#i wrote a pre-drabble for it

[feraltrust]

cont. from prequel drabble | @spungolden

Keisuke lost bits of time as he ran, feeling like the city was just a slideshow around him. One moment he was in the alley, the next he was three blocks west, and then suddenly he was somewhere else entirely unfamiliar, stumbling around with his boots untied. Crimson red bursts of energy oozed out of him like bubbles. And he just barely managed to pull them back in.

Someone was trying to help him to his feet (he didn't remember falling), voice inaudible to him. He couldn't focus on their face, only push them back. "Get--get away! You have to get out of here!"

He couldn't hold it back anymore. The drug in his system roared through his veins, heart thudding in his ears. His calf burned where it had been injected, his chest felt tight. The world was spinning, hazy red hues blinding him. He could barely remember where he was, and who he was was fading fast. All that remained was power in his fingertips, power that seeped out of him like his body was a sieve. Power that exploded from him, sending a car ricocheting down the street.

[ranx0]

Steve's liked cars since before he knew. He's just always liked them. He stared at the fancy ones people from across town drove, and he liked to admire the one his dad kept the the garage.

Ten years ago Steve Randle met Sodapop Curtis. Sodapop was six going on seven, and Steve was seven. The former was a loud outspoken kid with an average home life. Two loving parents and two brothers to keep him company. The latter wasn't so lucky, his parents were going through an ugly divorce and they didn't bother to make sure he was okay during any of it.

Steve, like any other little boy, craved attention. He knew Sodapop got attention, he knew it almost as soon as he became friends with the boy. He could tell from his jokes, his smile, the way he talked like everyone was listening, and his confidence that he was a boy everyone always noticed. Maybe that's why Steve stuck by him, copying his confident nature in a way that came off as cocky. Copying his loud volume in a way that made him annoying to most.

Soda figured that Steve liked cars one day a few months after they had just met. Steve always had a small toy car from home stuffed in his backpack hidden away from his parents in case they decided he was in trouble for the day. He had it out during recess, which immediately caught Soda's eyes. It was old and beaten up, but he could tell it used to be a model of those fancy bright red cars that looked like they had a mustache in the front.

Soda plopped down next to the boy, watching him zoom the car back and forth on the grass, opening and shutting the door then walking his hands with his fingers away from the car. Soda was amazed, the car looked fancy. Much more than any toys that Soda had, his were all one solid piece of plastic but Steve's- Steve's had functioning doors, fancy seats, and if you had something small enough you could probably stick it in one of the seats.

But its paint was chipped, there were a few dents in it and one of the car doors wouldn't close correctly. He learned that after observing Steve try and shut it a few times after playing with it for a while. The car was well-loved and had clearly been through a lot.

"That's a cool car." Soda stated, then Steve looked at him.

"It's my only one." The little boy mumbled, tightening his grip on it. Soda didn't understand why, he wasn't going to take it away from him or anything.

"What is it?" The blonde asked with a genuine curiosity that Steve couldn't help but fumble at. He picked the car up from off the ground and sat crisscrossed on the grass. Soda waited patiently for his response.

"It's, uhm, a Ford Convertible," Steve played with the car in his hands, then looked up at Soda. "You could see some around town if you look hard enough."

"I think I have," Soda replied quickly, "They look real fancy."

Soda looked at Steve in awkward silence for a few more moments, and then Steve awkwardly held the car out for Soda to take. "Here," He mumbled, looking away from Soda as he gave him the toy. "You can play with it if you want."

Soda beamed, grabbing the car quickly and zooming it around the floor. Steve's hand almost followed after the car when Soda took it harshly, but he held it back when he saw the excited look on his face.

"Just be careful with it," Steve grumbled as he watched.

That day Soda forgot to give it back, it had just slipped his mind. Recess ended abruptly and everyone rushed inside to continue the school day.

When Steve got home that day he placed his bag down in his room, and later when his parents started fighting he retreated back to busy himself with his prized possession. He was scrounging through his bag trying to find it, and when he couldn't he almost started to cry.

He must have been making too much noise because then it alerted his dad. He doesn't know what necessarily ticked him off, the mess he made while throwing around everything in his bag or the crying from Steve. But his father gave him something reasonable to cry about after he found him.

The next day in school Steve's hands were balled up into fists, trying to distract himself from crying over something stupid again as he tried to confront his new friend. He'd told Soda how he must've accidentally taken the car home with him, and the other boy was extremely apologetic.

Despite how apologetic he was though, he didn't get that car back for a while. Soda kept forgetting. Steve would ask at least once a week, and Soda would always look so genuinely crushed every time he was reminded.

When he finally got the car back it was around December. He'd given the car to him in October.

Soda invited Steve to his house for the first time and was excited to introduce Steve as his best friend. Soda had claimed that if he'd just waited for his parents instead of getting on the bus like he usually did his parents would be happy to have him over.

They waited for Soda's parents outside the school, and when they pulled up they almost expected the little boy standing next to Sodapop. They introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Curtis, and they seemed like sweet people. They had the same genuine smile as Soda did, and they always spoke gently. The complete opposite of his own.

“So, Steve, you and Soda just met this year, right?” His mother asked, and Steve nodded in response. He regrettably wasn’t paying much attention to the questions, just nodding along to whatever his parents had said.

He was focusing on the car that they had, what condition it was in, and how much it would be worth. He was way off, but that was only because he was seven and didn’t understand the concept of capitalism much. It was some type of Ford, but he personally thought his model was better.

When they pulled up in front of the house he noticed some stark contrasts from his own, although the house looked poor enough it had a well-taken-care lawn, its front door was open and its screen door was closed, and it had a nice paint job.

When he entered the house it had this warm aura to it, comforting and happy.

"Soda, why don't you go get Steve that surprise you had for him?" His mother urged, and then Soda bounced up and down excitedly. The younger boy ran off into a room, slamming the door. Steve flinched slightly at the loud noise, then turned to look at Mrs. Curtis quizzically.

He didn't get a response before Soda came barreling in holding something in each of his hands. He held them out to Steve, smiling at him excitedly. There he was holding Steve's old busted-up red Model Ford Convertible and a second one that Steve recognized as a dark blue Model 1947 Cadillac.

Steve could almost cry.

"They're both for you! I told Mama about how I kept forgettin' your car and felt real bad," He said shyly as Steve took the cars from his hands, "So she helped me get another as an apology!"

Steve looked up at Mrs. Curtis, he wasn't stupid, and he knew Soda couldn't buy one himself. Obviously, Mrs. Curtis had done this. He tried to hold back tears and mouthed a quick thank you.

So yeah, you could say Steve Randle liked cars. He liked them a lot, actually.

[flyingwargle]

suna said he wouldn’t freak out, but here he is, on a train toward home, freaking out.

“rintarou, i swear ta god, i’ll get on the next train ta be with ya–“

“no, you don’t have to. really.” the wheels rattle down the track, just loud enough to mask his own racing heart. he’s slouched in his seat, one arm hugging his backpack to his chest, the other holding his phone to his ear. “i’ll be fine.”

“are ya sure? ya sound like yer one breath away from havin’ a panic attack–“

“i’m just overthinking it. i don’t think anything will happen, but…” he trails off. he can’t be certain his mom is homophobic, but rikako definitely is not, especially all the times she saw him and osamu together. aunt azusa didn’t seem like it either, but then again, they don’t often talk about these topics, subscribed to the idea that everyone is straight by default, until they aren’t.

the train slows and stops at the platform. his stop is next. “what if i get disowned?” he whispers.

“ya won’t. if anythin' happens, ya know we'll welcome ya with open arms. ma loves ya, an' i bet 'tsumu will have words ta say 'bout yer family."

“i hope nothing will.” it should be a routine dinner, an overnight stay, and then a train ride back to amagasaki, but who knows if anything will deviate from the norm? “i really, really hope nothing will.”

in the silence, the train pulls away from the platform. osamu says, “if yer family won’t love ya, i’ll love ya more than ‘em. if they won’t welcome ya, my family will. ma doesn’t give a flyin’ fuck ‘bout who me an ‘tsumu love, an' she has enough love fer ya, too."

he knows, has seen such displays of affection across countless nights at the dinner table. if only he has the confidence to say the same. “i know. thanks, ‘samu. i’ll see you soon.”

suna gets off at the next station, where rikako waits for him. they hug, his sister stepping back to look at him with sympathy in her eyes. “are you okay?”

“i’m about to ruin mom’s life. what do you think?”

“i don’t think you have to worry about that. she’ll understand!” it’s easy for her to be optimistic, a supporter on the sidelines rather than the subject to be scrutinized. he simply nods, follows her back to their apartment.

dinner preparations are already underway by the time he arrives, and he and rikako are sent back out to fetch some ingredients his mom forgot. they buy a few snacks along the way, and soon enough, it’s time to eat.

he struggles to enjoy his portion of chicken katsu curry, a dish that combines his aunt’s love for katsu and his mom’s vegetable curry. rikako chatters about school and preparations for the cultural festival, and aunt azusa shares a story about one of her coworkers. his mom talks about finding a new pottery store down the street, and suna gets so in his head, he doesn’t hear her call out to him.

“rintarou?”

“nii-chan’s got a lot on his mind!” rikako chirps, giving him a smile. “right?”

“uh…yeah.” he lowers his chopsticks, presses his hands together on his lap. his mom and aunt, sensing the shift, immediately turn their eyes toward him, cutlery lowering onto the table after him. “so…uh….i have something to share.”

“did something happen?” his mom asks.

“not…really. i mean, yeah, i guess, if…it could be called that.” he replayed this moment in his head for weeks leading up to this, rehearsed his speech over and over, only for the words to scatter when the opportunity finally comes. what’s the point of overthinking everything when he can’t even remember what to do in the moment?

fortunately, his family is patient, neither probing nor prodding. suna takes a breath, steadies himself the way his therapist taught him. then, “i’m…in a relationship with someone. with a boy.”

aunt azusa doesn’t miss a beat. “is it miya-kun?”

his heart beats faster. “y-yeah. is that…is that okay?”

all eyes turn to his mom seated across from him. her expression doesn’t change, eyes softening, head tilted slightly. “do you love him?” her inquiry is quiet.

suna can’t find words to answer, simply nods. she says, “if you love him, and he loves you, that’s all that matters, isn’t it? bring him home for a meal when both of you are free - i’d like to repay him for taking care of you.”

“wait, so…you aren’t mad? that i…”

“any parent who hates their child for who they love shouldn’t be a parent, at all.” her words are firm, provides him with foundation to stand on his own feet. “why would i be mad that you found love?”

such words strike deep in his chest, and before he can stop himself, he feels tears pool in his eyes. rikako is first to react, jumping to her feet. “nii-chan-!”

“thank you,” he croaks, wiping his eyes before the tears could fall. “i didn’t…thank you.”

gentle hands reach for him before arms envelop him in a hug. “nothing will change the fact you’re my son,” his mom murmurs. “love who you want, and i’ll love you all the same.” suna holds those words close to his chest, just as he holds osamu’s love, and now, his family’s.

[spotaus]

I love when I start my own drafts with the phrase "Do a thing with [Character] and [Character] where [Scenario]" because I've learned I'll forget my premise halfway through typing otherwise.

[hughesxmaes]

Note: By default Hughes currently lives with Roy. Unless specified with other Roy's if they do not wish to have that be a thing for their interaction with Hughes yet, but i mean that for other interactions with other characters in the alive verse, he is currently in hiding living at Roy's apartment in Central.

[wanderlustmagician]

So I’m at work… waiting on reports to finish running, like ya do, and someone tell me why my brain just was like….

Hey first scene of the Actual Adventure in the modern au… have there been a portal caused car accident in the miDDLE OF THE WOODS

So oops :) guess I’m gonna introduce the plot for this with a lot more screaming than initially anticipated

[seiwas]

will reply to more messages tomorrow ! i must sleep nao !!!

[treedish]

The stars don't shine, they burn, and boy did Crowley know his stars. And the shine of his favorite star in the sky could never compare to the everyday radiant light of his angel. But stars burned, and being too close to the celestial hurt him in ways he never thought were possible. Except, demons were meant to play with fire; they were meant to burn. So maybe it was okay if he stood just a bit too close to Aziraphale for his own good most days. Or at least, that's what he told himself.

He did worry about his angel though, for stars were lonely and often forgotten in the vast canopy of other stars. Very few humans loved just one star, instead marvelling at them as a whole. Being a star was a solitary existence, and no creature could ever get too close without being blinded or burned. Eventually, even the hottest, brightest stars would burn themselves to a crisp, and then explode in a grand destruction, reduced to dust and colorful matter drifting through space. Sometimes, when Crowley looked too long in his angels eyes, he saw blue giants swelling with love and light and he feared the day they would go nova. He created novas, after all, hell he created every star in the bloody sky and then some.

He was so proud of his celestial lights, and yet even with his joy over his beloved cosmic creations, God had once again outdone him by creating Aziraphale, the brightest celestial light that there ever was.

In a way, Aziraphale was the last thing between Crowley and full demonhood. Because when he Fell, he lost everything. His faith, his grace, his name. And he loathed. He angered. He raged. And he went up to Eden, to look upon God's new creations and tempt them away from Her. And there he was. Crowley had whispered in Eve's ear, tempted her to the apple and watched from the ground as she led Adam to humanity's destruction.

So you can imagine his surprise when mid-exile from the garden, an angel came up to the couple and offered them his flaming sword, to protect them and their unborn child from the dangers of the outside world. But that wasn't right at all. God and Her whole lot were rotten, sanctimonious, unimaginative, and so very apathetic in their holiness. Every angel he had ever known had blindly followed God's will, and Her will right now was to kick the humans out of the garden to fend for themselves as punishment. So why would an angel, an agent of the holy agenda, secretly give away a blessed artifact to the very humans he was meant to be judging right now?

His apologetic smile had been so soft and sincere that Crowley thought for a moment that the being wasnt an angel at all, but rather Grace incarnate. A being more pure and Good than the archangels themselves. But no, there he was, ushering them out of the garden before the storm arrived and blocking up the exit after they were gone.

He couldn't help but go up to the winged creature standing anxiously on the wall. He couldnt resist the temptation to speak with this being, this force of empathy. And he did and there was Aziraphale and Crowley found himself falling all over again. One afternoon, one interaction, one act of kindness, and suddenly all of his anger, all of his disgust, and all of the empty longing at the center of his being vanished. In its place, he found the echo of his Faith.

Somehow in his Fall, the warped core of his inhuman heart had burned to a crisp, but sheltered the tiniest hint of his hope, and it reared its ugly head then in his chest as he stared in amazement at this miraculously Good angel before him. It was as he'd said, by God's rules, he had been the one to do the good thing, and Aziraphale had been the one to do the bad. And the next 6000 years were history.

He may not believe in God or her bloody Plan, but he believed in Aziraphale, and his angel's unfailing ability to always do the right thing regardless of anyones blasted plans, even his own. All he had ever done in his entire existence, his whole relationship with the Almighty, had been to question. It was why he Fell. Why he didnt Fall as far as the others. But he found himself one night, bottle of whiskey in his hands and his twinkling creations above his head, speaking to God again. It was a habit he'd picked up and never been able to shake.

This time was different, however. After 60 centuries on Earth among the humans, this was the first time he didn't scream or beg or curse his questions at the heavens. Instead, he quietly admired his accidental constellations and whispered so quietly that only She would ever hear it.

"If there's one thing You ever got right, it was him. In all of Eternity, You have never made anything else that compares to that angel, not even your beloved whales. So I'm saying this once, now. Thanks. I don't care if You meant to or not, but You gave me the opportunity to live with the embodiment of my stars for the last few millennia, and for that one blasted, blessed thing I'll actually thank You, You bloody autocrat. But if You dare to cast him out, to try to throw him in with my lot, I'll hunt You down. I'll collapse space and time and matter itself until I reach You and I'll rip the blessed essence right out of Your incorporeal grace, do You understand me? He's the one truly Good thing You've ever done, don't You dare muck it up now."

If anyone ever asked him about it later, and of course no one ever did, he would deny thanking God for anything, and he would especially deny ever being grateful for the angel that left him behind.

[after-nine-at-the-oasis]

OKAY SO it may be almost two hours past midnight for me and it may be season 4 in 2 minutes BUT I am going to make this post lol. So, it's time for HSMTMTS Appreciation Week Day Four: Favorite Episode/Season!

Honestly I don't think I have one of either xD

I love all the episodes, and most of the time when someone asks me for my favorite of something (like books or movies) I just go with the one that has the most rewatch/reread quality/potential. So, some of these episodes may just be the ones I watch the most lol.

Each season has their pros and cons for me, but I will say I think I enjoy season 2 more than most people! The ending isn't amazing, sure, but it has some really great music, ship moments, acting, and Wildcat family moments :).

Season 1, they're not all family for a little while, and we don't have as much development on some of the others, nor most of the ships. But it's also fun that it's the most grounded season lol, and it just has a special charm. Also, it really focuses on the musical lol!

And season 3, obviously I miss Seb, Big Red, Mr. Mazzara, and half Nini and Ms. Jen from it :). And sometimes the drama is a lot, but at the same time, there's so many cute and fun moments, it is absolutely HILARIOUS, and the change of setting is super cool :). Since I'm a multi shipper, it's also a con for Portwell and a pro for Rina lol xD.

Anyway! Now, a few of my favorite episodes :).

Season 2 Episode 5: is this one a surprise even xD. I love Seblos, I love the Wildcats, and I love great music! What more could you ask for? Also, it's just so sweet that they'd throw a big party for one of their friends like that :'). And it's especially cool seeing Carlos be appreciated <3. Plus, it gave us "I never learned how to lie", so you know xDD.

Season 2 Episode 10: LISTEN. Again, is it partly because of Seblos lol? . . Sh xD. But seriously, it's great Seblos drama, the music is once again amazing, and I LOVE the sleepovers :D!! The recipe for my favorite episodes is really just Seblos, Music, Wildcats xD. Lol. But seriously, it's such a good episode <3.

Season 1 Episode 6: Maybe it's just because it hits home, which is weird because that makes it bittersweet, but I love this episode. It's really focused more on them being a family than any of the ships (which is interesting and a nice change of pace :) ) and it has some great music! Plus, the photoshoot lol. And of course, a few Seblos moments, and some lovely Carlos angst xD. Justice for the Seblos deleted scenes 😤😔. Lol, but yeah, I love this episode <3.

Season 1 Episode 7: Again, my Wildcats xD. I was hesitating to put this on here because the end hurts me so much, but it's just too good :). We have Carlos inviting everyone to someone else's house (for the first time, I think, lol), Ricky and Nini being chill for a bit, Gina being adorable, and the start of Redlyn 👀. Lol, remember when one of the half jokingly proposed ship names was Big Rashlyn xD? Bring it baaaack lol, we deserve it. In a good way, not as punishment xD. Anyway! The real star of the show this episode, though, is of course the party :). We love the Wildcats being family, and I seriously love them all so much <3. And again, Seblos moment lol. The music is good this episode (I adore Out of The Old), but there's not too much of it lol, so I forgot to mention it and came back here after the next paragraph xD.

Season 3 Episode 7: LISTENNN. Once again, I can do anything I want xD. I think I said that earlier, or maybe in one of the other posts, but nonetheless lol. I say it a lot regarding things like this lol. Anyway! Obviously, SEBBB!!! HE RETURNS TO ME :'DDD!! But we also have Ricky's bucket list (ADORABLE) and everyone's ICONIC outfits :D. So sorry to Portwell though :( xd. That does hurt throughout the episode lol. Oh, and of course we have the iconic welcoming of Ashlyn to the community :'). And Wouldn't Change a Thing!!! Such a slay :D. Honestly though, I love the ending, like, after the dance. I don't know if I love it more than the prom itself, but seeing the guys come together and support each other, and the same for the girls, with a BOPPING song in the background? Amazing :'D. And, of course lol, Seblos moments <3. And the second Seblos kiss!! I love them so much :). And, like I said, amazing music!!

Season 3 Episode 5: This one is just so hilarious xD. I had to include it lol. Plus, :O drama a bleeped out curse on HSMTMTS!! We don't get many so that's a slay for being unique xD. Also yes, Carlos totally deserves it 😌😤. Like, to get one lol. Just like Natalie, lol. Anyway!! Yeah, this is so funny xD. It also has great music!! The drama hurts, of course, but we love the little moments of supporting each other xd. And again, I just have to mention how FUNNY it is, those moments xD. Plus, the fact that it's all (well, yk. Mostly xD) a plot is amazing lol. I just love this episode lol.

So yeah!! I think that'll do it for today :). I probably won't be on Season 4 for a bit tomorrow, as in it'll take me a little while lol. I still need to finish my rewatch xD. But, I will watch it!!! And I'm so excited :)) 🥰.

[blanc-ci]

I KNOW his ass is hitting the

“ is it hot in here or is that just you? “

Where are his two beautiful boys to help make sure he gets home safe?

I wrote a silly drabble for this and your warnings are: not explicit, McCoy is drunk and horny, and this is pre-established mcspirk so there’s quite a bit of un-spoken understanding about the consent around that.

—

In the after-party of a frankly excessive diplomatic wedding, Jim had one of McCoy’s arms slung over his shoulder and was attempting to drag him out of the reception hall. With Spock two steps ahead, leading the way. Bones was humming drunkenly, or mumbling something, it was kind of hard to tell over all the noise, but the vibrations against his side were distinct and endearing.

"I think we should let him drink champagne more often, never seen him cut so loose,” he half-shouted at Spock’s back and, as if to prove his point, Bones started giggling from his spot pressed into Jim’s side.

"Would cut loose be referring to when he began stripping or when he nearly climbed on stage to join the dancers?” Spock called back over his shoulder, not looking for an answer and not slowing his pace as he neatly parted the sea of bodies.

Jim pursed his lips, honestly considering it, in the right context he doesn't really think he'd mind either of those things. Though stripping is a little exaggerated, it was just the outer layers really. But, fine, he’ll concede, to the cultured eye McCoy’s rolled sleeves were not unlike lingerie. He’d rag on Spock for that if he wasn’t already having trouble keeping pace with him.

Thankfully, the air was getting cooler, and the crowd thinner. Soon Spock was ushering them out of the venue and into the brisk other-worldly night. Jim glanced around. Definitely not the main entrance, i.e. they'd have to walk the perimeter for Spock-knows how long to get back to the hovercar- but he did appreciate the lack of people.

He took the chance to readjust McCoy’s body against his and, equally, their good doctor took the chance to lean into the crook of his neck. Mumbling something giddily against Jim’s collar. He shivered and gave a sidelong smirk down at the man,

“Hm? What was that?”

“Should’ve let me dance,” Bones lolled his head up to look at him, and then across towards Spock, sloppy grin and dropped lashes making him look particularly debauched,

“I could’ve given you one helluva show~”

Spock turned and stepped in close, tidying the disarrayed mess of hair clinging to McCoy’s forehead,

“if you wish to dance for us, you can do it someplace with much less of an audience.”

McCoy gasped, glittering,

“a private show? Spock, you sly dog.”

“That is not-“

“Oh it definitely was, let’s get to the car, then I can-“

They bickered in flirtatious circles, though Jim could see McCoy was definitely more checked into his own fantasy than their actual conversation. He feels warm and pleasantly exasperated,

“Bones, you had like four glasses, I’m a bit more worried about that impending hangover you have to look forward to.”

Than any other impending issues.

“Hmm- It might’ve been more,” McCoy tilted his head back looking up at the night, after a distracted pause he turned back to them, scowling- more like pouting,

“Can’t I take advantage of our time before the massive impending hangover?”

Before he could even reply, Jim watched the man consider his own words, and start giggling all over again,

“Or.. can’t you take advantage of my time?”

McCoy’s fingers moved to try and re-start their much earlier work of undoing his top buttons. Pretty unsuccessfully. Jim continued to watch, entertained, as Spock huffed and lightly smacked Bones’ hand aside, fastening the buttons all the way back up. More chaste than ever but still undeterred, McCoy leaned in suddenly, jostling Jim out of his adoring, doe-y eyed revelry.

Bones began whispering heatedly into Spock’s ear, and though Jim couldn't hear every detail, the not-really minute reactions Spock gave were enough of a clue. He cleared his throat,

“Back to the hotel then?”

When they parted Spock raised a brow and said nothing, turning to walk- presumably- in the direction of the car park. Jim followed, making interested half-noises to Bones’ continued horny rambling.

It was dark, but if he squinted could just make out the lovely deep green flush gracing their vulcan’s ears.

[flyingwargle]

whumptober day 6: "it's not my blood."

tw: aftermath of a car accident, hospitals

atsumu has not moved from the tiny hospital chair in the corner of the waiting room ever since the paramedics left him there.

the world continues to move around him. patients come and go, supported by friends and family. nurses hurry to and fro. paramedics rush in and out. announcements come over the speakers, paging doctors and personnel, calling for codes and emergencies. the air is charged with relief and joy, sorrow and pain.

"atsumu!"

a flurry of footsteps approach. "are ya okay?" gin is frantic. "where's osamu? there's blood on yer jacket, are ya-"

he shakes his head. "it ain't my blood." his rasp is tight. "it's..." he stiffens at the memory, the harsh shattering of glass, the screams that resonate in his ears.

suna unzips his jacket. "here, you can wear mine." he places it on the next chair to gently pull atsumu's jacket off, draping his own over his shoulders. atsumu doesn't miss the way he folds it, the blood facing inwards.

kosaku sits, gin and suna standing by the wall. it isn't long before aran comes, taking the empty seat beside atsumu, kita arriving with omimi and akagi. "did ya call auntie ma?" aran asks.

"she didn't pick up," he replies, monotone. "i texted her." aran nods, squeezing his shoulder. he jumps at the sudden tears in atsumu's eyes, the sobs that wrack his shoulders. "god, aran. it was so bad. we were just crossin' the street when 'samu grabbed me, an'..." the screeching tires. the rough asphalt against his body. his brother's dead weight on top of him. "there was so much blood..."

"shh, ya don't hafta talk. it's fine. 'samu will be fine." aran wraps an arm around him, draws him closer into a hug. "we're here, an' we'll stay with ya 'till 'samu wakes." atsumu nods, sniffling between his breaths.

at one point, kita tells the others to call their families of their whereabouts. at another, omimi and akagi get drinks for everyone from the vending machine. a police officer comes to speak with atsumu, and aran goes with him.

it was an accident. a driver didn't pay attention to the signs and barreled through the crosswalk. atsumu, always on the right, was swiveled to the left. he fell upon impact, osamu taking the worst of it.

"it shoulda been me," atsumu whispers. "i was s'posed ta be on the right, but he-"

"osamu moved on instinct," aran tells him. "he musta thought, shit, i gotta protect my brother."

"he shouldn't have! i woulda done somethin', i coulda-"

should've, could've, didn't. atsumu's breaths become frantic, tears prickling his eyes again. aran doesn't let go of him, turning to the officer. "sorry, i don't think atsumu will be able to answer any more questions right now."

they return to the waiting room at the same time a doctor approaches their group. kita steps forward to address her, gestures at atsumu out of the corner of his eye. she turns to him. "yer family with miya osamu?"

"yes, ma'am, he's my..." the words catch in his throat. "he's my twin brother."

her expression softens. "oh, honey. are yer parents here?"

"our ma is in himeji fer a conference. we don't have a pa."

"we're his teammates," kita adds. "we'll support him 'till his family comes."

"normally, only family is allowed ta visit patients, but..." her eyes flicker toward them, their expressions worried and taut. "i'll make an exception."

"so, he's...?"

"there was some head trauma, so we'll need ta make sure he doesn't have a concussion. aside from a broken leg an' some scratches, he's fine."

atsumu melts into his chair, feels the world spin around him, blurry and light. "thank god," he chokes out.

"he's still unconscious, but i reckon he'll wake soon," the doctor continues. "only two visitors at a time, please. i'll speak more 'bout his treatment when yer mother comes."

they thank her, and atsumu and aran follow her to his room, kita staying behind with the others. she leaves them at his door. aran opens it.

the ecg beeps in time with osamu's heartbeat. bandages are wrapped around his head, tucked beneath the blankets, leg wrapped in a cast. an oxygen mask is over his mouth, breathing steady.

atsumu slides into the chair beside him. for all their fighting, their injuries were always minor cuts and scrapes, once a sprained ankle, but never the hospital. they'd never broken a bone, rarely got sick, kept their health in check, thanks to their ma being a nurse, themselves being athletes.

and yet, accidents happen. they hear it on the news, sign their classmates' casts, but atsumu never thought it'd happen to them.

"ya idiot," he murmurs, reaching forward to ruffle his brother's hair. "ya didn't hafta do that. yer big bro is tough, ya know?"

the rest of his teammates cycle through, although there's not much they could do or say. eventually, kita tells them to go home. "i'll tell coach what happened," he says to atsumu. "make sure ya rest, okay? you're also a victim, even if ya weren't hurt."

he nods wordlessly. aran remains behind. "i'll stay 'till auntie ma comes."

night falls, but the hospital stays alight. the ecg remains steady, slight movement catching atsumu's attention. with great effort, osamu's eyes open, hazy and unfocused, lips moving soundlessly, fingers twitching against the sheets. atsumu captures them in his hand, gives the lightest squeeze. tears spring into his eyes when his brother squeezes back.

“yer such a scrub, ya know that?” atsumu mumbles. “stay on yer side o’ the sidewalk next time.”

osamu gives something like a smile, mouthing something in reply. atsumu lowers his head to hide his tears, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. it’s a known fact that he’ll only cry for his brother, and he’ll never stop, as the tears express a myriad of emotions – frustration, anger, sorrow.

and, of course, relief. he’s gonna be okay, an’ we’re gonna be okay.

[awrkive]

[TEASER] CATCH YOUR WAVE (m) — JJK.

the last thing you expected when you strolled into your new school is to become the favorite project of the 5’11” tatted-up overly enthusiastic, golden-retriever-in-human-form PE teacher, jeon jungkook. he’s all goofy grins, bad math puns, and relentless charm, while you’re busy pretending you’re immune to his antics... spoiler alert: you’re not. and that infuriates you. 

alternatively, jungkook tries to prove that opposites don’t just attract — they collide. a classic case of one plus one equals: “oh, no. i like him.”

PAIRING jeon jungkook x (female) reader

GENRE r18+ (fuff, slight angst, mature content) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

WORD COUNT ~15k (still working around the final wc)

TEASER WORD COUNT 1.8k words

WARNINGS/MISC teachers!au, pe teacher!jk, math teacher!reader, seven!jungkook, himbo!jk, coworkers!au (works in the same school), oc gets kinda mean sometimes but jungkook likes it lmfao, extremely corny pick up lines.. he tries 💔 2000s romcoms references (sorry) warnings for this teaser: nothing major. just bad math puns delivered by himbo jungkook :')

NOTES inspired by the whole “can she gaf me💔” vibes in the seven mv (by jungkook) and ultimately the click five’s song, catch your wave (hence the title🥸 pls listen to the song for the whole vibes hehe <3). ive been wanting to write himbo jk for awhile bcs all my jks are like … smart so far so i thought wait we need to change that. gahhhh im so so freaking excited ive been thinking about writing this ever ever since i wrote that one himbo jk drabble 💃🏼

[ CYW MOODBOARD ] • [ MAIN MASTERLIST ]

RELEASE DATE 2025, JUNE xx | 01:00 AM KOREAN STANDARD TIME (GMT+9)

They say life is a balance of good and bad days, and you’re not a pessimistic person, but sometimes enough is enough. How is your week already this bad when it’s just barely started? 

Sunday morning, when you picked up your laundry from the shop, you were too late to realize that you mixed not just one but two white underwear with the colored loads. You’d blame it on the fact that they were too tiny, too flimsy for you to notice. But you know you should’ve double-checked before putting them in the machine. And now you have lost two panties. And in this economy? That shit cost a ton. 

When Monday came and the head of the Math Department informed you there was a sudden shift in your schedule for the semester, it meant that instead of teaching three Algebra classes for tenth graders, you’re also teaching pre-Algebra for eighth graders, meaning you’re gonna have to cross the long walk from the high school building to the middle school one, the latter being all the way to the left wing, completely the opposite side of the right wing where the faculty room and your initial classes are. 

Today, you’ve woken up with your WiFi not connected to the internet (something you have to talk to your landlord about when you come back home) and just two minutes ago, you realized you forgot to take your coffee order with you from the cafe across your school building, the sad garlic bread you bought along with it staring right at you without its beloved beverage pair. 

Truthfully, it might be your last straw. How the hell is this happening to you out of all people? The semester is just starting, for god’s sake, and you’re already hanging on by a thread. 

You take a deep breath on your seat before standing up from your cubicle, heading to the coffee machine by the snack bar.

You hate the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep on stocking the pantry with, it’s too naturally sweet – and you don’t like your coffee with sugar. 

But you have no choice but to make do. The cafe’s too far out and your first class starts in about twenty minutes. 

“Good morning, Ms. Math Genius – ready to crunch some numbers today?” 

As if this day couldn’t get any worse, you shut your eyes close for a moment when you hear the familiar voice. 

You stir your coffee with downturned lips.

“Only if you promise to flex those brain muscles—” You say, turning to look to the side. Much to your expectation, it’s Jeon Jungkook, leaning casually against the wall with that usual faux suave he keeps on around you – which you can’t take seriously because his big doe eyes tell you a completely different story. He’s wearing some Nike dri fit shirt, one that’s too tight around his chest and accentuates a comparatively tiny waist that you have to force your eyes upwards. But as they do, they land on the biceps that are straining against the poor material. It wasn’t lost on you though that one second after, they’re suddenly flexing. You arch your brow as you glance a look on his face. “—as much as you flex those biceps.” 

Jungkook’s lips curl into a huge grin, expecting the jab. 

“You know it!” He chuckles, running his fingers through his bangs. “I’m all about solving problems, and I’d say my favorite equation is you plus me equals a perfect start to the day.” 

You fight a loud groan from escaping your lips as soon as he says that, giving him a certain look before shaking your head and going back to your coffee. 

But you should’ve known better by now, because Jungkook – aside from being a PE teacher extraordinaire and every student’s favorite at that, Thee Football Coach, 5’11” tatted brunette with a long, fluffy hair paired with an objectively, annoyingly attractive face – is persistent. 

Most especially when it comes to annoying you. 

A few steps, and then you feel him getting closer to you. 

“Did you know that—” 

You roll your eyes. That’s it. If it’s another one of his corny math pick-up lines again you swear to god— 

“Jungkook, you don’t have to keep doing this everyda—” 

“—we’re like parallel lines?” 

“What.”

“Did you know that we’re like parallel lines?” Jungkook repeats earnestly, just like he always does. When he’s up in your personal space like this, it’s easy to get a waft of his cologne – and your annoyance could’ve been justified if he smelled like shit but somehow, even though he looks like he just got back from a run judging by his running shoes and gym bag, he still smells… okay. 

Just okay. As in, you don’t care how good he smells like or how he smells at all.

You make sure to keep that thought at the back of your head. 

“No.” You say, hoping to dismiss the conversation right there as you pick up the cup of coffee from the machine, ready to turn on your heel, but then Jungkook laughs ever so slightly and gives your arm a barely-there poke.

“Come on, entertain me a little.” 

You squint your eyes at him. He challenges your stare with a growing smile on his face. Scoffing, you roll your eyes again before you put the paper cup back on the table. With a sigh, you cross your arms and look at Jungkook. For a split second, his eyes cast downwards to your chest level but he quickly snaps out of it. 

“Okay… we’re like parallel lines… why? Because we’ll never meet?” You say in response to his little request, keeping your tone impassive. 

Jungkook’s eyes slowly widen at your words, smile slowly dropping – as if the logic of your words have ruined one of his million pick-up lines again. 

“I– no! What? I meant, we’re like, always running to each other! Side by side. Parallel lines.”

“Okay… so still never meeting?” You ask impatiently, brows furrowing. 

Jungkook mirrors your confusion. Then, he raises a hand, one finger up. “One second. I’ll fix this–” he takes his phone out from his pocket, types on it quickly, lip jutting out as he reads whatever he’s looking up, and then, “Ohh, I might have meant asymptote lines. We’re like asymptote lines.” 

Your face contorts into even deeper confusion. Holy shit, you’re not dealing with this very early on in the morning, especially not after the circumstances of the past hours.

“Asymptote lines are more depressing than parallel lines if we’re talking metaphorically.” 

Jungkook squints his eyes at you, suspicious. “Are you sure?”

“I would hope I know my lines, Jungkook. I teach them everyday.” 

He laughs again, eyes crinkling at the corners cutely, and you hate how that tugs something at your heartstrings. 

You catch yourself right at that moment.

Jeon Jungkook is not cute. You keep in mind. He’s not cute. 

Jungkook thinks you’re so cute. Gorgeous, most of all, and unbelievably so. You and your signature furrowed brows and pink pouty lips.

As usual, you have your hair up in a clean bun today, and Jungkook can smell the lace of sweet vanilla from you as he takes a step closer to get a cup for himself. 

He loves the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep stocking the pantry with, it’s sweet as fuck. Just like how Jungkook likes his caffeine dose. Kind of like you, he thinks. 

Jungkook casts a quick glance at you again, can't really help himself when you're so pretty, although he makes sure to be subtle about it.

You’re wearing another one of your pencil skirts, one that he has to avoid staring at for longer than three seconds lest his mind takes him too far – but the upper view is even more of a torture, unfortunaly for him. Because as much as you wear the same outfit every single day and it should mean that Jungkook should get used to it by now, he can never be immune to your silk long sleeves, where you keep the top three buttons open – and as much as Jungkook tries to pry his gaze away from the exposed skin down from your neck, it’s like there’s a strange force in the universe that keeps him on it. Doesn’t really help that you like crossing your arms under your chest, too, making his mind run a mile per minute at the thoughts that form inside his head when a very apparent cleavage shows—

Alright. Damn. It’s like 8 am. 

And you were saying something about lines…

“Yeah? I hope you can teach me too, I need to—” 

“Goodbye, Mr. Jeon.” You cut him off before he can even finish his sentence, taking your coffee with you as you head to the direction of your cubicle. 

The nickname makes Jungkook’s lips curl up. He probably shouldn’t smile, given that you only ever call him that when you want to cut the conversation with him short. But he can’t help it, it sounds sweet coming from your pretty lips. 

In an attempt to not look like a fool, Jungkook bites his lip as he watches your disappearing figure, your heels clicking on the floor as you walk away. Your legs look so long in that grey pencil skirt, and it really should be criminal how you look like that even when you’re just showing your back. 

In his trance, he forgets about the brewing coffee in his cup and absentmindedly takes it out while the machine is still running, the hot liquid pouring from the nozzle quickly burning the skin on his finger. 

“Oh, shit!” He hisses, jumping from the shock, almost knocking his coffee out but thankfully he manages to catch it on time, just as when another member of the faculty walks by the snack bar. 

With an awkward smile, Jungkook raises a thumbs up to Mrs. Lee. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Lee. Looking rad as always.” He cheerfully greets, and Mrs. Lee’s confusion from seeing him fumble with his cup earlier quickly turns into a coo. 

“Oh, Mr. Jeon, you charming kid. I was just gonna get my cup of coffee.” She says, walking towards his direction. 

Jungkook adjusts the strap of his gym bag to his shoulder and takes a cup for Mrs. Lee with a grin, making her smile. 

She thanks him and with a playful salute, Jungkook goes toward the general direction of his cubicle, and because the PE department and Math department are just across from each other, he walks past you, typing something on your iPad before you look around and catch his gaze.

Jungkook automatically waves, smiling brightly, but you only frown, shutting your iPad close and ignoring him.

Amused, Jungkook tries to fight off a huge grin, taking a few long strides to get to his own cubicle. 

His day is already off to a good start.

© 𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐕𝐄 2025. all rights reserved. copying, editing, reposting and/or translating any of my works are not allowed.

[jaderabbitt]

Incidents

Incidents:

the many, many times in which people find out about the existence of you—Mrs. Barnes.

or,

you’re Bucky’s wife; you also happen to be an augmented Hydra experiment. people often forget both those things.

—

This is planned as a first part to a connected drabble series!

Word Count: unknown, i wrote this in notes.

Tags: fluff, tension, comedy, pre-established relationship, threats of violence, canon divergent, no physical descriptions of reader, no descriptions of reader’s power (yet), no use of Y/N.

— — —

Bucky’s jaw clenched as his ringtone went off a second time. He had let it go to voicemail the first time, pointedly glaring at both Sam and Dr. Raynor. The psychologist simply quirked an eyebrow in his direction, tapping her pen against that infernal notebook.

Sam, however, seized the opportunity to continue being the biggest pain in Bucky’s ass. “You gonna answer that, man?”

“No.”

“I think you should answer it, James,” came the doctor’s infuriatingly calm tone.

Bucky ground his teeth together, reaching for his phone, slammed it on the table, and declined the call.

Dr. Raynor didn’t seem to understand the gravity of that simple action, but Sam and Bucky tensed up immediately. Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose instantly in regret. Sam’s mouth hung open, ready to catch the next fly that hatched within the room.

“You did not-“

“I did.”

“She’s gonna kill you.”

“I know.” Bucky groaned, a timidness in his voice. His vibranium arm whirred as it clenched into a fist, the sound of metal grinding against metal echoing in the emptiness of the interrogation room. Dr. Raynor had a puzzled look, her eyes glancing between the two men sat across the table.

“Alright, what’s going on here? Who is ‘she’, James?” She asked, her tone dropping from ‘therapist’ to ‘confused veteran’ in that instant.

Sam once again gaped, his eyes rapidly going back and forth between the other two in the room, as if he just figured out the murderer in Clue. His finger pointed accusingly at Bucky, “You didn’t tell her?!”

“No shit! Of course I didn’t tell her!” Bucky whisper-yelled, exasperated.

“‘Her’ is sitting right here, and would like an explanation, James.”

Bucky groaned again, covering his face with both hands and slouching back in his chair, defeated.

“It’s my-“ “It’s his-“

Sam and Bucky started at the same time, but both were cut off by the sound of ringing, for the third time. Both of their heads slowly turned towards the phone on the table, and then to each other. The fear on both their faces was evident, knowing who was on the other end of the call. Bucky slowly reached for the phone and flipped it open, hesitantly pressing the green ‘answer’ key, and bringing the device to his ear.

“Put me on speaker.” Came the dreaded voice, nearly shocking his entire system. He pulled the device away from his ear, nervously complying.

“Hello, Sam.”

Sam swallowed audibly, and Bucky cursed silently. Sam replied with a greeting and your name, his voice wavering with barely concealed fear. Dr. Raynor simply watched on with intrigue.

“James Buchanan Barnes, I’m giving you sixty seconds to meet me at the precinct doors. You will join us, Sam.”

“Yes, ma’am,” both men answered, immediately scrambling to get out the room as quickly as possible as soon as they heard the click of the line going dead. Dr. Raynor long forgotten, both men disrupted the chaos of the precinct as they hauled ass to get to the doors as quickly as possible.

Of course, John Walker and his weirdly named sidekick stood in their way.

“Move.” Bucky growled, not wanting to use excessive force to move Walker himself in the middle of a police precinct. That would look very bad on his pardon record.

Of course, Walker had continued to try and talk to the two, effectively wasting their time without knowing what lay in wait past him.

That was, until one of the doors behind him slammed into the wall, creating a dent. Bucky and Sam cringed, leaning to peer behind Walker.

There you were, stood in the doorway, one arm outstretched to hold the door open. Your face was still and emotionless, but Bucky could see the scathing anger in your eyes. He made to walk towards you, but watched with curiosity as John Walker beat him to it.

Oh, this is gonna be good.

For the first time since seeing each other again, him and Sam agreed. They almost forgot that they were the ones in the hot seat when you turned your glare over to Walker.

“Excuse me, who are you?”

Your face turned into a sneer. “Who are you?” You reflected back, clearly not in the mood to interact with the man in the weird patriotic get-up.

“John Walker, Captain America, ma’am,” he announced, flashing you that practiced grin. It faltered a little when your expression only seemed to harden. Bucky had to hide his face behind his hand to prevent himself from laughing. Sam looked down, biting his lip, but his sly grin was clear as day.

“You’ll be Captain John Doe in a second if you don’t get the fuck out of my way.” You hissed, your hands clenching and unclenching by your sides like you were warming up the muscles.

Walker blinked, suddenly unsure of himself. He looked over to Lemar Hoskins.

“Did she just…”

“Threaten a government agent? Yeah, I think she did,” Hoskins replied.

Bucky finally decided to intervene before you did something rash. “As fun as it would be to watch her make your face unrecognizable, I think we should be going,” he nodded his head towards Sam, signaling him along.

“You know her, Barnes?”

“I would hope so. I’ve been married to her for 11 years.” *

Your left hand came up to press against his stubbled cheek, and he could feel the cold press of your ring against his skin. He kissed the inside of your palm gently, looking down at you. Your gaze softened considerably once you had him close. It made his heart ache, knowing that he had kept something from you and this was how you found out.

“James?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Get inside the car before I personally deliver you to the nearest Hydra cell.”

He shivered. “Yes, ma’am.”

As Bucky promptly made his way out, you pointed a finger at Sam, making a ‘come hither’ motion. He followed quickly, keeping his head down as a precaution. He couldn’t sweet talk his way out like Bucky could.

John Walker was left stupefied, and more-so unwilling to believe two things:

Bucky Barnes was married.

Bucky Barnes was married, and there was no record of it that had showed up when he was digging into his past.

So, either he lied (which was improbable given what just occurred), or you were the hardest woman to track on Planet Earth.

He was determined to find out who you were.

— — —

*You married Bucky in Romania pre-the events of CA:CW. You had been together as assets but only married once you were both free. 11 years comes from the years difference between CA:TWS and FATWS + 5 years for Blip. If this math is wrong, let me know!

— — —

Comments, reblogs, likes appreciated ❤️ asks are open!

— — —

[dixonsdarkelf]

You're An Amateur (but Baby, I'm a Pro): Daryl Dixon & Fem!Reader

Summary: During a run with Daryl, you find yourself a little sexy surprise and catch your new boyfriend with a look in his eye you’d never seen before. When leaving the department store, the last thing he said was you’d talk when you got home. Well now you were home, and it was time to have that talk…a talk that escalates into an experience you’d never forget.

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist AO3 link

Genre: Fluff & smut, smut with feelings

Era: Alexandria, pre-Saviors

Word count: 7.1k

Part 1

Warnings: Smut, heavy on the MDNI, we got virgin!reader and a flustered Daryl in this one, Reader is in her late 20s/early 30s, virginity loss, oral (both f & m receiving), Daryl talks Reader through giving a blowjob, Reader has hair long enough to be held in a ponytail, next part will contain more smut, I'm incapable of writing smut without a lot of feelings, mentions of blood (in reference to blushing, i.e. blood rushing to your cheeks), pet names (angel mostly)

A/N: Hi so I’m super fucking anxious to post this. This is technically part two to this drabble I wrote back in December. Yes I know it was a Christmas drabble and it took me like almost three months to write part 2 but ssh we're not gonna talk about that. This is also @dixons-sunshine’s very belated Christmas gift, and thank you to her for being my second set of eyes on it and convincing me to post it 🖤 This is only my second attempt at smut and my first x Reader smut, so please be gentle because I’m a sensitive bean. The title is from the song "Amateur" by Scene Queen (headphone warning should you choose to listen to it, which I highly recommend because she's one of my favorite artists).

The familiar scent of your home greeted you, encapsulating you in its warmth as you stepped inside. After a successful department store run with your new boyfriend for winter clothes, you were grateful to be back in the warm & cozy comfort of your home. You loved going on runs with Daryl, but as the cold that had only lingered at first made itself permanent, you were a little more appreciative of the warmth within the walls as you returned home.

“We did good today,” you mused, setting the bags you’d been carrying on your arms at your feet, “got really lucky.” You pushed the bags along the wall next to the door to clear the walkway. Your eyes fell to your backpack, a smirk forming on your lips as you envisioned the Santa babydoll lingerie tucked away inside.

Yes, you’d certainly gotten lucky. In more ways than one.

“Mhm,” Daryl mumbled, following close behind and letting the heavy door swing shut behind him.

Taking your coat and placing it on the hook, you watched the archer stride into the kitchen, setting a couple more bags on the counter. You admired his form, watching him pull some articles of clothing from a bag and started sorting them into piles. Whether they were divided by types of clothing, men’s and women’s, or some other method, you couldn’t tell.

You took some time to observe him, trying to calm your mind as it wandered in all sorts of directions. The tension between you was thick, the unspoken words you knew were coming hanging heavy in the air. There were things to discuss, things Daryl had alluded to back at the department store. Really, one thing—and it was on both of your minds.

This was it. You were home, and it was time to have a chat.

“So…you wanted to talk?” Walking to the living room, you rested back against the couch. Casually throwing your bag at your feet, you bit you bottom lip, anxiously awaiting his response.

After a moment, he looked up from the shirt in his hands, setting it down haphazardly on top of one of the piles. “Hmm?”

“Back at the department store,” you reiterated, keeping your gaze on him as you leaned back further to get comfortable, “you said you wanted to talk.”

There were a few beats of silence, like he was thinking back to the encounter you were referencing, before he spoke again. “Right. Did say that, didn’t I?”

You answered with a nod, your hands interlaced in your lap, twirling your thumbs together to calm you ever-growing anxiety. A few beats of silence passed before he finally joined you in the living room. He sat at the opposite end of the couch, his leg almost immediately beginning to bounce. Like he was skittish. Like he was uncomfortable.

“So what did you want to talk about?” you inquired. You knew damn well what he wanted to talk about, but you left the floor open to him, hoping he’d steer the conversation in the direction you knew it was going.

Rather than responding with words, he nodded toward your backpack, clearly flustered. You nodded in understanding, wanting to approach the subject gently and not make him more uncomfortable than he already was. “You wanted to talk about the lingerie I found, right?” you inquired, tapping your bag with your foot.

“Mhm,” he mumbled, his eyes darting around the room, “more so the…other stuff ya mentioned.”

“About how I’ve been thinking about taking things further?” you teased, hoping maybe a little humor would lighten the mood. Despite the confidence in your flirtatious tone, your cheeks turned a baby pink. You trailed your fingers from his shoulder down his arm, your touch a whisper, barely there. “Having a little fun between the sheets with you?”

He didn’t say anything at first, just watched your hand travel down his arm. You felt goosebumps begin to form the lower you got, stopping at his forearm and drawing tiny circles on the inside above his wrist, all while keeping your touch light as a feather.

When he didn’t reply, you continued. “We’re adults, Daryl. Adults in a relationship, nonetheless.” You tilted your head to look at him, hoping it would encourage him to reciprocate the eye contact. “You can say the word ‘sex’. And we can talk about it.”

He responded with a flustered grumble, his gaze periodically switching between his feet and some random object in the kitchen. An exasperated sigh slipped from between your lips as you brushed fallen hair from your face.

“Daryl, I get that you’re nervous, but just talk to me. Please?” you asked. It came out more as a whine, like you were practically begging him to say something, anything. “Like I said before, I’ve been thinking about it. And I know you have to.”

“How d’ya know?” he wondered, finally ripping his gaze from whatever he’d been staring at to meet yours. His tone was curious, but something in it told you that he already knew the answer.

“Well for one, there was the way you were looking at me in the department store,” you recollected, your heart fluttering as you thought back to that moment. The way his eyes traveled over your body slowly, carefully, lingering over your curves a moment longer than the rest. The glint in his eye as he watched you fiddle with the soft fabric of the bodice…

You blinked rapidly a few times, shaking yourself from your daydream. “Second, I’ve noticed some…changes in you.”

He subtly bit his lip, his next question hesitant, like he was afraid of your answer. “What kinda changes?”

“I think you know what I mean,” you replied. Your fingers continued drawing those little patterns on the inside of his wrist, and you bit your tongue to keep yourself from giggling. “You’ve gotten much more confident with your hand placement…and I’ve been waking up with your morning wood pressed into my backside more and more in the last week.”

That sweet heat returned to his cheeks, pulling that sly giggle from you that you were fighting so desperately to push down. “There’s no need to be ashamed, Dar,” you assured, giving his wrist a tender squeeze, “it’s…hot.”

“Hot?” he asked, his tone indicating that he didn’t believe you.

“Yeah. You’re getting all worked up just by looking at me and letting your mind wander. That’s hot,” you repeated.

His cheeks flushed, the pinky-red shade steadily creeping down his neck. “Glad ya think so.”

“So….does that mean you’d like to…do something about it? The obvious tension, I mean,” you inquired.

He grumbled again, but less flustered this time, like he was starting to relax. “If you do…” he paused briefly, as if he was collecting his thoughts, “then yeah. Sure do.”

You were practically beaming, a warm feeling spreading through your chest at his admission. You tapped your foot, fighting to restrain the urge to giggle and kick your feet. But before anything was to happen, there was an important piece of information you needed to share.

“Daryl…there’s something you should know before we…” your voice trailed off, your words getting lost in the thick silence that hung in the air between you. You dropped your gaze to the floor, swallowing hard in some pathetic attempt to push your nerves down. “I…I haven’t…umm…”

Your words dwindled away, but that didn’t matter. He knew exactly what you were hinting at.He finished your sentence for you. “Ain’t done nothin’ like this ‘fore?”

All you could do was nod sheepishly. Hearing him say the words out loud somehow felt like a gut punch. Made it real, made it something you couldn’t hide from him anymore. Not that you intended to hide it from him, but if you said you weren’t worried about him finding out, you’d be lying, and you were no liar.

For what felt like hours, the two of you sat there, the only sounds being your breathing and the ticking of the clock on the wall. After a minute or so, he finally spoke up.

“No shame in that.” The statement was meant to be reassuring, but it did little to comfort you.

“Then why are you being so quiet?”

He shrugged, unconsciously drumming his fingers his leg. “‘M’surprised someone like yourself hasn’t experienced that.”

The butterflies in your stomach were working overtime, and your mind was heading full-speed in all the worst directions. “What do you mean?”

He turned his body toward you slightly as he spoke, resting an arm across the back of the couch, fingertips barely grazing your shoulder. “Someone so…beautiful, kind…someone people like so much.”

You didn’t fight back the grin this time, letting it stretch from ear-to-ear, internally laughing at yourself for worrying he was going to say something much worse. You should’ve known better. “Guess I just…never met someone I was interested in enough. That I was attracted to enough.”

“And now ya have…and you’re sayin’ that person’s me?” he asked, his words coated with a hefty layer of skepticism.

“Yeah.” You paused briefly, only long enough to lift your eyes to look at him. “I am.”

He stifled a chuckle, his smile widening, and he even looked a little proud. “Guess I’m honored.”

Your giggle permeated the awkward silence. “You should be.” Though his sentiment offered you some reassurance, there was still one question plaguing your mind. “It’s not like….off-putting?”

“Ain’t sure why it’d be off-puttin’.”

“I don’t know, just…it’s been off-putting to people before. Because I “wouldn’t know what I’m doing”,” you clarified, using air quotes at the end of your sentence.

“Like I said, no shame in that. First time for everythin, right?” His fingers that had been only previously grazing your shoulder traveled closer, lazily caressing the crook of your neck.

“I guess that’s true.” Adjusting your foot, you accidentally knocked your bag over. During the whole conversation, you’d forgotten it was there, but you never stopped thinking about what sexy little surprise was tucked away inside. “Should I go put it on?”

“Do you wanna go put it on?” he asked.

“Yes,” you affirmed, “do you want to see me in it?”

The half-mumbled “mhm” he responded with left you uncertain. You hadn’t been official with Daryl for more than a few weeks, but you’d know him for much longer, long enough to be able to tell when something was bothering him that he wouldn’t confess. “If you’re uncomfortable, I don’t have to.”

“S’not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Just don’t want ya to feel like ya gotta.”

You sighed and shifted closer to him on the couch, fully closing the space between you and resting your hand on his leg. “Look, I may be nervous, but I want this, Dar. I want you.” You kissed his cheek, his tanned complexion growing hot under your touch. “I’ll be right back.”

You took your backpack and swung it over your shoulder, giving him a playful wink before making your way upstairs to your shared bedroom. Your heart was pounding in your chest, rattling your ribcage. The butterflies in your stomach were activated by both excitement and anxiety.

You laid the lingerie out on the bed, flattening it smooth and taking a moment to admire it. You couldn’t believe how lucky you’d gotten. You’d been itching to talk sex with Daryl, to take thing further with him physically, for some time now. But you needed that last little confidence boost to push you to do it, and it seems today, you’d gotten that push. It had to be a sign.

Your shirt came off first, followed by your bra. You slipped the babydoll over your chest, hooking the back and adjusting yourself in the cups. The flyaway bodice swayed around your hips before stilling, the fluffy trim at the bottom tickling your soft skin. Sliding off your jeans, you kicked them into the corner of the room near the beat-up plastic laundry basket, lastly removing your panties and tossing those in as well. You took the satin red thong and slipped it on, adjusting it to be more comfortable—as comfortable as a G-string could be, at least.

You admired yourself in the mirror, doing a few twirls, watching the satin catch the light. You had wanted this. God, you had wanted this for so long. Wanted him for so long. All that aside, you would’ve been lying to yourself if you had said you weren’t at least a little bit nervous.

“You can do this, Y/N,” you whispered, taking a deep breath and watching your chest rise and fall in your reflection, “it’s Daryl. You’re gonna be just fine.”

You stepped slowly out of the bedroom and down the hallway, the chilly wood quickly warming under your bare feet. The creaking of the floor boards caught his attention, turning to you as you approached the top of the stairs, his striking cerulean eyes scanning every inch of your form. Slowly, carefully, drinking you in like you were a fine wine he wanted to savor.

You were a blessing to every single one of his senses, and he hadn’t even laid a finger on you yet.

“What do you think?” you asked. Anxious energy aside, your award-winning smile broke through as you twirled before him, letting the mesh material swirl around you in a red haze. The way your hair cascaded around you, the twinkle in your eye so bright that he could see it from his place on the couch, your bare ass hidden only behind a thin layer of mesh…

He was enthralled.

Without so much as a word, he was on his feet, moving toward you at a speed that surprised even him. At the top of the steps, he took you in his arms, his hands quickly finding your waist and caressing your sides over your lingerie. You looked deep into his eyes, and beyond all the nerves, apprehensive words, and flustered grumbles, you saw something pure, unfiltered, and heavy—desire.

“Beautiful,” he whispered against your lips before capturing them in a searing yet tender kiss.

He lifted you by the waist, slowly walking you back until you were up against the wall. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the ends of his hair as he set you down. When his hands found your waist again, they slowly traveled north, his touch light as the kiss deepened for a brief moment before he broke away. You pouted, already aching to have his lips on yours again and his tongue in your mouth.

“Can I touch ya?” he asked, his forehead resting against yours. His hands came to a rest under your breasts, the fluffy trim a surprisingly erotic yet welcome sensation against his skin.

Taking a moment to look him over, your already lust-blown eyes darkened further, your chest heaving as you gasped for air. All of the pent-up energy you’d been storing for weeks—hell, months—was pouring out of you faster than you could gain control of it. A soft and mumbled “Christ, yes” spilled out before you pulled him in again, the tip of your tongue teasing his bottom lip, begging for entrance.

He seemed a little surprised at the gesture but obliged, parting his lips enough to allow you in. You chuckled softly into the kiss, tongue exploring his mouth and swallowing every sweet sound he made. Given how surprised he seemed, you figured he had assumed you weren’t well-versed in the world of making out either. But you’d had plenty of heated sessions and got up to some bumping-and-grinding back in the day

You were a virgin, not a saint.

He cupped you over the satin, the swell of your breasts pressing against his fingertips as you inhaled deeply, your chest heaving. You swallowed his groans as he explored you, first just holding, then squeezing, and finally slowly beginning to tease you through the silky fabric. Your nipples hardened, creating small peaks that showed under the cups, and a moan slipped past your tongue as you arched into him further. That moan alone could’ve sent Daryl toppling over the edge.

Fuck, that sound was delicious.

Daryl moved closer, trapping you between him and the wall. You felt something press against the softness of your thigh, and it certainly wasn’t his leg. You giggled softly, amused by just how quickly the illustrious archer got aroused. Like it wasn’t exactly the same for you.

“Do you want some help with that?” you teased, grinding once on his hardness and feeling it twitch against you. You suppressed your own sounds of pleasure, already aching to feel him again.

He hissed though gritted teeth, fighting the growing urge to grind back. “Dun’ want ya to feel pressured into it.”

“I know there’s no pressure here, babe. I want to.” Whatever blood in your body that wasn’t circulating its way down to your core was collecting in your cheeks, the light pink quickly changing to a fire-engine red as your gaze fell to his feet. “Wanted to for a long time.”

He smirked, your reassurance seeming to further break through what remained of his flustered state as he questioned you with a teasing tone. “How long?”

“Long before we got together,” you confessed. Your body relaxed against him, the admission of your sinful thoughts feeling like a weight off your shoulders. And fuck, did it feel good. “Do you want it?”

You looked back up at him, eyes darker and pupils blown out with desire. He bit his lip, trying to subdue the remaining nerves creeping their way into his chest. “Yeah...yeah, I do.”

As your lips warped into something between a smile and a smirk, you took his hand in yours, interlocking your fingers before slipping out from between him and the wall. Pulling him gently behind you, you walked into your bedroom, trailing him over to the bed until he was backed up against it.

Your next sentence came out somewhere between an order and a tease. “Then sit down & let me take care of you.”

It was a promise you were sure to keep. And he knew that too.

Capturing him in another kiss, your hands found his chest, slowly gliding lower to where he needed your touch most. He groaned into the kiss as your fingers found his belt buckle, fiddling with the cool brass and hearing the metallic ‘clink’ as it came undone. You tugged slightly, pulling it free from the restraints of the his belt loops and blindly tossing it somewhere on the floor behind you.

“Can I take these off?” you whispered against his lips as you broke the kiss, panting like you’d been holding your breath for hours. Your thumbs hooked into his loops, and he shuddered in pleasure at the thought of what was coming next.

“Gonna be hard for ya to do anythin’ with ‘em on,” he teased. Daryl didn’t often use humor to cope with nerves, but whenever he did, it never ceased to make you laugh. The gruffness in his voice was thicker, and you could tell—and feel—that his need was growing, both physically and metaphorically.

Finding the button on his jeans, you popped it open swiftly, quickly making work of the zipper. He twitched against your hand, and you chuckled in amusement at just how badly he wanted you. Tugging on his jeans, they fell to his ankles, leaving his erection hidden behind nothing but the sheer fabric of his raggedy old boxers.

“These too?” You played with the elastic waistband, one hand remaining on his hip while the other traced patterns down his thigh, his muscles tightening under your delicate touch. You knew they had to come off for him to get what he wanted, but you wanted that consent every step of the way.

“Mhm,” he assured, that subtle pink returning to his cheeks again.

With a playful grin, your fingers danced over the elastic band, dipping under slowly and dragging them down. You pulled them around his erection, slowly releasing them and trailing your touch up his thighs again.

He swallowed hard as they hit the floor, looking like he wished said floor would swallow him whole. Your eyes immediately fell to it, watching it bounce slightly in the aftermath of being sprung free. You knew Daryl was insecure about his body for a variety of reasons, though in your mind, there was nothing for him to be insecure about. He was attractive, scars and all…and his shaft was no exception.

“You look beautiful, Dar,” you complimented, batting your lashes as you locked eyes with him, “you don’t have to be shy.”

The pink in his cheeks spread to his ears at your words of affirmation, his signature half-smile pulling at his lips, threatening to break free. Daryl never took compliments well, you’d always known that, but he’s gotten better over time. At least with compliments that came from you.

You pressed firmly on his chest, encouraging him to sit at the edge of the bed. As he sat, you drank in the sight of him for the first time. He was slightly bigger than average, veins bulging out on all sides, the tip already beginning to leak pre-cum. You swallowed hard, both to calm your nerves and to keep yourself from drooling at the appetizing human before you.

Lowering to the floor, you settled between his legs, propping yourself up on your knees and sitting back. You steadied yourself with your hands on his thighs, pressing on his knees to encourage him to spread them further. Your touch was electric, and he tensed under you, like if he was too relaxed, his pleasure would overtake him & it would be over before it even started.

His breath hitched at the sight of you—eyes sparkling, hair framing your face, flushed cheeks, and those lips…god, those beautiful lips. You were everything he wanted—needed—and more. Fuck, he had prayed for you, and he hadn’t even realized it.

“Could you talk me through it? Tell me what I should be doing?” You weren’t naive, you knew how blowjobs worked. Hell, you’d even practiced on a dildo a few times before the outbreak. But you wanted to hear what he liked, wanted to hear his voice as it continued to thicken with desire. Wanted to hear him struggle to speak the closer he got to release. The thought alone was creating a small pool of arousal in your panties.

“That what ya want?” he wondered.

You shrugged, your blush deepening from embarrassment. “Well, yeah. I don’t want to make a complete fool of myself.” You looked down briefly between his legs before locking eyes again. “You know I’m not gonna be able to take the whole thing, right?”

“’S’more than okay.” He brought his hand up to cup your face, his thumb softly caressing your cheek. “We’ll take it slow. Ya get overwhelmed, even a little, jus’ tap my thigh. Promise you’ll do that?”

“I promise,” you confirmed.

“And ya ain’t gon’ make a fool of yourself.” A breathy laugh escaped him as your skin grew hot under his hand. “Can assure ya m’gonna enjoy every second of it.”

You swallowed softly and nodded, his words of reassurance providing some comfort. “Can you hold my hair?”

He didn’t respond at first, rather just gathered your hair in his hand, forming a makeshift ponytail with his fist as the hair tie. He gently guided you forward until you were almost full aligned with his throbbing length before speaking again. “Ya good?”

You nodded and gave him a soft smile. “I’m great.”

He smiled down at you, happy to know you were comfortable. “Jus’ start with your tongue first,” he encouraged, “take it easy. No pushin’ yourself. Dun’ gotta do that for me.”

When your tongue met his sensitive flesh, he gasped, his head falling back as a deep groan followed. You moved onto him slow, swirling around and lapping up the drops of pre-cum that had collected at the tip. You took your time exploring him, feeling him, moving your tongue carefully like you wanted to memorize every vein, every ridge, every single detail of him.

You looked up to gauge his reaction, watching as his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth fell open. The sounds dripping off his lips were unbridled, sinful, and damn near pornographic. Every sound he made went straight to your core, your own arousal becoming difficult to contain with the simple G-string you wore.

If he wasn’t using every fiber of his being to hold back, the sight of you alone would’ve made him come undone on the spot.

“Good,” he praised, his grip on your hair tightening every so slightly, “keep goin’, angel.”

After a few more passes of your tongue, your lips enveloped around him, sucking the tip before slowly moving down and taking more of him in. He fought to keep himself still, the desire to thrust, even just a little, building in his chest with every passing second. But this was your first time, and he wanted it to be special for you.

“Open your mouth more,” he groaned through gritted teeth, and you quickly obliged, opening your jaw further as you took more of him in. You got about halfway before your body threatened to gag, so you stopped there, trying not to push yourself like Daryl had said.

He opened his eyes to take in the view of you, and there weren’t words for what the sight between his legs was doing to him. You, eyes glistening with his cock in your mouth, drool bubbling around the edge of your lips, looking up at him, eager to listen to his every direction, brought up feelings in him he’d never experienced before. “There ya go, Y/N…jus’ like that…”

Your blush intensified at his praises, the dark shade akin to the satin cups of your lingerie. You slowly, carefully bobbed your head up and down, swirling your tongue around him as you moved, sucking the tip as you pulled almost all the way off.

“Harder.” He didn’t intend for it to slip out like a demand, but it had, and it was a demand you were happy to comply with. You followed his order as you continued to move, making sure to swirl your tongue and keep your jaw wide.

He said no pushing yourself, but you wanted to try. When you slid back down onto him, you went further, taking just a little more of him in and causing you to almost gag. But you fought it back, catching yourself before the gag slipped out. His grip on your hair tightened again, eliciting a pleasured groan from you, every sound wave vibrating against him. His moans grew higher in pitch and more rapid, his chest rising and falling faster, his resolve to not thrust into you beginning to dwindle.

He was right on the edge, seconds from toppling over.

A stifled “tongue, baby,” was all he managed to choke out before his release hit him like a tidal wave. Hot, sticky ropes shot to the back of your throat, causing you to gasp and cough softly as he pulled out.

His body writhed as he came, white-knuckling the sheets as he spilled onto you. You continued to cough softly as you watched him, his head falling back and the vein in his neck bulging as he clenched his jaw, moans and groans slipping between his teeth. Watching him squirm like that because of pleasure you delivered sent a tingly sensation straight to your center.

He stared down at you through half-lidded eyes, watching as you coughed and cleared your throat after swallowing nearly every drop of him—every drop that landed in your mouth, at least. The sight of you before had been ethereal, but that combined with having his cum on you? Downright appetizing.

“How was that?” you wondered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and licking it clean.

He tasted good.

Oh wow, he tasted good.

“Ya sure ya ain’t never done this ‘fore?” He had his hands placed on either side of him to steady himself, his words coming out between frantic pants as he tried to catch his breath.

You chuckled softly, flattered that your amateur skills pleased him so much. “I’m sure.”

“Then you’re a pro at followin’ directions,” he smirked, his breathing still rapid as he rode out the aftershocks of his high.

“Well, there’s plenty more where that came from,” you laughed.

You stayed like that for a minute, caressing his legs as he came down from the peak of pleasure and leaving small kisses on his upper thigh. His grip on your hair slowly loosened, locks falling between his fingers. You rested your head on his knee, staring up at him and tracing delicate patterns on the opposite one. After he fully relaxed, he eyes met yours again, smiling softly as he watched you.

“‘S’your turn,” he offered, extending a hand out to help pull you up, “if ya want it, I mean.”

You grinned at the gentlemanly gesture and took his hand. “Mhm,” you agreed, slowly rising to your feet, “just a little nervous is all.” Your gaze fell to the floor, your voice softening, words coated with vulnerability. “Worried you might not like what you see.”

The last sentence broke his heart. He hated to see you—someone so stunning, so confident, so absolutely perfect in every way—think so low of your body. “Can ya look at me?” he asked, putting an index finger under your chin and slowly lifting your head to meet his gaze again. You did so hesitantly, but when you locked eyes with him, a feeling of ease washed over you. His tone was calming, and the honesty in those stunning baby blues, and his words, soothed you. “M’gonna love what I see. Because it’s you.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks again, and despite the urge to look away, you maintain eye contact. Rather than going the self-deprecating route, you chose to believe him, hoping that if anything was truly a problem or a bother, he’d let you know.

“We’ll start slow, yeah?” He sat on the bed again, moving back and patting his leg, encouraging you to sit on his lap. “C’mere.”

Your small grin quickly widened, stretching from ear-to-ear as you stepped over You climbed on and straddled his legs, wrapping your arms around his neck. “This good?”

“’S’great,” Daryl confirmed, His hands found your hips, moving under the flowing bodice, fingers splaying out and barely touching your ass.

He initiated the kiss this time, his tongue quickly pleading for entrance. Subconsciously, you began to move, first rotating your hips in small circles. As you progressed, you began to grind on him, desperate to feel his touch, his friction, his heat where you needed it most. As the kiss deepened, you grew more frantic in your movements, grinding faster and gasping each time the satin came in contact with your clit. Sensing your desperation, Daryl kept you in place with one hand on your hip, the other slowly traveling to your thigh, creeping inward.

He didn’t even need to ask before the words came pouring out your mouth.

“Touch me, Dar,” you begged, tone breathy and your words barely a whisper.

“Ya s—“

You cut off his question with a single word, pleading with him to give you what you were craving. What your body and every single one of your senses was craving.

“Please.”

Pulling your panties to the side, he dragged his index finger through your sensitive folds, causing you to shudder and shake against him before he’d even grazed your most sensitive spot. Had you not been in the writhes of pleasure, you’d almost be embarrassed at how wet you already were.

“Feelin’ good?” he asked, more so a tease than a question.

You nodded, a soft whimper slipping from between your lips as you pulled him back in for a kiss. He swallowed that whimper and each one that followed, two fingers now hooking under your panties and finding your clit, working with expert precision.

A sharp gasp flew from your throat, the pleasure almost overwhelming as he circled you slowly, drawing it out to tease you, to make you feel good for as long as possible. The callousness of his skin against your swollen bud was intoxicating.

As the proverbial knot in your stomach tightened, you struggled to maintain the kiss. It was all becoming too much, every one of your senses overwhelmed and starting to blend together. Your head fell to the crook of his neck, your hips moving in circles as you ached to feel more.

“Need your tongue,” you moaned against him, fingers digging into his shoulder blades, like you thought you would lose your balance and fall over if you didn’t cling to him.

He tapped on your hip, fingers slowing on your clit as you picked your head up to look at him. He searched your eyes for doubt, and when he didn’t see any, he continued. “Ya sure? Dun’ want ya to feel like we’re rushing’ anythin’.”

You nodded emphatically, like you couldn’t answer fast enough. “I want it. Please. I need it,” you practically begged. You brought your arms around, hands cupping his face as your thumbs brushed his high cheekbones. “I need you.”

And that’s exactly what it was. It wasn’t just the pleasure you were searching for—it was experiencing it with him.

He smiled and peeled one of your hands from his face, kissing your palm softly before trailing one down to your wrist. He gently lifted you off, helping you sit next to him.

You moved on the bed, the soft plush of the blanket on your skin a soothing comfort to the nervous energy quickly building within you. Adjusting your position, you laid back, inhaling deeply as you played with the trim of your bodice. Your mind wandered to all sorts of unpleasant outcomes, and although you had craved this moment, dreamt of it, for months, your nerves were starting to get the best of you.

“Ya good?”

His voice cut through your worry like a hot knife through butter, and you met his gaze again, swallowing to suppress the butterflies trying to creep up your throat. “Yeah. I’m great.”

“Ya sure, angel? Lookin’ a lil’ more than jus’ ‘nervous.’”

You nodded, but the look in your eyes indicated something more. “It’s nothing I haven’t already shared. Like you said, there’s a first time for everything, right? And nerves and such, they come with that.”

“Jus’ no pushin’ yourself, remember?” he insisted. He brought a hand up to hold your cheek, pulling you in slightly and kissing your forehead. It was a tender gesture compared to what you had just been begging him for.

“I remember, Dar,” you affirmed, giving him a two-finger salute and eliciting a laugh from him, “no pushing myself, I promise.”

Thumbs hooking into the sides of your G-string, you lifted your hips. He slowly pulled them off, sliding the now sopping material over your knees and ankles, letting them fall to the floor at the foot of the bed. You parted your legs, laying your head back on the pillows and taking a deep, shaky breath. You could feel his eyes on your center, drinking you in, and you bit your bottom lip.

Sure, he’d just been touching you, but now he was seeing you, and those were two very, very different things.

He climbed back up to you, kissing your forehead once more when he saw the blush that started in your cheeks creep down your neck. “Don’t got nothin’ to be shy ‘bout,” he reassured, “you’re gorgeous.”

You blinked your eyes open, meeting his, and the look in them was soft, promising. It pulled a grin from you, albeit a small one. “Told ya we’d take it easy,” he reminded, echoing his earlier words, “ya wanna stop, jus’ tap my head.”

“I can do that,” you replied.

You had zero intentions of stopping, though.

As he walked to the end of the bed and settled down. “Now just lay there ’n look pretty.”

He hooked his arms under your legs, pulling you closer to him and eliciting a giggly gasp from you. His hot breath ghosted your aching flesh, spiking your arousal. He started slow, placing feather-light kisses up your inner thigh until he was just shy of your core, repeating the same on the other thigh. Each one sent little sparks through your entire body, and you fought to keep from squirming. Those kisses trailed to your heat, still feather-light, like he was afraid you would fall apart if he pressed just a bit too hard.

Well, you would fall apart, but not in the sense of you being fragile.

And as his tongue made contact with your slit, dragging through your wetness slowly, a sultry moan rose from the depths of your chest, slipping out before you could do anything to stop it.

He flattened his tongue, repeating the same gliding motion from bottom to top, drawing the motion out over your clit. Your eyes began to roll back, and you squirmed against him, forcing him to tighten his arms around your thighs to keep you in place.

His fingers felt amazing, but his tongue was euphoric.

You arch your back, pressing into him, wanting—no, needing—every bit of pressure possible against your swollen bud. Even a split second without his touch felt like hell, and you began to grind against his face, desperate for more.

“Fuck, baby,” you moaned, words spilling out like a filthy prayer.

Threading your fingers into his hair, you tugged softly, hips bucking instinctively. He chuckled against you, the vibrations channeling straight to your clit. Your mind was clouded, tunnel vision focusing on your pleasure as every other thought blurred together and faded into the background.

For a brief moment, you pried your eyes open and looked down at Daryl, nestled between your legs and going to town on you like you were his last meal. He worked with a precision and voracity you’d never seen before. He was determined to make you come, to be the first to give you that taste of ecstasy you’d only given yourself. He wanted to taste you. He wanted to consume you.

He wanted to devour you like a starved man.

As your head falls back again, his tongue penetrates you for a brief moment, dipping in and out of your entrance before making quick work of your clit again, flicking and lapping the sensitive bundle of nerves. Somehow, no matter how much pressure he applied, it was never enough—you needed more, more, more.

“C-c-close,” you choke out. tears welling in the corners of your eyes. The pleasure was almost too intense, too overstimulating, too much.

With that, he dips his tongue in again, deeper this time, wriggling it inside you. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him. He thrusts his tongue a few times, looking up briefly to watch your squirm, your mouth fallen open and face contorted in pure ecstasy. Abruptly, he pulls out and presses his lips to your clit, sucking hard.

And it pushes you right over the edge.

The knot in your stomach snaps, and your release crashes over you, your back arching sharply as you spasmed against his face, coating him with your release. Every cell in your body was singing, vibrating in ways you’d never experienced before. You continued to grind on him, your hips bucking against your will as your body sought to prolong your pleasure. Your grip on his hair tightened, pulling him into you further.

That was far better than any orgasm you’d ever given yourself.

He continues to taste you through your high, his tongue slowing as you came down from the peak of pleasure. His licks turned into small flicks, which turned into kisses. After a minute, he stood up, crawling into bed next to your relaxed form. You looked beautiful laying there—chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, your body still twitching as the aftershocks rolled in, completely spent with a dazed look in your sparkling eyes.

You didn’t look at him at first, just continued to stare at the ceiling, blinking occasionally and waiting for your breathing to return to normal. You could see him in your peripheral, rolling over onto his side to face you and propping himself up on one elbow, his fingers finding a chunk of your hair and twirling it absentmindedly. The flush that started as a glowing red faded to a dull pink, and you swallowed, the fog beginning to lift from your mind.

“That good?” he asked, reaching out to tuck a lock of stray hair behind your ear. Though his tone indicated teasing, he was being genuine. Of course he wanted to know how your first experience was. He wanted to make sure you felt good & you were happy. And he certainly checked both of those boxes.

His finger in your hair broke you from your stupor, and you turned your head to him, meeting his gaze. You smiled softly, and his signature half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he observed you in your blissed-out state.

“Good? Holy shit,” you sighed, giggling faintly. You pulled him down by the collar of his shirt and kissed the tip of his cute little button-nose, “best head I’ve ever gotten.”

He chuckled softly, almost in protest. “Ya dun’ got nothin’ to compare it to.” He threaded an arm under you, pulling you against him and wrapping his other arm around you to hold you in place, creating a little nest of sorts. A nest of comfort.

“I don’t need to to know it was the best. Because it was you,” you assured, locking eyes again as you relaxed further into him, a content sigh slipping through your lips, “we continue later?”

“Only if ya wanna,” he replied, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, taking his sweet time doing so. Just like he always did.

You nodded, the motion barely noticeable as you yawned against him, burying your face in his chest. “Right now, I just want to snuggle with you.”

And as you lay there, bundled up in his nearly-suffocating warmth, your eyes fluttered closed, another yawn escaping you. The cozy atmosphere and post-orgasm relaxation lulled you into a peaceful slumber, Daryl holding you the entire time.

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[nanaslutt]

minors fuck off ^.^

A little cuck gojo drabble I wrote and never published :p

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Suguru gripped your neck hard, angling your neck so it was almost facing the ceiling, making air struggle to make it to where it needed to go the most--your lungs. The lack of oxygen only made you feel what he was doing with his hips even more as he pulled his cock nearly completely out of you before ramming himself back in, a gargled whine leaving your lips.

"You like to watch her tits move, Satoru?" Geto asked, looking into the eyes of his best friend who was currently sitting on the edge of the couch, legs spread wide as he fisted his hand rapidly over his cock, his face a foot away from yours. The spoiled man could feel your hot breath on his face, cough practically taste the arousal and sex in the air with his slacked jaw, his mouth mimicking yours as you whined in front of him.

Satoru's eyes were locked on your chest, you watched him rub his thumb across his tip a few times, making his body jolt in pleasure before he jerked his length fully, nodding his head at his best friend's words. Geto yanked your neck back a bit, keeping you just close enough to Gojo to where he thought if he stuck his tongue out he could get you to suck on it, but just far enough away that he looked like a bitch in heat when trying.

"Wanna rub my cock on your tits," Gojo said as a response, talking to you instead of the man bullying your poor pussy behind you. Geto laughed before pulling back his hand, a loud slap echoing through the room as the skin on skin met, his large hand leaving a stinging residual on your backside. You knew from the strength of it that you were going to feel that contact for days, not that you minded. The sore of your ass only a reminder each time you sat of what happened tonight.

"Maybe when I'm done filling up her pussy." Geto said back to Gojo's plea. Satoru let his lips spread in a fucked out smile, nodding as he kept his eyes on your tits, jerking his cock furiously as pre-cum coated his hand. "Go on," Geto spoke to you, the burning skin of his chest making goosebumps rake down your back as he pressed himself against you. his hips never faltered as he pressed his soft lips against your sensitive ears, "Tell your boyfriend how bad you want my load."

[httpsserene]

groceries — 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒 & 𝐨𝐩. 𝟖𝟏 lando norris & oscar piastri & fem!black!reader drabble. fluff. attempt at banter. dialogue heavy. no physical description of reader. could be platonic or pre-relationship. covid lockdown mentioned. baking soda vs powder plagiarized from reddit; thank you redditor fowler311.

synopsis: you know a thing or two about baking, because you’ve baked a thing or two.

˖♡ - ̗̀ ⇢ qatar, you were magnificent until you weren't. this post alone is me putting good energy in the atmosphere for the boys in abu dhabi. is this platonic or not? idk, it's up to you—i just happened to write it. (college semester is over !!! i will be so active you'll wish i never came back xxx) no part two requests, pls 🥺 enjoy reading, loves < 3

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you grocery shop on saturday night because no one else living in monaco would consider doing the same. usually.

as you’ve been grabbing items off the shelves, you occasionally stumble across two young men—they’re the only other customers in the store with you this evening. 

the first time you shared an aisle with them, you offered a polite smile before redirecting your gaze to the various shapes and brands of pasta. the second time, you shyly murmured an “excusez-moi” and they apologized immediately while stepping out of the way, allowing you to grab a pack of chocolate chips. the third time, your polite smile widened in amusement, as you watched the man drowning in an oversized hoodie shadow-box his friend, who remained unfazed at the whooshing fists as he inspected a carton for any cracked eggs.

the fourth time, you realize that the two men are lando norris and oscar piastri—the driver lineup of the mclaren formula one team. and, they’re arguing about the difference between baking powder and baking soda, very loudly. in aisle three of carrefour. at eight in the evening. on a saturday night.

surely, these two have more interesting plans for their weekend besides grocery shopping.

“they can’t be that different, can they?”

“hmm. once is soda, and the other is powder. that’s quite different, i reckon.”

“yeah, but, they both start with ‘baking,’ so, i figure they’re more similar.”

“if they’re similar, why would they make two different products?”

“greed? consumption—oh, no, wait—consummate? no.”

“consumerism?”

“consumerism! that’s it.”

“i would agree, but i don’t think that’s the case with these two.”

“well, think harder. it’s freezing in here, osc.”

“i think you’re iron deficient.”

“what?”

“never mind—look, mate, this is your fault, really.”

“woo-oooow, i can’t believe this! so, you’re blaming me now?”

“you wrote the list, lando! how is your handwriting so terrible that i can’t tell if you wrote ‘baking soda’ or ‘baking powder’?”

“first of all, you told me to write the list! nobody writes grocery lists anymore, grandpa! secondly, why would you make the dyslexic kid write the list? it’s cruel and unusual—you know i can’t spell for shit.”

“lando. the word ‘powder’ has two more letters than ‘soda.’ i know that you know that. how did you make—whatever the hell that says—look like it could be either one?”

“osc, you’re hurting my feelings. are—are you saying i’m stupid?”

“i literally never said that. the word ‘stupid’ didn’t even come out of my mouth, you muppet—“

you bang the front of your cart into the end-cap of the aisle, sending a few rolls of bagels to the floor. your cheeks warm as their banter halts and heads snap over to look at you awkwardly rushing around to pick up the floor bagels. the last package rolled unbelievably far to knock against lando norris’s shoe. aren’t you just lucky?

you see lando press his lips together to avoid laughing (you appreciate the effort), and he dismisses your apologies as he scoops the bagels off the floor and moves to help place them back on the shelf.

“uh, t-thank you,” you stutter, as oscar piastri walks over just in time to catch a roll that was eagerly looking to return to the supermarket floor. the two men offer smiles in return—lando’s wide and gap-toothed, oscar’s boxy and toothless.

“soda spreads and powder puffs,” you blurt out, because you left you brain-to-mouth filter at home. maybe they sell replacements here. in the aisle furthest away from the two formula one drivers, preferably.

“what?” lando questions, a matching look of confusion plastered on his teammates face.

“sorry, i overheard your conversation,” you shrug, trying for nonchalance, “baking soda influences spread and browning, whereas baking powder provides puffiness and lift. they’re both leavening agents but, baking soda is sodium bicarbonate and baking powder is a mixture of sodium bicarbonate and an acid. soda needs and an acid to activate but powder needs moisture and heat. so—i guess which one you need depends on what your trying to make.”

you think you failed to portray nonchalance, if the perplexed expressions the two stare at you with are any telling.

oscar blinks, “…we’re trying to make chocolate chip cookies. i tried to convince him to buy cookie dough but he wanted to make them from scratch, even though neither of us can bake.”

“it’s more fun if we do it from scratch,” lando crosses his arms huffily, “you didn’t have to tell her that we’re absolutely hopeless in the kitchen, though.”

“i reckon she already knew that from overhearing our lack of knowledge about baking ingredients, lando,” the australian chuckles quietly, shifting the shopping basket from one arm to the other.

“do you have the recipe on you?” you ask kindly.

oscar hands the scorned grocery list over without complaint, “it’s my mum’s recipe. sorry if it’s hard to read—you’ll have to blame him for that.”

lando scoffs in indignation, “you’re exaggerating, oscar. my handwriting isn’t that bad, is it?”

you feel them watching as you decipher the hieroglyphics that are lando’s letters. you bring a finger up to trace underneath the scrawl, eyes squinting to force the words into focus—oscar snorts and lando sighs in played-up dejection.

“i can understand what you’ve wrote just fine,” you smile at lando, “i’ve seen worse. you know, my younger cousin’s handwritting is miles more dreadful than this.”

the brit knocks his shoulder against oscar’s teasingly, “hah! maybe you just can’t read, osc. have you thought about that?”

you tap your finger against your chin in thought, “—but my cousin is like, five-years-old, with terrible fine motor skills. so, i wouldn’t say that’s a fair comparison.”

the two are caught by surprise, laughing delightedly at your ribbing. the sound of their amusement is contagious enough for you to crease with your own giggles.

“i didn’t expect to be bullied in a carrefour’s on a saturday night by a stranger,” lando says with a grin, after he’s calmed down.

“sorry,” you shake your head playfully, properly introducing yourself before continuing, “i forgot you usually spend your time here arguing about baking soda. which—by the way, your mum’s recipe calls for both baking powder and soda, oscar. which is very smart and unique! in most cookie recipes, most people usually opt for baking soda alone, for the spread of the batter. but, your mum must’ve liked her cookies puffier and fluffier as well! anyways, that explains why it looks like lando could’ve written either word here—because he meant to write both.”

they thank you profusely for helping them overcome the challenge of lando’s handwriting, oscar returning to the aisle to place each ingredient in his basket.

“sorry, could you grab me one of the baking soda, as well?” you ask, “that’s the last thing off of my list tonight.”

“we’re all done, too,” the australian walks over with your box, hesitating briefly before you gesture for him to drop it in your filled cart.

the duo walks towards the registers with you, lando asking, “are you a baker?”

“no,” you chuckle, “i had a phase during lockdown.”

“ah, i should’ve known,” he teases, “i mean, that’s how you know that baking powder is sodium carbon-fiber—“, oscar echoes his teammates ‘sodium carbon-fiber’ with a soft smile, “—just a baking phase, right. makes sense.”

“oh, come on, lando norris,” you scold him jokingly, “baking powder is sodium carbon-fiber and an acid. keep up—we’ve been over this already.”

you separate from the two as you near the registers, unloading your cart onto the conveyor belt and exchanging polite conversation with the cashier as you hand over your stack of reusable bags. you don’t realize that they’ve waited for you until you start to think about the logistic of carrying all of your groceries home.

“uh,” lando pushes oscar forward with a firm hand on his back, the tips of the australian’s ears are reddening, “would you like help with those? we don’t mind holding a few.”

“would you mind?” your shoulders sag in relief, “i do this in one trip routinely but i don’t think that’s happening tonight. i only live about four blocks over—my doorman will help me get them all up to my flat, so i won’t be keeping you longer than necessary.”

that’s how you find yourself walking home, on a saturday night, with two formula one drivers holding the bulk of your groceries in their arms. you’re going to the casino directly after you put the groceries away because your luck is too good to miss out on right now. your doorman heads inside to grab a cart as soon as he catches sight of you. your two helpers exchange a glance in your peripheral vision as you come to stop in front of your building.

“well, this is me,” you start, pausing to thank your doorman, gabriel, as the boys carefully unload the bags onto the cart, “thank you for the assistance, you are both too kind.”

“mr. norris and mr. piastri are always kind,” hums gabriel, winking at the two men, before rolling the cart inside.

“wait, what? you live in the same building as me?” you’re flummoxed. you knew the rent was too expensive, but you didn’t think it was formula-one-driver-expensive.

“i live here,” lando reveals, holding the door as he lets you and oscar walk inside, “osc doesn’t. i feel like i would remember your face if i’ve seen you here before. what floor are you on?”

“i don’t know if i should tell you that,” you side-eye them flippantly, “i fear for my safety.”

“well, i shouldn’t have told you that i live here,” lando sniffs.

“gabriel blew your cover, mate,” oscar rolls his eyes, “also, she would’ve found out anyways. we would’ve had to follow her in to make the cookies in your apartment.”

your doorman squeezes into the first elevator with your groceries, while you and the boys opt for the second. oscar’s hand hovers over the button while he waits for you to clue him in, pressing lando’s afterwards.

lando clears his throat as the elevator begins to rise. “seeing as your thrilling saturday night activity of grocery shopping is over, what are the rest of your plans for tonight?”

scratching at the nape of your neck, you say, “don’t judge me anymore than you have tonight…i was thinking about watching the entire how to train your dragon trilogy.”

oscar gasps quietly, his eyes bright, “i love those movies.”

“would you like to come up to my flat and make chocolate chip cookies from scratch with us? and watch the movies, too?” lando’s question is sweet, and his eyes are earnest.

“i feel like it would be very dumb of me to visit the apartment of a man i just met in the grocery—formula one driver or not.”

“sorry, i can see how it’s weird. better safe than sorry, i know. i promise we’re not like going to try anything, or we’re not, like, serial killers or anything. oscar’s too polite for that, and i’m too squeamish. seriously, it would be just for the cookies. we didn’t have a baking phase in lockdown like you did, so we’re lost on a lot more than the different between baking soda and powder. sodium carbon-fiber and acid, or not. if it’s uncomfortable for you, that’s fine. maybe we can plan for another day when you know us better.”

“yep,” oscar offers in support of lando’s statement.

you smile, “you remembered about the acid this time.”

the elevator dings before softly jerking to a stop on your floor. the doors begin to slide open, “honestly? i think i’m more afraid about you guys possibly burning our building down rather than killing me in cold blood.”

you step out of the elevator, seeing gabriel waiting by your door with the cart.

turning back to face the two men, you survey them with a serious gaze before breaking into a grin, “don’t turn on the oven without me. that part requires adult supervision. let me put my groceries away and then i’ll be right up.”

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