#as for that second point lets look at the root of that

[ladykailitha]

A Love Connection Part 1

In a very special engagement (as in a don't normally post 5 days a week), I introduce "A Love Connection"!

If the premise looks familiar the original idea is from here, where a couple of people in the notes or tags said they'd love to try it. And after a year, I figured I'd try my own hand at the idea.

This will update on Tuesdays at 10am and 10pm EST. With hopefully eight chapters.

Summary: Steve has tried everything under the sun to find someone to truly connect with, so he gives up after a particularly horrible date. Then Chrissy introduces him to her favorite game show "Love Connection". When Chrissy and Robin apply for him, they don't think they'll except him, but he does. His suitors are Billy Hargrove, Tommy Hagan, and Eddie Munson. Will Steve crash and burn again or will his connection be there waiting for him?

~

Look, to say Steve’s love life was a disaster would be unfair. That would be underselling it. It was a fucking catastrophe. He had gone to bars, joined hobby groups, used all the apps, even Grindr; though that was mostly for hookups, which sucked. But that was the nature of the beast if he was honest.

And the beast had completely devoured him. All his dates were either only interested the casual, cheated on him, or wanted one-night stands. Which Steve absolutely did not want. He wanted connection. Intimacy.

“I absolutely give up,” he whined to Robin, after the last date tried to slip out in the middle of the night, knocked over their lamp into their goldfish bowl, killing the goldfish, then he tried to hide the evidence by dumping it down the garbage disposal and turning it on! Lied about it, then stole their last beer as “compensation for his trauma’ and told Steve to never call him again.

“Look, Ryan wasn’t the best guy,” Robin replied with a grimace. “He liked Oasis and Tool unironically. Always a red flag.”

Steve snorted. Robin was a music snob most days, but she wasn’t wrong about that. Ryan and he had been dancing around and with each other for weeks before they finally got so hot and heavy that they went back to Steve’s for sex.

“It’s not fair,” he huffed. “You went to that bar and you a hottie girlfriend and I went to that bar and fucked a fish killer! I loved Garfield! He lived for five years before that bastard mercilessly murdered him. That’s long than my last ten relationships combined!”

Robin winced. “Ooh... I’m going to have to call Chrissy and let her know we can’t go back to that gay bar again.”

“Oh he’s so dead now!” Steve ranted. “Not only is he fish killer, he has driven us from our favorite bar!”

“Let me order us some take out,” Robin said standing up, “then I’ll call Chrissy over and we’ll all cry over Ciarán Hinds and Amanda Root falling in love.”

Steve sniffed away a couple of tears and nodded. “Then can we have a funeral for Garfield?”

Robin tilted her head and smiled sadly. “Of course we can. It’s a Sunday so none of us have work. We can watch as many weepy romance movies as you want, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve croaked. She gave him a big hug and kissed his cheek. He watched her wander into the kitchen to see what leftovers they had in the fridge so they could order from somewhere else. He loved her so much.

~

Sometime in the afternoon when they were more than a little tipsy, Chrissy commandeered the remote and turned on her favorite game show.

“Love Connection”

“Noooo...” Steve whined, burying his head into a throw pillow. It was Garfield shaped. It was what inspired the naming of the valiant fish. “This is the last thing I want to see. It’s so fake. No one gets together on these things. It’s so cheesy.”

“Exactly!” Chrissy crowed. “That’s why it’s perfect, we get to make fun of them!”

Steve thought that the only good part of the show was the second half. The first half was split into three different rounds. The first round was each suitor answer the one question, for a total of fifteen and then the catch would rank them, best got three points, second two, and third only one.

Then in the second round there were a set of rapid fire either or questions that the catch would yell out and the suitors would write down their answers. If their answer matched the catch’s they would get a tally. Whoever had the most tallies would win five points. Then three points to second place and one to the last place.

Then in the final round, each suitor would be asked separate questions and the catch would rate their answer one through three and that’s how many points they would get. Then at the end of the round all the points would be tallied up and the two highest would move on to the next round.

To the part that Steve actually liked. The first question always asked was “what would you do for a first date?” And the suitors got to take the catch out for the date and then afterward for drinks, the two dates would ask the catch some of the questions he asked them. Then the catch would pick the one they connected to the best.

It was all the stupid questions that bothered Steve. That was the fun part of dating, having these conversations and learning about them as you go. But then maybe that’s what Steve’s problem was, is that the people he dated didn’t care about these types of conversations.

“Why would you say you hate sports,” Steve huffed, waving his hand at the screen, “when the guy is a major soccer fan? Like did she think that she was going to put a stop to him enjoying it after starting dating?”

“Ooh yeah,” Chrissy agreed. “Just pick a different catch.”

Robin turned to her and tilted her head. “Do they get to chose their catch? I thought it was all random.”

Chrissy paused the show and pulled out her phone and the Wikipedia article. “Okay, it says here that people can apply to be suitors,” she waved at the row of women in the three booths. “Or catches.” She indicated the guy with her hand. “If they’re chosen to be a suitor then they are given a list of catches, headshot included. Then they rank vote them, so if four people pick Henry, then one will be on their second rank vote. And that part is randomized. According to them, anyway.”

Steve snorted. He highly doubted anything was randomized or voted on. They went for the biggest drama and everyone knew it.

“How long has this show been going on?” he huffed. “Like please tell it’s new and shiny and that’s why people like it.”

Robin snorted and shook her head. “Sorry, babe. But this is season twelve.”

“Oohh...” Chrissy said. “We need to show him the season six finale. That was hella juicy!”

So despite Steve’s protests, Chrissy pulled it up on her streaming services even though they hadn’t even finished the episode they were on.

When the credits rolled, Steve stared at the screen in utter shock. “What the honest fuck was that?”

Two of the three guys got into an all out brawl when the one guy had scored the lowest and felt that the second place suitor cheated. Not first place, second. Both guys were arrested and hauled off the set.

“It came out later Sven was right,” Robin said. “Elliot cheated. His cousin was an ex of the catch so he went in knowing a lot about Stella. The things he got wrong were things that had changed since she was dating his cousin.”

Chrissy nodded. “That’s why the have partitions up between the suitors now and why they have vigorous screening now. The show was almost canceled.”

“So why wasn’t it?” Steve asked honestly. “That was a shit show, if I was Stella I would have sued them into oblivion.”

Robin squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. “She did, but they settled out of court.”

“Basically,” Chrissy said, pouring them more wine and handing the first glass to Steve, “she wanted them to completely overhaul the system. She didn’t want it off the air, she wanted it safer for future participants.”

“The more the fool them,” Steve huffed. He took a long sip of his wine. “All right, fine. Let’s start at the beginning.”

Robin and Chrissy cheered and they all huddled up together on the sofa to watch this absolute train wreck of a show.

They were about half way through the third season and twice as drunk when Steve slurred, “Why are there no gay peemles in this? It’s a trav–trad–tramajesty.”

“Travesty!” Robin slurred back, her language skills always being the last to go when she’s three sheets to the wind. “And you are absolutely right! This is homophobic!”

Chrissy nodded solemnly and pulled out her phone. “I’mma show them...” she muttered with her tongue sticking out. “At loveconnectionUSA Need more gays, hashtag loveconnection hashtag need more gays.”

It wasn’t long after that that the three of them passed out on the sofa, empty bottles all around them and a message on the screen asking if they’re still watching.

~

There was a loud beeping noise and it absolutely was hurting his head. He reached over to where his phone was usually plugged in on his nightstand, but his hand went straight through it. He waved his arm all over the place but still his nightstand eluded him.

He peaked open one eye but his vision was obscured by a mass of blonde hair. He tried to push it out of the way but it kept falling back into his face. Finally he pushed Robin off him and onto the floor with a thud.

“Hey!” she yelped.

Steve peered over the edge of the sofa with a look of confusion. “Why are you on the floor?” he muttered over the still beeping of his alarm.

“Stop!” he mumbled and somehow, blissfully it did.

“I’m on the floor because you pushed me there,” Robin huffed, getting to her feet. She did a sniff test and grimaced when she completely failed. “God... how much did we drink yesterday?”

Chrissy struggled to sit up and blinked at her girlfriend groggily. “Not enough if I feel like this.”

Steve rolled over and looked at them both in confusion, then the events of Saturday and all day Sunday came flooding back in.

“Oh fuck...” he muttered, sitting up himself and rubbing his face. One eye was blurry from where his contact had shifted in the night. He wasn’t even sure why he had them on. Probably from sheer force of habit.

He got up and stumbled toward the bathroom where he emptied his stomach of all its boozy contents. He really didn’t remember them eating after breakfast, only a steady stream of harder and harder liquor.

While his was puking his guts out, Chrissy and Robin stole the shower. Thankfully only taking the time they needed to get the gross feeling of being hungover off their skin.

Then Steve closed his eyes as they exited the shower and snuck into Robin’s room to get ready for work. They all worked at Hawkins Middle School, where Steve was a history teacher who coached swimming and basketball. Chrissy was a health teacher and advisor for cheerleading. And Robin was the language teacher. The principal snatched her up because she could teach French, Spanish, and Italian, with her only needing to hire a German teacher.

Steve got his shower and then opted for glasses instead of his contacts, not trusting his shaky hands not poke out his eye or some shit.

They all were mostly human once they got coffee, painkillers, and cereal in them, the three of them, no doubt looking like escaped extras from a zombie flick. They moved as one, gathering up their stuff and shuffling out to Steve’s car. Chrissy sat in the back, Robin riding shotgun.

Chrissy opened her phone to check to see if she had any messages. “Holy shit!”

~

Look I'd be sorry about the cliffhanger, but you're only waiting 12 hours for it, soooo...

Have fun!

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[snekdood]

bitches be like. i hate vegans so much that i’ve decided i like killing animals and its fine and i dont feel bad and animals dont have feelings and its fine and im cool subversive and different and edgy and like to post fucked up stuff to make vegans uncomfortable bc im just so cool

[tender-rosiey]

from me to you — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: this takes place in chapter 268, soo sort of spoilers ahead? also long live gojo satoru; gojo leaves you a letter 🙏

“y/n-sensei, there is a letter for you as well!”

that catches your attention, and you look up at the first years. you tilt your head slightly, and yuuji hands you an envelope.

you gently take it from him, and the first thing you notice is “wifey” written on it then the doodle of satoru with his blindfold on. you feel your throat tighten, and your hands shake slightly.

you let out a small breath then shakily open the letter.

hey, honey!!

it first reads.

I feel like there is still much I didn’t tell you in our last meeting, so here I, your beautiful and handsome husband, am writing them down.

you swallow lightly, and a small smile appears on your face as you imagine satoru saying that, then you continue to the next line.

first, I changed all your computer passwords to variations of “satoruisthebest” at one point. your confusion was so cute!!

you quirk an eyebrow at the admission, but when you rack your brain, you remember that one day when you couldn’t log into your computer.

what you vividly remember was satoru being sat beside you the whole time, and now that you think about it. he was smiling so widely the entire time, letting out small chuckles every now and then. oh, that sneaky man.

“satoru, I am telling you it’s broken!”

“sweetheart, we spent over 2000$ on that. if it broke, then we could easily sue the company,” he chuckled, arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you closer.

“2 year guaranteed top performance my ass!”

you smile at the memory. it was pretty satoru of him to do that. your eyes then move to continue reading.

second, there are times when I would tell megumi that you would be coming with me, then he would turn and leave me when he found out I was tricking him.

your eyes glance up at said boy who is sat across of you. he made it out alive, despite everything. he suffered so much, but he made it.

it makes you relieved, and you can imagine satoru being bloody proud of him and saying something along the lines of ‘you handed sukuna’s ass to him, very cool!’

no matter how much megumi had frowned and grimaced at satoru’s presence or antics. it rooted itself as something—safe and familiar.

you can’t count on your hands the times when you and satoru would visit the siblings, and nobody really said it, but these meetings did all of you a favor, a chance to kind of wind down. maybe act like death might actually not be looming tomorrow.

it feels like just yesterday when megumi would cling to you when he got really sad or nervous, after so much time spent getting comfortable with each other.

he grew up well, you think, eyes gliding to next.

third, I hid your uniform every two to three weeks, so you have to stay with me.

at that, your eyes widen a bit. satoru’s schedule was pretty packed, but he somehow managed to squeeze time for quality time between you two.

it tugged on your heartstrings, and you made sure he knew how much you appreciated it, not a single space on his face left without a kiss. however, finding out that he went out of his way to make you rest and stay.

satoru’s care really showed in his actions, and you feel like this is the biggest proof of it.

“satoru, have you seen my uniform?”

“nope! maybe, it is a sign to stay home today? you’ve been working so hard, wifey!”

you cupped his face, pulled him down to your height, and kisses his cheek, “you’ve been working harder, ‘toru. let me take off some of the load at least.”

“we could both stay!”

“you’re kidding, right?”

“I already told yaga; I miss you!”

you try to stop the reminiscing further and try to compose yourself before reading the rest.

fourth, I’m the one who kept adjusting the thermostat. I just wanted an excuse to cuddle.

a fond yet melancholy smile appears on your face. you kinda figured that one out. satoru’s favorite pastime was cuddling, so it’s no surprise that he would go out of his way to create the need for it even further.

add to that, once you went to get some green tea and saw him from the corner of your eye teleport to the thermostat, click something, then teleport back to bed.

you figured that the room being chilly that night was not an exception in the middle of july.

“babeeee, it’s so cold! let’s cuddle!”

“maybe the problem is with the thermostat?”

“I checked! I think cuddling is the best solution.”

you giggle as you recall the moment, one of many similar. your heart feels a bit lighter as you go through the letter. something satoru managed to always do even in person.

he would plaster sticky notes, get you trinkets, and even pull pranks on other just to see you smile. feeling more encouraged, you keep on reading the letter.

then you feel your chest constrict so tightly that you might just throw up.

fifth, I am really gonna fucking miss you.

you read the line over again, and you purse your lip in hopes of silencing any noise that may come out as you feel the lump in your throat return, even worse than before. your breathing starts getting more difficult.

your grip on the letter tightens, and you find yourself thinking back to the good times. memories of late nights spent in each other’s arms, thinking about everything and nothing at once.

hushed whispers of confessions and quiet giggles as you reminisced on your highschool days. tight hugs when recalling the sad moments and the departure of a certain someone.

“you know, y/n, I think we might just be made for each other,” he said one night. you hummed and looked him in the eyes.

“three am thoughts?”

“three am admissions,” he grins slightly, “I am made for you, and you’re made for me.”

you remember him pulling you closer and kissing your forehead, while you teased, “and what would you need little old me for, so much that I got made?”

he feigns thinking then closes his eyes, burying his face in your shoulder, “grounding me.”

I love you. I really do, but you should know that already, right?

your eyes drift down to the corner of the paper, and that is when you feel your tears start free-falling. there is drawn a chibi satoru besides a chibi you and between them is a heart.

the chibi satoru is giving yours a big smooch, while she laughs. you never thought that the day your jealousy burns would be because of drawings, and drawings of you and your own husband, nonetheless.

“but wow, gojo-sensei is shit at writing letters,” you hear nobara remark.

megumi responds with a small chuckle, “I am fine with mine.”

“what about you, y/n-sensei?—”

the trio becomes silent as you let out a sob. a watery smile makes its way up your face as you kiss the letter gently and murmur, “so shitty.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will tell @callmemirro

check out my buy me a coffee!

[bookishdreamer28]

You and Mattheo were laying on the couch inside the common room, with no one else around but just the two of you since you skipped another class today.

Mattheo had your body cradled in his arms, as he softly ran his fingers through your hair. He was watching you in admiration as you read your book and he felt his stomach flipping as you looked up at him to give him one of your tooth-rooting smiles, a warm light reflecting in your eyes. It was still unbelievable to him how he got so lucky to have someone like you, loving him the way you do and making him the happiest he could ever be.

The light from the fireplace was hitting your face just right. So beautiful Mattheo thought to himself as he kept his gaze on you, feeling so hypnotized by you.

No words were needed, because just the way you looked at each other alone, was enough to understand what and how the other was feeling. You moved up a little and captured his lips into a love filled kiss, which Mattheo melt into the kiss and hum with satisfaction. After a while, you pulled away and when you looked at each other, you let out a small laugh which made Mattheo's smiled wider.

"Gosh you're so beautiful" he whispered and kissed you again, with more passion. When you were done with your make out session, you just stayed there, snuggled up closer to each other and enjoyed each other's company.

"You know at some point we should tell them" you murmured against his neck and turned to look at him.

"You kidding? They'll start tormenting us about not telling them and they won't Ever, leave us alone again. And trust me the last thing I want, is to want to have my moments with my gorgeous girl, and having the guys eavesdropping"

He placed a kiss on your forehead and laid back as he looked at you with a smirk. You shook your head as you laughed and laid your head on his chest.

"I love these secret moments together. We don't need anyone else to know. Now that I finally have you, I want to cherish you every minute of the day" you giggled as he laid you now on your back and he got on top of you.

He kissed you hungrily and his hand traveled up to your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh. You softly moaned as he bite your lip and you wrapped your arms around his shoulder, pressing him closer to your body.

You suddenly heard a weird thudding sound coming from outside and you stopped kissing. He looked at the door and then down ar you.

"Whoever it is they'll leave. I can't stop now" he growled and was about to kiss you again but this time the sound was a bit louder.

"Who ever the fuck is out there you better get lost or else-" The door opened and slammed on the wall by the impact, and two bodies were laying on the ground.

"What. The fuck?" You and Mattheo said and two heads looked up at you.

"Annoying presences? Do you really find us annoying?" Theodore aksed with furrowed eyebrows.

"I'm sorry, were you eavesdropping the whole time?"

"I wouldn't call it eavesdrop-"

"Oh shut it " Mattheo said to Enzo and then turned to you ready to kiss you again but then he noticed how Theodore and Enzo hadn't left from the room yet.

"You're not going to watch me kiss my girlfriend pricks" Mattheo angrily said to them and the boys hurriedly stood up and just left the room.

"Well that was easy-"

"And just so you're know we're not annoying. Y/N loves me" Enzo's face appeared behind the door and smirked at you.

"Berkshire you have one second-"and before Mattheo could finish the sentence, Enzo was already gone.

You laughed and Mattheo turned his head to you when he heard the joyful sound, smiling too.

"And now, where were we?" He leaned down and started trailing deep kisses along the nape of your neck, making you forget about everything.

💚 🙌

[harunovella]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ love language (verse ii); s.g.

synopsis: when gojo satoru first interacted with you content: teen gojo era, fem!reader, hopeless!romantic gojo, 1k+ words of gojo and reader saving a kitten (a moment straight out of a romcom for sure), not beta read (sorry for any errors!) note: truly didn't think the first part to this anthology series would gain such attention! thank u for that! again, these can be read as a standalone (or connected to this one, but you don't have to read it); enjoy and lmk if u want more!

It was this specific cherry blossom tree Satoru always found you under. The one Kento mentioned the first time he ever asked him about you. If you weren't busy with training or missions, or enjoying life outside the jujutsu world, he found you there. Although there was an array of trees, there was one specific one you seemed to gravitate towards. 

He wasn't sure if it was the specific spot that had good lighting for when you wanted to read or sketch in your little book, or maybe it was the way the roots formed a perfect spot to sit in between... whatever it was, he knew it to be your tree. Even when you weren't around. There was something... welcoming about it. Whenever he walked by with Suguru and Shoko nearby, or whenever he was aimlessly wandering around, he always found himself peeking in its direction, hoping you were sitting underneath it. 

For a confident young man, it took Gojo some time to make his way to you. Claiming to love you when he hadn't even uttered a word in your direction was bold, even going as far as believing you were his soulmate was quite the exaggeration. So why was it hard for him to simply say hello? 

Maybe it was because he wasn't a simple person. Nothing about Gojo Satoru screamed simple. He was anything but that. Yet, a task as easy as that—which came naturally to any other girl around him—was a hassle. Each time he thought he found the courage to step up, he let his racing heart deter him. 

That was until you made the first move. 

It caught him completely off guard, the way you gently tapped his arm from behind, peeking up at him with that sweet smile of yours. His heart did somersaults, his eyes widened behind his round frames, so big that his shades couldn't even hide them. He had been on one of his little walks, new treat in hand that Shoko bribed him with in order to practice her reverse curse technique on him. He was bored, completing his missions and not having much to train on when he already excelled at everything. 

At everything except talking to the girl of his dreams. 

"Hi," you kindly greeted, smile reaching your eyes. Oh, god, you were an angel. A being descended from up above. How could you exist so easily in such a cruel world? He needed to protect you, right? Even if he could see your cursed energy oozing out so brightly. You must've been powerful, something he never considered, always looking at you like you were some little bunny to keep in his pocket... not one who could possibly kick the shit out of him (if he'd let you and he definitely would). "Can you help me out?"

"Pretty..." the words slipped his mouth before he could even process them. Quickly sealing his lips and clearing his throat as you tilted your head, Satoru straightened his back. "What is it?"

Dismissing the sudden word vomit, assuming he was in his own world, you pointed to the left of you. "I sit under those trees, but I keep hearing soft meows coming from one of them. I'm too short to reach... do you think—"

"Yes," the white haired young man instantly nodded as you blinked. Without a second word, he turned on his heel and stalked towards the tree that you claimed your own. 

You, a bit baffled, were unsure as to how exactly he knew which tree you had been pointing at when it was a general direction. Yet, there he was, approaching the tree you were referring to. "It's quite high up, but you're very tall!" You called out before following after him, lightly jogging to catch up before stopping behind him as he eyed the tree. 

In reality, Gojo didn't think any of it through. He just wanted to say yes to be around you, to hear you speak more. Not... to climb up a tree to save a stray kitten. But, whatever made him look better in his eyes, he didn't mind. 

"Be careful!" You exclaimed as you watched him make his way up the tree, no hesitations. You were a bit surprised that someone so easily wanted to help you save a cat. Maybe he liked animals, too?

Or maybe he was a fool madly in love with you—you wouldn't know this yet. 

"Oh, there! You've got 'em!" You clapped as you watched the uniformed young man gently reach for and latch onto the small, white kitten. 

"Ah, don't worry, I'm only here to help you," Gojo said, carefully pulling the kitten towards himself. "I've got you, you're safe now. I just gotta figure out—"

"Watch out!" You shrieked.

"Shit!" Satoru yelped as he lost his balance, clutching the kitten close as he slipped from the branch. Landing with a loud thud, followed by several groans of pain (and pure embarrassment... when did he ever make himself look like a complete fool?!), Gojo rolled around with his eyes closed. 

"Are you alright?!" You panicked, rushing over and kneeling at his side, gently lifting his head with one hand as your other pressed carefully against his shoulder, eyeing his body for any wounds. 

"Agh... dammit..." he grunted, eyes fluttering open and adjusting to the brightness of the sun. Blinking a few times, blurred vision focusing, his heart skipped a beat at the sight of you. Your hair that was usually held back by its ribbon, cascaded around your face as a few strands slipped out from the ponytail. With eyebrows narrowed and a look of worry on his face, Satoru's embarrassment turned into that of timidness. You were engulfed by the sunlight, glowing like the angel you were. "Gosh, you're so pretty..."

"Are you okay?" You asked in a panic, his mumbled words coming off too slurred to understand. "Did you hit your head too hard?"

Shaking his head as he forced himself to sit up, Gojo rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. "No, 'm fine..." he sighed before looking down at his hands to the kitten. "So is this little guy."

Turning your attention from the white haired young man, to the matching kitten, you gasped, "what a hero!"

Grinning and feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, Gojo shrugged, "eh, ''twas nothing..."

"You almost broke a few bones, though..." you frowned, looking back at him. 

"I'm tough," he brushed off before turning to face you. Now eye to eye, the sudden confidence instantly sizzled away as he gazed at you from up close. A sudden silence weaved between the two of you as your eyes locked, nothing but the sounds of nature and the kittens purring filled the air. "I..."

"Um..."

"You should keep it," Satoru suddenly said, handing you the kitten. "Deserves a nice home."

"Oh, me?" You asked as you took the kitten in your hands, caressing its soft, white fur. 

"Yeah, I wouldn't be a good dad," he chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck. "You... You'd be a great mom to it, I'm sure."

Eyeing the kitten, then looking back up at him, you smiled, "we can coparent."

At your offer, Gojo gulped. "Co... parent?"

"Yeah, like, help me out with..." lifting the kitten up, you squinted your eyes, "her."

"I... I don't know much about taking care of animals but I can try and help as much as I can," he offered, scratching his head nervously. 

Smiling, you brought the kitten close to your chest, "you saved her from a tree, I'm sure she will remember that."

"Yeah, maybe," Satoru blushed.

Looking down at the kitten as you pet her, listening to her gentle purring, you happily sighed, "what's your name?"

Quickly pointing at himself, the blue eyed boy asked, "mine?"

"Mhm," you nodded. 

"Gojo. Gojo Satoru. You can call me Satoru, though," he nearly blurted out as you chuckled before giving him yours. 

"Well, Satoru," you beamed as he melted at the sound of his name slipping off your tongue, "I think I'll name her after you."

"Wha— Satoru? But... she's a girl?" He tilted his head with furrowed eyebrows. 

"I was thinking of a nickname," you said before looking down at the kitten. "I'll name her Toru. It's cute, right?"

Nodding slowly, then faster, Gojo agreed. "Yeah, Toru is cute."

Lifting your gaze to meet his, you gave him a toothy smile. "Toru it is."

[jaylaxies]

ENHYPEN: eating you out

pairing: enhypen legal line x fem!reader

genre/cw: smut, cunnilingus, pussy slapping, face sitting, squirting, car sex, biting, edging, fingering, usage of nicknames.

wc: 861

warning: 18+ content, minors dni

requested: here!

Heeseung:

➤ Tease.

He’d slap your cunt gently, patting it a few times as you whimper and try to close your legs with how overstimulated you felt with the pleasure he gave you, yet he only chuckled, holding your thighs wide open for him, looking at you right in the eye as he bend down to lick a strip of your wet cunt, “fuck,” he groaned at your taste, losing his mind as he practically dived in to devour your pussy, lapping and sucking on your clit harshly, going faster when you cried out, your fingers gripping onto his roots, tugging harshly to the point he was groaning into your cunt, sending vibrations up your spine, causing your back to arch as you sharply inhaled, now clenching uncontrollably around his tongue, your release close. That’s when he stopped, smirking at you, his face covered in your wetness and his drool, “H—heeseung, please,” you begged, and he clicked his tongue, “be patient, doll. I’ll let you cum later.”

Jay:

➤ Worshiper.

He’d press the softest kisses all over your inner thighs as you gasp and look at him, his eyes would be shiny, almost as if he’s in love with every inch of you, his lips travelling up where you need him the most, “can I?” He’d ask softly, pressing the gentlest kiss on your clit when you whisper out a yes. He’d have his eyes closed, his tongue tracing circles around your clit as you arched your back, letting him shove his two fingers into your wet cunt, his thrusts slow and mouth warm on your skin, “so pretty,” he’d mumble against your sensitive bundle of nerves, “all fucking mine now.” He’d kiss your clit again, “fucking mine,” he’d growl into your cunt, getting more desperate by the second as your moans get louder, fueling his desperation to make you fall apart on his tongue, and that’s exactly what he achieves when you cry out his name, gripping on to your sheets in a fist as he laps up every single drop of your cum.

Jake:

➤ Munch.

He’d be absolutely down bad the second he spreads your legs, your cunt is the only thing on his mind, and that’s precisely all what he cares about, especially when you’re in front of him. He’s too drunk on your cunt, his plush lips kissing and sucking on every inch of your pussy, the slurping noises resonating in the car when he devours your cunt as if he’s been hungry for ages. There’s no way for him to stop, not until he’s satisfied. He doesn’t care that his face is covered in your juices or that you’re absolutely crying and begging him to slow down, he would be too dazed to hear you, dead set on giving you the best orgasm, “fuck,” he’d mumble, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs, practically making you squirt all over his face as he rests his cheek on your thigh, looking up at you with lovesick heart eyes.

Sunghoon:

➤ Flirt.

“You like when I do that, kitten?” He’d ask, smirking between your legs, his tongue caressing your clit in the slightest touch, a gasp leaving your lips as you gripped the bed sheets, “looks like you do,” he chuckles right into your cunt, as if trying to make you lose the last bit of your mind, incoherent words leaving your mouth as you bucked up your hips involuntary to reach your climax which you were ever so desperate for. “You’re such a good kitten for me, so pretty all spread out for me, so desperate, listening to me like a pretty little doll,” he mumbled, fucking his tongue into your mouth, drooling all over to taste your cum, just for his own pleasure.

Sunoo:

➤ Freaky.

He would have you sitting on his face, your cunt spread out for him perfectly in a way that he could devour your pussy, licking and sucking religiously as he hooks his arms around your thighs to keep you in place. “You’re sitting exactly where you belong, darling,” he chuckled, voice crisp even after as he pauses to look up at your tear stained face. Oh how he loved seeing you cry, he loved how sensitive you were and he loved how loud you moaned when he bit on your thighs, going back in to your cunt, sucking on your clit mercilessly to the point you flooded his mouth with your release, which he lapped up with a hungry gaze.

Jungwon:

➤ Playful.

“Like it, angel?” He slapped your cunt, your whines of pleasure getting louder as you shook your head no, which was a complete lie, “no? Tch, I think you love it, baby,” he whispered, kissing down your stomach, till he reached your cunt, winking up at you before immersing himself in eating you out, head crushed in between your thighs as you suffocated him exactly how he liked, chuckling and biting your clit slightly to see your body jerk with pain, “so fucking tasty,” he mumbled, licking up big stripes and grabbing your tits to squeeze them harshly, to hear the moans of his name reverberate all over the room.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 6) part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

-

And they say if it sways, you have to cut it off at the root.

You repeat that to yourself when you catch the way you glance out the kitchen window again, surreptitiously watching John. It’s hard to pull your eyes away. He walks over to the well to fetch water for you to do the dishes, the chore you’d elected to take when he offered you the choice between that and feeding the horses. It’s a fair compromise since you balk at the thought of getting anywhere near either of those beasts. 

Watching him bend over the well to lower the bucket down, his muscled shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and suspenders drawing tight against his back, makes you bite your lip. Then scowl. Then pull the curtain shut to block out the view.

You have to cut any gentleness off at the root. 

When he comes back, you step to the side without a word to let him pour the water into the wash basin, hot water from the teakettle and lye soap making the water already in the pan sudsy. In a sense, it’s not any different from anything you’ve done back home; the same two pans for washing and scalding, the same cake of soap, and the same dish towel to dry the dishes off at the end. The only difference is the man that pours the cool water into the basin to make it more comfortable for your hands. 

“I’ll be out back,” he tells you, before grabbing you around the waist and pulling you in close to press a close-mouthed kiss to the side of your head. You only scrunch your nose a little. “When you’re done, come get me. Got business in town.”

“Why do you need me to come with you?” you ask, lips cresting into a pout without a thought. You’d never considered yourself a bellyacher, but it’s almost second nature around John. “I can…I can stay and clean the house.”

“You saying I keep a messy home?” John asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You look pointedly down at the dirt he tracked into the kitchen after fetching the bucket of water from the well. “It could do with a spit shine.” 

That gets a laugh out of him, a bellow from deep in his belly. It shakes you to your bones. 

“Darling, I’ll be honest with you,” he says, turning you to face him before folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t trust you not to bolt like a runaway horse, and you’ll only wind up putting yourself in danger if you try to make a run for it out here.”

That expression makes your stomach twist. “Good to know you think of your wife as some scared filly.” 

“You talk a whole lot for a woman who’s been over my knee. Do we need to repeat that?”

When his tone goes stern, you lose the wedging piece of candor keeping you upright. Eyes widen and then narrow. He’s been patient despite your loose tongue, but when that patience slips, you can see the steel underneath his gentle exterior. It’s the true root of him. 

You clam up under his stare, sullen and begrudging. Smooth your dress down to have something to do with your hands. You’ve forgotten your place again. Side-stepped it out of intimacy or misplaced trust or naivety or forgetting, again, for the umpteenth time, that the world is not a place for women that open their mouths. So you keep it shut, trap every festering word behind your teeth. 

He must not like something he sees painted on your face because his brows draw closer together, frustration brewing anew in his eyes. The longer you stay quiet, the more irritated he grows, his nostrils flaring wide. 

“See that you come get me as soon as everything’s squared away in here,” John bites out, pointing a single, blunt finger at you. “Else I’ll come get you myself.”

And we wouldn’t want that, you think, surly. You hope it swims across your eyes. Blooms on your face. Perhaps it does. 

The lines around his mouth and eyes grow more defined when he smiles. His whole mustache moves with his smile, every part of his face expressing his satisfaction. It’s beyond infuriating. He taps you on the nose with his knuckle before leaving out the backdoor, not sparing you a backward glance. You nearly shake with indignation. 

It’s hard not to watch him out in the paddock while drying the dishes though, not with him set against the gilded sun. You inch the curtain slightly open, just enough of a gap to peer through. The Stetson shadows his face when he tilts his head up towards the sky, the hard edge of his jaw the only thing that meets your gaze. It’s not the first time you’ve seen a man out in the fields or pastures, but most of those have been at a distance, removed. Glimpsed briefly through the window while your train barreled on past acres of farmland. 

John cycles through the morning tasks of guiding the horses into the paddock by a lead fixed to their halter, replenishing the food trough, and fetching more water from the well to fill the water trough. His horses are striking in the sheer size of them; muscled shoulders and legs, and well-padded flanks. Most of the horses you’ve seen out west haven’t seemed nearly as well-fed, many whittled down to rib and hip bone. 

It says something about him, but you’re not ready to confront exactly what. You turn your attention back to the dishes, scrubbing the last of the dried butter and eggs at the bottom of the pan. It takes a little extra grit, but cleaning is a familiar chore—it’s one you’ve done all your life, what got you into this mess in the first place. 

You don’t like what you find when you finally venture out of the house to track him down. 

“I’m not getting on that thing.” 

You put your veritable foot down with that, arms straight and stiff by your sides, more out of worry than annoyance. You do also give a little stomp for good measure, but you’ll chalk that up to reflexes should John inquire. 

He doesn’t. Just stares down at you with unimpressed green eyes that haunt your days and nights now. Tells you without telling you that you’ll get on that horse, willing or not. 

It’s not for a lack of beauty that you can’t quite shake the nervousness they elicit in you. Buttercup, the one that John saddled up and now waits patiently to be mounted, keeps her head low as if sensing your disquiet, curiosity glimmering in her coal black eyes. Not even the animal curiosity of is this a friend or foe, but the curiosity that comes with pure trust, almost intelligible that way. 

John runs his hand down her smooth, buttery flank. “Did you enjoy yesterday’s walk?”

“I didn’t hate it.” Truth be told, you’d hardly been of a mind to notice it at all. Though your legs still ache from the walk back to John’s house, the walk itself had not seemed especially grueling in the moment. The mind can put aside quite a bit when it has something else to focus on. 

“Well, I’m not too keen to repeat it.” He leaves it at that, tightening a strap on Buttercup’s saddle in such a purposeful way that your shoulders tense. 

“I could meet you there,” you say, a touch desperately. Your stomach turns when you think about hoisting yourself up onto Buttercup’s saddle. It doesn’t seem possible. It’s not something you’ve ever done or ever considered doing. You remember horror stories of stableboys back home trampled under their hooves and stomped to death, kicks so powerful that they could break a fully grown man’s ribs or cave in his face. 

“My wife isn’t gonna wander into town by her lonesome like some vagrant,” John says disdainfully, almost scoffing. Insulted by the whole idea. “And you’re sure as hell not staying here alone, darlin’.”

“Well, figure something else out because I am not getting up on that thin—” You cut off on a yelp when he circles around you and abruptly lifts you up. Your head rushes at the sudden motion, legs flailing beneath you. 

“Quit squirmin’ like a damn barn cat. Little hellion,” John grits out, guiding your heel into the stirrup. “C’mon, you’re just side saddling, so you only need your butt on the saddle.” When he sets you down lightly onto the saddle, you stop wiggling around, acutely aware of the thousand pound horse beneath you. “There we go—that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” 

“I hate this,” you hiss, fingers clamped tight over the pommel. 

“Aw, darlin’, don’t go insulting Buttercup like that,” John chuckles, replacing your foot in the stirrup with his own.

You sit there stiff as a board, perched precariously on the saddle as he hoists himself up behind you. His sheer proximity doesn’t register right away. You’re too concerned with the moving beast under you, its ribs expanding and contracting with each breath. Unlike you, John is more than comfortable sitting astride the horse, not a smidgeon of tension in his body. You suck in a horrified breath when you feel him readjust himself before settling down more comfortably. 

He reaches around you to grab the reins, a sharp whistle signaling the horse to take her first stride forward, looping around the side of the house. Even the slow trot threatens to buck you off at first. You lurch forward with each step, certain that you’ll slip right off the saddle and onto the dusty ground below until John loops an arm around your waist and pulls you to his chest.

You grow stiffer in his arms somehow. Despite sleeping in the same bed the night before and sharing far too many kisses for your comfort or virtue, being pressed up tight against a man never gets easier. Perhaps if you’d been married for longer than a single day you’d be more at ease with the notion, but as of yet, it comes as a shock to the senses every time. 

You carefully avoid the thought that other married women wouldn’t be still in possession of their maidenhead so many hours after their wedding night. That’s none of your business.

The two of you navigate into town at a slow canter, allowing you to gradually acclimatize to the gait of a horse. Part of you remembers riding horses when you were younger, but that was a lifetime ago, long enough to shake the memory from your muscles. These days, you can barely remember the hands holding you steady, the ones that would’ve lifted you up onto the horse and helped you back down. Those people are faceless in your memories. 

John stays silent at your back, only tightening his hand around your hip when you slip the slightest bit when Buttercup picks up the pace, heading towards the familiar sight of the sheriff’s office. It draws a quick squawk out of you, neatly masked by a fake cough. His chuckle at that rumbles through you, clearly not buying it. Another lesson in humiliation. 

You manage not to flail as much when he gets off the horse and helps you down, even though you’re still not used to being manhandled so, particularly not in front of the townsfolk milling about and glancing over with undisguised interest. 

“Are you working today?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you while John ties Buttercup’s lead to the post outside the sheriff’s office. 

“Don’t exactly get many days off when you’re the only sheriff in the county,” John replies. “We’ve got a few deputies in every town, and a couple here, but it ain’t an easy gig.”

“How many deputies have you got here?” 

“Just the three. Simon, John, and Kyle. You met Simon the other day.” 

His name draws up the faint memory of the masked deputy from your wedding ceremony. “I remember,” you say flatly. There’s no lost love between you and anyone involved with that sham of a wedding. 

“Don’t hold that against him,” John smiles. “He’s a good ole boy. Can’t fault a man for following the boss’ orders.”

Watch me. You glance away lest he see that thought etched across your face. 

The town is bustling with activity this late in the morning. Steps and floorboards creak under the weight of boots coming and going. A man going by in a horse-and-buggy whistles sharply when he cracks the reins, his horse puffing out a low, frustrated grunt. 

Men hustle past you decked out in leather chaps and waistcoats, spats covering the half-boots of those not decked out in tall, spurred cowboy boots. There are far less women scampering about town than men, particularly not so close to the sheriff’s office, but you keep finding your eyes drawn to them. 

John grips you under the arm and swiftly pulls you back when you narrowly sidestep a mound of horse droppings left uncovered in the middle of the road. The smell only hits you a second later. 

“Well, that’s lovely,” you remark, deadpanned, putting your foot down deliberately a good distance away. 

“Wouldn’t need to complain about it if you just watched your step.”

“You know, this really would’ve been a nice day to just stay home,” you mutter, chastised enough not to say something sharp in return. 

While the smell makes your nose wrinkle, you have to admit that the air here is far less pungent than back home. In general, this bucolic town is far more pleasant in certain respects than the city you’d left behind in a haste. 

“Where do you want me to wait for you?” you ask, turning to face him now at the front steps of the sheriff’s office.

He frowns. “Wait for me?”

“While you work, I mean. Surely you don’t mean for me to sit inside all day twiddling my thumbs while you work.”

His mustache twitches with a smile. “Thought I’d show you around first—get you acquainted with the locals.”

The idea of mingling with the townsfolk doesn’t appeal to you, but you also can’t think of a good enough reason to refuse. Especially with the curious glances already being sent your way. You duck your head to stare down at your boots when you spot a group of other women clustered together and whispering to each other, their eyes trained on you. Somehow you’ve gone from being furniture in a room to being a source of local gossip, and it’s almost hard to believe that you miss being ignored. 

When you look back up at John, you find him still staring down at you, waiting patiently. Up close, the sunlight almost turns patches of his beard gold; he has a smattering of moles across his face, not the blush of freckles but rather a few dark spots by his nose. Aside from the tuft of hair under his bottom lip, his chin is mostly bare, and when he smiles, his whole face moves with it. You have to blink to snap yourself out of it. 

Your upper lip curls involuntarily when you say, “So you want to help me make friends?” 

“Well, seeing as I know most of ‘em, figured I’d be a help.”

“The job’s really not all that busy then, huh?” You really wish you could learn to shut your mouth, since it keeps getting you in trouble, but the barbs roll off your tongue so naturally. Luckily, it seems to amuse him now more than it did early this morning. 

“Guess life isn’t as exciting ‘round here as it is back in the city, but it has its days,” John chuckles. “Now come on; I’ll give you the tour.”

For some reason, you hadn’t pictured the town being quite so big, but during your walk, you realize you’ve vastly underestimated the true size of it. Though not anywhere near as ostentatious as the cities back east, the sheer breadth of it eclipses anything from back home. It’s spread out on an incomparable scale, the mountains in the background stretching out along the horizon like the skeletal remains of a giant long since dead and decayed.  

It’s not the ramshackle town you envisioned when you stepped off the train the other day, despite the wooden facades and their brightly painted signs. You almost wish you had more time just to admire the craftsmanship, but John leads you from store to store like he’s on a mission.

He seems most interested in towing you around like some prized mare, all trussed up and clean from your bath the night before. You meet so many people that their names and faces all begin to blur together. The worst offense of all is that it makes you lean on John for support, looking up at him again and again for reassurance whenever you can’t answer a question or your answer triggers a moment of awkward silence. 

Those moments come aplenty too. The few people nosey enough to ask you about your life back in the city find themselves on the butt end of a cheerfully delivered lie from John. It unnerves you at first, seeing how comfortable he is with lying. He doesn’t even hesitate for a second when recounting your previous life as a schoolteacher in Connecticut prior to your engagement.

Perhaps it’s not a lie though. You don’t know the extent to which he and his original betrothed corresponded. Certainly not enough for him to suspect you of not being her, but maybe she’d spun him that story. Or maybe it had been the truth. All this time you’d thought that John had been swindled by some con artist using desperate men to fund her lifestyle, but maybe somewhere between here and Connecticut, there’s an unmarked grave with the corpse of the woman that John had intended to marry. 

That makes you feel guilty somehow, like you’ve taken something not meant for you. Even if you hadn’t wanted it—in fact, been forced into taking it. 

You swallow that thought when John leads you into the general store. Your eyes bug at the sight of a blonde haired woman in khaki cloth knickerbockers stocking the shelves, who turns at the sound of the door creaking open, the sharp look on her face melting away at the sight of John.

The warmth in her face infuriates you more than it should. You have no right to feel this way—or, some right, but you resent the fact that you do as well. 

“Hi John,” she greets. Her voice is deeper than you anticipated, springtime crisp like a babbling brook. 

“Laswell,” John greets, scooping his arm around your side until he can palm the side of your hip, dragging you in close. You stumble into him, catching yourself with a hand on his chest. Your neck and face go hot when Laswell’s eyes turn on you, curiosity glinting in them. 

“Your lady finally showed up then,” she surmises. “I’ll be honest, I was starting to think you made her up. Told the boys to think about forcing you into an early retirement.”

John huffs at that. His fingers tighten at your waist when Laswell says your lady, as if the words alone make it fact. Speak it into being. The metal burns against your ring finger. In a sense, it is fact, despite the subterfuge. You wonder if it would hold up in court, but out here, it’s real enough. 

“Well, she’s very real, as you can tell.” He gives you a little shake with the hand on your waist. “Say hi, darlin’.”

If looks could kill, yours would be pit-viper venom. You’d leave behind a festering puncture mark and a body in the throes of envenomation. “Excuse me?”

Your attitude might come at a cost this time because he looks unamused at your back talk in front of an audience. “Darlin’.” It’s said like a warning. 

You bite your tongue instead of lashing out. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Kate Laswell; I own this little shop,” she says, introducing herself and stepping forward to hold out her hand. You have to step forward to take it, pulling you out of John’s arms. It feels familiar being on your own, certainly more natural than being constantly at John’s side the way you have for almost two days now. It’s also a bit cold after having John’s warmth at your back or side at all times. 

There’s a moment when you realize that Kate is the first person you’ve had to introduce yourself to, John having introduced you to everyone else you’d come across. It hovers on the tip of your tongue when you realize that you could just say your real name, and you find yourself torn between setting it free and the odd fear of John’s reaction. 

You chicken out at the last second, giving Kate the same name as the one John introduced you by to everyone else in town. 

“He might growl like a bear, but you’ll get used to that,” she says, winking.

You frown. Awfully familiar talk for someone who isn’t his wife. Why should she know that? 

You make yourself push that thought away, reminding yourself again that it doesn’t matter. It’s none of your concern. 

“He’s been a gentleman,” you croak instead, smile so thin that it might as well be a grimace. 

A shout from the bar across the street startles you, drawing your attention away from the conversation. John stills too. A series of raised voices puts him on alert, and then someone inside the bar must fire a gun because the violent crack of one makes you scream, the noise pulled involuntarily from your chest. 

“Stay here,” John growls, his pistol already drawn. He’s out the door before you can respond, darting across the street towards the bar and shouldering the door open so hard that it rattles in its frame. You watch everything happen through the window of the general store with your heart in your throat. 

“Good Lord,” you whisper, hand over your mouth. Kate stands beside you in a similar manner, her eyebrows pinched in concern. 

The thought doesn’t even occur to you that now would be the perfect time to make a break for it, with John busy across the street. Your feet are rooted in place; you doubt you’d be able to take so much as a single step towards the door. 

There’s precious little that you can see through the grit-lined bar windows, not as dusty and dirty as they are, but you can hear the commotion from inside. Raised voices and the sound of breaking glass. It makes you flinch, heart galloping at an even faster pace. Like harness horses on the Freehold Raceway. It’s not long before you see a large, masked man hightailing it down the road towards the bar, dust clouding around his boots with each heavy step. 

You recognize him almost instantly as the man from your wedding, the one that signed your marriage license. John’s man—Simon. He nearly takes the bar door off its hinges when he throws it open, barely in there a second before he and John come out each with a man in hand, both already handcuffed and looking roughed up They drag them stumbling down the dirt road towards the sheriff’s office, Simon half-dragging another man whose white button-down is slowly saturating with red blood oozing out of a gunshot wound in his belly.

“Shouldn’t they call a doctor for that man?” you ask Kate in a frantic voice, whipping around to face her. 

She nods. “They probably will once they’ve got the four of them locked up. Doctor probably heard that anyway—he’ll be on his way, I bet.”

“On his way already?”

“There’s only one doctor around here. And not much else sounds like a gunshot.”

“Does that happen a lot around here?” You don’t know why the thought makes you nervous, but there’s a cramp in your belly and a sweat building up on the back of your neck and your hands itch to grab something. When you swallow, it almost doesn’t go down. 

“It’s not uncommon. I reckon it’s not something you’re used to?”

You purse your lips. “I’ve seen a dead body before.” You don’t know why that comes out so defensively, like a slight that’s been levied against you. There’s no easy way to dispel the myth in everyone’s mind that you come from a life of comfort and ease, with delicate hands fit for delicate work. You curl your hands into fists at the thought, conscious of the old scars and calluses built up over years of scrubbing and cleaning. If she were to look down, she wouldn’t see the well-kept hands of a lady. 

When Kate quirks an eyebrow, you realize that your response had nothing to do with her question. “Well, look at you.”

When John and Simon disappear into the jailhouse, the door swinging shut behind them, you sway on your feet for a second, feeling oddly unbalanced. Something about the sight of the man’s blood leaves you feeling woozy, taking the chair that Kate offers you when she sees the way you rock back on your heels. 

“Let me get you something to drink,” Kate offers, brows now furrowed sympathetically at the pathetic sight you must be. “I’m sure you got a little fright thinking of your husband facing down a man with a gun, but I’m afraid that comes with marrying a sheriff. There’s danger everywhere, you know.”

What you don’t say is that your lightheadedness came not just from the sight of the man with the blood leaking from a wound in his stomach, but the grim look on your husband’s face as he carted away the man responsible, eyes hard as steel. No sympathy for the man in his hands. Only another criminal to be tossed away in a jail cell. The punishment for making another man bleed.

Your hands shake in your lap, but you don’t say that. Instead, you smile weakly and take the glass of water from her hands when she comes back from filling it at the sink. “You’re right. Just a little fright.”

[feralgirlfeelings]

giving zayne head :3

pairing: zayne x afab!reader (fem)

genre: smut, pwp, oneshot

warnings: MDNI (18+), oral sex (m!receiving), rough sex, face fucking, hair pulling, dubcon if you squint, cum eating, established relationship

word count: ~1k

guys i just want to suck this man's dick idk what to tell you

zayne is much more of a giver than a receiver, hence why he never lets you go down on him. "i don't wanna hurt you," is always the excuse he uses. and to his credit, he was big, so his concern was kind of warranted. but tonight, he came home from the hospital particularly stressed out. plus, there was something about him when his hair is disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, and his tie slightly loosened that drove you feral. how could you watch your poor zayne, who is always serving you—eating you out until you're gasping for air and pleading him to stop—in such a state, and not want to...relieve some of his stess.

so after a bit of convincing (begging), he gave in. despite his surface level resistance, it was hard to say no to the thought of you looking up at him with his cock stuffed in your mouth, eyes watering as you're barely able to wrap your lips around his thick shaft.

you sit on top of him, straddling his hips. you gently bite down on his bottom lip, running your tongue along the sensitive skin. you hold back a moan as you feel his erection press up against your clit. you move down, kissing his neck and defined chest, his shirt long gone at this point.

you inch downwards towards his crotch to find his erection tenting at the restrictive fabric. you stare hungrily at his clothed cock, gulping in anticipation. unable to contain your excitement, you start unbuckling his belt. zayne chuckles softly at your enthusiasm and slides out of his pants.

now in his underwear, his bulge was much more apparent. you press against his erection with your palm, teasing him with slow strokes through his underwear. he lets out a low groan that sends shivers down your spine.

you remove your hand and playfully give him a few pecks through the thin fabric, before slipping your fingers underneath the waistband. you tug at his underwear, pulling it downwards until his painfully erect cock springs out. he was big. you wonder for a second how you’ve ever been able to fit it all inside you. he was already leaking precum and practically twitching with arousal. if he wasn’t so tired, he’d love to fuck you into the morning.

you wrap your hands around his thick shaft, bringing his cock towards your mouth. zayne shivers as he feels your breath graze his sensitive tip. “don’t strain yourself too much,” he warns.

“you worry too much," you reply.

you proceed to lick a long stripe from the base to the tip, your tongue sliding across the slit, tasting the slight saltiness of his precum. he lets out a deep sigh, as if all the tension that had been building throughout the day melted away. you wrap your lips around the tip, slowly sinking down on his shaft. your mouth is stretched as wide as possible as you stuff it full of his girth. you continue to push down on his length until his tip is pushing against the back of your throat.

you let out a muffled moan. "fuck," he sighs, shuttering in response to the vibrations on his dick. his fingers comb through your hair and grasp at the roots.

you slide back up and your lips release their grip on his cock. "look at me," he demands. he pulls your hair backwards, raising your head towards him. you look up at him through lidded eyes, lips glistening from saliva. "such as pretty girl," he coos.

he brings your head back to his cock and you start to bob up and down. you move agonizing slow at first. partly to tease him, but also to let your mouth adjust to his size. his hand follows your rhythm, applying gentle pressure. the feeling of your warm, wet mouth slipping up and down his cock was to die for. it took everything in him not to just fuck your face.

as your mouth gets accustom to the stretch his thick cock, you speed up your pace. you maintain a tight suction on his dick, making it hard for him to last long. you slide your tongue across the tip, the stimulation making him buck his hips up.

he watches you with his mouth slightly agape as you make his cock disappear into your mouth. his grip on your hair gets tighter, "fuck, you take me so well." you feel a flutter in your lower stomach in response to his praise. as you slide upwards on his shaft, you take his dick out of your mouth. you make eye contact with him as you gently tap his tip on your bottom lip, before sliding your mouth back down. you hum in response as you continue bobbing your head.

he wants to be gentle, but he can’t help but to thrust shallowly into your mouth. your eyes water as you take his length deep inside your throat. he can tell by the shuttering of his hips that he’s close.

you feel a familiar stickiness in between your legs as you soak through your panties. it drove you crazy seeing him come undone in your mouth. both of your hands were occupied, stroking zayne's cock. it felt like torture not being able to touch yourself.

his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration. "i-i'm gonna cum," he strains, "you're such a dirty fucking girl. you want me to cum in that pretty little mouth?"

you moan and nod your head as you chase his release, taking his length faster and deeper. all you can think about it tasting his spend on your tongue.

his grip on your hair is tight in his fist as he pushes your head down roughly. the movement of his hips get more erratic before he lets out a loud groan, reaching his peak. his cock throbs as he spills his seed into your mouth. you taste the warm, salty liquid as it hits your tongue. he continues to thrust, fucking his cum into your mouth.

his movement slows to a stop as he comes down from his high. his breathing is heavy, like he just ran a marathon. you slide your lips off of his cock, struggling to contain all of his seed. you make eye contact with him as you swallow, wiping the excess cum on the side of your mouth.

he smiles at you, pulling you upwards and into a kiss. "i'm sorry i was so rough. this is why i always refuse you." he cups your face and turning it to inspect each side.

you shoo his hand away, "see, i'm fine! i'm tough, you know."

"hmm, i don't know. i think i'm gonna have to check every inch of you just to make sure," he gives your neck a few pecks on each side before trailing downwards.

he notices the wet patch on your underwear and kisses your cunt through the fabric, breathing you in. he slides his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties.

"i thought you were feeling tired!" you whine in protest.

"well, someone was able to replenish my energy." he presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing it in circles. your cunt throbs and you inhale sharply at the stimulation.

"plus," he smirks, "i'm someone who always repays his debts."

[buckets-and-trees]

FALLING AWAY

Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Bucky x Female!Omega!Reader Word Count: 1.5k Summary: After his public claiming of you, Bucky still has more in mind to show the people his takeover of the pack and the lands that he has annexed along with that power.

Content/Warnings: omegaverse; explicit smut: public sex, exhibitionism, vaginal penetration, breastplay, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding, biting/claiming

Author Notes: Sequel to the drabble I wrote for Alpha Bucky in April, but does not necessarily need to be read before reading this. Hitting the breeding kink for @buckybarnesevents Build a Bucky Bingo June prompt; and the dialogue, noisy sex, and exhibitionism prompts for the first week of Hot Bucky Summer.

There’s only a small part of you that wishes giving in to the leader of the HYDRA pack had been more difficult.

To be fair, you had resisted until the lives of others were at stake.

At that point, standing on principles seemed selfish, especially when it was evident Alpha Bucky Barnes had unequivocally taken the upper hand.

And then he had taken you physically to seal his victory publicly in the town square, knotting you, ripping orgasms from you, making him beg for you, and claiming you with the first mating bite.

Now you walk towards him willingly underneath a full moon three nights later.

For two of those days, the alpha had been relentless in plying your body with pleasure and fucking you through states of pain and bliss into exhaustion.

He had left you alone today, but only to yield you into the hands of a team of betas who had bathed you; plucked, waxed, and trimmed your body hair; buffed your skin and rubbed it with mild sweet oils that complimented your natural scent; cleaned and arranged your hair; and dressed you in an impressive bridal gown of silk and lace, but no underwear.

Many alphas and omegas bonded without a ceremony, but some pairs still chose to participate in the formal affair.

Your omega side had yielded to him fully at his first bite.

This ritual, however, was something that hadn’t taken place in living memory - a conqueror’s bonding, only necessary when one alpha or pack assumed power over another.

As you step up next to him, surrounded by witnesses (official witnesses and unofficial but curious), a shiver runs down your spine as his piercing eyes rove over your heaving chest. He licks his lips.

There is no officiant at the altar, only the two of you.

You know he must feel the piece of you that is valiantly still trying to fight him, because he cocks his chin slightly, and his gaze hardens as he looks down at you.

He takes the half step necessary to close the small amount of space between you. He raises one hand, and traces his thumb over your first bonding mark, eliciting another shiver from your body, but it’s more powerful - visibly noticeable to everyone watching.

Humiliating, but also unfurls a shoot of desire in your belly.

He then lets his hand rest there at the base of your neck, holding you, steadying you.

“Omega,” he utters, the deep tone seeming to wrap around your chest, the only word to signal what he wants next.

And so you tilt your head to the side, baring your neck to him.

A double bonding is biologically unnecessary, some couples engage in it, but the second claiming at midnight on a full moon was the sign of consolidation of power to the alpha and submission by the omega.It was predetory, performative, political.

Though there was the small part of you still clawing at you to fight him, you can not deny the part that had rooted in you that wanted him, wanted this, yearned for this claiming - so much so that you gasp and one of your hands shoots up to tangle in his hair as his teeth sink in to your neck, marking you a second time.

The rush of it is more than physical, though. You are flooded with even more of him inside of you, the bond doubling with the second bite.

His tongue laps at the fresh bonding mark, and you mewl softly and sink slightly into his chest.

“Up on the altar,” he instructs. “Present for me in front of these witnesses.”

His request comes as no surprise, even if you hadn’t anticipated it.

He had fucked you in public before, totally unabashed, why would he not subject you to that again? It had not been detailed in the historical records for this rite, but surely other conquering alphas had done more than merely administer the second bite when it said they claimed an omega for the second time.

And it was well known that knotting and breeding at the full moon enhanced the possibility of conception when an alpha knotted an omega.

All the better to ensure compliance and alliance.

But as Bucky pushes the delicate layers of silk and lace up over your bare ass once you are kneeling on the altar, the semantics leave your mind, and all you can focus on are his movements and the vague awareness that there is an audience to everything happening.

He sinks two of his vibranium fingers into your cunt, and he hums at finding you slick and wet for him already. He pumps those fingers slowly, priming you.

Shamefully, you whine when he removes them. You should be more resistant, more ashamed that he’s going to fuck you in front of a crowd again, shouldn’t you?

But he’s immediately crawling up on the altar behind you, kneeling between your legs, pushing your knees further apart to accommodate your big, burly alpha, the largest man you’ve encountered in your life. He leans over your back, his thighs meeting the backs of yours, his coarse hair a start contrast to your smooth skin there. He grips the back of your neck and turns your head so you’re looking back at the crowd.

His lips are at your ear as he speaks only loud enough for you to hear. “I’m going to take this slow, and I’m going to fuck this cunt until there’s no one left to watch.”

You shudder beneath him.

“You may pretend to be disgusted or ashamed, but after the other night, I think you like it.”

”No,” you breathe, and turn your head away from the scores of eyes glued your coupled actions.

”Yes, Omega,” he says. He moves his hips, rubbing the length of his cock against your wet pussy and the thatch of pubic hair growing damp with the mess of your slick as his hard length moves up and down against you. He tugs at the neckline of your dress until your breasts spill out.

“You like how they watch, you like how it feels to have them watch, to hold their attention, their lust, their envy, their fascination.”

His hands have been skimming over the swells of your breasts, but now he punctuates the last word with a tweak to one of your nipples, and you yelp.

“You don’t have to admit it, ‘mega,” he continues to murmur right next to your cheek, his hot breath affecting you just as much as every other feeling of him against and along your body. “I could feel the moment your body surrendered to the pleasure and debauchery the other night, and I know I will feel you hit that surrender again tonight.”

He gives your nipple another, harsher tweak, eliciting another yelp, but then he palms your breast, and you can’t help but moan.

“That’s a start,” he says, then licks the shell of your ear, causing a ripple of pleasure down your neck and spine.

“Alpha,” you plead - but for what you’re not sure.

He presses you down into the full presentation position, your face and chest forced down to the altar, and he leans back up straight. While his right hand holds you down, his left hand guides the tip of his cock to your entrance, and you keen for him.

He notches just the tip of himself into your tight heat.

“Louder, let everyone hear you,” he says, then sinks in to the hilt with one slow, powerful thrust, and you do moan openly at the fullness.

He has you so full with his cock that it’s like you can feel him everywhere inside you.

“Let them see without question who you willingly belong to now, Omega.” You can’t tell if it’s a taunt or an endearment at this point, but he grips your hip with his vibranium hand and begins to fuck you in a way that has you forgetting every thought that isn’t him in a matter of moments as with a double bond, the way your dual pleasure mingles and feeds off of each other falls away and all you want, breathe, feel, and crave is him. More of him. And maybe that is more of you showing anyone watching how well you take your alpha and how the pleasure he exacts from you is beyond anything you’ve felt before.

“Going to knot you and fill you with my seed until you’re bursting and dripping my spend, Omega, fuck a pup into you.”

And as you steadily are worked towards your first orgasm of the night, you know you will take him and all his complications and complexities because this - this all-consuming feeling that only he has ever given you - is undeniable and you’re insatiable for it and the enigma that is your alpha.

You scream of ecstasy shatters the atmosphere of the room, scattering some away, but drawing some to take a step closer, but you’re oblivious to the effect, and only urge your alpha to give you more.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

JUMP TO PART THREE: EVERY MINUTE OF IT full Fine Line Collection

So. Yes. I didn’t think I’d write more for these two, but here we are. How ya feeling, friend?

Technically mean alpha Bucky wasn’t winning the poll I put out earlier today, but he was still haunting my muse, so I had to write him anyway… so I guess that means you’ll still be seeing the poll winner from me later this weekend.

[strlvvr]

my best friend's brother (is the one for me) - matt sturniolo x reader

where y/n has had a crush on her best friend nick’s brother for years

word count: 1.1k words

“i’m not setting you up with my brother.” nick said as he was unlocking the door to his house.

“oh come onnnn,” i whined walking into the house behind him, “he’s so fine though.”

“i’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that actually.” he laughed as matt came out of his room. i stopped for a second or two staring at him. i took in what he was wearing, grey fresh love sweatpants and a tight tank top. his hair all over the place, wiping sleep from his eyes.

"what did she say?" he questioned with tiredness in his voice. "nothing, nothing." i quickly replied eyeing nick not to say anything to his brother.

"you do know it's two p.m. right?" nick asked matt seeing the boy still in pajamas and obviously tired. 

"and? can't a man sleep in?" he said sarcastically. i couldn't help but laugh as i put the snacks me and nick had just bought in the fridge. "why are you laughing miss ‘sleep until four p.m.’? you can't be saying anything here." matt eyed me making me stop laughing as soon as he spoke.

"hey now, i haven't done that in months. didn't you just do that, let me see, yesterday?" i retorted watching him roll his eyes at my comment. 

i've been friends with the triplets since high school and moved out to l.a. around the same time as them. we became closer with the move, all of us looking for houses and making sure whatever houses we found weren't too far from each other.

i've had a crush on matt since we first met. only recently have i realized it's way more than a crush. i find myself craving him and his presence. we've always had more of a flirty friendship, which didn't help any of my feelings towards him. his nicknames for me bordering pet names, sweetheart, princess, baby.

“whatever you say, princess.” 

“of course we can get food, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want to not live by you, baby.”

of course i never believed he ever meant anything by it, but they still made my stomach flutter and my heart skip a beat. the way he said it so casually but yet so lovingly never failed to have me in my head wondering if he really meant what he said.

"what'd you guys get me?" chris asked the second he walked up and saw the bags, no "how are you guys" or "how was the trip".

"nothing. you said you didn't want anything. all four times we asked you." nick said after grabbing one of the drinks we had just bought. i grabbed the pepsi i knew he wanted, along with some of his usual snacks and threw them to him.

"see at least y/n loves me." chris said to nick and then stuck his tongue out at him.

"did you get me anything?" matt asked walking over to me, not stopping til he was right behind me. my breath hitched as he put his hand on my waist.

"yeah, a root beer and the food you texted me about." i replied as calmly as i could, secretly hoping he wouldn't leave his spot to grab them. 

"thank you, baby." he whispered into my ear before he pulled away to go find everything, his hand trailing my lower back as he walked away.

he knew what he was doing. there was no way he didn't. i know he feels the way my body shifts into him, the way my breathing gets heavier, the effect only he seems to have on me.

“what are we watching tonight?” i asked while walking over to put my drink on the coffee table, and then grabbing my blanket from the basket. 

“what about retribution?” matt suggested sitting in his usual spot on the couch next to me.

“you only wanna watch that for liam neeson.” i told him, grabbing the remote to put on something that wasn’t a liam neeson movie.

“yeah, but he’s just so good.” matt emphasized, moving his arms around trying to make a point.

“what about the crow?” i asked everyone, only to be met with groans from everyone.

“yeah for the thousandth time? no thanks.” chris said, rolling his eyes and throwing popcorn at me. 

“yeah and it’s my turn to choose a movie tonight so i don’t see the problem here..” i told him while going to amazon prime and searching up the movie. 

as the movie got to my favorite scene, i moved closer to matt to lay on his shoulder. as i was moving he pulled his arm up for me to be closer. as the movie got more gruesome, i felt him hiding in my hair so he didn’t have to watch.

“something funny?” matt asked once he felt me laughing.

“yeah, you. you do this every time at this exact part too.” i looked up at him still laughing a bit, only to find him already looking at me. i put my head back down onto his chest to hide the blush creeping onto my cheeks, directing my attention back to my favorite movie.

“i don’t know why you like this movie so much, it’s weird.” nick complained, obviously intrigued in the movie though. 

i roll my eyes, “is that why you’re still watching?”

as the movie went on and i got more tired, i moved down into matt’s lap and put my feet up on the couch. once i was comfortable, i felt matt start to shift around underneath me. 

“can you stop moving around, you’re bothering me.” i almost yelled at him, while trying to stay comfortable.

“sorry sweetheart.” he said, moving his hand to my hair, slightly massaging my head. after a couple minutes of that, i was starting to fall asleep. i woke up to him adjusting himself, yet again. this time he got up and started walking towards the bathroom. 

“where are you going?” i whined, missing the comfort of him.

“nowhere, just the bathroom.” he said quietly, before rushing off to the bathroom. i moved into his spot, trying to keep what was left of the warmth before he got up. i squint my eyes in confusion, wondering why he rushed off so quickly. but i decided to ignore it and got up and went to the kitchen to grab something to drink. i heard something behind me when i closed the fridge, i turned and saw a disheveled matt behind me. 

“you okay?” i questioned once i took in the sight in front of me.

“all good, sweetheart.” he answered, with a familiar look in his eye that made my knees weak. 

“you wanna grab me another drink while we’re here?” he asked, still staring at me.“oh yeah, sure,” i turn back to the fridge to grab whatever was in there for him. as i handed it to him i couldn’t help but watch him take the can, the way his fingers wrapped around it had my mind going places it shouldn’t be going.

especially not about my best friend’s brother.

tag list:

@beersangel @whoseyouare @wh0schl0

[torustars]

YOU AVOID HIS KISS

⊹ suguru geto, gojo satoru, nanami kento x reader

⊹ tooth-rooting fluff, a lot of kissing

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ you don’t know what took over geto while he kissed the finger that was secured by a silver band. you grinned and your free hand reached to play with the ends of his hair that looked almost like the sky outside your apartment. “really missed me that much huh?” you playfully tease him, only for him to nuzzle his nose against your neck, leaving soft kisses against your skin. “keen observation, darling. what gave it away?” he muttered, a hint of sarcasm laced in his tone. you played along with him, “the clinginess was a given.” he chuckled lightly and nodded, droopy eyes looking straight at you. “i guess so, why don’t you give me one of your kisses? i’m sure that’ll give me the strength i long for,” he leaned in, attempting to give you the hint he wants to kiss you. you pursed your lips to hide the smile that was appearing and kissed his forehead. his eyebrows furrowed and he was already sulking. geto pointed at his lips that were curving into a frown. “don’t be mean now, gimme kiss..” he mumbled and tried once more. you laughed softly, giving into his request and pressing your lips against his. the kiss was slow and sloppy, but enough to satisfy him. you pulled away and caressed his cheek. “you’re such a big baby, aren’t you?” you asked, to which he responded with “your big baby.”

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ gojo was sitting on the couch, manspreading with a book in hand. you glanced over at him while you were organizing the room. “since when did the gojo satoru read?” you asked, reaching to grab the plant on the top shelf. his diamond eyes looked up at you with a chuckle, watching you struggle before walking towards you. you felt a hand on your waist, looking up at you watched him grab the plant you were aiming for. “just around the same time you weren’t able to grab this plant,” he joked. you rolled your eyes and lightly elbowed his stomach. “i could’ve gotten that myself,” you retorted and he pulled you towards the couch. he sat down and your knee was between his thighs, hand still securely holding your waist. “perhaps, but don’t you need your strong, hunk of a boyfriend to give you a helping hand?” you raise your eyebrows in amusement, a laugh escaping your lips. “and didn’t my strong, hunk of a boyfriend scream like a girl when he saw a spider in the bathroom?” you watched his mouth gape in shock, “you better give me a kiss for that low blow.” you agreed and leaned in to kiss him before cocking your head to the side and kissing the side of his head. he huffed and pulled you closer to him, bodies pressed against each other. “guess i have to show you how to kiss, properly.”

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ nanami held your hand while walking along the beach, enjoying the sound of the sea hitting shore every ten seconds. you both stopped at a group of rocks, taking the opportunity to rest your legs. you let out a soft hum and look at your boyfriend, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “do you like the view, ken?” his eyes look at you for a few moments before glancing at the sea. “the view of you? indeed i do,” he said and you smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. the moment felt special, a time where it was just you and him against the world. moments after, he took both of your hands and made you look at him. his eyes were searching for yours while he formulated his words. “hypothetically, if i were to ask you to move in with me, would you say yes?” he asked and you stared at him with surprise, your hands clutched his and you pursed your lips. “i.. i mean..” you hesitated for a moment, before nodding your head. “yes, yes i would kento,” his lips curved into a smile while he reached to caress your cheek. “well then, would you like to move in with me?” he asked, moving to kiss you before you responded. you press your finger against his lip, and nodded. “i’d love to,” you said before you kiss him. “you’re going to regret stopping my kiss,” he mumbled against your lips, pulling you closer.

© torustars (2022). do not repost, copy or translate any of my works or layouts. reblogs are appreciated!

[seresinhangmanjake]

Only His

Feyd-Rautha x Concubine!reader

Summary: A diplomat from Caladan wants to borrow you for the night. Feyd doesn't take that very well. Requested by @midnight-serendipity

Words: 2700

Notes: cursing, mentions of smut (a little), gore, blood, death, typos.

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Feyd breathed Hatred. 

He bled Hatred. 

When he killed, Hatred controlled his movements. Like a parasite in the brain, Hatred determined the thrust of his blade, how deep it sunk into an enemy’s gut, and the degree to which he twisted the weapon before pulling it from a soon-to-be lifeless body. 

He’d cultivated a bond with Hatred. There was a mutual understanding of one another, he thought. But as Feyd listens to the proposition from the man sitting his opposite, Hatred slowly becomes a stranger.

Turns out Hatred has a claiming side, a how-dare-you-look-at-what’s-mine side, and from that, Feyd realizes he never knew Hatred, not truly. Because this feeling—whatever it is—has revealed that Hatred is more potent than he initially believed.

“You want to what?” Feyd grits out through clenched teeth. 

“There’s no need to get upset,” the man chuckles; a diplomat from Caladan sent on behalf of Duke Atreides who came to Giedi Prime to reinforce treaties and trade agreements with the Baron. Others were sent from their respective planets, but he is by far much bolder than the rest when it comes to stepping out of bounds.

“I'd give you something in return,” Nolas—that’s his name. Feyd could barely care to remember—continues. “Whatever you like. I just want her for the night. Something to make the long trip here worthwhile and the trip back more bearable.”

“You think my concubine can be bought?”

“All concubines can be bought,” he says. “At the very least, borrowed.”

If so, then you are a concubine of untraditional nature. You are not shareable. You cannot be divvied up amongst the group so each may enjoy their slice; not as long as Feyd lives. And should he not live, for reasons foreseen or not, he long ago requested that your life be ended as well. That way you could be together. That way no man could ever have you. 

The thought of another’s hands on you sets fire to Feyd’s veins, threatening to burn his pale skin from the inside out. His heavy brow dips forward to darken the light hue of his irises. He stands and crosses the bridge between his seat and the one occupied by the older, pudgy man, looming over him to the point that Nolas must tilt his head back so their eyes can meet. 

“I will not be giving you mine,” Feyd growls. “Not for anything you could offer.”

Nolas huffs. “Now be reasonab–” 

Feyd fists his fingers into the collar of Nolas’s jacket, twisting tightly and yanking upward until Nolas chokes from the constricting fabric pressing into his windpipe. 

“Let me be perfectly clear,” Feyd spits, leaning forward. He opens his mouth to continue, but just as his next words are ready to leap from his tongue, something odd takes root in Nolas’s vile eyes. Odd, because it is not fear.

The bulk of Feyd’s skills lies in his ability to incite fear, whether through words, or battle, or presence, and with the exception of his uncle, fear has successfully struck the core of any soul who has crossed his path. Civilians, servants, his brother, his mother, even you have not been spared, but the man in his grasp is not cowering. He is not trembling. He is not soaking in the vulnerability of the position he is in where Feyd could snap his neck in a half-second. Instead, he holds the spearing gaze of the youngest Harkonnen. Matches it, even.

Feyd sinks his teeth into his boiling rage and forces it to overpower the shock that has slipped in. “You will not get within fifty feet of her. You talk to her, you surrender your tongue. You touch her, you lose a finger. You look at her, I’ll take an eye and it can sit alongside the rest of my trophies.”

A smirk touches Nolas’s face, practically undetectable before it is gone, and suddenly Feyd feels it. That loss of control. He feels Nolas penetrate his skull and weave spindly tendrils through his brain, poking and prodding for Feyd’s secrets. And then there’s a moment; a moment when Feyd nearly stumbles—the moment Nolas latches on to the one thing Feyd can not afford to have known by anyone other than himself. 

The smirk returns. “Of course, na-Baron,” oozes off of Nolas’s slimy tongue. “I wouldn’t dare lay a hand on the woman you love.”

With another half-twist, the collar tightens, blocking the blood from leaving Nolas’s face. He’s cherry red—or at least what Feyd imagines is cherry red based on your description—and he thinks with a few more turns of his fist, he could get Nolas’s head to pop right off his shoulders and tumble onto the floor. 

“What are you doing!” Rabban snaps, stomping toward the duo. He rams his hand against Feyd’s chest, but despite being forced back a step, he does not release the diplomat. He does not blink, fingers transmuting to steel as Rabban works to pry them open. “Uncle wants him alive for tonight!”

Feyd doesn’t care about tonight. He doesn’t care for some party announcing his uncle’s plans for the future. He does not care that this man, this worm, is considered a vital messenger. Send a fucking letter. 

Rabban whips out a small blade and slashes downward, nicking Feyd’s knuckles. It stings but livens the rush of his blood. His heart pounds harder, teeth gritting and cracking. 

“Feyd!”

Nolas’s eyes begin to redden, threadlike veins almost glowing. No air exits his nostrils and just as he finally wraps his hands around Feyd’s wrist, yanking and jerking to free himself, the tension in the fabric snaps. 

Nolas gasps for air, falling forward and revealing the clean slice down the back of his jacket collar. Feyd’s head turns to Rabban’s disgusted glare. 

His brother sheathes his knife. “You’d defy our uncle’s orders?”

Feyd glances back at Nolas, who has yet to recover, before spinning on his heel and leaving.

—

“Are you embarrassed of me?” you ask, your attention focused on the precise wrapping of bandage tape around Feyd’s knuckles as you sit beside him on the bed. “Is that why you don’t want me to go tonight?”

“Yes,” Feyd grumbles. No, his mind snaps back at him, and he huffs. 

Your arrival on Giedi Prime birthed a conscience within him—a conscience that exists solely for your sake—and because he often fucks up when it comes to you and your feelings, it never shuts up. You’re hurting her. Look at her. Do you not see that devastation? He does, and little pinpricks nip at the organ in his chest. 

You lightly nod as you mutter a pathetic, “Oh.”

With a hefty sigh, Feyd says, “It’s for your protection.” There! Better!

Fingers pause their work and your head shoots up to meet his eyes, a small smile curving your lips. 

“Oh,” you repeat. There’s a hint of excitement in your tone, a glint in your bright irises that causes Feyd’s cheeks to warm. 

You rip the used tape from the rest of the roll and set it aside, and then that smile disappears. “Wait, protection from what?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re safe if you’re not there tonight.”

You hum, and from that hum alone, Feyd knows exactly what’s running through your mind. 

“And my safety is very important to you, is it?” you ask, lifting the skirts of your dress so it doesn’t catch under your knees as you move to straddle his hips. 

Feyd rolls his eyes. His hands settle on your waist. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he mildly scolds. 

You lean into his body until he falls back onto the mattress, your chest pressed to his chest, your face hovering above his. 

“I don’t know,” you tease as your fingertip skims over his bottom lip. “I’m starting to think you might like me more than you let on.”

“Think what you want,” he says, turning his head to the side and severing the taut band connecting your gazes. 

You chuckle and grip his chin, demanding he look at you again. “Fine, I will,” you whisper before inching your lips closer until they ghost over his. “I think you like me.”

You give him another feather-dusting of a kiss but it’s not enough. Never enough. Feyd growls, burying his hand into the strands of your hair to hold your head still so he can claim your lips in the devouring manner he desires. 

When you moan, he wraps his arm snuggly around your waist. When you suck on his tongue, his cock flinches in his pants and he involuntarily thrusts upward between your spread legs. 

Your responsive yelp is a drug. Addicting. So different from the yelps he expected to receive from you after he’d chosen you as his concubine. He’d gone into the situation wanting any noise your delicate throat could make to be a product of the pain he intended to inflict upon you, but when he’d taken you that first night, that yelp was of pleasure. He’d hit a particularly sweet spot inside of you and was instantly overcome with a desperate need to hear it again and again and again. 

You pull your lips apart from his. Your gentle pants fan his face. He brushes your loose locks behind your ear. 

“Promise me you’ll stay in the room,” he says. 

“I promise.”

—

He’s gone. Feyd took his eyes off the bastard for one second, and now he’s gone. It’s not as if Nolas will be capable of finding you—he’s not familiar with the fortress’s layout enough to know which room you’re in and you swore you wouldn’t so much as peek through a crack in the door—but still, a sense of dread stiffens Feyd’s limbs. Nolas has no reason to be outside of this room. He has no reason to be doing anything but drinking his fill and mingling with the others of his station. And yet…

“Did you hear me, brother?” Rabban’s voice intrudes upon Feyd’s third scan of the room. He’s not here. He’s not fucking here. 

“Brother–”

“No,” Feyd snaps before descending the short staircase. 

He snakes through the crowd toward the main doors of the vast room. They’re wide, tall, loud when opened and closed, and it’s impossible Nolas could’ve snuck out without Feyd’s notice. 

“Where’s the Caladanian?” Feyd demands of the guards posted on either side of the door. 

“No one has attempted to leave, my Lord,” one says. 

Feyd’s brow pinches. The only remaining exit is a side door specifically designed to blend with the wall. The fortress is speckled with similar doors, all of which connect to an inner walkway that servants and guards use to get around the massive structure quickly when needed. 

“Come with me,” Feyd instructs, receiving a curt nod in return. 

Feyd’s body traces the wall until he reaches the door. He pushes it open and slips inside, the guard on his heels. The noise of the room fades with every step down the corridor and at each new unexpected sound, his head cocks, his ear reaching for the source. 

Then he hears it. 

“Your na-Baron offered you to me,” travels through the wall separating him from the paralleling hallway.

And then your sweet voice. “Offered? N-No, Feyd wouldn’t.”

You’re right there, right on the other side of the thin barrier, but he can’t reach you. You’re trying to remain calm but you’re scared, Feyd knows it, and as he starts to rush to the next closest door, he begs that you keep the bastard at bay just a little longer. 

Once he shoves through the door into the hall, your voice comes in much clearer, but all sight of you is blocked by Nolas’s breadth and height. 

“He wouldn’t give me away,” you say. 

Nolas chuckles. “He hasn’t, sweetheart. I’m simply borrowing you for a little.”

“That’s not—hey, don’t touch me!”

Feyd bursts into the embodiment of fury. Everything goes red. He feels red; he sees red; he tastes and smells and hears red. His vision pulses to his heartbeat’s rhythm. He craves the death of his enemy. To have blood coat his tastebuds. To absorb the scent of freshly drawn iron. 

Feyd’s ears pound with pressure and he worries it will muffle the beautiful screams of his victim, but to his great pleasure, as his blade is stuffed into a meaty back, the screams come in loud and clear in perfectly pitched notes that echo down the hall.

The body collapses, knees slamming into stone flooring.

“Feyd,” you whimper. 

“I told you to stay in our room,” he says lowly, not sparing you a glance as his knife momentarily leaves the body to reenter at the spot where neck meets shoulder. Blood sputters from lips, adorning your dress with a sprinkling of rubies.

“One of the servants said you needed me and I–”

“Take her back,” Feyd orders his guard. “Now.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Feyd!” you cry, tripping over your skirt as you struggle to keep pace with the guard dragging you around the corner. 

It’s better this way. If you’re gone, he can give his undivided attention to the paling body and the scarlet puddle spreading beneath it. 

“You don’t listen,” Feyd says, coming to the front of his victim who is impressively still sitting upright. 

There’s a whimper, another lovely song before Feyd pries open the mouth, digs between a row of teeth, and pinches the tongue with two fingers. He pulls it as far as it can be pulled and then lops it clean off with his knife. It lands on the floor with a wet slap. The fingers follow—all ten—amputated from now lifeless hands. And then the eyes, plucked free from the skull with ease. One of them rolls a fair distance after being tossed aside. The other he keeps.

Feyd steps back to stare upon death at its purest; a flawless display of cause and effect, of crime and punishment. 

“I told you what would happen,” he says. 

He doesn’t get a response. 

—

It’s late when Feyd returns to you. He spent the last few hours explaining his role in the ending of a diplomat’s life. He was careful with his words. He had to be. If his uncle knew he killed in defense of his concubine, it would introduce a plethora of complications. No one can know just how far he would go for his woman lest he put you further at risk and open himself up to manipulation. And he can’t have that. 

Feyd expels a relieved sigh at finding you tucked under the sheets. You’re on your side, a palm between your cheek and the pillow. 

He moves to take a seat on the edge of the mattress. As he runs his hand over your hair, your eyes open. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, and you nod. 

“A servant came to the room, said you needed me,” you tell him. “I was led to that man instead of you. I wasn’t trying to go against what you asked of me.”

“I know,” Feyd says. “The servant was paid. Someone witnessed the exchange.” He watches a flash of shock and pain travel across your irises. “He’s dead now. They both are.”

You swallow, biting into your lip as your eyes and mind briefly drift elsewhere. Feyd waits for you to come back, and once you do, you look up at him and nod in acceptance. 

“Will you come to bed now?” you ask. “Please? I can't sleep without you.”

“You were asleep when I came in.” Your head shakes. 

In all fairness, you haven't spent a single night apart since he got you, and he doesn’t view it as clinginess—it’s more his decision than yours—but rather an expression of how much you want him near. And he likes being wanted. It’s different. Foreign. Nice. The both of you need it. Tonight, perhaps, more than ever.

Feyd stands and peels off his layers of clothes, then goes to the other side of the bed to slide under the covers. You flip over, nestling yourself against him and resting your head on his bicep.

“I thought you didn't want me anymore,” you whisper. “I thought–”

---

“Don't think,” he says. “You're mine; you know that.” He presses a kiss to your hairline. “I don't share you.”

And may fate have mercy on anyone who suggests otherwise.

Tag List (if you wanna join)

[jupipedia]

— so anxious. - m. o'hara. warnings : nsfw [ minors, do not interact. ], degradation [ reader gets called whore, cumdump, etc. ], sex in various place [against the wall & on the bed ], rough sex [ biting, groping, cervix kissing, dumbification, hair pulling, etc. ], overstimulation, plot? don't know her, google translated spanish, size kink, unprotected sex [ wrap it up, people! ], slight dom/sub dynamics, aftercare, etc.

"mi-miguel, please! ah~ sl-slow down," you panted, tightening your grip around his neck as he pounded into you with no restraint. he didn't slow or soften his pace as he adjusted you higher onto the wall, allowing himself to enter you deeper.

"puedes tomarlo, chiquita. you always do," he whispered into your ear as your head fell to rest on his shoulder. his thrusts caused the tip of his generous cock to press into your pleasure point, causing your strength to weaken a bit. he was pushing you closer to your third release of the night, having pulled the first two from you with his mouth and fingers.

tonight, miguel was feral.

you weren't exactly sure what brought it on as he didn't give you a chance to ask for an explanation, walking into your shared apartment and ordering you to strip as he removed his suit. you assumed that something set him off during a mission or at headquarters as he wouldn't let you out of his reach, pulling you impossible closer as he fucked you.

"i'm gonna cum," you moaned out, your volume increasing as he grabbed your braids at the roots to gain access to your neck. using his fangs, he nibbled along the length of your throat, fucking into you wordlessly. you let out a pleasure yelp as you reached your climax, legs around his waist. it didn't take long for miguel to reach his climax as he came inside your spent cunt as your insides throbbed from your own release.

he maneuvered you so that both of your legs were over his arms before carrying to the bed, not removing himself from your core as he walked. he laid you on the bed, frame covering yours as he trapped you under him. he pressed your legs to your chest and pulled out until it was just his tip before pushing back into you pussy, coming in direct contact with your cervix.

"fuck, miguel! i can't- i can't! 's too mu-much," your voice wavered as he fucked into you deeply, repeatedly hit your cervix.

"you're my cumdump. yo decido cuándo terminas. eres mía y solo mío, ¿entiendes?" he growled out into your neck, increasing the harshness of his thrusts.

"i understand! mmh~ please, i'm gonna come again~,' you drawled out, eyes rolling back as he bit harshly on the crook of your neck, littering your neck with dark hickies.

miguel loved to see you like this, your smaller frame withering under his large body with droll and tears covering your face. he couldn't get enough of your swollen lips as they released babbles when he rubbed the deepest parts of your pussy. he loved the feeling of your full breasts pushed against his body, the peaks hard as they raked against his abdomen.

"look at me when you come, whore. ¿dónde está mi agradecimiento, bebé? hmm? forgot your manners?" he muttered, grabbing ahold of your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze as you came. your convulsing orgasm triggered his own as he pushed himself as deep as he could before stilling, releasing his seed at the entrance of your cervix.

he relaxed his tense body for few seconds, allowing you both time to catch you breath before loosening his grip on your face.

"come back to me, mi vida. you did so well. always so good for me, hmm?" he whispered to you, observing as your eyes focused back on him.

"hi, baby," you sighed out, closing your eyes and letting your head fall onto your ruined comforter.

"no puedo dejar que te duermas, cariño. gotta' clean you off before you can go to sleep, okay?" he hummed, pulling you up in his arms and carrying you to the bathroom.

"yeah, yeah, whatever," you mumbled, arms wrapped around his neck as you rested your face in the crook of his neck.

"hablo en serio."

"lo sé que eres. now please, shush."

puedes tomarlo, chiquita. - you can take it, little one.

yo decido cuándo terminas. eres mía y solo mío, ¿entiendes? - I decide when you finish. you are mine and only mine, do you understand?

¿dónde está mi agradecimiento, bebé? - where's my thank you, baby?

mi vida. - darling.

no puedo dejar que te duermas, cariño. - i can't let you fall asleep, sweetheart.

hablo en serio. - i'm serious.

lo sé que eres. - i know you are.

[correct me if they are wrong!!]

© JUPIPEDIA. all rights reserved.

[hedgehog-moss]

I received a BroomSlayer 3000 for Christmas!

Behind its jovial mien lies a cold-blooded killer. It's got merciless jaws to clamp onto the plant and a heavy pivoting handle to extract the roots.

I think Father Christmas saw the Christmas Broom held hostage in my living room, under which he was supposed to leave presents, and realised I had reached a breaking point. Last winter I removed all the invasive shrubs in the pasture. I cut everything! Down to the tiniest baby broomlets! And one year later the place looks like this

It's luxuriant. It's humiliating. It's a boundless undulating broom prairie. Clearly as far as they're concerned, I just gave them a nice trim which allowed them to grow back even healthier. So I needed to try something more violent. Get to the root of the problem. (Sorry.)

(I noticed that the spot of last year's broom bonfire is still completely broom-free, but I have not yet reached the point where I set fire to the entire pasture and hope for the best)

Now let me demonstr

—wait a minute.

Is Pampe eating broom??

Ah, no. She's eating pointless, flavourless, leafless brambles which she wouldn't look at twice if they weren't right next to the plants I'd like her to eat, thus emphasising how much she is not eating these.

For a second here I thought you were being helpful.

I saw Poldine eating brambles instead of broom as well. Bad Poldine!

Poldine recovered from this heartbreak after I let her sniff the snow boots I got for Christmas. Just like cats (her idols) she enjoys inspecting new things. (She also enjoys pulling on the laces delicately with her lips to untie them. This game never gets old, if you're a mischievous young llama.)

Anyway. The BroomSlayer 3000 works!! But it's hard work. I did not think it was going to be hard work, because the website made it look so easy.

I wanted to take a little video of me uprooting my enemies but then I thought an illustration would better convey my emotional state—there was a demo video on the gardening website which sells the BroomSlayer and it was the loveliest most bucolic scene, featuring a polite tree who basically picked up its skirts and scampered away with a contrite gasp the minute it realised its presence was unwanted. I really thought uprooting things was going to be a picnic, because I am not immune to propaganda.

To be fair to the gardening website, maybe it's just broom. With that said, it's incredibly satisfying to pull on the handle and hear the delightful sskkrrhh sound of roots being violently torn out of the ground. It's an exhausting whole-body workout but eventuaIly I will grow stronger than broom. I made a murderous Veni Vidi Vici playlist to put myself in the right mood and with this musical support and my new antibroom weapon I will prevail.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

wax

words: 400

warnings: briefly alluding to sex but no smut, pranking rafe as per, established relationship

“how was your day, baby?” rafe asks, gently combing his fingers through your hair as he waits for you to finish taking a drink of your water bottle. the second you swallow, his lips are on yours, giving you a soft peck in greeting.

“really good.” you smile, snuggling into rafe to give him a hug, inhaling his scent that you missed while he was busy. “just did some cleaning around the house. then i got my roots retouched and a wax.”

“very pretty, baby.” rafe says. he doesn't care what your hair looks like, he thinks you look perfect with any color.

“and the wax literally didn't hurt at all.” you hum out. “he used some new type of wax and me and it was painless.”

“who?” rafes body stiffens up as he waits for an explanation.

“my usual waxer.” you roll your eyes like it's a stupid question.

“yeah, avery.” rafe is sure his ears just picked up your words wrong.

“yup.” you nod in confirmation. “avery, he's great.”

“he?!” rafe is sure he heard you right this time.

“the same guy who always does my waxes.” you shrug, resisting the smile that urges to stretch across your features.

“a guy?” rafes voice raises in octave. “you never told me you were getting waxed by a fucking man!”

“what, it's his job.”

“his job? yeah probably because he's a creep who likes looking at girls vaginas.”

“oh my god rafe.” you roll your eyes. “you're being dramatic, he's the best waxer ive ever had.”

“well, you can find someone else. there's gotta be girls out there that are better.” rafe crosses his arms, firm.

“but i like avery.” you pout, almost letting a laugh slip when rafes eyebrows shoot up.

“that's it.” rafe says, grabbing the car keys off the counter that he just sat down. “im going to give avery a piece of my fucking mind.”

“wait, rafe.” you giggle, grabbing his bicep before he can flee. “avery is a girl! i was pranking you.”

you watch every emotion shift through rafes face, from confusion to shock to anger. “baby!”

“sorry!” you quickly say, pointing at your phone hidden on the shelf. “see, just a prank. i got you good.”

“yeah? im gonna get you good for that, brat.” rafe says, reaching down to throw you over his shoulder. 

your phone is forgotten and left recording as he carries you up the stairs.

sfw taglist: @ladyinbl00d @bejeweledreverie @winterrrnight @ethanthequeefqueen

[lazyneonrabbitt]

The better girlfriend

Daryl Dixon x reader | SMUT🔞 [pt.1]

Having some alone time with Daryl in the woods was not as alone as you expected. But you won in the end so it was worth the drama.

It had been a good few months of being with Daryl and developing your relationship into the well oiled machine it had become these days.

Daryl had invited you to go hunting with him so you could spend some alone time away from the community, thinking the woods would be the best place to get some peace and quiet. Just the two of you in the vast greens of the forest.

There hadn't been many walkers around the area, to your luck, you thought. You had been dying to ask Daryl if he was willing to fuck you up against a tree, or at the edge of the lake when the weather allows for swimming.

"Look there." Daryl's hand found your shoulder to pull you in front of him, sandwiched between the large tree and his body. "Righ' there." His breath fanned your ear as his fingers pointed at an animal in the distance.

Or, you thought he was pointing at one, because you weren't seeing anything remotely resembling an animal in the direction of his fingers.

Were you truly that much of a sucky hunter?

"Dee, I don't see any--" The hand that pointed before dropped to your hip so he could grind against you.

"R'member ya sayin' ya watched. Was cuz ya were jealous, aint it?" His voice was low and gravely, barely above a whisper. "Lemme make this huntin' teip a lil' less boring for ya." The crossbow formerly in Daryl's hands was set on the ground, along with your bags, coats, anything but the pants pulled down to Daryl's thighs and the ones dangling from your leg.

"Tap me when yer legs don' want no more." With a swift lick of his lips he moved down to his knees and stuck his fave between your legs. His beard scraped your thighs and his tongue left a trail of heat in its wake. "Oh fuck, Daryl.."

Moving a leg for better acces Daryl now held you up with one hand on your hip and one on the back of your thigh as he lapped at you like he hadn't had a meal in weeks. "Hahh... ahh." You needed a hand up at your mouth to keep yourself from getting too loud. Daryl's wet, sloppy sounds were at least slightly muffled by the plush of your legs that you felt getting slicker by the second as they slowly started to buckle thr closer you got to your first orgasm of the day. Your hand found his hair, "Daryl.. close.." a harsh tug at the roots had Daryl tighten his grip on your hips and let out a vulgar moan against your clit, wrapping his lips back around it to finish you off. He made sure to lick you clean before pulling you down to his level and laying you down on the forest floor.

Daryl crawled over you, staring down at you like a predator ready to devour its prey. The lower half of his face still glitening with your slick and his thick cock dripping in anticipation.

"Looks like you enjoyed yourself too, dear." Your legs went to wrap around his ass and pull his down to you, feeling him press against your centre. Daryl sat up on his haunches to get a nice view of where his cock slowly pushed into your wet heat, rocking back and forth at a steady pace with his large hands on your hips and your legs wrapped around his waist.

Daryl only got a few rough thrusts in before feeling that familiar tug already, wanting to apologize for how short he'd last but the excitement of having you on his turf got the best of him. He finished without a warning, a loud, animalistic groan leaving him as he slumped forward. One hand landing right next to your head on the forest floor and his face inches from you, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. He panted as he caught his breath, still semi hard inside of you making you want to squeeze your walls around him. Each little squeeze had him whimper, quickly falling to his elbows with his face in the crook of your neck. You could feel him getting hard fast, continuing to pant against your skin as his thrusts started to slowly pick up again. "You feel so good, Dee." Your hand found his hair and tangled your fingers into the strands, keeping his head in place as he rutted into you like an animal chasing its release.

"S'like heaven.." Daryl's entire world disappeared in that moment. There was just him and you, intertwined on a bed of leaves.

With Daryl's face buried in the crook of your neck it was your job to keep an eye on your surroundings, slowly moving your head towards the soft rustle of leaves that had you stare right into the eyes of the hag herself.

Daryl's ex stood further off between the trees with someone you barely recognised. With looking straight into the eyes of thr woman you put your hand back in Daryl's hair, tugging at the roots and earning a loud moan. Your heels dug deeper in Daryl's back, making him thrust even deeper, having you moaning out loud too. Daryl's hand moved in response, finding the closest piece of fabric to wipe his fingers on before moving his hand up to your face and stuffing two thick fingers between your lips to silence you.

All the while your eyes were still glued to hers.

Daryl had noticed nothing of the interaction by the time you returned all your attention to him, quietly whining you were close and getting a likeminded answer in return and not long after laying in each other's embrace, enjoying the afterglow and catching your breaths.

While you got wiped down and dressed you decided to give Daryl the much needed heads up. "Your lovely ex girlfriend and some douche walked by earlier."

Daryl's eyes moved to meet you as he buttoned up his shirt, lifting a brow as a dign to continue. "Yeah, so expect comments as soon as we see them back home."

An affirmative grunt was all you got in reply as you continued to get ready to move on again.

Your checkup along all of Daryl's traps became more of a repair session between cut ropes and raided traps. Not a single one was left untouched.

"No' only did they see us, they had ta break the damn traps too?" Daryl was quick to blame the two, seeing some were undone properly.

"Surprises me she actually listened for once, then. She remembered how to undo this kind." While you busied yourself setting the trap up properly again, Daryl was a few treea down entirely re-stringing one that got cut down in order to take the animal out. "Bet they're back home lyin' their asses off with stolen game."

There was venom in his tone. Daryl had only a few rules when it came to his work in the woods and normally everyone kept to those.

"Rick will know they took it, he'll call them out on their shit."

Your offer to go fishing was denied without a second thought. Daryl was done.

It hurt you to see him so defeated, and you hated how one person could dismiss the community's rules so easily for their own profit.

You came home with nothing, but the guards didn't seem surprised. Only a quick "Rick took care of it." before you moved on.

Before you went back to your house you stopped by Olivia to report the used materials for the repaired traps and swung by the pantry for something easy to eat.

You were about halfway home and couldn't avoid running into the one person you hoped not to see today. Across the street where you had to pass was her home, currently being used to house a get together of the women's clique. And all eyes were on the two of you.

Daryl tried his best to just look ahead and keep moving on, but the second you were right across her home your walk was interupted.

"You just Had to go see how good he is in the woods huh?" The shrill sounding callout was impossible to ignore and had you stop dead in your tracks, Daryl almost stumbling into you. The hand on your side that clearly meant to steer you away did nothing.

"Oh I Know Daryl's good at anything he does in the woods. Didn't need to have seen your squealing hog impressions to figure that out." You made your way across the street. "He's so good in the woods people need to steal from him and flaunt what's obviously his handywork."

"Besides," you cocked your head to the side in a thinking manner. "I could have sworn you thought he was horrible in bed. So what changed your mind?"

Daryl was silently praying for the pavement to swallow him whole at that moment, but then he wouldhave missed the stammering that was happening in front of him.

With all eyes now on her there were no words that could save her from this fuck up.

"Well?" There was a shit eating grin on your face that only added fuel to the fire that was her beet red face, full of anger but unable to form a proper response.

Daryl's side met with yours as his arm snaked around your back and he pressed a kiss to your hair. It was a small gesture, but it had enough impact to take the win as you two watched her walk off in a rage.

The others that still found themselves on her porch gave you two a shrug as they looked to where she disappeared off to. A few "sorry"'s and "I don't know either"'s came from them as you turned to make your way back home.

"Ya know wha'?" Daryl's hand squeezed your hip as you walked home side by side.

With raised brows and a soft smile you looked at him, the soft sunlight highlighting everything you found so beautiful about him.

"M'glad ya saved me from 'er." His hand slid from your body to take yours, lacing together your fingers and playfully bumping shoulders.

On the turn onto your yard Daryl stopped you with a soft tug on your arm, turning you towards him.

You watched him get in his head for a moment, but his hands found yours. The soft slide of his calloused fingertips over the skin of your arms down to the palms of your hands as he took them both in his again.

With a soft steadying breath he leaned in for a most gentle kiss. It took you off guard at first, Daryl never kissed you in public and now he was holding on to you like this for everyone to see.

You kissed him back with the same intensity he was giving, sharing maybe the most intimate moment you've had.

When you broke apart for air Daryl's breath was shaky, the nerves still clear as day in every fiber of his being.

But he was smiling.

Eyes squinted with the uncontrolable pull of the upward curve of his lips.

Your hands were still held in his when Daryl came back to earth. The blue in his eyes overflowing with everything he was feeling in this moment, but only one stood out.

"I love ya. More than anythin' else in the world. Aint no one gon' change tha'."

A/N: Thanks to a very excited sounding reply to the original fic we now have a second part!! I hope you all enjoyed it ♡♡