#can't blame her for wanting everything to be perfect

[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

[shyxcherry]

caught in the act | leehan

summary: when your crush leaves you all hot and bothered, you sneak off to get some relief. too bad that said crush hears you moaning out his name.

pairing: leehan x female!reader

warning: pure smut with a little fluff (fingering, oral (f), spanking, unprotected sex, leehan has a filthy mouth)

word count: 3.2k

notes: request! this was not supposed to be this long lol. i blame my period for this...

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡

you often regretted the day that your roommate introduced you to her friend group. they were all great, and you fit in perfectly. there was only one issue. you had the biggest crush on one of them- leehan.

it was all your fault really. you had no one to blame but yourself, but you couldn't help it. his soft eyes were so enchanting. you could stare into them for hours, and you have as you listened to him rant about a subject that you could honestly care less about. you also found yourself staring at his lips, watching the shapes he makes when he's not paying attention to you, wishing to know what they felt like against yours.

and god, his voice. you were pretty sure he could read you the encyclopedia, and you would be entertained. it was just so soothing, always calming you down. one time when you drank too much, you told him that. he didn't tease you for it which shocked you. instead, he told you to call him whenever you wanted to hear him, so now when you can't sleep, you call him. he'll talk to you about anything until he hears the soft breaths signaling that you fell asleep.

you knew you were down bad for him when he brought you with him to get another fish, and he told you which one would be perfect for you. so of course you got it, and now you have a fish named yin to match his new fish that he named yang. he helps you take care of it, often coming over to make sure you're following his directions.

your roommate teases you endlessly for you very obvious crush. she even brought leehan's friend, jaehyun into your teasing. they tried endlessly to get you to confess to him because you would be waiting forever for leehan to confess (jaehyun's words), but you always refused. you valued his friendship way too much to confess when you're not even sure he felt the same way. they were certain he did, but you still wouldn't do it.

lately, he's been leaving you hot and bothered. it didn't help that it's summer, so he's been walking around in tank tops and showing off his arms. today wasn't any different. all of you were at jaehyun's house playing a game, and the loser had to jump into the pool. leehan lost and didn't even take any of his clothes off before he cannonballed into the pool.

you felt nauseous as got out of the pool. his hair slicked back and showing off his forehead. his clothes were sticking to his body, and you swore you could see ab lines from where his shirt was clinging to his stomach. you felt like you couldn't take it anymore. so when he went upstairs to change, you told everyone you weren't feeling good before leaving. you played it off pretty good because none of them teased you like they normally did. your roommate even offered to go with you, but you refused.

that leaves you where you were now, softly moaning leehan's name as your vibrator ran across your clit. you imagined it was him laying on top of you, mouth running across your body while he held the vibrator to you, whispering everything he was going to do to you. your eyes shut in pleasure, back arching when you press the vibrator harder. right as you felt yourself getting close, you heard someone knock on your door, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

"yn." you heard your name being called from the other side of the door, and you nearly scream when you recognize the voice as leehan's. "are you in there?"

"just a sec!" you quickly shut off the vibrator before throwing it in your drawer. you fix your shorts before getting up. you run your hands down your shirt as you open the door. leehan was standing there with a concerned look on his face. you move back and let him in before shutting the door. "what are you doing here?"

"jaehyun said you weren't feeling good, so i wanted to come and check on you."

thankfully leehan wasn't looking at you, so he couldn't see your face. he did his usual, going to check on your fish before laying down across the end of your bed. you join him, leaning on the head rest as you cross your legs.

"you didn't have to do that. i think i just got overheated."

leehan looked over to you, slowly examining you to make sure you weren't lying. "so you're feeling better now?"

you wanted to say no. if he would've came five minutes later after you had gotten yourself off, you would've been fine. but now here you were, sexually frustrated with the one who is causing it laying right in front of you.

"yep. feeling much better." leehan hummed at your answer.

"then why did it take you so long to open the door?" you had to stop your eyes from widening at his question. you motioned to the bathroom that was connected to your room.

"i was in the bathroom."

"you didn't sound like you were in the bathroom."

you force out a laugh at him as you try not to freak out. "what are you? an interrogator?"

"no." he answered. "i just want to know why it took you so long to open the door."

"i just told you. i was in the bathroom."

"no you weren't." leehan argued with you. you shift under his gaze but was determined not to break like you normally did.

"is the heat getting to you too?" you ask. "because i'm pretty sure i was in the bathroom. i would know."

leehan clicked his tongue like he was scolding you. "you're lying to me."

"no i'm not."

"yes you are."

"what makes you think i'm lying to you?" you ask, getting fed up with him. he rolled over on his side, smirking at you and catching you off guard.

"i was standing at your door long before i decided to knock."

you felt your mouth dry up as you blink at him. he heard you. your friend heard you moaning his name while you pleasured yourself. you felt like you wanted to cry, especially since you couldn't tell how he was feeling. your mind told you he was teasing you due to the smirk on his face that still hasn't left.

you quickly untangle your legs before making a break for the bathroom. he tried to grab you, but you were too fast, closing and locking the door before he could get to you. you felt tears hit your cheeks as your back slides down the wall.

leehan knocked on the door. "yn, open the door."

"no." you willed your voice to come out strong, but it shook at the end. you knew leehan could tell you were crying be he cursed when he heard you.

"please open the door."

"please leave." you beg.

"i'm not leaving, yn." you heard leehan sigh. you could hear him shift like he was sitting down in front of the door. "i'm not leaving until we talk about this."

you kept quiet, not wanting to respond. you knew he wouldn't leave. he was too stubborn. once he said he was doing something, no one could stop him from it. "how long were you standing there?"

"long enough." he answered.

"can you just reject me and leave?"

"why would i reject you?" you scoff at his question.

"oh please. you were on the verge of laughing."

"i wasn't going to laugh." he replied softly. you shook your head, not believing him.

"then why were you smiling like that?"

"because i was thinking about how good you sounded while moaning my name." you nearly choke at his answer. "i had imaging how you sounded for months, and somehow you sounded so much better than anything i could've imagined. and its driving me crazy that you're locked behind this door, and i can't touch you."

you were stunned by his answer. you could hear the desperation in his voice towards the end. you quietly stood up before moving towards the door. "you- you like me back?"

you hear him shuffle as he quickly stood up once he heard how close you were to the door. "how could i not? you're like the most perfect person i've ever met."

you wipe your face, getting rid of the dried tears before you unlock the door. you didn't even get a chance to open it before leehan barged into your bathroom. you barely had a chance to look at him when his hands gripped your cheeks, pulling your lips to his. you gasped at the actions before kissing him back.

he kissed you deeply, hands roaming your body like he was trying to memorize everything about you. your back hit the counter when he backed you up. he easily lifted you up, sitting you on the counter as his tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring every inch of you.

you felt your head spin, and you tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let you. he chased after your lips, molding them to yours as he pulled you closer to him. his grip was tight on your legs, tight enough to leave bruises as he wrapped them around his waist. his erection was poking through his shorts, brushing against your heat and causing you to moan into his mouth at the friction.

"you drive me insane." his voice deep with lust. he moved his head, sucking and biting at every inch of your exposed neck, making you squirm in his hold. "it took everything in me not to barge in and fuck you when you said my name. you would've like that though, wouldn't you baby?" you nod desperately, too far gone to speak sentences. "is that what you want? for me to fill this pussy up the way she deserves?"

"leehan." you whimper, voice cracking with need as you cling to him. he bites your neck harder when his name leaves your lips. you hands grip the counter as you roll your hips against his, moaning again when his hips desperately bucked into yours.

his hands cup your ass, squeezing tightly as he pulls you flush against him before picking you up. "you're already a mess, and i've barely touched you. i can practically feel how soaked you are through your clothes, my desperate girl."

your back hit the soft mattress before leehan kneeled over you. his hands gripped your knees before prying your legs apart, exposing your core to him. one of his hands left your knee before his fingers ran over your shorts. you choke out a moan, lifting your hips at the contact. you hear him darkly chuckle at your desperation. "how bad do you want it, baby?"

"so bad- please." his hand leaves your core, running across your hip, leaving you whining at the loss of contact. his hand roughly kneed the smooth flesh of your thigh before slapping it, causing you to jump while desperately moaning his name again.

"i don't think you want it that bad. why would you run away if you wanted this?"

you shake your head at his words. "i want it- want you. i'm sorry for running. i didn't mean to. please, leehan."

leehan stops your pleas with his mouth, tongue coaxing yours, causing your hips to rut against his. he bites your lip at the action, holding your hips down before sliding his hand into the front of your shorts. you stutter against his lips as his fingers teasingly slide down your dripping cunt. "you're fucking dripping. all for me baby, right?" you nod your head, eyes rolling in the back of your head when his thumb finds your throbbing clit. "and to think you thought a vibrator would be better than me." you almost scream when his hand pinches your clit. "tell me. can your vibrator do this?"

you thrust into his hand, broken moans leaving your lips when he thrust two fingers into you. he doesn't give you any time to adjust, leaving you squeezing around his fingers as continued to shove his fingers deep inside of you. the wet sounds of your cunt along with your moans and whimpers brought a smile to leehan's face. "answer me, or i'm going to stop."

"p-please don't stop." you cry out. "it doesn't. n-nothing has felt even a fraction as good as you."

he rewards you, curling his fingers, hitting that spot that has you squeezing so tightly around him, he could barely move. tears prick your eyes, hips moving against his hand as he leans down. his lips brush yours, drowning your sounds with his lips. "why don't you be my good girl and take your shirt off, so i can see these pretty tits?"

his fingers don't stop moving at all, leaving you to try to sit up with shaky arms. your hands barely work which leaves leehan chuckling, before you pull the shirt over your head. you throw it before unhooking your bra, letting it slide down your arms before throwing it as well. leehan pushes you down, lips instantly finding your hardened nipple. your back arches into his mouth, whimpering when he bites the sensitive bud.

he marks every inch of your chest, leaving it glistening with his spit and bruises, making him groan against your lips at the sight of your trembling body. his name barely leaves your lips, legs tightening around his waist when your stomach clenches so hard it hurts.

"cum for me." he demands, hand finding your sore nipple before pinching it, causing you to cry out. "cum all over my fingers. make a mess."

you scream out his name as your orgasm ripped through your body. it left you shaking, clenching around his fingers that have yet to cease moving. he took his other hand, pulling your shorts down your legs, leaving him completely exposed to him. he stands by the edge of the bed, lustful eyes scanning over every inch of you. you tried to pull away from his hand that was still buried inside of you, causing him to slap your ass in warning.

"stop running from me." he growled, ripping his hand out of your cunt, leaving you moaning for more. he gripped your thighs, pulling you towards him. "roll over."

you did as he said, rolling over to your stomach and letting leehan position you the way he wanted you. your ass was in the air, leaving your face pressed into the mattress, back arched for him that nearly had him moaning your name. he rips off his shirt in one clean motion before kneeling down, lining his face up with your cunt. his hand held your folds open while he darted his tongue out, brushing over your puffy clit with a groan of how you sweet tasted.

he started out slow, tongue moving slowly as he circled your clit teasingly, smiling when he hears you moaning for more. "patience, baby. i'm just getting started." he presses a little harder, flicking his tongue over your clit before sucking the swollen bud, leaving you moaning his name clenching around nothing. "do you feel that? how much this pussy is begging for me? should i give her what she wants, baby?"

"yes. please, leehan." you voice full of need that leaves leehan straining in his pants. "i need you, so bad. please fuck me."

leehan groans at your words, shedding his shorts as he stands up. his dick hits your clit, making you moan at the feeling. you could feel him pulsing as he slowly ran his dick through your dripping folds, coating him in your slick. he soon got sick of the teasing, the two of you moaning out in unison as he slides into you in one slick thrust. he groans when he feels you clench around him at the stretch.

his warm breath was hot against your neck as he leaned over you, pressing his lips to your spine. "do you feel how well your pussy takes me? like you were fucking made for me?"

you can't do anything but moan at his words, lost as he completely fills you with his cock. he start out slow, tortuously slow, letting you feel every inch of him against your walls as he almost completely pulls back before thrusting back inside of you. his hands dig into your hips, nails leaving crescent shaped marks as he held you in place.

your eyes clench shut, tears pooling in the corners as he speeds up, slamming into you. your knuckles turn white from how hard your gripping the sheets. the only thing leaving your mouth was his name. "that's right, baby. let me hear you scream out my name. let every know who's fucking you stupid."

you cry out his name, eyes rolling back when his hands push on your stomach bulge. your back arches more with his touch, leaving your back the perfect canvas for leehan's lips. he leaves your entire back covered in bruises as he continues to slam into you, loving that you turned into a sobbing mess beneath him.

"my good girl." you cry when his hand threaded itself into your hair, yanking you up with a sharp tug, groaning when he feels you squeeze his dick. "you're just mine to ruin, aren't you?"

he could tell you were already there, tears running down your cheeks as you begged him. "leehan, please. i- i need you."

"you have me baby." he coos, tongue trailing along your cheek, catching the salty tears with a groan. "do you want more? are you going to let me fill this pussy, so she knows who she belongs to?"

"please."

he lets your hair go, your face pressing into the mattress as he picks up his speed. he groans when you squeeze around him, stomach coiling tightly, signaling your climax. his hand moved around you, mercilessly rubbing your clit. you see stars, clenching your eyes so tightly as you cum. leehan groans at the feeling of you, thrusting into you a few more times before he fills you with his release.

the two of you stay in that position as you come down from your highs. leehan leans over you, pressing sweet kisses to your spine which was a complete contrast to how he just was. his hands run soothing circles on your hips as he pulls out of you. you hiss at the loss of contact, letting leehan roll you over on your back before covering you with his body.

"you did so good, my sweet girl." you smile at the compliment, grabbing his face before kissing him which he responds to instantly. he runs his hands all over your body, massaging the tender areas, leaving you moaning into his mouth.

"we picked the worst time of the year to get together. we're all sweaty." you complain as you pull away. you were right- the both of you were covered in sweat. leehan's hair was damp and sticking to his forehead, and you could feel yours clinging to your neck.

leehan laughs against your lips before kissing you again. "it's not all bad."

"why's that?"

leehan wraps you around his body once again, making you gasp as he stands up. he laughs, kissing your cheek as he carries you back to where everything started.

"because now i get to clean you up before doing it all over again."

[omniscientpapaya]

The Flat Fuck and her assistant OV-9147, Ogilvy for short, discussing VERY important matters. The Imperial Day Spa is under renovation and she describes in great detail what type of pool tiles she wants (20x20cm green sukabumi stone tiles with a honed finish oooooo)

When the hot spring area was renovated the manufacturer sent 15x15 tiles instead of 20x20. Of course, the emperor had everyone involved in this careless mistake eradicated and the stone tile company shut down. Going through the whole process again would be quite tedious and certainly not easy on her nerves, so Ogilvy pays close attention to what their emperor says to make sure nothing goes wrong this time

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

Damnit, she remembers the strawberry preserves incident! Randall blushed with a little grin, recalling him telling her the story long, long ago, just as his mother had recounted it to him with great fondness and amusement: How he managed to somehow get his hands on some freshly-made preserves his mother had just jarred and downed the whole thing, getting himself plenty sticky and smeared with strawberry in the process.

"Oh, it was plenty of fun!" June snorted, shaking her head as she thought back to that sunny spring day-she leaves the room for two minutes, and her son makes an absolute mess of himself and the kitchen counter. "I just remember him sitting there on the counter, all big-eyed, with strawberry...everywhere! His clothes, his hair, the countertop, oh, it was a mess!"

"And he'd just had a bath too!" Wilhelm added, as he looked to his son-who was looking a bit like a strawberry now, given the way he was blushing. "Junie and I had given him a bath after breakfast, I went out to grab something from the corner market, and when I come back, she's got our boy back in the tub!"

He was deeply bewildered by that: He looked at his son, peering out at him over the side of the tub, and then to June, who was dropping a set of red-stained clothes into the hamper, commenting with a hollow laugh, "You won't believe what your son did!"

As Wilhelm continued to regale Emily with some of Randall's other misadventures, June couldn't help but wonder if there was a way to give Emily back that taste of her favorite berry. She had to drink blood to survive, but would it still be possible for her to enjoy what she used to love, all those years ago? Could there be a best of both worlds, she wondered?

[sangunary]

Yandere BatFam x other dimension Reader.

SYPNOSIS: In another world they did love you.

IMP: Reader did get neglected in her dimension.

>Part 1< >Part 2<

You've never been a figure or anything important, not something worth the light. Even in picture everybody looked so good and you're just there, even just from a glance it's hard to notice you.

You've tried to shine to take that light everybody else have in their grip but the light was purposefully avoiding you.

No amount of grade, beauty or perfection would make you their baby. Someone they cared for.

You weren't some star like them just the black sheep, everybody else have a life they can call theirs but your life was already written out for you, every possible things already carved out by everyone else but yourself.

Unlike Dick you weren't charming or good looking everything about him was amazing and admirable... The first Robin and the first to become their own person. Not even Bruce get to curve his story...

He treat his siblings equally, that was what he preached... It was true. You weren't a family to him, you didn't matter enough to be apart of his family.

Even when Jason decided to started killing you stayed by his side, brought him food and even tried to build an actual relationship but it was no use.

Everybody called you desperate for crawling to him when he needed somebody and the moment he healed(kind of) he throw you away. Ignoring how you were the only one who stood up for him, took all the insult and humiliation for his sake yet he took you for granted.

You took the word, hit and almost got disowned, for somebody who doesn't even care. You almost died for somebody you thought was your brother yet he didn't do shit when the family almost disowned you for staying by his side... Didn't offer home or solace. Just ignored your suffering for his sake.

Tim was smart everything you adore in a brother, stayed by his side spent sleepless nights just to watch over him when he was in the hospital, trying your best to support your brother who you fear might die.

Yes, everyone didn't get enough sleep but you didn't even sleep stayed by his side to make sure no harm could happened to him. Took your time to read book's knowing he can't even hear you, doing everything.

Yet when he opened his eyes he hugged the family and not you, even have the audacity to ask you to go out while they had some 'family' catch up...

Damian was one hell of a monster, yet you never gave up on him. He was just a kid and you wanted to be the admirable older siblings you never had.

It wasn't easy it never was, the constant lie about you to everyone and yes nobody in this world pity you enough to hear your side... Yout life was already hell and it wad just unfair how everybody else got what they wished for and you never get anything... Not even a family.

To the eyes of the media you were the black sheep often left out even in family portraits or any major Wayne gala, just some avarage citizen that was living the life...

Bruce couldn't remember your name's at times blaming it on old age, Alfred only saw you as an extra mouth nothing more nothing less.

Even when The joker kidnapped you and made Bruce choose between you and Catwoman he almost hesitate, you were never the first or second, you weren't an option to everybody... Just some extras living with them to make them look better.

Being you was painful itself, when your family who were supposed to be the hero rejected your presence.

So, when you accidentally step into another dimension you became attached.

Your false family loved you to no ends, you were dead in that universe... Dying a gruesome death.

Yet when they saw you alive even tho you weren't their family they cherished you and most importantly treat you like a family.

There was no more I no more threats just a loving family.

Who will do whatever to make you stay.

"I like this" You told them, you couldn't help but smile.

You've never played games with your actual family before, to them you were an actual bot with nothing interesting.

"Oh, you won't like it for long... I'll beat you"

Tim said as he aggressively nudge at you to make you lose control.

"Hey! That's cheating, someone take him out!"

Barbara stood up for you.

"Everything is fair in games... As long as you're the winner"

Damian speak up as he instinctively grab Tim hoodie and cover his eyes with it. To let you win.

"That's cheating! I should have won"

"Everything is fair in games... Just gotta have the right support"

You couldn't help it, everybody were together. You were finally in the picture, you didn't have to fit in they just have to accept you and they absolutely did.

You couldn't help but tear up, your heart aching slightly.

"Little wing are you okay? Should w-"

Dick spoke before he was cut off by Damian.

"Let's beat up Tim, he made them cry"

"Huh?! Im the one that lost... Your violence towards me make them scared!"

Before anyone else could argue on who made you cry Jason who was just there because of you spoke up.

"Don't be so obnoxious and loud... They're obviously emotional for a good reason. Bunch of wannabe adult in this room"

With that said he would gave you this handkerchief which was very unusual of him.

Taking a seat next to you on the ground as he pick up the extra controller, not even weirded out by your suddenly burst of tears just pure understanding.

Your Jason was the one who kick you aside the moment he felt healed but this one... He was trying his best to comfort you, he didn't like to be so upfront yet he was doing this to save you from embarassment and a little comfort.

Looking at the Handkerchief you couldn't help but smile, the same one you gave to your Jason when he came back but the one you made was burned into crispy by the very person you made for. He took it and throw it inside the crumbling building that was ignited into flames by him.

Called it a waste of fabric and time, not worth his precious time or life even tho you spend weeks stitching everything by hand... You just wanted to encourage him to be better you didn't knew he would take offence to your kindness.

There was some holes on the handkerchief yet it was extremely clean and ironed... He seems to cherish it alot.

"Took it everywhere and I ruined it, it was my lucky charm but you're here now so you'll be a good replacement"

"I don't think being compared to a literal fabric is fulfilling"

Duke commented.

"It's not just a fabric it's made by our beloved sibling here, shame on you Duke, shame on you"

Stephanie tease him with a fake offended look.

"They only made it for Jaybird... Im abit upse- Very upset"

Dick decided to bring another reason to start a full on war again.

"Hey! I want one but with our special logo!"

"This is childish, but I need one for a good purpose"

"Im the oldest so I should be first"

"Want one"

"Enough!"

Bruce spoke up, seems like all the arguing had finally went into his brain.

"As your Father... I am first priority"

"Master Bruce, as your somewhat father I must be the first I insist"

This was what family should be, united and happy. One that are willing to be by yourside even at your worst, willing to take the hit with you and just be ourselves to eachother without shame.

While you were finally getting the life you deserved your actual family were crumbling. Trying to find you, turning every nook and crook up side down.

Gotham was turning into literal hell, they were acting like dog hound pounding onto anyone who they assume have information on your whereabouts.

It seems like they have finally realised your worth. But you've already replaced them.

You were slowly healing but too bad they won't tolerate being replaced.

Watch me flop.

[harianaswhore]

⟡ ₗₐₙdₒ ₙₒᵣᵣᵢₛ ⟡

NONE OF THESE ARE WRITTEN BY ME

ᵐʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʳᵉᶜˢ ᶠ¹ ʳᵉᶜˢ

— ᶠᴸᵁᶠᶠ ⟡

i can't help but push you away, my dear, self sabotage is all i know - @amaranthineghost

home is where he is (^)

can i get a kiss? - @uglyducklingofthe2000s

it's autumn sunset (^)

a flawless muse (^)

bruised (^)

i want you here (^)

he knows he's won (^)

tier 1 clinger (^)

period cuddles - @thepersonnamedsam

my model, my inspiration, my muse, my everything - @foreveralbon

lando as your bf - @mirohlayo

your lando's lipstick mark (^)

a birkin bag - @xhopelesslyromanticx

hugs, pouting and kisses - @unformula1

the girlfriend test - @pucksandpower

dramatic mornings are perfect with you - @wintfleur

darling i'm okay i promise (^)

hair dryers and promised mimosas (^)

the slip up - @loveluvrs

unfamilar (^)

lucky charm - @katsu28

i can't lie to you - @missnxthingg

"who scratched my car?" - @multiversesweets

champagne coast - @snoopyracing

fake amnesia - @fangirl-dot-com

a flirt - @lcriedlastnight

hyperpigmentation - @rose24207

stream interrupted (suggestive) (^)

background cuddle (^)

flowers - @revolutionsingingintherainnn

i don't know who i am without you - @cutielando

dating lando norris - @missydior

we are the champions - @trentln4

cooking distractions - @paucubarsisimp

coming for you - @lazysoulwriter

pre-race problems (suggestive) (^)

thy trophy - @norristeria

pole position - @inkandapex

you are so kindness (^)

always you, always him - @charlotteking27

anytime, anywhere - @clovermoters

i blame love - @formulaonecrumbs

mommy? - @wondergirlsthings

spill your guts - @storyslover

mclaren sweethearts - @norristrii

that's not her, chat (^)

i know love - @norrisidous

what if it was 4ever - @universefcb

types of kisses - @f1samcro

in case of emergency - @astars-things

the perfect match - @tsunodaradio

— ᴬᴺᴳˢᵀ⟡

i love you more than myself - @uglyducklingofthe2000s

no one's first choice (^)

instant regret (^)

safe with me, love (!!!!! ATTEMPTED SA !!!!!) - @norrizzandpia

don't touch her (!!!! SPIKING DRINKS ATTEMPTED SA !!!!) - @pucksandpower

lines we cross - @isaadore

what the cameras didn't see - @f1girliefics

— ˢᴼᶜᴵᴬᴸ ᴹᴱᴰᴵᴬ ⟡

.JPG (just propose goddamnit) - @povlnfour

everybody talks (^)

whipped - @chrisevansonly

you're the only friend i need (besties but lowkey in love) - @norris55s

come and see me - @cl6teen

get his ass ! - @lewisvinga

white hearts - @sunrizef1

bows before bros - @maplesyrupsainz

birthday girl (^)

lost and found - @55szn

wonderland - @landoscar

espresso - @kindestofkings

i heard - @sharlsworld

walk him like a dog my dawg to be loved loudly (^)

let the light in (^)

cat and mouse (^)

the boy is mine - @chaostudee

aakhon meri teri - @revolutionsingingintherainnn

you and i - @tinycoffeeroom

please please please - @keerysfreckles

the start of something beautiful - @gasstationlady

xoxo, gossip girl - @oikarma

sports car (^)

love in the air (^)

poetry - @hugleclerc

so american - @barcameowski

you're dating him?! - @landoughnut

don't smile - @itsaintmebabe

— ˢᴱᴿᴵᴱˢ ⟡

used two - @norrizzandpia

you were never what i wanted but i need you now (^)

pr relationship - @f0point5

faking it - @no-144444

[woantohae]

Every breath you take || (Bob Reynolds x reader)

Summary: After a failed mission, in which Y/N ​​almost drowned trying to keep herself and Bob afloat, the man feels guilty for not being able to save them. Or more like, save her.

Author's note: Did you guys watch the new teaser of THUNDERBOLTS*???? I literally can't stop watching it and I repeat over and over again to find any new detaill of Sentry.

I'm gonna start writing more of Bob Reynolds because it's never enough <33

《tags: fluff, hints of angst, Bob being shy, mentions of drowning, angst, Bob being guilty for what happened》

Lost and insecure.

That's how Bob felt after having caused destruction in New York City. After having been the cause - or having been part of - such chaos that drove the city crazy.

He still didn't fully understand his powers and everything that he and... his other self were capable of. It hadn't been long since Valentina and her followers experimented on him to turn him into their weapon. But when he was able to escape Valentina's perfect varnished nails, he was able to feel a little calmer.

Until he felt the heavy gazes of the rest of the team again.

It wasn't like they did it on purpose to make him feel bad about himself, but they still hadn't forgotten what had happened. Bob knew it would take time to gain their trust and really become part of the group, but he was struggling to do so. He constantly made an effort to make small gestures and actions that showed he was trying hard. But the man always received a smile that was almost polite rather than genuine. He couldn't blame them though, Bob would be like that too if he were in the rest of them's place.

He always kept quiet. When Alexei, Yelena or Bucky spoke to him, he allowed himself to respond. Or when it was time to eat, he usually excused himself by saying that he wasn't hungry, but whenever the rest finished and went somewhere else, he would go to the kitchen, take a plate of food and eat it while silence surrounded him. The silence of the environment, because his head was always making noise.

If they didn't want to include him yet, he would wait. However, even if he didn't realize it, Y/N was always there trying to include him.

The girl didn't feel pity for the man. No, that was not it. She knew what he was going through, because she had also been through something similar, so she could understand him. Besides, there was no point in bringing up the past and blaming Bob for his actions, because every member of the team had done wrong in their past. Even her.

And now it's not like they were doing anything good either.

Y/N was fighting off four men who were trying to stop her. The team was on a mission to infiltrate the mansion of a drug dealer of the Soldier's serum, who was trafficking it to the least suitable people to manipulate it. They had fought and killed many of those who crossed their path to stop him. Staining their hands with blood, something they were already accustomed to.

After Y/N was able to finish off the men, she takes the suitcase with the samples and places the earphone in her ear.

"I already have the samples. We need to move before more of them arrive" she announces as she rushes to run through the hallways until she exits through the courtyard of the mansion.

"Got it. Guys, go to the meeting point" Yelena orders "Alexei will come for you"

"On my way!" The man says.

Y/N adjusts the suitcase in her hands and walks through the backyard that overlooks a large forest. It was obvious that such a person would live as far away from everything as possible to avoid being caught. In the distance she sees Bob waiting for her. They had agreed on this meeting place so that Alexei could come and pick them up in the helicopter. The spot was right on the edge of a cliff so that Alexei could stay in the air when he picked them up and escape as soon as they got into the helicopter. It was quite high from where they were, and as Bob waited he had seen how rocky it was down there and how the waves broke against the rocks in a violent impact.

Y/N comes to Bob's side and smiles at him, moving the suitcase triumphantly.

"I told you it would be easy," she tells him, catching her breath.

Bob, in the splendid Sentry suit, looked at her proudly and shyly at the same time.

"You should have let me go with you. Something could have happened to you," he mentions, looking over the girl's shoulder, in case someone unexpectedly came.

"Worried about me?" she asks amused. Bob blushes "Aww, no one has ever worried about me that much"

He smiles amused and looks away to the sky to see if Alexei is nearby. "Are you sure you want to wait for him? I could carry you in my arms so we can get out of here faster" the man points out, turning to look at her again.

"It's okay. They'll come for us," she points out, and her eyes widen as she sees a man sneak up behind Bob and hit him with a rock. "Bob!"

Y/N rushes to send the man flying away with her powers, while she watches as Bob staggers and falls off the cliff. She drops the suitcase and without hesitating twice, she throws herself after the brown-haired boy, who luckily doesn't fall into the rocks.

Bob falls into the depths of the sea, while Y/N dives right behind him to grab him. As she can, she grabs his arm and tries to pull him afloat, but he's heavier than her, so it's harder than it looks. As soon as she manages to lift him a little and pull him with her, Y/N gets her head out of the water while trying to get Bob's head to face the outside as well.

She tries to stay calm, but the desperation of not touching the ground consumes her. The waves crash against both of them, causing Y/N to start gulping water.

"Yelena...." she tries to speak.

"Y/N..... we are...... guys....." Yelena's voice is heard in her ear.

"We're in the water," she manages to say, before a wave covers them for a few moments.

Y/N clings to Bob's unconscious body, still straining to keep them both out of the water. She feels the tiredness take over every muscle in her body, feeling the temperature of the water freezing her with every passing second. Y/N spits out the water that enters her mouth and looks at Bob, who keeps his eyes closed.

"Please, Bob. Stay with me" she begs, hugging him against her as best she can to stay afloat "Stay with me..."

After that, Y/N closes her eyes.

Y/N opens them still feeling like she's in the sea. But she's relieved to look around the corners of her room.

She sits on the bed and sighs as she listens to the raindrops falling hard outside, feeling at peace for a moment until she remembers the man.

Bob.

Where is him? Is he okay?

These and more questions invade the girl's head.

"Shit" she curses and rushes to remove the sheets from her body, bringing her feet to the floor, but feeling an object that prevents her from moving.

Or rather, the body of a person.

"Ah! Shit!" he complains.

Y/N looks with surprise at the person, freezing in place as soon as she sees that it's Bob, sitting on the floor and removing the blankets from his body.

"Bob? What are you doing sleeping on the floor?" she asks him, kneeling down next to him.

Bob scratches his eyes and then looks at her.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," he replies in a low tone, as if he were embarrassed, "after the mission."

She gulps and a small smile curves her lips.

"Are you okay?" she asks, bringing her hand closer to his, but not touching it.

Bob nods.

"I'm sorry" he says suddenly.

Y/N frowns not quite understanding what he's referring to. "What are you sorry about?"

Bob stares at her with guilt flashing in his blue eyes.

"That I couldn't have saved you right away."

She looks down and shakes her head.

"It's not your fault" she lets him know. "We didn't see the guy coming and we didn't know what was going to happen after that either."

Bob closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, starting to feel the pain in his head spreading. He feels the guilt consume him and believes that the team will continue to hate him for what happened. Y/N shakes her head at the thoughts of the man in front of her.

"Stop blaming yourself Bob, no one will hate you for what happened" Y/N intertwines her fingers with his. “I don’t want to see you like this.”

Bob reconnects his gaze with hers, letting her fingers caress his.

“I don’t want you to hate me,” he admits in a whisper. “I’m supposed to be strong and have the power to protect you guys from anything. Protect you from anything, but I.... couldn’t. I was weak.”

She rushes to wrap her arms around him, feeling him hug her tightly, as if she were going to fade away from his arms. Y/N caresses his back, feeling the wool fabric of his blue vest that he wears to sleep. The girl feels him sob on her shoulder, feeling a weight on her heart.

"Bob, it's okay" she whispers.

They spend a little more time hugging each other until Bob calms down a little, still in her arms. When they separate, she puts her hands on the man's cheeks so that he looks at her.

"What happened doesn't make you weak. We can't always save others, but we can let ourselves be saved by others" she tells him softly, under the man's saddened gaze. "It's not your obligation to protect me, but I appreciate that you want to do it."

Bob reimains silent.

She lets out a sigh as she sees that the guilt is still eating him up inside. Y/N makes a face and stands up, being watched by Bob from the floor, with puppy dog ​​eyes.

"Come," she holds out her hand.

Bob frowns slightly and stands up holding her hand. Y/N leads him by the hand until he is in front of her bed, to which he opens his eyes like saucers.

"No, I can't...."

"Bob," she interrupts him.

With her look she seems to tell him that she will not let him continue sleeping on the floor, so he gives up and watches as Y/N lays down, leaving him a space on the bed. Hesitantly, he drops onto the bed and climbs inside, while Y/N covers him with the sheets. Bob gulps and doesn't know where to put his hands or how to position himself so as not to disturb her or make her feel uncomfortable, so the girl takes the initiative and puts her head on Bob's chest, putting an arm around his waist and hugging him. The brunette moves his hands slowly until he hugs her waist as well and feels the warmth of the closeness between them.

Bob prays that the girl can't hear the rapid beating of his heart against his chest, but he knows that's impossible with her so close to his chest. He doesn't care anymore though, because she's in his arms now and in that moment he knows that she's safe.

"I promise next time I won't let anything bad happen to you" he whispers as his eyes gaze out the window and out into the rainy night "I'll be watching you. Always"

She smiles and feels her heart warm at his words.

"I know" she lets him know "I promise you that too, Bob"

And both swear on their souls that such a promise will not be broken.

[mssishipi]

TASTE OF INDULGENCE

CHAPTER 1 — SO BITTER

Getting invited into bed with two insanely hot guys? A dream come true. Sim Jaeyun is everything you’ve ever fantasized about—soft, sweet, impossible to resist. And his boyfriend? Park Jongseong is the perfect mix of manly, dominant, and dangerously addictive.

So when they invited you to join their bed activities, you can't argue to say no despite of your situation. Who could blame you? They're insanely sexy and they're the ones insisting. They want you there. So why the hell is Jay acting so bitter about it?

warning: everyone is either gay or fruity, bi! jake, bi! jay, pansexual! reader, brief mention of: fxf, scissoring, open relationship, threesome (heeseung and his gf x reader). reader having a hard time enjoying actual sex, so reader masturbate like a man, she's so sexually deprived that she uses everything to get off, reader thirsting over jake, jealous angry jay.

explicit content ahead (smut): masturbation, threesome (switch jake, dom jay x sub reader), anal sex (mxm), fingering, cunnilingus, nipple play, dacryphilia, overstimulation, choking, pussy slapping, squirting, pain kink?, unprotected sex, throat fucking, dubcon-ish, biting, rough mean jay, MDNI. WC: 15.7K

want a taste?

You are so frustrated.

Why does sex feel amazing for everyone except you?

It's not like you don't know what it's supposed to feel like. You've read books, watched porn, listened to your friends rave about their latest hookups. They make it sound euphoric—breathless moans, trembling legs, mind-numbing pleasure. And yet, for you? Nothing.

Your first time was a disaster. The foreplay—if you could even call it that—was pitiful. The stretch burned.  It hurt. It hurt so much that you ghosted the guy afterward, deleting his number like he was nothing more than a bad memory. Because that's all he was. A mistake.

Maybe it was him. Maybe he was just bad at it. So you tried again, this time with someone older, more experienced. Surely he would know what to do. But no—it was the same damn thing. They couldn't get you off. It hurt. It burned. And worst of all? It was boring. Uncomfortable, frustrating, infuriating.

You sit there, listening to your friends gush about their wild sex lives, their earth-shattering orgasms, and you can't help but hate them a little. It's not fair. It's not normal.

Is it a you problem?

You tried something different. A woman. Maybe men just weren't built to handle you.

And at first, it was better. You liked touching her, liked making her feel good, liked watching her body shudder under your hands. But when it came to you? The same damn problem. The moment she touched you, it was like your body refused to respond. Even scissoring just felt like raw friction, nothing more than skin dragging against skin. It burned. It always burns.

You're so envious of others—for actually enjoying sex, for having partners who know how to touch them.

Meanwhile, you're stuck in your room, watching porn, getting yourself off because no one else ever gets it right. No one knows your body like you do.

You've spent night after night touching yourself, pushing your limits, exploring kinks you never even knew you had. Your vibrator's been through hell—drained, recharged, drained again—because you can't get enough of the pleasure it sends coursing through you.

Six times in a single night, and it's still not enough. It never is.

You're pathetic, aren't you? Masturbating like some desperate, sex-starved pervert. Plunging your fingers deep inside yourself, chasing the high that no real partner has ever been able to give you. Watching porn, imagining yourself in the girl's place—wishing it was you being touched like that, fucked like that, worshiped like that.

And after nearly a year of searching, experimenting, you've realized something. You cum the hardest when you watch groups. Threesomes, foursomes, full-blown orgies—bodies tangled together, hands everywhere, mouths everywhere. The way they touch each other, pay attention to every inch of skin, despite the numbers.

So, you decided to bring that into real life.

You replied to a guy looking for a one-time hookup with his girlfriend—a birthday gift for her, he said. It sounded perfect.

You told them it was your first time, and the three of you set some ground rules. He guided you gently, his fingers threading through your hair as you ate his girlfriend out. She was beautiful, and you loved every second of making her moan, feeling her thighs tremble beneath your tongue.

It soaked you. This was what you wanted. Giving them what they wanted. Letting him use your throat, over and over, watching him fuck his girlfriend while you licked her clit. That was the turn-on.

But then, his fingers slipped inside you. His girlfriend kissed you, her lips soft, her words so comforting. And yet— It burns.

You winced, tried to relax, but it was useless. That familiar, infuriating discomfort crept in again, killing whatever arousal you had.

You pulled away, forcing a smile, telling them to keep going, that it was okay if they didn't focus on you. Because you didn't need it. They were your type—both of them, so hot, so eager. You loved watching them touch each other. You loved licking his balls while he fucked her, loved playing with her breasts, pinching her clit.

Your pussy clenched at nothing while you watched her fall apart on his dick, her face blissed out in pleasure you knew you'd never feel.

And just like that, frustration settled deep in your gut.

Maybe sex just isn't for you. Maybe it never was. And maybe, at some point, you'll have to accept it.

But damn, you're jealous.

"Awww, they're so cute! Look at them holding hands!"

Wonyoung's voice practically drips with excitement as she nudges you, her perfectly manicured finger pointing toward the entrance of the café.

You follow her gaze, eyes landing on the two men walking in. Their hands are loosely intertwined, their strides in sync.

The shorter one has a face that's both sharp and soft, his jawline well-defined yet not too harsh, his high cheekbones giving him an almost ethereal look. His eyes—warm and expressive—contrast with the straight line of his nose and the fullness of his lips, God, what a handsome man.

The taller man, in contrast, carries a striking, almost intimidating presence. His facial structure is all sharp angles and strong lines—high cheekbones, a prominent nose bridge, a jawline - a sharp 120 degrees jawline.

You raise a brow, turning back to Wonyoung. "What's with them?"

"Nothing!" she chirps, grinning as she watches them take a seat. "It's just refreshing to see bro luh bro together."

You snort. You steal another glance at the pair. The shorter one is laughing now, dimples peeking out as he leans in, nudging the taller man playfully.

Sunoo arrives, setting down a tray with all of your orders. He follows your gaze, his own eyes landing on the two men.

"Oh, Jake and Jay?" he says, voice dropping slightly.

Wonyoung perks up immediately. "You know them?"

Sunoo plops down beside you, nodding as he starts distributing drinks. "Yeah, Jay's our club president. Never thought they'd are together, though. I mean—" He pauses, lowering his voice slightly. "They sound so straight."

Your eyebrows shoot up, and Wonyoung lets out an exaggerated gasp. "No way," she drawls, glancing back at them with renewed interest.

"Swear," Sunoo says, holding up a hand like he's making a vow. "Back in highschool, Jake always had that... golden retriever energy, y'know? Friendly, flirty, kinda dumb in a cute way. But Jay?" He scoffs.

"Jay was the heartbreaker. Like, he had this whole nonchalant thing going on—cool, detached, gave just enough attention to make a girl fall for him, then disappeared a week later. Maybe that was just his denial phase."

"And now they're holding hands in a café," Wonyoung muses, poking at the ice in her drink with her straw. "Everyone is being gay right now."

Sunoo hums in agreement, shrugging. "Yeah, because life is better when you're gay."

You huff out a quiet laugh, finally reaching for your drink. "Oh, you got matcha, right?" Sunoo asks, sliding the cup toward you.

You nod, mumbling a quick thanks, but your mind is barely in the conversation anymore. Your attention keeps slipping, your eyes betraying you as they flick back—again and again—to the couple sitting at the other table.

Because—if you're being honest—you've thought the Jake guy was attractive from the moment he walked in.

Sunoo and Wonyoung have moved on, their conversation shifting into casual university gossip, but their words barely register. Your focus is locked on Jake, on the way he sits, leaning slightly forward, lazily twirling his pen between those long fingers as he writes something down in a notebook. He says something to his boyfriend, smiling as he does.

That smile. Those lips. Plump. Soft-looking, the kind that part just enough to reveal a glimpse of teeth when he grins. The kind that would feel so—

You bite down on your straw.

No. Nope. You are not thirsting over a man who very obviously has a boyfriend.

And yet—your gaze drifts lower, down to his hands. His hands.

Slender, long fingers, veins subtly running beneath his skin. Knuckles slightly prominent as he flexes them, tapping his pen absentmindedly against the page. You swallow hard, mind spiraling down a path you know you shouldn't be going down, but fuck, you can't help it.

Those hands—how would they feel against your skin? Pressing against your thighs, spreading you open? Fingers sinking deep, stretching you just right? The thought alone sends a pulse of heat straight between your legs.

And his nose—fuck, his nose.

It's perfect. Straight, slightly defined at the bridge, the kind of nose that was made to be sat on. Your breath hitches as a vivid image flashes through your mind—his face buried between your legs, that perfect nose rubbing against your clit as he eats you out. You imagine his hands gripping your hips, holding you down as you ride his face, your fingers tangled in his hair, your moans breathy and desperate as you grind against him.

Would it actually feel as good as it looks in porn? You wouldn't know. But it doesn't hurt to imagine, right?

You shift in your seat, heartbeat thrumming in your ears. Your foot taps anxiously against the floor, your thighs pressing together, trying desperately to ignore the growing ache between them.

But just as you force your gaze down, trying to pull yourself out of your own head, a chill runs through you.

You feel it before you see it. Slowly, hesitantly, you glance back up—only to lock eyes with Jay.

Fuck.

He's looking right at you, his brow raises just slightly, like he knows exactly what you were thinking.

Your breath catches in your throat. Panic sets in, and you immediately tear your gaze away, heart hammering as you stare down at your drink.

Great. Just great. Not only are your panties soaked, but now you've got a pissed-off boyfriend glaring at you.

You don't even make it five minutes before bolting.

Some half-assed excuse—an emergency, you tell them, whatever the hell that means—and then you're gone. Practically fleeing back to your dorm, heart hammering, skin burning with embarrassment.

The second you step inside, you lock the door, press your back against it, and let out a shaky breath. You strip any piece of your clothing and went to the bathroom, turning on the water.

The shower is scalding but it does nothing to wash away the lingering heat in your core. You scrub your skin, try to shake off the feeling of want, but it clings to you.

Even after, sitting on the toilet in just your towel, your legs still feel weak. Your mind won't shut up, replaying the way Jake looked, the way Jay looked at you.

You feel so guilty.

But it's not like you actually did anything, right? You were just looking. It's not a crime to look. You tell yourself that over and over, forcing the thought down, gaslighting yourself into believing it.

It's normal. Completely normal. You just found him attractive. That's all. Then why does it feel so wrong?

Your fingers twitch against your thigh. Your whole body is tense, wound up tight, frustration eating you alive.

You don't think. You just act. Your hand reaches for the bidet, adjusting the angle, fingers trembling as the cold metal rests against your skin.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips as the water pulses against your clit, and your head tips back, shame curling tight in your stomach. You shouldn't be doing this. You know that.

But you can't stop. You're so pathetic.

Since it was your third year, the number of students had dwindled. Some had transferred to different courses, others had dropped out entirely, victims of whatever existential crisis they were facing. It was just the reality of being a college student.

The college retreat finally arrived, and you placed your bag in the train's storage before settling into your seat. Sunoo, already making himself comfortable beside you, had an eye mask covering his eyes and was snoring before the train even began to move.

You sighed, sinking into your seat, plugging in your wired headphones to drown out the chatter around you. As music filled your ears, you scrolled through your phone. Your gaze drifted downward, watching your foot tap lightly against the floor in time with the beat—until something small thumped against it.

A small bag. Frowning, you pulled out one earbud, wincing at the slight tug.

"Be careful, babe," a voice said. You looked up just in time to see Jay reaching down for the bag at your feet.

"I'm sorry," Jake murmured. The moment your eyes met his, your entire body froze.

You couldn't speak. Couldn't even move. Jay straightened, holding the bag, his gaze lingering on you for a second too long. Jake, oblivious, apologized again before walking off.

But Jay? He didn't move right away. He looked at you one last time before turning to follow Jake.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry.

Slowly, you put your headphones back in, forcing yourself to relax against your seat.

Why the fuck is it so hard not to look at him? Who could blame you, though? They were your batchmates, your classmates, and you hadn't even realized you shared the same major until now. And they were so close.

And so fucking hot.

Both of them were, to be fair. But Jay was the one who would kill you with his angry glares.

Your foot taps anxiously against the ground, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you fight the urge to glance over again. Don't look. Don't look. Don't look. But you do.

Across the room, your colleagues erupt into cheers, celebrating another round of drinks, but their voices fade into the background. You try—try—to engage, to smile, to socialize like a normal person, but your gaze keeps betraying you, flickering back to them.

Jake looks so happy. His face is flushed, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat of the room and the alcohol in his system. His smile is soft, a little lazy, dimples appearing as he giggles at something Jay mutters in his ear. He's a lightweight, that much is clear, and the alcohol is making him affectionate—leaning into Jay's shoulder, fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of his boyfriend's sleeve.

Jay is the complete opposite—calm, composed, sipping his drink with effortless elegance. He barely reacts as Jake presses closer, only tilting his head slightly, allowing him to rest against him. His fingers lazily ghost over Jake's knee, a silent acknowledgment, a small show of possession.

Your stomach tightens. Your mind wanders, slipping into dangerous territory, conjuring images you should not be entertaining.

Is Jake a bottom? Or is he a top?

No—no way. Look at him. He's so soft, so giggly, so touchy. If you had to bet, you'd say he's the kind of guy who'd melt under the right hands, who'd whimper when teased, who'd take it so well—

Your breath catches. Fuck.

And Jay—fuck, Jay is so manly. So effortlessly dominant. He doesn't even have to do anything, and yet he owns every space he's in. You can only imagine what he's like behind closed doors, when there's no one around to see—except Jake.

What does Jake sound like when he moans? Would his voice be high, needy? Would he gasp, or would he whimper? Would Jay be rough with him? Would he tease him, make him beg, make him squirm?

Would he— You squeeze your thighs together under the table, your nails pressing into your palms.

You need to stop.

"I need some fresh air," you blurt out, standing a little too fast, the chair scraping against the floor as you push back from the table. Sunoo barely acknowledge your sudden departure, too wrapped up in their own conversations, and you're grateful for it.

You make a beeline for the exit, your cheeks burning, your pulse erratic. The moment you step outside, the night air rushes over you, cool against your heated skin.

You take a deep breath. Then another. The cabin's outdoor area is quiet, save for the rustling of tall trees and the distant hum of music from inside. The air is fresh, crisp, but it does little to cool the wrong kind of heat pooling in your stomach.

"Fucking hell," you mutter under your breath, slapping your cheeks lightly, trying to shake yourself back to reality.

What the hell is wrong with you?

Is this how dry you are? Years of masturbating, of getting off alone, of chasing something that never quite hits—has it really reduced you to this? To thirsting over a taken man like some desperate, pathetic slut?

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. You march aimlessly in circles, feet pressing against the dirt path, trying to ground yourself—trying to shake the images still burning in your mind. You need to behave. Your pussy needs to behave.

After a while, you drop onto a wooden bench, pressing your palms against your knees, forcing yourself to breathe.

"Hey."

A voice startles you, and you whip around, heart nearly jumping out of your chest.

"Oh—Heeseung," you exhale, relaxing slightly when you see him standing there, hands in his pockets, the faint glow of the lights casting long shadows behind him.

He smirks. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. "Where's your girlfriend?"

"Inside, having fun with her friends." He steps closer, glancing at the empty space beside you. "Can I?"

You nod, shifting over to give him room.

He sighs as he sits, stretching his arms out along the back of the bench, tilting his head up to look at the sky. "Didn't think I'd see you out here alone."

"I needed a break," you say vaguely, not about to admit to the absolute filth running through your mind just minutes ago.

Lee Heeseung was the guy you met last summer—a music major with a healthy, happy open relationship with his girlfriend. You had joined them for one encounter, though nothing more came of it. After that, you stayed mutuals on social media, exchanging the occasional like or comment. His girlfriend, however had a habit of slipping into your DMs with suggestive messages, playful and teasing, making you chuckle every time.

"She misses you," he started, looking at you. "She was kind of disappointed, waking up and realizing you leave without cumming, telling me I'm such an asshole." He laughed, "well, maybe I was. I'm sorry."

You blink. Then, shaking your head, you wave a hand dismissively. "No, don't feel bad! It was a wonderful experience."

"You guys were amazing," you continue, turning to meet his gaze. "I loved watching you two, letting you use me, but I wasn't expecting anything. Seriously, don't feel guilty. I wanted to focus on her—on making her feel good."

Heeseung watches you for a beat, his lips curling slightly before he exhales, stretching his arms again along the back of the bench. "Ahh, I'm so glad I picked you." His tone is light, teasing. "You're really considerate, you know that?"

You shrug, grinning. "What can I say? I have a talent for that."

He laughs, shaking his head, but then his expression sobers slightly. "Still, I feel bad about that. I just thought—" He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. "That night, when you backed off... I figured touching you might've made you uncomfortable. I didn't wanna push it."

You blink. Oh. He thinks that's why?

"No!" you blurt, laughing, reaching out to slap his shoulder playfully. "It wasn't you, okay? That was totally a me issue."

Heeseung raises a brow, tilting his head. "What kind of issue?"

You hesitate. Do you tell him? It's not exactly something you go around sharing, but it's just the two of you out here. You think Heeseung has always been easy to talk to—never judgmental, just curious, open.

So, you sigh, deciding to just be honest. You tell him everything—how you get aroused easily, how your body wants it, craves it, but the moment someone actually touches you, it all goes wrong. How you can't seem to relax, how their touch feels too much, too uncomfortable. How it burns.

Heeseung listens, his brows furrowing slightly as he processes your words.

When you finish, he shifts, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Shit," he breathes, his voice softer now. "I—fuck, I'm sorry." His eyes widen, guilt flickering in them. "I—We tried to touch you. I slipped a finger inside. And you didn't say anything. I didn't even realize—"

You shake your head quickly, waving him off. "Don't feel bad."

"But it hurt," he says, like he's trying to wrap his head around it, his breath hitching slightly.

"Well, yeah," you admit, leaning back against the bench. "It burns."

Heeseung lets out a quiet, almost guilty laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Fuck. I feel like such an asshole now."

"You're not," you assure him, nudging him with your knee. "Seriously. It's fine. I wanted to be there. I wanted to do that. And I did enjoy it—I loved watching you two." You flash him a grin. "Plus, your girlfriend? Hot as hell."

That makes him chuckle, shaking his head again. "She is, huh?" He glances at you, eyes softer now. "But... you? You didn't get anything out of it?"

You shrug, sighing. "That's just how it is for me, I guess."

There's a moment of silence between you, filled only by the distant hum of laughter and music from inside. Heeseung sits back again, stretching his legs out in front of him, staring up at the sky as if he's thinking.

"I'm actually here to convince you to do it again with us," Heeseung admits, rubbing a hand over his face awkwardly.

Your eyes widen. "What?"

He laughs, a little sheepishly. "Yeah—uh, she said I should probably, you know, lick you as a take-back and propose the idea of doing it again because the sex was so good." His grin turns teasing before he sighs, shaking his head. "But... I don't know. I've been thinking about it, considering your situation, and my conscience just can't take it."

You open your mouth, unsure of what to say. "I—I..." You hesitate, then finally admit, "Honestly? I would like to do it again with you guys. It was a good experience, and you were both so kind—"

"But," Heeseung interrupts, giving you a pointed look. "I don't want to do it again knowing that you're probably not enjoying it."

"Hey," you protest, frowning. "I said I enjoyed it."

Heeseung groans, slumping back against the bench. "Still."

You laugh at the sheer misery in his voice. "What, is your ego that fragile?"

He gives you a side-eye. "Yes. Absolutely."

You shake your head in amusement. "So... what now? You going to find someone else for your little proposition?"

Heeseung exhales dramatically, staring off into the distance. Then he shakes his head. "Nah." His gaze flickers back to you, lingering for a brief second before he smirks. "Damn, though—you and my girlfriend are such freaks in the best way. It's hard to find someone like that. Plus, you're sexy as fuck."

Your lips twitch, amused. "Oh?"

"And your gag reflex?" Heeseung groans, running a hand through his hair. "Impressive. I'd rate the blowjob five stars, easy."

You laugh, playfully flipping your hair over your shoulder. "Why, thank you."

"But," he sighs, dramatically placing a hand over his chest, "I'm letting you go."

You pout, exaggerating your disappointment. "Awww."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he says, waving you off. "I actually rehearsed a whole ass speech before coming over here, thinking I'd convince you to join us again —but honestly, I'd just be disappointing my girlfriend." He chuckles, shaking his head. "It's okay, though."

You exhale, feeling a strange mix of relief and... loss?

"I'm sorry," you murmur.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Heeseung says, more serious now. "Don't think I'm letting you go just because you can't get off. That's not the reason. I don't want you to be hurt, and well..." He pauses, his voice lowering slightly.

"There were... things my girlfriend and I discussed doing to you. But after hearing what you said, I don't think it'd be a good idea anymore."

You swallow, his words sinking in. Another experience, another opportunity taken away because of your body's refusal to cooperate.

Heeseung must see something in your face because he groans, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fuck, I feel so bad now. Can I make it up to you? Food? Something sweet for making you feel bad?"

You shake your head, a small smile playing on your lips as you look at him. "Is it okay if we kiss?"

Heeseung looks momentarily caught off guard, but then he shrugs. "Sure, why not?"

"Wait—doesn't this feel morally wrong? Like, cheating?"

He snorts. "You do know we fuck other people, right?" Heeseung raises a brow, amused. "Besides, she's the one who suggested I should eat your pussy as an apology."

You scrunch your nose. "Yeah, but I wouldn't enjoy it."

Heeseung clutches his chest, "Fuck—you don't have to say it like that. Even I can't please you, huh?"

You burst into laughter before leaning in, pressing your lips against his.

His hands immediately find your waist, gripping you firmly as he responds, lips parting slightly as he follows your lead. The heat between you builds quickly, the moment shifting as your fingers tangle in his hair.

You move, climbing onto his lap, your thighs pressing against his hips as his hands slide down, settling on the curve of your ass. His tongue flicks against yours, deepening the kiss, and he practically shoves it down your throat, savoring the moment and leaving a last impression.

And just a few feet away, standing unnoticed in the shadows beyond the cabin's back entrance, Jay remains completely still—leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. Watching. Listening.

You don't even remember how you ended up in bed that night. One moment, you were locked in a messy make-out session with Heeseung outside, and the next, you were back in the cabin, drink in hand, relieved to find that Jake and Jay were nowhere in sight.

You actually enjoyed drinking with everyone. Maybe because you had let out a problem that had been weighing on you. Maybe because there were no distractions around the circle—nothing tempting, nothing forbidden, nothing that made your skin burn with frustration.

Even Sunoo—who could usually outdrink everyone—ended up absolutely wasted.

A loud, piercing voice jerks you from unconsciousness.

"WAKE UP! EVERYONE GET READY FOR TODAY'S ACTIVITY!"

Your brain screams in protest, eyes squeezing shut as the harsh sunlight spills across your face. Around you, deep groans of agony echo through the cabin, everyone waking up in a collective hangover-induced suffering.

You stiffen, you felt something heavy weighing against you.

Blinking, you squint through the brightness—only to realize Sunoo is wrapped around your waist, his deep snores vibrating against your back. What the hell?

You tilt your head, glancing around groggily. Why are you in a room full of men?  Several guys are already getting up, shuffling around in various stages of disarray, stretching, groaning, rubbing their faces in exhaustion.

Panic jolts through you as you slap Sunoo's arm. "Did you bring me here?!"

He winces, barely cracking one eye open before scowling and slapping your back in revenge. You groan at the sting.

"Both of us were drunk as fuck," he grumbles. "Do you really think I had the brainpower to take you to the right room?" He shifts, kicking off the blanket, pulling a pillow over his face.

"Agh, fuck, the seniors are so noisy," he groans, muffled. "Let me fucking sleep."

Your mouth falls open in disbelief. Then, you glance down at yourself. The blanket is covering most of your legs, but... something feels off.

A memory flashes through your mind—you and Sunoo, stumbling into the room last night, singing like idiots, collapsing into bed. You kicking off your pants because it felt too hot. Your stomach drops.

"Where are my fucking pants?" you whisper harshly, panic creeping in as you glance around. Other guys are groggily stretching, pulling on hoodies, running hands through messy hair, and you suddenly want to die.

"Uh... hey," a familiar voice calls.

You freeze. Slowly, hesitantly, you turn your head. And immediately wish you hadn't.

"Is this yours?" Jake stands a few feet away, holding your pants. But that's not the problem.

The problem is that he's shirtless, fresh water dripping from his hair, rolling down his bare shoulders, glistening over his defined chest and abs— Don't look lower. Don't look lower.

Oh, fuck, those abs.

"Y-Yes!" you blurt, scrambling to sit up. "Thank you!"

You practically launch yourself off the bed, tripping over the blanket as you grab your pants from his hand. Your fingers brush against his slightly—warm, damp from his shower—and your entire body locks up.

Jake just grins at your flustered state. "Rough night?" he asks, amused.

You don't answer. You can't.  Your face is burning, your thoughts spiraling, and the only thing that matters is getting the fuck out of there.

You mumble a quick, "Thanks," grabbing your pants with shaky fingers. Turning away, you hurriedly step into them, nearly tripping in your rush to cover yourself. Your hands fumble with the waistband as you stumble toward the door.

You don't look back. You don't see the way Jay's gaze follows you. The way his eyes drag down your body, your ass, the way his fingers twitch, his knuckles flexing as his grip tightens.

A scoff breaks the silence. "Enjoy flirting with that girl?"

Jay leans back against the bedframe, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes flick toward Jake, who is casually applying lotion to his arms, completely unbothered.

Jake doesn't even glance up. "Everything is such a big deal to you."

"Yeah," Jay mutters, his jaw tightening, "because you know she wants to fuck you. And you just gave her a reason to touch herself thinking about you." His voice is flat and bitter. "Do you want to fuck her?"

Jake lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head at Jay's possessiveness.

Then, without warning, he leans forward, pressing in close, his lips brushing against Jay's ear as he murmurs, "Come on... don't pretend you don't want to fuck her too."

You hear Sunoo grunt beside you as everyone gathers in a large circle for today's activity. Your shoulders sink slightly—there are too many people, too much noise, and the closeness makes your skin prickle with discomfort.

Before you can dwell on it, someone calls your name.

Heeseung's girlfriend appears beside you, slipping her arm through yours. Heeseung follows a step behind, hands in his pockets, watching the two of you with mild amusement.

Conversation flows naturally between the three of you. She's playful, teasing, and when the moment strikes, she leans in to press a quick kiss to your cheek before Heeseung pulls her away with a laugh, shaking his head.

You huff out a chuckle, shaking off the flustered warmth lingering on your face. The fresh air feels nice, even with Sunoo rambling beside you, half-awake and barely filtering his thoughts.

"There's some dirt in your hair."

You pause, caught off guard by the voice behind you. You blink at Jay as he gestures vaguely toward your head. Your fingers immediately reach up, brushing through your hair, searching for whatever he's talking about.

Before you can find it, another voice cuts in.

"Can't get off?"

Your eyes snap to Jake, heartbeat stuttering.

Sunoo frowns beside you. "What?"

Jake grins. "I mean—you can't get it off." He reaches out, plucking something from your hair—a small leaf—and twirls it between his fingers before letting it drop. He and Jay don't wait for a response. They just turn, walking off, their presence fading into the crowd.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Sunoo clicks his tongue, slipping his hand into yours as he pulls you along. "What's wrong with them?"

The activity is divided into groups, and you've been paired with your colleagues. The rules are simple: win the games, and your team gets to decide what food to eat. With everyone desperate for a good meal, the competition turns chaotic.

The entire field is a mess—people running, yelling, tackling each other for flags. You and Sunoo are no exception, darting up and down the hill, breathless and determined.

"I fucking want some steak!" you scream, gripping the colored flag in your hands like your life depends on it.

Behind you, Sunoo is just as wild, holding onto another flag. "We are not eating instant noodles again!" he howls, voice cracking mid-sentence.

But just as victory feels within reach, another group surges past, shrieking in triumph.

Your stomach drops as you watch them hoist their flags in the air, the whistle blowing to signal their win.

Gravity betrays you. You and Sunoo crash to the ground, tumbling into a heap, dirt and grass sticking to your clothes. You groan, lying there for a moment, staring up at the sky in defeat.

"Goddamn it," Sunoo mutters. "I wanted seafood."

A hand appears in your vision. Someone is helping you up. You grab hold, letting yourself be pulled to your feet. "But I wanted steak," you whisper, still eyeing the victorious group with bitter jealousy.

A soft chuckle sounds behind you. "Must be frustrating."

Your brows furrow. You turn, only to find Jake standing there, hands lazily tucked into his pockets, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes.

"What?" you ask, confused.

He takes a step closer, reaching out. His fingers barely brush your shoulder as he tugs off a piece of dirt clinging to your shirt.

Then, he leans in—just slightly, just enough for only you to hear— "Never getting what you want."

Your body tenses, a shiver running down your spine. Because no fucking way—this isn't about the game.

Your mind races, trying to make sense of it.

You stay in the shower longer than you should, the hot water running over your skin, but doing nothing to wash away the unease settling in your chest. Some of the other girls have already finished, wrapping themselves in towels, chatting about the day's activities. A few glance your way, concern flickering across their faces.

"Are you okay?" one of them asks. You don't answer. You just stand there, naked, staring at the tiled floor, your hands limp at your sides.

"Can't get off?"

"Must be frustrating, never getting what you want."

A chill runs down your spine. Jake's words loop in your head, over and over, like an echo you can't shake off.

Your brain scrambles, piecing together every interaction—every weird moment leading up to this. First of all, you don't even know Jake. One day, you were just thirsting over him from a distance, admiring him like some campus crush. Your second interaction—if you could even call it that—was when he dropped his bag in front of you. No words exchanged, just a moment of awkward eye contact before he walked away.

Then last night—when you looked at him again, when you got caught looking. By his boyfriend, Jay.

And then? The sudden shift. The randomness of it all. Why did Jake start talking to you out of nowhere? Could it be because of the pants? The morning embarrassment? But no—his comments weren't just casual teasing. They were pointed. Suggestive. And worst of all, relatable.

Your stomach twists. Your mind flashes back to last night.

You had stepped out for fresh air. You had talked to Heeseung. You make out with him. And when you went back inside— Jay and Jake were gone.

Your breath hitches.

Fuck.

Your hand grips your hair, heart pounding. Could they know? No. No way. That's impossible. Right?

Three more days, and the retreat would be over.

If Jake and Jay knew, then all you had to do was avoid them until you got back to campus. No unnecessary conversations, no eye contact, no chance for them to slip more suggestive comments into your ears and make your skin crawl.

It was the last night of the retreat, the final stretch before you could return to normal life.

The final activity was a mountain climb. The goal was simple—make it to the top and back before 8 o'clock. But the moment the seniors announced it, you just stood there, dumbfounded. What the actual fuck were they thinking?

Sure, a hike sounded fun in theory, but at night? In an unfamiliar area? Terrible idea. Most of the students murmured in protest, some even flat-out refusing, but somehow, you ended up participating. Why? Because Sunoo, your only companion in this nightmare, begged you to come along, promising that he wouldn't survive without you.

Now, with each step up the steep incline, you're regretting it.

"We need to go back down soon," you huff, pausing to catch your breath. "Before the sun sets. I don't trust the seniors—they're probably planning some shit."

Sunoo, hunched over beside you, dramatically clutches his chest. "What?! Can you just— give me five minutes to breathe?" He whines, panting. You roll your eyes but grab his wrist anyway, tugging him forward. "Come on. I have a bad feeling about this."

While walking in the middle of the forest to go down, both of you stop when you hear a scream.  Not just any scream—bloodcurdling, echoing through the trees, sending a violent shiver all through your body.

Your body stiffens. "What the fuck was that?"

Sunoo barely has time to respond before more sounds erupt—heavy footsteps, frantic rustling, the unmistakable pounding of people running.

The flashlights around the area flicker out, plunging everything into a suffocating black void.

Your breath catches. "No, no, no—"

Sunoo grabs your wrist. "Run."

You don't question it. The two of you bolt, feet crashing against the uneven ground, dodging low branches, blindly navigating the terrain. You don't even know what you're running from—only that fear is thrumming through your veins, keeping your legs moving.

In the middle of running, in the darkness, your grip on Sunoo slips.

"Sunoo?!" You gasp, stumbling as you lose sight of him.

"Keep running!" You heard him shout, but his voice are distant.

You're alone.

Heart hammering, you stagger forward, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Your legs are aching, your hands trembling as you reach out blindly, searching for stability.

Finally, your fingers brush against rough bark. A tree. You collapse against it, sinking down to the ground, your back pressing into the trunk as you try to calm the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

The silence around you is deafening. You close your eyes, stabilizing your breath when you heard a twig snaps.

Your eyes fly open, and panic takes over. A scream tears from your throat as you kick out wildly, scrambling backward, heart hammering in your ears but a hand clamps over your mouth.

"Shhh," a hushed voice murmurs against your ear, warm breath ghosting over your skin. "Unless you want the seniors to hear and make fun of you more."

The low timbre sends a shiver down your spine. A firm arm snakes around your waist, pulling you against something solid and warm.

You tilt your head, catching a glimpse of soft curls, of a lazy, curling smirk beneath the dim glow of the moonlight.

Jake. His scent is so close—clean, a little woody. It makes your head feel light, makes your thoughts blur at the edges. And his eyes—fuck, his eyes. Dark, glinting, lashes so long.

Your throat tightens. With a sharp breath, you yank his hand away from your mouth, coughing as you shift awkwardly in his hold. "W-What?"

Jake grins. "Relax. The seniors are just scaring the juniors. That's the 'big activity.'"

You scowl, turning your head away. "I know that."

He laughs, low and amused. Then, before you can react, he tugs you down beside him, making you squeal.

"Why are you so awkward?" he teases, settling back against the tree trunk, looking at you like he's enjoying every second of this. "I just wanted to talk to you."

You swallow, shifting uncomfortably. "You have a boyfriend."

"And yet," he murmurs, leaning in slightly, "you keep staring at me like I don't."

Your body reacts before you can stop it, thighs pressing together instinctively at the way his voice drops, at the heat curling in his gaze.

"T-That's micro-cheating," you whisper, trying to steady your voice. You pressed your hand around his chest, stopping him from getting any closer.

Jake chuckles. "It's not—" he leans in, his nose grazing your cheek, his breath fanning over your skin, "—when he's aware of it."

Your eyes widen, lips parting in shock just as his tongue flicks against your earlobe. A sharp, involuntary sigh escapes you, your body shuddering at the sensation.

He smirks. "Sensitive?"

"S-Stop," you stammer, hands pressing against his chest in a weak attempt to push him away.

But Jake doesn't budge. Instead, he pouts—actually pouts—his fingers curling around your wrist, gently prying your grip from his shirt. "Why? Don't you want me?" His voice is teasing.

"I know you've participated in threesomes." Your breath catches at his bold statement.

"I'm just interested in you joining us," he continues, his tone light, almost casual, like he's suggesting something as simple as grabbing a coffee.

Your thighs press together. Because fuck—fuck, it's too easy to imagine it. Two mouths. Two bodies. Two dicks.

The kind of scenario you've watched over and over in the videos you get off to. The kind of scenario that should have you saying yes without hesitation.

But then you remember. His words from the past few days. The suggestive phrases, you felt that he was toying with something deeply personal to you.

Your arousal sours, replaced by a dull ache of frustration. You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, to focus. "I know that you also know my situation."

Jake tilts his head slightly, curious about where you're going with this.

Your voice hardens. "I'm not the girl you're looking for. Yes, you're hot. Your boyfriend too. But—" You swallow thickly, fingers curling. "Do you think it's a little insensitive of you?"

His brows lift, you take a steadying breath. "I got turned down from experiencing a threesome because of my issue." The words taste bitter on your tongue, resentment creeping in despite yourself. "So what makes you think this would be any different?"

Jake stays quiet for a moment. His fingers are still wrapped around your wrist but the teasing glint in his eyes has dimmed slightly. Not completely gone—just softened, like he's listening now.

You use the moment to pull your hand free and leave him alone, despite of being scared in the dark.

The next morning, as you pack your things, your mood is bitter. Sunoo notices immediately but doesn't press, only throwing you occasional glances as he folds his clothes into his bag.

By the time you're on the train, settled into your seat, the frustration inside you has only grown. You stare out the window, thoughts spiraling, the rhythmic movement of the train doing nothing to calm you down.

Sunoo, beside you, nudges your arm gently. "Is it because I left you alone?" His voice is small, pouting as he holds your hand.

You blink, turning to him briefly before exhaling a heavy sigh. "God, no."

"Then what?"

You lean back against the seat, rubbing your temple. "I'm just... frustrated."

Sunoo raises an eyebrow. "Frustrated about what?"

You don't answer immediately, pressing your tongue against the inside of your cheek as you avoid his gaze.

"Frustrated about everything," you murmur, voice low, more to yourself than to him.

Sunoo watches you for a moment before sighing, deciding to let it go.

But your mind doesn't. You think about it. Threesomes are the best. You love everything about them—the attention, the pleasure, the thrill of being used by more than one person at once. You've spent countless nights fantasizing about being sandwiched between two bodies, your moans muffled against warm skin, hands gripping your thighs, your body bent and spread, completely taken.

The thought alone makes your stomach tighten. But, what's the point if your body refuses to cooperate? If every touch that should send you over the edge instead makes you feel like you're burning from the inside out?

And come on—you know yourself. You don't want to put yourself in a situation where you'll just end up jealous again, where you'll watch pleasure unfold before you and be left with nothing but your own frustration.

You made the right choice. You should praise yourself for finally prioritizing your mental health this time. Because you know how this ends. A wet-ass pussy left hanging, again and again, with no relief.

"You're really dumb," Jay sighs in frustration, rubbing his face with his palm. His other hand rests on his waist as he stares at his boyfriend, unimpressed.

"Now, how are you supposed to convince that girl, huh? You scared her off."

Jake shrugs, unbothered. "Maybe you should go talk to her."

Jay's eyes widen before he scoffs, laughing sarcastically. "No fucking way."

He feels Jake's presence, familiar arms snaking around his waist from behind, pulling him close in a lazy, comforting embrace.

"I'm sorry," Jake murmurs, resting his chin on Jay's shoulder. "I know you told me to give it more time, but I was excited to approach her. You know I've been looking for the perfect third, right?"

Jay huffs, rolling his eyes. "I still don't get why you want a threesome so bad." He pries Jake's arms off his waist, turning to face him. His jaw tightens as he stares at his boyfriend. "Am I not fucking you right?"

Jake chuckles, tilting his head, eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, baby, you are—but that's not the point."

Jay crosses his arms, his annoyance growing. "Then what is the point?"

Jake shrugs, leaning casually against the table behind him. "I just want to add some spice. It's nothing personal—just something I'd like to try." He watches Jay carefully. "And I'm not forcing you, okay? If you don't want it, we don't have to. But you asked why, and I'm just telling you."

Jay lets out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair. Of course, Jake says it so easily, so casually, like it's not a big deal at all. But to Jay, it is.

He's pissed. Maybe even jealous. Because Jay is not the type of man who shares. He never has been. The thought of someone else touching what belongs to him—seeing Jake spread out, vulnerable, pleasured by someone else—sets something ugly and possessive twisting in his chest.

But then—fuck. Jake is looking at him with those big, innocent, doe eyes. His lower lip juts out, his brows lift slightly, and he tilts his head just enough to make himself look small, needy. And Jay hates that he knows exactly how to get his way.

Jay groans, rubbing his face with both hands. In the back of his mind, a voice whispers—maybe he'll like it. Maybe, just maybe, it won't be so bad if he's the one in control.

His hands drop, and he meets Jake's gaze. "I'll try to talk to her."

Jake's entire face lights up. His arms shoot forward, wrapping around Jay's neck as he peppers kisses all over his face, murmuring between them, "Thank you, thank you, thank you—I love you, you're the best, oh my god—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Jay grumbles, pretending to be unimpressed, even as his arms tighten around Jake's waist. "I love you too."

Jay drops his notebook onto the desk with a loud thud, drawing a few glances as he settles into the seat beside you with a quiet grunt.

You freeze, lip gloss wand hovering just above your lips, staring at him in confusion.

"Excuse me? That's my seat." A sharp, sassy voice cuts through the moment.

Jay sighs, already annoyed, and glances up. He recognizes the guy instantly—Sunoo, one of the members from his club.

"Do you have your name on it?" Jay asks, raising a brow.

Sunoo rolls his eyes. "Seriously? God, you guys just pop up out of nowhere." Huffing, he drops into the seat in front of you instead, muttering something under his breath.

Jay turns his attention forward. "I need to talk to you."

You blink, shoving your lip gloss back into its tube. "What?"

"Is this about what your boyfriend told me? Because I already said—"

"And I'm here to change your mind."

You press your lips together, irritation and confusion mixing inside you.

Jay sighs, rubbing his face before looking at you again. "Meet me after the lecture, at the café downtown."

Then, without another word, he stands up, walking away because he can't sit next to you any longer.

You watch him go, then, right on cue, Jake walks into the lecture hall. His eyes scan the room once before landing on Jay. His face lights up immediately, steps quick as he moves in, casually throwing an arm around Jay's shoulders.

Jay barely reacts. He says something back, forcing a small smile, but you can tell it's fake.

Jake looks at you for a second his lips twitch into a small smile before he turns back to Jay.

Before you can even process it, Sunoo is sliding into the seat beside you, reclaiming what was his.

"Are you friends with them?" he asks, side-eyeing you. "What's with all the random talks?"

You force yourself to shrug, keeping your voice light. "No idea."

You don't know what possessed you to agree to this, but here you are—sitting across from Jay at a café, watching him lean back in his chair, sipping on his fruit tea.

Your foot taps anxiously against the floor. "Where's Jake?" you ask, breaking the silence.

Jay exhales through his nose, placing his drink down on the table before spreading his legs slightly, leaning forward. "He's too impatient and impulsive," he says firmly. "It's better if I'm the one talking to you."

You press your lips together, feeling the weight of his stare.

"Look, I didn't mean to overhear your conversation that night." His voice controlled as he's talking to you. 

"Jake has been looking for the perfect third to bring into our bed, and he thinks you're..." He hesitates, his next word feeling like it physically pains him to say, "interesting."

Your fingers curl against the fabric of your skirt. "There are plenty of other girls who would be willing to join you." Your voice is steady, but your stomach is twisting. "I'm just... not the one—"

"But you want it, don't you?"

The air shifts. Your breath catches, your eyes widening slightly as you stare at him.

"You just can't say yes because of your situation," he continues, watching you closely making your throat feel dry.

He sighs heavily, rubbing a hand over his face before pushing his hair back. "Look," he starts, tone lowering slightly. 

"I know this may sound pushy, but just give it a chance. Jake is great at what he does." His jaw tightens, like the words physically strain him. "We'll consider your situation. We'll take it slow. We won't push you into anything you don't want. If it gets uncomfortable, you can back out."

He exhales sharply, his gaze flickering away for a moment before he forces himself to look at you again. "Just... give him a chance."

You stare at him, mouth slightly open. There's something strange about this. The way he speaks. The way his voice changes—like he's forcing himself through the words.

Your lips part before you even think. "What about you?"

His head lifts slightly, eyes narrowing. "What?"

You swallow. "Are you even sure you want me to join?"

His shoulders tense.

"This isn't just about Jake," you continue, shifting in your seat. "You're a couple. This kind of thing requires a lot of trust and... well, you know." You let out a nervous laugh, trying to ease the tension.

Jay doesn't smile, his eyes flicker before he answers, voice softer than before. "I'm okay with it."

You tilt your head slightly. "Being okay with it doesn't mean you want it."

His jaw ticks. Jay exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair again, more frustrated now. "Just don't mind me, alright?"

"I just want him to be happy. What stays in the bedroom, stays in the bedroom. He's mine—and letting you into our bed doesn't mean anything more. You're just there for fun." His voice is short, irritation creeping into it.

Then, his next words come out gritted, dripping with something so possessive, it nearly startles you.

"I'll always be the one who fucks him better."

You blink. Then before you can stop yourself, you laugh.

A short, amused scoff, shaking your head. "Okay, chill." You hold your hands up in mock surrender. "I'm not going to steal your boyfriend from you."

"So you're down?"

Jay voice is impatient, looking at you.  You sigh, leaning back slightly. For most girls, this would be a dream come true. Jake is hot. Jay is hot.

And they acknowledge your situation. They get it. They've promised to take things slow, to not push you, to let you back out if it gets too much.

Maybe... maybe you should just give it a chance.

Because honestly? All that self-reflection, all those moments of avoiding temptation, of telling yourself you're better than this?

Fucking pointless. Because it's not you chasing after dicks. It's the dicks chasing you.

You exhale, rubbing your temple before finally meeting his gaze. "Okay. When?"

Jay studies you for a moment before nodding, pulling out his phone.

As he scrolls through his messages, you brace yourself—already preparing for another abdominal pain moment. Because you see it coming already.

But hey—at least they're hot.

—

You wake up early, too early, scrubbing your body until your skin is soft and warm. Another round of shaving, another layer of the sweetest lotion, perfume misted over every inch of you.

By the time you sit in your lecture, your nerves are already getting the best of you. Your eyes keep flickering toward them. Jake, completely unaware of what's coming. Jay, pretending not to notice you staring.

You remember his words.

"Don't degrade him. You can't finger his ass. No leaving marks on his neck. Don't bite his dick. Don't choke him—that's my job."

You had blinked at him, slightly amused. "What about you?"

Jay had raised an eyebrow, looking at you like you had lost your mind.

"The same." His voice had been simple. Then, after a beat, "Yours?"

You had hesitated for a moment, thinking. "Uh... nothing, really. I am uh—I'm more into giving. If I get comfortable -" You had tapped your nails against the table, feeling the heat creep up your neck. "I'm okay with everything. You can use me all you want."

Jay hadn't expected his pants to tighten at that.

Fuck. He shouldn't be feeling this way.

Then, you had laughed, trying to ease the tension. "Oh, and I'm not ready for double vaginal penetration. Or something inserting in my ass."

Jay had stilled. His jaw had ticked, his thoughts immediately spiraling into something he shouldn't be imagining—both him and Jake taking you, your body trembling, stretched wide between them—

He had shaken his head sharply. "As if I'm going to fuck you," he had muttered under his breath. But he had made sure you heard it.

You had only raised an eyebrow at him.

Two hours after your lecture, you're cleaning yourself again.

Over and over, you go through the motions—shower, shave, perfume—your anxiety making you restless. Jay had texted you his address earlier, and now, standing in front of his apartment door, your heart is pounding.

Your fingers tremble as you twist the knob open. Stepping inside, you're immediately hit with the scent of him.

The living room is simple—clean, minimal. Your eyes soften slightly as they land on the table covered in picture frames, mostly of him and Jake.

Cute. How long have they been together?

You shake the thought away, climbing the stairs slowly, Jay's instructions still clear in your mind—

"Just go straight to my room. The one with the keychain on the knob."

But the second you reach the hallway, you hear a soft, breathy sounds slip through the walls. Your brows furrow, steps slowing.

"Ahhh, fuck, please, please. I want to cum, I want to cum—"

You gulp, throat tightening, fingers hovering over the doorknob. A familiar ache spreads between your legs. You let out a sharp breath, half-annoyed, half-aroused.

"God, he didn't even give me a heads-up," you mutter under your breath, shifting your weight, trying to decide if you should actually walk in on this.

"Fucking shut up," Jay's voice cuts through the air, with his rough and commanding tone.

Your thighs press together as you let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes for a brief moment before gathering the nerve to twist the knob open.

The door swings slightly, and you're immediately hit with the sight in front of you—

Jake, on his knees, getting pounded from behind by his boyfriend. And the worst part? They're facing you.

Your head spins as you stared at Jake's face is flushed, glistening with tears, his mouth parted as he moans helplessly. His hair is fisted in Jay's grip, keeping him in place, forcing his back into a deep arch.

Your eyes travel lower— Fuck, why the hell it's so long?

His achingly pink, dripping cock dangles with every relentless thrust, bouncing between his trembling thighs. A sharp inhale slips from your lips.

"Oh, look who finally showed up," Jay murmurs,

His grip tightens in Jake's hair, tugging him back further, forcing him to lock eyes with you.

Jake's body shudders, his eyes widening in shock.

"J-Jay! Oh my God—" His words break into a loud, desperate moan as Jay speeds up, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room. "You said she refused!"

Jay only laughs, voice dark and smug as he leans down, shifting his angle, making Jake cry out.

"Surprise."

Your throat bobs as you swallow, hard.

You're just standing there, frozen, watching the scene unfold before you. Watching how beautifully, how filthy Jake takes Jay’s cock. The way his body rocks forward with each thrust, the way his lips fall open in helpless moans.

And then your eyes trail lower. You can see everything—Jay’s dick sinking in and out of him, coated in slick, stretching him so perfectly. Each movement is deep and unrelenting. Your breath shudders as you take it all in, heat curling through your body, making your skin burn despite the cold sweat forming on your back.

Jake’s moans grow louder, whinier, then, with his free hand, he reaches down, wrapping his fingers around his neglected cock, fisting it fast.

"Nggh, you got louder—" Jay grunts, his pace never slowing, His gaze flicks toward you, locking onto yours with a sharp, knowing glare. "You’re really into this, huh?"

"Yes, yes, yes—!" Jake moans through a smile, his hand moving faster, squeezing around his cock, never looking away from you.

Your body feels weak. Your nails press into your palms, clenched so tightly that they sting, but you barely notice. Your legs shake slightly, but you still don’t move. You can’t.

"I’m cumming—oh fuck, I’m cumming—!"

Jake’s entire body trembles, his back arching, muscles tightening as he finally lets go. His cock twitches in his hand, thick white ropes spilling over his fingers, his stomach, dripping onto the sheets beneath him. His moans are long, drawn out, mixing with the broken whimpers leaving his lips.

You don’t even realize you’re staring until your breath stutters, your thighs pressing together involuntarily.

Jay’s pace stutters as well, hips jerking forward one last time before he exhales sharply.

"Agh, fuck—"

His grip tightens on Jake’s hips, burying himself deep as he spills inside him, his body going rigid before his movements slow. He takes a second to catch his breath before finally pulling out.

A slap lands on Jake’s ass, making him jolt slightly, though he’s still too dazed to react properly.

"Don’t keep the guest waiting," Jay mutters.

Your gaze drops to him.

Jay stands there, still breathless, still hard, his cock coated in a mess of slick and cum. It’s thick, flushed, and—fuck. Your mouth waters.

Jake takes a moment to catch his breath before turning to you, grinning as he practically bounces toward you, not even bothering to clean up—not even caring that Jay’s cum is still dripping down his thighs.

He just walks up to you, arms wrapping around you in a soft, warm hug.

"Hi!" he says, his bare skin is hot against yours, his breath warm near your neck. And then you feel it—his softened cock resting against your covered thigh.

Jay’s voice cuts, "I’m gonna clean myself up."

Jake pouts at him, tilting his head. "Huh? You’re not gonna join us?"

Jay barely looks back. "Later."

He reaches for the door but pauses, eyes flicking back toward you. His gaze sweeps over you slowly before settling. "Why are you still in your uniform?"

You blink, still struggling to breathe properly. "I—I have a lecture in four hours."

Jay just nods before slipping out of the room.

Left alone with Jake, you find yourself staring at him just as much as he’s staring at you. His eyes are wide, his smile effortlessly cute. 

He takes your hand, fingers lacing through yours, and gently guides you toward the bed.

"Do you think you can take another one?" you ask, watching the way his flushed face still carries the lingering effects of pleasure. Jake chuckles, guiding you to lean back as he climbs onto the mattress on all fours, positioning himself above you. So hot.

"Of course," he murmurs before finally settling beside you, propping his head up on one hand while keeping his eyes locked on yours. His free hand rests on your thigh, his touch warm and steady. "How did Jay manage to convince you?"

You shrug slightly. "He said to just give it a try. That I can always leave if it gets uncomfortable."

Jake nods, then tilts his head slightly. "I want to eat your pussy."

Your pussy clenches around nothing, the casual, sweet way he says it making something inside you tighten. How can he be so innocent and so filthy at the same time?

"Have you ever experienced that?" he asks, fingers tracing small circles against your thigh. "Can I?"

You shudder slightly, barely processing the words. "I—I have," you admit, voice quieter now. "But it felt... weird." Jake hums in thought, his fingers moving higher.

"Hmm. Then is it okay if I give it a try?" His voice is soft, but there’s something intentional about the way he asks, his fingers pausing just shy of your core, waiting.

You look into his eyes—his beautiful eyes, you exhale shakily, then nod.

Jake's lips curl into a soft smile before he leans forward, his hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer.

"Can I kiss you?"

Your lips twitch slightly. "You don’t need to ask every time."

He chuckles, then closes the space between you. His lips press against yours, warm and soft, moving slow. You respond instantly, your hands finding his shoulders, feeling the heat of his bare skin beneath your fingertips.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue gliding against your lips, insistent but teasing. When you part them for him, he pushes in, his tongue curling against yours, exploring, coaxing, making your head spin. His grip on your waist tightens, his arm wrapping fully around you, pulling you flush against his body. His thigh slips between yours, his bare skin brushing against your covered core, sending sparks of warmth up your spine.

You feel his cock—slowly waking up again, pressing lightly against your thigh, twitching with interest as the kiss grows hungrier.

 You break the kiss, a thin string of spit connecting your lips before snapping as you tug at the knot of your uniform tie, letting it slip off and fall to the floor.

Jake watches you, breathless, his eyes hungry. Without hesitation, he reaches for the buttons of your blouse, fumbling slightly in his urgency. When he finally pushes the fabric apart, his gaze darkens at the sight of your plump, barely covered breasts.

"Fuck." He groans, cursing under his breath before crashing his lips against yours again.

His hands find your chest, cupping you through the thin material of your bra, his thumbs brushing experimentally over the fabric. The sensation makes you whine, surprising yourself with how sensitive you are. You’re not used to this—to any of this.

His lips trail down, open-mouthed kisses pressing against your throat, his tongue flicking against your pulse before licking a slow path upward. Your breath hitches, the heat pooling inside you growing more intense with every touch.

"God, I love tits," he murmurs, burying his face between them, nuzzling against your soft skin.

"Are you still okay?" he asks, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut, already feeling overwhelmed in the best way possible.

His fingers slip behind you, unclasping your bra. The straps slide down your arms, the fabric falling to the floor, leaving you completely bare from the waist up. Jake doesn’t hesitate—his lips immediately latch onto one of your nipples, sucking gently before dragging his tongue over it.

A sharp gasp escapes you, your back arching slightly into his touch. Your hands find their way into his hair, fingers curling into the strands as he switches to the other breast, his hand kneading the one he just left.

"I want to hear you," he murmurs against your skin, pressing slow kisses around your areola before flicking his tongue over the hardened bud.

"I—I’m not the type," you admit, biting your lip, trying to suppress the noises threatening to spill from your mouth.

Jake pulls back just enough to pout up at you before diving right back in, his tongue swirling, his lips sucking, his fingers teasing. He’s determined to get a reaction out of you.

And fuck, it’s working.

The sensation is slow, nothing rushed, nothing rough, just pure focus on you, on making you feel good. He spends minutes worshiping your chest before finally kissing his way back up to your lips, capturing them in another deep, lingering kiss.

His hands move lower. He unzips your skirt, fingers tracing along the waistband of your panties before slipping underneath, brushing against the heat between your legs.

"Fuck, you're so wet." His fingers find you soaked, glistening with arousal, and it makes his cock throb.

You shudder in anticipation, a nervous sigh leaving your lips as he slowly eases your panties down your legs.

This is it. You already know how this ends—your body will betray you, the same burning discomfort will return, and you’ll be left frustrated and disappointed again.

Jake presses a soft kiss against your lips, unconsciously distracting you from your thoughts, his hands roaming your body. His palms are so gentle, and the way he squeezes your breasts, thumbs grazing over your nipples, he kisses you deeper, tongue sliding against yours, his breath hot and ragged as he takes his time exploring your mouth. He took the opportunity to dip his hand between your legs.

You gasp into his mouth, body tensing as his fingers graze your slit, gathering your wetness before rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clit.

A sharp jolt of pleasure shocks you, so unfamiliar, so intense that your arms immediately wrap around him, clinging to him.

Jake pulls back slightly, his lips brushing against your jaw. "Still okay?" he whispers, kissing just below your ear.

You let out a shuddering breath. "Y-Yeah. It’s just... strange."

His fingers keep moving, slowly, carefully. "Strange how?"

You swallow thickly, your mind barely able to form words through the pleasure building inside you. "It... it doesn’t burn like it usually does."

Jake stills for half a second before tilting his head, a small, knowing smirk forming on his lips.

"Good."

His fingers press in just a little more. "I’m gonna insert a finger," he whispers, eyes locked on yours.

His middle finger pushes in slowly, sinking into you, the wetness making it effortless. He bites his lip, watching for your reaction, his chest rising and falling a little heavier now.

The second his fingertip brushes just the right spot, your body jerks.

"Oh my God—!"

A sharp moan escapes you, your back arching at the pleasure. Your hands grip onto his shoulders, your hips twitching up instinctively, chasing the sensation. Your eyes flutter, struggling to stay open, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar feeling.

Jake chuckles, completely enthralled by the way you cling to him, how sensitive you are, how eager your body is to take more.

"Hey, relax," he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, nuzzling against your skin as if to soothe you. His finger begins moving—slow, deep strokes, pulling out just enough before pressing back in.

The pleasure is new, intense, making your breath hitch with every slow drag of his finger inside you. Then—it hits you. This feels good. For the first time, this actually feels good.

Your chest tightens and your vision blurs. Before you can stop it, you start crying.

Jake freezes. His brows furrow, his movements halting immediately. "What’s wrong?"

You shake your head desperately, your hand darting down to grip his wrist. "Don’t stop, don’t stop, please—"

Tears spill onto your cheeks, but it’s not from frustration, not from discomfort. It’s from relief.

"Feels so good, fuck—" your voice trembles, a broken whimper leaving your lips. "It feels so good."

Jake stares at you as something tightens in his chest, seeing you like this, falling apart on just one of his fingers, crying from pleasure , it stirs something almost primal in him.

"Poor baby," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your temple. "You must have been so frustrated every time, hmm?"

You nod frantically, still clinging to him as you start rolling your hips, grinding down onto his hand, chasing the friction, desperate for more.

"Want more—please, more," you plead, voice breathless. 

Jake’s cock twitches, precum dripping steadily from the tip at the sound of your voice, the way you’re begging for him.

His free hand grips your thigh, holding you still as he eases a second finger inside. The stretch makes you gasp, walls tightening around him instantly, but before you can adjust, he flicks his fingers against your sweet spot, fast.

You scream. A sharp, choked-out cry, your whole body shaking as your grip on him tightens, fingers digging into his arm.

Jake smiles at the reaction, his heart pounding, the heat in his stomach coiling tighter. He adjusts his position behind you, spreading your legs apart with his knee, giving himself more space to move.

"Come on, let it out," he coaxes, watching you struggle to hold back. "Please, I want to hear you."

His pace increases, fingers moving faster, curling deeper inside you, dragging along the most sensitive parts of your walls.

Your breath comes out in quick, stuttering gasps, your nails digging into his wrist as pleasure crashes into you. Your body vibrates, overwhelmed, barely able to process just how good it feels.

His other hand moves up, fingers brushing against your breast before squeezing, thumb flicking over your hardened nipple.

You let out a loud, desperate whine, head falling back onto his shoulder.

"You’re so beautiful," Jake groans, pressing a kiss to your jaw, feeling the way your body writhes against his. Then, a breathless chuckle—"Fuck, where’s Jay? He’s practically missing out on this."

He watches you fall apart, his fingers fucking into you at a steady rhythm, your legs trembling, your moans growing louder.

Jake swallows thickly, his cock painfully hard, already imagining all the ways he’s going to ruin you.

"I told you, he’s good at what he does." Jay voice appear,  you barely register his presence at first, too lost in the overwhelming sensation of Jake’s fingers working you open.

Your half-lidded eyes flutter open, your hazy vision focusing just in time to see Jay stepping closer to the bed.

He’s fresh from the shower, only a towel hanging loosely around his waist, damp strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Droplets of water slide down his sculpted chest, disappearing into the fabric wrapped dangerously low on his hips.

He doesn’t look at you. Not even a glance. Instead, he moves straight to Jake, gripping his jaw and tilting his head up before crashing their lips together.

Jake melts into it instantly, moaning into Jay’s mouth, fingers still working relentlessly inside you, curling and pressing in all the right places.

Your walls clench around him at the sight. Your abdomen tightens, your body writhing against Jake’s hold, the pleasure swelling dangerously close to its peak.

Jake groans against Jay’s lips, feeling the way your body reacts. He tightens his grip around you, breaking the kiss to catch his breath, his forehead resting against Jay’s.

"Look, babe," Jake murmurs, voice thick with amusement.

He tilts your face toward Jay, thumb swiping at the tears streaking down your flushed cheeks.

"She’s crying." Jake laughs softly. 

Jay finally looks at you. His sharp gaze drags over every inch of you, lingering on your trembling thighs, your swollen breasts, and your cunt—still stretched around his boyfriend’s fingers.

You moan at the weight of his stare, barely registering the way his jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. You are barely aware that your hands are reaching for him, desperate for something, anything, to ground you. Jay, however, just scoffs, eyes narrowing as if he finds your reaction pathetic.

"I’m gonna—" 

"Are you gonna cum?" Jake asks, his breath hot against your cheek. You nod frantically, tears slipping down your face as the build-up inside you coils tighter, the overwhelming sensation too much to hold in.

Jake hums, licking the salty streaks from your cheeks before pressing a messy, open-mouthed kiss to your lips. Not really a kiss, tongue's out and licking each other.

Jay watches. His hand slides down, gripping his cock through the towel, squeezing at the aching hardness there. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s feeling—anger, possessiveness, bitterness all twisting together into something almost violent.

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen. He was the one who convinced you. He was the one who pushed for this. And yet—he hates it.

Hates the way Jake is practically glowing in pleasure, completely lost in you, in someone else.

Hates the way you look right now—so fucking hot, back arching, mouth falling open in a silent scream as your orgasm hits, your iris literally disappear in your eyes, your whole body shaking, your walls fluttering around Jake’s fingers.

Hates that his cock twitches at the sight. His grip on himself tightens, his pace quickening, his breath hitching as he watches you come undone.

Fuck you for being so fucking irresistible. Fuck Jake for being such a needy little slut, never content with just his cock.

Jay yanks the towel from his waist, tossing it aside before climbing onto the bed, his eyes flicker to Jake, who is still licking the remnants of your slick from his fingers, savoring it, eyes half-lidded in pleasure.

His gaze drops to you, to the way your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, to the way your legs tremble from the intensity of your last orgasm. 

Without warning, he grabs your thighs, forcing them apart despite your weak resistance, his eyes locked onto your glistening, swollen pussy. There’s no hesitation in the way he spreads you open, no gentleness in his touch

His fingers tighten on your skin, his expression dark, before he suddenly slaps your cunt.

"Ah, no!" A sharp cry rips from your throat, your body jerking violently as your legs instinctively snap shut. But Jay doesn’t allow it—he leans in, using his weight to keep you open, delivering another harsh slap to your clit before rubbing it cruelly, only to slap it again, sending jolts of overstimulation through your already-sensitive body.

"No—stop!" you scream, thrashing against his hold, but it’s too much, too soon, and your voice comes out weak, broken.

Jake hesitates, watching the scene unfold, the conflict flickering in his eyes as you whimper beneath them. "Jay—"

"Hold her down, Jake. She likes it."

Your mind spins, unable to process what you're feeling—if it's pleasure, pain, or something in between. Your body resists, still trying to recover from the last orgasm that left you weak and trembling, but your walls clench involuntarily at the rough treatment.

Jake’s hesitation falters. He exhales sharply, biting his lip before following Jay’s order, arms sliding around you, pressing you down against the mattress. 

"Shhh," he hushes, his lips ghosting over your damp skin, trailing lower to your breast, tongue flicking over your nipple in slow, teasing motions. But the moment of tenderness only amplifies the pleasure—only makes your body more overwhelmed, more sensitive.

"Come on, give us another one," Jay mutters before shoving three fingers inside you at once.

Your back arches off the bed, a loud sob escaping your lips, your walls stretching too fast, too full, nothing like the slow build-up Jake had given you before. Unlike his boyfriend, Jay doesn’t ease into it—he doesn’t tease, doesn’t wait for your body to adjust. He just fucks you with his fingers, rough and unrelenting, his palm slamming against your clit with every harsh thrust.

It doesn’t burn—not like it used to. But fuck, it hurts.

It hurts in a way that makes your body crave it, that makes you cling to Jake even as your mind screams that it’s too much. The pleasure is raw, overwhelming, your thighs quivering uncontrollably, your breath coming out in frantic gasps.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—!" you choke out, voice cracking, unable to stop yourself from whining, from shaking.

Jay clicks his tongue, displeased, his free hand moving up to grab your throat, fingers pressing into the sides as he tightens his grip. "You said we could do anything we wanted, didn’t you?" His tone is mocking, his pace never slowing, only pushing deeper, rougher. "Don’t you fucking back out now."

Your vision blurs, a strangled gasp escaping as you clutch at his wrist, your body caught between wanting to stop and wanting more. Your mind is too far gone to fight it—your thighs trembling as another orgasm builds fast, your walls tightening around his fingers.

Jay feels it immediately, his jaw clenching, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. He should stop—should let you breathe, let you come down—but instead, he pulls his fingers out abruptly, making you whine at the emptiness. 

Before you can even process the loss, his hand slaps your pussy again. 

"Jay—" Jake starts, but he’s cut off by a sharp glare.

"She’s enjoying it, isn’t she?" Jay huffs, his dark gaze snapping back to you, watching the way your body shudders, your fingers gripping his wrist like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

 His lips curl, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Ah, I forgot—you can’t speak right now, can you?" He laughs under his breath, finally releasing your throat, watching you gasp for air.

"Jake, hold her legs open. Don’t let her close them." His voice is firm, commanding, and Jake doesn’t question him this time.

Jake moves behind you, his warm hands gripping the backs of your thighs, forcing you open as Jay continues his assault on your wrecked cunt. The slaps grow harder, sharper, the alternating mix of rough circles over your clit and sudden impact making your body feel like it’s burning, in a good way. 

You sob, your throat raw, your entire body trembling, but you can’t stop—can’t fight the way your hips twitch upward with every hit.

It’s too much.

It’s exactly like porn.

The last slap lands, harder than before, followed by relentless, rough circles against your clit. Your abdomen tightens so suddenly it feels violent, your breath choking on a scream. "Fuck, no, no—!"

Your body jerks, a shockwave of pleasure ripping through you, forcing Jay’s hand out of you as your orgasm explodes.

A sudden rush of liquid spurts from between your legs, the wetness splashing onto Jay’s forearm, drenching Jake’s hands where they still hold you open. The realization hits all of you at the same time, the room falling into stunned silence for a brief second.

Jake’s eyes widen, his fingers tightening around your thighs as you keep squirting, your body writhing against his grip. "Holy shit," he whispers, almost in awe, his own cock twitching at the sight.

Jay’s expression darkens, his lips parted slightly as he watches the mess you just made. His jaw tightens, his cock aching, his pride burning with how wrecked you look.

"I wanna lick it," Jake murmurs, voice breathy, eager, already shifting positions.

Your body barely registers what’s happening. Your throat is raw, your limbs are limp, and your vision is hazy, blurred with exhaustion and overstimulation. But they move you anyway, shifting your body like a doll between them, switching positions.

Jake lowers himself between your legs, his warm breath ghosting over your slick, oversensitive skin. At the same time, Jay positions himself behind you, pulling you flush against his chest, his firm grip keeping you upright as your legs tremble. His arms snake around you, locking your thighs open.

"Don’t fall asleep on us. Jake’s still enjoying himself." Jay’s voice is low, whispering so Jake doesn't hear, his breath hot against your ear as his fingers toy lazily with your swollen nipples.

 Your heavy eyes fight to stay open, lids drooping, but the moment Jake’s tongue licks through your folds, sharp pleasure snaps through you, making you whimper.

Jay watches the way your body jerks, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek in irritation of what you're doing. He bites your nape—hard, teeth sinking into your skin just as Jake flicks his tongue over your clit.

A scream rips from your throat, pain and pleasure crashing into each other all at once. Jay’s fingers tighten around your breasts, kneading roughly, relishing how soft you feel beneath his grip. He groans, inhaling your scent, his lips brushing against the mark he just left.

"Fuck, you feel so soft." His voice is quieter now, almost to himself, but then his fingers pinch your nipples, making you jolt. "I hate you." The words are bitter, filled with frustration, but his hands never stop.

Jake pulls back slightly, licking his lips before glancing up at you. "Is she still okay?" His voice is gentle, laced with concern, his fingers stroking your inner thighs.

Jay sighs, rolling his eyes, his grip tightening possessively around your chest. "Of course she’s fine, baby. I’m waking her up." He flashes Jake a sweet smile.

Jake lowers himself again, spreading you open further, his tongue gliding along your folds before dipping inside, tasting you. Your head falls back against Jay’s shoulder, unable to hold yourself up any longer. 

You barely have a voice left, just soft, broken moans spilling from your lips as Jake’s tongue works against you, his nose nudging your clit. The wet sounds mix with your ragged breathing, your hands gripping weakly onto Jay’s legs.

Jay watches Jake closely, his eyes darkening as he notices how his boyfriend grinds his hips into the sheets while eating you out. 

The way Jake’s tongue hardens inside you, how his moans vibrate against your cunt, sends your back arching for more even though you can't take it anymore. 

"Are you still okay with penetration?" His voice drags you back, your dazed eyes barely focusing on him as you try to process the question.

"Yes—" The word slips from your lips, hoarse and weak, as your body arches under Jake’s tongue, your walls clenching around nothing.

Jay hums, satisfied, his fingers idly stroking your inner thigh as his attention shifts back to Jake. "Babe, do you want to go inside her?"

Jake lifts his head, breathless, his lips shining with your slick. His eyes flicker between you and Jay before he grins, biting his lip. "Can I?"

Jay smiles at him, softer this time, his hand brushing over Jake’s cheek before nodding. "Of course, baby." He leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Jake’s lips, tasting you on him.

You squirm slightly as Jay shifts again, dragging your legs further apart as Jake moves into position. Your hazy mind barely registers how you’re now upside down, your head hanging slightly over the edge of the mattress. When you blink up, Jay is standing in front of you, looking down at you with a glare. 

Jake groans as he fists his cock, spreading the leaking precum along his length before positioning himself between your legs. He grips your thighs, spreading you further, his cock rubbing along your clit, gathering your wetness before pressing against your entrance.

A sharp exhale leaves you as he pushes in, the slow stretch making your body tense before melting into pleasure. 

"Fuck—" Jake moans, his head tilting back as your warmth surrounds him, his fingers tightening around your waist. "So fucking good—" His hips twitch slightly, unable to stop himself from thrusting in deeper, his pace quickening almost immediately.

"Good?" His voice is breathless, almost a whimper, as he looks at you.

You nod weakly, arms reaching for him, needing more. Jake leans forward, capturing your lips in another deep kiss, his moans muffling against your mouth.

"Move, baby. I have to feel good too." Jay’s voice is calm and patient, but the command is clear.

Jake straightens, adjusting his position as his thrusts deepen, picking up speed. You cry out, the angle hitting something devastating, making your toes curl. But before you can process the pleasure, something heavy presses against your lips.

"Let’s see if Heeseung’s rating was right."

Your moan is cut off by Jay’s cock pressing past your lips, stretching your mouth as he slides in. He groans, fingers curling into your hair, holding himself still as he feels how tight you are around him. "Shit—so fucking deep—"

You force yourself to relax, breathing through your nose, your tongue pressing against the underside of his cock. Jay sighs in satisfaction, his grip in your hair tightening slightly before he begins to move, rolling his hips in time with Jake’s thrusts.

Your head spins.

Every movement from Jake sends Jay’s cock deeper into your throat, forcing you to take him further with each thrust. Your body is overwhelmed, overstimulated from both ends, your moans vibrating around Jay, making his jaw clench.

Jake grips your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he drives into you, his thrusts becoming erratic, sloppy, desperate. "Baby—fuck, so good, so good—" His voice is almost whiny, his pace stuttering as he gets closer to his release. Jay glances at him, his lips twitching into a soft smile.

"Are you happy?" Jay asks, his voice smooth despite the way he’s thrusting into your mouth, barely holding himself together.

Jake nods frantically, gasping between moans, his body trembling as his hips jerk forward uncontrollably. "Yes, yes, yes—fuck, Jay—" He leans forward, pressing his forehead against Jay’s, kissing him openly. 

Jay’s hands dig into your breasts, his grip tightening until the pressure burns, sure to leave behind faint bruises in the shape of his fingers. 

His breath is ragged, the pleasure coiling in his stomach, but just as his body urges him to chase his release, he pulls out, leaving you suddenly empty. Your dazed, confused expression meets his as he fists his cock, stroking himself slowly.

"What? You think you deserve my cum?" His voice is cold, "not a chance."

The words barely register before Jake’s thrusts snap your focus back to him, his pace growing more frantic. Your body rocks beneath him, your oversensitive walls clenching tight around his cock, milking him for everything he’s worth. 

Jay watches with dark, unreadable eyes, his hand moving steadily over himself, his knuckles white from the grip.

You’re too far gone to even moan properly now—your throat is too raw, your body too exhausted. But you still feel it—every deep, hard thrust slamming against your g-spot, sending you spiraling further into an overstimulated haze.

"I’m gonna cum—can I cum inside you? Please, please—" Jake’s voice is wrecked, pleading, his fingers working quick circles over your clit, making your head spin.

You nod weakly, unable to do anything else, your body locking up as the final wave crashes over you. Your cunt tightens around him, your orgasm ripping through you so violently that your vision whites out. 

Your limbs shake uncontrollably, your mind blanking from the sheer intensity of it, your nerves are fried. You don’t even realize you’re crying again, too far gone to care.

Jake gasps, his body stiffening before his hips stutter, his cock buried deep as he spills inside you. "Yes, yes—thank you, thank you, thank you—fuck—" He babbles, his forehead pressing against yours as he trembles, his release filling you to the brim, dripping down where you’re still connected.

Jay exhales sharply, his own arousal teetering on the edge as he watches the sight before him, with a growl, he grabs Jake’s hair, yanking him down onto his cock without warning. Jake barely has time to catch his breath before Jay’s hips snap forward, his cock pushing past his lips, forcing him to take him deep.

Jake chokes, his throat tightening around him, his body still trembling from the aftermath of his orgasm. His fingers dig into your thighs as he adjusts, tongue flattening against Jay’s shaft, relaxing his throat the best he can.

Jay groans, his free hand gripping the back of Jake’s head, holding him still as he thrusts into the warmth of his mouth. 

"Come on, baby. I’m close too, hmm?" His voice is rough, but his eyes have softened slightly, watching the way Jake struggles to take him properly, how his throat works around him, trying so hard to please him.

Jake nods weakly, his tongue swirling around the length of him, his lips stretching around his thick cock as he bobs his head in time with Jay’s movements. His body is exhausted, but the desire to satisfy Jay outweighs the burning in his throat.

You force yourself to sit up, your entire body weak, your legs barely able to hold your weight. Your half-lidded eyes land on the sight before you—Jake’s lips stretched wide around Jay, his jaw slack, his throat taking every deep thrust. Your mind is foggy, your muscles sore, but you watch, hypnotized.

Jay’s eyes flick toward you, his gaze meeting yours, and for a moment, his thrusts falter. 

"I'm close, baby." His grip on Jake’s hair tightens slightly, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. And then, with a final groan, his release spills into Jake’s mouth, his hips pressing forward as he holds him there, forcing him to swallow every drop.

Jake takes it all, eyes fluttering shut, his throat working around him until Jay finally pulls out, a thin string of saliva and cum breaking between them.

You didn’t even realize you had passed out.

Everything was a blur—the memories muddled together, the sensations lingering somewhere between dream and reality. Your body floated, weightless, exhaustion pulling you under even as you felt hands on you.

Fingers washing you, dragging a warm cloth over your skin, rinsing you. The soft splash of water surrounded you, the faint scent of soap.

Jake’s voice filtered, "Are you okay?"

You wanted to answer, but your body wouldn’t respond. You were too tired, too drained, your mind slipping back into the darkness before you could even try.

When you wake up, it’s already another day.

You blink, squinting against the dim light filtering through the unfamiliar room. Your head feels heavy, like it’s been weighed down by exhaustion, and your limbs ache with every movement.

Your gaze drifts, taking in your surroundings—this isn’t your dorm, but your belongings are neatly placed on the side table.

Your uniform hangs on a nearby hook, freshly ironed.

Slowly, you push yourself up, wincing as a dull ache spreads through your muscles. Your throat throbs, and the soreness in your body makes it feel like you’ve been beaten.

You shuffle toward the mirror on the wall, rubbing at your sore neck absentmindedly—

And then you freeze.

Your reflection stares back, the evidence of last night’s events written across your skin.

A deep bite mark sits at the side of your neck, darkening into a deep purple. Your throat is bruised, a faint imprint of Jay’s grip still visible. Your legs are covered in smaller marks—finger-shaped bruises, faded red streaks.

"Fuck—"

Panic flickers in your chest.

How the hell are you supposed to go to school like this?

[thebestsetter]

Thinking about Isagi Yoichi, the hero of Japan and biggest egoist on the field, being a complete loser when it comes to the girl he likes.

Like, he may insult the opposing team's players (and even his own teammates sometimes!) in the field, but gets all red and stutters when he needs to talk to you.

Isagi Yoichi who is absolutely delusional. If he holds a conversation with you for more than 5 minutes, you can bet he's gonna think about it during THE WHOLE WEEK. His friends can't escape his feelings either: he's always talking about you or associating things with you. Like: "Oh, she would like this!" Or "You guys won't believe it: we talked for almost 10 minutes today!" Please save Hiori and Bachira. They can't take it anymore. (Well, Bachira doesn't really care, but Hiori is really almost losing his shit.)

This absolute dork would listen to love songs while thinking about you and then get all blushy after, hugging a pillow while stuffing his red face on it and everything. And heaven forbids anyone enters his room after you compliment him! He's kicking his feet, screaming, crying and laughing all at the same time. SPECIALLY if it's a compliment regarding his football abilities. Say something along the lines of "That goal today was amazing, Yoichi! It was such a smart play!" and he's melting and thinking about it through the whole month.

Speaking of football, he'd LOVE to see you in his soccer games/practices cheering loudly for him. I mean, he's already absolutely smitten for you, but seeing you there screaming because of his goal or smiling because of a play he made just makes his obsession love for you grow 10 times bigger!!

He'd even ask his mom for advice on what to say to you! She thinks it's cute her little boy is growing up (even though he's already 17), so she tries to help him the best she can. But there's just so much mama can do. He tries to follow her teachings, but, as I said before, always stutters and trips over his words, which makes him feel really stupid and almost give up on love, since it's a "very hard and painful feeling that just hurts people" (his words).

When he finally musters up the courage to ask you out on a date (after a lot of insistence from Hiori, who is just really tired from all of this), he wants it all to go perfect. He has it all pictured in his head: he'll ask you to meet him in the back of the school after extracurricular activities so he can ask you out. He'll have flowers and everything, and then he'll say that speech he spent the last 14 days memorizing. You'll say yes with a smile in you face (he's already blushing just from imagining your smile, he really is down bad) and then you'll live your happilly ever after together.

Spoiler alert: nothing went as planned. First, the letter he wrote asking you to meet him in the back of the school got wet because he accidentally spilt water on it. So, he had to make a half-assed substitute letter to put in your desk.

Second, he forgot soccer leaves people all stinky. So, at the end of practice, he had to choose between taking a shower and showing up all drenched and late and showing up sweaty and smelly. He choose the former, after all, showing up late but presentable is better than showing up early but looking like you got shit on by a racoon.

Third, when he finally got there (you were almost leaving, thank God he caught you just in time!) and apologized for being late, he gave you the flowers. He thought nothing else could go wrong, but things can always get worse than they already are. But I don't blame him for not knowing that things could, in fact, get worse: how was he supposed to guess there were literally bees in the flowers? To get rid of them, he tried to shook the bouquet, but accidentally ended up throwing it at your face. With bees and all.

You screamed. He screamed. He grabbed the bouquet and shoved it away, looking at the ground and wishing it'd just swallow him whole. He messed up his chance, you'd never ever even look at his way again. You hated him, absolutely hated him. You wish he was dead, you were going to change schools just to never see him again, he's the worse person ever-

Huh? What is that sound? You're laughing...? You're seriously laughing?

You laughed. He got confused.

He looked up. You were throwing your head back while wiping away the tears that got out of your eyes. You were clutching your stomach because you were laughing so hard it was starting to hurt.

You laughed. He laughed.

You both looked like maniacs. Lunatics. Laughing alone in the middle of nowhere. You looked crazy he WAS crazy. Crazy for you. Not that you knew it at that time

He then decided to just shoot his shot and finally asked you out, without flowers or memorized speech. He didn't even think you'd accept, he just thought it wouldn't hurt to try.

Imagine his face when you said yes. Even with the shitty proposal and embarassing moments, you said yes. And he was absolutely delighted. You gave him your number so he could text you the details about the date, and he was seriously shaking. I'm being for real, his pupils were blown wide and he was almost crying from happiness.

He went home jumping and skipping from happiness. Now, he wasn't just a loser. He was a loser with a date, so that makes him less loserly (at least that's what he thinks).

You accepting his proposal didn't make him talk less about you. Actually, he was now talking about you more than before, if it's even possible. Hiori felt like killing himself (he was happy for his friend, of course, he just didn't want to admit it).

This fic has a "sequel", it's this one

Masterlist

[satellite-evans]

Caught in the Act

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Benedict and his wife, his muse, are interrupted by his mischievous sister Eloise during a private painting session.

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: fluff, Eloise being a tease

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The Bridgerton residence was always buzzing with activity. Whether it was the younger siblings running through the halls or the older siblings preparing for yet another social event, there was never a dull moment. Amidst this lively chaos, Benedict Bridgerton found his moments of peace and creativity in his art studio, tucked away in a quiet corner of the estate.

It was in this sanctuary that he often invited you, his beloved wife and muse, to pose for him. Today was no different. The soft afternoon light filtered through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the room. Benedict stood at his easel, his eyes intensely focused on the canvas before him. You reclined on a chaise lounge, draped in a delicate, nearly translucent gown that accentuated your natural grace and beauty.

"Benedict," you murmured, your voice laced with a hint of anxiety, "are you sure it's not too risky to do this here? Anyone could walk in."

He looked up from his work, his gaze tender as he regarded you. "We’ve done this before without any issues. Besides, the light in here is perfect, and you look absolutely stunning. Trust me, my love, everything will be fine."

You sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Alright, but if we get caught, I'm blaming you."

He chuckled, a deep, soothing sound that always managed to calm your nerves. "Fair enough."

The room settled into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft swishing of Benedict's brush and the occasional rustle of your gown. You admired the way his brow furrowed in concentration, his hand moving with practiced ease. It was in these quiet moments that you felt closest to him, sharing a connection that went beyond words.

ust as he was about to add the finishing touches, the door to the studio burst open. Eloise Bridgerton, ever the inquisitive and outspoken sibling, strode in without a second thought.

"Benedict, have you seen—" She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she took in the scene before her. "Oh."

Benedict froze, his brush hovering in mid-air. You quickly pulled the shawl you had draped over your shoulders tighter, your cheeks flushing with mortification as you realized just how exposed you were.

"Eloise!" Benedict exclaimed, clearly flustered. "Ever heard of knocking?"

Eloise's shock quickly gave way to a mischievous grin. "I didn't realize I needed to knock in my own home. But now I see why I should."

You buried your face in your hands, feeling utterly mortified. Benedict, on the other hand, looked equally embarrassed. He set his brush down and moved to stand protectively in front of you.

"Eloise, what do you want?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I was looking for a book," she said, still grinning. "But I suppose it can wait."

Benedict sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, it can. Now, if you don't mind—"

"Oh, don't worry," Eloise interrupted, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to your... art."

With that, she turned on her heel and left, closing the door behind her with a soft click. You and Benedict stared at each other for a moment before you buried your face in your hands again.

"I can't believe that just happened," you groaned, your voice muffled.

Benedict gently pulled your hands away from your face, his eyes filled with concern. "I'm so sorry, my love. I should have been more careful."

"You think?" you replied, half-joking, half-serious. "I am never posing in this house again. That was mortifying."

Benedict hugged you tightly, his arms offering comfort. "I promise, next time we'll find somewhere more private. But you have to admit, it does make for a memorable story."

You couldn't help but laugh despite yourself. "I suppose so."

Later that evening, the Bridgerton family gathered for an informal dinner. The aroma of roasted meats and fresh bread filled the air, mingling with the sound of cheerful conversation and laughter. You sat beside Benedict, your hand resting comfortably on his under the table.

Eloise, ever the mischief-maker, caught your eye and winked. You felt a blush creep up your neck as you recalled the earlier incident. Benedict squeezed your hand reassuringly, his thumb brushing soothing circles on your skin.

"So, Benedict," Eloise began, her voice dripping with innocent curiosity, "how's your latest painting coming along?"

Benedict shot her a warning glance, but she merely raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the moment. "It's coming along quite well, thank you," he replied evenly.

"Oh, I'm sure it's wonderful," Daphne chimed in, not noticing the undercurrent of the conversation. "Your work is always so impressive."

"Indeed," Anthony added, his tone more serious. "You've truly found your calling, brother."

Violet Bridgerton, ever the attentive matriarch, picked up on the tension. "Benedict, dear, you should show us your latest work soon."

Eloise leaned forward, her tone light and playful. "I suppose it's easier to be passionate when you have such a... captivating subject. Isn't that right, sister?"

You nearly choked on your wine, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I—um, well..."

Benedict shot Eloise a warning look. "That's enough, Eloise."

Eloise just smiled sweetly. "I'm only saying, you must find it very inspiring."

Violet's eyes twinkled with understanding. "Eloise, that is quite enough. Perhaps you should leave your brother and his wife in peace."

Colin, always quick to join in the fun, leaned back in his chair. "I'd love to see the painting. It must be quite the masterpiece if it has caused such a stir."

yacinth, always eager to be part of any conversation, piped up. "Can we see it, Benedict? Please?"

Gregory, not to be outdone by his younger sister, added, "Yes, show us! We promise to be quiet and not interrupt next time."

You buried your face in your hands again, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. "Oh my goodness," you murmured, mortified.

You truly never felt so embarrassed in your entire life.

The conversation shifted to other topics, and the rest of the family seemed unaware of the underlying tension. You couldn't help but steal glances at Benedict, admiring his composure. Despite the earlier embarrassment, you felt a deep sense of pride in being a part of his world.

After dinner, as the family dispersed, Benedict took your hand and led you outside to the garden. The night air was cool and fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers. He guided you to a secluded bench, where you both sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

"I'm sorry about Eloise earlier," he said quietly, his eyes searching yours.

You shook your head, smiling. "It's alright, Benedict. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

He chuckled softly. "True. Still, I wish we could have more moments just for us."

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "We will. And until then, I'll cherish every second we have together, even the interrupted ones."

Benedict turned to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering. "You are my muse, my love. And I am forever grateful for you."

The moonlight cast a silvery glow over the garden, creating a perfect backdrop for the tender moment you shared. Wrapped in each other's arms, you felt an unspoken promise pass between you—a promise of love, support, and a future filled with countless more beautiful moments, whether they were stolen in secret or shared with the world.

[vaguely-concerned]

huh. you know something I just consciously put together for the first time about caterina and lucanis' relationship is that through the game we get to hear them talk about each other a lot, but we get very few chances to hear them speak with each other at any length at all. contrast it with other companions whose storylines have elements of 'believed lost/long time no see relative returns!' like bellara and davrin, where we get to see both of them have several pretty in-depth conversations with cyrian and eldrin. hell I think even rook talks with varric longer in the regret prison scene than we ever get to see lucanis and caterina interact directly.

(and when we do see them interact, it's mostly one-sided -- it is, perhaps unsurprisingly, caterina who is doing most of the talking and giving all the orders, as he ruefully observes is her wont after murder of crows. including jumpscaring him with 'you're first talon now btw' and the shocked pikachu face in five acts he goes through in response lmao. perhaps it's more accurate to say that she talks at him and he reacts, than that they talk to each other much.)

it has such an interesting effect too, because in deliberately denying us direct insight or experience and only having this mosaic of description from each of them to go on, as well as forcing us to pay attention to the negative space of what is carefully not said, it's evocative along the same principle that you never actually show the monster in a horror film. if you've read the wigmaker job you have a clearer image of the more uh. worrying elements at play here going in, but there is something fascinatingly insidious and naturalistic in the way it's 'hushed up' in the game itself. she has his complete loyalty both as a member of her house and, more importantly, that of an abused child to a parent figure. he readily admits several times that she's a difficult person to live with, an even more difficult person to be loved by ("even for me. and I was her favourite")... but never once does he actively blame her nor truly conceptualize that he has every right to do so (that he can be angry with her and still love her, because whether he should or not he unavoidably does), or that she might have acted differently than she did, that she made a choice every time to hurt him. even affectionately he speaks of her as a force of nature, an act of god -- something that can't be reasoned or pleaded with or resisted, something you can only hope to navigate with as little pain as possible and pray to survive. let yourself get carried away by the riptide, resisting it will only make it worse. you don't compromise with a hurricane, you just try to find the best shelter you can and cross your fingers while you wait for it to pass and be calm again.

love is that hurricane. you do whatever she asks. you earn her continued affection day by day by never letting her down. you only want the things she tells you it's okay to want and cut everything else away preemptively. ("A wyvern tooth dagger?? I loved wyverns as a boy --Caterina would never let me have one of these, though." and as we have all wept and gnashed our teeth over, it never even OCCURS to him that he's a like thirty-five year old adult man who can buy himself any dagger he wants at any time. she said he couldn't have one. so he'll never have one. that's just how it works. and maybe if Illario could just accept that and find his peace with it like I have, this whole thing wouldn't be so difficult. oh lucanis.)

such is the price -- and the cost -- of being loved by her, it's a loan on which the interest will never stop piling up. you have to keep paying it down in perfection every day if you want to keep it. who got the worse deal there: the grandson who has abandoned everything else in life to live up to that and mostly succeeded, until the day he's so burned out and broken it threatens to no longer be an option, or the grandson who can never seem to scrape together enough worth in her eyes no matter how he begs, borrows or steals it, how he hustles and plays dirty?

one of the worst things that can happen to anyone is to be loved by a selfish god. another one of the worst things that can ever happen to anyone is to not be loved by a selfish god. (hope that helps, boys!) even in betraying everything else, Illario can't bring himself to hurt his grandmother, because that would defeat the whole point. who would he defiantly be proving himself worthy to, without her. in love, devotion, submission, hatred, frustration, bitterness, everything is defined in relation to her, you can spot the gravitational force of it through how the dellamorte family move through time and space. she -- her love and regard and attention -- is still the sun both of their worlds orbit around, even as adults. the game might never tell you outright 'she used to beat and starve them growing up. for their own good you see, so they'd be strong (and broken down enough for her to build them up again however she wanted but I'm sure that's incidental)', but if you know even a little bit about how these dynamics can work the writing is on the wall everywhere you look and all the more unsettling for it.

follow lucanis' freeze-logic and fraught interpersonal catch 22 irreconcilable mixed emotions problems back far enough, looong before the ossuary entered the picture, and you start to see caterina's ghost around every fucking corner. she is so proud of him. (well, she would be. she made him. she forged exactly the knife she needed and it rests willingly, devotedly, in her hands, it would return to her every time because it doesn't know love as anything but to be a knife. his tama never taught him how to be anything else. his biggest fear with her is that she won't even want him back, the way he is now.) to the best ability of her soul, whatever parts of it survived a lifetime of crow politics and 'five children, eight grandchildren, only Illario and me left now', I think she really does loves him. he certainly loves her, with all the sincerity and artless desperation of a child, of the little boy he was once. and what she's done to him (and to illario, for all his shitty gremlin scar-ass antics lol) is awful. the harm is real, and the love is real, and trying to find a way for these two truths to exist in the same space is driving all three of them their own individualized forms of insane. you know. the way only family can and so often does lol.

through implications and short glimpses and having to put the pieces together yourself, you can have the feeling that there is very genuine mutual love and attachment in this relationship... and that beneath that there is something so profoundly wrong. and the sneaking '...oh shit it gets worse the longer I think about it' horror of that is more effective for me at least than the stark in-your-face presentation of the facts of the matter could have been. the love is here. the love is here. it only ever makes it worse.

[no1blacksapphirefan]

Wanna say, love the writing for the cookies! Recently started playing this game (within the last month) and it has a choke hold on me atm XD

Was hoping to request some HCs of the Ancient and Beast cookies, and Elder Fairy, Black Sapphire, and Black Forest cookie if possible, learning that the cookie they fell in love with, who has been bending over backwards to help the Cookie Kingdom and cookies everywhere, was originally a Witch that was cursed to become a Cookie because they rebelled against the other witches to try and protect cookie-kind

Hopefully I understood this correctly!! Sorry for the wait…getting back to requests now ^^

Small mention of 2 of my CRK Witch OCs 😋

((Wrote this a bit late at night so sorry for any typos))

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"So, how's it been? We know it takes some getting used too. And your situation is different to ours, we chose to be cookies but you? Forced..." Azalea Cookie asked, lifting the cup of tea to her mouth as she awaited your answer. It had been awhile since you got cursed to be a cookie. Not that you completely minded, sure you were lost of your original body but First Quartz Cookie had helped you settle in when he first met you. "Have you told anyone yet? You've been getting close to that one cookie right?" He said, placing a piece of cake by your plate. The two witches listened as you explain you didn't feel like you were ready yet. It was a big reveal and not one you wanted out, right away. (And depending on your cookie of choice, the reveal would be much more impactful than others) Unbeknownst to you, that certain cookie was listening in.

Pure Vanilla He didn't mean to eavesdrop! He swears, he wanted to collect flowers for you the next time you met. He had seen you eyeing some so he took the opportunity to look for some. That is until he heard your voice, he listened in and quickly covered his mouth. He didn't expect this. He's not exactly mad, he understands. He isn't mad at you, just concerned.

He doesn't bring it up with you, he would never. It's clear to him that you're not exactly comfortable just yet revealing it to him. He'll wait till you're ready. No matter how long it takes, even if you never do tell him. As long as you're happy, that's all that matters to him. He'll get his mouth shut for as long as he needs.

Dark Cacao He was just taking a stroll, wandering around for a bit and thinking. He wanted to see what's the best route for the next time you two decide to take a walk. Even find a place for maybe a picnic until he heard your voice. He listened in for a while, he didn't know what to think. He believed the two of you already told each other all your secrets. That you were truly that close but you seemed to be holding back one last secret.

He doesn't blame you, it's more so he thought there were no more secrets between the two of you but he was wrong, you didn't claim you told him everything so he can't be too mad. He gets over it, don't worry, he brings it up but won't ask for details. He just wants confirmation. If you tell the truth he won't pry, but reassure you that it doesn't change anything. I mean, you've done a lot for his kingdom and the such. If you lie he'd be slightly upset but won't dwell on it nor let it affect your relationship.

Golden Cheese She was looking for First Quartz Cookie, she wanted him to take a photo of both her and you. A perfect way to treasure special moments, once she contacted him she'd start planning said special moment. She didn't expect to find the both of you. And overhear something like that...she knew about First Quartz Cookie but finding out you were the same? Or...on a similar boat? Wow...

She makes her presence known quickly, she wants to confront you. Not in a bad way, more so she wants the details, the witches truly turned you into a cookie purely because you wanted to help them?...And you still continued despite the fact they were the main factor. She won't hold it against you, you weren't like the other witches but she may need just a bit of time to process that information, that's all

White Lily Oh!...Oh....oh

She doesn't know what to think, yes you weren't like the other witches. You'd never eat them, and hearing what the other two have said, what you all have talked about. You'd never bake them just to eat them, you truly cared about them, it's just...your associations with the witches. She can't get that out of her brain, she wants too, truly. And she'd never hold it against you. But she can't help but run off. Not because of fear, more so in slight surprise, she needs to process knowing you're a witch.

She'll keep silent, she'll talk to others about it. She won't directly mention you or even say anything of the details. She makes up a story that tells her feelings and still tells the general story. She'll get over it within a few days, deep down she always knew you'd never do what the witches at the Banquet would. She just needed time to process that information. She'll never bring it up again so long as you don't bring it up. She might accidentally reveal she found out though...

Hollyberry She's shocked, I feel like her finding out would be those 'accidentally walking in and finding out' She was just really happy to see you, she didn't think it would be bad to come up to the table until she heard you were a witch. Silence filled the air as she just stared at you, unblinking. Before Azalea cookie quickly stood up and ushered her out, she finally snapped out of it.

"Wait!! Hang on!"

She wanted to talk to you in private, reluctantly the other two left but stayed nearby enough so you could call out to them if you needed too. She's not mad, just surprised by the information and wanted to talk to you about it. She'll keep it a secret from your other friends if you so wish, or even help you start telling others and is at the ready to defend you.

Shadow Milk He's almost proud you were able to hide this fact from him for so long. He doesn't exactly hate witches. Not all of them, of course there's some he dislikes like the one who trapped him in the tree but you're different to the witches he has a disdain for. You're kind to him and Earthbread.

So he doesn't hold it against you, you've done a lot for the kingdom, you've made him feel a lot less lonely as well. In fact, he'd hold a bigger disdain for the witches that brought this on you. All you wanted to do was care for the cookies and this is how the witches treat you? Horrible.

Mystic Flour True to her "Light" she doesn't show much reaction to it, she doesn't care. Even though it's you, even though seemingly you're the only one who's able to get her to show more reactions and feelings than any other cookie. This information is nothing to her. You're still you, that's all that matters. Would it be different if you stayed a witch? Likely, but it'll be because the two of you could never properly hang out.

She'll ask about it over tea, she won't say more if you don't want to but she'll make it clear that she doesn't care if you were a witch, if she had enough power she'd make the witches turn back to flour. You're a kind soul doing so much for Earthbread despite the fact that, in a way. They were a reason for you being cursed.

Burning Spice He knew he'd never get bored of you, and this information he found out? Further proves this fact, you were filled with mystery. He also makes his presence known but it's easy to piece together that he finds this information more entertaining than distressing. That he in fact likes the fact about you rather than dislike it.

He doesn't talk about it much after, though he does ask a few questions. If or when he finds out the reasoning for why you became a cookie he'll be so happy to have another target for destruction.

Eternal Sugar (May be OOC) I don't see her accidentally finding out by accidentally listening in. I feel as though you would've eventually told her. She hums for a moment upon hearing the reveal before reassuring you that she doesn't mind at all. Your past is your past, plus you're unlike the witches she's heard about or the one who's trapped her.

If you didn't know better, you might wonder if you even told her you were a witch as she never brought it back up again after that. It's not a detail to you she likes or dislikes, it's just another part of you. She fell for your personality, you being a witch won't change your personality.

Elder Faerie He knew deep down I feel, he had a feeling. He's met a good few cookies who once were witches so he has a bit of a 6th sense. Similar to Eternal Sugar Cookie, I feel he wouldn't find out during that moment. In fact, I feel like he'd ask a week or two in of meeting you. He wants to put it straight that he doesn't mind.

It would be more so the reasoning for your cookie appearance that would be the surprise to him. He waits until you're ready to reveal it if you ever do and makes sure you're feeling better. Being forced to be a cookie, to be in a new world and navigate it, it's much more different than to watch over it and he knows it. So he makes sure you're settling in right and feeling better after it.

Black Sapphire He never thought he'd meet someone he'd never want to make a rumour of. But here you were, even when he's presented with information...information like this that would surely further skyrocket his show. He would never leak it, though he is a bit conflicted.

He talks to you about it, he makes it clear he won't leak it unless you want him too. It would be a quick way to tell everyone this secret, plus due to him sometimes spreading lies in the show, no one would know exactly if he's telling the truth or not.

Black Forest Cookie Oh my!! She felt so guilty falling in love with you after saying she'd marry the witches. But you're a witch? She feels a lot better. She's so happy, she admires you so, she needs to ask Wedding Cake Cookie to plan a wedding for the two of you right away!! She's fantasising about the wedding day so much she doesn't realise you're now next to her asking if she's heard anything.

She admits it quickly, but you quickly realise she loves it rather than is scared or anything like that. She tells you quickly she wishes to get married, you can't tell if it's because you used to be a witch or if she just liked you beforehand and this was the thing to finally give her the courage to ask you. But she truly did fall for you before finding out!! If you tell her who turned you into a witch, she'd immediately hate the witches who did it to you, how could they!!

[yoongelectric]

Drunk in love — LN4

— believe when i say that you’ll know once you taste it

summary: the night where you and lando just wanted to forget about each other but ended up getting closer than ever

• part 2: blame it on the vodka

genre: smut, angst, fluff, friends to lovers

warnings: curse words, jealousy, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex, breeding kink

The music plays loudly within the walls of your room as you and your best friend get ready for the night. After hours and hours of trying to convince you, Olivia had finally made it, not that you weren't a party girl, in fact you adored it, the feeling of being drunk, the people, the dancing, the music, flirting with strangers, you used to spend the whole week looking forward to go to your favorite club but for months now all those good times have lost all meaning when all you can see is your best friend going from girl to girl every weekend without any type of remorse. And for months you’ve been trying to do the same thing to stop thinking about him, only achieving the opposite.

You can’t blame those girls, in fact, you understand them perfectly, not just because Lando is rich and famous, that's the least important thing really, but in any crowd he's always the first man you see, he's handsome, attractive, even magnetic, the kind of man no girl would ever say no to, and you were painfully aware of that, because of course, you were one of those girls who could never say no to him.

That's what bothers you the most, because no matter how many dates you go on, how many strangers you flirt or sleep with, how much time you go without seeing him or speaking to him, you always notice how they are not him, how they don't have his laugh, his eyes, his charisma, his charm, his way of hugging you, his way of making you forget everything and everyone, no matter how good they are in bed, none of them can make you feel the warmth that you feel when he simply holds your hand or rests his hand on your waist to help you walk through a room full of people, and it's already getting tiring to hope that at some point that's going to change.

While you finish applying the sluttiest red lipstick you have, and check that you are not missing anything in your purse, you look at your outfit in the mirror, a little black dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, actually, if you are not careful you can flash anyone at any moment, you feel attractive, you know you look pretty, but you also know that neither this dress, nor the makeup you spent so much time on, nor your perfect hair will be enough for Lando to look at you the way you want.

Olivia seems to notice the sad expression on your face, "y/n don't make that face, if Lando is stupid enough to not make a move on you then he doesn't deserve you to spend another second thinking about him" she says handing me a shot of vodka that I swallow without hesitation

“Do you think I'm in love with him because I want to, Olivia? If it was up to me I would only see him as the friend he sees in me, that's what he wants, but it seems I can't.”

“if you want to believe that he sees you only as a friend then go on, i think he’s just a pussy” Olivia shouts from the door as I grab my keys and follow her.

-

Lando stared at his glass of whiskey, lost in thought, looking at the time on his watch from time to time thinking about when you would arrive, he was dying to see you, he didn't know if he was imagining it but he had this feeling that you’d been avoiding him all week, you didn't answer his messages, and if he called you, you quickly ended the conversation saying that you were busy, you had always been very bad at lying, who can be busy on a Saturday morning? He knew that his doubts would be solved at any moment and oh how he wished it was just his head fucking with him.

In the distance he saw a girl who he could have sworn was you, but after looking at her for a few seconds he slapped himself internally for having mistaken you for someone else, how could you be that girl? She doesn't have your grace, nor the light that seems to follow you everywhere making you look untouchable, the people around her don't turn around automatically and he doesn't feel that comfort in his heart when looking at her, but what's the point anyway? None of them make him feel anything like that, none of them are like you and he knows it.

He knows that you are the girl for him, he has known it since he won his first race and as soon as he crossed the finish line the first thing he thought was if you would be proud of him. He knows that he will probably love you all his life and that without you his destiny is to wait for someone to entertain him enough to not think about you all the time. He knows how sad that is and he's not sure if he can continue like this for much more, but he can't condemn you to what a relationship with him means, he barely has time for himself and how could he try to have a relationship with you if he can't give you all the time you deserve? How can he try to be with you if it means you have to be moving from one side of the world to the other all the time or not see him as often as he would like?

If everything was different he would have jumped right into your arms months ago, but you deserve much more than what he can give you.

Max's voice brings him out of his thoughts telling him something painfully true "so you’re already looking for a girl who looks like Y/N to spend the night?" How much more time can he spend trying to find you in another person? probably a lot less than he thinks.

-

He was hypnotized, watching you dance with your friends, running your hands over your body, laughing and looking so sexy, since you arrived he couldn't stop looking at you, a feeling between how bothered he was by that sinful dress that hugged your body in all the right places and the concern for the cold greeting he had received, he was gripping his glass tightly and using all his will not to grab you by the waist and pull you against him, he wanted to ask you the reason behind your actions, how were you able to stay away from him, when it felt impossible for him to do that.

It was then that he saw him, tall, with a bright smile, just the type of boy you've always liked, he approached you and spoke to you so carefree, calm, without the all the nerves Lando felt every time he had to get too close to you. He doesn't know what the boy said to you that made your laugh echo throughout all the VIP area but he was sure as hell it couldn't be that funny, how could your eyes shine like that looking at someone that two seconds ago you didn't know existed? how could you look at a stranger the way Lando had always wanted for you to look at him? oh how oblivious he was

As soon as he tried to get up to stop the situation, he felt the hand of the same girl he had seen earlier on his shoulder and as some type of divine signal it was then that he came to his senses. If he really loved you, he should let you live your own life.

Back to where you were, the nameless boy grinded against you while grabbing your hip and the two of you danced to the rhythm of the music, he was cute, sure, he was nice and funny, but in your drunken state your head seemed to betray you making you think about Lando over and over again, each song seemed to be talking about him, about you, about the two of you, and just when you were trying to get away from the boy it occurred to you to look at him, At this point you should be used to it, glass in hand, a girl on his lap, kissing so passionately it made you want to cry.

You were fucking sick of it, sick of the looks of pity from all your friends, of not being able to get mad at the girl, or Lando, you could only be mad at yourself for having these stupid feelings and not being able to settle for his friendship that at the end of the day was the best thing that had ever happened to you, and you really don't know how or when but you were glued to a wall kissing the guy, he was grabbing your ass tightly and biting your lip while you were pulling his hair trying to understand the situation you found yourself in, with far too many drinks on you, the jealousy, shame and unreciprocated feelings you felt for your best friend, you decided to lose yourself in the touch of the boy you had just met.

When the girl moved away from him to take a breath he saw you, your hair messy, your dress rolled up and that son of a bitch's hands grabbing you just like he would like to do, he didn't even have the decency to take you somewhere more private, but again, who was he to get involved in what you were doing if he knew that he couldn't give you what you deserved anyway, so he grabbed the girl's face and continued kissing her, but he couldn't stop thinking about you, the weight of the girl on his lap made him wish it was you, Lando wanted you to grab his hair just like you did with the boy you were kissing, he knew he could make you feel much better than him, he would take you somewhere empty because only he should be the only one to see you this way, he would grab you by the waist and pull you against him, he would kiss you with so much feelings that you wouldn't doubt his love for you, the erection that grew underneath his pants made him imagine how good you would feel rubbing yourself on him and he was sure it would feel like heaven listening to you moaning his name when he went down to kiss your neck.

“fuck, y/n just like that, baby” he didn't expect that it was going to be your name the one that escaped his lips.

The look of confusion and shock from the girl who was sitting on his lap brought him back to reality, and he doesn't know if he was suddenly sober or if all the alcohol that was in his system hit him at once but his body, his mind and all his senses told him to look for y/n, so apologizing to the girl and getting her off of him, he began to look for his love.

He looked around but there was no sign of her, her friends were still dancing in the same place but she and the boy he had seen her with earlier had disappeared, he asked Max but he told him that he had lost sight of them ago. For a while, when he saw Olivia, he realized that if anyone could help him, it was her.

he got into the crowd of dancing girls trying to get her friend's attention, "Olivia, hey, where did y/n go?" He said when the girl finally saw him

"Lando, I think you should leave her alone, she's busy" your friend knew that today you just needed to forget about him.

"Did she leave with him? Just tell me if she's still here, please" Lando was desperate, he feared that if he didn't find you now he would never have the courage to confess his feelings to you again

Olivia finally gave up "she just told me she was going to his house, I don't think they're gone yet" she took a deep breath and added "she's trying to forget you, I know deep down you know that, don't do anything if you know you're gonna hurt her, Lando."

"Thank you, i promise i will not" he said before running to the club’s door

You don't know why you agreed to this, but you found yourself walking towards the car of the boy you just met today, do you really want this? you don't know, in your head you just think that maybe this is it, maybe he can make you forget about Lando, in fact, you should be happy, he is cute, hot, funny, attentive and respectful, why aren't you happy? And why do you feel so relieved when you feel a hand on your shoulder stopping you?

"y/n, please don't go with him" you turn around when you hear the familiar voice and you feel your stomach do a thousand flips when you see the person you've been thinking about all night.

You pause to look at him before speaking, he looks agitated, in a hurry even, as if he was going to run out of time, but even in that state he is the most attractive man you have ever seen, some buttons on his shirt are undone showing his chest, as if the slightly see-through fabric wasn't enough, his tanned skin glowing under the night lights and you don't understand why he has to come out of nowhere now to ruin anyone else for you.

"Lando, is everything okay?" Your voice denotes concern and Lando just wants to have you in his arms.

"lov- sorry, y/n" he corrected himself "don't go with him, I need to talk to you, please, I need you to give me a chance"

"what are you talking about?" Your words came out like a whisper, you had to be misunderstanding him, or not?

"Sorry mate, this isn't your fault, but I love her, she's the love of my life, I can't let her go."

Suddenly you remembered the boy who was there with you, you looked over your shoulder, you only saw confusion in his gaze and you felt sorry for how he had ended up in this situation just because of bad luck, you shared a look and the boy understood that he had to leave.

"Lando, if this is some kind of joke or you're just doing it because that girl rejected you, I want you to know that it's not funny."

Lando felt a pang of pain in his chest, what had he been doing wrong all this time for you to believe him capable of playing with you like that?

"this isn’t a joke, y/n, I'm tired of pretending that I don't just love you, baby." he said taking a few steps until he was right in front of you "I don't know what I did for you to not want to see me or talk to me, but let me fix it, even if you don't feel the same way, I need you to treat me like before, I miss you love"

"I was just trying to forget you, Lando" the tears began to fall down your face and you didn't know if you felt shame, joy, anger or relief, if he felt the same, why had he made you see him with all those girls before? Why hadn't he spoken sooner? Why hadn't you spoken sooner?

you felt his lips on yours, and for the second time that night you were kissing someone, but this time everything made sense, you could only think about lando, you were right where you wanted to be, you were aware of his touch in every place where his body made contact with yours and time seemed to have stopped, you were addicted to the feeling of finally having him all to yourself and you didn't want to stop even to take a breath or move to another place.

He felt the same way and with all his strength he moved away just enough to mumble "let's get out of here."

-

The car ride to your house felt like a fever dream, you wanted to talk to each other but you had so many ideas in your head that you didn't know what to say first, you wanted to touch each other but you didn't want to spend another minute without being in a place just for the you two, so all you did was share looks of love and happy giggles

You two were finally home and it seemed like you were glued to each other, the heat in the room was becoming more and more unbearable as you kissed, grabbed and caressed each other, thanks to muscle memory you managed to get to your room and Lando just pushed you to the bed before climbing into it straddling you

"So pretty, baby, I can't believe I finally have you" he said kissing your neck and lifting your dress asking permission to take it off.

You nodded silently and Lando wasted no time in removing the garment that covered your body. He began to run kisses and licks over your shoulders, collarbones, arms and stomach until he left you desperate and trembling beneath him. You knew he was enjoying it but you had waited so long for this that you couldn't stand him not touching you right where you wanted, losing your patience you reached behind your back to unclasp your bra.

“nuh huh, that's my job, precious, let me enjoy you just the way I want” He said kissing, sucking and biting your neck, his words sending shivers to the wet areas of your skin.

"Lando, please, you're going to have plenty of time to enjoy me in every way you want, just fuck me already, I can't wait." As you spoke you couldn't help but arch your back when lando gently bit your collarbone making a moan escape your mouth.

you heard him laugh cockily "plenty of time? does that mean we're going on a second date?" and just when you thought about slapping him for his bad joke you felt him cup your pussy relieving half of the tension you felt.

He lived to please you and if you wanted to get to the point that's what he would do, he quickly got rid of your bra attacking one of your nipples with his tongue, circling the muscle over it before taking it all in his mouth, moaning softly into it, after a while he moved to your other nipple, repeating his actions, but paying attention to the previous one with his big, rough, veiny hands, you were a moaning mess, and every once in a while you had to remind yourself that this was really happening and it wasn't a product of your imagination.

"mmh Lando that feels so good, please don't stop" you said trying to reach his member to touch it over his clothes, but you instantly felt him pin your arms over your head

"not yet, y/n tonight is all about you, let me make you feel good" he said moving down to your hips leaving kisses right on the waistline of your panties

He stopped to look at the lace panties you were wearing, black and all see-through, they were sexy but at the same time elegant and Lando felt like he would faint right there.

"these are so pretty, it's a shame i have to take them off," he said, taking your underwear on each side and removing it in one go.

It was at that moment that he saw you naked for the first time, you looked so hot but also innocent, the look of desire and at the same time love in your eyes could not be compared to anything that Lando had seen before, and he couldn't believe he had been missing on this for so long.

He ran a hand over your wet center and hissed at the sensation.

"baby, please do something, I'm going crazy" you begged, pushing your hips against his hand, trying to get more friction.

"well, since you're in such a hurry, god, we have to work on your patience, love." Without warning, Lando put a finger inside your hole and at the same time went down to lick your clit, while leaving his finger still inside you, he licked your bundle of nerves from side to side, up and down and circling his tongue against you, the euphoria you felt at that moment didn’t allow you to speak, the only thing that came out of your mouth were desperate breaths and moans of his name repeatedly. Every time you dared to look between your legs and saw your friend's piercing eyes you felt yourself embarrassingly quick getting closer to the edge.

"Lando, I need more, please, I want to cum."

so you felt a second finger inside you, he began to move them at a soft and strong pace, curving them inside you in the most delicious way, it didn't take long for you to finish all over his mouth and fingers, with a scream of his name and pulling him against you by his hair, he continued sucking your clit until you pushed his head due to overstimulation.

“You taste so good, my love, please let me do it again” he said kissing your inner thighs trying to open your legs again.

"another time, babe, I want you to fuck me, I need to feel you" you said pulling him from his shirt, you were feeling a little self conscious as you noticed how he was fully dressed and you were naked in front of him, so you unbuttoned his pants begging him to take them off, he, always willing to please you, pulled them down at the same time with his boxers, letting his dick come out freely in front of your face.

None of all the dirty nights you spent thinking about him could prepare you for what was in front of your eyes, his member, the perfect length, thick and veiny, with his tip all wet, seemed to beg you to put it in your mouth.

And that’s what you did, kneeling on the bed in front of him, licking the tip vaguely and without wasting much time you started sucking on it. Lando grabbed your hair in a ponytail and allowed himself to enjoy the heat of your mouth.

You wanted to make him feel good, it was the only thing you could think at that moment, and when you looked up and saw his face contorted with pleasure, his head thrown back and tasted his salty precum you could only moan in satisfaction, the entire moment made you so wet again and your hole clenched around nothing.

Against all his desire and will, Lando removed his dick from your mouth, it felt so good, but he needed to fuck you, he needed to feel your wet walls around him, so once again he pushed you on the bed and put your legs on his shoulders.

"Are you ready?" The question felt like a joke, you had been ready for months.

"yes, so ready, please fuck me"

You felt his member press against your pussy and the wetness made it so easy for him to slide in all at once.

Both of you moaned in unison as you felt that you were finally where you belong, Lando stayed still for a moment to let you get used to the size and to take a breathe so he wouldn’t cum on the spot.

When he saw your desperate face and felt how you pushed your hips against him, Lando began to fuck you without mercy, hand on your neck choking you just the way you like it, grunts and moans escaping from his mouth, turning you on more and more.

"baby, please, I'm so close, you fuck me so so good, I love your dick so much, please" you didn't know what you were saying, you just knew that you didn't want anyone but him.

Lando couldn't help but laugh at your state, but he wasn't much better than you, feeling his orgasm getting closer, he removed his hand from your neck and began to draw circles on your clit, his thrusts were erratic and the trembling in his legs let you know that he wasn't going to last much longer.

"land-o, baby, cum inside, I need you to fill me" and with those simple words the two of you climaxed at the same time, white dots filled your vision and you could swear it was the longest orgasm you’ve ever had, when you came back to your senses, your friend removed his member from your hole and turned your positions so that you were on top of him.

"We should clean up" you said, ignoring your tiredness, trying to be responsible.

"Let's stay like this for a while, I need to hug you, hold you close" despite his tired tone you could hear him talking to you with a smile.

A few minutes passed and just when Lando was about to fall asleep, your words brought him out of his state.

"You know we'll have to talk about this tomorrow, right?"

And just like that, he remembered each and every reason why he hadn't done this before.

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

ANIMALS

inspired by the song ‘Animals’ by Maroon 5.

rafe cameron x kook!fem!reader

SUMMARY: in a world where obsession blurs the lines between love and hate, Y/N and rafe cameron are locked in a toxic game of desire and dominance. as the tension between them reaches a boiling point, rafe’s possessiveness and Y/N’s defiance threaten to expose the truth—some animals can’t resist the hunt.

based on this ask !! i hope this is everything you asked for anon, and i’m so so sorry it’s taken so long, i took a cheeky writing break !!🫣 you didn’t specify if you wanted smut or not, but you can stop just before the smut when they get to the bedroom if you wish <3

WARNINGS: lighthearted angst, enemies w/ benefits, smut (18+ mdni!), alcohol consumption, slut-shaming (?), bitchy!reader, unprotected p in v (wrap it before ya tap it!), doggy style (bent over vanity), rough sex, manhandling (😝), hair pulling, jealous!rafe, reader throws a drink on rafe. (i think that’s it? lmk if i missed anything !!)

A/N: you can imagine any era rafe during this, but i do mention him having hair as reader pulls it, but i do see buzz cut!rafe in this too😫

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

THIRD PERSON +

The summer air was thick with humidity, the nights heavy with tension on the Outer Banks. Parties spilled onto beachfronts and estates, bonfires lighting up the endless skies. Y/N had the world at her feet—a true Kook princess with her sharp tongue, dazzling smile, and a touch of venom.

She played her cards perfectly, commanding the room wherever she went.

Rafe Cameron, however, was her shadow—a predator who stalked the edges of her light. He was trouble wrapped in an expensive polo, a cocktail of entitlement, rage, and obsession. The two of them didn’t get along in public. They’d perfected the art of bickering, their sharp remarks drawing laughter from Kooks and Pogues alike.

But beneath the surface, there was something darker, something intoxicating they could never resist.

—

The party was in full swing at Tannyhill, the gilded walls reflecting the warm glow of the chandelier overhead. Kooks milled about, drinks in hand, laughter echoing off the high ceilings. Y/N leaned casually against the marble counter in the kitchen, a glass of champagne dangling from her manicured fingers. She looked every bit the spoiled, self-assured girl everyone knew her to be—her designer dress clinging to her figure like a second skin, her lips painted in a deep shade that matched the smug smirk on her face.

Across the room, Rafe Cameron leaned against the doorway, his sharp jawline tightening as he watched her. He hated how she always seemed so effortlessly in control, like she knew exactly how to drive him crazy. He hated it even more when she turned her head and caught his eye, her smirk widening into something far more dangerous.

"Staring much, Cameron?" Y/N called out, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Rafe pushed off the doorframe, weaving through the crowd with the precision of a predator closing in on his prey. He came to a stop inches away from her, his blue eyes locking onto hers. "Can you blame me? You make it impossible not to look."

Y/N arched an eyebrow, unfazed by his proximity. "Careful, Rafe. Your obsession is showing."

His lips curved into a smirk, but there was nothing playful about it. "Obsession? Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. I'm just curious how someone so perfect at pretending to be untouchable keeps ending up in my bed."

Her smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, but she recovered quickly. "Must be all that champagne. Makes it hard to remember mistakes."

Rafe leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. "Mistake? We both know I'm the only thing you can't resist. You're just too proud to admit it."

Y/N's stomach twisted, but she refused to let him see how much his words affected her. She tilted her head, her voice as cold as ice. "Funny, I don't recall needing to admit anything to you."

Before Rafe could respond, JJ appeared at her side, slinging an arm over her shoulder. "Hey, pretty girl. Thought you'd ditched us for your old Kook crowd."

Rafe's jaw tightened, his glare shifting to JJ. "Don't you have a surfboard to wax or something, Pogue?"

JJ ignored him, flashing Y/N a grin. "Let's get out of here. This party's dead."

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting to Rafe, whose expression darkened. She knew exactly what she was doing when she looped her arm through JJ's and started toward the door.

"Don't go too far, Y/N," Rafe called after her, his voice low and threatening. "You can run, but you'll always end up right back here."

—

The night air was cool as Y/N sat on the dock, the soft lapping of the water providing a brief reprieve from the chaos of the party. She'd barely been there for five minutes when she heard footsteps behind her.

"Couldn't stay away, could you?" she said without turning around.

Rafe dropped down beside her, his knees brushing hers. "You're really testing my patience tonight."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "What, did JJ's existence bruise your fragile ego?"

"You think this is a joke?" Rafe growled, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. "I see the way you act around Maybann. Like you're trying to piss me off on purpose."

She yanked her face away, her voice sharp. "Maybe I am. Ever think about that?"

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, she thought he might snap. Instead, he leaned back, his smirk returning. "Go ahead, keep playing your little games. But we both know how this ends."

"Enlighten me," she said dryly.

Rafe's voice dropped to a whisper, his hand brushing against her cheek. "You can't run from me, Y/N. You belong to me, whether you like it or not. And no Pogue or party can change that."

The tension crackled between them like a live wire. She hated how much his words got to her, how his touch sent shivers down her spine. But she'd be damned if she let him win.

"Is that so?" she said sweetly, picking up her glass and tossing the bubbly contents into his face.

The champagne dripped from his hair, and for a moment, the shock on his face was enough to make her burst out laughing. But then his lips curled into a dangerous smile, and she knew she'd made a mistake.

"You're gonna regret that," Rafe said, his voice low and dangerous.

Y/N stood, her confidence unshaken. "Try me, Cameron."

As she walked away, swaying her hips a little more than usual, she could feel his eyes burning into her back. She knew she was playing with fire, but part of her loved the thrill of it. She and Rafe were two sides of the same coin, locked in a game neither of them could quit.

Because deep down, she knew he was right. No matter how far she ran, he'd always find her. And part of her didn't want him to stop.

—

The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the beach outside The Wreck, where Y/N sat at a picnic table surrounded by her friends. Sarah was leaning back on the bench, sunglasses perched on her nose, while Kie propped her chin on her hand, animatedly recounting a story. Cleo chuckled beside her, and Y/N's two Kook friends, Taylor and Malia, leaned in with interest, their perfectly styled hair catching the light.

The scene was serene, a picture-perfect group of girls enjoying themselves on the edge of paradise. But Y/N couldn't focus. Across the sandy expanse, near a beat-up truck surrounded by Kooks, Rafe Cameron stood with Topper, Kelce, and a couple of others, the unmistakable swagger in his stance making him impossible to ignore.

Y/N sipped her iced tea, letting her gaze flicker toward him briefly. He was watching her—had been since the moment she arrived. His intense blue eyes tracked her every move, smoldering with a mix of anger, desire, and something darker. She could feel his stare like a physical touch, and though it sent a shiver down her spine, she wasn't about to let him win.

"Y/N, hello?" Kie waved a hand in front of her face. "Earth to Kook Barbie. You're zoning out."

Y/N snapped her attention back to the group, giving Kie a lazy smile. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Forget it," Kie said, rolling her eyes. "You've got that look again."

"What look?" Y/N asked innocently, toying with the straw in her glass.

Sarah smirked. "The one you get when my brother is around. Don't think we didn't notice."

"Oh, please," Y/N said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Like I care about whatever Rafe is doing."

Cleo raised an eyebrow, a sly grin spreading across her face. "You might not care, but he sure does. Dude's been staring at you like he wants to devour you."

Y/N scoffed but didn't deny it. Before she could come up with a cutting remark, their waiter approached—a new guy, tall and tanned with a charming smile, and black curls sitting atop his head. He carried a tray of drinks with ease, his eyes lighting up when they landed on Y/N.

"Afternoon, ladies," he said, setting the tray down. "Your drinks, courtesy of...well, me."

Kie raised a brow. "My parents own this place. You don't have to do that."

The waiter grinned, but his attention stayed on Y/N. "Consider it a perk of working here."

The girls giggled, and Y/N leaned back in her seat, tilting her head. "Wow, how generous," she said, her tone teasing.

"It's not every day I get to serve someone like you," the waiter replied smoothly.

Y/N feigned shock, her hand fluttering to her chest. "Someone like me? You mean, devastatingly gorgeous and completely out of your league?"

The girls burst into laughter, and even the waiter chuckled, though his cheeks flushed a little. "I wouldn't say out of my league," he shot back with a wink.

Y/N could practically feel Rafe's glare burning into her from across the beach, and that knowledge made her smirk grow. She leaned forward slightly, giving the waiter her full attention. "Careful," she said, her voice low and sweet. "Flattery might just get you somewhere."

The poor guy was about to respond when the door to The Wreck slammed open, and in walked Rafe, flanked by Topper, Kelce, and the other Kooks. Their arrival was loud, drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the restaurant.

"Oh, for the love of God," Sarah muttered, pulling her sunglasses down. "What are they doing here?"

"They're like cockroaches," Taylor grumbled. "You can't get rid of them."

The boys took a table near the girls, Rafe purposefully sitting with a clear view of Y/N. She didn't miss the way his gaze flicked to the waiter, who had quickly retreated to the kitchen, and then back to her. His jaw was tight, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table.

"Y/N," Rafe called, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Having fun?"

Y/N turned her head slowly, fixing him with a bored expression. "Immensely. Thanks for asking."

Topper snickered, leaning back in his chair. "You sure about that? Looked like your new boyfriend was trying a little too hard."

"Jealous, Top?" Y/N shot back, her tone saccharine sweet. "I didn't think I was your type."

Rafe's smirk widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What's the matter, Y/N? You settling for waiters now?"

The girls groaned audibly, Malia muttering, "Here we go."

Y/N leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table as she met Rafe's gaze head-on. "What's the matter, Rafe? Can't handle a little competition?"

"There's no competition," he shot back, his voice dripping with confidence. "We both know how this ends."

The tension between them was palpable, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. Kie looked ready to intervene, but Sarah grabbed her arm, shaking her head.

"You're delusional," Y/N said, her voice sharp. "Just because you can't handle rejection doesn't mean I'm going to cater to your bruised ego."

Rafe leaned back in his chair, his smirk unwavering. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. But we both know the truth."

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. Y/N's cheeks felt warm, but whether it was from anger or something else, she couldn't tell.

"Let's go," Kie said firmly, grabbing Y/N's arm.

Y/N stood abruptly, glaring at Rafe. "You're pathetic, Cameron. Enjoy your boys' club."

As the girls filed out, Y/N could feel Rafe's eyes on her, his stare as possessive and unyielding as ever.

Back at their table, Topper and Kelce were laughing, but Rafe wasn't paying attention. His mind was elsewhere, his fists clenching as he replayed the interaction with the waiter. Without a word, he got up and made his way to the kitchen.

The waiter was leaning against the counter when Rafe approached, his towering presence immediately unsettling.

"Hey," Rafe said, his voice low and menacing.

The waiter looked up, his brow furrowing. "Uh, can I help you?"

Rafe stepped closer, his gaze cold. "Yeah. Stay the hell away from Y/N."

The waiter blinked, confused. "What? Dude, I was just—"

"You were just what?" Rafe interrupted, his voice rising. "Flirting with her? Trying to impress her? Let me make this clear: she's mine. So back off. You so much as even breathe near her, I will be the reason you never will again. Got it?”

The waiter raised his hands in surrender, clearly shaken. "Alright, man. Chill. I didn't know she was...yours."

Rafe smirked, satisfied. "Now you do. Keep it that way."

As he walked back to his table, Rafe felt a grim sense of satisfaction. Y/N could play her little games, but he'd always win. She was his—whether she admitted it or not.

—

The bass thumped through the walls of Y/N's sprawling Figure 8 estate, the music so loud it felt like it shook the floor beneath Rafe's feet. The party was in full swing, her infamous gatherings never failing to attract the entire island—Kooks and Pogues alike. For one night, the divide that separated them blurred under the haze of expensive liquor, pulsating lights, and deafening music.

Rafe leaned against the bar in the corner of the room, nursing a drink he hadn't touched in the last hour. His usual cocky smirk was absent, replaced by a scowl that deepened every time someone brushed past him. He told himself he didn't care about Y/N's party, didn't care that she was in the same house, probably doing everything she could to piss him off.

But he was lying to himself, and he knew it.

For days, he'd been ignoring her, hoping distance would dull the fire she sparked in him. He knew his obsession with her was spiraling out of control, consuming him like a predator stalking its prey. But Y/N wasn't just prey—she was a fighter, stubborn and untouchable, and it made the hunt all the more maddening.

Kelce leaned against the bar beside him, talking about something Rafe wasn't listening to. His mind was too preoccupied with the faint sound of Y/N's laugh echoing through the house, the mental image of her smile, the way she always seemed to dance just out of his reach.

"Bro, you need to see this," Topper suddenly said, his voice cutting through Rafe's thoughts.

Rafe turned his head, narrowing his eyes. "What?"

Topper grinned, motioning toward the living room. "Y/N's losing her mind right now. Dancing on a table. You have to see it."

Rafe's jaw tightened, his fingers curling around the red solo cup in his hand. Topper didn't notice, too busy grabbing Kelce and a couple of others to follow him.

"C'mon, man," Topper called over his shoulder.

Rafe hesitated for a split second before downing the rest of his drink and shoving off the bar. His feet carried him toward the living room almost involuntarily, like he was drawn to her by some magnetic force.

When he stepped into the room, the scene in front of him made his blood boil.

Y/N was on top of a table in the center of the room, the crowd around her cheering and chanting her name. The bass-heavy beat of a Weeknd song pulsed through the air as she moved, her body swaying in a way that was both hypnotic and infuriating. Her dress—a tiny black number that clung to her curves and barely grazed her thighs—left little to the imagination. She ran her hands down her body as she dropped low to the beat, the crowd around her cheering and whistling.

Rafe's grip on his drink tightened, the nearly empty plastic cup crumpling slightly under the pressure. He hated this. He hated the way everyone was looking at her, like she was a piece of meat. He hated the way his sister, Sarah, and her Pogue friends were egging her on, cheering her as she danced.

But most of all, he hated the way Y/N's eyes found his in the crowd, her lips curling into a smirk as if she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

"She's so hot," Topper said beside him, nudging Kelce. "Like, insanely hot."

"Shut up," Rafe snapped, his tone sharp enough to make them both flinch.

"What's your problem?" Kelce asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rafe didn't answer. His attention was locked on Y/N, who had leaned down to respond to something JJ said. The way she bent over, laughing and tossing her hair, gave JJ a perfect view of her exposed chest. Rafe saw red.

Without thinking, he shoved his way through the crowd, ignoring the curious stares and whispers that followed him. By the time he reached the table, Y/N was already watching him with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"Y/N," he barked, his voice cutting through the music. "Get your ass down here. Now."

She tilted her head, pretending not to hear him. "What was that?" she called, cupping her ear mockingly as she continued to dance.

"I said get down," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Y/N crossed her arms, leaning against the makeshift pole on the table. "No, I don't think I will."

The crowd around them had started to notice the interaction, whispers spreading quickly. Why was Rafe Cameron, of all people, telling Y/N what to do? Everyone knew they hated each other—or at least, they were supposed to.

"Y/N," he growled, his patience wearing thin. "I'm not playing games. Get down."

"And I'm not taking orders," she shot back, her voice dripping with defiance.

The Pogues exchanged glances, their confusion evident. Even Sarah looked unsure, her eyes darting between her brother and her friend.

Rafe had enough. In one swift motion, he grabbed Y/N by the waist and slung her over his shoulder, ignoring her gasp of surprise.

"Rafe, what the hell?!" she shouted, kicking her legs as he pushed through the crowd. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he muttered, his grip like steel, holding the minimal fabric of her dress to keep her ass covered from the hungry eyes of partygoers.

The crowd parted as he stormed upstairs, the whispers following them like a shadow. Y/N's protests continued, but deep down, she reveled in the attention. She knew what this was—a game of dominance, one she had no intention of losing.

When they reached her room, Rafe punched in the code to the keypad with practiced ease. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, locking it behind them before setting her down.

Y/N crossed her arms, glaring at him. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem?" he shot back, his voice loud and angry. "What the hell was that downstairs?"

"That was me having fun," she retorted, stepping closer to him. "What's it to you?"

"You call that fun? Parading yourself around like a damn stripper?"

"Oh, spare me the lecture, Rafe," she snapped. "You don't own me."

"Don't I?" he countered, his voice low and dangerous.

Her breath hitched, but she didn't back down. "No, you don't. And the fact that you think you do is pathetic."

The tension between them was suffocating, their faces inches apart as they glared at each other.

"You drive me insane," Rafe muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

"Good," she shot back.

Before she could say anything else, his lips crashed against hers, the kiss rough and desperate. She melted into him for a moment before pushing him back.

"This doesn't mean you win," she whispered, her voice breathless.

Rafe smirked, his hands gripping her waist. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."

Rafe used Y/N’s brief moment of weakness to his advantage, and manoeuvred her body towards the large king-sized bed in her room. He gripped her wrists in one of his hands, Y/N instantly struggling in his grip.

"You’re such a fucking brat," Rafe growled, his hands tightening around her wrists as he pinned her to the bed. Y/N's back hit the soft mattress with a soft thud, her chest rising and falling as she glared up at him, her lips swollen from his bruising kiss.

"And you're a possessive asshole," she shot back, her voice sharp despite the way her body betrayed her, arching into his touch. "But you're my possessive asshole."

Rafe's smirk was dark, predatory, as he released her hands. "Damn right I am."

He leaned down, his lips grazing her ear, his voice a low, dangerous purr that sent shivers down her spine. "You think you can keep playing games with me? You think you're in control?" His teeth nipped at her earlobe, and she gasped, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his back.

"I'm always in control," she breathed, but the tremor in her voice gave her away.

Before Rafe could respond, she bucked her hips, using the momentum to flip them over. She straddled him, her hands pressed against his chest, her hair falling in a wild curtain around her face.

"See?" she said, tilting her head with a smirk. "I'm calling the shots here."

Rafe's eyes narrowed, his hands sliding up her thighs, pushing the black fabric of her dress up, gripping her hips with a bruising force. "You keep telling yourself that, princess."

Their lips crashed together again, the kiss fierce and unrelenting. Y/N's hands tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, while Rafe's fingers dug into her skin, leaving marks that she knew she'd wear like a badge of honour in her designer bikini’s.

They were a mess of tangled limbs and heated breaths, their bodies moving in a desperate rhythm that was as much about dominance as it was about pleasure. Y/N's nails raked down his now bare chest, and Rafe retaliated by flipping her onto her back once more, his lips trailing down her neck, leaving a trail of bites and kisses that made her head spin.

"You're mine," he muttered against her skin, his voice rough with need. "You've always been mine."

"Keep dreaming," she scoffed, but the way her body responded to him—arching into his touch, her legs tightening around his waist—told a whole different story.

Rafe pulled back, his eyes locking with hers. The intensity in his gaze was overwhelming, and for a moment, Y/N felt like she couldn't breathe. "Look at you," he said, his voice low and filled with a raw hunger that made her shiver. "You're a fucking mess for me, and you hate it."

She opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off with a kiss that left her dizzy. His hands moved to her waist, lifting her effortlessly as he stood, carrying her to the vanity in the corner of the room.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

Rafe didn't answer. Instead, he set her down on the edge of the vanity, his hands gripping her hips as he manhandled her body around to face herself in the mirror. "Look at yourself," he ordered, his voice firm.

Y/N hesitated, her eyes flicking to the reflection in front of her. Her hair was disheveled, her lips swollen, her skin flushed, the thin straps of her dress hanging off her shoulders exposing the lace of her bra, the fabric of her dress crumpled up by her hips. She looked... wrecked.

And it was all because of him.

"See?" Rafe's voice was a low growl in her ear, his hands trailing down her sides. "This is what you do to me. This is what I do to you."

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words died on her lips as his hands moved to the back of her thighs, spreading them apart. His lips pressed against the curve of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin in a way that made her gasp. Rafe moved the thin lace fabric of her thong to the side, middle and ring finger running through the wetness in between her thighs, Y/N shuddering as he brushed over her clit.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this. So fucking wet all for me," he muttered, his voice thick with need. "All mine."

Y/N's breath hitched as he positioned himself behind her, his hands deftly undoing his belt then undoing the button and zip on his pants, pulling them down enough to expose his rigid cock. The sheer girth and length of it never failing to surprise Y/N.

Rafe gripped her hips with a possessiveness that made her heart race. "You're such an egomaniac," she managed to say, though her voice was breathless.

Rafe chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against her ear. "And you love it."

Before she could respond, he thrust into her, the sudden fullness making her cry out. Her hands gripped the edge of the vanity, her eyes locking with his in the mirror.

"Keep your eyes open," Rafe ordered, his voice rough. "I want you to see what I do to you."

Y/N's breath came in short gasps as he moved inside her, each thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through her. She tried to hold his gaze, but the intensity was too much, and she had to look away, her head falling forward as a borderline pornographic moan escaped her lips.

Rafe's hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back up. "I said, keep your fucking eyes open," he growled, his voice filled with a command that she couldn't ignore.

She met his gaze in the mirror, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as she panted. The sight of him behind her, his eyes dark with desire, his hands gripping her hips with a possessiveness that made her heart race, was almost too much to bear.

"See that?" Rafe muttered, his voice low and filled with a raw hunger that mirrored her own. "That's you. That's what I do to you."

Y/N's nails dug into the edge of the vanity as he thrust into her again, the force of it making her cry out. She could feel herself unraveling, the pleasure building inside her with each harsh thrust Rafe delivered, but she refused to give in, refused to let him have the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart.

"You're such a bastard," she managed to say, though her voice was shaky.

Rafe chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against her ear. "And you're such a brat. But you're my brat."

His hand moved between her legs, his fingers finding her clit, moving in swift circles that made her gasp, and she couldn't hold back any longer. Her body arched into his touch, her eyes locking with his in the mirror as she came undone, her moans filling the room as her pussy clenched around Rafe.

Rafe didn't stop, his movements growing more frantic as he chased his own release. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her back into him with a force that made her gasp. The sounds of slick skin colliding and gasps and moans were the only sound in the room, and Y/N was thankfully for the bass-heavy music that was playing downstairs, meaning nobody could hear them.

"You're mine," he muttered, his voice rough with need. "You've always been mine."

And as he spilled inside her, his lips pressing against her neck in a bruising kiss, Y/N couldn't help but think that maybe—just maybe—he was right.

She is his, and he is hers.

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

i had SO much fun writing this one !! there’s something about writing such a bad bitch character and she reminds me so much of a character from a wattpad fic i wrote a while ago😫

anyways, i hope you enjoy this anon !! and i hope this was what you asked for :) as always, please like and reblog and comment your thoughts !! <3

[prael]

Day 9: Subservience

TripleS Jiwoo x male reader smut

words: 3,980 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

"I've known the owner for years. She's really kind and she always gives me extra," Jiwoo explains as she guides you, hand-in-hand, down the street to the ice-cream shop that she swears is the best in the country. You don't question her, she knows what's good and she knows your tastes. You do struggle to keep up with the strides of her long legs. She's still fuelled by annoyance.

The game against the Eagles was a rough one. There were several fights, some more physical than others, but all were fueled by the rivalry. Jiwoo's game ended when she slammed one of the Eagles' players into the boards. It was a rough hit, enough for the ref to throw her out of the game, and you can't blame her. It was a dirty hit. But Jiwoo had been riled up by a series of fouls that the ref hadn't seen. So she reacted, and the player took advantage.

As soon as you step into the shop, Jiwoo visibly relaxes. A warm smile takes over her features that widens once the owner steps out from the back. "Jiwoo! How have you been, sweetie?" the woman gushes as she rounds the counter.

"I'm well," Jiwoo smiles. "And yourself?"

"Always busy!" the woman chuckles. "The business is doing very well." You see Jiwoo's hand tense as it holds your hand tighter. "What are you having today?"

"The usual, we'll share." Jiwoo orders without asking you.

"And who is this fine young man?"

You open your mouth to speak but Jiwoo is already talking before any sound can leave you. She introduces you—first by name and then as her boyfriend, her best friend. It makes your heart swell to hear her speak so highly about you.

You wait for the ice cream to be done, listening in as Jiwoo makes small talk with the shop owner. She seems happy to hear about the great games Jiwoo is playing and asks if next time she can bring some pictures for the bulletin board above one of the booths. It's cute to see her talk so excitedly about her games and everything she does on the team.

Finally, she asks the two of you to take a seat before promising to be over in just a minute. Jiwoo leads the way and slides into a booth in the corner. You sit down opposite her just as the ice cream and a couple of spoons slide into your view.

"Alright you two, enjoy!" the shop-owner exclaims before leaving you alone again. You both mutter your thanks, taking your spoons.

"Thanks," you say after Jiwoo takes a mouthful. "For bringing me out here." She looks up from her spoon and laughs.

"You haven't even tried it yet, here." She takes a spoonful and reaches out to you, pushing the spoon between your lips.

She is right, of course, the ice cream is good. "Really, really good." She smiles in contentment at the compliment of her choice, reaching over to scoop up a spoonful of another flavour.

"The best," she corrects. "So what do you want to do when we get home?"

"A movie maybe?"

Jiwoo raises a questioning brow at your choice as she spoons up more. She pouts for a second. "I was going to say I could fuck you senseless, but sure, a movie." Her laugh makes you realize she is teasing you and you feel the red creeping into your cheeks. The ice cream shop isn't busy at all, just a couple of regulars, but that doesn't stop you from glancing around in case somebody heard. Jiwoo laughs even harder as the worry shows in your expression.

"We could watch a movie first. Before you... you know."

"Oh, I definitely know." Jiwoo chuckles again, this time softer but the fire is in her eyes now, you've seen this before, felt the touch of her fire.

-

The walk home is peaceful. The sun has just fallen over the sunset leaving a soft glow, the breeze is cool and gentle, and the cars pass slowly. You're the one who is holding her hand now, feeling her body pressed into your arm, leaning onto you as you guide her along the path home, and even without a word spoken, it feels perfect.

Then there's a ring. Jiwoo's phone. She fumbles around for her pocket before pulling it out and sliding the lock screen to the side.

"Yes, this is Jiwoo." You wait in silence, watching her brows furrow. "What the hell? Why?" The look in her eye makes you nervous, you can almost see the steam rising from her ears. She lets go of your hand and stops. You halt with her and listen in. You can hear a voice on the other end of the line but not enough to discern words. Whatever it was, though, it made her mood flip. She ends the call abruptly with a stern 'yeah,' before slipping the phone back into her jacket pocket. Her face has turned to stone.

"What is it?" you ask and place a hand on her shoulder. She turns away from the gesture.

"It was one of the assistant coaches," Jiwoo begins, looking ahead. Her gaze seems lost in the distance, unfocused on whatever was before her but focused on something, something unpleasant. "She's been in touch with the officials, they're suspending me for three games." It's short, sharp, abrupt.

"What?"

"Let's just go home." Jiwoo shrugs off your hand and walks away. You rush after her.

"But that hit was barely—"

"It doesn't matter. Let's just go home."

You leave it at that, following a few paces behind. She doesn't turn to you, doesn't offer her hand, just keeps walking.

As you enter the building lobby you make a point of taking hold of her hand again, as if trying to anchor her in this moment rather than her lost gaze. The elevator doors open and you both step in, her thumb rolls across the back of your hand in a soothing manner.

"I'm fine," she finally says with a deep breath. "I'll be okay."

She throws herself onto the bed as soon as the door closes. Face down, head in a pillow. Her legs dangle over the bed, kicking back and forth. She groans, it's muffled, and she stretches out with a huff.

"Jiwoo?"

Her head tilts to the side to acknowledge you.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

You don't expect much of an answer but you receive one nonetheless, a firm one that makes you gulp. "Yes." She pushes herself upright and stares at you.

"Get naked," her voice is cold and low. Not what you had in mind.

"What?"

"Naked, I need you naked," Jiwoo states again. Her face is stony and her gaze intense. "And on your knees."

Your heart skips a beat. The tone in her voice doesn't suggest this is up for negotiation, not that it matters. She is angry, that much is clear.

"Jiwoo, is this—"

"Did I ask for an opinion?" Her expression stays cold and distant, though there is an unmistakable spark in her eye. She climbs to sit on the edge of the bed and stares through you with that same intensity that is still growing hotter and more dangerous with every second. She crosses one leg over the other, and in those shorts, it is nothing less than a treat.

"Yes, Jiwoo," you nod and start removing your shirt.

"Don't call me Jiwoo right now." You are half-naked and pulling your jeans down to the floor as Jiwoo continues. "From now on it's 'yes miss' and 'right away miss' and 'please let me cum miss.' Do you understand?"

You love it when she gets like this. She's in charge and will not be challenged. You stand in awe for a second as you take in her presence before nodding in response. You drop down onto your knees, naked and exposed.

"Yes miss," you repeat just before shuffling a few steps closer.

She looks down at you, watching intently, then uncrosses her legs to let one foot press to your bare torso. "Good boy," she says. The heel of her foot presses against your chest, and then she kicks out. You're pushed back but regain your composure and return to how you were kneeling before.

"I was so fucking happy earlier!" Her voice is strained as she stands up in front of you. "Now? Now, now, now," she trails off, "Now I just need something to take the fucking edge off."

Her hand snakes around the back of your head to grip your hair. She pulls and it hurts. You look up and are instantly met by her dark expression.

"Do you know how to do something like that?"

You nod in response. She grips at your hair again. There's that pain again.

"I asked if you knew how to do that."

"Yes miss." That earns a smile. It's faint but there. You'll earn more from her before this night is done.

She releases your hair and steps back to sit down again, feet planted firmly on the floor, and her hands on the waist of those short shorts.

"Help me undress." The cold tone is still there and you shuffle forwards again on your knees to obey. Your hands find her thighs first, resting there gently as you lean in, and your lips brush hers with the softest of caress. Your kiss is delicate and gentle, caring even as if you're asking permission to proceed.

"Don't tease me." She huffs and pulls back to glare down at you, and you see the fire there again.

"Sorry, Miss," you offer.

"I told you to help me undress, not play around."

You nod. She is right. This isn't play. Not for you. You reach up for her shorts and unfasten the top button. The zipper goes down quickly and easily. Such long legs and tiny little shorts. Your hands pull at the denim, sliding them down her soft skin and letting your fingertips graze them delicately. You see her underwear next. Pink, cute and such a contrast to the power of its wearer. You throw away the shorts and stare in awe, your mind filling with the thoughts of what comes next.

She sees your expression and wastes no time in calling you out. "You're staring."

"Sorry miss." Your voice is low and quiet.

"It's not yours to gawk at."

"I know, miss."

"So stop staring and undress me, I'm not doing it for you," she snaps. She gestures down and you know exactly what she wants from you now. You know her body well. You know exactly where you should be, where she wants you, and how to please her. And you're not going to leave her disappointed.

With a nod and a 'Yes Miss' you get back to undressing her. The underwear is soft against your fingertips as you hook a few digits around the top of them. She raises an eyebrow, impatiently. Her expression tells you that she is waiting—to have you ravage her. With the fabric held lightly, you pull. Her hips lift a fraction of an inch to help you, allowing you to reveal the pink folds between her thighs.

The pants are discarded somewhere, forgotten as you move in closer, feeling the warmth of her pussy. Jiwoo smirks as you look back up, finding her watching your face and every movement.

"Eat." Her hand pushes your face closer to the apex of her thighs. Her legs rest on your shoulders. Soft thighs hug the sides of your face and the strong muscles tense as she feels you push your lips against her soft cunt. You let your tongue run up the length, taking in her scent, her flavour and her heat. It has you weak in seconds.

Your eyes are half closed as you lap at her juices, and she keeps one hand on your head, her nails raking through your hair. "I needed this so bad." Her words come with a breathy sigh as you suck on her lips. Her head tilts back and she relaxes. Jiwoo moans, softly, sensually, with your head in her grip and your tongue buried inside her pussy.

Her thighs squeeze tighter around your head and her heels dig into your back. "Such a good boy." Her voice is surprisingly tender compared to her actions. "Use your fingers." You immediately oblige. Two fingers sink into her slick wet cunt.

You suck on her clit, rolling your tongue around it as your fingers curl and stretch inside of her. Her sighs and quiet moans start low and light, little hints, little teases. Then the sounds build louder. As your fingers quicken their pace and your tongue beats on her clit, you meet her unspoken demand. Subservience is all she needs.

Jiwoo grips your hair as her moans turn to desperate mewling. "Fuck..." She whines and drags out the word until her hips buck and her thighs tense. In a shivering climax, her voice goes silent and her thighs clench hard. But you're still caught between them. You don't move away, pressing on with kisses and more long sucks until her gasps subside.

"Enough." It's the softest you've heard her this evening, but still, that command is clear and uncompromising. You pull away.

Jiwoo sighs and, while she takes the time to recompose herself, you remain kneeling between her legs in perfect patience.

"Good boy," she comments while her hand is roaming back through your hair. Then she sighs again, leans forward and beckons you to move closer with a simple 'come here.' Jiwoo places a soft peck on your cheek before moving her mouth to your ear. "Stand up and get on the bed."

You do exactly as you're told. Naked and standing, she tugs her shirt over her head. The bra comes next. The toned athletic figure of this woman is enough to make your mouth water, and your throbbing erection twitch, desperate for her to touch. Yet you refrain, knowing, and understanding what this is about. She'll decide when that happens, not you.

As soon as you climb up to sit on the bed Jiwoo moves, too, climbing onto your lap and, once straddling you, making it impossible to not feel the heat of her already wet cunt against your cock. Her lips meet your neck in several rough, hungry kisses and it makes you groan softly, you want more, you need more but you can't have it yet. Not unless she allows it.

"Are you going to behave for me?" she coos, kissing your jaw as she speaks.

"Yes miss."

"Good." The first gentle movement of her hips is torture, the way she ruts against your cock. You're aching for a relief. All you want to do is bury yourself in her right now, feel the tightness as she pulsates around you. "You have to earn that."

Your hands rise of their own accord but you catch them mid-air, waiting for permission to touch, to hold her, to bring her closer. "Please, miss?"

She smiles against your neck, and kisses you again, while the warm wetness of her slick folds pushes down the length of you with slow, tantalizing movements. You moan, louder than you intended and your hips rock up against her, you can't help it. They beg to drive up further, to bury yourself inside her, but you have to wait, wait until she is satisfied.

"What is it? Can't control yourself? Is my pussy making you excited?"

The voice is honey-laced and the heat between her legs, pressed down onto you is torture. This game she plays is nothing less than absolute arousal.

"Yes miss."

"If you can't control yourself..." Her voice trails off as she pulls herself away from you. "Close your eyes."

You nod in obedience, close your eyes as commanded and listen.

A low rumbling meets your ears. A familiar click follows, then a rustle. There are her footsteps next, soft and careful, coming closer to the side of the bed. Jiwoo's breathing is heavy, and so is your own, you still smell the lingering muskiness that lingers in the air. The clink of metal and then the cool sensation of the steel on your wrists causes your eyes to open and stare at the cuffs, binding each of your hands to the bed posts.

"Just in case you don't obey the rules." She smiles and her demeanour is playful, taunting, and seductive. It's her game now and you're just the toy.

"Now, where was I?" Her naked body slides over you. She takes your face in her hands and holds it in place for her mouth to meet yours again.

All you know is the dance of her tongue against yours and the movements of her hands as they run over you. Those long fingers travel from your face, to your jaw, neck and over your collarbone, descending to your chest. Once her hands make it there, she scratches them down along your torso to your stomach. Pain lingers where her nails mark you.

Then the rest of her body begins its motions. Hips roll. Her pussy grinds against you, slick and ready, again and again. Her motions are slow, precise, and calculated. Each kiss and each bite, each scratch of her nails over your body. In turn, your arms pull against the restraints and your cock aches with desire.

This is going to be a long night for you. You're bound, helpless, struggling, desperate. Watching the woman's body undulate above you is maddening. Feeling her on you, feeling her pussy grinding on you is heavenly. Her sharp groans and low moans in your ear make you even more desperate.

Jiwoo shivers, her skin prickles with goosebumps and the muscles in her core tense and relaxes again and again. All you can focus on is the intense and overwhelming feeling of her sex rubbing so eagerly against you. She bites her lip, furrows her brows and leans into her pleasure. Her breaths increase and her movements become erratic.

"I'm going to fuck you until I've had enough," she pants.

This woman can take whatever she wants, whenever she wants. You are no exception.

"Jiwoo..." You can't help it. Her name escapes.

"What did you call me?"

You still. Waiting. Heartbeat in your ears. Worry in your eyes.

Jiwoo shakes her head. She stops rocking her hips and grabs hold of your face, staring at you, almost searching for something as her gaze probes yours. There is a fire in those eyes, like the roaring blaze of a furnace, the blazing sun of a summer day. Fire is a destructive, uncompromising, beautiful, passionate force. The flame of passion burns, you have seen it. The flame consumes as Jiwoo does.

"Now I'm really going to need to punish you. Gonna ride you until it hurts."

"Please," you moan.

She reaches between her thighs to aim your cock towards her pussy and slowly presses down, guiding it through her soft, soaked folds before enveloping you in the absolute hotness and wetness of her cunt. Your eyes roll as she pulls her hips upwards a fraction and then down again, impaling herself, feeling her tighten with her motions.

Slow.

Hard.

She drives her hips down against yours. Your eyes lock again and the flames begin to spill forth. Your legs tremble. Your toes curl. Your back arches, your arms tense and tug against the bonds. The cuffs bite and the bed frame creaks. Each thrust and slam and wet pulse around your rock-hard cock elicits a sound, deep and involuntary, as you try to endure her punishment. Jiwoo knows this, she enjoys it, fucking you over and over, taking her pleasure, she needs this.

Her hips shift suddenly, changing the angle. Everything is better like this, she feels so good, moving, riding, panting. You growl in tortured ecstasy and she seems even more eager. Her grip is so hard on the sides of your body, her nails burying into your skin.

"Ah, right there, yes!"

Jiwoo slams her ass down against your hips and grinds, moving quickly, desperately. And you want her. Fuck, how you want her. But you can't, you're chained to this bed and she owns you now.

"Jiwoo, please!" You have no idea what you're begging for.

A hand reaches up and grasps the bars of the bed frame. Her face comes close. Mouth near your ear. Heavy breaths. Teeth on your jaw.

She releases the bar. The hand meets your face, smacking it. Hard. Pain explodes and your mind spins in agony and lust. Your hips drive up. You cum. Unprepared and powerful. An orgasm hits you so hard that you barely remember the words slipping past your lips—words of release, words of lust. Cum erupts from your dick, throbbing wildly into her. You're saying her name over and over. You're thankful.

You'd be a fool to think she would stop.

No.

In no way is Jiwoo finished with you, not yet. She keeps going, knowing what you can take. The whimpers of your sore cock within the walls of her hot, tight, wet cunt go ignored.

It doesn't matter if your cock is starting to go limp or your nerves are singing in pain, she keeps using you. Her hips bounce on yours, her breath and moans heavy and rough. Her body undulates in lust. Fuck, you're amazed by her beauty, her fire, her passion and her strength, even when you can no longer provide.

Then Jiwoo tosses her head back. Her back arches and tenses. Her skin prickles and her abs tighten. Through the stinging pain, you take pleasure in watching, watching her lose herself. Her sounds are guttural and grow louder as her fingers stroke her engorged clit in hurried, rough circles. Then it happens. She clenches and then nothing, there's no longer the need to move, to breathe or to live, only her orgasm courses through her, wave after wave as her screams and moans mix, you can't distinguish one from the other.

And when finally, the blissful agony has passed, her body collapses. Overheated skin rests against yours, slick with perspiration. For what feels like several minutes there are no words spoken. Nothing but rapid breaths and beating hearts. She doesn't let you slip out of her, not yet, she just lays upon you. Bodies and minds melt together.

Then there comes a whisper. A single word. While your cum begins to leak from her exhausted cunt. "Again."

You choke on your words, holding back your protest. She slowly rocks her hips, spurring your spent cock forcefully back to life and it's all you can do to obey. Hands bound and no choice left, you're forced to let her ride you to her heart's content. After all, everything she does is on her terms.

She keeps her movements slow, languid, barely moving above you. They're not as desperate. Jiwoo can see the way you grimace and takes twisted pleasure in watching the range of pained expressions as she teases. Maybe she will draw it out for another hour, maybe two, until finally she's finished with you, but you can never be certain, not until it ends.

She feels the way your body reacts. Through the oversensitivity of your soft cock re-awakening and regains stiffness as her wet cunt kneads up and down on it. Then Jiwoo sighs, low and heavy and her movements quicken. You know where this leads—more relentless fucking from her, more building up to another screaming orgasm, you tense in anticipation of the same torturous cycle all over again, ready for her to leave you sore and exhausted, only able to simply quiver and convulse under the continuing onslaught of her pleasure.

"Good boy."

[melodyofmbaku]

Signed in Crayon, Sealed in Cash (Smoke Moore x Annie x Stack Moore)

Preview: "Ain’t nothing to stress about mama. We done did this before.” he said while zipping up the back of her dress. 

Warning ⚠️: They're a Trio Word Count: 1.6k A/N Something less heavy but hopefully no less enjoyable. I really appreciate your comments/reblogs, it's what keeps me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think! 😘 My Masterlist ___

The Moore’s had a problem. She was about 3 ft. tall and 5 years old. And a perfect combination of their unit. 

They really didn’t know what they were expecting. With their personalities it was no surprise that Ari turned out the way that she did. 

Smart, fearless, and most of all spoiled. 

That’s how the three found themselves in their bedroom discussing just how they got here.  

“You be telling her stuff Annie. Playing both sides against each other when it suits you.” Stack accused. He was looking at her through the mirror as he did up his shirt. 

Annie shrugged and admitted while lotioning her legs as she sat on the stool of her vanity.

“Just evening the playing field. It’s been ya’ll vs. me for so long. Lord saw it fit I get some backup. Ain’t a crime.” She huffed. 

“It’d be easier if your brother didn’t train her to be a master negotiator.” She looked at Smoke pointedly. 

The man sat on the bed and struggled to do up his cufflinks. He liked when Ari was able to make a good case. Prepositions and negotiations. He was setting her up for her future. 

Ari believed everything could be discussed. That made things particularly difficult when her parents wanted her to do simple things like eat her breakfast or take a bath. 

He shrugged. “That ain’t a bad thing. She’s our firstborn, she gon’ have responsibilities one day.” 

Still fiddling with the link he continued.

“It’s Stack’s “Whatever Ari wants Ari gets” mindset that’s the issue.” he said. 

“Oh I’m wrong?” The younger twin responded. 

“You want our baby to be out there — wanting? When she got not 1 but 2 able bodied daddies and a mama to boot? The hell she will.”

“Ari gets what Ari wants. And that’s law.” The man huffed before stalking over to do up his brother’s cufflinks. 

“Well that law is why we gotta put on this big ol’ party. Mind you— it’s for the dang dog.” Annie deadpanned. 

“You love that dog.” Stack replied over his shoulder... “It’s your dog!” 

“Not the point.” She replied singsongingly. 

But it was true — Ari had them getting all dressed up to throw a birthday party for their rottweiler — Peony — named after Annie's favourite flower.  She had had them invite the neighbors and everything. 

It was a sight to see Smoke standing uncomfortably at their neighbours door inviting them over for a party over the weekend. He thought about bailing but when he looked down at the small hand that held his on those doorsteps — how could he not do everything she wanted? 

At first the trio thought she'd forget about it. Let things die down, she was a kid. How hard would it be? But not their Ari, she was steady counting down the days. 

Smoke recalled knocking on her bedroom door earlier in the week to get her up and downstairs for breakfast. Annie had sent him up and little did he know he’d come down with a tot and a task.

He had barely got her into the kitchen before the girl started her campaign.

“It’s bout’ 4 days for Peony’s party, daddy. I’m gon’ need a new dress.” She said while scooting into her chair at the table.

Smoke grimaced. Earlier that week Annie had whispered sweet things into his ear and looked at him with them eyes and he found himself signing a cheque to add a plethora of new crystals to her collection — it was witchcraft if you asked him.  

Ari wasn’t big on things like that but she was big on looking pretty. If he’d have to blame anyone for that it’d be Stack - she def got that from him.

Annie—still tugging her robe belt into a hurried knot—arched a brow. Ten seconds earlier she’d been pinned between Stack and the corner cabinets, with hands greedily exploring her body and lips full of flour-dusted promises. The moment little footsteps hit the stairs, Stack sprang back, palms in the air like a boy caught in the pantry.

Now he leaned against the counter, trying for nonchalance.

“Thought Peony was happy just turnin’ six with extra gravy,” Annie said, smoothing her collar.

“Peony’s a lady, Mama. Mr. Whitlock’s taking a picture, and I gotta look fancy standing next to her.”

Stack stifled a grin and leaned on the counter. “Girl’s got priorities. Told Whitlock I’d give ’im fifty cents to set up the backdrop.”

Smoke crouched to put slippers on her feet, hiding the faint tremor in his wrist. “Pictures cost money. I best hear a counter-offer, Miss Moore.”

Ari pulled a folded paper from her dress pocket —crayoned swirls titled Daddy & Me. She slid it into his hands like a lawyer presenting evidence.

Stack gave a low whistle. Annie’s mouth twitched.

Smoke shot them a look.

He felt his chest thud a slow, traitorous beat. She knew how to pull on his heart strings. He smoothed the paper. “Fine draftsmanship,” he murmured. “But a good proposition needs terms.”

She lifted 3 little fingers.

“I’ll take my bath every night ’til the party— with no sassin’.”

“Well praise be.” Annie muttered. 

“I’ll eat all my breakfast, even when there ain’t peaches.” She looked at Stack pointedly. 

The girl was obsessed with peaches. She’d have em’ on the side of every breakfast if she could. On days she couldn't, she rarely cleared her plate.

Stack scoffed. He had a tendency to fuss when she didn’t eat enough, it looked like she knew exactly what it’d do to him. 

“Mama gets a dress too, ’cause she works hardest.” Her third and final term. 

Annie grinned. ““That’s my girl.”

Peony’s tail thumped beneath the table as if seconding the motion.

The man looked from Ari’s earnest face to Annie’s surprised smile, then back. He blew out a breath. How could he say no to his girls?

“Reckon that’s a respectable bargain,” he said, tapping the paper once. “But keep every promise, else that dress stays at the shop. Your mama will take you on Friday.”

Ari grinned wide before rewarding him with a smooch on his cheek. “Yes, sir!” She grabbed her piece of toast and scurried back up to her bedroom. No doubt to scheme and celebrate some more.

Stack muttered, “Dog’s birthday gonna bankrupt us,” but the pride in his voice gave him away.

Peony barked once—deal sealed and Mr. Whitlock’s fifty cents practically spent.

The girl had won. Again.

Smoke glanced at Annie— lips kiss bruised, robe belt in a crooked knot—and at Stack, who tried to look serious while hiding a proud grin. For half a second Smoke thought we’re raising a tiny Stack in ribbons and lace. The idea was terrifying.

Smoke shook his head before he tucked the drawing into his pocket, half-amused, half-resigned. Four days, he’d thought. Girl’s gonna hold us to every word.

Four dawns later, the house hummed with party nerves as they continued to get dressed.

Back in the master bedroom Smoke buttoned a starched collar, Stack tugged suspenders into place, and Annie—in a half-fastened dress—did up the clasp of her bracelet while side-eyeing the men.

Stack continued on.  “Never seen a dog rack up so many charges.”

Annie scoffed. “Dog didn’t do it—your daughter did.” She smoothed her bodice, thinking how Ari had spent the last three evenings taking her baths without sass and gulping every crumb of breakfast down without peaches.

“I’ll fry up the catfish around 6. That time everyone would had come round’ — Sun would be lower. ” she said to herself, almost a reminder. 

Stack looked up from his brothers cufflinks before crossing over to his wife. He took her hand and pulled her up from her vanity to assess her, brushing some lint off her dress.

He wasn't ignorant to the fact that Annie wanted the party to be perfect for her baby, regardless of the occasion.

“Ain’t nothing to stress about mama. We done did this before.” he said while zipping up the back of her dress. 

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “You a good mother. She loves you so much. We talk bout’ spoiling her, but we’d have it no other way. Just a couple hours now.”

She took a breath, and looked up at her man before responding, softer. “After the party, she’ll be asleep in five minutes.”

Smoke confirmed from across the room. “Whole house will.”

Stack stopped them. “Nah, then it’s grown-folk time.” Smiling wickedly. 

Smoke’s mouth curved— “Let’s get through the day before we talk grown-folk plans.”

Stack snagged the tin of pomade, Smoke pocketed the bow for Ari's hair, and Annie gathered her skirt. Together—three parents in harmony—they headed down to the yard, ready to celebrate the most elaborate Rottweiler birthday rural Mississippi had ever seen.

It wasn’t long before the party was in full swing. The backyard bloomed with bustle: neighbors laughing over lemonade jars, kids darting after bubbles, and Mr. Whitlock adjusting his big box camera beside the barn wall.

Peony—ribbon tied, coat brushed—sat on a low crate like a queen in waiting. Ari, face bright with excitement, raced over the grass toward her parents.

“Picture time!” she squealed, tugging Annie’s hand first, then Smoke’s sleeve, then Stack’s trouser leg for good measure.

Annie knelt, smoothing Ari’s dress. “Where you want us, Sugar?”

Ari pointed—one finger left, one right—no words needed. Smoke took his place to Peony’s left; Stack claimed the right. Annie settled between the dog and her daughter, fitting just so.

Whitlock ducked under the dark cloth, shouted, “Hold still… three… two—”

Click.

For a second, everything held: Ari’s proud grin, Peony’s patient pant, Annie’s soft exhale, the boys steady hands resting atop Annie’s back.

The moment printed itself on more than just film.

The party rolled on—getting funner as the night progressed, children chasing chickens, Peony gnawing a birthday bone bigger than her head. The trio moved through it together—not flawless, but whole—while Mr. Whitlock’s camera cooled in the shade, holding proof that love, once negotiated, can still develop clear.

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A/N Thought I'd give ya'll some sugar after what I put you though in Touch of a Woman 🤭 For those curious about how we got here... you'd enjoy Late, but Loved.

I am still working on the fic with Annie soft-domming Smoke. This has been one of the most challenging works I've written. I've got to get the dynamic just right. But it will come!

Always eager to hear your thoughts and encouragement it keeps me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think 🥰

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My other works can be found in My Masterlist. Thanks for reading!

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