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k4lenz · 5 months ago

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big guy ✮ jschlatt x fem!reader hcs

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a/n: what up! i wrote this for my gorgeous loml best friend @plantring who definitely wasn’t holding me at gunpoint, and i’ve been meaning to write a schlatt fic for ages! so, here you go. big guy. maybe charlie next 👀 also the song was just the song i’ve been repeating and had in mind while i wrote this fic ! i hope you guys like it :)

notes: jambo, other unnamed cat referred to as ‘burnt soup’, swearing, cuddles, nicknames, twitch, wii games series, tucker keane & Ted nivison, chuckle sandwich mention, romantic, drinking, hobbies, singing, SFW, NSFW UNDER THE CUT!! , grabby schlatt /pos

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

sfw hcs ˚⟡˖ ࣪

☼ toots. he calls you toots, all the time, every day. it’s either a cheesy nickname, sweets, toots, baby, sweetheart, or sugar. he’s new yorkian yk.

☾ he’ll call you them before you even start dating, just to watch your cheeks flush pink and lips fall agape. the image ingrained in his mind permanently.

☼ such a flirt, before you start dating. he’ll make a wild joke to nobody in particular when you’re with friends, noticing how everybody will laugh but yours is hoarse. watching you squirm in your seat as he lets out a little chuckle, is how he gathers you like him.

☾ you’re the flirtiest friends, and everyone can see it but you two.

☼ maybe your mutual point of realisation is at his house, when he complains about shaving and you offer to shave his chops. “y’better not fuck this up, lady. these are the money bags.” he’d tease, making you laugh. you sit on his lap, claiming it’s for ‘better access’ as you clean up his face.

☾ like i said with ted, schlatt’s also a romantic. maybe a little more old school, but definitely romantic. he’d ask you out on a date first, with pretty flowers and that charming fucking smile. then ask you to be his girlfriend. what? he isn’t a pussy.

☼ if you two don’t live together, he likes seeing you in his space more. he can’t quite describe why, maybe it’s just waking up with you tangled in his sheets in his bed in his room with his cats cuddling up next to you like you’ve been there forever.

☾ speaking of the cats, they’ve picked you over him. if you both call their names at the same time, both the cats will come running to you as if schlatt isn’t even there.

☼ “what the fuck?” he mutters, picking up jambo. “i pay for your food, house you, give you love and attention. and this is how you repay me, shithead? huh? by picking her over me? fuck you!” he frowns, holding jambo up as the orange cat simply meows in response. jambo’s paw finds his nose, and schlatt’s eyes glance at you. seeing you giggling as you cuddled burnt soup like a baby. “you too, you fuckin’ traitor.” he proclaims, pointing at the purring black cat in your hands who’s giving him the cutest stare ever.

☾ huh, kind of reminds him of you.

☼ if you have a pet too, even better.

☾ got a cat? he’ll try and make your cat love him more then you. it doesn’t work, but if you comment he’ll say it’s a work in progress. insists on feeding it every time he’s at your house, probably figures out some sort of nickname for your kitty. cuddles it every chance he gets.

☼ got a dog? he’ll pretend he doesn’t like it, call it dopey since he’s always proclaiming he doesn’t like dogs. but you catch him babying and cuddling your dog when he thinks you’re not around too often to believe him.

☾ best believe jambo and burnt soup will get mad at him when he comes home with another animal’s smell on him, but never get mad at you. he’s such a softie for pets.

☼ schlatt was quite the private man, not a very big fan of making things public on the internet. he knew how people could be. he wouldn’t want to expose you to that, at least not until he was sure you’d be okay with it and you’d been in a relationship for a while.

☾ didn’t mean he couldn’t leave a few subtle messages for his chat, though. maybe a pair of pink slippers on his floor or some jewellery. when chat would notice and spam, he’d smirk.

☼ “what, chat? th’re obviously mine.” he chuckled. gaslighting his twitch as much as he could. if you asked, he’d say it was an accident and he didn’t notice. he’s a good liar to everyone but you.

☾ after a while, he’d open the idea up to you. whether it be a stream, or a youtube video where he can blur your face. but he has one rule.

☼ wii games. he wants to bring back wii games.

☾ and of course since you’re both equally competitive fucks, it turns into a laughing, yelling and tackling match as you both play every wii game imaginable. spewing insults at each other when the other misses in wii tennis, bickering like an elderly couple, screaming and cheering in victory. him claiming he let you win.

☼ “if you win anythin’, that is.” he’d murmur with that dumb grin.

☾ which you reply to with a string of curses and insults

☼ he couldn’t imagine anything more hilarious. plus click bait.

☾ he brings you to chuckle week (RIP CHUCKLE FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS </3) and you all decide to play some of the board games that look like they’re collecting dust in the airBNB you all are staying in.

☼ scrabble? you and schlatt team, ted and tucker team, and you practically knock them off the fucking board. guess who? they’re cooked. uno? reverse. chess? checkmate. you’re winning every time, together for once, and giggling about it too.

☾ “connect 4!” schlatt bellowed, as you two won at yet another game. you sat at the dining table of the airbnb, sitting opposite each other in pairs playing another dusty game. “what the fuck? you two are cheating or some shit.” ted huffs and tucker shakes his head and laughs, with you and schlatt cuddled up with your manic grins and wins in every game under your belt.

☼ turns out putting two competitive (crazy, as tucker calls you) people on a team works.

☾ let’s just say no matter who you’re playing with, you two always win game night.

☼ schlatt will pretend that he doesn’t like whatever hobby you have, playfully rolling his eyes, but if you catch him marvelling at you doing said hobby? no you didn’t.

☾ he’ll let you drag him wherever, but not without complaints. he’ll hold your hand wherever, never let you pay whenever you go out.

☼ “that’s silly.” he’d argue, pushing your card away. “christ, woman. ’m gonna have to fuckin’ confiscate your card ‘n replace it with my own soon.”

☾ he’ll hold you whenever, especially if you like it. whether it be his arm around your shoulders, on your waist, or maybe even a hand in your back pocket

☼ especially in crowds, he’s got you close so you can get through it to where you need to go. he’d hate to lose you in a crowd, not a chance.

☾ he’d get drunk, you’d try and kiss him and he’d be like “fuck off. i have a loving girlfriend.”

☼ and you’d be like “j i’m ur girlfriend.”

☾ “oh! hi girlfriend :)” and then kisses you.

☼ tries to act tough but he’s such a big softie at heart.

☾ he also gets jealous if he catches anyone simply just glancing at you, big 6”4 boy just gives them a simple look

☼ “achlatt! that guy was literally just doing his job.” “don’t give a fuck, y’re my girlfriend. no need for him t’be so cheery to ya.” but he’d also be annoyed if they weren’t nice to you.

☾ sometimes, you’ll catch him cooking and singing to himself as he plays music on a speaker. some glen campbell, maybe arctic monkeys. but he gets embarrassed, despite literally having a christmas album and a real good voice.

☼ “i don’t sing, sugar.” schlatt would argue, food cooking and arms wrapped around your waist as you two gently swayed to the music playing in his kitchen.

☾ a lie that was, you called bullshit

☼ and you’d both sing to whatever was on the speaker, laughing and just holding each other close as you two danced properly. spinning you, dipping you. his hair messy, a look of admiration on his face. no matter how uncoordinated you two were, it was right in your eyes.

☾ same thing i said about ted goes, big broad tall man mmmmm

☼ gives the best cuddles

☾ got plushies in your room? he’ll buy you more, and have fake beef with them. rolling his eyes if you argue that they’re your children.

☼ deep down he knows he loves them

☾ and you

☼ mostly you

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

nsfw hcs ˚⟡˖ ࣪

☼ he’s such a sweetheart in bed

☾ bitey bitey man. he can’t sit still for long

☼ as long as you’re in the privacy of your own home, whatever you’re doing, bet that his lips will be finding your neck.

☾ “can’t help it. taste too good.” he’d complain if you’d whine, that stupid shit eating grin on his gorgeous face. his hands on your hips, and his mouth leaving pinks, purples and reds that he knew you’d have to cover up tomorrow for work.

☼ he’s whipped. absolutely fucking whipped. pussy whipped.

☾ he’d do anything you asked, especially if you were promising to let him fuck you the minute you got through the door of either of your houses.

☼ horny motherfucker.

☾ in terms of oral, he loves giving and receiving equally

☼ watching you tremble underneath him as he hooks your thighs onto his shoulders and messily eats your pussy, sucking on your clit like it’s his last meal and he’s a starving man. his hands squeezing said thighs as you writhe, eyes watching your every reaction. impossibly harder at your every noise.

☾ and then also, “i didn’t say hover, sweetheart, i said sit.” making you sit on his face, pulling your hips down with his arms tucked under your thighs. devouring you and your perfect fucking cunt.

☼ pulling away later, lips and chops covered in your cum. licking his lips. “light as a fuckin’ feather, baby. don’t know what’cha talkin about.” if you were to ask if you were too heavy.

☾ but then also

☼ running his fingers through your hair as he looked down at you, on your knees so prettily for him. soft groans and sighs coming from his lips, eyes lidded, as you sucked his cock and looked up at him with lust. watching you wrap your lips around it inbetween his legs. tracing your tongue along the veins. pulling your hair, but never too hard: god, he was absolutely feral.

☾ he’s definitely dominant, but he isn’t harsh. he couldn’t stand seeing you hurt. like i said, he’s a softie.

☼ prefers to be face to face, but i feel like he’d really like back shots. simply to grab at your ass, watch the curve of your back arch as he fucked you good. leaving bites along your back as well, leaning over and leaving some on your shoulder.

☾ classic missionary, or you on his lap, are also his favourites. but he’s open to try other things with you, most definitely.

☼ he loves his woman, he really does. and he’d do anything to make sure you’re happy, always give you good loving. he’d hate to ever leave you without.

☾ him getting tipsy makes him even more desperate to please. even more desperate for you. but even sober, he always is

☼ rutting his hips into you, a little drunk as you combed your fingers through his hair “mmm. mine, sweets. god.” he’d grunt, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he fucked you perfectly. “need y’so f’ckin bad.”

☾ you flash him during an argument? it’s over as quick as it started. you were right, obviously. he’s following you like a dumb puppy again.

☼ would definitely turn around your plushies during sex. and also lock out the cats.

☾ when you two would unlock the door and come back out to the cats whining, your legs a bit wobbly, or maybe even unable to walk on your own at all, he’d pat the cats and smirk.

☼ “sorry, little shits. y’r mom needed some lovin instead.” he’d coo as you playfully shove him. a chuckle coming from his lips.

☾ he’s a very touchy grabby guy, whether it be your tits, thighs, your ass. he loves it.

☼ he’d get needy, and make it clear. it would never take him long to tell you if he was feeling needy, or he’d show it simply by picking you up or being close to you. it wasn’t hard to tell, and you’d be fucking within minutes.

☾ and if you’re needy? god, he relishes in it. teasing you, maybe even leaving you on the edge of orgasm over and over until your eventually sweet release. depends on how cruel he’s feeling. or maybe touching you, but not enough, just enough to make your hips jerk but not enough to build up anything. he loved the sound of your whiny frustration.

☼ yeah. he wants you. so bad. all the time.

#one chance #PLEASE ONE CHANCE SCHLATT #jschlatt x you #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt smut #schlatt smut #schlatt x reader #schlatt x you #chuckle sandwich #chuckle sandwich x reader #smut #sleep deprived x reader #no use of y/n #fluff #rpf

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sbcdh · 7 months ago

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On the morning of August 19th 1966, the merchant marine vessel Pelican unloaded its cargo into the port of Los Angeles. Recently declassified information about the Pelican’s ship manifest confirms that the ship was carrying experimental materials for a nascent project Clover. Of the 425 drums of material, only 424 were accounted for.

While government officials have not confirmed exactly what was in the lost barrel, its contents are believed to be approximately 55 gallons of an experimental substance similar to LSD.

To anyone with a passing interest in the 1970’s music scene, this will not come as news. Tall tales of a lost ship full of experimental drugs were as common as disco, though the stories have been exaggerated. The most common form of the story features a drunk crane operator loading a shipping crate onto the wrong train, though in reality it was only a single barrel that went unaccounted for. The more outlandish forms of the legend include everything from a daring heist by a crew of rocker-pirates to shadowy government entities vanishing the entire ship for their own nefarious purposes.

The reality was a simple logistical mixup, a mistake that can be tracked back to a simple addition error on an inventory sheet, an ordinary yet deeply embarrassing mistake on part of the government. Additionally, The information that revealed the lost barrel came alongside a report detailing project clovers lost asset tracking protocol. Protocol that reads as comically naive in hindsight, with guidelines including “monitoring local jazz bars” or keeping an eye out for “feminist thought.” With the benefit of retrospective, it is no surprise that agents were not able to track the barrel.

Declassification of the Pelican’s manifest prompted an unexpected crossover with another niche legend of the 1970s Los Angeles music scene: the disappearance of the Knights of Altonia.

Even today, many consider the Knights of Altonia to be a myth, but scant references to their existence can be found. According to a review from a 1977 issue of Jam! Magazine, the Knights of Altonia were a “D-List psychedelic glam metal outfit with more style than skill, known more for their disappearance than their music.” Though a 1997 retrospective from Tempo calls them “A band too ahead of their time to be properly appreciated” noting their flamboyant stage costuming and its significant influence on the aesthetics of the genre.

To the frustration of music historians seeking to separate fact from fiction, the band featured an elaborate mythology, with each member claiming to be a “Wizard-Knight of the Mystic Tower” who traveled from their world to ours “on a journey through the Nine Realms to find the secret stone.” This has been the source of innumerable urban legends around the band. A common joke among hobbyist historians at the time claimed that the Knights did not vanish, but simply “returned to the Nine Realms.” Information on the band is so muddled that many music historians doubt their existence entirely. In fact, the only confirmed, physical evidence of the band’s existence is a photograph at the bottom of the Jam! Review, it features:

Lead singer and guitarist Donald Hawkins as his stage persona “Zozimos the Wise.” He sports a mane of dreadlocks, and a classic blue wizard hat and robe decorated with yellow stars.The robe is worn open to reveal Donald’s bare chest, along with velvet short-shorts and a pair of thigh-high leather boots. The article states that the glittery bright purple guitar in his hands was named “Excelsior.”

Rhythm guitarist Jon Todachine as “Wan the Witch King.” He wears a deerskin jacket, also open at the front, decorated with what appear to be crow feathers and small animal bones. The theme of bones continues to his belt buckle, which features an as-of-yet unidentified animal skull. This figure is presumed to be Jon, although it should be noted that the broad hat he wears features a curtain of beads that obscures his face.

Bassist Riley Knox as “Chulainn the Horned.” He wears a full deer skull, along with a lit candle that appears to be slowly melting down over the mask. Most of his upper body is obscured by what appears to be a cloak of leaves. Beneath the cloak he appears to be wearing a pair of Nike Blazers.

Drummer Marcus Wilson as “Magnus Fire-Weaver.” He wears a viking helmet over intricately braided red hair, a chain-maille loincloth, a pair of medieval bracers on his wrists, and nothing else.

Most notably, a speaker on stage left is placed upon a large steel drum identical to the ones used by project clover.

Study is ongoing.

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moon-ttokki-x · 1 month ago

Note

Helloo

I'm here to ask something like a little too sad? I really like those scenarios. Like members reaction to 9th member's attempt to suicide? But like one of them(Minho or Jeongin) accidentally come to bathroom and see her? It's a little sad but I like those ones. Maybe even add a relationship between her and Chan?

hi~ i love sad requests . . . the sad ones are some of my favourites too, and hopefully this will help someone feel better <3

butterfly - (ot8!skz x 9th member fem!reader)

pairing: ot8!skz (mainly lee know) x 9th member fem!reader

summary: butterflies; the symbols of hope, growth, and recovery.

genre: idol! au, 9th member!au, fem!reader, su*cide attempt, graphic descriptions of self-h@rm, mentions of blood, cvtting, bandages, depression, alienation, mentions of blades, razors, sharp items, mentions of eating and drinking, mentions of fainting, passing out, blood loss, lee know referred to as 'minho' in this fic, bf!chan, please proceed with caution, and remember that you're not alone <3

a/n: this hit a little close to my heart, so i'm hoping this might help some of you who are struggling . in no way am i romanticising any of the heavy and triggering topics in this fic, so please skip if you are uncomfortable . my dms are always open if you'd like to talk . be safe, my loves <3

skz masterlist

The world is grey.

Greyer than you remembered; you thought you'd been getting better. You thought you'd learnt to feel the sunshine warming your skin again, remembered the way you found your mouth curving into a smile randomly. Embraced that familiar feeling of a happy buoyant bubble in your stomach.

Apparently not.

You're not sure how you feel right now. Distracted, angry, dull? Nothing seems to light you up, not even the deepest rage or the best news. Everything simply hit your crumbling shield and absorbed. Like pouring water on a sheet.

The patch simply darkened and sunk, drying but becoming more saturated with sadness every single time. And it felt heavy, heavier than you ever thought it would feel.

You can't taste the food on your plate; the noise of the members laughing and bickering around you seems to fade into the background, the soundwaves passing through as if you were simply a ghost.

A numb ghost sitting at the dinner table with a fork in one heavy hand, rather than a valued member of Stray Kids having dinner with the rest of her group. The atmosphere of the familiar dorm is foreign, unusual.

Like a hotel room rather than your home.

You scrunch your hands and rub your fingertips over your thighs, feeling the raised tissue of old scars bump in smooth, small dunes under the pads of your fingers. You feel the denim of your jeans rustle with the movement, the fabric rough and once-comforting. Now it just feels itchy.

Jisung shouts right in your ear then as he argues with Changbin across the table, and you don't even flinch. It simply passes over your head. Even if you wanted to, you can't find it in yourself to be annoyed at him. At least he's happy.

Is this normal? Am I overreacting?

Surely it can't be fake if you feel like this. But-

Your eyes lift themselves slowly and land on Chan. Previously, you couldn't look at him without a blush tinging your cheeks and the familiar view of a red rose in your mind's eye. The memory of his confession was always one that made you giggle, sometimes at inappropriate times.

Like when JYP fell over on stage and you were laughing because you remembered Chan doing the same thing, falling, and the image of his lovely face accompanied by his cheesy pick-up lines and warm hands came to mind.

But you don't feel like smiling now. Not like you did then.

You're both in the settling-in stage of your relationship; as always Chan has proven to be the best partner anyone could ever ask for. He's never let you down, carried you through the tough times, held your hand and wiped your tears. He knows how you've been feeling, but after a while, out of worry, you began to keep it secret.

And you felt bad. You did. Really.

Because he deserves to know. Deserves to know so that he can help you, kiss it better like he always has. Because that's just how he is, and how he's always been.

But he also deserves to be kept in the dark. Deserves to be able to continue with his life, be a leader and a producer and everything else without worrying that one day your feelings will take over and you'll disappear.

Because right now, that seems like the best option. Surely things will be easier for him, for all of them, if you took yourself out of the equation.

What would it feel like, you think. To drown, to accidentally slip and fall, to walk into the road without looking, to feel the chair leave the soles of your feet, to cut too deep on accident, it would all be an accident, Chan, it was an accident, I'm okay, I promise you'll be okay, everything is okay, I promise-

The fork clatters out of your hand. Nobody notices, the din of the members covering it up. Chan is almost on his feet opposite you, giggling and laughing and trying and failing to quiet the group. He doesn't notice when you begin to stand, then hesitantly sit back down.

None of them do.

It's not a secret that sometimes you need to be alone; the guys understand that you need time to yourself every now and then, when your head gets too loud or the members yell too much. All you have to do is stand up and leave, and go and lie down, tell them that's what you need right now.

Of course, that isn't always the case. Sometimes you just want to be alone, and not because they're being too loud or rowdy. You want to be alone because being around these happy people puts you in a state of disconnect so brutal and numbing that you can't stand to look any of them in the eye.

That's not what's happening right now. A mad impulse rises, a dangerous little thought pops into your head, and begins to simmer in a rather sinister manner in the back of your mind.

You swallow thickly. Your throat is dry. The now-flat soda you were previously sipping did nothing to quell the dryness. Your windpipe feels scratchy and your stomach bubbles in apprehensiveness, but you ignore it and steel yourself.

You turn your head to the left, feeling your neck creak; you've been still for so long- and look at Minho. He's grinning past you, watching as Changbin almost flies at Jisung over the table, clearly unaware of the hollowness rooted in your stomach, no, your whole being.

In every fibre of you-

"Minho," you say, hardly a whisper. His gaze meets yours, and even though he's still smiling and his gaze is not intense, joy dimmed faintly as he takes in your ghostly pallor- you still feel yourself shrink under it. Like an underwatered flower in the hot, baking sun.

"Yes?" He says. You feel Chan turn his head slightly in your direction, and your heart lurches unpleasantly. He's listening in, clearly in concern, but it makes you irritated. Unreasonably so.

"I'm gonna go lie down," you say, not acknowledging Chan as he fully turns to face both you and Minho, the chaos in the background forgotten.

Minho's eyes meet Chan, and his eyes gaze back, asking a silent question.

Is she okay?

Minho nods faintly and smiles at you, placing a warm hand over yours. You fight the urge to wince at the contact; it feels wrong, and all you want to do is shake it off. You exhale slightly as he removes his hand.

"Sure," Minho says gently. "Go ahead. I know we're being noisy."

You nod and force a weak smile before pushing your chair back. No one looks at you, save Chan stealing a glance as you stand up, but it feels like getting up in front of a crowd. You almost throw up over the table.

Excusing yourself from the group, you turn and leave the room. You trail a hand along the wall of the corridor, your knees strangely aching as you take the stairs upwards. Guilt and a mad sort of happiness take over your being and you move faster, almost driven by the manic feeling. Your body feels foreign and alien, possessed almost.

Entering your room, you shut the door as carefully as you can, and swear. No lock. You forgot about that.

Well, there's the bathroom... But it's bright in there, and you won't be able to see what you're doing in the dark either.

You gaze thoughtfully around the room, your brain going faster than it has in weeks. Your LED lights are on; the ones Hyunjin gifted you for your birthday are set to a gentle purple glow, casting soft violet hues over the bed and shelves. His smiling face appears in your mind and you push it away before you can get distracted.

The bedroom will do.

You avoid looking in the mirror as you pass it by, opening the door to the bathroom and rummaging in the drawers, not bothering to turn the light on. You know this routine well enough.

You pull out a pack of tissues, crumpling it in your hand, and reach under the top of the drawer above it. You move your fingers side to side until they catch on a piece of metal, hidden under a strip of tape, and pull it out. The tape dangles and you carelessly push the drawer shut.

Reentering the bedroom, you sit down at the foot of the bed. Shimmying off your jeans, and then taking off your shirt too, you set them aside to avoid any stains. Not that it matters anymore. They'll find you here with the razor blade still in your hand. You tug at the strap of your bra, trying to relieve the sudden tension stuck between them.

You're really doing this.

Because it doesn't matter, right?

Right?

No, you shake your head firmly, tears building in your eyes, stubborn and despondent. This is for the best.

Your eyes scan your thighs. Looking for the unscarred skin, the parts of you that are still smooth, still clean, not too-far-gone, not rough around the edges, not crumbling, not breaking, not you-

It stings a little the first time. Your breathing becomes shallow as you watch the skin. Nothing wells up, and you can't see the first slicing impact of it, the lighting too low to be able to see anything much. Nothing happens, so you do it again.

And again. And again.

The mad impulse takes over.

You draw your hand in messy, deep, harsh lines across your thighs, quick and brutal, and when you look down, your fingertips are stained in blood. So is the blade, and both thighs are a mess. It aches, but it feels so, so good.

Like greeting an old friend, like embracing someone you thought you'd seen left behind. It burns and the wetness of tacky blood sliding down your legs feels... nice, almost. Familiar, definitely.

Your breathing becomes even more shallow, coming in quick, short gasps, your eyes scanning the skin, moving to your arms, drawing long, deep slashes, welling with blood, spilling like the tears in your eyes, tacky and slippery and iron-smelling, black under the light.

The air smells like blood. It's cloying and you breathe yourself in, gruesome in the best way.

Your hands are sticky and drying with the faint sheen and splotches of scarlet, and when your eyes meet your wrist, you pause.

Just for a second.

And then you raise your hand, the blade sticky and red, smeared and slippery between your shaking fingers. A salute, the colour of finality staining your fingertips, wet, raw, real.

You smile as the tears slip down, soaking your cheeks. Squeezing your eyes shut, taking a last breath, and bring your hand down.

Down...

You feel the deep bite of the blade, hear the slight scrape of it, push it deeper, and rip sideways. As hard as you can.

Gritting your teeth, your eyes squeeze even tighter closed and you lift your hand and rip into the soft skin again and again, determined to draw every drop of blackened scarlet out of you, stain your body, stain the floor.

Then a rustle, a flash of light, a tackle to your curled figure.

You smell faded cologne and the world tips sharply sideways. The blade goes flying and your head hits the wall, dull, not enough to knock you out but enough to stun you.

You blink as a warm weight settles over you, emerging from a dazed stupor, frantic and shaking and gasping, and your eyes meet Minho's, welling with violet tears under the artificial light.

"No," he gasps, crying. A sob rips from his throat. "No, Y/n, why- Y/n, oh, fuck-"

You don't say anything, heart pounding, watching as Minho lifts a hand, stained in scarlet, shaking, distressed, cradling your arm. You think you're wearing a sleeve over your arm before you realise the sleeve is wet, and it's not a sleeve of fabric at all, rather a stream of wet, tacky blood.

Dark and deep. White peeks at the edges of the cut, stinging under the coolness of the movement of air around you.

You don't move, but Minho does. He pulls you upright, into his chest, gasping and gulping for air like he's the one bleeding out.

His scream for Chan chills your heart, chills you to the bone.

"Chan-hyung," he shouts, voice breaking, almost a scream. He screams it over and over again. He sounds like a child more than anything else.

You can't see anything, face buried in Minho's shirt, but you feel the back of your head being cradled, eyes drooping, and Minho's tears begin to drip onto your face as he leans over you, holding you like a precious item, fragile, breakable. He looks terrified, but you feel calm, strangely so.

He's shaking, and the sound of thumping footsteps and shouts of concern, not just one set of them, but multiple, thunder towards you, assaulting your ears like a shower of dull bullets.

Light floods the room, blank and yellow and foreign from a lamp in the corner, and Chan's hands are on you, and when you look across, Jeongin is on his knees at the doorway, wailing, Hyunjin and Seungmin at his sides, the rest of the members a horrified, terrified cluster of bodies behind them. You hear a thud and see Felix fall, then more shouting, someone rushing into the bathroom, noise and crying and gasps and-

"Y/n," Chan gasps, phone to his ear, shaking, tears slipping down his cheeks. You can't feel his warmth, or maybe his hands have gone cold. "Y/n, you'll be okay. Stay with us. You're gonna be fine, baby, I promise..."

You let yourself relax in Minho's shaking arms, stare up at the ceiling. His sobs sound nothing like him. Having never heard him cry, it's strange to finally hear his misery. It sounds soft, breakable, almost unreal. It makes you smile.

The world screens out to black.

Minho's prominent sobs fade into the background.

It still hurts. Sometimes.

But only sometimes. Like a bruise that you forget you have, it only stings when you push too hard, knock it against something.

The wound is healing. So are your thighs.

But it still hurts. Just like the memory.

You'd woken in a dazed stupor in the hospital, doctors and nurses and the members and the staffs' faces all blurring together in white flashes, smelling faintly of iron and disinfectant.

Two weeks later, you were back home. The cut wasn't actually that bad. Just bled a lot, made a mess. But not enough to...

Anyway.

The memory, the stinging pain of the event floats faintly around your head like a cloud, filled with rain but unsure whether to pour it all out. You still feel dazed, numb, but not as much as before. Guilty, definitely, but never more loved.

You wonder what would have happened if you'd actually followed through with it. Because deep down, you know that you didn't really want to die. Leave everyone behind, escape entirely, hand your pain over with shaking hands to those you knew. But part of you is still reeling, shaking, frantic inside, when you remember how you felt.

Upstairs, alone, numb.

While your members, unknowingly laughed and bickered on the level below. You wonder what went through their heads when they heard Minho's screaming, saw you almost lifeless, a half-dead, scarlet mess in his arms, saw Chan's shaking hands and the dull light of his phone as he called the ambulance. Felix fainting, the thud of his knees hitting the cold hardwood. Jeongin's devastated wailing.

You hear the sounds of it all, expressionless, barely-alive, but so, so real.

The thin tip of a pen slowly pulls you back to the surface. Makes your skin tingle on the inside of your arm, the sensitive skin around your wrist that you somehow managed to avoid in your distress. That vital vein.

You look down.

Minho's hair brushes against your cheek as you peek at your arm; you can feel the soft tip of the black pen in his hand poking lightly at the skin.

"What are you drawing?" You say softly.

He doesn't reply, too focused on the black lines flowing out of the pen. They're a little shaky, and he's careful not to touch the bandage wrapping your wrist, but you can tell he's clearly invested in leaving the drawings over your arm. You can't see what it is yet.

Chan comes over then, sitting down quietly on the couch next to you. He sets a cup of tea on the table, and you feel the familiar, warm weight of his head on your shoulder, nestling in the crook of your neck. You both watch a tendril of steam rise from the cup, curling and fading into the air in soft, white wisps. The scent of heated chamomile fills the room, and you smile as Chan inhales deeply.

His hand finds yours, resting on your knee, warm and dry and calloused. You feel the steady, solid weight of it over your own, his fingertips brushing your knuckles as he glances at your left forearm.

"Whatcha doing, Min?" He murmurs.

Minho responds with a hum, a little squeak that makes you smile. He sounds like one of his cats. He pulls back, capping the black pen with a smile of satisfaction.

"Do you like it?" He says, clearly proud of himself. Chan chuckles, leaning in to get a closer look at his drawing.

You smile back. It's small, but it's real, genuine. So is the slightly-smudged butterfly on the soft skin of your inner forearm.

"Yes," you say, touching it gently. "I do."

a/n: okay well now i'm sad . div by @webc00re

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ohodie · 2 years ago

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SETTLE DOWN!

luke castellan x reader

★ “for crying out loud, settle down!”

ABOUT - you hate his guts. he hates yours. but you’d by lying if you said you didn’t want to make out with him until his lips start bleeding. and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like that idea.

WARNINGS - sexual references, sexual comments, enemies to lovers, steamy makeout scenes, no explicit smut. both luke and reader are very horny and very mean sooo two red flags lol

A/N - please don’t make fun of my english/australian vocabulary. i know americans don’t use the word ‘fit’ but LET ME LIVE IN PEACE!!!let me know if you’d fancy a part 2 <3

WC - 3.7k words

it’s hard to recall when exactly your distaste towards luke castellan first developed.

maybe it started off as rude comments and shoved shoulders, or simply the act of tripping over each other's shoes, paired with a few nasty glances. either way, you hated his guts.

this sentiment was obviously returned by luke, who was eager to constantly egg you on and rile you up. maybe he found it amusing- watching the ever so calm and collected eldest daughter of the hypnos cabin going absolutely ballistic whenever luke did something slightly annoying. he loved the way her mature and gentle persona shattered as soon as he provoked her.

it was rather strange how quickly they let their masks slip, letting themselves shout foul obscenities at each other as soon as a conflict arose between the two of them. it was like being near each other was the primary catalyst for their arguments and squabbles- not the actual contents of the disagreement itself, but the players involved.

curiously, luke’s terrible attitude was never extended to anyone other than you. around everyone else at camp half-blood, luke was the perfect gentleman. warm and welcoming to anyone who happened to walk past him, a great swordsman, well-kept, respectful and polite, the list goes on. he was perfect. but as soon as his eyes met yours, his entire body shifted. he became something colder, something ravenous- something hungry. he was out for blood, he just didn’t understand why.

you were slumped over a picnic table near the cabins, tiredly observing all handful of half-blood kids from various cabins making friendship bracelets.

it was dark out, the moon and the embers of the nearby fire acting as the sole providers of light for the camp that night.

truthfully, you didn’t want to be there. you would rather be in bed, coddled up between your sheets for hours before heading down to the infirmary to help out the younger kids with their sleeping troubles. maybe afterwards you could go down to the theatre and join in on a few songs with the apollo kids, or even practice sparring with clarisse.

whatever it was, you didn’t want to be there. not with luke castellan’s eyes studying your every move. you didn’t need to lift your head to know he was looking at you- you could feel it. the arrogance was radiating off him and you could smell his pride from across the picnic table. your nose easily picked up on notes of wet grass, a neutral deodorant, pure spite, and vanilla candles.

after what seemed like an eternity, you eventually shot your head up to meet luke’s unwavering gaze.

“someone’s sleepy.” he smirked, his voice calm and cold. he looked satisfied; content with watching you slowly rise in anger as he began to coddle you and patronise your every move.

you ran a hand through your hair, fixing the messy state it was in after laying down for so long. “i’m not sleepy, just bored.” you retorted, letting your hands hold up your head as you stared deeply into his eyes, not breaking eye contact.

luke played along, refusing to blink as he picked up on the competitive gesture. “bored, huh?” he mused, shooting you a cocky grin as he leaned forward over the table. “you’re never satisfied, are you, princess?”

you rolled your eyes, letting your pupils meet the back of your head as you stifled a groan. you slowly covered one side of your face in your hand, hiding your pink cheeks as a result of his use of the nickname ‘princess’.

“don’t you have a loser convention to get to?” you asked, referring to the cabin councillors meeting that he was supposed to be at.

luke shrugged, looking to his side as he watched a young demeter boy making a bracelet. “got cancelled. now i get to look at your pretty little face for an hour straight.”

“i’m going to bed.” you grumbled, standing up from the picnic table, an unfinished friendship bracelet left discarded. you walked away, hearing little to no protests from the rest of the table.

luke’s eyes met the bracelet you left behind, studying it for a moment. the colours were cute and the beads were placed strategically along the string, creating an interesting and visually pleasing combination of textures and shapes. luke’s hand wandered over to the bracelet, quickly snatching it before securely tying it and stuffing it in his pocket.

luke wasn’t sure why he stole the bracelet. maybe he thought he could taunt you with it, or maybe he could just wear it for shits and gigs. it was a pretty bracelet- why wouldn’t he want to wear it?

a week passed by, and it was time for capture the flag.

luke had consistently come out of the games a champion, securing his place as the best swordsman at camp half-blood whenever possible.

you were tired of it. you promised yourself that when the opportunity arose, you would beat him to it. you would earn the praise he revived so effortlessly.

your determination to win capture the flag was also partially encouraged by the events of the previous tuesday.

you, luke, and a few other older demi-gods were forced to monitor the younger campers on a trip to the nearby lake. simple, right? wrong.

things went south fast when luke ‘accidentally’ nudged your shoulder a bit too hard, forcing you to fall into the lake. luckily, you were a strong enough swimmer and were able to get back on land safely.

“sorry about that, y/n. maybe next time you should keep out of the way?” he leaned in close, whispering in your ear.

luke smirked lightly as his dry hand rubbed the soaking wet and now transparent fabric covering your shoulder. his lips softly grazed your neck as you released yourself from his grip, shooting him a dirty look.

“you should watch your step, castellan. things like this happen to anyone.”

luke scoffed, looking you up and down as he took in the sight of your shivering body. “do they now?” he asked, his head turning to follow your figure as you walked past him.

as you walked away, luke couldn’t help but study your body as it became revealed by the fabric of the camp t-shirt sticking to your skin. how could he not admire the way he could see the vague outline of a lacy black bra underneath your top? or the way your wet hair was framing your angry little face? how you stared him down as your friend offered you a towel.

if you weren’t so acutely aware of how your figure was on full display, you would’ve pushed him in as well- but you were way too infuriated to even get close to him at this point… as well as the fact you didn’t think you could handle the idea of him taking off your shirt in front of you, all wet as his hair let water droplets roll down his torso.

maybe you could handle hitting him with a baseball bat a few times, but the idea of his face all beaten and bloodied was strangely appetising as well.

in all fairness, luke’s actions were not unprovoked. it’s not like you didn’t also tease him and fuck around with his temper.

for example, the very day before the incident at the lake, you had used your abilities as a daughter of hypnos to put him to sleep… for 19 hours, causing him to miss out on camp activities and lose hours of valuable training time.

you felt pure bliss watching him as he stepped out of the hermes cabin, confused and disoriented as hoards of campers instantly surrounded him.

“are you okay luke?”

“i heard you were in a coma!”

“we thought you were a goner,”

luke blocked out the concerned comments of his peers as soon as he caught you gazing over at him from the deck of the hypnos cabin.

with that ‘i got you good’ smirk plastered across your face, luke knew he had to get you back. getting to see your semi-exposed and cold, shuddering body in the process of doing so was only a bonus.

he felt a high from getting to see what he caused. what he did to you. it made him hungry for more. how else could he anger you? get you to show him more? how could you return the favour? would you? he didn’t know if you realised the effect you had on him- but he was going to do anything in his power for you to feel it too.

but those incidents were nothing compared to what was about to go down.

2 hours into capture the flag, and you had managed to fool and scare off enough members of the blue team, causing many individual members to go off track. those hours practising sword fighting with clarisse were definitely worth it.

you leaned against a nearby tree, closing your eyes for a moment as you fiddled with your sword. lost in thought, you heard something coming. more specifically, someone. you didn’t even have to open your eyes to know who it was.

“oh, hey castellan. isn’t it past your bedtime?” you asked, rubbing your eyes open as you lazily swung your sword back and forth.

luke scoffed, taking a step towards you. “i think i like you better when you’re drenched in lake water.” he smirked, looking into your eyes without breaking contact. he couldn’t look away. it wasn’t even because he wanted to intimidate you; he simply couldn’t stand to have you exit his field of vision. not right now, at least.

you look a step backwards, getting into position as you use your shield to protect yourself. “are you gonna try to maim me or what?”

luke took another step forward, mirroring your stance as he took the defensive. “and hurt your pretty little body? i’d rather die.”

you turned red, your mouth agape as you processed what he had said. “excuse me?” you spat, your voice breathy as your eyes widened.

“you heard me,” he smiled innocently, deceiving you before beginning to attack. you blocked every move, pacing around the area as you swung your sword at him. “you’re such a fucking prick!” you grumbled, trying to catch your breath as you struggled to mark him with your blade.

“language, princess.” he scolded, still smiling at you as he continued his attempts at disarming you.

that was the moment when you realised something.

you can play dirty.

not with your sleep-themed party tricks or your weak little fists, but with the power of unpredictability. the element of surprise.

you let him get closer to you, pretending to settle down before him. luke chuckled at the sight of your loosened grip on your shield and increasingly tired eyes, noticing the way your footsteps shuffled backwards and forwards.

“someone’s getting tired-“ his cocky sentiment was quickly cut off by the feeling of your hands tightly gripping his arm- his shock only furthering as your teeth dug into the soft skin on his wrist.

he instantly dropped his shield, his sword still held firmly in his other hand. you quickly released him from your bite, taking a step forwards as you put your weight on his shield. “ow- what the fuck?!” he stammered, looking up at you with red cheeks and a bleeding hand.

you were stumped. you hadn’t thought further than getting rid of his shield. “i didn’t mean to break skin to be honest. sorry.” you shrugged, picking up his shield and throwing it far away while he was still frozen in shock.

luke continued looking at you, silent as he became overwhelmed by the feeling of a ruthless war finally coming to an end within his mind.

obviously, he found you attractive. you were a pretty girl. sure, a lot of girls at camp half-blood were pretty. but for some odd reason, he thought you were much prettier. the type of pretty girl that deserved to be called cute nicknames every day and covered in gentle kisses every night. he wanted to kiss you softly, hold you tightly, say you looked gorgeous, make you tacky beaded bracelets that were the same colour as your eyes. he wanted to make you feel loved.

but he also thought you were a brat. always teasing him and only him. driving him insane with targeted comments and insults. purposefully making him look stupid in front of the younger campers and even patronising him for it. luke wanted to put you in your place. he wanted nothing more than to push you onto his bed in the dead of night, marking you as his. he yearned to hear your strained voice whimpering his name as he towered over you. he wanted to exchange knowing glances and pretend nothing had changed, despite the images of your hands gripping his bedsheets as you let out stifled moans etched into his mind.

luke often wondered how the two could overlap. how the fuck could these two perceptions of this one girl coexist? but luke didn’t wonder how it was possible to think about anymore, he didn’t care about that. now, he wondered if it was possible to act on both of his separate desires for her. he wondered if she even wanted him as much as he wanted her- if she wanted him at all.

“hey, i said i was sorry for making you bleed!” you called out, snapping him out of it.

“stop sulking! what, do you want me to kiss it better or something?”

luke blinked for the first time in what felt like centuries, shrugging as he let a sly smile creepy onto his face. “oh, im not sulking.” he insisted as he stepped closer towards the shorter girl.

he extended his wrist out towards you, a deep and bleeding bite mark engraved into the skin. “you gonna kiss it better, or…?”

you turned red, shaking your head. “i was just joking, castellan.” you murmured coldly, trying to avoid his gaze.

he kept his hand extended towards you, temping you to just take it and kiss it to get him to leave. “fucking loser…” you grumbled, holding his hand in yours as you gave his wrist a soft kiss.

“there, better?” you scoffed before luke’s hands began to tightly grip your wrist, spinning you gently onto your back as he pushed you to the ground, hovering over you. luckily, you still had your sword in your hand. you quickly moved it in front of you, holding the blade close to his neck.

“be careful, princess” he cooed, his sword digging into the dirt ground, standing upright in is position as the skin of your right thigh pressed against the blade. his hands gripped your shoulder and waist, keeping you bound to the floor as you began to squirm under his grip. “ugh, are you kidding me?!” you huffed, your face red from the feeling of intimacy between the two of you arising.

luke was basking in it, relishing the moment as he became almost addicted to the feeling of your skin against his. he let out a hitched breath, his eyes trailing down her frame as he finally realised just how close they were. the vulnerable yet stubborn look in her eyes set off a switch in him. you watched him curiously as he suddenly became a flustered mess, quickly scrambling off of you and standing up.

you lifted your back off the ground, using your hands to rid yourself of the dirt that had accumulated on your shirt.

“are you gonna explain whatever the fuck just happened, luke?” you asked, calling out to him from your spot on the ground.

he rolled his eyes, turning around to face you. “shit, y/n- are you fucking stupid?” he questioned, his voice reeking of irritation and frustration. you furrowed your brows, standing up as you approached him, sword and shield in hand. “oh, alright. forgive me for wondering why the dickhead who threw me into a lake a few days ago was pinning me to the ground in the middle of capture the flag for no reason?” i explained, seething as i pushed him back by the shoulders.

“what the fuck is your problem?” you asked again, letting yourself back him up against a nearby tree.

the game didn’t matter to you anymore. what mattered was getting to the bottom of why this prick was fucking around with you. sure, you liked how it felt being pushed against the ground. you liked the feeling of his blade pressing against your thigh. but you liked the boy more than his actions. you hated yourself for it, of course. this was the dude who’s been teasing you about and pushing you around for 3 summers straight- so why the fuck did you think he was the fittest guy you had ever laid your eyes on?

why did you want him to run his hands through your hair? suck on your neck till it went purple? why on earth did you spend countless nights dreaming about him holding you close as he slept next to you?

you were the eldest hypnos daughter at camp half-blood. you could’ve changed your dream easily; came up with literally any other fantasy at the drop of a hat- but you didn’t. you let it continue. because as much as you hated to admit it, you liked him. you wanted him bad. every last inch of him.

luke let your words echo through his mind for a bit. ‘what is my problem?’ he thought, his expression blank as he stared at you. “i don’t know, y/n! maybe my problem is you?” he said, his voice strained, yet still snarky and somewhat dramatic.

you rolled your eyes again, stepping forward. you kept your hands on his shoulders, pressing him further against the tree he was pinned against. “i’m your problem?!” you asked angrily, holding your sword against his neck once more.

“yes! you make me feel fucking weak.” luke confessed, gripping your wrist tightly as he pushed your hand away in order to create some space between his neck and the sword. “i can’t control myself around you.” he exclaimed, pushing his hand against yours as you retracted the blade from his neck.

“you bring out the worst in me, and i hate you for that.” you arched your brows, leaning forward. “that sounds like a you problem.” you quipped, defeatedly pushing the top of the blade of your sword into the ground as you let your newly free hand grip his chin- forcing him to look down at you.

luke’s hand wandered over to your face, his thumb softly grazing your bottom lip as you tilted his chin downwards, letting him look you in the eyes.

“don’t act like you don’t get exactly what i mean, princess.” he cooed, his voice low as his fingers traced over your lips and cheekbones, his other hand gently caressing your jawline as his fingertips wrapped around your neck.

you grumbled, standing on your toes to reach his height. “you’re a prick.” you scoffed, your eyes fluttering closed as you eagerly kissed him on the lips, his cheeks turning red as he mirrored your movements. he let his hands run through you hair, his other hand resting on your waist as he turned you around- pushing you against the tree now.

his hands ravenously scattered across your delicate frame, trying to feel every curve and dent on your face, back and waist. you pressed your body against his as his hands travelled across your form, closing any and all distance between the two.

after a few straight minutes of violently making out, you pulled away for air, staring into his eyes as your lower lip trembled in shock. you both tried to steady your breathing, lost in each other's eyes as your heartbeats returned back to normal.

“i’ll kiss you again if you turn around and let us win.” you said quickly, the offer seemingly the first thing you could think to say.

luke stayed quiet for a moment, before bursting out into hesitant laughter. “i mean, that’s a pretty good offer…” he said softly, letting his fingers trace your facial features as he studied the colour of your eyes.

“sure.” he said, a little smile on his face as you both leaned in again, the kiss a lot more passionate this time around. you held a clump of his hair in your hand, lightly pulling on on it as luke’s fingers jumped between gripping your neck and shoulders- the other hand running up and down your waist and hips.

you felt his knee hit the bark of the tree, slightly bent as it lightly pressed against the inside of your thigh. that’s when your hands began to grip the back of his shirt, your lips gliding down to the side of his neck. quiet moans escaped luke’s lips, only encouraging you to keep going. he moved his hand downwards, tracing circles into your hips as he moved his other arm hand upwards, cupping the space on the side of your breast with his thumb, lightly rubbing your ribcage.

the moment was only increasing in intensity- before luke was cut off my the sounds of someone calling his name. he quickly pulled away, leaving a gentle kiss on your lips before stepping back.

“right, time to hold up my end of the deal.” he chirped up, leaving one more needy kiss on your forehead.

“oh, by the way-“ he paused, before quickly pulling the bracelet you made the week before out of his pocket. “did you want this back, princess? or can i have it?” he asked cheerfully, his voice low as he looked over you.

“keep it.” you said hastily, your cheeks a vibrant shade of red. luke nodded, giving you one final kiss on the lips as he put the bracelet on the same wrist you had bitten earlier. he gave you a subtle wink and a smile, before jogging away- leaving you frozen in place.

you could hear him talking to his friend from a distance, noting on how he lied to effortlessly- saving your arse over a few kisses.

needless to say, the red team won capture the flag. but luke couldn’t bring himself to care about losing. how could he care about anything other than y/n and her hands and her smile and her eyes? her witty comments and remarks? the way she tilted her head up to look up at him? the way his face fits perfectly in her palm? how could he care about anything else ever again?

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson #pjs #pjo tv show #pjo series #pjo x reader #luke castellan smut #luke castellan enemies to lovers #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson tv show #pjo #luke castellan fic

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darylgf · 2 months ago

Text

・ ⭑⠀MONIKER OF LOVE⠀,⠀daryl dixon x f!reader

warnings/tags.⠀⠀MINORS DNI, mature content, moments of fluff + lil angst + lil smut, est. relationship, lowercase intended, second pov, f!reader but no desc given, no use of y/n, hints of sub!daryl bc i had to obvi

word count.⠀⠀1.6k

summary.⠀⠀certain men will refer to their girlfriends or wives as "mama" to express respect, appreciation, and sometimes a sense of her being a nurturing figure. this is exactly what daryl does for you, no matter where you are or what is happening around you.⠀⠀⠀OR⠀⠀⠀a collection of times of when daryl calls you "mama".

the world could be ending and daryl would still call you by his specific nickname for you. hell, the world was and is ending all around you. yet, he never stops. at this point, you’re convinced that you’ve heard it more times than you’ve heard your own name. he will call you the other and more common pet names still; baby, honey, darling. however, none of those are used to the extent as this one or holds the same weight, not even close.

he calls you this during quick passing moments that occur throughout the day.

once while on his motorcycle, daryl glances back at you as you hop on, your leg being thrown over the threshold. unlike what he expects you to do though, you don’t initially wrap your arms around him like you always do and instead opt to hold the bar at the rear of the bike, just behind you.

he scoffs almost comically, taking another look back at you incredulously, an eyebrow lifting. he knew what you were doing just by the hint of a teasing smile that threatened to pull at the corners of your lips. “the hell you doin’?” he asks, chin jutting out to gesture at your arms behind you.

daryl lets a half grin show as you just giggle in response, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as he shakes his head; a habit that displays his light annoyance while also making it clear it was all taken in stride. immediately, you wrap your arms around his middle so eagerly that it makes him lurch forward slightly in the seat with a grunt and you scoot in even closer to him.

“hold on tight, mama.” he says as he pats your hand that was placed at his torso, just moments before the engine of the motorcycle roars to life and he lets off of the brakes. the name makes you smile while you let your head rest on his leather clad back, cheek pressed against his shoulder blade.

he will call you that when it's early in the morning, the sun not even rising in the sky yet. daryl gets up this early simply because he's used to it, and it gives him a head start on his hunting. but before he's even able to start getting ready, he has to accomplish the difficult task of unwrapping your tangled limbs from each other and roll out of the bed with minimal movement, all without waking you up.

he fails, of course. he always does. daryl is the stealthiest person you know, yet you're just too damn determined to ever let him leave before telling you goodbye.

"go back to sleep, mama." he sighs when he sees you stir awake, his voice soft yet so raspy, still thick with drowsiness.

the way you pout at him as he leans down to you pulls at his heart strings. he remains strong-willed though, surprisingly so. he places a kiss to the top of your hair before standing back up straight and you watch him with hooded eyes from your comfortable spot in the sheets, knowing he’d be back in your arms soon enough.

he evens calls you that when both of you are in the face of danger. just like any other run that you guys have been on, there was always a high chance of things going south. and that’s exactly what had happened.

the air was completely knocked out of you as your back slammed against the cold hard floor of the dusty gas station. it was unclear where or how the walkers got in even after the space was cleared and now you were there, pinned against the ground with one right on top of you. while you managed to hold it back, your muscles were already beginning to ache. it was taking both of your arms’ strength to keep the undead creature above you at bay so there was no reaching for your blade at your side without risking everything, but you just might have to.

suddenly, a sickening squelching sound reached your ears and the body on top of you stilled. it was then lifted and tossed to the side like it was nothing, by none other than daryl. “i got ya, mama.” he grunts as he quickly reaches for your upper arm, hoisting you up to your feet before you could even so much as breathe a sigh of relief. he then began hurriedly guiding both of you to your exit with a gentle hand on your lower back, the dead still walking dangerously among you. “let’s go.”

you get called the endearment when you need it the most as well; when you thought that you may never even hear it again.

you remember how the members of your group parted, as if moses himself was parting them just for you and created a path that led directly to daryl. it wasn’t clear to you what was happening at first, you had hung back as everyone made their way into hilltop and your ears failed to pick up the reunion everyone had with him after his escape from the sanctuary.

a noise of utter shock came from you involuntarily. whatever was in your hands— you don’t even remember what it was anymore— fell to the ground.

his eyes had been searching for you, it was obvious with the way his eyes were darting from side to side and chin lifted to the air to look above the heads around him. but at your commotion, his head whipped forward to meet your eyes finally.

daryl was in front of you within seconds, arms wrapping around you and his head buried into the crook of your neck. it felt like home, to you and to him. he settled into your embrace like it was second nature to him, your hand coming to soothingly stroke the back of his head.

“i missed ya, mama.” he mumbled into your shoulder and the words broke you; a sob racking through your body instantly and your eyes started to burn. lifting his head at the sound, he lets your foreheads rest against each other just so he can see you while also managing to keep you as close as he could.

by the shaking and quivering of his lower lip, you knew he was trying his damndest to not crack and you leaned in to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose before whispering back to him, “i missed you, too.”

lastly, daryl calls you by your designated pet name when you’re all alone; when the lights are off and the doors are locked, when you both feel the safest.

the hunter watches you from his place on his back, not even a pillow behind him cushioning his head as it was most likely somewhere on the floor. perhaps next to the discarded clothes that belonged to the both of you. not that it mattered or that he even cared about it, his mind was elsewhere right now. but who could blame him when your hips were hovered just above his and his hands gripped harshly at your thighs in anticipation.

from his perspective, he couldn’t even find the words to describe how you looked. it could be because you were just too beautiful— alarmingly so— even in the low lighting of the room. or it could be because you let your bare center finally meet his, letting his hardened length slide back and forth between your slick folds that made his mouth completely fall open in silent pleasure. either way, you rendered him speechless.

just when he was about to completely surrender to you and find his voice just to beg, you snaked your hand down to where your middles met to take a hold of him. with one hand planted flat on his chest to help your balance and the other guiding his tip into your entrance, you inhaled a shaky breath.

daryl’s head fell back against the mattress and lids fall shut as you sunk down onto his cock while a whimper escaped you. the stretch was downright delicious. and you could only guess he thought so as well with how he let out a drawn out groan when you were fully seated on him.

it takes him a moment to pull himself together, but once he does, his eyes reopen. it’s hard to meet your gaze, it always was for him especially when he was intimate with you. however, he forces it because after all this time, after all you two have been through, he needs to see you. it’s like the ultimate gift from the universe.

daryl then moves to sit up with his arms wrapping securely around you. the movement causes surges of pleasure to hit both of you, your breath hitching as you hold him against your chest and his mouth places sloppy kisses onto the skin of your naked cleavage. “you feel so good, mama.” you hear him say in a rough voice and the only thing you can muster up is a moan in response, his arms tightening around your waist at the sound.

your hands slide over any and all exposed skin of his; his arms, biceps, back— the warmth he was radiating off addicting. they then landed on both of his shoulders and you pushed him until he was flat on his back once more, palms pressing against his chest to keep him there this time. it was a wordless declaration that control was back in your grasp and it was going to stay there.

he grunts your name softly before following up, “gonna fuckin’ kill me.” his voice thick with arousal, speaking in the deep and gravelly way that sends heat straight to your core. you laugh, cruelly so, he thinks. and your hips begin to drag themselves against his that makes his gut tighten.

“alright, mama— do your worst,” he adds, breathless, and you do just that.

a/n.⠀⠀idk what this was tbh lol i just know good southern men loooove to call their girls "mama" & i know for a fact that daryl would too YUPPPP

likes, rbs, & just general feedback is always appreciated mwah <3

#okbyeeeee #kat writes.✮#daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon #daryl #twd #the walking dead

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