#or!!! or the fact that they HOLD HANDS!!! how he looks so stupidly SHY when he offers her his hand!!!!

[tonycries]

The Family Matter?!

Synopsis. Babyfevér - it’s never felt so good.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, breéding, mentions of kids/ marriage, a LOT of creampíes, Gojo’s powers, cúmplay (like a lot), spítting, overstím, exhíbitionism (Geto’s), chokíng Nanami, pússy-slappíng, proposals, rúts (Choso), bíting, true form! Sukuna, overspill, dp, bondagé, mentions of dàddy kínk, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. To the one anon that wanted this - how did you read my mind?? Hope y’all have a lovely week <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Santa, baby…

“B-but- Christmas isn’t for another few months, Toji—”

Now, Toji has to admit - that broken, honeyed-out little drag of his name is enough to crack even that tough demeanor of his - just a bit. And it’s all he can do to calm down the raging twitch of his buried cock, driving it deeper and deeper against your mushy g-spot to shut up those dangerous moans of yours. 

“B-b-but-” You’re flinching when his deep, baritone voice pitches dramatically high to mock your own, a large palm coming down to give your poor clit a branding smack! “-but, you think that’s gonna stop me, ma?”

Stupidly, you’re whirling your dazed eyes over your shoulder to catch his, only for the calloused pads of his fingers to swiftly force your face back down. 

“Not me, you don’t get to hah- look at me just yet, doll.” Toji grits out from behind you, feverish puffs of breath sending goosebumps down your spine. Down to where your puffy cunt was just bulging with all long, solid inches of his swollen, overworked cock. Sloppy. Overspilling. “Not until you’re giving me another brat by Christmas.” 

A sob wrenches out of you when Toji jostles his sharp hips against yours. Harder, until you could feel every minute smack of his still-full, sensitive balls, every slosh of his syrupy sticky cum coating your walls from earlier. 

“Look.” 

You’re shaking your head in almost-bratty protest, the fat of your ass still pushing and pulling against his rugged thrusts. You feel like you could go insane if you saw any more. Thighs twitching to a shy close, “Ngh- can’t s’too- too much.”

This only pulls out a displeased growl from your pussydrunk boyfriend, rasping out a warning. “No fuck-  don’t you fucking dare-” Big, beefy hands wrench your legs even farther apart to admire the mess he’s made, bruising where he holds them unable to escape. “Don’t you even think of it, woman.”

It’s accompanied by another harsh slap! on your puffed-up clit, this time harder than the last. Shocking you to your heated core until you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, already-ruined cunt just clenching in painful pleasure. 

He laughs - laughs, “Instead of squeezin’ the fucking soul outta me, look here at how you’re wastin’ my cum. How can I make you a momma in time like this, huh?” 

You’re blinking away those big, fat globs of tears to finally spy back down again at your drooling cunt. Swollen folds spread shamefully, gaping. Every slam of his hips makes you gush down his achy shaft with a gloss of your sweet sweet juice and his own cum. It splays in a creamy little puddle at your silken sheets, clinging to your bodies like a second, sloppy skin. “Y-you’re so filthy, Toji.”

But Toji couldn’t bring himself to be disgusted - not one bit. In fact, he could feel the tip of his angry head growing even fatter, expanding to meld its way deep into your elastic walls.

“Filthy, huh?” he chuckles so darkly. “Got such a mouth on ya, can already tell you’re gonna be a ah- strict momma.” His fingers are prying your jaw to sag open, whispering so slow and syrupy along your open mouth, “Well, let me tell you a little secret, ma. Doesn’t matter what you call me now, because in about nine months you’ll be calling me something else.”

“And what would- mmpf!” Oh, for how much he loved your sharp mouth, he sure was well and fully intent on shutting you up. Toji’s hitting his cock at the back of your pussy, just mashing deep into your g-spot in sinful sync. Over and over. “-and what would that be?”

Another finalizing smack to your pulsing clit, so smug and messy. He tilts his head to that growing pool below you, splurging farther and farther with each decisive, feral ram. “Your baby daddy, that’s what.” 

As if on cue, you’re cumming - you can’t even remember which saccharine sweet high of the night, but all you know is Toji’s gifting your gummy cunt with a few bullying kisses on your ravaged g-spot. Rough, lingering clashes of his weepy tip on your ravaged g-spot, sending your toes curling, white-hot shocks of pleasure. Again and again and again-

“Fuck- fuuuck yeah take it.” he’s grunting out hoarsely, hips stuttering and so so feral. Barely having the sanity to pull out in his jagged half-thrusts, splitting you apart on all his weighty length to cum inside you - deep.

Painting each and every inch of your heavenly cunt that could be reached with coat after coat of velvety white - all the way from where he was gliding his fat tip across your cervix, down, down, down to your sensitive spots, your sopping wide opening. “Want- need it so bad. Need ya to make me a daddy again. So fuckin’ bad you have no idea- you’d be fuckin’ scared.”

Those mean fingers smushing your cheeks into an embarrassing pout dance down to gather the dredges of his own cum, oozing out of the corners of your slit in a milky white sheen. Still rutting into you, he suckles on them languidly like his favorite candy, “Mmpf- as sweet as ever, doll.”

“Y-you’re so fuckin’ mean, Toji-” your jaw slacks open at his lewd actions. “Our kid better not get such an- hah- an awful personality.”

That makes him pause - it makes him pull away his digits, glistening and connected with stringy ropes of the mess he’s made. Grinning for just  a split-second before shoving the entire length of his fingers into your plush mouth. 

Toji huffs cockily, the rounded tips of his fingers swirl around and around your lolling tongue, addicting you onto the slighty-salted taste. “Our daughter will be lucky to hngh- get my personality n’ your pretty looks.” And you’re barely even lucid when he’s whispering into your sweat-sheened forehead, “So you better give me good news for Christmas this year, ma.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - “Take it, like a good lil’ wife.”

Your mouth is sagging open at Nanami’s uncharacteristically gritted words. So hoarse, pained - like they were dragged out of his raggedly heaving chest with each bullying ram of his hips. 

It was barely midway into the evening, and you had no clue how you ended up like this. How those fleeting little titters during your romantic at-home dinner date about kids wound up with Nanami splayed on his broad back on the soft silken sheets. Sculpted abs curving into your back when he nuzzles your neck, plowing his furiously hard cock in his favorite mean full nelson.

“Ha- you’re being so-” you’re gasping out in a wet stutter, ass grinding back onto those neat lanes of blond at his thick base. He’s spearheading you so- “-so mean, Ken.”

“Am, I?” he’s purring, a low rumbling growl from the bottom of his chest. “Well, I might be the stricter parent, that’s right.”

Rolled-up sleeves graze against your heated skin, and you could feel every ridge of the veins along his forearms when he spreads your dangling legs even wider. Jutting his hips so deeply upwards to bow your body to the throbbing curve of his dick. “But, I apologize, darling.” Neat rows of his pearly white teeth sink down on your earlobe, “Feel free to do something- anything about it. Because m’afraid I won’t be able to stop any time soon.”

It was a promise - just the clingy feeling of your walls molding and wetting according to his very shape has him losing his mind. His sanity.

Choking back a long, drawn-out groan when two thick fingers slide down to roll over your puffy clit, “Fuuuck, my love, you’re so- hngh perfect like this.” The bed creaks in protest when his powerful thighs arch even higher upwards, all those hours at the gym paying off when every frenzied mash into the bulging treasure of your g-spot makes your mouth water. He breathes into the intimate crook of your neck, “Though, I bet you’d look even prettier as a momma, right?”

Somehow, that makes your face burn more than being split apart on his relentless cock has. 

“Oh- shit.” you whine, fucking your hips back in a sloppy little staccato. Reaching your trembly arm around his strong neck, your fingers find his favorite speckled yellow tie. Yanking until Nanami’s stern lips in a syrupy sweet kiss. “Really wan’ you to hah- breed me, Ken.”

“Fuck- Oh yeah?” he gasps. And if you didn’t know any better then you’d have said that that came out as a fucking whine. The ever-stoic Nanami Kento crumbling bit by bit with each rummaging thrust to shape your gummy walls. “Then why’d it fuck- take so long. Fuck, I’ve been dreaming of this since the ah- day I met you, my girl.”

Sharp hips dig into the plush of your ass with each pivot, it’s bouncing you back and forth along his slobbering cock. So rough. So tall and angry, you’re hit with a steaming hot gush of milky precum every time Nanami’s sliding out of you up to his thick, girthy tip. 

“Been thinking about you and I- and a little one. A few, actually. One blonde with your eyes, the other two with mine and your gorgeous smile.” That sweet little admission has your twitchy fingers subconsciously dragging at the heavy fabric of his tie. Tight around Nanami’s straining neck, making his head light and cock twitch wildly to draw little patterns on your cervix. “Fuck! Fuck no- keep pullin’ like that, darling.” 

You could feel his raw length rub against sensitive sports you never even knew felt good, in sync with that wandering free-hand of his. Now dancing upwards to glide his touchy thumb over your bouncing tits. “K-Ken, m’so close.”

“How pretty these would look all full of milk, darling.” he muses, sounding more like he’s speaking to himself than anything. Your knees are buckling now, cunt eagerly taking in every powerfully pressurized thrust of his. But Nanami hasn’t had enough of his fill, feeling a burning trail down your arching body. Down the valley of your breasts, your stomach, “And here- where m’gonna fuck-” He’s cutting himself up as his hips slam up into you like with a mind of their own, “-fill you up, make you a momma. Oh, you’d be the best momma. The best.”

He’s fucking you so rough now - so jagged that you’re white-knuckling his tie, reeling him in so close. “And you’d- fuck m’gonna-” you’re sobbing now, over those drawled-out squelches from your velvety cunt. “You’d be the best da-”

You can’t finish your sentence - you couldn’t, because with a few more practiced strokes, you’re cumming all over Nanami’s massive cock. Feeling your elastic walls try to suck him up so hard you wondered whether it didn’t hurt. 

But it didn’t - it felt so sinfully good, in fact, that it was only a matter of a few blissful seconds before you’re being filled up with thick globs of his seed. Drooling out of you with each creamy rut into you, your gaping entrance only takes more. Still pounding into you, bottoming out - yet still pushing to give you everything he had to give.

“Sh-shit.” Nanami marvels at the silky ribbons of cum being stuffed inside, the way it slews up with your honeyed slick to form a glistening gloss down both your fronts. “Wait- oh, wait.” Nanami’s trembling cock spurs out a few more overflowing shots of seed at the very thought of what he was about to do. Still stuffed in, he’s reaching over to rustle through the pockets of his dress pants scattered mere inches away from the two of your slick, convulsing bodies on the bed.

You’re jolting when you feel something cold and metallic slide around your left ring finger, “Didn’t think I’d let you be the mother of my kids without a ring, did you, my wife?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Escape?

“Gorgeous…” Geto’s sultry, slow whisper sends goosebumps running down every inch of your skin. And it’s so soothing - so gentle, and yet- “-doesn’t matter how much you tug, these things won’t let you escape, m’kay?”

A wrenching sob rips from your hoarse throat, and all you can manage to do is tug on those tight, hot-pink handcuffs around your wrists. Pulling to prop your fucked-out body against the very top of his luxurious futon, “S-Sugu, you’re so mean.” Your wide eyes scan the pristine tatami room at his shrine, “Anyone could walk in-”

“And yet you’re still being such a slut, my girl.” He flashes you a rosy red grin, so blindingly pretty that it makes your cunt throb. “Still waiting f’me to breed your pretty pussy. Which would it be? The fifth now?”

Geto doesn’t even have to finish the sentence before you’re abruptly sitting upright, bottom lip wobbling with need. Your swollen pussy is just weeping beads of his cum at this point, sobbing down where he was still buried so eagerly inside your gummy walls. Your thighs shaky in- fear? Anticipation? The need for more? 

“Ah ah-” you feel two soft little smacks to the side of your cheek. “Don’t zone out on me just yet, gorgeous. S’this hah- boring for you?” And despite all the pleading shakes of your head, he only plows on, “Aww, what a shame. Guess I just hafta spice things up-”

It’s all the warning you’re getting - barely even - before your poor, weepy cunt is back to being just split apart on his fat head. Not even being eased into it, no care or concern for those overstimulated spasms when he stuffs you full. 

“F-fuck-” your eyes are shooting open - when did they even close? - at the sound of nearby footsteps in the hallway behind those sliding doors. Very nearby. “I swear someone’s gonna catch us, Sugu-”

The only sound that rings throughout his humid, heady room is your wet gag - muffled around the pale, slender fingers of his being shoved between your kiss-bitten lips. All you can register are the soft pads of his digits pressing down on the back of your taste buds and the unforgiving little pulses of his prominent veins dragging against your gummy walls. 

Leaning down - until he’s so dangerously close, until you could count every long, dark lash on his eyelids, every flex of his muscles - slosh of his syrupy sweet inside you - as he sets a languid, lazy pace. “If someone catches us then I will hngh- jus’ keep going, do not test me, pretty girl.”

The other of his splayed out fingers are drawing methodical, dizzying circles on the very tip of your sensitive clit. Matching his teasing place, every grazing nudge of his leaky tip coating your bruising g-spot. 

“Haven’t I already told ya not to start things you c-can’t finish?” Geto’s husky voice is talking you through every clingy thrust. Falling from his pretty lips with each deep snap, fucking you into the drenched futon leisurely like some cocksleeve. “N’ what did you do, hm?”

You couldn’t answer if you wanted to - because Geto’s fingers were still firmly swiping around your tongue. Murmuring, “Exactly that. Just had to make that fuckin’ hah- stupid little joke about me not being able to handle another daughter, huh?”

“Mmpf- hngh Sugur-” you try to moan out at a low thump! outside, but he’s shushing you pliantly quiet with a ragged pump into your womb. Making you gush velvety ribbons of his previous cum.

“Heh, think this cunt actually wants to get out of this without being bred?” It was true, your painted-white walls were just clinging elastically to Geto’s shaft every time he drove into you, sucking up every bit of him like you’re trying to milk out something delicious. Again. 

“And guess what?” he’s so crazed now, eyes glowing with a dark delight. Hips pistoning into yours with fearsome accuracy to smash over and over into the bullseye of your sensitive spot. Sloppier. The shuffling outside getting louder. So unfairly good that you’re barely registering his next words, “M’jus’ gonna breed this slutty pussy until you give me another. Until everyone knows you’re my slut.”

It only takes one, two, three more drilling clashes with your g-spot for you to fall apart once more. 

Your own orgasm bursts out of you. Squirting in glistening dredges again and again until it’s just a few fatiguing shocks of pleasure that have you heaving for air, whining Geto’s name like a mantra. The overstimulation too much, his twitching cock too big - over and over-

“F-fuuuuck- squirting all over, y’made such a mess.” Geto’s moan is so pornographic when that angry divot at his flushed head explodes with spurts of thick hot cum. So addictively sweltering against your plush walls, it floods into your womb, down your thighs - to your lungs it almost feels like. “Gonna give me another daughter? Yeah?” He breathes, head thrown back while he stuffs you too-full, until he could see the seeping white on your creamy cunt in his glassy peripheral vision. And he still isn’t done cumming - thinning out to mere sticky wisps. “Gonna make you so full- so swollen. Until everyone looks at you and knows what I did- how I defiled you. They’ll look at you and see me. Me, me, me, me-”

There’s such an animalistic cadence in the way he’s rutting into you, pushing you further and further up those drenched sheets. Just dragging your body forwards with one strong arm around your handcuffs when his sheer volume gets too much that you’re trying to pathetically escape. 

Thump!

In a split-second, Geto’s grabbing at a hidden dagger from underneath his robes. Throwing - dead straight through the paper doors - only for a loud thud! to echo from outside. “Bet the scum outside don’t even need to hear the pregnancy announcement, huh?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - My strange addiction

Oh, there’s nothing you loved more than Choso losing control - around the time of year when the weather grows a little warmer, when your sweet boyfriend becomes a little more restless. Those dark, dewy eyes of his turning black with something primal, desperate. 

Ingrained in his blood to breed you. To do nothing but breed you. 

Like right now. 

“Oh?” you’re purring with a coy bat of your lashes, looking over your shoulder to where he was looming. Flushed, gulping, absolutely drunken off your heady scent. “On your rut again, Cho?”

And that makes his entire body jolt, as if zapped by a sudden wave of electricity. Large, trembly hands fist your thin shirt to pin you down like some ragdoll onto the cool kitchen counter. Breath hitching, such a pained grunt leaves him at the sound of his name leaving those pretty lips of yours. 

Almost guiltily, he’s baring a wet gasp, “Y-yes. Saw you makin’  ah- makin’ us dinner in the kitchen and-” It’s like he hasn’t even realized what he was doing, slapping his raw cock against your drooling slit with each word. Smack! Smack! Smack! “-and- I just thought about how- just needed to…”

But alas, Choso doesn’t get to finish a single thought - because you’re stepping up onto your tip-toes - ever-so-slightly. Feeding your needy cunt with just the round girth of his very tip.

“Just needed to what, Cho?” you hum, quirking a devilish brow his way, holding back a keen at the sheer stretch of him around your sopping entrance. “Or do you wanna stop?”

Fuck, Choso swears he could feel his overworked balls squeeze so painfully at the very thought. “No-”  he’s hissing, glassy gaze widening almost comically. “No no no no no- please no. please, please this is all I want.” 

With a sultry giggle, you reach behind to pull him roughly by his soft strands. Choso’s grunting out hoarsely, letting himself be dragged to clash his lips against your bruised ones in such a sloppy kiss. All tongue and teeth, he drinks you in like a man depraved. “All you ever want is to just hah- fuck me in this kitchen, Cho?”

It’s so cute the way he’s sputtering dazedly into your sagging mouth, such a sweet whiny cry of, “Yes but no- fuck, I jus’ wanna–” The slow drag of his heavy tongue coats the crook of your neck in his saliva, hammering his swollen cock upwards until he was practically lifting you off the ground with sheer inhuman force. “Jus’ wanna breed you full, baby. Breed this pretty pussy like m’meant to.”

It’s with an almost-animalistic type of worship that Choso’s just ramming the rest of his thick cock into you until he’s spearheading straight into your spongy g-spot, weighty balls - painful, and ready for breeding - smacking against your ass. Addicted. 

“O-oh, fuck–” you can’t stop your honeyed gasps. “You’re s-so big- so hard even after just this morning? What a naughty boy.” 

Just slamming you down onto the cool marble,“Fuck- fuck fuck y’know what I imagined when I hah- saw you in the kitchen?” Such throaty groans drag along with each and every plunge into your slobbering pussy, Choso was always so talkative when he was like this. Slurring out a mile a minute, “Saw my pretty wife, the pretty mother of my kids.”

And you knew what he was going to say, but that doesn’t stop you from milking him so tight, velvety walls contracting in a way that almost made it difficult to maintain his sloppy staccato. Back arching into such a slutty bow to drag even needier down his drilling length

But your beloved boyfriend still wasn’t done, kissing away hotly at the corner of your mouth. “N’ s’not jus’ the hngh- rut talking either. Fuuuuck-” All six feet of his muscled body pins you to the counter, and distinctly, you could feel him scramble desperately to buck up a knee to angle his hips even deeper. “Saw you makin’ breakfast before school, and I’m- hngh- and I’m getting the kids ready - a boy and a girl, both as gorgeous as you.”

“Y-yeah?” Is all you can breathe out, “What- hngh- what else?”

You didn’t expect his humorless chuckle - broken, and a few pitches higher than normal. “What else?” His eyes are absolutely crazed now, and he’s biting down on your pouty lower lip. “Oh what didn’t I see?” 

Bowing till you could feel every ripple of his abs against your back. Every slow tremor of his glossy head nudging past your defenses, hitting deep at the bottom of your g-spot. It takes a few more sloppy pumps for you to realize that Choso’s still speaking. 

“Saw the wedding- saw the first birth, the way I cried-” The way he was crying now, ragged, overstimulated tears dripping down his pretty cheeks. Panting out wetly, “-what a great momma you are, the best. The way I help you hngh- milk these p-pretty tits when it’s too much. But my most favorite of all-”

You don’t hear the rest - and he doesn’t tell you, because he’s too busy cumming. Cumming and cumming so much that Choso thinks he can’t stop, swollen base rummaging deep inside to plug up those thick ropes of hot seed inside. It was impossible that he hadn’t achieved his dream with this. 

It’s bloating you up, too much. Spilling out of those little gaps at the dips and ridges of his twitchy cock that your inner thighs cover in a clingy white sheen. 

Drawn on instinct, you can only scream when Choso’s sharp canines bite down on the sensitive spot at your neck. Hard enough to draw blood - and, if you two were in any better state of mind, you’d have noticed that he did draw blood. 

A thin saturation of heady red coating his devilish grin, delicate strings of spit still connect to the mating mark. “-my favorite was when we made another.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - DOUBLE STUFFED!

“One more.”

“Kuna-”

“One more.”

When all you’re getting is that leeringly dangerous grin - the very same one he gifts any weak curses just about to be killed at his feet - you know there’s no way you’re getting out of this. Either you take it - or he makes you. 

Gliding your palms across Sukuna’s bulging pecs, your trembly legs twitch atop his muscled thighs. Gingerly jutting along where your poor cunt was being split apart on his twin bulgingly hard cocks. Up and down up and down up and-

“S’too much-” you’re whining, feeling the gush of his sticky cum coat down your thighs. Oozing out of your bloated cunt with every syrupy sweet bounce of his ravaging cocks. “I- not enough space-”

Any you were about to stupidly babble out is cut off when Sukuna wraps five thick digits around your exposed neck, intentionally dipping his sharp nails to leave branding little divots right about your racing pulse. A warning. A punishment. “Did I tell ya to keep runnin’ that hah- mouth, brat?” he spits, waiting for you to shake your head deliriously “no” before grinning. “Then why am I hearing so much t-talking n’ not enough of this slutty lil’ cunt of yours taking one more? You hear that?” 

All that was ringing in your ears was the honeyed echoes of squelches from below, smacking and slapping in sync with your pathetic movement. 

“Exactly.” Sukuna’s snapping you out of your thoughts, one hand resting at the glistening plush of your hips, the other spreading your puffy pussy lips to let you just slobber down his angry, red shafts. Glossing over him all the way from those fat tips to the creamy ring around his base. “Wastin’ too much of my hngh- cum with yer talkin’, brat. How are ya gonna have time to carry my seed?”

And he’s so large - so strong. Not even breaking a sweat when he’s getting up from his decadent throne with you boneless in his arms, still stuffing your cunt full with all greedy inches of both cocks. 

“O-oh, fuck, Kuna!” you’re squealing when gravity pulls you down until you could feel the scratch of his pink happy trail against the sensitively grazed areas of your skin. The dizzying push of two matchingly massive girths stretching your gummy walls to its limits. Your nails draw jagged red line down his tan skin, trying to keep just an ounce of your sanity together, “Fuck you’re in so hngh- deep.”

“Easy on the back there.” Sukuna’s rolling his eyes, but he can’t deny the way his heart clenches at the way you’re so fucked-out and easily sliding down his cock like some pretty sex toy. Whimpering about some baby names.

Not like it mattered, anyway. He’d name the little devilspawn whatever you wanted - after fighting about it for the fun of it. Heh, he always has been soft on you, huh?

All it takes is one hand holding you up, another to toy with the sensitive nub of your clit. Rolling and teasing you even deeper into his arms while another still rests firmly around your throat. 

The remaining hand? At Sukuna’s favorite place cupping your teary cheek, gliding away those big fat tears with the cure of his soft thumb, “Shh shhh, you can take it. You’re my pretty lil’ queen, right?”

Even his mind a hot melted mess on your dripping cunt. Just fucking into you ruthlessly, up, up, up till he was bulging at the very back of your cunt. One fat tip firmly kissing your g-spot, the other gliding in a silky smooth cadence against your poor cervix.

Matching veins rubbing matching sensitive spots, rendering you so awfully dumb on his cocks. Mixing with the hypnotic splattering of his seed against the velvet of your walls, it’s impossible to not feel like you’re about to fucking burst. 

Intertwining your fingers with his much longer ones on your face, you’re dragging them to rest at that palpable little nudge along the middle of your stomach. Pressing down to make him feel where he was buried deep, hiccuping lewdly, “You’re right here, Kuna. S’gonna be- hngh! impossible to not give you an heir.”

An heir. 

And fuck he couldn’t take it anymore - if anything even fucking heard about this, they’d faint. 

Because with a shuddering gasp, the king of curses was just dragging your weight down his cocks - over and over - to gloss your insides with each new coat of the thick, syrupy cum weeping out of his angry heads. So overfilled, but still greedily swallowing everything Sukuna gives. 

“Fuck-.” With an angrily strained growl, Sukuna only speeds up his motions on your clit. Methodical. Urgent, even. Still fucking him seed deeper to smash his quivering tips at your g-spot. Both - two divots pressurizing you at the same time. “How dare you make me cum first, woman. Think you’re soo fucking funny, huh? Better give me hundreds of lil’ hellspawn to make up for it.”

“N-noo-” you croon, but that limp little curl of your lips at the abundance of seed seeping out of you gives you away. It was so unlike him - so startling to spy the blushing rouge at his ears, the way his fat balls smack and only squeeze harder when you milk every drop. So hot, and splattering right down both of your legs, forming a creamy puddle at his floor. “I didn’t-”

You don’t finish your sentence, you can’t. Because with all of his brute strength, Sukuna is just wrenching that orgasm from your grasp - fucking you over and over through your high. 

The puddle only grows wider. And there’s no warning before he spits, once. Twice. Right onto the middle of the overwhelmed taste-buds on your tongue, gently shutting your mouth with one hand. The other spreading your puffy pussy lips to let you drool a glossy coat of cum down his front. Making a mess.

“S’inauspicious, y’know. Having the momma cum first-” He’s gruffing, sure you were still crashing into wave after wave of pleasure to even hear his whines. “-so why don’t you give me one more?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Meet the Gojos

“Toru- we’ll get caught.”

“Shut up- fuck- shut up.” Gojo’s face was ashen, grinning so dangerously at the sight of you completely and utterly bound into that obscene mating press he loved so much. Your pretty pussy at the perfect angle for him to hammer his achy cock so thoroughly into you. “S’not what this cute cunt is sayin’ though, sweetheart.”

Fuck, if you were in any better state of mind, you’d have smacked him maybe. But you knew right by the glowingly amused tinty in his blue eyes that he was waiting for that to happen - goading even. 

You’re whining hotly, fingernails digging sharply into the winding wooden desk rested cool beneath your skin. “The- the elders are about to have a- hngh! meeting in here soon and-”

Gojo’s lips curl  when your breath hitches, feeding you each and every one of his merciless inches over and over- “Well then it’s damn good that they’ve been bugging me for an heir, dontcha think~?” 

You’re letting your drooling maw fall slack in disbelief - only to create the perfect opening for your boyfriend to catch you into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. Spitting out little profanities with each harsh push of his fat gliding tip across the slippery slopes of your walls. “Heh, always so fuuuck- cute when you’re fucked dumb on my cock.” he’s chuckling, mouth looser than usual with the way the tight channel of your cunt is sucking out every one of his honest thoughts - his soul. “But ya needa get more firm, I’m gonna be the fun parent.”

It takes another harsh snap! of those toned hips bruising against your ass for you to jump back into your heady reality. 

“T-Toru…” you’re murmuring, but it comes out so much more breathless than you wanted. Catching on to that syrupy, fucked-out tone of yours, Gojo takes the opportunity to ram his swollen length even meaner into your slobbering cunt. Wringing out your narrow hole to mold around the exact shape of his massive dick. “We- ngh! We’ve got to set an example.”

You feel the fat girth of his shaft grow two sizes even bigger at your scolding. Bulging those two prominent veins down the middle to imprint onto your gummy walls. The roaming point of his glossed-over head pressing straight onto your g-spot, making you writhe underneath him. Bucking up for more more more-

A pale, splayed-out palm slams! down onto the creaky mahogany right beside your head, and when you’re batting your dazed gaze up you see-

Oh. 

Oh fuck - forget setting an example, you were about to be made one. 

Because Gojo’s blue irises were sparking with tiny rods of lightning, teeth bared in such an amusedly feral grin that it made your cunt ache. 

“Fuck-” even his voice sounded deeper - raspier, cracking ever-so-slightly with need near the end. “Fuck, you can’t talk shit to me about ‘setting examples’ when you get so fuckin’ wet just because I play a little rough.”

Playing a little rough was an understatement - and both of you knew it. Because if Gojo was simply toying with your sanity before, then he was well and fully intent on breaking it right now. Right along with your poor pussy with those bludgeoning, harsh thrusts you were being gifted with.

The expansion of his weighty cock has you squealing with each powerful slam, “Fuck- fuck you little-”

“Hunk? Absolute catch?” he grins, voice dropping to a low husky drawl. A slick little trail of drool dips down the corner of his mouth already with every cracking beg and plea, followed by a series of lingering grinds - not even thrusts, just slow, shallow swerves to feel you tighten wetly around his hot shaft. The lights flicker above, “Father of your kids?” 

That makes you wrack in a sinful shudder, words tumbling out before your syrupy sweet brain could compute them, “You’d make a- a good daddy, Toru.”

Crack! 

It’s happening in a split-second - a stuttering gasp catches in Gojo’s throat, those baby blue eyes going wide. Glowing. In the distance, your popping ears catch the sharp shattering of that prized vase in the corner of the room. 

But right now it felt like you were the one about to break - because ribbons and ribbons of Gojo’s hot, potent seed were knocking on the door to your womb. Splurging in thick dredges to stuff you full from the inside out. 

“Fuck- fuck, you evil evil woman.” Gojo breathes out, the only thing he could seem to do at this very moment. When the tethering clenches of his balls have tapered out, he’s pulling out to smack! the length of his throbbing, red shaft on your clit. Mouth hanging open at the way just buckets of his own cum gush out of your tight hole. “Shit- m’gonna breed this cute cunt. Gonna fill her up until you’re so round and swollen.” he’s babbling, gliding pale fingers across the sloshing cum now seeping onto the desk to shove it back inside. 

“Fuuuck- m’gonna breed her till she hah- doesn’t know what it’s like to not be stuffed full. Until you’re giving me a cute lil’ blue-eyed baby.” Crackling with jujutsu energy, he’s smack down on your puffy cunt - hard! “Until m’not the strongest. Not even second- or third or fourth or fifth-” kissing your pouty lips in addicted little pecks. “-no. S’gonna be my- our kids. All ours.”

“Ngh! Toru–” you’re whining, only taking another few messy swivels on your cunt before you cum. And you swear, the lights go out at this very moment - the only thing you can see being Gojo’s flickers of purple jujutsu and his gleamingly white grin.

He smacks another hand down on that wooden meeting desk - the now broken desk, standing wearily on only three legs - and the puddle of cum seeping below you. “Think we’ll be excused from the meeting? Because m’not done with you just yet, ma.”

A/N. Yuh I had two Kendrick references I apologize (I don’t).

Plagiarism not authorized.

[loveindefinitely]

task force 141 with a controversially young civilian girlfriend.

-> mentions of large age-gaps, referenced sexual content, alcohol use. afab!fem!reader. minor dubcon (everyone's drunk.)

thinking that you're studying in uni. working on the side to try and afford rent and, if you're lucky, some noodles every other night. you don't really get seen compared to your friends, who go out clubbing and spend their spare time on dating apps.

one time, your friend drags you to a bar. not usually your scene, considering its clientele is more for tradies, and military-type men. not like the stuck-up blue collar boys at your uni.

cue you getting drunk off your ass, barely even standing, when you bump into one johhny mactavish.

he holds your elbows, your chest crashing into his. gentle with it, too -- kind and sweet and grounding.

"y'alright, lass?" he asks, a small smirk on his face, eyes darting across your frame greedily. he, in all fairness, looks nearly as drunk as you. he stumbles a little with your weight.

you giggle, tilting your head to look at him. say something stupid like, "you don't look like a student."

his brows raise, his dimples deepen. "aye, very smart, hen."

you preen with the compliment, a cheesy grin stuck to your face. you make no move to stand up and leave. you think your friend just left with a guy anyways.

johnny moves you, muscled arm around your waist as he takes you to a booth.

three other men sit in it, only one looking somewhere in a ten-year age bracket to you. they're all impossibly large, filling out the space with ease. your stomach swoops, but you easily blame the alcohol.

manoeuvring you so you sit in his lap, johnny's hand is a comforting weight on your waist. he huffs a laugh.

"didn't realise we were goin' for jailbait, soap," the youngest one chimes, dark features shining in the pub's dim light. his eyes trail your frame silkily.

you can't stop the roll of your eyes -- your inhibitions have made you senseless. "'m not, 'm completely," you drag out the syllables, "legal."

a hand on your thigh makes you jolt, and when you look over, a blonde man with a black medical mask raises an unimpressed brow. "got a problem, kid?"

you shoot him a weak glare. "not a kid. weirdo."

the arm around your waist tightens, as does the weirdo's hand encompassing your thigh.

"not scared of anythin', are you darl'?" the final man in the booth asks, hands folded together where they rest at the table. he looks at least double your age, and that simple fact along with his drawling words has your core tightening.

"what's there to be scared of?" you ask, stupidly. your head tilts to the side, unknowingly moving to rest on johnny's shoulder. he doesn't comment.

"miss bein' young and drunk," gaz sighs, hand softly gripping the gin sat on the table in front of him.

"you look young," your brows furrow, not understanding. how old could he really be, to act so nostalgic of your current predicament? "how old are you guys?"

it's an embarrassing question -- makes you feel like a child all over again. but your interest is quickly peaking, and your need for answers overpowers your need for decorum.

johnny's the one to answer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers.

"gaz, the pretty one over there, he's twenty-eight," he murmurs, heat stirring low in your gut as you nod mindlessly, meeting gaz's eyes.

johnny stokes his thumb over the skin of your hip, and you curl into him further -- stranger be damned.

"i'm thirty," he hums, and god, he sounds so fucking sensual you're about to melt into his arms. if you aren't already.

"the guy in the mask?" said man's hand tightens impossibly against your skin, fingers just shy of grazing your aching pussy, "he's thirty-seven. got a lot of experience, aye?"

you shudder.

"what about you?" you end up voicing, shyly meeting the last man's gaze. he takes a slow sip of his whiskey.

he leans back into the cushion, eyeing you carefully.

"forty-three."

your thighs squeeze together, and fuck, if that's not a turn-on. no matter how unsafe you should feel, surrounded by four military-grade, older men, it only manages to have you wet beyond belief.

all you can manage is one question.

"take me home?"

[angelfic]

— IT’S SO SWEET

pairing: jason todd x best friend!reader

summary: the 3 times jason takes care of you and the 1 time he lets you do the same. alternatively, jason thinks he's invincible, but his best friend needs to be protected at all costs.

warnings: unedited. again. pls don't kill me. swearing, kissing, mentions of blood/weapons/injuries, mentions of periods, reader is a nursing student, best friends to lovers!!! <3

author’s note: *shoves it at you* another one of these fics with the same format, this time with jason :) listen to 'sweet' by cigarettes after sex while reading this btw. and let me know what you think!! drop an ask or a message, don’t be shy!💌

1. when finals are going to kill you.

Sometimes you think being a vigilante like your best friend is worth the constant risk of dying if it means you never have to open another textbook again. When you voice this to Jason, he scowls like you've just threatened to kill a kitten in front of him.

"That's not funny. Don't even joke about that," he scolds, still frowning at you from the opposite end of your kitchen island. His Red Hood suit is sprawled out in front of him as he stitches up a loose hem, compliments of the last goon he most likely beat to a pulp. You make a face at the fact that his sleeve is covering your anatomy notes, ignoring the way he leans down in attempt to catch your eye. He resorts to snapping his fingers in your face. "Hey. Hey, I'm serious."

"Jason," you sigh, setting down your pen and resting your chin on your hand as you talk to him. "I'm studying for nursing school finals in my kitchen, because I didn't want to walk the five more steps it takes to get to my bedroom after making instant ramen. Do you really need me to tell you I'm not being serious about becoming a vigilante?"

His shoulders relax very slightly, but his expression stays annoyed. "You're going to give me an entire head of grey hair before I'm even thirty."

"Well, at least we know it'll suit you," you say through a yawn as you point to the white streak running through his hair. "So, if anything, you're welcome."

He gives you another withering glare, going back to his stitching. The tiny needle in his large hand distracts you for a minute until you realise that Jason has stopped sewing and you're actually staring into nothing now. He notices your eyes that have glossed over and immediately reaches over to slam your textbook shut, startling you back to attention. It isn't until he does this that you feel the exhaustion seeping into your bones, emphasised by the knot in your neck and the cramp in your writing hand.

Jason drags your textbook away from you, along with your notes. You take a second to appreciate how careful he is not to crease the pages, knowing you'd lose your mind. "Okay, you're done for today."

"Huh?" you mumble stupidly, his words registering in your mind too late and you realise he's just hijacked your study material. "Wh- Hey! Give it back, Jay, I have-"

"Finals, I know. Last I checked, you need to be alive to take finals and I don't see that happening unless you take a nap," he says, voice a little too calm for someone who you're about to pounce on and claw at until you get your textbook back. You sluggishly clamber off your stool and step in front of Jason, who immediately raises his arm to hold your textbook out of reach.

You look up at him and attempt an intimidating glare. "Hand over the textbook, Todd."

Jason raises his eyebrows, huffing out an exasperated laugh. "Lift one of your arms to get the book and its yours."

Your finger doesn't so much as twitch, but you sway a little until you reluctantly accept that maybe he's won this one. And maybe a nap does sound pretty good right now, you think with a groan, dropping your head so it rests on Jason's chest. Your arms hang floppily at your sides. "I'll kick your ass after my nap," you mumble into his shirt.

"I'm terrified," he deadpans, and you hear the thud of the textbook on the counter before his large hands come up to grip your waist so he can walk you backwards to your couch, knowing you well enough to anticipate your grumbles if he were to attempt to take you all the way to your bedroom. You smile into his chest.

"You've met your match, Red," you say as dramatically as you can for someone who's practically the equivalent to a sack of potatoes against Jason right now. When you feel the back of your legs hit the couch, you grip onto the bottom of Jason's shirt and tug at the fabric before he can let you go. "You're my human pillow, where do you think you're going?"

Before he can answer, you nudge him onto the couch and he obediently lies down so you can nestle in next to him and plop your head back onto his warm, muscled chest. You blame your exhaustion for your shameless behaviour.

Despite the tiredness, you can't help irritating Jason just a little bit more. "Hey, Jay. What would my vigilante name be?"

"Shut up," he says without any bite, resting his chin on top of your head. You snicker into his shirt, half delirious with fatigue but awake enough to feel his face moving as he smiles when he thinks you're not looking.

"Something cool. Like Nightwing," you mutter sleepily, poking the bear.

"What? Nightwing is not as cool as-" Jason starts incredulously, but cuts himself off. "Whatever. Go to sleep."

You hum, eyelids feeling heavy and you start drifting off, the last thing you register being Jason's fingertip tracing circles on your back.

When you wake up, Jason and his suit are gone, but you have a blanket tucked around you and a box of your favourite cookies on the coffee table.

2. when, apparently, you aren't immune to the streets of gotham.

Considering you live in the most corrupt city in the world, you probably should be a little more cautious about going out at night. It's not like you don't take precautions, though. Like every woman in Gotham, you're loaded with pepper spray every time you leave the house. Unlike every woman in Gotham, you also have multiple vigilantes in your phone with whom you share your location with.

Even then, you aren't stupid enough to step into any alleyways. You wish that were enough to stay out of trouble, but as soon as you realise the streets have completely emptied while you've been distracted with your thoughts, you start panicking a little.

You're fine, you reassure yourself as you slide your phone out your pocket to pull up your recent texts. You keep your screen open just for some reassurance, gripping the sides of your phone tightly when you hear some distant footsteps.

It's only ten more minutes to the convenience store, so you're more irritated than scared when you hear the footsteps quicken behind you, catching up. Your fingers fumble to text an SOS to Jason, but you accidentally tap send on your chat with Dick instead. With slightly shaky hands, you try and send one to Jason as well, hoping it's gone through when your phone is suddenly knocked out of your hand.

"Oh, for the love of-" you hiss, when you hear the cracking noise of your screen against the pavement and you don't risk reaching down to grab it. Instead, you turn around slowly to face a dark figure, clad in a cliche, all-black outfit and stood in a threatening stance. God, you hate Gotham.

"Hand over your-"

"Wallet, money, most prized possession," you cut the man off, probably very stupidly. "I know the drill, hang on."

He falters for a moment before anger clouds his expression and he pulls out a knife before you can get your wallet out. You try not to sigh in relief. For anyone else that might sound crazy, but knives you could manage. Being best friends with Jason Todd means of course you've been made to learn self-defence. Disarming someone with knives was doable enough to learn as a nursing student. Guns, on the other hand, are out of your league.

The fact that you know how to defend yourself doesn't make the knife look any less threatening and sharp, though.

"Hey, look, I'm not gonna be difficult," you say, dropping your voice to a low murmur as though you're trying to coax a cat out of a tree. "I'll give you my money."

"Yeah. Yeah, you do that," he rushes out, sounding confused. You kind of feel bad for him. Most people confronted with a mugger would probably be a lot more scared than you're acting and it's clearly throwing him off his game. You almost regret bothering to send your SOS and as you're thinking about how you're going to apologise to Dick for wasting his time, you go to grab your wallet to try and stall before the mugger becomes violent. "Stop! Put your hands up. I'll grab it myself."

You furrow your brows, about to argue that no, he fucking won't. But you see that the man's face suddenly becomes ten times paler than before and he's looking behind you instead. Your shoulders sag with relief as you spin around to see Nightwing in all his black and blue glory.

"Is there a problem, ma'am?" he lowers his voice an octave and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. He seems to be focusing hard on acting like strangers, because anyone with eyes would see the problem very clearly in the form of a man wielding a knife.

"Please, help me," you respond, drily. Dick raises a brow at your flippant attitude, so you clear your throat, kicking it up a notch. You glance at the man behind you and try to look more terrified than you feel. "Please help me, Mr Nightwing. This guy's got a knife, and he's going to stab me with it."

The man frantically shakes his head, dropping the knife immediately and backing up. "I wasn't! I swear, man, I was just trying to scare her. Look, I'll just-"

"Hey." You hear another familiar voice boom, this time through a modulator. You sigh, lifting your head to see Jason, all the more threatening as Red Hood. His guns are already in either hand by his side and you have to respect the mugger for not passing out where he stands. If you didn't know it was Jason behind that mask, you'd be terrified to death. He tilts his head, evaluating the man. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Nowhere, I-"

"Exactly," Jason's warped voice comes out tight, and you hear the cocking of his gun, making you whip around to send a panicked look to Dick. He runs closer to you and you drop your voice to a whisper.

"I've got Hood, you take care of the guy."

"Don't do anything stupid," he says, not unkindly and the two of you snap into action.

You run back over to the mugger and step in front of him, making Jason falter in his movements and lower his gun. His chest rises and falls with deep breaths like he's exercising real control. "Move."

You stay as still as possible, arms splayed out in an attempt to cover the man behind you, despite the fact that Jason definitely possesses the skill to take him out even with you in the way.

"Put your guns away," you hiss when Dick has successfully restrained the man out of earshot and is dragging him away with ease. Jason steps towards them, but you stay in his way, using both hands against his chest to stop him. It's more of a symbolic gesture than anything, since you know you wouldn't be able to budge him an inch even if you threw yourself at him with full force. He stops anyway, looking down at you with his hands gripping his firearms tightly. "He was practically harmless. Let Nightwing deal with him. Please."

You're talking him down, trying to waste time so Dick can leave before Jason is able to do anything. You know you've succeeded when he tucks away his weapons, albeit reluctantly. Dick is too far away with the man now, anyway.

"What the hell were you doing out at this time?" he says, raising his voice instead of the usual quiet, deadly anger he reserves for the people who deserve it. It's how you know he's worried, when he doesn't try and control his temper. "And without dropping me a text first, so I could check on you? You do understand where you live, right?"

"Don't yell at me!" Your voice cracks in the middle of your sentence and you feel your lower lip tremble slightly. Jason stills. You refuse to cry, cursing your damn hormones and the fact you're a woman and the fact that you're cramping again. You aren't in the mood to talk to Red Hood right now. You want Jason. "And turn off your stupid voice thing!"

He obliges quickly, stepping closer to you. You're angry at one less thing now that his voice is back to normal. "I'm sorry for yelling. Please don't be upset with me, I was just worried-"

"You were going to kill that guy."

"Damn straight," he fires back, defensive again.

You glare at him and he has enough sense not to speak further. Shaking your head, you let out a frustrated groan. "He was a lousy mugger. That hardly deserves a bullet through the head."

"Are you forgetting that he had a knife?" he exclaims, throwing his hands up. Suddenly, as though he's remembering something, Jason folds his arms across his chest. "Why'd you call D- Nightwing for help first?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. How about next time, I'll ask the guy with the a knife if he can hold off for a second while I select the right contact number!" you grit out, hit with another wave of cramps, extremely tired of this conversation. "It was an accident, you idiot. I meant to text you first."

You can't see Jason's expression beneath his Red Hood mask and you aren't going to ask him to remove it in the middle of the streets, but you imagine he's mollified with the way his shoulders relax a bit.

Huffing, you walk away to get your phone, gingerly picking it up to inspect the newly made cracks all over. You vaguely register Jason standing over your shoulder before you shove your phone in your pocket, a problem for tomorrow. You turn around to face him and clutch at your lower stomach, breathing turning shallow.

"I was on my way to the convenience store," you explain, gritting your teeth. "I assume you're coming with me now?"

"Why did you need to go so late?" he questions, typically not letting it go. Instead of responding, you screw your eyes shut and puff out a few pained breaths. He immediately grips your shoulders and begins inspecting you. "What? Are you hurt? What happened, did he get you?"

"I have cramps, you ass," you groan, shoving his hands away. He ceases looking for an injury, and you don't need to ask him to remove his mask to know that he's relieved. "I was going to the store so late because I'm out of my sanitary products."

"Oh," Jason says gruffly, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his voice due to his excessive worry. "Well, I kept a whole box of pads and stuff from the other month in my apartment. It's closer, come on."

You sag with relief, dragging your feet to follow him as the two of you walk to his place. You're in his apartment so often that you're not surprised it's stocked up with period products as well as your usual things for when you stay the night. You feel a funny little flip that has nothing to do with cramps when you consider how he kept everything.

"Do you need me to carry you?" Jason asks, completely serious, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I know how bad the cramps can get."

"I took some meds a couple hours ago, they're not the worst yet," you explain, shaking him off and trying not to think about him offering to carry you all the way to his apartment just because you have cramps.

You reach his complex quickly and he sends you up while he enters through the fire escape from a back alley as not to expose Red Hood's living quarters. By the time you've entered through his door, Jason is already there, judging by his helmet sitting on his kitchen counter.

"Be out in a second," he calls from his bedroom and so you flop down on his couch, face down in one of the cushions as you try to think about something other than the sharp needles stabbing your lower belly. He walks out while you're writhing in pain and sets down some pads, two painkillers and a glass of water on the coffee table. "Here, take them now and go sleep in the bed. There's some snacks in my nightstand if you get hungry. Do you need me to stay home?"

You reluctantly turn over onto your back and see that he's also holding your fluffy panda hot water bottle. You might combust, there and then. Pouting, you reach out for the panda, grabbing it to hold it close to your body and sighing at the slight pain relief. "I'm okay, you can go back to patrol. Thanks for looking after me, Jaybird."

"It's nothing," he shrugs, turning away to hide the pink flush appearing on his cheeks and grabbing his helmet. He shoves it on quickly and you try not to let out an unattractive snort of laughter. He turns on his voice modulator. "Text me if you need anything."

With that, he slips out of his window, making sure to shut it tightly behind him. You stay on the couch after knocking down a couple of painkillers  and try to entertain yourself with some TV while you wait for Jason to come back.

You mournfully scroll through your phone, trying not to cut your fingers on the broken glass. The actual phone seems to be giving up on you as it takes forever to click on one thing to the next. Giving up, you toss it on the table and close your eyes. Making make a mental list in your head of things to do tomorrow, you add buying a new phone to it and prepare to say goodbye to a healthy chunk out of your bank account.

You don't remember dozing off, but your alarm startles you awake and you grab around for it on the nightstand next to you. Turning it off, you decide to brave the world outside the comfy sheets and realise you're in Jason's bed. He must have gotten back late and put you there, you think with a smile, suddenly happier than you were when first waking up. This happy attitude sours a bit when you nick ur finger on the broken glass of your phone screen trying to turn off the rest of your alarms.

Making your way out of his room and following the smell of toaster waffles, you see Jason plating up some breakfast for you. "Morning," you yawn, plopping down on a kitchen stool. "How was patrol?"

"Same old," he says, giving you the usual, non-descriptive answer. For all you know, he could have taken down an entire drug ring single-handedly and you'd be none the wiser. He sets down a plate in front of you, as well as a rectangular box. "Here."

You inspect the box, confused and wanting to focus more on the food before you process what it is and your jaw drops. "Jason Peter Todd. What the hell did you do!"

"Your phone broke," he says, gruffly, clearly trying to downplay the fact that he bought you a brand new smartphone, a later model than the one you already have. "Don't make a big deal out of it."

"Of course I'm going to make a big deal, Jay," you say, frowning. "I was going to get one myself today. Why did you waste your money on me? How much was it?"

"Don't worry about it," he says flippantly, plating up his own waffles. You should have known better than to ask. There's no way he's taking money from you.

You sigh, shoving your waffles and the phone out of the way to make your way over to him. "Jay," you say softly, grabbing his face in your hands. His eyes widen slightly and you fight the urge to smile. "I can't accept it."

"I said it was nothing," he replies, furrowing his brows and you release his face in favour of hugging him instead. "And it's not a waste if it's on you. You're taking the phone."

"It's everything," your voice comes out muffled by his hoodie. The cost of a phone really is nothing to Jason. It wouldn't have made even the slightest dent to his bank account, but that's not the point. "You need to let me take care of you for once. Oh, one more thing."

He hums in question, resting his chin on your head and wrapping his hands around you.

"If you buy anything for me again, I'm cutting a heart shaped hole in your suit."

Jason huffs out a laugh and you feel the vibration through his chest. "What about the coffee I get you after class every Friday?"

You stay silent.

He snorts, knowing he's got you. He drops a kiss on your head and grins when you look up to frown at him. "That's what I thought."

3. when this guy just won't take a hint.

Jason owes you big time. You've had the longest week of your life and yet here you are, in a floor length, dark red dress and heels, for crying out loud.

Realistically, this is the least you could do for him, showing up to a gala thrown by his father to keep him company. You're more than happy to do this as a favour to him, but that fact doesn't make the heels pinch at your toes any less.

"I haven't worn this dress since high school," you grumble, twisting it around your waist where it fits snugly. You're thankful for the fact that it falls loosely past your waist, or you'd have ripped it from your body by now. "If I eat one thing, it might actually tear."

"I'll give you my jacket when you spot the appetisers," Jason says, absentmindedly. You squeeze his bicep gently in thanks from where your arm is looped in his as he leads you into the venue. "Anyway, we'll be in and out, as always. Just making an appearance for Bruce."

"In and out," you repeat, lowering your voice as the two of you enter a more populated area. You know even though Jason moans about these events, he wouldn't be here if he really didn't want to be. He cares, even though he'd never admit it.

Groups of businessmen, celebrities, entrepreneurs; basically a bunch of rich people who are dressed in clothes that are definitely more expensive than your rent are milling about, every one of them with a drink in their hand. Their unwavering smiles and the constant trips to the bar are nothing new and you wrinkle your nose at the atmosphere of the place. "Do they even know what charity Bruce is throwing this for?"

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Bruce could be throwing this thing for homeless badgers and they'd be none the wiser," he mutters, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. Rolling his neck, he takes a deep breath. "I should go say 'hi' to him, while he's talking to a bunch of people. Prove that I actually showed up. You wanna come?" 

You almost agree, not wanting to be left alone, but just before you reluctantly trudge over to a group of Bruce's boring business associates, you thankfully spot Jason's brothers by the bar. "I'll just go hang out with Dick and Tim, is that okay? I can come with though, if you want."

"Nah, go ahead," he says, detangling his arm from yours and giving you a reassuring smile. "Come grab me when they start getting annoying."

"Be nice," you warn, gently shoving him towards the group of men as you make your way to Dick and Tim.

"Hey," Tim greets you with a smile, glancing up quickly before returning to his phone. He does a little double take, eyes snagging on your dress and his smile turns devious. "Well, you look nice. You're wearing a very... nice colour..."

"Tim," you heave a deep sigh. Dick rolls his eyes, but he can't help the corners of his lips quirking up. "You can't keep doing this every time I wear red."

"I'm not doing anything, just making an observation," he shrugs, rocking back and forth on his heels in an attempt to look casual. Tim glances around to see make sure no one is in earshot before lowering his voice. "Hey, totally unrelated, but I heard Jaybird nearly shot a guy for almost mugging you."

"Tim."

"Leave her alone," Dick intervenes before Tim can needle you further. He definitely enjoys it too, but ever the golden boy, he seemingly wants to keep the peace. "How are you doing after that, anyway?"

"Fine," you nod reassuringly. "Thank you, again for showing up, Dick. I really appreciate it."

"Don't be silly, it's-"

"I heard he got you a brand new phone, too," Tim pipes up, cutting his brother off.

"Tim," you groan, thwacking him in the arm with your clutch. He barely flinches. "For the last time, Jason and I are just friends."

Tim opens his mouth to respond, but his eyes dart behind you and he thinks better of it, choosing to just smirk like the troublemaker he is.

"That's good news." You whip around to locate the source of the voice, finding yourself looking at a guy you've never met before. He seems to be around your age, dressed smart and very rich looking. You stand there stupidly.

"For who?" you ask, chuckling nervously.

He shrugs, giving you a charming smile. "Anyone who wants to buy you a drink. May I?"

Understanding dawns on you and you glance at Dick and Tim with wide eyes, feeling a little awkward that they're here for this interaction. Dick keeps his expression carefully neutral as he considers the man, whereas Tim frowns when he meets your eyes, jerking his head as subtly as possible in Jason's direction.

This has you glaring at him and just to prove a point, you plaster on a wide smile of your own and return your attentions to the stranger. "Yes. You may."

The two of you walk closer to the end of the bar and away from the others. You pointedly don't look at them. "What was your name?" you ask the stranger, mostly for the sake of being polite.

"George." A rich guy name, you think to yourself. If Jason were here, you know he'd have a million things to say.

He asks your name and you give it to him as he orders you a drink without actually asking what you want.

"Pretty name," George remarks, handing you a glass of something you've never had before. You pretend to take a sip, smiling in thanks. "So, what's your story?"

You try not to outwardly cringe at the question, sorely regretting tonight's decisions despite the fact you've been here less than half an hour. "I'm just here to keep my friend company." You keep the story short, not bothering to explain how you know the Wayne family.

"Ah, well. I dont blame you for looking so bored. I'm just here because I have to be as well," he mutters, swirling the contents of his glass. "Business connections and such."

"Oh." You find yourself being less and less interested in this conversation. "Do you know what the fundraiser tonight is for?"

"God, no," George laughs, taking a sip of his drink. You try your hardest not to grimace, mentally checked out of the conversation already. "It's always the same shit, anyway. Forget all that. Drink up and we can get out of here."

You nearly choke on your own saliva at his sheer confidence and set down your drink. "I really shouldn't. I'm, uh, I'm okay staying here."

"Aw, come on," he leans in a little closer than you'd like and you try to look as imperceptibly as you can for Dick or Tim, but it seems they've left you to face the consequences of your own actions. Traitors. "You don't look like you're enjoying yourself. What, you don't like me-?"

"Hey." You feel Jason's presence at the same time as hearing his voice. You almost laugh at how relieved you suddenly feel and you and relax into his hold when he places both hands on your waist. Jason drops his voice to a murmur that only you can hear. "Ready to go home?"

You nod, turning to leave. About to bid a quick goodbye to George as not to be rude, you open your mouth but get stopped in your tracks.

"She's fine right here, man," George says, voice as smooth as glass. If the glass is shattered into sharp, pointy spikes that are as uncomfortable as this conversation, that is.

Jason's previously polite smile hardens as his front is now practically plastered against your back. "She can talk for herself."

"She was actually just-"

"She's right here," you interrupt, squirming out of Jason's arms to step back. He drops his hands immediately, but doesn't look at you. Instead, he assesses George through a narrow eyed gaze. You can't decide if George is being brave, or stupid for not cracking under the weight of Jason's intense glare as he stands there, all six foot two of him posing a threatening picture. "Right, well. I'm just going to-"

"Hey, hold on," George says, averting his all-too arrogant gaze back to you and gripping your upper arm, jerking you slightly. You flinch a little when he moves into your personal space. "You aren't going to give me your number?"

His grip doesn't hurt, but it's a world away from gentle and you almost gape at the fact he doesn't seem to be aware of how uninterested you are.

Jason immediately clocks this, stepping forward. "Yeah, I don't fucking think so," he says darkly and then he shoves at George. Hard.

The people nearest to you gasp and titter when they see George careening into the stools at the bar and you slap a hand over your mouth, shocked. Shocked that Jason had actually gotten violent as Jason and not as Red Hood. All over a random creep, no less.

Before George even has the chance to recover from the surprise of Jason's brute force, you pull harshly on Jason's suit jacket, steering him out of the venue and into the hall. He follows you without protest, still breathing heavily.

"What the hell was that?" you hiss, trying to keep your voice quiet, despite being alone out in the entrance hall.

"He grabbed you," Jason says slowly, as if he's confused as to why you're upset. His expression is tight, like he's being careful to control his anger even now that you're away from George. "I would have done a lot fucking worse to him if you hadn't dragged me out of there."

"You cannot go all Red Hood when you're Jason! It's suspicious as hell. Not to mention how you were practically back-hugging me like some sort of reverse bulletproof vest."

"I always do that," Jason says, calmly. The fact that he isn't raising his voice just spurs you on to raise yours higher. The multitude of emotions swirling around in a confused whirl around your stomach makes you nauseous.

"You hate being touchy in public," you say, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. "Last month, you punched Tim in the stomach for putting his arm around your shoulder. Anyway, that's not the point! You're so occupied with trying to take care of everyone that you never consider yourself. Or let anyone else do so. Yeah, that guy was an asshole. But he was just an asshole trying to talk to a single girl. He wasn't some... some crime boss or villain or evil freaking mastermind for you to take down!"

"I don't need looking after. And he didn't know you were single," Jason scoffs, running a hand through his neatly combed hair, mussing it up. If you weren't so irritated, you'd take a moment to appreciate how much you prefer it when he looks like this. Real and raw, like the current expression on his face rather than closed off and emotionless. "You came here on my arm, wearing my colour, like Tim's always fucking going on about. You... you're my..."

"Your what, Jason?" you ask, hysterically. You're almost yelling now, finally ready to snap at Jason's inability to share his thoughts with you. He stays silent, face going blank again, an indication that he's closing himself off to you. Your shoulders sag from exhaustion. "Come talk to me when you can give me an answer. I'm going home, I'll get Dick to give me a ride."

You don't wait for a response as you walk back into the venue. Thankfully, Dick is near the entrance and you don't have to subject yourself to too many stares before he takes you home. You don't glance at Jason on your way out.

4. when he asks for your help.

You're moping. You don't bother trying to deny it, but you're definitely moping around your apartment since your fight with Jason. You wake early every day and get dressed and study, but your movements are almost robotic in nature.

Dick has tried texting you a few times, but you've decided to just avoid looking at your phone, because it's the one Jason bought and it just makes you feel even worse. You aren't sure if Jason's tried contacting you, but your phone stops going off around the same time as Dick's evening patrol and you don't let yourself dwell on it further.

The two of you have never gone this long without speaking and aside from the pit of unease in your stomach as well as the sadness hanging over you like a dark cloud, you're also just bored. You have acquaintances from your nursing course, but no one close enough to do anything with this late at night.

Oh, well, you think to yourself, Chinese food and Grey's Anatomy for the second night in a row it is.

You take a quick shower, standing under the hot water for longer than necessary to let the time pass. Getting out, you change into your second pyjama set of the day, opting for a hoodie when you feel a chill in your room that wasn't there before.

You go to shut your bedroom window with a frown, not remembering why you opened it. The handle is stiff and you internally curse your landlord for still not fixing it as you finally succeed in shutting the damn thing after a particularly hard tug.

It shouldn't have taken that much energy out of you, but you're panting when you walk out of your bedroom to enter the living room so you can sit in front of the TV and order the takeout that you probably shouldn't be eating.

Before you can even attempt to regulate your breathing, you look up in the direction of your couch to find Jason sitting there in his Red Hood suit and slap a hand over your mouth to smother your shriek.

"Oh my God," you gasp, your free hand flailing out frantically to grasp the door frame in an attempt to steady yourself. The minute it takes for you to catch your breath is enough time to take in the state of the vigilante sitting in the dark of your living room.

You switch the light on and Jason winces at the sudden brightness, but you take the opportunity to give him a thorough once over. His dark hair is disheveled and falling into his eyes from hours of confinement in his helmet and he has a fresh bruise blossoming across his cheekbone.

You hardly ever use the main light, usually opting for a warm-toned lamp instead, so when the main light casts the cuts and scrapes on Jason's body in a harsher light, you want to turn it off even more.

Jason's eyes flutter shut for a second and you immediately rush forward to assess him for any injuries causing major blood loss. "Did you get stabbed?" you ask clinically, your voice void of any emotion. "Are you bleeding under your suit? You need to stay awake-"

"I'm fine," Jason mutters, opening his eyes to peer up at you through tired eyes. "I'm not bleeding or anything. Just wiped out from patrol."

You relax slightly, taking a step back to create some distance between the two of you. "Oh. You snuck through my window to tell me that you're tired?"

"Anyone could have snuck through that damn window," he says, brows furrowing in disapproval. He's been hassling you about the security of your apartment since you can remember and you usually wave him off, but in this moment you bristle.

"You don't get to be annoyed at me right now," you say, crossing your arms and glaring at him through narrowed eyes. "Why are you here, Jason?"

He grimaces at the use of his government name coming from you and takes a deep breath. "I haven't slept."

"So, go home and take a nap," you say, exasperated, letting your hands fall to your side as you're about to turn around and walk back into your room. Before you leave, you hear your Nursing teachers' voices in your head, reprimanding you and you sigh. "And you want to clean those cuts before they get infected."

"Could you do it for me?" Jason asks quietly, barely audible. His jaw clenches with the effort of asking you the question. "Please?"

You blink at him. "But, I- You've never..." you trail off, not knowing what to say. Jason has always refused to let anyone else patch him up after patrol. Hell, he's even learned how to do stitches on himself when you're the one learning how to do them for a living.

"I want... to let you look after me," he whispers, looking at you imploringly like you're going to refuse. Your irritation immediately melts into something else that you don't want to analyse any time soon.

"Oh," you exhale softly, heart twisting unwillingly. You nod slowly, words escaping you again. "Okay."

Jason's head flops back onto the couch cushion and he sighs like all of the tension is leaving his body. His hair covers his eyes, but you don't miss the dark circles under them, contrasting starkly with his skin, pale from exhaustion.

You consider letting him stay there, but you know it'll be easier in the bathroom where you keep all of your first aid supplies and the lighting is better for when you're practicing your techniques. "Come on. Up," you say, gesturing to the bathroom with a jerk of your head and you walk away, allowing him to come in his own time.

While you're digging through your bathroom cabinet for all the supplies you've haphazardly thrown in after using them, Jason slips in and you glance over at him quickly. "Sit down," you mutter, reaching up for the disinfectant. It sits on one of the higher shelves and you have to get on your tiptoes to reach it. Jason instinctively moves to help you but you shoo him away, managing to grasp it yourself. "Sit down."

"Yes, nurse," he huffs out a quiet laugh and you bite back a smile, opting to roll your eyes at him instead. Setting your supplies down behind Jason, you focus your attentions on unzipping his suit. The way his arms are resting limp in his lap tells you that he's not wanting to move anytime soon. You bring the zipper down yourself and pull off each sleeve cautiously, not wanting to rip the suit further where the torn fabric is clinging to the bloody cuts in his skin.

Once the suit is hanging loosely around his waist, you see from the black tank he's wearing that the cuts are localised to his now bare arms from where he's been defensive, whereas the fabric on his chest and abdomen are intact.

Jason's eyes track your face as you assess the extent of his injuries and when you lift your face to look at him, he's unabashed, continuing to look directly into your eyes. Your cheeks warm and you stutter out a sentence "I-I'll be right back, one sec."

You rush out of the bathroom and into your kitchen to pull open the freezer and scramble around for a bag of frozen anything. Settling on a bag of peas that you have no intention of cooking anytime soon, you hurry straight back to the bathroom.

Jason eyes the peas warily and you raise a brow, daring him to challenge you. When he stays silent, you move forward to shove the peas onto his cheek where the bruise is a darker red mark than before. He hisses when the icy bag makes contact with his face, flinching away from it.

"Ouch," he mumbles belatedly, giving you a sheepish smile when your mouth sets in a line. You should probably be gentler with him considering it's the first time he's allowing someone to physically care for him and it's you he's choosing to cross that boundary with. It's not like you want to scare him off so he never asks you again, but you can't help still being annoyed with him after your fight.

You sigh, trying to relax your face into a non-threatening expression. "Sorry. Keep it on your face to stop the swelling."

Jason grasps the bag slowly as you let go, letting his fingers brush over your own. You clear your throat and focus your attentions on the cotton pads, dousing them with disinfectant. Jason looks at you through one open eye, the other obscured by the bag of peas. "You shouldn't be the one apologising," he says, after a beat.

You purse your lips, bringing a cotton pad up to Jason's shoulder. "I know," you say simply before you press the disinfectant into one of the larger cuts, harder than probably necessary. Jason screws his eyes shut and works his jaw, but stays quiet. "Did that hurt?"

Jason shakes his head immediately, letting out a short breath he was holding. "Nope. Felt good actually. Kinda like a cooling effe- Shit," he hisses, tensing his arm. You think that's enough torture for now, instead continuing to gently wipe away the blood and dirt.

"I won't apologise about that one," you say, shrugging. Jason cracks a smile and you find yourself hiding one of your own as you clean off the other, smaller cuts and scrapes that don't need bandaging. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Promise I'll be nicer about it this time."

Jason shakes his head again, so you dispose of the cotton pads and get the band-aids, the only noise in the bathroom being the sound of you rummaging through your supplies. When you spot the choice of band-aids, you grin. "Pick one."

Surveying the two that you hold in your hand, Jason's gaze lingers on the dinosaur patterned band-aid, before flicking his eyes up to yours and raising an eyebrow. He points to the other one. "I'll take the Hello Kitty."

Your grin widens, knowing he's only choosing the pink Hello Kitty band-aid to appease you. You're certainly not going to challenge him about it as you carefully peel off the backing to stick it over his shoulder. Stepping back, you tilt your head to evaluate him and nod. "You look very pretty."

Jason smirks, but the slight blush creeping across the cheek that isn't covered by the frozen peas doesn't fool you. "Pretty enough for you to forgive me for being such an ass?"

"That depends." You take a tentative step towards him, crossing your arms. "Are you going to stop being stupid?"

Jason lowers his arm holding the bag of peas and places it behind him. With both hands, he reaches over to your arms, uncrossing them to bring you forward until you're standing close. He's so impossibly tall in your tiny bathroom that even standing up, you're only eye level with him as he sits on the closed toilet seat.

"I can't promise that I'll never be stupid in front of you again. You kind of have that effect on me," he says, sighing like it's some curse inflicted on him. You thwack his rock-solid arm and he grins. "I can promise I'll let you take care of me from now on, though. And that I'm going to stop lying to you."

"What?" you ask, eyebrows furrowing. You're even more confused when Jason places his hands around your waist to guide you onto his lap, both your legs hanging off one side of him. You raise both eyebrows expectantly, waiting for his answer, but he merely stares at you, smiling. "Jason. When have you lied to- mmph-"

He cuts you off by pressing your lips together in a kiss, one hand still holding yours, intertwining your fingers while the other tilts your chin up so he can kiss you deeper. You're a little slow on the uptake, frozen from shock for a second, but it isn't long until you're kissing him back just as eagerly. You shift in his lap, lifting one of your legs to swing over to his other side until you're straddling him and Jason takes a sharp inhale, sitting up straighter and pulling your body closer to his.

He pulls away for a millisecond, before his lips reattach to your jaw, travelling down to pepper soft kisses down your neck and you let out a noise halfway between a sigh and an embarrassing whimper. Jason groans at the sound, nipping at your neck and you feel like you can't breathe enough air.

He pulls away again to catch his own breath and you take the opportunity to come to your senses and lean back, gently pushing at Jason's chest. You breathe hard, trying to lift your gaze from Jason's swollen lips and he seems to be having a hard time looking away from your own.

"Jason," you say, voice shaky and uneven.

"Mhm?" he hums distractedly, pressing a soft kiss on your jaw before looking at you again.

"You kissed me," you point out, stupidly. "You really, really kissed me."

"I did," Jason murmurs, both hands cupping your face. He swallows, expression going from dazed to nervous before he speaks. "You asked me what you are to me before you left the other night."

You nod slowly, head still reeling from the kiss. Truthfully, you were willing to pretend the conversation never happened if you could go back to being friends again. You missed Jason. 

"You're everything to me." Jason's shoulders are relaxed, his face free of tension as he says this. You're so shocked by the fact that he doesn't seem to be in pain as he opens himself up to you, that it takes a minute to process the actual meaning of his words. Your lips part but he shakes his head, continuing to speak. "You're everything. And sometimes I can't even think about that too much, let alone speak it, because I'm scared it'll consume me. I'm scared you'll consume me. The idea of compromising your safety, the idea of you loving me back, all of it. I'm... I was scared."

You lift your hand to place it over Jason's, still resting on your cheek. "That's okay. I can think and speak enough for the both of us," you tease and Jason laughs quietly, his breath tickling the inside of your wrist and sending a shiver down your spine. "You're everything to me as well, by the way. And sometimes all I can think about is loving you. I was just waiting for you to say it first."

Jason smiles and you think the corners of his lips lifting up and his eyes lighting up is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, each time blowing you away like it's the first time you've witnessed it. "Does that mean I lose? Kinda feels like I've won," he tilts his head, pretending to think about it.

"Oh, you've so lost," you furrow your brows in a mockingly serious frown. "And I'll be telling Tim as much."

Jason stills. "Please do not tell me that he bet you fifty dollars I'd confess first as well."

Your jaw drops. "That little bastard was playing both of us?"

You start laughing when Jason lets out an irritated groan, dropping his head onto your shoulder to bury his face in your shirt. You thread your hands in his hair and wrap an arm around his neck. He sighs, half content and half resigned. "I say we don't tell him for as long as we can get away with it. Live in peace for a while."

"We're talking about Tim here," you remind Jason, leaning back to lift his head and look at him. "I wouldn't be surprised if he already knew. And he'd literally never talk to you again if he knew we were hiding it after he finds out."

"I don't care," Jason says, lifting your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles. He leans back to run his eyes over your face, drinking you in like looking at you is a rare occurrence that he doesn't get the opportunity to do much. "You're all I need, anyway."

© angelfic 2024.

[eddiernunson]

Pathetic | Virgin!Eddie Munson x f!Reader | 18+

Summary: Eddie surprisingly asks you out, despite being in separate social circles. When he doesn't make a move on any dates, you ask and discover the fun of making him whimper

Warnings: sub!Eddie, (slight) dom!reader, edging, multiple orgasms (m), no protection, virgin!eddie, sloppy ending, and just making Eddie whine

Barely edited.

Inspired by a conversation with @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you when we talked about this exact thing.

Word Count: 2.3k

To say it surprised you when Eddie Munson asked you out would be an understatement. You found him decent looking enough, eyes following his slim hips or limber fingers when you had the chance. Since you’re in completely different social circles, tables on the opposite ends of the cafeteria, you never interact.

However, one Friday afternoon he approached you, a shy smile on his face as he asks you to a Drive In, you accepted sincerely.

When you’re in his passenger seat, you find yourself surprised by how his hands don’t even attempt to make their way under your tiny skirt, a feat you’ve faced from every other date you’ve had since reaching high school. It was stupidly refreshing. In fact, so refreshing, by the end of the date as he continues licking the butter of the popcorn your thighs end up tensing up, now wishing he had fingered you in the fucking Drive In.

When he dropped you off at home, he gives a gentle kiss on your cheek, promising to call you the next day. Your fingernails leave moon imprints on the palm on your hand, officially fucking sexually frustrated because of Eddie fucking Munson.

He takes you on a few more dates as the time goes on, still never making a move. Not the restaurant, bowling alley, or the arcade. You got a long well with him, his humour and yours mixing well as you get to know him, but if you didn’t get his cock down your throat soon, you were gonna lose it.

Now you sit on his couch, absentmindedly watching reruns of Bewitched as he practices on his guitar. His nimble and fast fingers distract you, zoning in on them as you watch them, not even noticing that the reruns have ended and the tv is now playing The Mary Tyler Moore Show.

You clear your throat, getting his attention. He looks up, his expression taken aback as his eyes peer up at you with his mouth half open. “Hmm?” He asks, licking his fingers for a slight relief.

God, he’s a tease. “Please just kiss me already.”

His eyes noticeably widen, his mouth partially opening. “Huh?”

You shuffle up to him in the corner of the couch and lift his guitar from him, gently placing it on the coffee table. “Kiss me.”

His mouth shifts into a boyish smile, licking his lips as he glances to your lips, just a little bit. You sit right next to him. You sit on your own leg, grabbing at his face as you finally, finally place your lips on his luscious pink ones. It’s gentle, far gentler than you’re craving from him, been craving. Your mouth opens slightly, leading the way as you swallow a muffled whine from him. Your tongue collides with his, hungrily starting to crawl closer to him. “C-can we please go to your room?” You ask, knowing the couch won’t be enough.

His eyes take a minute to open, glazing over as they switch between yours, his cheeks flushed. In hindsight, you’re not sure how you didn’t see initial signs.

Eddie holds your hand as he leads you to his room at the end of the hall, biting his lips nervously. You lie on his bed, tugging him by the jean vest on top of you, hungrily kissing him. Throughout the kissing, there’s numerous muffled moans you swallow, your hands holding his back as his stay stationed on your hips, fingers unsteady and tense.

“Um…I-I need to tell you something.” Eddie mumbles, his voice low and husky.

“Hmm?” You ask, peering into his now darkened brown eyes.

He looks down between the two of you, an audible gulp leaving his throat. “I’m…I’m a virgin.”

Your eyebrows raise by reflex, suddenly several things making sense. “And…that’s why you haven’t made a move?” You ask, assessing his nervousness.

He nods, entirely vulnerable and the complete opposite of the front he puts up at school.

“That’s okay,” you nod, attempting to calm him down with your soft tone. “We just have a lot of time to make up for.” You don’t give him a chance to register this comment, leaning up for another desperate kiss. “Will you let me suck your cock?” You ask, noting the slight pressure now at your thigh.

It’s visible as he short circuits, his eyes darting as he takes it in. “A-are you sure?”

You swing your weight so you’re now on top, giggling as he gives you this look of pure astonishment. “Mmhmm!”

You quickly crawl down to face the bulge in his pants, drooling gathering in your mouth at the sheer size of him. Your hand reaches out to palm him, his startled and guttural moan satisfying you the shit out of you. Oh, you’re going to have a lot of fun. Your hands move to undo the button on his black jeans with ease, eagerly pulling down his pants has his cock pops out.

“Holy shit, you’re huge.” You mumble, taking in his size. “Ed. Look at me.” You wait patiently as his eyes open to face yours, placing your tongue tentatively on the pink weepy head, a whine escaping his throat as it makes contact. Your hand wraps around the base, licking tentatively at his head, feeling as his cock twitches in your hand. “Cock is so fucking needy, huh?” You ask, just teasing him.

Eddie nods enthusiastically, mouth open and eyes half closed. God, he looked desperate in the best of ways.

Slowly, you wrap your lips around the head, sucking tentatively as you start to stroke the length of him, veins pulsing. His stomach is already starting to tense, a sign that he was close. “You close, baby?” You ask, stroking his cock slowly.

“Uh huh.” Eddie whines, his legs starting to move under you restlessly.

You hum, starting to take a much larger amount into your mouth, bobbing your head quickly. Within seconds Eddie’s tip is shooting cum down your throat, the delicious salty taste making you hum around him.

“Fuck!” Eddie swears, left leg tensing under you. “Fuck, that was fast, I’m so sorry.”

“Aww, it’s okay.” You tell him, still stroking him sleepily. “If your pretty cock hasn’t been touched before, I understand. Think you can cum again?”

Eddie lets out a laugh in disbelief. “Um…”

“Wanna see if I can make you cum again...” You take his length further into the heat of your mouth than before, bobbing your head up and sucking with more enthusiasm.

Under you, he whines more desperately, his torso hiking up in intervals, hands intertwined in his hair as everything you give him sends him dumb.

As your hand moves under to roll his heavy balls, Eddie gasps loudly as he cums again within minutes, sucking him until every drop is shot into your throat again. “Ah, shit.” You lazily stroke him, eyes half open as you watch him get his bearings again. “Fuck, cock hurts, baby.”

“Oh, does it?” You ask, your tone of voice slightly condescending. “I think I’m gonna blow you until you cum two or three more times and then I’m gonna ride the shit out of you.” Your voice is casual as you explain it to him, but your pussy throbs at the prospect of making him whine pathetically even more.

His tip was darkening in shades of red from the sensitivity, gasping as you kiss at the tip. “Ed. Say a random word.”

“Huh?”

“Top of your head.”

Eddie takes advantage of the break you’re giving him, racking his thoughtless brain for a word without question. “Uh, duck.”

“Okay. If you really can’t handle another orgasm, you say that word as a last resort and I will stop, okay?” Eddie nods, his eyes squeezed shut. “Hey, look at me.” Eddie lifts his head up to you, eyes heavy as he nods again. “Okay, now I wanna hear some more of those pathetic little whines of yours.”

His cock twitches in your hand at that, a nonverbal cue that he was enjoying the shit out of this. You lick a long stripe up his cock, the gasp out of your mouth as you do is nearly feral as you do. As your thumb presses on his slit as you go back down to the base, starting to mouth at the skin of his balls. His whole-body tenses up, gasping as you suck at the flesh, soaking him with your spit. You move down, hand still stroking him as you attack the perinium, licking and sucking gently. As your head moves back up to the tip, he’s continuing to twitch. You wrap your lips around the head alone, flicking your tongue it up and down against it, his whine pure music to your ears.

This does it for the third time, the salty taste getting better and better.

Eddie is restless under you, mouth moving like he wants to say words but nothing coming out. “Look at you, so fucking pathetic. I haven’t even choked on your big cock, yet.”

“Pl-please” He chokes out, his voice breathy as he begs for you.

“Please, what, hmm?” You ask scattering wet kisses along the pulsing veins in his cock.

“P-please choke on it?” He asks, licking his lips desperately.

“Oh, baby is so desperate for it, hmm?” He nods shakily, his breathing short and jagged.

You immediately take him into the back of your throat, gagging on his cock with the most sinful sounds, Eddie’s hips pushing up to put more in your mouth, whining as he does. Your hand reaches out for his, placing it on the crown of your head. His hand pushes it on you, forcing his cock down your throat and starting to fuck it. Your eyes burn, a tear dressed in mascara falling slowly down your cheek and onto his thigh. As he finally fucks one last time in your mouth, shooting down your throat, he gasps, starting to feel much more sensitive as he cums a fourth time.

Finally, you as you lift your head he sees the trail of mascara down your cheeks, seeing the concern flash in his eyes. “You, you okay?”

You giggle, wiping the salt away from your flushed cheek. “Oh, that’s just part of the job.” You kiss his twitching tip, tongue lapping at it softly. “Trust me, that’s a good blow job when I’m crying.” His dick twitches, turned on by it. You ignore it, knowing you have plenty of time for him to fuck your throat on your knees. You had one last goal, wanting his hips to twitch.

“Gonna make you cum one more time, baby.” You say, licking thoroughly up and down the length. It’s a bit tamer this time, just jerking him off and playing with the sensitive tip as you maintain the eye contact. As he got close, his hips start to lift at their own accord, the moans on a whole new level. “Look at your hips twitching, baby. Wanna cum all over my face?”

“Please” He begs.

An impulsive thought takes over, stopping the action right as his tummy starts tense up.

Eddie’s eyebrows meet in the middle as he lets out a echo of disappointment. “Baby.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.” You apologize, stroking him quickly again. “Wanted to see that pathetic little face one more time.” You focus on him, getting him over the edge one last time as his hips twitch uncontrollably from the edge, gasping in little moans. As his sticky cum shoots, much less than the first time you open your mouth, wanting to accept his cum with your mouth open and smiling as the cum dresses your face.

You hum, grabbing the edge of your shirt to wipe it off, not caring much for this graphic tee, anyway. As you crawl up to him, you grin madly, taking in the way he’s eyes are glossed over. “You good?”

He nods lazily, breathing heavily. “What the fuck was that?”

You shrug, leaning in for a sweet kiss. “You need some water?”

“No, I want you to ride me.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah I’m fucking sure. Ride me, please.”

“Okay!”

After taking off your panties and skirt, you lift your leg to straddle him, making eye contact as you move his cock to your entrance. “You gonna wear your shirt?”

“You’re still wearing your shirt.” You point out, and Eddie laughs, his palm hitting his face sheepishly.

“Right. Whatever.”

Finally, you sink down on his cock, your pussy begging you for attention as you sucked him off. “Eddie.” You gasp out, his length filling you up deliciously. “Oh my god.”

“Now whos’ pathetic?” He asks, his voice quite cocky for someone who just came five times in what…ten minutes?

“Your cock is fucking good, Ed. Can you fucking blame me?” You tell him, deciding to ignore his unearned cockiness…for now.

“Fuck, this pussy is so tight.” Your hips start to roll, the pleasure all encompassing as he reaches the deepest depths of you.  “Roll those hips, oh my god.”

Okay. You have to point it out. “You’re surprisingly cocky for someone that just came so many times.”

“Wait until I fucking eat you out, babe.”

Your eyes roll in the back of your head, starting to bounce on him as you chase the orgasm that you’ve been denying yourself, listening to Eddie moan and babble even more.

“Gonna cum, Ed.” You warn him, sneaking up on you with how wet and horny you were.

“Me too.” He hums, a stupid silly smile on his face.

When you cum together, sweaty and sunny, you rest on his chest, petting his chest gently as you bask in the afterglow.

Effectively, you have solved your problem as Eddie sneaks his hand under your skirt the next time you’re sitting at the drive in.

-

Thank you so much for reading! I love to read your comments, replies, and reblogs. As always, reblogging is the best way to support your fic writers on tumblr.

Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420

[cheonstapes]

HAPPY 1K THOUGH LET GO AHHHHHHH IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU

But request time gurl!😘😌✊, so what about a nerd!Miguel\dom x nerdygirl!reader LIKE IMAGINE THE FLUFF AND THE SMUT THERE BOTH BE A BLUSH MESS but I feel like Miguel would take the lead and show he dom when doing it like dont blame me! 😭✊ like he still nerdy Miguel we all know the sweet boy but let make the nerd that friend s with the popular group and have a girlfriend who is nerdy!reader and which is a very shy person then Miguel is.

Pls my life depends on this request gurl and I hope your having a great day though BYE STILL SO HAPPY FOR YOU EACHING 1k following

-🐈

miguel o’hara stars in… ‘OUR FIRST TIME’ (ﾟωﾟ)

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.miguel o’hara x reader.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

SMUT

you and your nerdy boyfie, miguel, have your first time together 🩷

cw; loss of virginity, creampie!!!!!, iloveyous, it’s actually really cute, womb fucking ig, softdom!nerd!miguel, NAWT PROODREAD!!!

2k+ words

@cheonstapes: thank you sm lovelie🩷🩷 apologies it took so long but this was so fun to write and i love your mind. i hope you enjoy beautiful! also tumblr keeps fucking up my italics and bolds so im gonna add them on later!

you and miguel had to have been the most stereotypical couple at the university.

who would’ve guessed the two biggest nerds on campus would’ve gotten together — especially when it was because of your shared interest in genetics. but to miguel’s friends, it was so sweet — a little cringe, but sweet. seeing that it had already been a year since you two started dating, the two of you not being able to hold a conversation without stuttering and blushed profusely was quite concerning.

every time you looked him in the eyes, your heart would suddenly beat a million times faster — face flushing, hands trembling as you try to come off as calm as possible. it was so embarrassing, you could cry just thinking about it. he had such pretty eyes hidden behind those thin frames, didn’t make it better that he would stare into your soul every time you talked.

but miguel wasn’t any better — in fact, he was worse. his whole friendship group being the talk of the college helped miguel to open up more, the persistent attention meaning he had to adapt to being surrounded by people. the incessant staring? that’s him trying to make himself less nervous by making you more nervous so you would stop looking at him so he could admire you without you realising — long, i know. but he loved how sweet you were, the way you were so deeply in love with him — just like he was with you.

walking out of your biology lecture, he speeds up walking to catch you on the othwr side of the room — gently slipping his hands into yours. you tense, looking up at his handsome face before relaxing — “ah, m-miggy!” he smiles so softly, wrapping his beefy arm around your waist. “hey, pretty — you finished for today?” his fingers squeeze the fat of your hips, pulling you into his chest as he leans against a nearby wall.

he always knew how to make you so fucking nervous, staring down at you like you were the centre of his world — which you in fact were. “yeah! i was just gonna go back to my dorm and study. would…well, it’s ok if you’re busy — but do you, maybe, wanna…” god, why is it so hard to ask your boyfriend to hangout! he knew what you wanted to ask, he just wanted to hear you say it. “do i wanna what, hm? i mean — i don’t have any plans later either, i was thinking of going to pete-“

“no!” a brief flicker of slight panic takes over your face, you refuse to be that much of a mess to the point where you can even ask your own boyfriend out. “i mean, would you like to come my dorm tonight? t-to study, obviously.” amazing job, girlfriend, amazing job. once again, he wore that stupidly handsome smirk — fingers kneading the soft flesh of your waist. “study? of course, babe — why didn’t you just ask?” prick.

miguel always said he found it easier to study when you were right next to him — as in, resting in between his legs as your head lay on his chest. “did you get the answer to number 8? i think i missed that lesson…” you tilt your head, looking up at him. you looked so cute with your little glasses as you studied, a small pout on your lips as you tap on his leg for him to help you out.

he was thinking a lot of things right now, and none of them were the answer for number 8. before he met you, miguel was always deep in his studies — head buried in a textbook every night. but now you’re his, he can’t think about anything else. the outline of your chest against your tight shirt, pert nipples straining against the fabric since you insist you feel better without a bra — he wasn’t a perv, but damn if you were making him feel like one.

“u-uh…i think — uhhhh…” he was really fucked. your cute little giggle and the way you shimmied around to sit on your knees, hands clutching his cheeks. “migs, you’re burning up! you ok?” he was no ok, not by a long shot. despite having so much attention on him simply because of the people he’s friends with, miguel was still very much a virgin. yeah, he’s jerked off before — but that was only after he met you. your entrance into his life awakened a part of his brain that he thought was forever stored away — and he did not know how to deal with it.

sex was something the two of you were yet to talk about, 2 years into the relationship and it was like you were kids about to have their first kiss. there were lingering touches here and there, but oh how badly he wants to feel your sweet pussy around him. “can… i touch you?” he could barely register the words that came out of his mouth before he takes in the way your face changes completely. the heat radiating from your cheeks could melt the arctic, that was the one thing you weren’t expecting to hear. at all.

of course, you were a virgin too — all in all saving yourself for miguel for when the time comes. you just didn’t expect it to be so soon. he looked so depraved already, panting softly — hair tousled from when he was laying down, you want him so, so bad. “u-uh, yeah — go ahead!” you didn’t mean to sound so enthusiastic, but miguel didn’t care — a hand immediately trailing up your plush thighs, toying with the edge of your panties under your skirt. “you’re…you’re so pretty.” he could feel his hands shaking, heart pounding in his chest — the warmth of your skin and the small moans leaving your lips were fucking with his head.

the tender skin was so sensitive, causing your thighs to tremble under his touch. he didn’t expect you to be so sensitive. fuck, did he want to tease you for it, but he couldn’t talk — not when he was already about to bust when you haven’t even touched him yet. “mmm — m-miggy.. please..touch me.” you could tell he wanted to, he just didn’t know where to start. his fingers ran up your inner thigh, teasingly running over the small wet patch on your cute panties.

he felt like a newborn learning how to walk again, the rugged rhythm in which he was working your little clit showed how inexperienced he is — but you didn’t care, especially not when you yourself couldn’t even notice his lack of technique. he fully pulled your panties down your legs, throwing them to the side — there was a sharp in take of breath from him as he stared at your bare cunt, his bulge pressing harder aganst the mattress.

“g-god, baby, can… can i taste you, please?” miguel couldn’t believe how desperate he sounded, he had dreamed about eating your pretty, little pussy out for ever now, the thought of you denying him that now would break him. “y-yeah, fuck. please, miggy.” his tongue immediately latched onto your clit, swirling and sucking it into his mouth as his fingers probed your tight hole.

he knew you would need some extra prep to be prepared for taking him, so he made sure to make you feel as good as possible — he wasn’t about to let your first time be your worst. the fat of your thighs were tight around his head, holding him in place as he steadily fucked you with his tongue. for someone who was a virgin only 20 minutes ago, he sure knew how to work that tongue — your breathy moans breaking through the sloppy squelching noises of your wetness.

“migs…i — mmph!” the sensation was unknown but not unwelcome. a firm pressure in your tummy that felt like a dam about to burst all over your boyfriend’s face. miguel’s watched enough porn to know what that sound meant, reluctantly sitting up from his position between your legs to peer down at you — drooling cock bobbing between his thighs. he licked your arousal from his lips, shakily grabbing onto your legs to push them over his shoulders.

“baby, ‘m not letting you cum until you’ve had my cock in you — ‘s not how it works.” he felt like he was going insane, the sight of your pussy, so tantalisingly close to his length — the chubby tip poking against your entrance. you could only nod, you couldn’t argue with that — not when you’ve been waiting for this moment. upon getting your approval, he wrapped a beefy hand around his cock — smearing his pre-cum along your puffy folds.

he was so slow when he pushed into you, the sheer girth of him stretching your poor pussy thin. “fuckin’ hell, baby— s-so, so tight.” his strong hips pounded against your pelvis, your skin tinging a faint shade of red. your body was jostled against the headboard with every thrust, a thick rim of cream forming at his base. miguel was lost in the feeling of your cunt, drooling mindlessly against your neck as he rammed deep inside of you.

“m-miguel…!” the harder he fucked into you, the shakier your voice was — whiny moans and heavy grunts reverberated through your small dorm room. he couldn’t believe how good fucking you felt, your velvety walls gripping onto him like a life line. miguel was completely delirious, only letting incoherent mumbles — a bruising grip on your waist as he brings you back against his cock.

“ohhh, f-fuck…! iloveyou, so — shit, so much!” your pussy was so good, he didn’t even realised it slipped out — i love you. he really did, and in this moment — there was nothing else but the two of you, connecting so beautifully as you give yourselves to each other fully. he messily sucks on the skin just below your ear, simply grinding into your womb as his hand trails down your back — squeezing the flesh of your ass to pull you flush against him.

“i…i love you too, migs.”

you..you love him too? fuck. his hips stilled, gooey cum filling your cunt raw as he pours all of his love into you. miguel’s back heaved, his arms giving out under him as he falls on top of you — wrapping an arm around your waist as he carefully rubs your clit. his heart was soaring, smiling down at you as he fucked himself into overstimulation — determined to see you cum all over his cock.

“my pretty girl, you’re all mine — wanna see you cum. you gonna cum for me, yeah?” god, his voice was husky and deep — tickling your ear and sending tingles down your spine. your legs trembled, cunt spasming as it gushed out that clear liquid. it coated the sheets below you, splashing against his stomach — a low, gravelly moan leaving miguel as he filled you with his cum once again.

the two of you laid in silence for a beat, panting softly as he rested on your chest. one of your hands moved up to cup his face, picking up his glasses from your bedside stand — placing them on his face, albeit with wonkily but it matched that dopey grin on his face. “i swear to god, i’ve turned you into an animal, migs! you sure that was your first time?” giggling, you kissed his lips softly — nimble fingers brushing through his sweaty hair.

“guess i got a bit carried away, huh?” he sighed, softly rubbing your tummy. “‘s not my fault i’ve got the most beautiful, sexiest, most loving, caring, perfect, goddess of a girlfriend anyone could wish for.”

miguel was embarrassingly in love with you, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

-smack myass like a drum

[waldau]

IF IM NOT TOO LATE #3 PLUS F2L DOKEY OR SEUNGKWAN 💅🏻💅🏻💅🏻💅🏻💅🏻💅🏻💅🏻💅🏻

@bookyeom 🫶🏻🫶🏻

“A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.” + dokyeom + fwb2l

six minutes doesn't count as late hehe. thank you for requesting!

dokyeom doesn’t have to, but he stays back and helps you put away the mess of pizza boxes and empty plates.

“you can go home like a normal person, you know,” you say, looking at the man who’s managed to find your vacuum cleaner from your storage and get it working, meticulously cleaning the carpet. “you don’t have to waste your time here.”

they’re the wrong words, and you know it. he looks up at you with something like hurt in his eyes, and you feel like you’ve wounded a puppy. now that thought hurts you, so you turn away from him and focus on clearing the glasses instead.

“it’s not a waste if i like spending time with you,” dokyeom says quietly, over the hum of the vacuum cleaner. he’s decibels lower than he usually is, and you have to strain to hear him. you want to apologize, tell him you didn’t mean that, even if those were the words you used, but he focuses on his task at hand and you find you have nothing to say to him.

“done,” he says, turning off the power. “can i take those plates for you?” he asks, pointing to the stacked pile on the coffee table.

“you don’t have to—”

“i want to,” he insists, and picks them up, gently brushing past you on his way to the kitchen. the feeling of his bare arms is enough to send a tingle through your body.

he’s been doing this a lot, recently. going out of his way to do things for you, things that wouldn’t be deemed normal for someone who’s just supposed to be your friend with benefits. first it was the breakfast he’d bought for you while you were still asleep. then it was the jacket on your shoulders when he dropped you back home, worried it was cold. compliments on how you looked.

tonight it’s the fact that he showed up to your birthday party and spent all his time by your side, making no attempt to correct your friends’ assumptions that he was your boyfriend.

you could tell yourself he might have wanted to spare you the embarrassment of revealing the dynamic the two of you share to your friends, but you know better.

you know dokyeom has feelings for you, even if he hasn’t said it outright, and you’ve been pushing him away every single time he brings it up. like right now.

“hey. you okay?” he asks, snapping you out of your daze. you didn’t even notice him standing in front of you till he spoke.

“yeah, fine. just…” there’s no way to ask him that, is there? him flirting with you is one thing, but you can’t just ask him if he loves you. “can i ask you something?”

“sure?”

you clear your throat. “kiss me.”

his eyes widen, and before you can back out and stammer an apology about it being late and your mind not being in the right place, he takes two steps to stand in front of you. he grabs your face in his stupidly large hands so damn gently that you bite your lip to stop any tears from welling up.

gentle dokyeom. he’s always been honest with you no matter what. when you first began your…relationship, he was the one concerned that it’d lead to a fallout one day. when he was sure both of you liked what you had, he’d never shied away from showing you his true feelings. and he’s not shying away now, holding your face as though it contains the answer to everything.

“do you…really want me to?”

“please,” you whisper, afraid you’re going to do it yourself with zero grace if he stalls for another moment.

he tilts your head up to face him just right, and this kiss is so different from the ones you’ve shared in the comfort of each other’s bedrooms. it’s soft, cautious, but loving all the same, and you realize you were an idiot to have denied yourself this all along.

“stay with me?” you ask, slightly breathless when you look at how starstruck dokyeom’s looking. “not for sex. we could just, you know…”

“sleep together. i know,” he says, grinning the grin that made you fall for him all those months ago. “i’ll do that. happy birthday, again.”

[thejakeslayla]

can u enhypen reaciton to y/n has sectoral heterochromia (youcan search on google)

i have that im j little bit insecure about that

╰─▸❝ enhypen reaction to reader having sectoral heterochromia❞

pairing: enhypen x gn! reader ୨୧ genre: fluff ୨୧ warnings: reader being insecure ❝ in sectoral heterochromia, part of one iris is a different color from its remainder, and in central heterochromia, spikes of different colors radiate from the pupil. ❞

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ yang jungwon 양정원 ✩

jungwon, just like the rest of the members, would absolutely adore the smallest little details about you.

at first, he didn't notice you having two different eye colours, but after holding eye contact with you while being close enough, he was so surprised that he instantly grabbed your cheeks and went

"oh my god! y/n!"

you stare at him, confused, but then you realise that it was probably his reaction to your heterochromia.

after that, jungwon adores you even more; every day he tells you how unique and beautiful you are.

one day, when he sees that you can be insecure about it, he comes up to you and stands in the door frame of your bathroom, just looking at you.

"my love, what's wrong?" he asks you in the sweetest and most gentle voice, with a big pout on his face.

after you explain how you're feeling about your eyes, he's devastated.

"but y/n, it’s so unique. you, you’re so unique." he says, still having the biggest pout. he would just feel sad that you're insecure about the thing he likes the most about you.

he covers you in kisses after he finally drags you to bed, his lips mostly smooching the skin right next to your eyes.

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ lee heeseung 이희승 ✩

heeseung is kind of goofy about it; your contact name in his phone ends with two different hearts in the colour of your eyes.

he always brags about it to everyone; it's like he's so proud to have a lover that unique.

"guys, did you know that y/n has two different eye colours?" he's so excited about it for no reason.

it feels somehow normal for him. he just doesn't understand how you can be insecure about it. after you tell him that, he honestly just looks confused. asking "why?" each time you try to explain.

he wishes for you to love and adore it as much as he does.

heeseung is known for intense eye contact, but with you, he's somehow shy. he loves looking into your eyes, but after a minute or two, he just looks away, flustered.

his sudden change in his favourite colour??

someone asks him, and he straight up, without a second of thought, goes:

"y/n's eye colour."

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ park jongseong 박종성 ✩

honestly, jay is so stupidly cute about

everyday he texts you a fun fact he found about heterochromia

he's also the one to explain to the rest of the members IN DETAIL about it; if you asked him about the hex code of the colour of your eyes, i wouldn't be surprised if he actually knew that.

after seeing you looking all sad while standing in front of the mirror, he comes up to you, hands wrapping around your waist, as he places his chin on your shoulder.

he whispers to you sweet nothings, but they touch your heart. he knows exactly which compliments you like, so he uses them.

he tells you every day that you're beautiful, but now that you're standing so close to him while you both look in the mirror at your reflection, it somehow feels intimate.

sometimes you would just sit doing nothing and you hear jay sighing. after you ask him what's wrong, he just goes:

"nothing, i just can't believe your beauty."

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ jake sim 제이크 심 ✩

actually the biggest simp for you that you've ever seen

he sends you pictures of cats or puppies with heterochromia and adds

"look y/n, it's you"

you sometimes find him staring at you with these big eyes, full of love

he's just like jay; during the day, he randomly just mentions how beautiful you're

the pet names he calls you??

its always something mentioning your beauty

"my beautiful princess", "my pretty", "my gorgeous"

sometimes he just grabs you by your cheeks, looking almost flabbergasted with his mouth open and a fond expression, his eyes scanning yours, and then he just goes

"woah.."

leaving you absolutely shy.

he never really understands why you’re insecure when you’re literally the most beautiful person in his world

about texting, he would always start the conversation with

"how is the most beautiful person alive doing?"

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ park sunghoon 박성훈 ✩

he's so shy about it; he's never heard of sectoral heterochromia, and you're the first person he's ever met with it

he would stare at you as if you were the most beautiful art piece he had seen in his whole life

his eyes are constantly on you, and after you notice him staring, he acts like he never did such a thing

"huh? no? what do you mean? i wasn't staring, y/n. you're delusional."

but after hearing you talk about how insecure you can get about your eyes, his behaviour changes 180 degrees

suddenly he's more bold, complimenting you every five seconds, making sure that you know how beautiful for him you're

just like jake, he would send you pictures of cats and puppies and add to them:

"look, it's you!"

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ kim sunoo 김선우 ✩

he LOVES taking pictures of you, always saying stuff like

"y/n! open your eyes more; I can't see the colour!"

he's sulking and whining whenever you mention that you're not so confident, having heterochromia

"but why? i think it's really pretty"

he pouts just like jungwon, grabbing your cheeks and looking into your eyes with this adorable expression on his face

sunoo is your number one fan and hypeman; instead of talking sadly during your convo about insecurities, he's more like:

"and what????"

"you're literally the most unique and beautiful person!!"

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ nishimura riki 西村 力 ✩

"y/n, you remind me of this character."

he randomly says this while showing you a picture of an anime character

he's so cute about it; each time he sees something that's the colour of your eyes, he just excitedly yells to you about it

if he can buy it, he definitely will

he shows it to his hyungs, going:

"look! doesn't it look like y/n's eyes??"

and heeseung just has to nod and smile, because if he shows any signs of being uninterested, niki will in fact start drama

"really? that's all you have to say? THEY ARE LITERALLY SO UNIQUE AND THIS IS ALL YOU HAVE?"

it's like niki expects them to write an essay about you and your eyes

you always find drawings or doodles of your eyes, whenever niki has a paper and pen, he just can't stop himself from drawing them

. . . . . -ˋˏ ✎ author's note! hello!! thank you for the request and reading! hope it met your expectations, remember that you're beautiful just as you're nothing to be insecure about ♡ requests: open © 2023 — all rights reserved to user thejakeslayla, please do not steal, plagiarise or translate any of my work !

[superprincesspea]

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 6 - Total Annihilation

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

~~~

You meet with the queen every day for the next three days.

Her favourite Cyvasse board is in her private garden, under a white stone arbour which is covered in burgundy roses, and that is precisely where you are sitting when the hunt returns. 

You can hear the fanfare announcing their arrival all the way from the bronze gates, and the noise must be ear splitting to those closest to it, but you’re far enough away to enjoy the tune, thinking how fun it would be to have your arrival marked with such ceremony.

You stand, expecting the queen to do the same but she remains.  

“We should continue our game,” she says, in no hurry to rush and welcome the men back to court.  

"Will they not expect you?” 

“Of course. But we cannot always give men what they expect,” she replies a little wickedly and you laugh, returning to your seat.

When Aemond arrives in the garden sometime later, he struts into the arbour in his usual arrogant manner. His dark outline looking decidedly stark against all the white stone and delicate flowers.

Stupidly, it hadn’t even occurred to you that he might come to the queen like this, and you curse yourself for not leaving when you had the chance.

Your only saving grace is that he doesn’t seem to notice you, his attention is entirely focused on his mother and, with your red gown, you’re trying your best to blend in with the roses.  

“Welcome back,” she says cheerfully, holding out her hand.

Aemond bows, offering a soft smile and a light kiss across the back of her knuckles. 

“Did Aegon kill the stag?” she asks, and a conspiratory look flashes between their eyes. 

“Naturally ,” he replies, and you don’t have to ask to know that Aemond did everything but take the killing blow.  

You wonder if you would be so kind to Cassandra, doing all in your power to make her look like the better sister, then again, there’s little you do which outshines her.  

She is tall and graceful with impeccable manners and so many accomplishments. She can sew, sing and play any instrument she turns her hand to. In fact, Cassandra would basically be perfect if she wasn’t so shy, not that shyness really mattered here. Most men in Kings Landing seemed to prefer a woman who had little to say, and you could never be accused of that.  

Still, you don’t really want to say much right now and you’re wondering if you can somehow sneak away. Yet before you formulate any sort of a half-hatched idea, Aemond’s attention turns to you. His smile quickly receding and, from the look in his eye, he seems surprised indeed to see you sitting in such private company with his mother.

You have to admit, you’d silently wondered if it was Aemond who had somehow orchestrated your friendship with her. Though you were not sure to what end.  

However, from his furrowed brow and the tight line of his jaw, you can see that it was certainly not his idea. Nor is he pleased to see you.  

“You know the Lady Baratheon,” Alicent says, gesturing to you. 

"We may have spoken once or twice.” 

You meet his eye. Once or twice. An interesting answer for a man who has seen you nude, but you welcome his restraint wholeheartedly.  

“Well , are you going to make your move or not?” Alicent asks and your eyes snap back to hers, then to the Cyvasse piece hovering in your hand. 

You place it down and Aemond moves to stand behind his mother, so he can see the board from her angle.  

"She’ll kill your king in three turns,” he says quickly, as though he’s been studying the game for a while, yet he’s only given it a moments glance. 

Alicent’s eyes dart around the board. 

“He’s right,” she admits, meeting your stare, “you’re getting better.” 

"Your Grace is an excellent teacher.” 

"Then you should play Aemond,” she says with so much pride, craning her head to look adoringly at her son. 

“Perhaps another time,” you reply a little curtly and with far less enthusiasm than she’s expecting.  

A well born lady should say ‘yes, of course, I would love to play with the prince’.  But you’d rather spend an entire afternoon embroidering cornflowers than say something like that. 

“It won’t take long,” Aemond decides with so much confidence that the queen gasps. 

Perhaps his arrogance should have stood as a warning, but it only seems to bait you into doing exactly what you didn’t want to do. Play .  

Biting your tongue to keep yourself from saying anything inflammatory, you move the pieces back into their starting position while Aemond swaps places with the queen.  

It's your move first and you play your favourite opening, one you have won with a few times before. And you’re feeling quietly confident for at least two whole seconds, before Aemond makes his turn, bringing his dragon right out into the middle of the board.  

Your heart jumps, confused, yet you play on, sticking to your original strategy and wanting to force him into a game you can recognise.  

Yet Aemond has a strategy of his own. Total annihilation. He steals your dragon with his second move, and you stare at the board a little blankly, feeling as though your legs have been swept from under your feet. 

The next two turns are the same. Fast and aggressive, forcing you to play more defensively than you’re used to and giving you little time to think. At least it feels like you don’t have much time.  

In reality, you have all the time in the world. What you don't have, is a shield from the way he’s looking at you. Or rather, studying you. Face to face and so close his leg brushes with yours beneath the table.  

You hold your breath, shifting away from him, your hand dallying between two pieces.  

You decide on the Heavy Horse and, just as you’re about to pick it up, he leans closer, catching your eye.  

“Interesting choice .”  

What does that mean? Your heart drums in your chest, your palms suddenly slick with nerves. Should you change your move? Or is he trying to trick you?  

Deciding to not let Aemond get too far into your head, you move the Heavy Horse and immediately regret your choice. But how are you supposed to think under such circumstances?  

With his leg brushing against yours for a second time, his eye grazing along your face, your neck, the soft v of your dress and right down to the tips of your fingers.  

The queen never looked at you like that , nor did her leg ever brush with yours. 

You meet his eye with as stern expression, but Aemond isn’t unsettled by stern looks, there is a dark smile pursed on his lips, and he seems to take great pleasure in stealing another piece, just as he is stealing all logical thought from your head.  

You sigh sharply, frustration clawing at your skin and, though he has seen you naked, this somehow feels worse. As though your very intellect is bare before him and he’s besting you at every turn. The most unpleasant part is, you can see yourself falling into the trap he’s setting, but it feels unstoppable, inevitable .  

Is this what it is like to spar with him? Does he look at his opponents with the same intensity, so they forget not only how to fight, but how to move altogether.  

If the queen wasn’t watching, you would walk away and never look back. Instead, your heart still racing, you move again, and again you regret it.  

He claims your Trebuchet and then your Light Horse.  

You meet his eye, and his face is the same, dark and satisfied. 

You decide right then, that if nothing else, you will take his Dragon and you do, sacrificing everything to claim it, right before he kills your King.  

You’ve lost track of how many turns it's been, but it can't have been many. Ten? Twelve? It felt like a hundred, yet it was certainly the shortest game you’ve ever played. 

“You are cruel,” Alicent scolds him, laughing softly at your expense, and you try to join her. Try to pretend it doesn’t matter that he won so easily. But it does.  

Why did he have to be so good at everything?  

Why does he always seem to have the upper hand?  

“You’ve spent too much time playing with my mother,” he says as though you care for his opinion. "You need to learn other styles, be more unpredictable.” 

"Then perhaps you should teach her,” Alicent suggests, and your heart stops just as Aemond snorts out a laugh of derision. 

“What makes you think I would want to do that ?” 

His words are so clipped and infuriatingly rude that your temper forces you to your feet, yet you remain in control of your tongue. 

The Queen doesn’t reply, she smiles, giving you both one last long look before she walks away. 

When she is gone, Aemond meets the stare you have been burning into the side of his face. 

You really shouldn’t let him annoy you as much as he does, but you can’t help it, your reactions feel completely out of your control, just like the game.  

“Did you ask her to say that ?” he says, and his tone is not exactly angry, but his eye is narrowed, as though you’ve done something wrong. 

“Ask her to say what ?” 

“For me to teach you.” 

You laugh, wondering if the question is a serious one. Wondering if he truly believes you’ve spent the last few days coaxing the Queen to force you into his attention.  

Is he completely insane?  

“Your Grace must have a very high opinion of himself if he imagines every lady in the Red Keep is begging for his company!” Maybe that was true for some of the others, but it certainly wasn’t for you.  

“So, you just happened to be here playing with my mother?” 

You huff, pushing the chair back so you can stand where there is more room for your temper, “how was I supposed to know the hunt would return today? And she invited me !” 

“Why?” 

“Why not?” you practically demand and, when he doesn’t answer, you continue. “Your grace should be rest assured that I would rather eat glass than spend another moment in his company.” 

Such harsh words should certainly not be exiting your mouth, and they should definitely be making him angrier. But the look in his eye only softens as he moves to stand beside you, a little too close for enemies.  

“Will you attend the concert tonight?” he asks, his tone much kinder than before but not kind enough to ease your temper.  

“Is that an invite ?” you say tartly. 

A smile escapes onto his face and, for once, he looks as though he’s not sure what to say.  

“My mother...” he begins, clearing his throat, “is not always as discerning as I, when it comes to... the ladies of court.” 

This seems a difficult truth for him to admit, but you have no sympathy, and laugh, pleased to imagine him pursued by desperate ladies and their Mama’s.  

“Perhaps she believes you need all the help you can get?”  

He huffs out a noise which almost sounds like a laugh, yet the dangerous look in his eye is anything but amused as he shifts closer, pinning you between the Cyvasse board and the inch of space which snakes between your bodies.  

“You think I don’t know how to seduce a woman?” he asks in a low voice, inclining his head as though he might brush his lips with yours. Yet he stops short of kissing, so only his breath inches across your lips, and you can almost taste him. Sweet, rich, like mead or honey cake.  

Your heart is stuttering as you lean back, practically sitting on the board, your gaze only daring to fix on his chest, where the Targaryen Sigil is emblazoned in black and gold.  

“Lucky for his grace, I believe your name will do all the seducing for you...” you say a little meekly before forcing yourself to meet his eye, “even if your manner might make a lady want to hurl herself from the highest tower of the keep.” 

His face, which had been so tight with tension, softens and he laughs taking pleasure in your criticism instead of offence. “But my name does not seduce the enigmatic Lady Baratheon?” 

“Should it?” you ask, instantly regretting the question. 

Aemond steps back thoughtfully, allowing you a little more room to breathe, though it doesn’t feel like enough.  

“I can think of nothing worse,” he says, and you feel a little bolder.  

“Then you will be pleased to know I dislike you, name and all.” 

When he smiles again, you think it might be quite impossible to offend an ego as large as the one he must have, and you know you should leave before making any more attempts. 

“So, which one is it?” he says, keeping in time with your steps as you move towards the door which leads from the garden. “Does my company make you want to eat glass or hurl yourself from the tower?” 

“Well ,” you faulter, laughing nervously and thinking you really should keep a better handle on your remarks. Cassandra would never say such a thing. “Since I shall be leaving court in less than two weeks, and I have no intention of ever returning. I believe I shall be forced to do neither.” 

“I am glad to hear it,” he concedes as you both wait for the guard to open the door. 

When you step through it, he remains in the garden but calls after you, “you didn’t answer my first question...” 

You turn back. “About the concert?”  

Aemond nods and the way he’s standing is so relaxed, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword, his foot braced on the stone step. It's as though you haven’t spent the past ten minutes telling him just how much you cannot bare him. 

“Hm ,” you say, as though you’re pondering a decision, when you already know that you have zero intention of attending the concert, just as you have zero intention of giving him a straight answer.  

Instead, you turn back towards the hall, leaving him to wonder and, though you really want to leave without looking back, you can’t resist one last glance.  

He’s still standing in the same way, watching your retreat, a slightly devilish smile inching into his cheeks at the return of your attention.  

You curse yourself. Stupid . You should have never looked back! 

[messrrprongs]

obliviate. - a jegulus au by mars.

kinda long so bear with me! so this starts basically in james' second year and reg's first.

"my brother's going to be sorted this year" sirius tells him proudly and james looks as eager as him cause if sirius was this AMAZING to be around, then surely his brother must be the same. and then he's sorted! 'regulus black' - and james sees the similarities immediately,, dark hair, watercolor eyes oh hell he's cute

and in the middle of james' comparison, regulus is sorted into slytherin, putting a barrier between the brothers and a stop to prongs' thought process ab baby black bc at 12, he had that ideology that slytherin was a bad house and regulus was not at all similar to sirius but ofcourse yk time changes everything

third year, he spends more time in the library. regulus does too. mostly silent, pouring over his books. james wonders why he looks so small and vulnerable

fourth year, regulus makes it onto the slytherin quidditch team as their third-year seeker and he's hella good at that, but never show-offy. james wonders why he doesn't like being centre of attention

fifth year, regulus has THE glowup. all baby fat gone, cheekbones that can cut through glass and a sharpass attractive jawline. and was his hair slightly longer too? james wonders why he's never noticed reg's smile before

sixth year, sirius starts talking to his brother more and they bond, spend more time together. regulus seems to notice james for the first time. james still sees the shy little first-year every time he looks at regulus

regulus has a sassy personality, he's mean, he's elusive, he rolls his eyes too much, but james can't see past the fact that his best friend's brother is fucking angelic. james is pretty sure regulus could get away with murder despite having blood on his hands

there's a party, there's laughter, there's drinking. and in the dim lights, the only thing james sees is regulus black because there's nothing more beautiful than watching the candleflames dance like shadows in his eyes, the ghost of pure joy in reg's smile

that year is james' favorite year. they talk, discuss quidditch strategies. when james sees regulus alone in the library, he pulls up a chair and sits with him. even though reg sasses him, he likes that. he learns regulus' favorite color when they're in honeydukes. he discovers regulus' love for astronomy during late-night hangouts. he counts the freckles on reg's face while they spend hot afternoons lying on their backs in the sun. he finds out how perfect their hands fit together like two halves of a whole

they're stupidly in love. regulus starts wearing turtlenecks and no one but remus can tell what the secret glances between james and regulus mean. sirius jokes about regulus hiding a vampire bite on his neck but remus knows it all

james is having the time of his life: secret boyfriend that he's head-over-arse in love with, his best friends, his family, his entire life set before him. everything he could ever wish for. and when sirius finds out, the worst he gets is a smack to the head with a shoe. well, that's the best it gets.

seventh year. regulus is distant, afraid. cheeks hollow, eyes darting, constantly on edge. james worries but never pushes too hard. they still go on dates, of course, but lesser than before - something is holding reg back. "i love you" james says and "i know" he gets in return. and that breaks his fucking heart bc he thinks he's not good enough for regulus. he thinks he's somehow making reg lose interest him and he doesn't want that so he does everything a bit more, tries hard, too hard. pushes himself past the limit.

and regulus can't look him in the eyes when he asks "what's wrong". the sleeve is pulled up, the mark shown, a look of betrayal and not one broken heart, but two. but james has never been one to give up. he tries to convince him but regulus is fixed on it. he doesn't want james to get hurt and live life without him but he doesn't realize that without regulus, james feels like he has nothing to live for.

that night, he's obliviated. that night, the marauders graduate from hogwarts. regulus has another year to come back to, but no james potter. his lifeline hanging by a thread as death and the consequences of his bad decisions loom closer. and james, well, he has his whole life ahead of him, doesn't he?

the paper is printed. the dark lord, vanquished. a young boy killed in service. james thinks he might've known him, seen him at hogwarts but nothing seems to click. he lets go.

james watches his friends get married. he shares their happiness yet, never once looks for his own. too busy as an auror, he makes an excuse - a reason to justify the restlessness of his heart. his friends grow worried.

james forgets a lot. he was once the boy that knew everyone's birthdays, their favorite colors, their everything by heart blindly. now he's a man that can't remember what day it is despite having looked at the calendar a moment before. he's a man that can't remember his own address sometimes. he's a man with strange fuzzy dream of a boy that looks like his best friend. a smile, stolen kisses in greenhouses, holding hands. he forgets his present a lot.

he grows old alone. surrounded by his friends' children. they say he has dementia, a muggle disease. he can't remember who he was sometimes. they wonder why he sits in his armchair in the middle of the night and stares out at the sky, waiting for something he can't remember.

he dies surrounded by his friends and family. it's peaceful, it's quiet. as he takes his final breath and his eyes flutter shut, he feels young again. he opens them again and there's a boy - sirius? no, can't be. he looks younger. an angel? must be. james thinks he's dreaming. the boy holds his hand out with a smile that james had once memorized.

"i'm sorry to make you wait, love."

[fantasyinallforms]

Hello fellow bagginshield enjoyer and fantastic author of fanfiction! I offer you part of my nonexistent soul (Bagginshield took it all years ago) for "Roadtrip" for the summer writing prompts, if you feel so inclined. If not totally fine with me!! Much love, -E 🍻

I DO FEEL VERY INCLINED! Thank you for the prompt. 🥰 I took some liberties with the road trip prompt, but I'm very happy with the results, and I hope you are too! It ended up being just shy of 2k.

This was for the FOTFics Summer Prompts event!

~~~~~~~~

Title- Wrong Path, Right Choice {T}

Bilbo sat in his car, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. This was not at all how he wanted this trip to go. His GPS told him this was a shortcut through the wooded area. After driving for over an hour and not seeing any sign of…well, anything, he knew he was in trouble. He was only on this road trip because four months of intense writer's block had put a dead stop to his next novel. His editor recommended he take an adventurous holiday to get the juices flowing. Well recommended was a strong word. His editor and cousin Prim had a car and cabin in the mountains booked for him in under a week of his tentative agreement. He had started coming around to the idea as the trip approached. He didn't mind driving, and the scenery between Michel Delving and the Misty Mountains was beautiful. However, 30 hours in a car is still 30 hours in a car, and a lot can go wrong in that time. Like right now as he sat at the side of the road in a steaming car that would not start. Not that he wanted to try after the sound it made right before it died. The icing on top of the cake…no cell service. 

Bilbo got out of the car and did a cursory inspection of the vehicle. He couldn't tell you what he was looking for, but it seemed better (and maybe safer) than sitting in the car. Eventually, he just kicked the tire and sat on the trunk with his head in his hands. He had surprisingly little time to wallow in his misery when a beat-up dark blue truck pulled up behind him. Bilbo tensed.

"Hey, are you alright?" He was not expecting to hear a low, gruff baritone voice, and it temporarily shocked him out of his suspicion. 

"Yes, I'm fine. I don't know if I can say the same for the car." The man stepped fully out of the truck, and the look of him made Bilbo falter. He was very attractive. He had long silver-streaked black hair currently spilling out of a messy bun. He was big with broad shoulders and a stern disposition. Very fit but not in a bodybuilder way, more in a practical way. Bilbo looked back at the still-steaming engine to hide the shock and blush on his face. 

"Have you called a tow truck for it yet?" Bilbo couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or just not a conversationalist. He sounded very matter-of-fact. He waited to hear Bilbo's explanation of no cell service before ducking his head back into the truck. “My name is Thorin Oakenshield, by the way.” He placed what looked like an odd walkie-talkie in his lap and walked to the front of the car to pop the hood. Bilbo was distracted by the way Thorin’s muscles seemed to ripple under the very thin shirt he was wearing. He sat there stupidly for a moment until he remembered himself.

“I’m Bilbo…..Baggins! Bilbo Baggins. Thank you for this?” He held up the little phone. “I’m not sure what it is or how to use it, however.” He felt the weight on the car shift as Thorin walked back around. 

“It’s a satellite phone. You should be able to use it like any regular handheld phone.” Bilbo was getting a little agitated by the man's clipped tone. 

“Well, thank you, but I don't have the number for a tow truck memorized.” Bilbo held the phone back to him with perhaps a little more attitude than usual. This was already a trying day, and his patience was thin enough already without being made to look the fool. 

“Press and hold three, that should call the forestry service. Tell them you’re half a mile past road marker 14 on the River Running Crossroad.” Thorin returned to his truck as Bilbo made the call. Twenty minutes and a frankly ridiculous amount of money later, a tow truck was on its way. The ETA was two hours. Bilbo let out a long-suffering sigh and leaned back onto the car's back windshield. He heard Thorin laugh for the first time since meeting him and sat back up. His annoyance overcame his manners, and he snapped a little. 

“I very much appreciate your assistance Mr. Oakenshield, but I’m not in the mood to be laughed at.” Bilbo hopped off the trunk and pushed the phone into Thorin’s chest. “You can go back to wherever it is you live and pat yourself on the back for your good samaritan work for the day.”  

“Let me guess. It’ll take two hours for the truck to arrive, and it costs three times as much as you thought it might.” Thorin sounded very sure of himself. 

“I…Yes,” Bilbo replied sourly. 

“Well, come on then, you might as well wait in the back of the truck. Better than standing around.” Thorin started walking back towards his truck. 

“Wait! You’re not leaving?” Despite his outburst, there was a pinch of relief in his voice. He was surrounded by dense trees on both sides of him, and if he was being honest, he had absolutely no idea where he was.

“It’ll be dark in less than an hour. Would you rather I left?” His voice conveyed he knew exactly what his response would be, and he scrambled over to the truck bed. He looked at it wearily. He had just met this mysterious mountain man and was apprehensive about climbing into a truck with him, regardless of how unbelievably attractive he was.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve noticed there are not a lot of people on this road. Why were you on it?” Thorin had the gall to look amused. 

“What were you doing on a forestry road? When Bilbo didn't answer, he replied to his first question, “Look up and northeast of here to your left. That’s a fire watch tower. My tower. You’re not the first to turn off on this road and break down. Most people stick to the Greenway, but an unlucky few split off.” 

“Wait, so you live up there?” Bilbo had to admit a place in the middle of nowhere with peace and quiet for weeks sounded like a dream. It intrigued him enough that he made to climb into the truck only to realize that no matter how you sliced it, he was far too short to climb into the back with any level of grace. He looked nervously at Thorin, who lost none of his previous amusement. In one effortless swoop, he picked up Bilbo by the hips and sat him on the tailgate before climbing in after him. 

“I live there half the year. I’m a fire lookout.”     

“Doesn't that get lonely?” 

“Not on days like this when I have people to rescue from their own bad decisions.” Thorin winked and reached into what Bilbo thought was a toolbox. “Soda?” Bilbo took the offered can and broke into a laugh. 

“Arnt you supposed to offer me a beer in a time like this?” He popped the tab and was grateful for anything to drink. He was incredibly thirsty, and this was caramel-colored gold. 

“Can't drink on the job,” Thorin replied, opening his own can and settling against the cooler with his legs stretched in front of him. Bilbo fiddled with his can. So was helping because he was obligated to do so. He had to admit he found that a little disappointing. They just sat and drank in comfortable silence, listing to the sounds of descending night. Soon it was pitch black outside, with the only light source being the stars overhead and the sliver of moon that could be seen in the sky. Bilbo leaned back and marveled at the sky. The last time he had seen so many stars was at his childhood home. He could still remember his father pointing out the constellations and his mother telling him their stories. He could almost forget he was sitting on the side of the road. Almost, until Thorin moved to sit next to him, the hard line of his body pressed against his side.

“The stars are clearer here than at home. Like someone painted them across the night sky.” 

“That sounds like it came from a book,” Thorin commented. 

Bilbo chuckled, “Maybe it will one day if I have something to say about it.” 

“So you’re a writer then?” Thorin asked. Bilbo shook his head yes. 

“Fantasy novels. Nothing so interesting as your job, but I love it.” Bilbo kept his eyes on the sky as he said it. “You must meet a lot of people in half a year. Do you make it a habit of sitting with all the people you rescue until the tow truck comes?” 

“Only the cute ones.” Thorin teased. Bilbo’s face turned scarlet, and he was grateful the darkness covered the blush on his face. 

“I bet you say that to all the cute boys you rescue.” 

“I do,” Thorin replied. Bilbo tensed a little involuntarily. “Which would bring my grand total to one.” When Bilbo turned his head to look at Thorin, and found his face incredibly near. “Unless that’s a ridiculous thing to say, in which case we can just go back to looking at stars.” Bilbo was not someone who took spontaneous leaps, but isn't that what this road trip was supposed to be about? He was starting to grow a sense of adventure. Hoping this wasn't a mistake, he closed the distance between them. Thorin made a surprised sound and quickly recovered until his hands were wrapped around his waist. This man was a good kisser. Bilbo had never been held more gingerly and solidly than in this moment. His hands found their way into the mane of hair on Thorin's head, pulling it out of the tie used to pull it back. He was practically in Thorin’s lap, now enjoying being lavished with deep kisses and soft touches. They made out in the back of the truck for about 10 minutes before the blinding light of the tow truck illuminated them. Bilbo groaned in disappointment. Thorin chuckled and affectionately smoothed the curls that had fallen into his face behind his head. He gave one last little peck before getting up and helping him out of the truck. Thorin went to speak to the truck driver, and Bilbo got all his necessities out of the trunk.

“Alright, here is a receipt and a number to call tomorrow. Let me know if you’re riding with me or your friend here.” He took the receipt and walked back over to Thorin. 

“Thank you for all your help and for…. He fumbled for the right words, and they never came. Here’s where I’m staying and my number if you’re curious or….” Bilbo was getting frustrated with his inability to form sentences. “Thank you for passing the time with me.” He decided to leave his embarrassing fumbling to that and turned to leave. A hand caught him around the forearm, and he stopped. 

“It takes two hours to get to the service station and only 45 minutes to the fire watch station. It’s getting pretty late, and you haven't even had dinner. I could take you to the service station in the morning. If that’s something you want?” Thorin’s face looked so hopeful, and Bilbo’s chest swelled. He shook his head in agreement, and Thorin beamed. The duffle bag in his hands was taken from him and thrown into the truck bed. 

“Hey, Bofur!” The truck driver looked up. “He won't need a ride!” The driver just gave a thumbs-up and a chuckle. They watched the tow truck pull away into the distance, and Bilbo climbed into Thorin's pickup.   

So what if he never ended up making it to that cabin Prim booked. This was a much more interesting adventure. 

~~~~~~~

I might post this one on AO3, idk yet. All of my drabbles will get posted at some point.

[katierosefun]

you ever want to. scream about. about. about a ship. but. but there’s no one. no one to scream to. so. so you just. re-watch. and. scream. at yourself. because. because. you’re literally. in. in a one-woman canoe. with. with this stupid ship. 

[lu-twilights-pup]

Hear me out on this one, cause I’m a sucker, twilight and four with a s/o who never really likes touch but the second they give them affection it unlocks touch starved mode

I’m sorry that these are a bit shorter!

DISCLAIMERS:

None, just fluff

TWILIGHT:

He had noticed the way you tended to shy away from steadying hands on the shoulder, or sat further away from those who tended to pile upon each other in their sleep. You didnt seem scared of the interaction and from when he could tell you didnt have a problem personally with anyone of the group.But you often opted for side hugs or high fives over full embraces or the ruffling of hair. He had made a mental note about it when he noticed the way you seemed almost hesitant to hold his hand or sleep closer to him and never initiated such affections unless you asked. You had assured him several times over that it was, in fact, not him, you just weren’t the touchiest person in Hyrule, and he was fine with that. Not that it lasted long.

It started when you had thrown yourself on him after a nightmare. Twilight hadn’t expected it, but was much to concerned to question it. And it was nobody’s business if afterwards, once you were settled and back to sleep, he smiled madly to himself like an idiot over the small accomplishment. Not a hint in his mind just how much this would unlock. And honesty neither did you.

You had began to inch closer to him after that. The occasional hand hold or shoulder bump became a need for you to hold his hand when it was safe too. He almost didnt let go when he was upgraded from short and sweet hugs to drawn out swaying and basically stand-cuddling. It made him warm to watch you slowly come to him like a puppy figuring out how fetch works.

Now here he was, settled on his bed of the inn room, clearing through his inventory while the others were out, with you smooshed into his back. On of your hands sat around his waist while the other supported your head as you lay. He had attempted to move when you payed down, knowing you much preferred your space, but you had whined at him with such pity he had never sat down so fast in his life. You wasted no time in throwing yourself at his back and falling asleep then and there. It had taken all of his composure to sit still and focus on his task; not smile stupidly, swiftly grab you up and cuddle you as long as their stay would allow him to.

“Mm…Twi?” A soft grumbled sounded behind him. Twilight’s face softened as he moved away the last of his things into his pack, convinced of his items and rupees enough for the time being.

He chuckled lowly as he turned to you, “Yea, hun?” You’re eyes were still closed, face smooshed into the crook of your arm. You curled closer at the rumbling of his laugh.

“Are you done yet?” You muffled into your elbow, not bothering to look at him, your hand merely scratching at his side in question.

“Yea, hun, am done fer now. ‘S there somethin’ I can help ya with?” He smirked leaning into you as he went on.

“Lay down.” You said quietly.

“Wha’ was ‘at, doll face?” Twilight feigned ignorance, crossing his arms over his stomach over yours.

“Lay down.”

“Sorry, one mo’re time love, didn’ quite catch tha’.” You sighed dramatically and squeezed his side harder.

“Come lay downnnn.” You whined. And that was his que. Without warning he flopped back onto you, full weight of a grown (muscled) man coming down on you with no mercy, squishing you into the cheap inn mattress. A small ‘oof’ puffed past your lips as you took in the situation. Twilight held in his laughter, waiting for you typical playful wriggling in attempt to get him to lay correctly.

“This good?” Though it never came. You just sighed contently and resigned to your ne blanket.

“Perfect actually.”

Twilight laughed out into the room.

FOUR:

It wasnt an issue for them when you had told him that touch wasnt never something you had liked all that much. He was a physical person, but he loved you and knew that there were other ways to display that. Besides you grabbed their hand and patted their shoulder often enough and with that it was put in the back of his mind.

That was until the lot of you had been dropped in the rigid peaks of Wild’s Herba Moutains, taking up camp under Coldsnap Hollow. A fire did decent enough in the night to warm the group enough not to freeze to death, but the better option was to huddle together. Wind had become glued to Warriors, the captain’s scarf spanning the both of them. Legend and Hyrule sat hip to hip, similar to Wild and Sky, the latter being used as a back rest while the former stirred a cooking pot. A semi wet-coat Wolfie had made rounds around the camp, cuddling with people for a few minutes to keep heat before settling across Time’s legs in a comical display. You had dig your way into Four’s side with some hesitation, but it kept the two of you warm under the rancher’s borrowed pelt. The vibrant colors of him mind danced about as they kept still through the night, not sleeping much in favor of taking in as much of the moment as possible. ‘Once in a blue moon’ they thought. Which was fair, Wild had navigated them out of the snowy banks the next afternoon.

From there it seemed that you began to slowly develope a place in his side. A perfect little divet on their right hip where your back sat. A small round dip in their right shoulder from where you began to nightly rest your head. If half of him cried inside when he held you face, and you leaned into the touch, then they would take that to the grave.

You think theyre sick? A hardened voice clipped in his head.

No, Hyrule checked them over earlier for that bruise, they’re fine. A confident voice chimed in.

You sure? The first voice came again

They re acting a bit strange. Came a calmer voice, A bit more clingy than normal.

Yeah, normal being not at all! The hardened voice came again

Maybe they are getting more comfy with us! A bright voice practically sang. Remember 2 weeks ago we couldn’t hug them really, and yesterday they gave us a super big hug!

A little late to the party on that one, no? Came the confident voice. Why now all of a sudden?

Everyone is different, came the calm one.

Maybe… the three others hummed

“Four……Foooooour?” A hand waved in front of his face. Blinking once, then twice before shaking their head. You stood over him a bit, staring in concern. The sounds of the camp around them kicked in little by little.

“Oh, hey (Name)..” He said a bit dazed, voice cracking in the end. “What’s up?”

“Nothing just uh…thought that sword might be done.” You dragged out the last word as you cringed inward. Four peeked at his prior task—updating, refining, and sharpening some of his weapons on an abandoned smith stone they had found in some ruins— only to see that his weapon was much shorter than when they had started. Filing the side of a sword had turned the 3 foot blade into a foot and a half long blunt stick.

“Oh.” Was all they. Could muster.

“Why don’t you come take a break and sit with me.” You smiled with an outstretched hand. A break sounds lovely.

It wasnt 5 minutes later the two of you were found half asleep under a tree. You lay splayed across each other, your head on their stomach while their headband was pulled down over their eyes. Squished between the two of you were entangled hands and quiet words.

Strange or not this was nice.

[haruhey]

Hands To Yourself

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Word count: 16k

Established Relationship Fluff !! | Smut

Daryl experiences a different type of dancing.

or

Part 2 to Hide Away With Me but can be read as a standalone. Y’all will have to rip simp Daryl from my cold, dead hands.

or

literally pwp. here’s the playlist with the music inspo.

Four hours.

Not that he’s counting.

Not that he’s been waiting for this moment the second you walked down the stairs and greeted Rick when he knocked on the door.

It’s been just shy of four hours, and to be fair, the two of you spent a good majority of it together - holed out in that guest room, folded up in that loveseat, swinging on that porch bench that squeaks to high heaven - but it’s still four goddamn hours with you wearing that dress and he’s damn near shaking with impatience to have you alone.

Could have been three, he guesses, if he hadn’t agreed to let Glenn, Maggie and Rick loiter around to make run plans a little buzzed off the beer supply, but ‘the community comes first’ or some shit like that. If it wasn’t for the fact the overnight run directly involved the both of you, he could have helped you clean up and had you alone an hour ago, doing everything he wanted to do to you when he saw that stupidly bright race car bed.

“That sounds good. So, we reconvene at checkpoint C at sunset - A if someone sets a flare - agreed?”

Daryl’s not an idiot - he loathes being unprepared - so he uses at least half of his brain to listen to Rick and look at the map when he needs to, the other half much too caught up in replaying all the fleeting touches and stolen kisses between the two of you. There’s a scowl on his face, one that had crept up from his subconscious the second you had gone up to your shared bedroom and come out with one of his button-ups around your shoulders - ’it’s getting kinda chilly’, you’d said, making him nearly bite his tongue to hold back his quip about helping you warm up - and there’s a pleasure swirling in his chest at how good that flannel looks on you.

Though, he’s pretty sure it would look better on the floor.

It’s been a long night - torturous if he could allow himself to be dramatic - and Daryl shakes his leg as he glances at you, trying not to stare at the way the light of the fireplace catches along the curve of your nose. You’re just to his side, so close to him that he’s barely a foot from your waist, and he wants to feel the weight of you in his lap again like before you had left him to go get a glass of water. You don’t notice as you study the map and write up a couple of notes for the run, however, the feeling of his gaze is heavy, a heat connected to it that makes you want to melt and makes a certain something gather in the base of your stomach.

Your body reacts to his familiarity, stilling your hands and bringing your eyes to his. When they finally connect, he offers you that tight-lipped lift of the corner of his mouth and you smile back, a similar version of his but more expressive as the apples of your cheeks rise. Daryl’s heart stutters like the first time he’d seen it, and he swallows to moisten his dry throat and rid himself of his feeling. If he had known this stupid party was going to get on his nerves this damn much - even more so than he had thought - he would have denied Rick’s request and basked in the time spent alone with you instead.

Maggie and Glenn decide to turn in not long after the plan finalizes, chattering to you about plots of grass potentially being turned into gardens that Rick promises will be discussed more in-depth later, and he shamelessly watches the way your legs move as you walk them to the front door. When you turn back around and make eye contact with Daryl, he doesn’t make an effort to hide the gaze, clasped hands resting between his spread legs and looking so inviting as a smirk plays at his lips.

Personally, he thought he was being pretty obvious, but the look just makes you happy - an innocent happy - because the scowl that had such a grasp on him is now replaced by an expression that’s so much more befitting his handsome face. You can hear the rush of water as Rick washes his hands in preparation to leave, and you offer Daryl a small grin, the thought of kissing him popping up when you realize the two of you are physically alone.

On socked feet, you move forward - having already watched him shift in his seat as if anticipating you placing yourself in his lap - but the second you take a step, the doorknob to the bathroom opens up. Daryl deflates almost comically, a sigh and then a retreat into the damn cushion, but he schools his expression back into the look of indifference.

When Rick comes out, he says his goodbyes and Daryl kicks up into a stand, striding over to you in order to walk him to the door with an arm secure at the small of your back. Another smile worms its way onto your face when you two are alone again, shutting the door before turning to him and giving him a quick kiss, but his hands - fervent and feverish - hold you at the back of your neck and dip underneath the hem of your dress, using a grip on your thigh to hold you firm against him.

Your air is knocked out of you in a surprised squeak as he spins you around, the familiar beginning of your burning lungs sprouting when he presses your back against the door, cushioning your head with his palm. With a hand fisted in the cotton of his shirt and the other in his hair, you push Daryl away lightly, letting him rest his forehead against yours before he decides to trail light kisses down your neck. When he’s particularly desperate, he has the lung capacity of an Olympic swimmer - which is patently unfair, in your opinion - and he doesn’t hesitate to use it.

“Dar- Daryl, what’s up with you?”

He groans silent against your pulse point when he hears the breathy tone of your voice, the fingers at the cotton near his collarbone brushing up against his bare skin. Fuck, he feels like a teenager again, buzzing high off any bit of your touch and attention, but when he hears you swallow and your breath catch as his tongue traces over a spot he’s memorized, Daryl all but crumbles into his lust, pulling away just enough for his forehead to meet yours again. He blankets you during his attempt at speaking, broad shoulders covering your sight and sculpted biceps on either side of your head, an overtaking of your visual sense.

“You. You’re- you’re-“

You’re stealing my ability to fucking think, but there’s still enough blood that hasn’t rushed south that he can use to power his brain and speak.

“They’re gone. Everyone’s gone.”

Humming, you nod against him, your hands travelling to cup both his cheekbones and you press a chaste kiss back onto him. Daryl chases your disappearance only to find the space in front of him empty as you pull away and dip underneath his bent arms, choosing instead to gather up the empty glasses your considerate guests have left on every surface that they could. A part of him knows that he shouldn’t be trying to distract you from something as important as cleaning up - and he listens for a moment, ambling around and picking up a few cups that will probably leave behind those rings on the wood - but he can’t stop thinking about the damn dancing and how good you felt in his arms.

Fuck it.

There’s a tick in Daryl’s jaw that has formed in the few seconds he’s been away from you, almost painful if anyone could see him, but it disappears the second he catches a glimpse of your dress’ black skirt flit through the doorway into the kitchen. He follows it like it was temptation itself, and finds you picking up cups from the white granite island, resigning to just taking a moment to imagine how domestic this moment is.

Could this have been the remnants of a date night? After getting drunk with your friends? Having to clean up so you can turn in earlier and fight a hangover come morning? In a normal life, would you still pick him to love? Would the thought of falling for some asshole redneck whose only skill is shooting a crossbow have even crossed that pretty little mind of yours?

Something odd possesses him then and overtakes him in a moment with its stupid desire to prove to himself that he doesn’t live in that world - that your heart has his name written over it the same way his has yours - and he crosses the space which separates you from him.

Daryl’s hands slide across both sides of your waist and link at your stomach as he lets not even an inch between his chest and your back, pressing a kiss into your hair that makes you smile, the sight reflected back to him in the window backed by night’s darkness. Though, his innocent affection doesn’t last long, lips growing more heated as he trails them down behind your ear and down to the scoop of skin between your shoulder and neck.

Goosebumps spread across your body like a wildfire then, and your hand grasps the knob of the sink, twisting the rush of water off as your other clinks the glass you were rinsing against the counter’s marble finish. The generator’s still on and the room you’re standing in - the room he’s touching you like this in - is the only one lit up.

Is he drunk? He shouldn’t be - the only alcohol in his system is that one beer he sipped from all night - so what the hell is making him react like this and so blatantly? Doesn’t he know the curtainless windows coupled with the yellow light of the kitchen’s chandelier frame the two of you like a late-night television show?

Spinning around, your hands thread through his hair, tugging barely hard enough to pull his field of vision away from the close-up of your neck, and he pouts, a mean-looking jut of his lip that’s become so endearing, but the realization of why you’ve pulled him away needs only a second’s beat before it settles in his brain. There are certainly some benefits to how perfectly you fit into his arms, and he uses them, ushering you into the living room - or is this the dining room? - and similarly boxing you in once again, pressing insistent, ticklish butterfly kisses to your skin when your back hits that stupid pillar breaking the open floor plan.

“I need to- Daryl- I need to-“

You fail to school your laughing voice into stern as you nudge him with a barely noticeable tug backwards of his shirt, but he stills all the same, bringing himself back to his full height and tilting his head down just enough for his eyes to meet yours.

“Forget it. Jus’ take the dress off and come to bed with me.”

Sometimes, because he treats you so affectionately and tenderly, you almost forget how intimidating Daryl is, broad chest widening to even broader shoulders. But now, when his whole body seems to stretch for miles in your field of vision, you’re reminded of that intoxicating fact, and your amusement takes a dangerous turn when you hear his confession.

“Maybe you could even let me help ya?”

Daryl’s voice is deeper, a gravel in it that sends a shock of arousal pooling in the pit of your stomach, and the suggestive lilt in it doesn’t go unnoticed. You hum, biting your bottom lip while he fights the urge to pull it free with his own, and an idea pops into your head, no doubt influenced by the little hideaway you’d stolen him into not even an hour into the party.

“You want me out of this dress? But I think it looks pretty… pretty on me.”

Smiling, your tone is sugary sweet, a fake innocence that he clocks immediately. You’re playing at something, he’s known you long enough to know that - knows you know what that tone does to him - and Daryl raises an eyebrow, his right hand tentatively trailing down the side of your body to wrap around the small of your back. When you don’t make a move to stop him, he pushes a knee between the two of yours, leaning himself down to your lips and nipping at the quickly fading mark your teeth left behind before pulling away.

“Never said it ain’t - jus’ that I wanna see ya without it.”

He’s still so close, though, his breath fanning across your arousal-warmed cheeks, and his hand slips underneath your dress at his words, calloused fingers trailing up the skin of your thighs just to rest at the hem of those safety shorts he’s beginning to regret giving you. What was he thinking? Now it’s just another obstacle in getting you undressed.

Your heart is starting to rev up, and with it follows an internal debate. Should you chase off the thought running through your mind, or should you let him scoop you up into his arms and rush you upstairs when you let him? Though, you’re not given too much time to contemplate - the silence only lasts another moment before he speaks again.

“And that I wanna help ya.”

The playful snap of the boxer’s elastic against your pelvis makes you squeak, immediately pulling you from your musings only to be greeted by a smirk on Daryl’s face, the expression seeming to widen at the noise. There’s a challenge in his eyes, a similar glint of mischief that he hopes will bring out whatever you’re thinking of, and you recognize it through the lust-blown thin rings of cerulean.

Oh, okay.

Your hand grasps at his, your right stilling the one which has just dipped underneath the shorts and began inching towards the apex of your thighs, and the other caresses loose around his neck. Letting you pull him down, Daryl prepares himself for the renewal of energy he’s going to get from your kiss, but instead, his nose nearly meets the light beige of the wall instead of the skin of your cheekbones.

“What if… instead… you go upstairs and sit on the bed?”

Fuck, his whole being sparks alight at your command, and he swears, his cock twitching pathetic in the confines of his jeans when your voice lilts into promise. If you couldn’t feel him before, pressed deliciously against your body, you can now and you tug him lightly by the hair tickling at his neck so he can see your satisfied smile, round eyes looking up at him.

You suppose you should thank him for the surge of confidence that may or may not have come from spite, and Daryl stays frozen in place as if still reeling from your words, submitting to a second’s stutter before he turns around with you in his grasp, almost bolting for the stairs despite the lights in the kitchen. In his urgency, he doesn’t realize the generator needs to be turned off - to conserve energy, you’ve told him, since he doesn’t spend much time actually using the amenities afforded to him - and you tug him back just enough to halt him in his steps.

He groans, insincere disappointment palpable in the noise, and you free yourself just enough to make your way to the lantern lying just on the table. You’d fixed it up a few days ago when Daryl brought it back from a run, forcing Eugene to teach you and sitting patient through his - and you mean this as affectionately as you can - berating as you tried to follow his long-winded instructions. It works, you’re pretty sure, and you push it into his hands, ghosting him in a touch that has him erupting with warmth.

“Turn this on and wait for me, okay?”

Without another word, you urge him away, a coquettish grin on your face as you spin abruptly on your heel, your tone compelling him to do nothing but follow your instructions like a lovesick slave. Daryl clears his throat, a profuse blush dyeing his cheeks red which only darkens as he watches the way your skirt fans out, and he beelines to the staircase when you’ve disappeared past the kitchen doorway, the fear of wasting any time fueling his actions.

The lantern’s broken handle jangles as he bounds upwards two steps at a time, but he doesn’t mind the sound. To be fair, though, he’s not afforded much time to mind it because as soon as he gets to your shared room, he places it haphazardly on one of the legs of the bed, his own bouncing upwards as he waits for you.

Downstairs, your smile widens when you hear his rush, socked feet stomping heavy as he propels himself forward, and you finish wiping down a good majority of the glasses - there are a few left, but not enough to provide a hassle if you choose to finish cleaning them in the morning - and you turn off the lights in every room as you trek towards the front door. Pulling open a drawer, you feel around in the darkness and grab a handheld flashlight, slipping on your shoes before turning it on and rounding to the side of the house.

The generator’s an easy switch - one flick to the protruding toggle then the low hum of the motor ceases - and you rush back to the house, boots kicked off and flashlight thrown into the still-open drawer. Your heart rate quickens with each step up the stairs, a dim burn of white coming from underneath the bedroom door, and you follow it like a moth, only pausing to consider a course of action.

Biting your lip, you decide against hesitation. Go big or go home, right? So you bunch up the hem of your dress and slip your hands beneath the waistband of those boxers you stole from Daryl, pulling them off and leaving them on the floor. It’s not important to you right now. You’ll pick them up when morning comes. Right now, all you want is to see the surprised look on Daryl’s face when he realizes you’re just in a pair of panties you never really wear because they’re just so nice and pretty.

“Hey.”

Your steps are so silent that not even Daryl picks up on your movement until the bedroom door squeaks on its hinges, and he stays seated when he hears you, a small smile gaining traction as it threatens to rival the one you already have. Though only half your face is illuminated underneath the unstable light of the lantern, he still thinks you’re more beautiful than all the people he’d ever seen combined. It makes his heart ache when he’s in these innocent moments with you - reminding him he’s the one you come to bed with - and he lets the tone of his response convey the amount of pure fondness he feels.

“Hey.”

Planting two hands on the mattress behind him, Daryl leans backwards, watching as you walk towards the bed. Like second nature, he spreads his legs to accommodate for you, your stand not unfamiliar between them, but you never come. Instead, you stop just in front of the lantern, picking it up before turning your back to him and making your way to the chair you both sometimes pile clothes on. It’s empty now - laundry day was just yesterday - and he raises an eyebrow as you pull it closer to the corner of the room, rubber-coated metal bottoms dragging dull against the wood.

The light glows off the edges of your body when you finally spin on your heels and close the gap to him - a step, then another, all of them much slower and much more unsure than when you’d rush to him and wrap your arms around his neck to just hug him. He misses your warmth and that urgency you’d had to hold him and kiss him, but when your legs find a comfort between his and your fingers tangle in his hickory strands, he can’t think of anything except the deep swirl of affection warming him from his chest.

Your forearms rest on his shoulders, the lean of your weight increasing slightly as you lean down and finally press a kiss onto Daryl’s lips. Firm and sure, like he’s the only one you want to ever kiss again, and a surge of something sweetly familiar alights in his cells. It’s been ages - he hasn’t felt your tongue slide across his like this since you’d both made out like teenagers on the porch swing barely two hours ago - and his hands immediately wrap around your waist, adventurous fingers playing with the hem as if he needs to touch you.

“Missed y’a lot tonight.”

Daryl speaks almost immediately after you pull away, your lung capacity nowhere near the one he has. His tone is breathy, heady with the deepening of his gravel, and you laugh at the words that slip between his lips. Running your fingers through his hair, you swipe his bangs from his face, and he just stares at the way your eyes crinkle. You’re so damn adorable to him that it surprises him sometimes.

“We were together the whole time, Daryl.”

Shaking his head, he can feel the corner of his mouth twitch up, and just like when you’d twirled circles around him, he doesn’t stop it. No, he doesn’t need to - not when he’s with you. You make him feel like he doesn’t need to be anything but him and it's almost scary, how much he feels for you.

But he loves it. He loves to be yours. He’d given you his whole heart and whole soul months before you’d ever even called him yours.

“Nah, meant I missed ya like this.”

He presses his lips up to yours as punctuation, gently kneading your hips in coax for you to sit down on him and let him treat you right. You think about it - when he’s holding you like this, kissing you like this, how could you not? - but you gather all the self-control you can muster and pull from him, closing your eyes and pressing your forehead against his.

And for a second, you both just bask, breathing in each other's scent and letting the warmth of each other’s touch relax tension-ridden muscles. It’s so foreign in this world - this intimacy and this trust have been near strangers to the both of you - but you’ve found it. You’ve found it in him and he’s found it in you. After so long, who could blame you for indulging?

“Thank you, sunshine.”

Daryl’s first to break the silence, his voice low in almost a whisper, and his fingers still, resting idly at your hips before speaking again. He could pull away - could make use of his large hands and pull you away to look into your eyes - but he’s always had a soft spot for them, and if he looked at them now, his heart wouldn’t be able to contain itself with all the damn emotion he feels for you.

“For- for everythin’ ya did tonight. For makin’ it, uh, y’know, bearable.”

You try not to be too happy at the way he stumbles slightly over himself. He’s new to relationships - you’d known that and fell headfirst for him still - and fuck, if he isn’t the most adorable man you’ve ever met, especially as he searches for the proper words to compliment you. Daryl’s not good at speaking, but the effort he puts in to make sure you know just how much he wants you makes you want to kiss him breathless.

“You made it bearable, too.”

But instead, you press a quick one to the corner of his mouth before straightening back up, humming and taking his hands off your hips as you take a few steps away from him. His blue eyes round as he watches you get further, and you can see the pout on his lips as he tries not to say anything.

You’d told him to ‘go upstairs’ - told him to wait for you - and you can tell by the look on his face that he’s waiting for something to happen. He’s waiting for something to happen, and you’re damn well going to do it.

Hopefully, it’s something he’s going to enjoy.

Biting your lip, you take a deep mental breath and try to hype yourself up. You’ve got this. He loves you, and thinks you’re great and good and beautiful and ‘jus’ about the prettiest damn thing’ he’s ever seen, so why are you worrying?

No, you don’t need to worry.

Not when the only one to see you is Daryl.

“And I, uh, I wanted to do something for you.”

You can hear the bed squeak underneath him after you’re done speaking, and even though you can’t see him, you know what that sound means. He’s adjusting himself - an innocent pushing back of himself along the mattress since he’d only sat on the edge to be closer to you - and your own anticipation rises when you hear a soft ‘yeah?’ from him.

“Mmhmm. I wanted to do this as a, uh, as a ‘thank you’ for sitting through tonight.”

He raises an eyebrow at the very first note of your hum. Daryl doesn’t miss the shift in the room from your first stutter - everything about you has become so familiar that the drop of your voice makes his stomach twist in knots of want - and it’s almost crazy to think that just moments ago, he’d almost melted into a puddle from your affection.

“You deserve it, don’t you think?”

Adjusting the button-up covering your upper half, you hope and pray that what you’re going for will work before turning your head to look back at Daryl. The powers that be must be smiling down at you because the fabric slips down just enough, exposing the skin of your neck and shoulders that he buries his nose into when his hips move against yours - that he runs his tongue along when he has you pressed up against his body - and he realizes, if he leans forward, he can see a faint splotch of him he’d left just a few days ago.

Wet hot heat lashes through him then, and he has to swallow down the rush of spit, gripping the bedsheets underneath him at the sudden onslaught of feeling. It takes a second - maybe even a fraction of a second - for his brain to log back on and respond to what you said.

“Y- yeah. Yeah, sunshine. I- whatever ya wanna give me.”

His words come out jumbled - half in the fact his shirt keeps slipping down, and half in the fact that expression on your face is driving him crazy. Do you have to bite your lip like that? Have to smile that pretty little smile? Do you have to fucking look at him like that? He’s burning holes into you as he stares, and when that stupid plaid hits the ground, the small smile you shoot over your shoulder knocks his breath from his lungs.

It’s this sight - shadowed over gaze from his furrowed brows, the constant shifting in his seat, the strain of him against his jeans - that makes confidence rush through you, and you make use of it as quickly as you can. Bending down, you arch your back as you trail your hands down your legs, a purposeful jut of your ass so he has a view as you grab the piece of fabric from the ground with both hands.

You keep your curve as you rise back up, trailing the flannel up your provocatively outstretched leg so he has no choice but to watch it. It feels a little bit silly - no, it feels a lot silly, considering the fact you’re trying to set a mood with only a dimly lit lantern and no deep guitar rift to base the sway of your hips or the flip of your hair to - but when you hear a soft ‘fuck’ coming from the bed behind you, you drown your self-doubt in the knowledge that he likes this.

Daryl’s not making an effort to hide the way he’s feeling, either. No, he’s too busy trying not to jump off the bed to care that his mouth has fallen slightly agape and his eyes are roaming every single perfect inch of you in a way that’s nowhere near decent. Daryl’s a good boy when it comes to you - at least, he tries his damndest to be - but your dress is riding up just enough that he finds himself searching for the hem of your safety shorts, and he’s so desperate for any new sliver of skin to see or touch or taste that he’s scooted forward so far on the mattress he could’ve fucking fallen off if he’d risked another inch.

When you’re fully upright, you turn in his direction, dropping one of your grips from the flannel only to grab it again with both hands behind your back. Every move is deliberate - you let your hips sway a little more than they usually do when you approach him, walking from pointed socked foot to pointed socked foot - and even though you’ve never really done anything remotely like this before, you feel oddly secure in what you’re doing. Daryl’s watching you like he’s trying to undress you with his eyes alone, and it’s sure as hell feeding your ego.

Each step you take is torturous - each step you take is entirely too painstakingly slow, in his opinion, but then again, he’d wanted nothing more than to get you alone and bare with him four fucking hours ago - but he holds his tongue anyways, feeling as though he could bite through his jaw with the force of his slipping self-control. You're a damn sight with that intoxicating little smile on your pretty little face, and he wants to get drunk on you as you fill his vision.

Barely a foot - that’s what separates your body from Daryl’s when you finally stand in front of him - but you don’t close the distance. Instead, you bend forward again, the neckline of your dress dropping down as your face nears his, and he swallows so hard you can hear it. Dropping one hand to his knee, his thighs tense under you, and his eyes flicker between your hand and your chest and your face, unable to stop the urge to see you.

To give him some credit, you can tell he’s holding himself back from blatantly staring down your body, and your tongue darts out, making him nearly groan at the way you go to bite at your lip. He reaches out to touch you then, attempting to ghost your waist or grab your wrist and bring you closer, but instead of meeting the warmth of your skin, you press the flannel against his outstretched fingers.

“Hands to yourself, okay?”

A tilt of your head accompanies the upward slope of your brow and his cock throbs with pure want at how innocent your expression is. You’re so close to him now that he can feel your breath fan along his cheek, and the gears of a more hedonistic side of him start to turn. He’s not a gambling man - not anymore, at least, and certainly not when it came to you - but he’s so impatient that he flings the shirt in his hands, a dull thump of it hitting the wall to his right barely reaching your ears before he presses his palms against the outside of your thighs.

“Daryl,”

Not even a second’s hesitation passes in your movements before you shuffle away - before he’s suddenly regretful of all the shit he used to give you for your reflexes because God damn it he wishes he could have held you for just a moment longer - and he scrunches his nose, trying his best to muster up a look of pain so you take pity on him. You and him both know the look on his face is insincere, but still, he’s got too much power over your poor heart.

No, you need to focus instead of wanting to kiss him better.

“Hands to yourself, understand?”

That warning tone - a scold he’s been at the receiving end of more than he’s willing to admit - sends all the best shivers down to all the wrong parts of his body, lighting a fire in the pit of his stomach that urges him to disobey because fuck, you sound good like this. You sound good authoritative and he can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take for him to turn the way you say his name into something for his ears only.

He wants to turn that ‘Daryl’ into ‘Daryl!’, and when he watches the way you turn and swivel your hips in show, he’s so pathetically hard for you that he has half the mind to jump up and press up against you like he’d seen people do on beer-covered dancefloors. Another bend down of your body - another sly grin thrown over your shoulder just as the hem of your dress rides upwards with your trailing touch as you rise back to your full height - and good God, you’re making his mind run.

“Sunshine- shit, You’re gon’ drive me crazy.”

And when you beam at him, spinning on your heel so you’re facing him and almost glowing with the light of the lantern to your side, he can’t help but to squirm. He can’t help but rock side to side in an attempt to alleviate some of the suffocation of his jeans, and he relishes in the relief the pressure provides him as you move along to a deep, bluesy melody you’ve made up in your head.

He’s mesmerized by each movement you make, mouth dry from how it’s hanging open as if he’ll see you better that way, and he can’t help but think you look like you belong centre-stage in a club much too expensive for him to get into. Daryl’s spent more nights than he’d liked with Merle and his buddies at places like those - never understood the appeal of them, honestly, but he knew Merle would call him some slur if he’d told him that - but now, however, when all he wants to do is rip off every goddamn piece of fabric that separates him from you, he understands the appeal.

He understands the appeal more than enough.

And when he drops a swear and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, your body fires alight, the satisfaction of seeing him like this making your stomach twist with want. You’ve rendered him to this fidgeting mess - rendered him into a state of blush-coated need with just a flip of your hair and a smile that promises more - and when you sink to your knees, his breathing stutters so abruptly that you can hear his recovering inhale of breath.

There are no words on your part as you move - you keep your eyes on him with a fire in them that threatens to consume him as the skirt of your dress begins to gather at your waist - and you’re so magnetic that he would burn himself to a crisp just to keep looking at you.

Biting your lip, you lift your hips, arching your back as you sway your ass slightly with the movement of your shoulder and torso each time you crawl forward. It’s so damn erotic, the sight of you getting closer and closer and closer, and he’s not sure how long he can sit here and be satisfied just watching you. If he thought the little community get-together was torture, then God, he’s in for a world of pain.

His resolve just about breaks when you make it to him - all lust-hooded eyes and pretty little mouth stretched into that smile that he gorges himself on - and you kneel beneath him, trailing your fingers up his jeans and spreading your palms against his thighs to push his legs open. A wet hot heat lashes through him then, and every muscle in his body tenses up with the onslaught of feeling, sharpening his senses to a knife’s edge.

“Let me touch ya. Please, sunshine.”

Daryl’s not above begging - not when it comes to you, at least - and God, does he sound so desperate already, but you ignore him, humming vaguely and looking up at him as you slide your hands across his jeans to the zipper holding him in. He can hear his own pulse beat in his ears as you lean down, following the path of your hand with kisses that leave sparks of fire marking him as yours, and if his heart stopped right now, he’d be more than okay with it.

“Oh shit- oh shit- oh fuck- fuck.”

His mess of thoughts amble out of him before he can even think, and his fists are clenched so hard his nails might break the skin of his palm. You’re so fucking close to him - your warmth almost making him overheat - and when your nimble fingers pop open the button of his jeans, your teeth catching his zipper and pulling it down, he ruts his hips in a needy search of you.

Technically, he’s not breaking any of those goddamn rules. Daryl hasn’t touched you - not with his hands, at least - and he relishes in the relief of the loophole with a groan as his cloth-covered cock presses up against your cheek. Biting your lip, you push his hips down onto the mattress, willing to forget about the almost-defiance of him before you look up at him only to see him staring back down at you.

There’s a glint in his lust-hooded vision - the faintest smirk ghosting his cheeks - and you recognize it. It’s the same one he has when he’s executed a shot straight between the eyes of a giant deer, or when he’s won a round of some child’s game you’d begged him to play in a spare lull of peace. It’s the same one he has when you’re underneath him, moaning his name in warning as he smirks out a smug ‘again? Already?’, and you push yourself up from the floor.

Dragging one of your hands up his chest, you let the other rest on his knee as you lean forward to him, keeping your bottom lip between your teeth. He’s looking up at you now - slowly pressing towards you as if you wouldn’t notice - but you do, and it makes you feel powerful. Daryl’s almost a divine depiction with his Bernini-carved muscles, but before your eyes, he's human. He’s human, and he’s wholly captivated by you.

It’s your turn to be cocky now. With the confidence running through you, you damn well do, and you pull away - turn away one more time so you’re only separated by a few feet - but before he can say anything in a beg for your body to come back to his, your hands lift the hem of your dress as you press them underneath the garment. His eyebrows shoot up, heat pooling in his stomach from the fact it keeps rising and he can’t fucking see even the slightest bit of your safety shorts.

The realization settles in him then - the fact only one, thin piece of fabric is keeping him from being able to feel you - and it crashes into him with a wave of lust renewing his interest which had never really waned in the first place.

Bending down, your fingers catch the waistband of your underwear. and it’s almost torturous, how slow you seem to be sliding them down your legs. You make sure to wiggle your ass for him as you pull it down, and when it falls past your knees, you can hear him blowing out a breath of recognition.

It’s not that you’d worn it for him specifically - tonight was a rare occasion to dress up and to feel all pretty and put together like you could be in the world before - but in the back of your mind, you knew he’d find out sooner or later. Whether it be his own lust that urges him in a primal search for you, or if it was a late rendezvous underneath the sheets before sleep steals one of you from the other, he was always going to find out.

And maybe you’re lying. Maybe you did wear this for him - it’s his favourite, after all, this tiny little thing - and you know the effect it has on him all too well. You can picture him clenching his jaw as he stares, and you’re damn sure he’s punching himself for the disobeyment-adjacency because you’ve stolen away his opportunity of seeing you in it.

Oh well. There’s always tomorrow morning, isn’t there?

“You’re gon’ fuckin’ kill me- shit.”

Smiling to yourself, you step out of your panties, holding it draped over your pointer finger, and turn back around to him. You steal his breath - no, he surrenders it to you - with a single look, and when you take those slow steps to close the distance separating you from him, he has to swallow down his saliva.

He blinks - once, twice, then three times - when you hold out your panties to him, and his brain lights up red hot when it really is that blue and black lace shit that you’d said would have cost entirely too much to buy. Looking up at you, he tentatively reaches out, staying seated even though his brain is telling him to chase your touch, and takes it from you. When he does, you reward him with a ‘good boy’, and just those two syllables make him fucking shake.

He stares at your underwear - just holds it in both his hands and stares and stares at it like some horny teenager who’s just found something he shouldn’t have - and maybe a part of him feels a little embarrassed that the first thing he does is run his finger along the wet spot at the center. Maybe part of him feels embarrassed that he has to swallow down the spit gathering in his mouth at the desire to taste, but he’s not given enough time to think twice about it before you’re calling his name with a sultry little ‘come here’.

‘Come here’?

‘Come here’?

Jesus Christ, when you sound like that, he’d go to the ends of the fucking Earth if you asked him to.

It’s immediate, his reaction - he shoves your underwear into the pocket of his undone jeans so forcefully the denim almost tears from his body - but he’s not really thinking as the only thing powering his body is a base need to get to you. You’re standing there, a spare chair pulled out from where clean outfits have been stacked for the past few days, and he listens to you when you tell him to sit down again.

Anticipation rises in both of you the second he’s stable, and you slide a hand down his chest from where you stand behind him. He cranes his neck to look at you only for you to ghost his chin, a feather-light touch that keeps him facing forward. There’s nothing to see in the space in front of him, but he keeps himself in that position, letting your hands wander down his body and unbutton each button with a fire that burns and burns.

Once you’re done, you take a moment to admire your work - marks you’d left on him just days prior lie splotched red across his chest - and his jaw is clenched so hard you think he might bite through his own skull to keep his composure. Leaning down, you press a kiss to his flushed neck, the pure heat of him pushing back against your lips, and you decide to peek your tongue out, wetting a circle on his skin before blowing on it.

It’s to help him. That’s what you tell yourself when he whimpers into your ear, and you smile against him when he lifts his chin away from you, giving you more space to explore as if you hadn’t memorized every single thing about his body by now. He’s yours. He’s yours and he would drown in you if he could. You cloud his mind - steal him from his senses - and he lets you.

Pulling away, you press his head against the swell of your chest and lean down again for one last kiss, this time to his tilted up head, and he groans into your mouth, his hands rising from where they pull at the loose thread of his pants before they still, a reminder of your rules jolting through him like a bolt of lightning. So he brings his hands back down to his thighs instead - runs his tongue along yours until his lungs burn - and he fights the urge to palm at himself for some relief.

“Are you ready, Daryl?”

Your voice is so low as you speak - so heady he wants to breathe you in and suffocate - and you slide your hand across his bare chest, the skin-on-skin contact leaving him tingling when you eventually make your way away from him. He wants to open his mouth and beg you to come to him already, but the promise in your voice - the way you just fucking say it, honestly - makes his jaw threaten to drop in awe over the fact he got so worked up over just your preamble. Swallowing, he nods, schooling the excited throb of his cock by crossing his hands over top of himself, and he feels the spot on his boxers getting wetter when your lust drunk smile spreads across your lips.

You notice. Of course you notice. And your grin only widens.

“Just look at me, okay?”

You don’t need to ask him twice.

You can feel his eyes on you as you run your hands down your thighs, sinking to your knees then spreading them so they rest at either side of your body, and you ignore the pain shooting up from the wood sliding across your skin. Your kneecaps and the tops of your shins dig into the hard ground beneath you, but you grit your teeth and hide the flash of pain, Daryl rewarding you and rubbing salve with the swear of your name you hear.

He’s a hulking figure where he sits. It’s not you shadowed over from where you stand with your back to the lantern anymore. It’s him now, the broad expanse of him turned in your direction so he can see everything you’re doing. The thought of him - your big man, featureless from the lack of light even though he can see you coated in orange and yellow - feeds some type of feeling in you.

You’re vulnerable as he watches you. You’re vulnerable for him, but you love it.

Your core rushes with the want of him, and you close your legs with a press of your thighs to relieve some of the pressure. His stare is heavy on you, and you gorge yourself on the feeling when you slide your knees outwards again, flipping your hair to one side before closing them and arching your chest down to the ground, hands sliding out in front of him.

Thank God you’d mopped before the party. Thank God nobody was ballsy enough to ask about going into your bedroom. Thank God the mere threat of Daryl’s glare was enough to have them hesitate their curiosity, because you’d probably never risk being this close to the ground naked if the floor wasn’t clean.

Inhaling sharply, Daryl shifts again in his seat, his eyes never stopping their wandering across you. The roll of your body makes your skirt ride up just the tiniest bit more, and he can see just the slightest bit of your ass peeking out from underneath. When he meets your gaze, his breath hitches with the look in them. Weak for your eyes? Yeah, what a fucking understatement. They could hold so much love - so much affection, so much care, so much safety - but here they are - here you are - a heady mixture of all those things and more wrapping thorns around his throat and squeezing.

He’s down bad - down so fucking bad that he can feel himself fall even more in love despite the fact that this moment is anything but the innocent warmth he’d first fallen head over heels for - but his attention’s so fully lost in you that he can’t find a problem in that notion.

Biting your lip, you bring one hand in front of the other, slinking to him like a lion on prowl, and with each inch you clear, the more of him you can see. It’s like a prize, the look of adoration on his face, and when you’re between his legs again, you slip the straps of your dress down until they rest halfway down your upper arms.

“You wanna help me take this off?”

You speak as you rise to your feet, grabbing his hands to keep your balance before placing them on your waist. His chest rises in a deep inhale as he looks at where you hold him, and he keeps his eyes on you as you slowly begin to lean towards him, his fingers almost trembling though they feel so at home on you.

“Can- can I?”

God, he sounds so fucking broken when he forms some actual words, and it makes you melt. Nodding, you press a kiss to his forehead and purr your permission, deciding not to say anything about how his touch has wandered to the small of your back and he’s pulled you closer to him.

“I want you to.”

Staring up at you, he nods, his Adam’s apple bobbing audibly as his hands travel the lengths of your arms, and he slides them underneath the fabric of your dress, helping you out of the straps with a surety and determination that has your knees growing weak. When he’s done, he turns his attention to the fabric gathered at your hips, pulling them down enough that they fall easily from gravity, and his breath hitches when the only thing left on your body is your bra.

It doesn’t matter how many times he’s seen you in this state - Hell, sometimes you forgo a bra, and he gets to skip this step entirely when you let him undress you - the sight of you nearly naked will always drive him crazy. Jesus fucking Christ does it, and you know that. Well, he’s pretty sure you know that if the tiny smirk on your face is anything to go off of.

But still, he behaves. Despite every muscle and bone and nerve in his body begging him to just reach for the clasp of that matching blue and black lace right then and there, his hands find your waist and he stays there, your arms resting on his shoulders.

“Do you wanna help me take this off too?”

Your breath fans across his ear, and when your teeth graze the skin of his jaw, he’s helpless to the fact his hips lift in a desperate search for you. Raising your eyebrows, a downright mean thought crosses your mind, and when he stutters through a quiet ’ye- shit, yeah, sunshine, yeah I do’, you act on it.

Throwing your legs onto either side of him, you sit across his lap, rolling your chest against his as your hips follow, and his grip tightens around you so hard that your skin blanches from the pressure. A split second later, he apologizes, rubbing your hips to soothe and forgetting about the swim of tension in the air, reverting back to the soft, sweet, doting man you know outside of this lust. He’s giving you whiplash in the best way, and you pull away enough to press a kiss to his lips, whispering a quiet ’it’s okay’ when you’re barely an inch from him.

“Help me take this off, Daryl.”

Your resolve is breaking - you can feel it, your meanness crumbling away like a sandcastle in an ocean’s wave - and Daryl can hear it. He jumps on that fact, that moment of want from you for him, and something rumbles from his chest, deep and guttural as he hurries to unclasp your bra, flinging it so hard it audibly smacks against the wall before it thuds onto the ground. When both of your hands return to either side of his face, you swivel your lower body in a circle, and he can feel your wetness seep down onto him.

God, you’re just as wrecked as he is, and he grinds up against you, drinking down your moan until it settles heavy in his lungs and he asphyxiates. Another roll sends his hands to your upper back, and your chest rubs against his, making you pull away and pant against his lips. You’re breathing in each other’s air - the lack of actual oxygen making your head spin along with his - but the close proximity is intoxicating.

“Do you- do you wanna touch me?”

Your words worm their way into his ears, and he nods, pressing his hands into yours so you can do whatever the fuck you want with them, and he seeks out your lips, hot and fevered as he stutters through the haze of thoughts brought on by another jerk of your hips.

“Fu- fuck- yes. Yeah, I do. Real bad, sunshine.”

Neither him nor you have ever been so intimate with another person before, and if the world could be on his side just once, Daryl’s only hope is that your heart beats this close to his until you’re both ash. He’s not religious - hasn’t been, and hasn’t looked back since he was just 7 - but a lifetime with you, even in this fucked up world, could be heaven on Earth as he knows it.

“Then wait, okay?”

And he whimpers at that.

Daryl Dixon - Mr. lone wolf, Mr. leather vest and motorcycle, Mr. ‘glaring is my only personality trait as far as the Alexandrians are concerned’ - whimpers for you, and God, you’re so fucking mean it has him leaking beneath his boxers. Still, he nods and lets you drag his hands from your body until his palms rest back on his thighs, clenching his fists to keep them to him when you slide down and off him. As you move, your nimble fingers grab the waistband of his jeans, and with each inch you separate from him, the denim follows until your knees hit the ground and you’re pulling them clean off his body.

It can’t come any sooner, his jeans falling from him, but he can’t dwell on his relief for too long because you lay your hands flush on his knees, and he’s too awestruck by the sight of your bare chest between his thighs that he only notices you’ve pressed your back to him when his own thuds against the chair. Part of the wood digs into his spine, sure, but the jolt of pain dissolves when you reach up and grab his head, pressing his chin into your shoulder and whispering into his ear.

“Hold my hips, Daryl. Help me make you feel good.”

Swallowing, he listens and his hands wrap around either side of you, fingers digging into your pelvic bones as he grinds you down on him. There’s just his boxers separating his cock from your overheat, and the movement of his firm hands added to your own eager jerking has him barrelling to the edge so damn quickly it shocks him. He’s groaning into your ear at the way your fingers thread through the unruly mess of hickory you’ve gripped onto, and he presses his teeth into the smooth skin lining your neck.

You taste like the salt of a long day’s end, but you also taste like something headier than anything he can name. It’s you, the debilitating spread along his tongue is something he can only name as you, and with each roll of your hips, he drinks you down like a smooth bourbon in hopes of drowning himself drunk. It’s less about how he moves you against him at this point. Your body knows his like an extension of your own, and if you keep making those sounds so near to him - keep pulling on him and dampening him with your arousal - you’ll make him melt in just a few precarious movements.

His hands search for any part of you he can touch - they worship in the feeling of your decadence-slicked thighs and breath-heaving stomach - and one of them rests at your chest, palming with the occasional pinch that has you tugging his hair lightly for balance while the other grabs handfuls of your ass. You feel perfect on him. So goddamn perfect as you both move to the silent guitar rift pinging between the two of you, and he lets himself indulge in the more naïve side of himself and entertain the thought that maybe you were made for him.

“Feel- fuck- ya feel good. Even like this, ya feel perfect.”

He’s made for you, too, the thought running as a constant through your mind as you tremble from him - even the way he sighs your name makes goosebumps coat you, and that’s why every single thing about him catapults you to your own finish. That’s why you’re not sure if your own legs can hold you up with the last few praises that leave his lips, and so you lean forward, bracing your weight against his restraint-flexing thighs as you continue your hip’s movement against his.

The thick length of him rests perfectly between the flesh of your ass then, and he groans at the new feeling. It’s warm - the perfect mix of the soft of you and the rough of his cotton boxers - and he wants to rip the stupid fabric right off himself. His hands fall from your body the second you slide yourself up him, the sight of your arched back and sound of your broken moan when the rough rubs against you just right making his mouth fall open in a silent rush of profanity.

Another roll, another swivel, another cry of his name as you tighten your grip on his legs, and he tightens his hold on the handfuls of your ass he’s massaging. He’s grunting into the empty air, apologies draining his voice dry and mixing in with a couple of warnings, and he’s already getting the familiar preshocks of his climax. The blue balls from the party mixed with the pure cruelty of your stupidly prepossessing body churn his insides until he’s a mess for you, and you’re almost too much for him.

“Can’t- can’t- fuck, sunshine, I’m gon’-“

You and Daryl both know what’s coming next - he is, for a lack of a better term - and you only press firmer, letting his fevered hands rock you against him until he’s succumbing to the - slightly humiliating - reality that he’s going to lose himself while he’s still trapped in his underwear.

Like a hormonal fucking teenager.

God, how did you always do this to him?

His hand wraps around your stomach then, pulling and palming until your back is flush against him, and you have to grab onto his thighs to avoid toppling over on him. Groaning, he slots his lips over the rise of your collarbone as it connects to your shoulder, and his hips stutter up, more on the side of manic ruts than any calculated swirls or grinds. He craves this - this closeness - and when he gets it, coupled with the dripping sweetness of your encouragements, you can feel spurt after spurt of him in his boxers, dampening against the cleft of your ass.

Smiling to yourself, you let him hold you as he pants, his chest heaving with breath as you help him ride out his high with the languid circles you draw with your hips, and when the wet smack of his lips detaching from your spit-dotted skin announces his climax’s end, he barrels towards the risk of punishment. Maybe his release has made him stupid, but he needs this. He needs you.

Slipping his thumb against your cheek, Daryl tilts your chin towards him, pressing his mouth to yours and sliding his tongue along yours too. It’s messy and delirious, your bodies fueled only by a mutual desire to taste each other, and you take either side of his face in your palms, turning your body so you stand between his thighs on your slightly shaking legs.

His head leans up with the new angle, and your hands drop to the slope of his neck, the broad expanse of him reminding you of just how imposing he is as he pants against you, jumbled confessions of his love vibrating against you at his refusal to pull even a few inches. He acts like the space separating you from him would physically hurt him, but soon, the need for oxygen overtakes, and he swallows deep breaths as you stay glued to him, kiss-swollen lips marking him as yours trailing down from his chin to his clavicle.

You sink to your knees then, his hands lying loose on your head as lust-hazed air swirls the empty space between his ears that should have some semblance of control over his limbs, and he only registers the change in your position from him the second your hands pull at the waistband of his boxers. Daryl lets you tug - lifts his hips to help and thanks you for it, too - but when you stay on your knees between his legs, your dominant hand sliding up the underside one of his thighs towards his spent cock, he grabs your hand, stalling your movements with a slight squeeze to your wrist.

“What- what’re ya doin’, sunshine?”

Slanting your eyebrows, your tongue flicks across your bottom lip, the thought of potentially doing something wrong makes your stomach drop and compels all your confidence to drain from you.

“Giving you your- your reward.”

Your voice sounds a lot smaller than you intend, and suddenly, under his shadowed-over cerulean eyes, you feel exposed.

Did you… did you misjudge? Does he not want this? You know you’ve only done it a few times, sure - you could count on maybe two hands the number of times you’ve slipped him between your lips and run your tongue along the length of him - so you can understand that maybe you’re not that good at it yet, but that’s the point of practice isn’t it? He buries his head between your thighs with a determination that’s so enthusiastic almost every damn time you let him, and tonight, after the force of socialization on his poor introverted self, you thought that maybe he would want nothing more than to watch you try and take him down your throat.

But maybe… maybe you were wrong?

Looking down at you, it takes a second for your intentions click in his head, and his cock - his stupid, stupid, cock that can’t control itself when he’s close to you - wants to harden, but his aging body refuses to do anything but drown him in the memories that take up more space in his brain than he cares to admit.

“You mean- you mean ya wanna…”

Daryl rolls his head back as he speaks, the muscle of his neck pulling taut as he bites his jaw, and he squeezes his eyes shut, images of your swollen lips - images of the tears that prick at the corner of your eyes as he swells in your attempts to take him down your throat and the phantom feeling of your saliva drooling down him - make him wish he was a few decades younger.

“Damn it, I-”

Still searching for the proper words, he looks back down at you, running his free hand through his hair as the one holding yours travels instead to your face, and his touch so comforting - almost apologetic - that it makes your heart surge forward with affection. Slowly, you look up at him from where your eyes have wandered to the floor, and when your gaze meets his, you can just barely recognise the small smile on his lips in the dim light. You return it with your own and when the tension in your shoulders begins to relax, his only widens.

“I ain’t a teenager no more, sunshine. Think ya might actually kill me if I see your lips ‘round my cock after what ya just did to me.”

You bite your lips closed as your grin widens, and you rise back to your feet, grabbing the hand holding your cheek before reaching your full height. He tilts his head, taking in the full length of you, his eyes seemingly stuck in its reverent worship of your body, and you lean down, stopping to speak in a whisper when you’re just an inch from his face despite the fact you know he’s expecting a kiss upon his already slightly puckered lips.

“What do you wanna do, then, old man?”

He huffs a laugh at your teasing, biting back a quip of ‘you’re only a few years younger’n me’ so he can jut out his chin instead and steal a kiss from you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he rises to his full height again. Snaking his arm around your waist, he relishes in the way you hold his arm - even flexes a little for you, just so he can see you roll your eyes and smile at him - and he hums, content.

“Got a couple ideas I think ya might like.”

Looking up at him, you raise an eyebrow with intrigue, the raw scratch of his voice making you want to push him down onto the chair and throw your thighs across his lap again so you can take matters into your own hands, but instead, you trace his lips with your thumb and tilt your head, replacing the look on your face with one that’s more innocent than your intentions actually imply. It’s certainly not befitting the whisper of your words when you finally speak, though, that’s for sure.

“Then take me to bed, Daryl. Take what you- need!”

The last word rips from your throat in a squeal when Daryl bends down, hitching you over his shoulder and playfully patting your ass as he pulls off your socks, flinging them across the room before dropping you - like a sack of potatoes, how romantic - onto the bed you share with him. You don’t even have a second to say anything before he’s kicked off his own socks and joins you, your squeaky old mattress dipping in accordance to his weight.

He traps you underneath his own body, the dying light of the shitty lamp darkening against his skin, but despite it, you swear he bursts into light, each ray brighter than the last. Running your hand up his side, you just hold him, rubbing your thumb in languid strokes along his skin, and he’s so eager, pressing his lips up to any piece of you he can find. It’s like he’s exploring you - trying to create a map of you in his brain through the feeling of his lips only - and his stubble tickles against you, forcing quiet giggles to bubble up from your chest.

“I love ya.”

And his words are so innocent, aren’t they? But he’s saying them as he travels down you, leaving a kiss to your collarbone and then your ribs, leaving a constellation of his affection to litter across you. He’s so tactile - he needs this, to touch you and make sure you’re real - because how are you? You could have anyone, couldn’t you? But you’ve chosen him, and to know you’re real - that this isn’t some elaborate dream he’s made up, and that he won’t end up waking to the sight of the concrete ceiling of his room in the prison again - is enough to make his head spin.

“I love you more, Daryl.”

Grabbing your thighs, he worms his arms underneath, pressing a final kiss to your pelvic bone, before whispering against your skin.

“Think that’s impossible, sunshine.”

You bury your head into his pillow at that, scrunching your nose at the fluttering feeling you get in your chest at his words, and as his fingers spread you open for him, he’s not discreet about how he licks his lips at the sight of you. Swallowing, you know you’re probably a mess - watching him fall apart and not being able to do it yourself has made you soaking, you don’t doubt - and when his mouth opens, sliding along you with his saliva-slick tongue, your thighs already threaten to close around him.

“Shut- shut up. Don’t be cheesy.”

He pulls from you then, a wet smack and a small smirk on his face taking you over for a moment, and maybe you should be embarrassed at the way you buck up and chase his sensations, but instead of teasing you, he rewards you, slipping in two thick fingers with little resistance. You’re already so fucking ready that maybe - Jesus, just maybe - he could press his half-hard, quickly hardening cock into you and you’d like it just like that.

God, he needs to control himself. Besides, it’s not like he has any particular qualms about being buried between your legs.

Curling his fingers, he hears your quiet moan, and suddenly, being between your thighs is the only thing he wants to do. Grabbing your free hand, he links his fingers in his, a carefully set little bubble of intimacy to remind you that he’s yours as much as you’re his, and he buries his face back against you, swiping his tongue and flattening just the way he knows you like. Daryl’s growing cockier with each time he does this, and you can’t do anything to stop him because, just like that, you’re shaking underneath him.

“Thought ya loved it? Been workin’ on things to say to ya all day.”

His teasing barely registers in your hazed-over thoughts, and he just smiles into you, not minding that his jaw is starting to ache from the odd angle he’s taken so he can see your face from between the rise of your chest. Judging by the way your thighs are tensing up and your perfect fucking abdomen is flexing, it won’t take long until he can satiate his own primal hunger to taste the gush of you that only he can.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you focus on him and on the way it feels like he really is trying to devour you, and you’re so fucking close to your climax you think you might scream his name loud enough for everyone in Alexandria to hear. You’d bite the palm of your hand if you could, but one is on the receiving end of Daryl’s coaxing - the slide of his thumb against yours is too sweet and gentle for the way other parts of his body is moving, but God, he’s perfect like that - and the other is too busy threatening to tear the sheets with how hard you’re grasping them.

He likes it, when you make those pretty noises for him.

It’s a pride thing, probably.

No, it’s a pride thing, definitely.

“There ya go, sunshine. Lemme feel it.”

Oh shit.

Your hips rut up into him when he digs his face deeper into you, and you chant his name like a prayer, a rush of heat licking down your body as you clench sporadically around his two fingers, coating him in you - intoxicating, addictive, love-drunk you - and he takes it, everything you have to offer. His cock has stirred alive at the feel of your climax, and as your thighs warm his ears, you don’t even realize your shaking legs through the thrumming of your own pulse.

He helps you ride it out - he always does - and he doesn’t even complain when you keep taking from him. Daryl would give you everything he can for as long as he still could. Take from him. He’ll get drunk off your whimpers and the sight of your body and that would be more than enough for him.

Your chest is heaving when you push his head away, and with a hand still in his, you sit up, sliding your free one to the back of his neck and pulling him to you with a firm tug before pressing your lips to his. Desperate - you’re so fucking desperate for him that your strength almost makes him collapse onto you and knock your head against the headboard - but his hand slams into the wall before he can. The burn of his lungs is the only thing reminding him that he’s human and not some otherworldly being suspended in reality with you, and you can taste yourself on his tongue when he slides it across yours.

“How- how many do we have?”

Only when he pulls away is there enough pause to speak, and he’s so oxygen-deprived that it takes a second for him to even digest what you’re saying. When he finally does, he presses another kiss to your intertwined hands before twisting his body towards the nightstand to his left and pulling it open almost by force only.

“F- forty. Forty.”

Forty?

Your eyes widen at that, and he pulls out the condom box stashed between spare gauze pads and Teletubbies bandaids. It was nearly empty when the two of you had used it just a few days ago, but now it’s too full for the cardboard box of 24, and Jesus fucking Christ does the prospect of using them all make you much too excited for your own good.

“Swiped a pack from the run. Got 36 of ‘em, I think.”

Pulling one out, he bites the corner of the plastic square, keeping it between his teeth as he throws the overstuffed box back into the drawer, but before he can go and close it, you take the condom from him, sliding your fingers from his and pressing your palms flat against his stomach. His movements stop right then and there, and he quirks an eyebrow, cock standing awfully close to your hands for it not to be an intentional placement on your part.

You guide him like a sailor to your siren song, and he lets you push his back against the headboard. Kicking your legs over his, you straddle him, his cock resting between the two of you, and part of him knows what you’re going to do, but the rest of him purposely turns blind to it. Live in the moment, or some shit like that.

“Eyes on me, okay?”

He swallows at your command, the scratch of your voice dragging perfectly against the grooves in his brain, and he nods, determined to keep his lust-hooded eyes from closing if that’s what you want from him. You reward him with a smile then, and he realizes he might be slightly in trouble when your mouth descends on his neck, and of course, you run your tongue along that spot that makes him purr like a damn cat.

Sliding down his body, you mark Daryl the same way he had you - so, so, so meticulously - and when you finally make it to the mess of wet curls at the base of his stomach, you lick your lips in anticipation. From between his legs, you arch your back, bending down on your knees and making sure he meets your eyes before you tear the condom open in your hands.

You’re not a prude - you don’t eavesdrop that much either - but ever since you’d overheard a couple of the married women talk about this, you’ve wanted to try your hand at it.

His eyes are burning holes into you, and you can tell that anticipation is swirling in him the same way it’s swirling in you. He doesn't need to verbally say it, but his body talks for him with the clench of his jaw and the flex of his arm.

Fuck it. Here goes nothing

Pulling the piece of latex out, you unroll it slightly, and you can see the way Daryl bites the inside of his cheek in anticipation. You let it feed you, his admiring eyes and his excitement, and you make sure the condom is the right way before letting the ring outline your mouth. His cock reacts before his brain can make a coherent thought, and you wrap your hands around the base of him, leaning down and kissing the tip of him before using your lips and unrolling.

Well, you unroll it down him as much as you can - which, admittedly, isn’t a lot - but you can feel tears threaten their formation at the corners of your eyes, and only then do you bring your hands to help you.

You grab the rest of the condom and move it until it’s positioned correctly. Once you’re satisfied, you run him in a stroke, feeling him harden in your grasp, and when you finally pull yourself away, you wipe the string of saliva connecting you to him with the back of your hand. Looking back up at Daryl, a pang of arousal rackets through your body when you take in the sight of his thrown back head, his chest ran over in such a flush you might have mistaken the moments before as a burning hot shower or too many hours in the Virginian sun.

“Holy fuck, sunshine. Where the hell d'ya learn how to do that?”

Biting the inside of your bottom lip, you slide your hands up his body until your arms rest at his shoulders, and only when you feel his hands at your waist do you finally speak. Your warmth is so close to his cock that he can feel it barely an inch away, and he wants nothing more than to slide into you and rock you against him, but you’re so beautiful sitting so near that he’s content to just look at you. God, he’s so far gone when it comes to you, but he doesn’t mind. He’s admired you from afar for so long already. What difference would a few more moments of looking make?

“Did you like it? It was a surprise”

You rock against him then, sliding along the length of his cock before you drop a hand and notch him to your entrance. You don’t move, though, and it takes entirely too long for him to realize that your question was not, in fact, a rhetorical one.

“Did I- ‘course I did.”

He almost scoffs his response out, but you know there’s no malice in his words because you sink down on him as he speaks just because you can. Something strangled breaks from his chest, and his grip on you tightens with each little writhe of your perfect hips. He stretches you so well, and you can feel yourself flutter around him in an attempt to swallow him whole. Slowly, you take every inch of him, and he fits you like a puzzle piece.

Take, take, take. You’re taking from him and he’s letting you. He’s urging you on by guiding you in a grind against him, and when you dig your knees into the mattress, it squeaks so damn loud as you start to speed up that the springs become another sound joining the symphony of your pretty little moans and his whispered praises.

“Jesus, d’ya know how to drive a man crazy.”

His head thumps against the drywall of your shared bedroom as he attempts to take in the full image of you in front of him. You’re beautiful, the swell of your chest bouncing as your hands fall from his shoulder to prop yourself up by the spread of your palms against his stomach instead, and even the sight of you like this is enough to catapult his already sensitive cock miles ahead. He wants to make it last - wants to draw out this moment into millions and bring you the pleasure he wants you to expect each time you let him feel you like this - but his body is betraying him.

So Daryl does the only thing his endorphin-rushed brain can think of, and he slips his fingers down from your hips, drawing languid circles against where you connect and take only him whole. Your body jerks forward at the contact, and he just smiles to himself at the way you’re pressing yourself towards his hand. Even though you’re not really moving in your slow, rhythmic bounce anymore, you’re still stretched from him, and that’s enough to have you squeezing his cock as he presses his pointer and middle fingers firmer against your rutting.

His hands don’t stop - neither do, the one at your hip kneading encouragement into the skin of your hips - and your bodyweight feels like almost too much to hold yourself the few inches you’re above him. You grab his wrist then, pulling him from where he’s making you almost double over from his touch, and your pelvis lowers until it rests flush against his.

He’s heavy in you, feeling as though Daryl himself might be pressing your insides away so he can carve a path for his cock, and you wonder if you’ll still feel him even when morning comes. You wonder if your body will still remember him even when he goes on those long runs Rick’s starting to tell you not to go on, and if you’ll ever feel as good as right now when he’s not here with you.

Bringing his hand up to his face, he takes your hint rather quickly and slides his tongue across his fingers, coating himself in saliva until you deem it enough. When you do, you lift your hips just the slightest, pulling a deep groan from him at the way you flutter at the tiny movement, and you press his fingerpads back up against you, holding him still as you grind into his hand.

You’re both a mess down where you connect, but it’s so perfect - so divine. Just to see you like this, lost to the world and preoccupied with your own frantic search for pleasure, almost feels like rebirth itself to him. He doesn’t care that his climax has plateaued. Watching your hips slide across his and to hear his name fall from those lust-swollen lips of yours is enough to make sure it’s never far behind.

“Daryl, Daryl, I’m gonna-“

But there’s no need for warnings, because you know he can feel it in each movement of your body, and he thrusts himself up into you, lifting off the bed and pressing into you as his fingers speed up. Jesus Christ, your body is threatening to combust into reds and oranges and yellows, and with each grunt he lets out, you can feel the fuse of your explosion burning away.

He rolls you between his fingers, switching to the firmer press of his calloused thumb before he swirls and pulls you deeper.

Just a little more.

His hips pull away when yours do, meeting you halfway with a wet smack of flesh and making you scratch at his chest for reprieve, but you don’t really want that. You don’t want reprieve. Not from him.

Just a little more.

And he listens. Daryl listens and he surges forward, fueled only by a primal, base urge to be almost a single entity with you, and he wraps his lips around one swell of your chest, making use of his voracious hunger and skilful tongue to almost devour you in his overwhelm. The angle’s odd - his neck cramps up just where it meets his shoulder - but you, you make it worth it with the buck of your hips and the squeal of his name.

It’s too much.

You burst then, your thighs trembling and your knees knocking together across the plane of his stomach as your body shakes above his, and his circles slow, your elbows threatening to give from the sheer intensity of your climax. You feel like styrofoam - hollow limbs, blow on you slightly and yeah, you might just fall over - but you muster enough strength to thread your fingers through his hair and tilt his head up to meet yours.

There it is.

Daryl presses his forehead against yours, breathing you in before he lifts his chin and presses a kiss to your lips. It’s desperate - a mess of tongue and teeth - but you give as good as you get, pulling away only to press back forward again, nearly lifting off him fully only to sink back down.

His hands are restless, holding you from the underside of your thighs, and he starts moving the two of you down the bed, pulling your pillow from its spot to position it beneath your head. You know what’s happening - his cock is desperate in you, and you can tell by the way his thighs are flexing that he’s holding back from the frantic push and pull he knows will be his undoing - and you let him press your back to the mattress, trapping your sweat-shined body underneath his.

“That’s it. That’s it. That’s my girl.”

You whine when he says those words, grabbing his wrist with both of your hands as his hips start to speed up just to touch him. It’s a devastating pace he sets - each meet of your hips is lecherous, and he groans at the way your fingers aren’t long enough to wrap around him fully - but Jesus fuck you want to ache with him when the morning comes.

“Your- your girl, Daryl. I’m your girl.”

’Your girl.’

‘Your girl.’

You’re his girl. He knows you are. You’ll always be his girl. You’d vowed to him - late at night, when the moon and the stars were your only witnesses - that you’d be his girl until you’d wrinkled and rotted.

‘Do ya promise?’ he’d whispered against your hair, and you’d nodded, breathing in the scent of him as you pressed your face into his chest, and he’d melted into a puddle for you right then and there.

His girl.

“That’s right, ain’t it? Only I get to see ya like this, ain’t that right?”

He peels your legs apart from each other then, taking in the full view of the way your body takes him, and his hips stutter when you nod, bucking yourself up to him as if telling him to look. He does - God fucking damn it does he - and he’s so close. You’re so warm and soft and wet and perfect, and he doesn’t need much more of anything for the coil in him to pull taut and snap.

“Only you. I’ll be yours- yours as long as you’ll have me.”

Folding forwards, his abdomen flexes almost painfully, and he takes your hands, pinning them to the bed with his fingers threaded through yours, and two frantic thrusts later, he groans above you, dousing the fire in him with the relief of his climax. It doesn’t feel any less intense with the piece of latex separating you from him, and the shockwaves grab his body, refusing to let him go until he’s panting and his bones are purely jelly.

He stays pressed up against you as he softens, and for a few moments, the two of you just sit in comfortable silence, catching your breaths, and it’s… it’s nice. Neither you nor Daryl ever feel the pressure to say anything to each other when you’re like this because the silence is heavy with affection, adoration, and awe. Pulse slowly settling down, you watch him, broad chest and shoulders built with strong muscle rising and falling, and you bring your intertwined hands to your lips, pressing light kisses to the rise of his knuckles.

No words are needed, he knows, but as he pulls his hips and slips from you, he wants to say something.

“I love you. More’n anythin’, sunshine. I mean it.”

And when you smile, digging your heating cheeks into the pillow beneath you, he can’t help but think of how beautiful you are in your afterglow. He can’t help but think of how lucky he is.

He can’t help but think of the fact he never wants to leave this.

He can’t help but think of the fact he never wants to leave you.

“I love you too, Daryl.”

But it’s aftercare, and it’s essential - makes him feel needed - so he pulls your hands to his lips instead, painting your knuckles with the colour of his lips to mirror the affection you’ve left on his before getting up from the bed and tying the condom off. Tossing it in the waste can, it’s odd to think that you know how much violence could be born from him, but still, you hold him like you don’t care. Like he could be a different man than the anger lying dormant in his Dixon genes, and you make him want to be that different man.

He already is, you’d tell him, sweet words as you play with his hair, his head in your lap, and he’d murmur back how you’re why. Everything good about him, he’s starting to think you’re the reason behind all of them.

Padding over to the little lantern still diligently burning its last bit of fuel, he turns it off, deciding to instead let the sparse moonlight trickling in through the open window lead his way as he walks to the door of the connected bathroom. Its hinges squeak when he pulls at it, and he looks back to you then, his heart threatening to swell through his chest at the sight of you pulling the covers over yourself and snuggling into them.

“Want me to run ya a bath?”

Shaking your head, you tell him the generator’s off as his feet hit the cold tiles, and over the rush of the sink, he offers to run out and turn it on for you - partly because he hates the fact the water isn’t warm when it wets the towel in his hands, and partly because he’s wondering if you’d let him join - but you tell him to ’come back to bed’, and he’s pretty sure he’d be the biggest damn idiot in the world if he let you stay there alone for much longer.

He wrings out the towel without much more thought, and uses the stretch of his long legs to get to you. You, you, you - you've overtaken his whole being - and when you drop the shared comforter to expose yourself to him, he can feel heat rise to his cheeks despite what’s just happened.

Clearing the lump of want from his throat, he watches you sit up and reach out for him, the brightness of your afterglow almost blinding him with how happy you look to be, and when you guide his hands back to your body, he apologizes over and over for the way you shiver into chilled goosebumps despite hearing you tell him he doesn’t need to.

He wipes down his own sweat as he makes his way back to the washroom, your towel - ’it’s animal print, but like… it’s actually animals, Daryl’ - hanging next to his pleasantly boring dark gray reminding him that his place in the world is just like that; with you. It’s a torrent of soft, what you make him feel, and he cleans the sweat-dampened towel underneath the sink until he deems it worthy enough to join the two hanging from the rack.

And when he finally does, he can’t stop the giddiness he feels, an upwards twitch of his lips when his feet hit furnished wood. He’s got a beautiful woman - his girl - waiting for him back in bed, and the last thing he wants is to spend another moment without you curled up next to him.

You hear him, despite the decades of practice that keep his footsteps nearly silent, and you lift the sheets open for him, laughing to yourself when you hear him sprint. He makes it in no time, his arms wrapping around your waist and his legs tangling up into yours, face pressed into your chest, and you wonder if you might melt into him with how close the two of you are. But you love it. He’s tactile - spoils you with his whole being - and in a world like this, each time you’re like this, you hold onto him as if it was your last.

A second passes, then another, then he finally leaves the suffocation of sheets and pulls his head out from the comforter. It’s getting hot, but the two of you have been putting off the search for new blankets for some time now despite knowing Alexandria has probably more than enough for you to pick one. He’ll talk to Carol about it tomorrow. Maybe she’ll save both you and him from some of the hassle of talking to those pretentious husbands and wives that clamour over each other for some colour-matched sets.

You draw small shapes on his chest - just over his heart that he’s once drunkenly said ‘beats for you’ - and he turns to face you, pulling you impossibly closer with the two hands he has on your waist before pressing a kiss to your lips, a smile blooming across his face when you move your mouth with his. Pulling away, you tuck an unruly bang behind his ear, and he closes his eyes to just bask in it, letting you playfully poke at one of his pecs as an insincere pout takes over the pretty features of your face.

“I thought I told you to keep your hands to yourself, Daryl.”

His smile breaks even wider, and he scoffs, knocking his forehead lightly against yours and pulling a little giggle from your throat at the way he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. It makes his heart flutter, the way you play with his hair, and he mumbles his own answer into your skin, trying not to get distracted by another bloom of love in his chest.

“Y’know, for somethin’ you called a reward, you were awful mean to me.”

Looking up at you, he watches you roll your eyes - feels your hands swipe at his forehead - and when you sink down beneath the sheets with him, he wants to be in this overheated cacoon for the rest of his life. There are no walkers when the two of you are like this. There are no responsibilities to pull either of you away from the other. There are no runs and no patients. It’s just you and him. It’s just you and him, and that feels right.

“You loved it.”

There’s no denying that when your response rumbles into the few inches of air separating you from him, and a sickeningly sweet feeling swirls in the base of his stomach. He’s so content right now, being wrapped in your arms, and he’s spent so long dreaming of being like this with you that, even if he is just dreaming, he never wants to wake up.

“‘Cause… ’cause I love you, sunshine”

It’s the way he says it that makes your heart lurch forward, and good God, for a second you think you think you might cry. It’s few and far between when Daryl - your Daryl - speaks so reverently, and to know how genuine he is - to feel his unadulterated adoration - knocks you over in another wave of love for him. You can’t help it. Falling for him was too easy, and with each day that passes, you only get pulled deeper.

“I love you too, Daryl.”

Dipping down, you press your mouth to his in a succession of sugar-coated kisses, and you pull the comforter from the way you’ve both hidden under it like a couple of kids. You and Daryl take breaths of the cool air, and after he’s satiated his fill of your lips, the two of you decide to turn in for the night. It’s been a long day - too many people, too much talking, not enough of each other - and beneath the waning moon, right now is perfect.

You turn then, letting his chest press against your back despite knowing that, in the morning, there’s a chance you’ll be wrapped around him instead, and just before either of you succumb, you whisper to him, your words barely making their way past his soft breaths.

“Please don’t let Rick talk you into hosting another party here again, okay? You weren’t the only one who hated it.”

He laughs into your shoulder, and it’s a breathless thing. You wouldn’t have known it happened if it didn’t tickle against your exposed skin, and he nods as he responds, pulling you closer as sleep threatens to steal you away from him.

“‘Course, sunshine. Anythin’ for you.”

Yeah.

Anything, and he means it.

Just to stay like this for a little while longer, he’d do anything you’d ask.

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[hyunnows]

IN THE CARDS | LEE FELIX

“… the stars in the sky who decided love was not in the cards for you.”

PAIRING(s) | Felix x reader

THEMES | angst, unrequited love, high school juniors!au, I think that’s all :>

WORD COUNT: 1.23k+

RATING | pg

NOTE | surprise! no- I’m not off hiatus yet. Unfortunately my laptop is still out of order and I hate writing on my phone but I really wanted to post something ✦ angsty ✦ so here we are T^T anyway I hope you enjoy and I hope I can get back here soon! Have a great day/night! Also feel free to ignore this new layout, or give feedback whether you like it or not, ty <3

SKZ M.LIST

You’d liked Felix since the third week of school when you two were freshmen. Now, years later, you still harbored the same feelings for him, except much stronger. Throughout your freshmen, sophomore, and now junior years, you’d grown closer to him. You two’s friend groups often ran into each other and combined, making the two of you semi familiar friends. You’d even hung out a few times together.

Of course you never acted on it. You were too shy to do anything about your schoolgirl crush. In fact, you were sure it would fade eventually, which was why whenever Areum—your best friend—would bring up your “mystery boy”, you’d always do your best to conceal his identity. You just knew she’d try to play Cupid, and you just weren’t ready to be embarrassed like that.

But recently, you'd heard him talking about a girl. One his and your friends apparently knew considerably well, and one he hung out with “sort of often”, as he’d described it. Yet he always seemed hesitant to talk about it, especially when you were around.

Trying to solve the mystery, your friends had come up with a few theories. One being that there wasn’t a girl in the group and he just wanted to throw them off. Another being it was a newer girl who’d recently transferred and taken a liking to your social circles. And the last one being that he had a crush on you.

Your friends were oblivious to your feelings for him, yes, but that didn’t stop them from seeing some sort of chemistry between the two of you. Their main pieces of evidence included that Felix always preferred to sit on your side of the table at lunch, that he could be caught looking your way a few times a day.

So when you saw him looking a bit nervous and glancing around you, you couldn’t help but think that maybe he’d grown some feelings for you over the time you’d known each other.

Twiddling his thumbs, he’d waited for your friends to clear out from the hall quietly asking you to stay behind so he could speak with you privately.

When your friends heard him ask you to stay behind, they all winked and giggled like middle schoolers, nudging you and bouncing their brows. Even if you didn’t want Felix to have a crush on you, they’d have you pretty convinced he was going to ask you out with their borderline ridiculous behavior.

Still playing with his hands and shifting side to side as he waits for you to approach him. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, and you try not to look too eager to hear what he needs to say. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

“Well you know how our friend groups have been mixing up a lot the past three years, and we’ve all grown kinda close. It’s only natural that someone would end up liking someone else, right?” He rants, trying not to stumble over his words or say too much more than he needs to. You nod at his question, doing your best not to smile stupidly at his cute antics and urging him to continue talking. “Well, I was just hoping that maybe…”

You hold your breath in anticipation, your hands you’re hiding behind your back clinging to each other with excitement. It’s actually happening, he’s as asking you out—

“Maybe you could ask Areum to meet me behind the sakura trees in the field later today. Oh, but don’t tell her its me she’s meeting, I want it to be a surprise, so just say she’s meeting you. Unless you don’t want to, because I can ask someone else—“ his voice rings in your ears, any other words he utters blending together into an incoherent mess.

All those glances, the nervousness, the giddiness and whispers between his friends and blushed cheeks when you were around… they weren’t directed at you.

It’s only now you realize, he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at Areum

He wasn’t nervous or shy or excited because you were around, it was because Areum was with you.

The whispers and flustered expressions, they were because he liked her.

Not you.

Her.

You knew your best friend was pretty, and smart, and funny, and kind… just like you were. But she was all of that, and more. She was any guy’s dream girl and you’d never envied that more than you do right now.

But you pick up your slack jaw, blinking away the tears that were trying to well up in your eyes and smiling as brightly as you can muster. Clasping your hands together, you squeal with excitement, jumping around with false joy. “Oh my god, you have a crush on her? That’s so cute! You two would be such a great couple! Yes, of course I’ll tell her! What time?”

At least you had time to prepare for the scene you’re about to witness when four o’clock rolls around and you watch your best friend approach the sakura field with a face full of confusion. You watch him nervously pick up the flowers he’d bought her and take a deep breath—all while he was hiding behind a tree and trying to collect himself.

When he finally emerges from his hiding spot, a sheepish smile on his face as Areum turns to him with a raised brow, trying to do anything other than wish you were in her place right now. Oh, what you would give to have Felix look at you the way he looks at her—like she alone was responsible for keeping the world turning and making sure the sun rose everyday. What you would do for just a taste of the affection he reaches for her hand with, the gentleness he places the flowers in her grip with,

You barely hear her answer to his long, well rehearsed yet still raw and genuine confession, your ears clogged with the sound of your own pulse and uneven breathing, You swear the shattering in your chest is more than just your emotions—it’s too painful to not be physical too.

When you walk into the halls the next day, you can only blame yourself for the happy new couple holding hands by your locker.

And when he stops you by the wrist to thank you for your help, you hide the bitterness in your tone as well as you can, muttering a soft, “Don’t mention it.”

Truly, you never want them to as long as you live, because you never want to be reminded that you’re the reason they ended up together. You introduced them, asked them to hang out with you in hopes of having your love requited. You’re the one who never opened up about their crush, or did anything about it for that matter.

And when Areum joins in, a bright smile on her perfect face as she thanks you for helping them get together, you really do mean it when you say with the most gentle tone you’ve ever used, “Don’t thank me, please,” Your faux smile hiding the pain in your eyes as theirs lock with nothing but love for the other.

But in the end, you did this to yourself, and have nobody else to blame besides someone the stars in the sky who decided love was not in the cards for you.

NAVI

[haruchyio]

hii! could i request pocky challenge headcanons with baji, mitsuya and chifuyu? love your writing ♡

pocky challenge hcs

— characters. baji keisuke, mitsuya takashi, matsuno chifuyu x reader (separate)

— themes. fluff, crack

# baji keisuke.

this guy had been searching high and low for creative plans on how to get you to kiss him, and after a long journey from his apartment to the nearby grocery store to fill his fridge, an amazing idea suddenly poppaed in his head when he turned to the next isle and saw a pink box of strawberry pocky sticks.

it was an amazing plan indeed!

100/10

genius baji

so he bought it with a shit-eating grin, not noticing how the other customers made a quick u-turn when they saw him laughing to nothing while holding the snack box

"what's this for?"

well it sure did backfired when you plopped right beside him, picking up a stick from the box he was holding and taking a bite without giving him a chance to answer your inquiry.

"a game. wanna play?"

with the smirk on his lips, wigglimg the pocky on his hands, you didn't have the heart to deny him so you let him enlighten you on how the game works.

you knew from the get-go what he was trying to do, of course. you wanted to roll over the ground on how stupidly cute your boyfriend was.

"let's start then."

pleASE, HE DOESN'T EVEN TRY TO HIDE THE FACT THAT HE'S UP TO SOMETHING

when you started biting on your end, he only sat there, staring at your lips with the usual mischievous glint in his eyes

and when you were nearing the middle, he suddenly starts eating his side away so fast that his lips meets yours before you could even react

"it does taste like strawberry."

he concludes after pulling away from your quick kiss, tapping a finger on his chin as if he was thinking.

you smacked his arm lightly, "if you wanted a kiss, then just say so! you dork."

baji laughs and holds up another pocky.

"wanna play another game?"

# mitsuya takashi.

it started when emma introduced you to a new romance movie that had you squealing until morning

mitsuya. mitsuya reminded you of that hot, attractive male lead in that movie and you couldn't stop thinking about it all night

when you finished the movie, you finally noticed the growing need to satisfy your desire to be a protagonist in a cliché romance setting

and what better way to quench that thirst than to copy whatever the hell you just watched !!

and by that i mean pocky games

yes, this is surely a bright idea

you quietly giggled to yourself while picking out a flavored pocky at the store, imagining how the whole scenario with mitsuya will play out

(the customers definitely did not look at you weirdly whike you fawned over a box. definitely not.)

your boyfriend will accept the challenge! of course he would! and then you both take a bite, staring at each other's eyes lovingly, and then

kiss. chuu. mwah

and then you both lived happily ever after just like how that love-filled movie you watched

"kashi, do know how to play the pocky game?"

you sat beside your lover as he looked up from his book, nodding when he saw the box on your hand.

"yeah, do you want to play?"

you agreed, happy that your plan is already set in motion.

when he faced you, your heart explodes into giddiness, butterflies fluttering in your insides when he held one end of the pocky stick in-between his lips

oh god, was this what the main protagonist felt when they were about to kiss?

however, your happiness was short lived when mitsuya began eating away as fast as lightning mcqueen

"i win- wait, why are you crying?!"

this... this wasn't supposed to happen

# matsuno chifuyu.

challenging you to a pocky game was baji's idea. the only reason he went along with it was because baji promised to buy him the limited wogokoro flavors

but it was also because he's doing it with you, though he will never admit that out loud because he's shy

to his unfortunate soul, baji kept whispering erotic scenes his way while they were shopping for snacks

you'll both be alone

in a room

eating

then kissing

alone

in a room

chifuyu was about to malfunction if his friend won't stop planting ideas in his innocent mind

#ripchifuyu #bajiwashere

his face looked like he was about to explode when he challenged you. his cheeks flushed in deep red, as well as his ears, and he stumbled on his words far often than he normally would

basically, he was not smooth at all and baji will never let him live through it

"pockey game? sure! sounds fun and delicious!"

haha yeah, your lips might be more delicious though

shut up baji

his heart hammered in his chest when he sat infront of you while you placed the pocky stick between your lips, gulping when you looked at him and smiled innocently

"r-right. let's start then..."

when you both began eating away at your own respective sides, chifuyu was taking smaller and slow bites

though you didn't noticed because you were too focused on your end

fuck, chifuyu feels like he's about to die

oh god, he just might

and because he had a will to continue living, he reluctantly pulls away, letting you have the win. though he focused more on making his heary's erratic beating to calm the fuck down because he might pass away right then and there

"i won!"

yeah, baji is never going to shut up about this

© sen (haruchyio). all rights reserved. no work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without my permission.

[nightowlfandom]

Billy Loomis And Stu Macher x Reader- Our Favorite Girl (Slight gore warning)

CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!

Leggo!

...(Trigger warning, stabby stab)

“Hey newbie!” 

You looked up from your textbook to find Stu Macher prancing up to you. With a polite smile, you greeted him.

“Hi Stuart.” you said. “How are you?”

“Hey! I said you didn’t have to be so ‘oooh hi Stuart I’m so prim and proper.’ “ he laughed out loud. “We’re friends aren’t we?” 

“I guess so.” you laughed nervously. “ Um...what’s up?”

“I’m havin’ a party and you’re coming!”

“Parties?” You frowned. “I-uh...” you wanted to reject the idea. You hated parties and your parents would probably blow a fuse if they knew what was going on around town. ‘Stuart, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not, kitten?” he winked. “Afraid to be seen with little ol’ me?” there was a darkness behind his words that you couldn’t ignore. “Don’t like being out after dark?”

“I’m not the partying type is all.” you shrugged. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not the most popular person around here.” you stared down at your shoes. “I just don’t wanna ruin your party. I’m the last person you wanna be seen with.”

“It’d make me real happy, kitten.” he stepped forward and slipped his fingertips under your chin and made you look up. “Please? Just for a few minutes.”

Call it weakness, but you couldn’t say no to him.

“Okay.” you smiled lightly. “I’ll go”

“Great! Don’t worry, it’ll be super memorable.” he winked as he skipped off. 

Later on, you were walking to your locker only to bump into Adam. Typical bully. “Hey Y/N. Heard you were going to Macher’s party tonight...you gonna wear a dress for me?”

“No.” you answered curtly. “It’s amazing how you don’t seem to have anything better to do other than shove your nose into my business.” you hugged your books to your chest. “Can I go now?.”

“Hey...is there a problem?” you turned around to find Billy Loomis stalking up to you. You had seem him a handful of times but never actually talked to him before. “You...where do I know you from?”

“I sit behind you in English. We had a project together once.” you replied sheepishly. “Stuart forces me to sit between him and his girlfriend at lunch when they’re fighting. You talk to me from time to time...”

“Stuart...” he raised an eyebrow. “You mean Stu?”

“mhm! You probably don’t remember me because I never reply...” you nodded. 

“You goin’ to his party or somethin’?”

“He asked me to go.” you trailed off. “You’re going too, right?”

“ Why? Excited to meet me there?”“ he smirked, totally ignoring Adam at this point. 

“I mean...” you stared down at your books. “I was hoping someone I’d know would be there.”

Billy raised an eyebrow at you. You gave off a shy aura and for some reason he was into that. He and Stu had been planning a massacre, and they were gonna blame that damned Sydney Prescott. It was the perfect crime. 

“Hm...I’ll see you there.” he winked at you, then sent a death-bringing glare at Adam. “Problem, handsome?” he sneered as he passed the athlete.

... at the party

“Not even three hours in and I have to hide...” you cursed yourself out. “Damn asshole...!” 

Adam was informed that you had arrived and was looking for you, shit!

You ran into the kitchen, losing your breath. “Billy?” 

The suspect in question whipped around. Billy was holding what you assumed was the house phone and instantly hung it up. “Hey...”

“Am I glad to see you.” you sighed.

“Somethin wrong?” 

Billy was in the middle of executing his plan, but for some reason he couldn’t help but want to talk to you. 

“Adam is looking for me.” you sighed. “Could I...stay here with you? Please?”

Billy smiled, darting out his tongue to run across his bottom lip. You were absolutely adorable. “I have a better idea.” he smirked, walking up to you. “Why don’t we send him a little message?”

“You have a girlfriend.” you put a hand on Billy’s chest. “I c-can’t.”

“Not anymore...she dumped me for Randy.” he tusked. ”Figures right?”

“Well...that’s her fault...you’re pretty cool.” you bit your lip.

“So...” Billy tilted your head up towards you. “Let me-”...he gently kissed your lips. While it felt wrong, you melted into him. He held the side of your face in his hand. Sidney wasn’t your friend, not by a longshot, but you still respected her. The fact that Billy was so willing to kiss you, like this.

“For once...stop worrying about other people.” he mumbled against your lips. “Just live in the moment...shit I know what I want...you know what you want...so act on it damnit.”

“Are we still talking about getting Adam off me back or-”

“Shush...don’t think.”

“Kinda hard to when your girlfriend is in the other room”

“Shut up.” he shushed you, tightening his arms around you. You kissed him back with just as much urgency. How would the others react, seeing this...seeing you. Billy backed you up against the counter. Before it could get any farther, you both heard screaming, girlish screaming. 

“What the hell was that?” you asked, feeling your heart race.

“Stay here.” Billy ran in the direction of the noise, leaving you to stand there in terror.

You could hear screams and cries for help, followed by what sounded like gleeful laughter. You were left frozen in place as a man with a mask on his face kicked open the kitchen door. 

You immediately braced yourself with a kitchen knife.

“Stay back!” you warned. “I will cut you!”

“Easy kitten, I’m not gonna kill ya.”

Call it ignorance. Call it instinct, but there was something familiar about the way this stranger spoke to you.

“What did you just say?” you dared ask this man. “Did you just call me kitten?”

“You’re naive, childish...and adorable...like a little kitty cat.” the way he laughed under the mask led you to believe he was laughing with his tongue stuck out.

There was only one person that you knew who spoke like that. You slowly lowered the knife and walked up to him cautiously. The figure didn’t move in the slightest. You were standing toe to toe with him. 

You cautiously raised the mask only revealing the bottom half of the strangers face...only they weren’t a stranger.

“Stu.” you concluded.

“....You said my name.” he flirted.

“Care to explain?”

“In a bit...got something to take care of.” he straightened his mask again before disappearing again.

It was only less than a minute before Stu came quite literally crawling back into the kitchen.

Stu doubled over, holding his stomach as you rushed over to his side. “Stu?” you put a hand on his forehead. “Stu, please don’t be dead!” you winced. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” That damn Sidney...she must have had something to do with this.

“Y/N...it hurts.” Stu moaned in pain. “Hold me?” 

You wasted no time in gathering him to the best of your abilities. He rested his head in your knee. You hummed thoughtfully, shushing him while you used his sweater to apply pressure to his stab wound.

“Y/N, are you sure you aren’t an angel?” He shamelessly flirted, smiling through his pain.

“No, I’m not.” you giggled. ”Save your energy.”

“I’d have more if you just gave me those lips of yours...” he winked. Just to shut him up, you kissed his forehead. 

“Not what I meant, but works for me.”

 As you chided the poor boy, Sydney ran into the kitchen, screaming at the top of her lungs while Billy also wounded stumbled behind. 

“Billy??” you gasped in horror. Seeing you must have caused him to loose his footing, because he slowed his movements. You laid Stu on his back and urged him keep his sweater over his wound. 

You scrambled to your feet, eyeing Sidney with a glare no one had ever seen you wear.

“Y/N! You’ve got to believe me! They’ve been the ones doing this.”

“I find that really hard to believe that when you were just standing over Stu with a bloody knife.” you seethed. “Your own boyfriend? Really?” you dared step closer.

“Y/N! They’re manipulating you!” she began crying. “You have to see it!” She was obviously hysterical.

“Then give me the knife.” you faked calm, cautiously stepping towards her. “Give me the knife...and we can-” you stopped yourself. You looked over at Billy, praying he wouldn’t be mad. “We’ll call the cops.” you you held your hand out.

“WHAT?” Billy seethed. You avoided his gaze. Hopefully he wouldn’t sense your fear. 

“Trust me...” you said, just barely above a whisper. You were mostly talking to Billy, but had to make it look like it was directed at her. “We can get out of this...”

Sidney (very stupidly) outstretched her hand, the one that was holding the knife. Once it was within your reach, you grabbed her wrist, and grabbed the blade with your free hand, throwing it to the side. You tackled to to the floor and held her down.

“Crazy bitch.” you mumbled. She began thrashing, and screaming bloody murder. You were eventually able to get the best of her. “Whoever is the least dead...COPS...NOW!” You struggled as Sidney screamed. “This bitch is out of her mind!.”

“I have a better idea.” A seemingly fine, and now very much not dead Stu rose to his feet, a sick smile plastered on his face. The knife had slid over to him and you hadn’t even realized. You were too focused on keeping Sidney on the floor.

Suddenly you were yanked back into Billy’s arms as a sharp object came down from above, plunging through Sidney’s chest. 

“Oh my god!” you buried your head into Billy’s shirt, trying to block out the terrible sounds you heard the terrible sounds of skin ripping. 

“Shhh it’s over babe.” He shushed you. “It’s okay.” he stroked your hair with his bloody hand. Stu laughed manically as he wiped the sweat off his face. 

“Some party huh.” Stu cackled. He wasted no time in sandwiching you between himself and Billy.

“You had us thinking you’d betray us, Kitten.” Stu dug his head into your shoulder.

“Y/N would never do that to us...she’s our good girl.”

“You guys are-”

“Absolutely.”

“And this party was-”

“Smart girl.”

“And now that you know our little secret, we’re never letting you go, kitten!” Stu laughed. 

“And if you tell anyone, we’ll have no choice but to take you down with us...but you won’t do that to us, will you?” Billy asked, nuzzling his head into your neck.