You glance at the watches, finding the one you think would suit Minho the best. You purchase it quickly and you feel your phone start to buzz.

“Hey,”

“Hey, I um, I think I’m lost.” He chuckles looking around not seeing you.

“Ok, well I won’t be long, can you get back to the car?” You ask as you eye the lingerie store.

“Yeah, are you sure you want me to wait?”

“Yeah, I’ll be out soon.” You smile.

“Ok,” he says simply before hanging up.

You walk into the store, instantly spotting the red bow tie lingerie. You smile as you think to yourself how sweet it would be, making love by the fire place, the warmth of the room surrounding you, the two of you together finally on the same page, no one trying to hurt the other, the only thing on either of your mind’s simply being pleasure and closeness.

You quickly purchase it along with a new bottle of perfume, smiling to yourself like an idiot. You make your way to the car, hiding the watch in the lingerie bag.

“What did you buy?” He asks, rolling the window down as you head to the trunk.

“Some perfume I found on sale,” you say simply. Minho feels a slight disappointment but masks it and nods.

“Let’s get home, I still have to wrap,” you say as you enter the car again.

-

The night goes by quickly, Minho ordering pizza and, poorly, helping you wrap gifts. He gets into a fight with the tape, flicking his hand like a cat, only getting it stuck worse to his hands and now sweater. You can’t contain your giggles as you watch him and catch his hand, the heat from the small fireplace hitting your back.

“Have you ever even wrapped a gift before?” you ask through fits of giggles.

“Yes,” he pouts, his brown hair falling in his face.

“Well why don’t you get me some more wine,” you say as you get the tape unstuck. He purses his lips and hops up with your glass.

“Want some more pizza?” He calls from the kitchen.

“Uhhh,” you say as you fold up the last corner on the gift, “Yes please!” you say as you place it under the tree.

“Now tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” you remind him as he brings back your drink and pizza and sits down.

“Meaning we spend the night at your parents’ with family watching movies, baking cookies and having a good meal. I remember.” He says confidently. You smile.

“Good boy,” you wink and he quirks a brow.

“Excuse me?” he says as he moves the wrapping paper and backs you onto the floor.

“I said. Good. Boy.” You punctuate each word with a tap to his nose. He smiles down at you, eyes traveling between yours.

“I’m happy,” he whispers softly. You smile at him, stomach twisting with excited anxiety.

“Me too,” you whisper as you notice the light from the fire casting a golden glow on his face. Minho gently presses his lips to yours, sighing against you.

Later that night, once you’re sure Minho is asleep, you’re able to wrap his watch, hiding it towards the back of the tree so he wouldn’t notice it.

-

The next night you’re surrounded by family and friends, something about it feeling more nostalgic than you remember years previously. The laughter, the young kids running around and watching the Santa tracker; all of it feels warm, familiar, almost final.

Everyone welcomes Minho with open arms, practically making him feel like part of the family.

“So you two met over in Korea?” your mother asks as she stabs a piece of food with her fork, her eyebrows raised suspiciously.

“Yes ma’am,” Minho answers.

“How?”

You smile nervously at your mother.

“He offered to tutor me for this psychology class I had gotten behind in, and we just hit it off. Became friends and kept in touch.”

“So, you shared the same class?”

“Yep,” you smile.

“Funny I never heard you mention a, Minho,” she says cautiously hoping she pronounced it right and Minho nods, “before.”

“Oh yeah, well it was a last-ditch effort to stay but ultimately I thought it better to come home and ya know, I’ve been busy since I got back.” You smile and eat your food nervously.

The dinner continues on, everyone having wonderful conversation, so much so you don’t hardly eat. Except for the few bites taken earlier so you could stuff your mouth and not have to talk to your mom.

As the family begins making cookies, Minho whispers in your ear.

“I’ll be back, ok?” You look at him concerned, not noticing your mother’s watchful eye.

“Are you ok?” you ask quietly and he nods, desperate to kiss your forehead but he resists, simply squeezing your hand out of sight of the family.

“I won’t be long,” he says and grabs the car keys. He leaves without another word.

Sometime later Minho returns, helping decorate the cookies with your little cousins, the sight swelling your heart as he helps them pipe the icing. The kids pick on him a little and he laughs, getting them back, starting a mini icing war that ends with you having to clean both Minho and the kids up. The two of you smile at each other, the moments between you still surreal.

-

“We’ll see you guys’ tomorrow afternoon, ok?” your mother says before kissing your cheek and hugging Minho.

“You treat her well, you hear me,” she whispers in his ear firmly. His eyes widen slightly and he looks at your mother.

“I’m sorry, I,”

“We’ll see y’all tomorrow.” She smiles like nothing was said, bright and happy, and helps you out the door.

“What’s wrong?” you ask noticing the paler look on his face once outside.

“She knows,” he says.

“She thinks she knows.” You correct.

“She always was good at that though. Picking up on the little things. But it doesn’t matter,” you shrug as you approach the car.

“The only way she’ll know, is if we tell her.”

-

You pull into your driveway, and Minho instructs you to stay put until he comes out to get you.

You quirk a brow at him as you watch him run inside and you giggle as he runs back out soon after and opens your door for you; helping you out of the car like a gentleman.

“What the heck are you doing?” you giggle. He doesn’t answer just leads you inside out of the cold.

When the door opens you notice your living room fire place is going, candles are lit and there’s soft instrumental music playing. You stop, your breath catching in your throat as you feel Minho’s hands rub up your arms and help you slide off your jacket.

“What did you,” you look back at him, a soft expression on his face.

The room is covered in candles, the fire place going, drinks and snacks out for you,  and fairy lights strung around the room.

“I had an idea and wanted to surprise you,” he smiles and pecks your lips before putting your jacket up for you. You walk in, the scene intimate, suddenly remembering the lingerie you bought.

“Give me a few minutes,” you smile and run back to your bedroom. You clean up a bit, get yourself dressed and spray on some perfume before you walk out in a silky red robe, and Minho’s brows raise.

“Wow,” he says and you watch his adams apple bob in his throat. You smile at him your heart beat erratic as you slowly step into the room.

“Technically, you don’t get presents till Christmas morning,” you tease, “But I figured in Korea, it’s already Christmas Day.” You walk up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and his hands come to your sides, holding you close as he dips his head down, connecting your lips. Your fingers tangle in his hair and soft moans are exchanged.

You step away from him, slowly undoing your robe revealing the outfit you’d bought earlier that day.

Minho’s breath catches in his throat as he stares at you, and the silk ribbon that leaves little to the imagination. You let the robe fall off your arms into a puddle on the floor.

“Well,” you pause, “Come unwrap your gift,” you smirk as he races over to you, your lips reconnecting in a heated kiss and a soft giggle escapes your lips at his excitement.

Minho’s hands are steady as he looks down, your foreheads together, and he undoes the ribbon, watching it fall off your chest.

He whimpers at how beautiful you look. Truthfully, he’d forgotten just how beautiful you really are and his hands cup your chest, thumbs brushing over your buds as your head falls back, soft moans coming from you.

“Come here,” he says and places you on your back, the heat from the fire place keeping your frame warm.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says as his eyes travel down your body, noting the small piece of what the store called ‘underwear’ is covering you. He kisses your lips again, taking his time, worshiping, loving your body as his lips slowly travel down to your jaw then your neck. His teeth graze your skin, drawing goosebumps as his tongue flattens over your skin, a soft moan leaving you. You feel him smirk against your skin as he leaves open mouth kisses down to your collar bone, softly sucking at your flesh. You squirm beneath him as he kisses his way down to your breast, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud. You bite your lip, watching as his mouth closes around it, sucking slightly as he kneads the other with his hand, sending waves of pleasure to your core.

“Min,” you moan. He looks up at you through his lashes, gently biting the sensitive area. You hiss, watching him smirk as he lets go, giving the same kind of attention to the other; not in a rush. Savoring you like you’re his last meal.

He kisses down your stomach, lips dragging against your skin; peppering kisses at your waist line, teasingly. He can see the wet patch on your panties, and he chuckles to himself.

“You want me, don’t you baby?” you nod with your lip between your teeth as you watch him.

“Please,” you beg and Minho closes his eyes at your breathy tone, feeling his pants tent up. He removes his shirt quickly before settling between your legs, kissing up your inner thighs, nipping at the doughy flesh.

Your hips left near his face on instinct, and he hooks his fingers into your panties, pulling them down and discarding them to the side. His tongue is warm and wet against your core, and you both sigh as he makes contact.

“So good,” he whines into you, nose bumping your clit as he takes a deep breath. His tongue works magically, hitting all the spots that make you tick, watching and listening, figuring out your body; making it his mission to know it like the back of his hand. He smirks as his tongue circles your bud, feeling your hips roll against his face.

“God, Minho,” you gasp as his tongue enters your hole and your back arches off the plush rug underneath you. You grip onto his hair and roll your hips as his tongue goes in and out, tasting- treasuring you.

“Wanna live here,” his voice is muffled against you. His breathing gets ragged as his hips start to grind against the ground, desperate to get friction. His tongue moves to side, adding more a little more pressure, the two of you making eye contact. He reaches for your hand, rubbing circles onto the top of it.

“Minho,” you whimper as you feel the coil tighten in your tummy. He adds two fingers with his other hand, curling them up and he pumps them in and out, quickly matching the speed of his tongue making your head spin.

“Please keep going,” you whine as your hand goes to your breast to stimulate it, causing you to buck your hips as Minho swipes his tongue harder against your clit.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” you whimper.

“Cum for me, kitten. Cum on my tongue,” he mumbles against you and you cry out as the tightening in your stomach explodes, your body arching as he takes you through it, never stopping or slowing down.

“Such a mess,” he moans into you as he cleans you up. Your hips buck when he brushes your all too sensitive clit. He kitten licks, moaning at the taste and your face flushes.

He hovers himself over you, kissing you; allowing you to taste yourself with his chin and lips still glistening.

“Fuck I want you,” he groans as you palm him through his pants. He pulls back to undo his pants and slide them down along with his boxers. You sit up and your hands reach for him, tongue flattening as you tease his slit.

“Oh fuck,” he moans as his head is thrown back. He moves to sit down, your legs intertwined as he watches you. You pump a few times with your hand, watching him. His eyes flutter close as you squeeze him, teasing the slit once more with your thumb.

“Fuck stop teasing me,” he breathes out a laugh. You oblige, slowly sinking your head down.

You hear Minho sigh and feel his hand come to back of your head, resting in your hair. You swirl your tongue around the head as you come up, sucking on it harshly, causing his hips to buck.

“Fuck if you do that I won’t last,” he growls. You bob your head up and down again, creating a steady pace, Minho’s hips bucking up into you every once and a while. You pump what you can’t fit in your mouth, his moans and groans causing more arousal to puddle between your legs. You moan around him, sending vibrations through his body. He chokes out a moan, head tipping back as you hollow your cheeks and suck faster, desperate to get him to his release.

“Fuck you feel so good,” he whines as you feel him twitch in your mouth.

“God keep going,” he groans as you begin to taste more and more of his salty precum on your tongue.

 “Ah shit, fuck I’m gonna cum.” He says and you moan, encouraging him and he does with a loud groan. He paints your throat a shade of white as his ropes spill down your throat, making you swallow everything, happily.

He gasps for air, chest rising up and down. You giggle at him, seeing his fucked-out expression.

“Something funny?” He asks a playful glint in his eye, and you simply smile at him as he gently tackles you back down to the floor.

“My girl,” he whispers before sliding in slow, eye contact being made the whole time. When he bottoms out the both of you sigh, the feeling other worldly as you feel the stretch and he feels the warmth of your body.

“God this feels perfect,” he whispers in your ear.

“Like you’re made for me,” he says as he starts a slow pace, thrusting slow and deep, making you feel every inch of him. You look into his eyes as he does, bodies and souls connecting as one.

“You take me so well,” he mumbles before planting a kiss on your forehead, resting his forehead on yours as he starts to pick up the pace, causing you to gasp and your mouth to make the ‘o’ shape, your back arching you into him.

“Feel good?” he asks in your ear.

“So good,” you whimper arms coming around his shoulders, nails slightly digging into his skin. His head falls to your shoulder, nipping at it.

“Minho, fuck,” you gasp as he hits your sweet spot hard.

“Yeah, baby?” He asks.

“I wanna ride you, please,” you whimper as you feel him slow down. He gently pulls away from you, only to pull you with him in his lap, helping you position yourself on top, slowly sinking down on him.

You whimper in response, and he holds you close, bare chests touching as you take a moment to get comfortable.

Slowly you grind your hips, bouncing up and down, causing your chest to bounce in his face. The new angle has your world stopping. Time doesn’t exist, life isn’t real and Minho is the only thing keeping your tethered to earth at this point. Quickly you begin to feel the coil in your stomach.

“Fuck you look so beautiful using me like this,” he says before sucking on your chest, one hand coming down to rub your clit making you scream as you hold onto his shoulders.

“Cum for me baby, cum on my cock,” he says and brings you down for a fervent kiss.

“Minho,” you whimper against his lips and Minho’s hand comes up to your throat, squeezing lightly.

“Fuck,” you let out in a high-pitched voice as your body explodes causing you to shake, and Minho thrusts up into you as he notices your rhythm failing as you go through your orgasm. You gasp for air once breathing becomes possible again, and Minho finishes right after you.

You’re both breathing heavily as you come down, sitting together, bodies as one, holding each other.

You hide your face in the crook of his neck, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

“What’s wrong,” he asks, a slight chuckle in his voice.

“Just want you,” you say against his neck.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby girl.” He whispers into your hair as he kisses the top of your head. The two of you sit together for a moment, the low hum of the music creating a nice ambiance. Minho checks the clock and smiles.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” He whispers in your ear. You pick your head up, and look at him slightly confused.

“It’s midnight.” He smiles as he points to clock hanging up on the wall. You turn your head and check it.

“Merry Christmas.” You smile at him before pecking his lips and disconnecting your bodies.

Minho helps you get cleaned up grabbing a towel and warming it with water. Gently wiping between your legs and wiping himself off.

“How about a bath?” you suggest as he slides on his sweat pants.

“Actually, I wanna give you your gift.” He says as he hands you your robe.

“Huh?”

“Well, one of them,” he mentions as he unzips his suit case.

“It can wait till morning.” You try to stop him.

“Actually, it can’t.” he says as he pulls out an envelope and hands it to you.

“What is it?” you smile.

“Open,” he encourages and you pull out a certificate, your heart swelling and your breath catching in your throat.

“Minho,” you whisper as your read the paper. He smiles nervously.

“Come on, we should be able to see it.” He takes your hand carefully, grabbing you a pair of pants and a coat and you step outside into the quiet night. You look up into the sky and see it, your star.

“There, right beside the big dipper handle, you see it? Just beside it, shinning bright.” He points and you smile.

“I can’t believe you had a star named after me.” You whisper as you hug his side and look up at it.

“No matter how far apart we are, we can always be connected through this.” He whispers as he kisses the top of your head.

“Thank you,” you whisper and share a sweet kiss before heading back inside.

The two of you opt for a shower, washing each other off along with the sticky remanence of earlier activities.

In bed the two of you are curled up, staring at each other.

“So what does Christmas day look like?”

“Similar to what we did, but we get to have our own celebration in the morning.” You smile as your thumb rubs his cheek.

“And we get to watch cheesy Christmas movies and make breakfast and just chill the first half of the day.” You explain. He smiles and nods kissing your forehead.

“Good night,” he whispers.

“Good night,” you say and close your eyes.

-

The next morning you wake up to the sound of pots and pans banging together. It’s just past 7am and you slip on your proper pj’s and slippers and quietly watch from door way of the kitchen as Minho tries to figure out your appliances. He’s going back and forth from his phone trying to figure out how to make you something.

You watch as he puts the eggs in a bowl then looks back to his phone. Grabs the bread; back to his phone. Then whisks the egg, back to his phone and repeats the process until he has an egg-soaked piece of bread ready for the frying pan.

“Morning Master Chef,”

“Aish!” he jumps and drops the bread into the pan.

“You scared me,” he says you smile as you walk over to him and look at what he’s doing.

“Nah, no, back!” he says swatting the air with a spatula.

“Woah, what’d I do?”

“Go to the living room, I’ll be there soon.” He motions for you to leave. You smile to yourself as you turn on the tree, noticing a few more gifts under it than what was there when you went to bed.

You quirk a brow but wait for Minho to finish breakfast as you turn on the tv. Not long into A Christmas Story Minho brings out breakfast for the two of you; French toast with syrup and powdered sugar.

“It looks delicious.” You compliment and he watches as you try the food. You moan as the sweet taste hits your tongue. Eyes shutting.

“This is so good,” you assure him and he smiles, feeling relieved he did it right.

“I added some vanilla to the egg mixture for added flavor.” He explains.

“Recipe?”

“Did that one on my own.” He says proudly.

“Thank you, baby,” you smile as the two of you eat and half way watch the movie.

“So, places really do shut down today?”

“Mhm, you’ll see it later when we go to my parents’ house.” You smile.

After breakfast you help Minho clean up the dishes and the two of you sit down in front of the tree.

Minho distributes two boxes your way, and smiles.

“What in the world have you done?” you giggle.

“Just open them and see,” he smiles, innocent excitement taking over. You nod and grab his gift from the back.

“Here’s yours.” You smile and he looks flabbergasted.

“When did you,” he looks up at you confused.

“Yesterday,” you shrug.

“You go first!” you say and motion for him to go. He’s about to argue with you but instead doesn’t fight it and tears the wrapping paper off the box. He opens the box revealing the sleek and stylish watch. He pauses for a moment, emotions trying to get the better of him.

“I remembered how you always wore a watch to class,” you begin, “And I remembered our last night together, I saw it on the night stand and it looked warn. So I found this,” you mention and he doesn’t speak for a moment, shock over taking him.

“If you don’t like it we can take it back and you pick out what you do like,” you ramble and Minho leans over and kisses your lips.

“Shut up, I love it.” He says still in disbelief at the beautiful gift. He carefully takes it out of the box and puts it on.

“It’s beautiful, y/n. Thank you,” he says lowly. You smile, proud of yourself.

“Ok, he says as he blinks his eyes quickly, “You’re turn.”

You pick the box up with the red wrapping paper and undo it, revealing a small box. You open it to see a chain with an ‘M’ initial on it. It has your birthstone in the bottom right corner and his in the upper left. You grin as you hold up letting the light hit the jewels.

“When did you find this?”

“I found it in a shop a month ago, when I started planning my trip here,” he admits, a light blush painting his cheeks.

“You held on to this for that long?”

“Kept it nice and safe, yeah.” He nods.

“It’s beautiful, put it on me?” you ask as you take it out of the box.” He nods and you position yourself on your knees and allow him to drape the jewelry on your neck and he clasps the necklace together.

You smile as you look at the last box. You take the paper off the box and open it, revealing a delicate key.

“What, I have the key to your heart?” You giggle sweetly.

“No, well yes you do, but that’s a key to my house.” He says slowly. Your heart rate speeds up.

“What?” you ask, voice slightly pitched.

“I want you come back with me,” he says as he takes your hand. Your brows raise and your mouth falls open slightly.

“What do you say?”

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[vivwritesfics]

Drive Me Crazy

Chapter Four

Max and Charles aren't exactly a pack. But they want to be, especially when the half feral little werewolf starts driving in Carlos's place after an injury. Unfortunately, things aren't always that simple

Lestappen X Reader Werewolf AU

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

"You're okay, Beastie. You did good."

It hadn't been an easy race for either Ferrari driver. You and Charles had both struggled, through no fault of your own, during the race. The strategy was shit and the car struggled on track.

"You're okay, Beastie," your handler said, combing her fingers through your hair. "You can stop now. You can breathe."

She was trying to calm you down, Charles realised as he watched you.

Beastie. What an awful nickname, simply awful. Charles watched as your handler handed you earbuds. Your hands shook as you placed them into your ears, a whimper leaving your lips.

Beastie. You weren't a beast. Charles could see it, and he was sure that everybody else could see it, too. You weren't a beast; you just wanted to be free.

He strode across the garage, strode over to you. "What're you listening to?" He asked, his voice soft.

A whimper left your lips and you clawed at your shock collar. "Woah, woah," he whispered and grabbed a hold of your hands, stopping you from hurting yourself. "You're okay, Birdy."

Birdy. Charles wasn't very sure where it came from, but it felt right. It suited you. Birdy. You just wanted to be free. Free as a bird. Another noise left your lips, one that Charles was unable to place. "Wanna tell me what you're listening to?" He asked and pushed your hair out of your face.

You wouldn't answer. Charles knew this, he wasn't expect you to open your mouth to answer, but to somehow communicate it to him. Maybe pull your earbud from your ear and offer it too him instead.

Your handler stepped forward. "She discovered your music last night," she said and nodded to Charles. "She finds it's calming, so I thought it might help take her out of 'Race Space'."

"Race Space?"

Race Space. The headspace you went into as soon as you were in the car. It left you acting on instinct, going for every gap and having no self preservation. It would have been terrifying to watch, if you had anybody that cared about you."

"She likes my music?" Charles couldn't stop himself from answering as he looked at you. You liked his music. At that very moment, you were listening to his music. "Birdy," he whispered, unable to stop himself from grinning.

Charles couldn't help but think about it for the next few hours. As he flew back to Monaco, sharing a jet with Pierre. Maybe one day you could share a jet with them, too. But you weren't in the position for a private jet yet. Once you were a proper driver, no longer driving in the place of an injured Carlos, Charles would take you everywhere in his private yet, he decided.

And then you'd be flying. As free as a bird.

"You're attached," Max said as he watched Charles.

Sitting at the piano, Charles couldn't stop himself from thinking about you. He pressed a couple of the keys, no song really coming from it. "I am," he confirmed, giving a small nod. "I really am, Max."

Max released a sigh as he walked over. He slipped onto the bench beside Charles and wrapped his arms around him. "What're we gonna do about it?" He asked.

"I don't know, Max," Charles answered through a sigh. "I really don't know."

***

Home. A small room with several locks on the door to keep people safe from you. Locked in, Charles's music playing on a loop. This was better, you knew. You locked away from the rest of the world.

Birdy.

You had been a beast for so long that Birdy felt weird. Weird, but not exactly wrong. Birdy, because you wanted to fly away and be free. Birdy was fitting, you realised.

Birdy.

You liked it. Really liked it. Far better than Beasty. A beast was what you had been turned into, not what you wanted to be. You were never supposed to be a beast and you no longer wanted to be one.

Birdy.

The music stopped and you released a whimper. Tapping at the iPod screen, you got the music playing again, the piano filling the room. Your eyes closed as you laid back on your bed, holding your pillow against your chest.

Charles was nice. He was real nice, in a way nobody but your handler had been before. Why had you tried to bite him? Why had you acted out like that? But, still, he was sweet to you. Sweet, even after you had attempted to attack him.

You wouldn't, not again. You wouldn't attack the next time he was nice to you. It was easy to picture it in your mind, your muzzle removed as you hugged Charles, nuzzling yourself against his chest. But you were looking at it through rose coloured glasses.

It wouldn't be as simple as not attacking and you knew that. The reaction was involuntary: You couldn't help it. Couldn't stop yourself from lashing out and trying to hurt him. 

You couldn't wait for the next race weekend. 

"Birdy," you whispered to yourself and started his music again. "Birdy. Birdy. Birdy." 

You didn't have to wait long, just a week. That week you spent training, in the gym, listening to your trainer like an obedient dog. When she said run, you ran. When she said lift, you lifted. 

There was just one reason why you didn't like the gym. It allowed you to let out your aggression in a way that stopped anybody from getting hurt. But the collar around your neck and the muzzle attached to your face made the gym uncomfortable, skin beneath them prickling. 

On the Tuesday, you flew to Miami. You were sedated for the entirety of the flight. It didn't take away your fear, just stopped you from acting on it. 

You woke up in the taxi on your way to the hotel. How disorienting it was, to suddenly regain conscious in a different part of the world, so similar to your home, yet somehow different. 

You panicked. Not enough to hurt anybody in the car with you. But your nails dug into your palms, pressing deep enough to draw blood.

"Enough of that, Beasty," your handler commented and patted your knee. Maybe she was trying to give you comfort. Whatever it was, it didn't help.

She got you into the hotel, her grip on your sleeve acting as a leash. As soon as she had your key (she always kept your room key. It was almost a threat: If you left you couldn't get back in), she led you to the stairs. 

No lifts, you were too feral for that. They were too much like cages, and you didn't do cages. 

“Rest, little Beast,” she said as you placed your bags in your room. Rest. You've done enough resting already. You didn't need anymore rest. “I'll come get you in the morning.”

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[baronessvonglitter]

Code Blue

Javier Peña x Tim Rockford | WC: 2K

Summary: On a double date, Agent Javier Peña and Detective Tim Rockford are more interested in each other than in the bubbly blonde badge bunnies they're with.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit for smut. Mentions of drinking alcohol. MLM. BJs. Deepthroating. Semi-public sex. Restroom sex. Pena goes commando - this is canon, duh. Spit as lube. Anal fingering. Anal sex. Protected sex. If this ain't your thing, keep scrolling.

A/n: This is for the Pedro Pascal Pride Challenge hosted by @mandaloriankait 💙thank you for putting together such a fun and inclusive challenge! I had another one in mind to add but I haven't had the time, hopefully I'll get to it soon 😊

This is my first go at mlm fiction! I've written ffm and mmf fics, but never just guy-on-guy and I have to admit, I had fun with this 😏

Here we are - the Holster and the Tac Vest.. I wanted to write a pairing that I personally haven't read before, so Tim and Javi P were a perfect fit, pun intended. If anyone has any Tim x Javi fic recs, please send 'em my way! ❤️

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

JAVIER PEÑA MASTERLIST

TIM ROCKFORD MASTERLIST

FULL MASTERLIST

Badge bunnies. That's what everyone calls them. They see a shiny law enforcement officer badge and get all wet and creamy for the man behind it. Tim Rockford has never really taken advantage of the charisma his status provides, even when a woman has been more than ready and willing. He's just not the type. He'd rather come home to a good woman, find her asleep on the couch waiting for him, their dog curled up at her feet.

But in a town like this a steady relationship is hard to come by. So he commits himself to his job and the very, very occasional fling.

Javier Peña was the one to convince him to go out. A DEA agent in town who was part of Rockford's new task force, Javier had a natural way with the ladies, out with a different one every night. Within a few weeks his exploits had become legendary among the rest of Tim's team. Now he's sitting across from the man, gritting his teeth as he glowers at Javier's perpetual smirk, his dark tousled hair, the aviators hanging on the front of his shirt which is already unbuttoned more than Tim would ever do. He can see the man's chest hair for crying out loud.

The woman sitting next to Javier is friends with the woman sitting next to Tim. You'd think they were sisters. Both blonde and bubbly, wearing too much lip gloss and too much hair product and way too much perfume. Tim has never known such flammable women.

"Rockford is the man in charge. Locally, at least," Peña says, raising his beer to the detective. "He's the hardass keeping us all in line."

"I hope not only his ass is hard," Tim's date giggles, her pink-taloned hands squeezing his bicep through his long-sleeve work shirt. He still has his suspenders on, despite Javier telling him to ditch them before they left the station.

Despite himself, Tim is more annoyed than intrigued. He shifts around in his seat, glancing around at the other bar-goers. His date pouts a little, looking to Javi as if he holds the answer. "It's okay, chiquita," he says softly, his thumb stroking her wrist. "Why don't you two angels go powder your noses?" he suggests, and he and Tim get out of their seats to let the women out.

Javi winks and waves at them before they disappear out of sight beneath the neon restrooms sign before his smile drops and his gaze hardens on Tim, still sulking in the booth across from him. "What the hell is your problem?" he hisses.

Tim snaps his head up, eyes narrowed and steely. "What the fuck are you talking about, Peña?"

"You! You're such a goddamn stick in the mud, acting like a pendejo when this beautiful woman is all over you, practically begging to ride your cock. What, you're not into women?"

"Fuck you." Tim's glare is lethal.

Javi mutters something like you wish and leans back in his seat. "Fine. If you want, I'll take them both home with me. Wouldn't be the first time. Just thought I'd share the wealth since you can't get any pussy on your own."

"I can get pussy any time I want," Tim counters, hands on the table as if he's getting ready to fight.

"Okay, man," Javi shrugs, calmly lighting up a cigarette, unaffected by his partner's ire, giving the ladies a smile as they return. "All prettied up for us, huh, dolls? How about another round of cherry margaritas?" He motions to the bartender.

"Gotta take a piss," Tim mutters, giving his date a tired smile as he gets up and heads towards the restrooms at the back.

He doesn't actually have to pee. He just splashes some water on his face, doing a mental countdown of how long he can get away with being in here. He leans over the sink, splashing more water onto the back of his neck, cooling his skin. He doesn't know how he started getting so hot.

Peña comes in, casting a casual glance over at the detective. "You good, man?" he asks, settling in front of a urinal and unzipping his jeans.

"Yeah," Rockford grunts, adding some soap and washing his hands. In the mirror he eyes the younger man, head bowed down as he stands at the urinal. Tim eyes up the man, checking out his broad shoulders, his narrow waist, and he swears he sees Peña's ass clench and unclench-

Shaking his head, Rockford turns off the faucet and heads for the motion-sensored hand dryer, which is taking longer to activate.

"You look pretty worked up," Peña says, washing his hands at the sink. "I could suck your cock for you."

Rockford hears the last part as if he's underwater. His mouth goes dry, heart pumping wildly. "What?"

Peña shrugs, finishing up at the sink and moving towards Rockford at the dryer. "If I suck your cock it might calm you down a bit." He gives the dryer a solid slap and it starts up.

"I'm not- I'm really not-" Tim backs away.

"Not what? Hard? Look down, my friend. You've been hard since I walked in."

Tim groans, not needing to look below his belt to know he's bricked up.

"It's just an offer," Peña says coolly. "I had a feeling you weren't digging that chica by your side tonight. Is that the reason you don't want to be here?" He walks Tim backward until he meets the wall and is effectively trapped. The younger man's smirk grows to a smile. "You were checking out my ass in the mirror, weren't you? And all night you've been eyeing me instead of the sweet piece of ass next to you. You think I don't know what kind of thoughts you have in mind?"

Rockford is speechless, staring at Peña's lips, licking his own as he imagines how they'd feel wrapped around his cock.

"You can tell me to leave," Peña offers. "Tell me to fuck off and I'll go, and we'll forget this ever happened."

This is a way out, a proposition to go back and just be work buddies again.

Instead, Rockford locks the door. "On your knees, agent," he says gruffly.

Peña's mouth fills with saliva as he eagerly unzips Rockford's pants and undoes the button, slowly revealing the detective's boxers: white with red hearts. "Just like the cartoons, eh?" Pena smirks.

"Shut.... up," he moans as the younger man palms him through the material.

"Dios mio," Peña mutters. "I thought I was pretty hung, but you're huge."

"Think you can take it all?" Rockford rasps.

"I guess we'll find out." Peña peels down the underwear and lets Tim's cock free, his girthy length bobbing up, the tip flushed red and already leaking precum. Javi's tongue laps up the pearly bead and grins when he hears Tim groan. "Ever had your cock sucked by another man?" he asks.

"None of your business," Tim grunts. "Put your mouth to work."

Peña complies, giving the crown a languorous lick and enjoying the detective's needy groan. He spits on Tim's rod, using his hand to stroke it to full hardness before descending his lips on Rockford again. Tim sighs, placing his hand on the back of Javi's head and Javi fondles his balls, looking up to see Rockford react. They're already big and swollen. Javi's sure to get a good, thick load out of them.

He spits on it, giving Tim's dick a few tugs, feeling him pulse and twitch in his hand. Javi's tongue caresses the length of it, from base to tip, tongue circling the crown again, teasing, wiggling his tongue into the slit at the top. Rockford groans, his blood on fire as he urges the younger man forward. His breath catches in his throat when Javi's lips wrap around him, taking him into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks.

"Just like that," Tim rasps. "Didn't know you were such a pro.."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," Peña wears a shit-eating grin as he gives the older man's balls a light squeeze before taking him into his throat, all the way back deep, and Tim nearly blows his load when Javi gags on it. Though his eyes water, he holds onto Tim's thighs, covering his cock in thick saliva. He gives a pitiful moan as Tim's large hand presses on the back of his head, keeping him there.

Peña takes a big gulp of air when Tim finally releases him. His eyes are lust-glazed and dark as he meets the detective's similarly lecherous gaze. "I bet you don't have it in you to fuck me.."

Rockford bends Peña over the sink, turning the agent's head to give a sloppy kiss as he shoves the younger man's jeans down. He raises his brow when he sees that Javi goes commando.

"I don't like restriction," Peña says coolly. Tim grabs a handful of his bare asscheek and smacks it. "I think you just wanted to make it easier for me," he huffs in his ear.

"Grab the condom, it's in my front pocket," Javi tells him, and Rockford finds it, places it on the sink edge. He lubes up his fingers with spit and traces the rim of Peña's ass, watching the agent's face in the mirror. "Damn, you're tight.. and hot," he mutters.

"More," Peña moans, bracing the sink, biceps bulging with the effort. Tim obliges him, stuffing a second thick finger into Javi's anus. Javi bites his lip, letting out a sighing grunt.

"Need more than this?" Rockford mutters, nipping Peña's earlobe with his teeth.

"I can handle it.. can you?" The agent smirks at him in the mirror. In return Rockford pistons his hand, fingering him harder. "I'll give you more, god damn it."

He grabs the condom and rips it open, sheathes his cock with it before teasing it at Javi's ass. Javi's already spitting into his palm and jerking off, his face pink with exertion and anticipation. Tim lands another glob of spit right on Peña's ass and nudges in smoothly, pressing his forearm down on Javi's back as he bottoms out. They both gasp in relief and pleasure.

He moves slow at first, savoring the way Peña's hole tightens around him, sucking him in. "It's what you wanted, isn't it?" Javi's telling him, jaw hung open as he gets stuffed. "You've been thinking about it the past few weeks."

"Jesus. Anyone ever tell you you're a mouthy bottom?" Tim grunts, grabbing hold of Peña's hips and thrusting in deep, smirking when the younger man loses his words, just moans, gripping the sink harder.

The sound of Tim's balls thwacking against the backs of Javi's thighs is resounding in the small room, punctuated by their groans and sighs and muttered curses. Javi's stroking himself in time with Tim's thrusts, ready to spill.

Tim pulls Javi close as he comes, hips stuttering then stilling. Javi wastes no time as soon as Tim disengages, getting rid of the condom. "My turn, detective," he says, and Rockford goes on his knees to finish him off.

It's sloppy work, nothing like the precise and thoughtful steps he takes in his work. Rockford is all tongue and spit, barely intelligible, begging for Peña's come. Peña grabs his hair, pulling him roughly against him. His pubic hairs tickle Tim's nose as he keeps him there, a small taste of his own medicine from earlier. He thrusts in roughly a few times, throat fucking him until he comes, his hot white spend shooting into the detective's mouth.

"Oh shit, they're gone." Javi states the obvious as they emerge from the men's room, cleaned up but still a little disheveled.

"Oh no." Tim's voice is flat, relief flooding his veins.

"Think we should find out where they went?"

"Nah.. badge bunnies come and badge bunnies go." Peña leans against the bar, lighting a cigarette as he settles the bill. "Wanna come back to my place?"

"What do you think?" Tim grants him a quick wink before they leave.

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