#sometimes I’ll receive an ask and write out a request but that’s only if the spark hits 😅

[peachsayshi]

Since it appears your accepting headcanons, what about some headcanons in where Toji is alive and well au, where reader is tojis wide and child megumis mother, they somehow adopt Tsumiki?

hi, anon ~ the hc I reblogged is actually an old one that I finished up a while ago. I am currently not accepting any new requests until I fulfill the ones that I have. you can always check my pinned to see if my requests are open.

any upcoming requests I am completing are just ones that I have in my inbox which I am trying to get through.

if/when I decide to open up requests again, I’ll let you guys know 🧡

[winterrrnight]

mystery of love

PAIRING: husband!soft!rafe cameron x wife!fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe started to get more busy with his business, and you couldn’t help but start to feel neglected by him.

WARNINGS: soft soft SOFT rafe, he's so lovesick for his wife it is crazy (no it isn’t that’s practically canon), slightly suggestive content but it’s written with a fluffy intent, usage of nicknames like goddess & baby, and just loads of sweetness over all, very very slight angst (?) and intentional use of lower case

EDITH SPEAKS: this fic is more on this, you can’t look at that picture and not think that’s rafe, cause it is! thank you so so much to @glimodejun who commented their idea which prompted me to write this 🫶🏼 i was supposed to write a blurb but I got carried away, clearly, and this is pushing 2k words 😁

anyways, please please reblog if you liked this and feedback is always appreciated! thank you so much for reading 🫧

navigation || join my taglist || requests || series masterlist

oh will wonders ever cease? blessed be the mystery of love

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

it was starting to get a little out of hand.

you always knew how important rafe’s business was to him, especially after he inherited it all from his father. the burgeoning fire in him to make the business bigger and better than it had ever been and be so much more powerful than his father, who couldn’t give him an ounce of attention or praise his entire childhood was one of the biggest things fueling his motivation.

that, and wanting to give you everything you could possibly need in great abundance so that you never felt you were at a loss of anything under his roof.

so you knew he tended to sometimes spend longer hours at the office, to get everything done, to not let a single mistake fall into place in front of his eyes, everything perfectly coordinated and right up to his standards.

he always made sure to call you or send you a text if he was going to be late, informing you why he was going to be late, the tentative time he should be back home, with a small ‘i love you’ and ‘i miss you’ accompanied with the occasional red heart he only ever used for you.

since the past few days, unfortunately you hadn’t been receiving the texts you always did. if you did, it was short, something along the lines of ‘i’ll be late’. but no explanation as to exactly what had been keeping him busy, and no words of endearment at all. he started coming home really late, most of the times when you had tried your best to stay up till he comes home, but the exhaustion would always defeat him in the race and you’d be out like a light.

and the next morning wasn’t close to being better than the night. if you were lucky, you would catch him getting ready for work, and you would always prompt him to stay for at least breakfast. but he would be in a hurry and shake his head no, saying something like ‘i have to leave, it’s important’ and leaving you with a chaste kiss to your lips.

whatever you’d ask, his answers to you would be short, concise and quick, and you felt as if you’re catching the subtle drift of vexation and annoyance in his tone. was it actually there or were you just imagining it? you didn’t know.

and if you weren’t lucky, you wouldn’t even get to see him leave. by the time you would be up, you would only feel the cold wrinkled sheets next to you, the faint scent of him lingering in the air as a burning memory of the love of your life.

this specific night, exactly one week after since the first day this peculiar behavior of his started, you were seated on the edge of the bed after a shower, applying your lotion on your arms as you prepared yourself for another night of waiting for rafe, falling asleep in the process, and letting it be a mystery solved only by some higher power if you would see him in the morning or not.

as you were rubbing the lotion into your skin, you couldn’t help your wandering mind. how were you supposed to deal with this situation? were you supposed to confront him and demand answers? or were you supposed to tread slowly? you knew you were nearing the end of the american fiscal year; 30th of september being right around the corner. it involved loads of financial and accounting work, preparing end-of-year accounts and statements, and what not. so him being busy felt justified. but he should be able to spare a moment to at least send you a proper text, shouldn’t he?

no, you shake your head. you’re his wife, for god’s sake. you shouldn’t be reducing your worth down to some text. heck, you should be getting proper calls from him. you’ve been so wonderfully patient, not complaining for a second for the past week. the least you can get is a proper conversation with him.

as you made up your mind firmly, your thoughts were cut through firmly when the door to your bedroom opened. you looked up to see rafe entering inside the room, his blazer off and resting on his shoulder, and his sleeves messily rolled up to his elbows.

“hey,” he muttered as he closed the door behind him, keeping his bag on the side and disappearing behind the washroom door.

“hey,” you said quietly, your gaze fixed on the floor as you heard the washroom door close. you remained seated on the edge of the bed, clad in a satin black robe which he swore made you look even more of a goddess than you already did as you waited for him to come out.

you heard the shower run inside for some time, after which the door opened and you were greeted with rafe sporting a pair of grey sweatpants, his upper body bare with some water droplets still trickling down his skin.

as he came out, he saw you in the same position at the edge of the bed as before. “hey why aren’t you going to sleep hm?” he asked as he busied himself with applying his moisturizer to his face.

“no reason,” you muttered, your back to him as you kept your gaze down at your feet.

rafe was very quick to catch the dejection in your voice, and before you knew it, he was making his way around the bed to you, standing right in front of you as he looked down at you.

“baby, look up please,” he murmured softly, one of his hand coming to rest on your cheek.

you lifted your head up to meet his gaze, your eyelids heavy as you look up at him through your lashes. “yeah?” you mumbled.

rafe exhaled softly at your bleak tone. he sank down on his knees in front of you, his gaze coming to your level.

“listen baby,” he sighed softly, placing both his hands on your thighs right below the hem of the robe. “I… I haven’t been the best husband the past week and I’m… so so sorry about that,”

his heartfelt words reached your ears and caused your eyes to widen, your mind started to work away the gears to process his words.

“I haven’t been giving you the attention and love I vowed to give you on day one,” he whispered looking deep in your eyes, his own eyes softened to such an extent it had you melting completely. “I haven’t been communicating well with you I…” he muttered, running one hand over his prickly buzzed hair, “I didn’t mean to do that baby I’m so sorry…”

you wanted to say something, anything, for that matter, but you were rendered completely speechless when you started feeling him press kisses over your thighs.

“I hope you can forgive me,” he whispered into your skin, “I hope you can forgive me for everything I did… I’ll make it up to you I promise…”

your lips parted to let out shuddering gasps as you felt him slowly move the satin of your robe up to reveal more of your thighs, his lips pressing kisses against your inner thighs and trailing over your outer thighs.

“I’m so sorry… so sorry, my goddess…” he whispered. “i won’t ever do this again… you’re my top priority, always, and there will never be a second where you don’t feel that way…”

his words left a searing mark on your skin, his lips trailing up to your left hip bone. one of his hands came to rest on your right hip, rubbing gentle circles onto your hip bone through the satin of your robe, and his other hand shifted your robe even higher to grant him more access to your skin. his lips landed on your hip bone and he pressed the most tender kisses along the bone, a soft gasp escaping your lips at his actions. your hand came to rest on the side of his face, your head leaning back as you felt the sensations of his lips on your sensitive hip bone thrum all throughout your body, lighting up each and every nerve that constituted you.

“I love you so much…” he whispered against your skin, starting to gently suck on your skin, his eyes fluttering shut. a hum of pleasure tumbled past your lips, your own eyelids getting heavier. “I love you so so much darling and I’m…” his lips started to trail over your lower abdomen, pressing kisses through the soft satin of your robe that still covered your upper half, “I’m never making this mistake ever again I promise... please forgive me…” he pleaded, his lips making over to your other hip bone and kissing on it, before gently sucking on it the same way he did earlier.

“you only deserve the best…” he murmured, lips trailing a path down to your inner thigh again. “just the best… cause you are so amazing…” he whispered, nipping on the soft skin of your inner thigh. your fingers curled over the nape of his neck to give you some leverage, soft gasps leaving your lips, your eyelashes fluttering, and your chest starting to heave from every kiss and nip of his lips and teeth.

his both hands now rested on the sides of your thighs as they gently kneaded into the flesh and his lips peppered insistent kisses all over your inner thighs. he looked up from your thighs up to you, a pleading expression in his eyes, his lips slightly parted as breaths escaped them.

“please forgive me, my beautiful goddess…” he implored, his voice a mere whisper. “please please forgive me, I’ll never do the same I promise…”

you looked down at him, your fingers trailing to the side of his face to gently cup his cheek. he snuggled into the warmth of your hand almost immediately, his eyes closing for a moment as he let out a soft sigh, letting his lips press a chaste kiss to your palm.

“I forgive you, rafe…” you whispered.

that made him look up at you, his eyes widened and the pleading expression draining out to be replaced with a hopeful one.

“yeah? you do?” he asked, squeezing your thighs in return.

“yeah,” you whispered back, giving him a small smile as you trailed your fingers to the side of his neck, gently scratching your nails against it. he let out a soft exhale at the sensation, letting his head drop to your thighs as your fingers made their way to the back of his neck, continuing the scratching motion. he almost purred in your lap at the feeling, nestling his face into your thighs.

“thank you…” he whispered against your skin. “I won’t disappoint you again, I promise,”

you let out a gentle sigh as you looked at his buried face in your thighs, your expression softening more.

“I know you won’t,” you mumbled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his head.

that night, he held you in his arms and kept you pressed against him, his warmth lulling you in the most beautiful slumber you had experienced in that past week. he made sure you fell asleep comfortably, his lips always pressing random kisses to whatever part of your skin he could succumb to, whispered sweet nothings stumbling past his lips to your ears to alleviate you to great heights.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @mistress-amidala @sadfury @sage-burrow @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @callsignwidow @starkowswife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @jjchaer @f4ll-for-you @wearemadeofstardust0 @drewsmusee @rafegirly @addriaenne @leighbronk @rafesdrew @bejeweledreverie @raf3sgff @aerangi @drewstarkey1bae @moneymaybank @spideysimpossiblegirl @noahkahansorangejuice @rafesgiirl @theoraekenslover @fals3-g0d @personalfavsthatarerandom @b1mb0slvt @babypoguelife @ilyrafe @ladyinbl00d @thisisntannie @zyafics

[6okuto]

i write so you know i love you

🧺 #27: "handwritten letters" with akaashi for @shobvrry :D

the first letter akaashi wrote for you was a short, anxious confession slid into your locker, folded neatly with a star sticker to keep it shut.

i just wanted to say i like you, and i’d like to take you on a date sometime if that’s okay with you. please don’t worry if you don’t feel the same way, but also please pretend you didn’t read this if so. thanks for being my friend. i’ll see you tomorrow :)

he didn’t expect to see you waiting for him after practice that day, the familiar paper in hand. with his ending request, among a dozen catastrophizing explanations stood one reasonable for your presence—

“i like you too, ’ji,” you said a little faster than practiced, heart stumbling at the sight of him.

it was sunset as you held the letter in one hand, and for the first time, keiji’s hand in the other on your way home—pink and orange ribbons of light finding a temporary home in interlocked fingers and brushing arms.

the confession is still carefully tucked away in a box of other gifts and letters you’ve received—the first in a section just from him. he could’ve easily texted at least a third of them, you pointed out once, a few days before your first anniversary, but he only shook his head. it was the romanticism of it all, and—

“what if you texted back right away? i wasn’t ready to handle that, i probably would’ve thrown up or ran away or something.”

his feelings after your first date, a request to see you after school a month after, then the letter celebrating your one month anniversary exactly 31 days later.

they built and built—words pulled from an endless well of love and poetic prose in hopes of capturing just how much you meant to him. you still like flipping through them all, on anniversaries or an otherwise insignificant thursday afternoon.

seeing the different decorations and envelopes and letter lengths throughout the years, only keiji’s handwriting remains the same throughout. it’s the same one that writes “i hope these aren’t sour,” “don’t forget your project by the printer,” “i hope you have a good day :),” and i love you, i love you, i love you.

so when your four year anniversary nears and he makes a remark about his gift, you ask “another letter for me?”

keiji stills, fingers slowing down as they flip the next page in his novel—dostoevsky, you think. his index and thumb start to pull the corner (not enough to fold, but reminiscent of what he does to the hem of his shirt when he’s nervous anyway.) “maybe?”

he fixes his posture, sitting up straighter on the couch. “is that…i know i write them a lot, huh? would you like—”

“no!” you shake your head. “no, i like the letters a lot, keiji, i promise. i just,”—you move next to him and frown—“i hope you don’t feel like you have to write them, you know? i don’t know how your hands don’t hurt a lot after. you could type them out and i’d be just as happy.”

but keiji shakes his head, and it feels a little similar to three years ago. “no, that’s not the same at all. i want to write them for you,”—he closes his book with his thumb as a bookmark, the other hand moving to hold yours—“that’s what makes them special.”

“plus formatting them digitally wouldn’t be any easier than my double-sided tape—do you want to take the joy of tape and stickers away from me?” he raises a brow and squeezes your hand in his.

you snort. “okay, you know what? fair enough.”

and keiji pours a lot of honesty, of himself, into his letters, but maybe one thing he’ll keep a secret is how often his hand cramps and red indents and cuts form on his fingers. because it’s inconsequential in the end, really nothing in comparison to the bright smile and hug you give him when he hands you the next letter a couple of weeks later, carefully folded in an envelope with a star sticker on the front.

[seeingivy]

you're losing me

satoru x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

an: based on a request I received! i've been trying to get back into the writing groove since finals ended - and this very detailed request was exactly what I needed - so ty my sweetie pie <3

--

“Would you guys like to order?” 

You swallow hard, looking up at your waiter, who has stopped by for the third time now. You’ve been sitting here with the first years for almost forty-five minutes now, waiting for Satoru to arrive for the dinner that you two kept promising them. Yuuji and Nobara have all but exhausted the free bread supply while you waited, much to Megumi’s dismay, who keeps claiming that they’re going to be too full to eat their dinner and complain about it for days. 

“Um-” 

You pause, checking his location one more time, before you sigh and give a polite smile. Satoru’s location still isn’t reading - meaning, he’s still stuck on his mission - and not coming to dinner. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” you respond, gesturing for the three of them as Megumi starts narrating everyone’s order to the waiter.

The three of them turn to you - with matching stiff smiles - when he walks away as you swallow hard and prepare yourself for the awkward barrage of comments you know are coming. 

“He’s not coming?” Megumi asks. 

“Yeah. He’s still at his mission and I have to take you guys back early anyways, so we’ll just eat without him.” 

“Maybe you can take something for him to go?” Yuuji asks. 

“No, that’s alright. Um, his dinner from yesterday should still be there. He’s good.” you respond. 

You don’t miss the look that the three of them give each other and swallow down the defense of him that you always have prepared. Not that you don’t still vehemently believe in it, because you do, it’s just that it tends to make those prolonged, pitying looks last longer when you do. 

But Satoru really is busy. There’s no one like him - he quite literally changed the balance of life as anyone knew it when he was born - so of course there are certain missions that only he can do. And there’s a certain…safety that comes with picking Satoru each time. Because they know that he’ll come out on the other side of it, with exactly what they need. 

Which means that he comes home late sometimes. Despite your best efforts to stay up - which always end with you upright on the couch, with your neck curved in a weird way - only to find that you’re safely tucked into your bed the next morning. 

Satoru always comes home at some point, making sure to tuck you into bed, but has to run off so fast that you don’t catch him in the morning. 

“Gojo-sensei’s really neglecting you, huh?” Nobara utters, earning a jab from Megumi in his side. 

You smile. 

“No. He’s just busy.” you respond, awkwardly breaking the bread in your plate. 

“You’re right. He has missions and has been really hands on with the second-years.” Megumi responds. 

You shoot him a grateful smile. 

“Exactly! Especially since they’re all about to be nominated for first grade sorcerers so…now is more important than ever.” you add. 

“It’s okay. You should just make Gojo-sensei feel really bad. Isn’t he rich? Then he’ll buy you a nice ring to make up for it.” Nobara adds, giving you a wink. 

You snort. 

“Okay, Nobara. I’ll try it.” you scoff. 

“No, seriously! He should feel bad - you’re probably drinking wine alone at night, blasting some sad songs before you get so tired from crying that you fall asleep. You deserve a gift!” Nobara adds, earning her another jab from Megumi in her side. 

You roll your eyes. 

“I do not blast sad songs before I go to bed. That’s actually pathetic.” you respond. 

“Or therapeutic. I’ll send you a playlist. Trust me, you’ll get so mad that you’ll actually get a gift from him out of it.” Nobara responds, your phone beeping in your pocket from her message. 

You look over at Megumi, giving him a knowing look, before you return to your dinner and let Nobara target her incessant rambling for someone else. At the end of the dinner, Nobara flashes you a big smile when you set Satoru’s credit card down on the table, which was an accident because you had just left yours at home. You settle down her rambling by buying them all dessert on it before you send them home. 

--

Satoru, though he would never admit it out loud, had been dreading coming home for the past week. And he’d wring his own neck out a few months ago, for even thinking it, let alone the fact that he’s been entertaining the fact for the past few months. 

But what he has waiting for him when he’s coming home, leaves him with that deep seated, guilty pit in his stomach. Because he always trods into your apartment hours late, to find you curled up on the couch, having dozed off. 

Satoru knows you - too well almost - and that despite his protests, you tried your best to wait up for him every single day. His heart warms at the fact that you want to spend time with him, but it’s quickly overshadowed with guilt when he sees the dark circles under your eyes. And it makes it ten times worse when he slips out in the morning for his mission, only to see you squirming into his side of the bed, now left cold. 

And the worst part? That you can’t even bring yourself to be mad about it. Because Satoru would feel with anger, that it would be fully deserved, but your full understanding and love for him just makes his guilt a thousand times worse. Because without fail, you always leave ehim a dinner plate out, reminding him to eat his vitamins and rink water before leaving. 

But today was different - quite possibly, the first time he’s rushed home in a while. Because his mission finished early and his meeting got cancelled, meaning that he would be home when you would be awake. He’d made arrangements, quickly running past and picking up a bouquet and ice cream on the way home, nearly sprinting all the way up the stairs. 

Satoru pads into the apartment, feet leading him straight to the bedroom, where the light is pouring from the bottom of the closed door. He hesitates, caught off by the fact that you’re singing, before knocking on the door together. He’d missed the sound of it, of your quiet singing that he’d often wake up to while you were showering. 

Satoru can recognize that you’re listening to Taylor Swift almost immediately - with how much you and Nobara play it around him - and he’s almost positive that you must have the cat cuddled into your nap, explaining all the lore to him like he’s found you doing hundreds of time. 

"Do something, babe, say something" (say something) "Lose something, babe, risk something" (you're losin' me) "Choose something, babe, I got nothing (got nothing) To believe Unless you're choosin' me" You're losin' me Stop (stop, stop), you're losin' me Stop (stop, stop), you're losin' me I can't find a pulse My heart won't start anymore

Satoru swallows hard. He knows that it’s just a song. That the sentiment could easily not be reflecting what you’re feeling. 

But he’s also acutely aware that it could be what you’re feeling. And it’s something that you aren’t telling him, because he knows that you odn’t want to be another thing that he has to deal with at the end of the day. 

Satoru groans, leaning his head against the door, as he panders with his options. Because that’s the last thing that he wants you think. It’s the farthest place he wants to be in his relationship with you, because he wants you to always come to him. The fact that you could have been holding onto these feelings, for god knows how long, makes his stomach churn as his feet quickly lead him into the kitchen and has him scribbling a note to place in the bouquet of flowers. 

--

You shoot Nobara a text as you pad out into the kitchen, your cat following you on your heels. 

you: i like the playlist! 

nobara: how much have you had to drink? 

you: i did not drink. and i am not sad. 

nobara: now who said that? projecting much…

You roll your eyes as you half debate opening up the dinner you had left out for Satoru last night or ordering takeout and leaving him leftovers to eat tomorrow morning 

“I already ordered us something.” 

You turn around, to find Satoru closing the space between you, the flowery smell filling your nose as his lips meet your forehead in a warm kiss. 

“Satoru. You’re home, I didn’t even…” 

He presses his lips firmly against yours, his right hand flesh as your cheek, sending a wave of warmth down your spine. You smile into the kiss, resting your forehead against his, as he returns a soft smile back. 

“I missed you.” he murmurs. 

You deflate, warm tears filling your eyes at his presence - bright blue eyes, the smell of his shampoo, and his warm arms around yours - as you loop your arms under his and dig your face into his neck. You can feel him leaving a few pecks in your hair, his voice soothing as you try your best to will away your tears. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to cry, I just really missed you.” 

He pulls back, giving you a warm smile, as he reaches for the flowers on the counter and places them in your hands. You give him a bright smile, twisting them in your hands, as you fully inhald the flowery smell. 

“For you.” Satoru responds, in a sing song voice as he reaches forward to pinch your cheek. 

“You didn’t have to, love.” you respond, swiping the tiny little envelope from the bouquet. 

“Yes. I did.” he deadpans, placing his hands on your shoulder before swinging you around and placing you flesh against his chest. 

You open up the little envelope to find a little note inscribed with his messy handwriting, as his lips find their way to your cheek. 

My sweet girl, 

Your endless empathy and patience don’t go unnoticed. You’re far more than I deserve and I want to make it up to you, though I’m sure I’ll probably spend the rest of my life doing that, if you’ll let me. 

We’re going to go away, just the two of us, for a little while. I don’t care where we go, you can choose where we go and what we do tomorrow. Just know, that in earnest, I’m choosing you, even if I don’t make it clear all the time. 

I’ll choose you, always. 

Love, 

Satoru

You smile hard, twisting around, so you can look up at him. The tears are flowing from your eyes tenfold how, as Satoru lifts his hands to your cheeks, trying to push you into smiling. 

“Why are you frowning, princess?” 

“You’re so sweet, Satoru.” 

Satoru shakes his head dismissively, as he pushes you into his embrace fully, increasing the pressure of his hold around you. The two of you stand there in the kitchen for a while, softly murmuring to each other, in the pale light of the kitchen. 

When you and Satoru pad into bed later that night, you send Nobara another message before going to sleep. 

you: nvm. remind me to take ur advice more often.

--

an, again: no one crucify me I haven't written anything for like a month

the satoru as taylor swift series masterlist

taglist: @invisible-mori @porridgesblog  @k0z3me  @kayleegomez  @yihona-san06  @bsenpai  @sweetenertea  @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg

[jayflrt]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 44. dangerous entanglements

content warnings: smut, dirty talk, lots of teasing, praise, fingering, oral (m. receiving), oral (f. receiving)

YOUR FATHER WAS A GREAT MAN.

You knew he had his faults, like any other parent, you supposed. Maybe sometimes you felt pressured by the expectations that weighed on your shoulders, but your dad deserved some credit for consistently making an effort for your sake. 

For your fifth grade promotion, it was your dad in the very front row, beaming brightly with his camera even though your mother was nowhere to be seen. It was your dad that attended each and every single science fair and spelling bee that you participated in, and even if you didn’t win first place, he would celebrate each one. It was your dad that helped you pick out clothes for your first date, which you were extremely nervous about and ended up swatching three different eye shadow palettes on his arm. 

It was perhaps the lack of effort from the parents around you that made you appreciate your father just a little more. You were well aware that Sunghoon’s parents weren’t the same; they hadn’t even sent flowers for his graduation. The only time they celebrated his accomplishments was for events where they could use publicity to their advantage. 

So who were you to complain about your path being carved for you when it had been so generously laid out at your feet? How could you protest when you were promised realities that few could only dream of?

Maybe dreams were just dreams. Foolish idealizations that you were meant to bury under the sand and forget about. When it came to your purpose, a dream was worthless. That was why you pushed it down your whole life, suppressing every selfish desire until it curled around your ribs and made it hard to breathe. 

And you supposed that Jay was the one who left you vulnerable enough to slip back into those dangerous dreams. 

But things were different now. Sure, your dad hadn’t yet accepted the future you wanted for yourself, and you were far too scared to confront him about it, but he had already given you freedom for the summer. You just had to get him to warm up to the idea, that was all. 

When he called you to his study, you weren’t sure what to expect. Maybe he would talk about the ceremony for Sungjin, or maybe he would tell you about how golfing went. Regardless, you were itching to ask him what he thought about Jay; it was his approval that you sought out the most, after all. 

As soon as you walked inside, your dad glanced up and closed the folder he was reading from. You were greeted with a warm smile. You realized you were still by the door, twiddling with your fingers before walking over to his desk. 

“Is Jay settled in the guest bedroom yet?” he asked. “You should bring him an extra blanket. I heard it gets cold in there.”

He was asking about Jay out of his own accord. That had to be a good thing, right? You were afraid that your dad wouldn’t think Jay met up to a certain socio-economic level that he expected, but you had hope that Jay’s personality would blow all of that out of the water. 

“Yeah, he said it’s great. I’ll—”

“Did you bring your notebook?” 

An all-too-familiar chill traveled down your spine. You placed the moleskine notebook on the desk, as he requested, and you sat at the chair across from him. None of your memories associated with this notebook were fond, and you attributed most of your bad memories with your father to the very object. 

You were given the notebook at a very young age. The instructions were quite clear; all you had to do was jot down whatever your father asked you to, follow it religiously, and never lose the book. 

It was a strange practice, but you never complained. Something about writing down information to remember it better, but you weren't quite convinced that was the whole reason. It felt more to do with your father wanting to feel as if he had some control over your life, like the notebook was his tool to set you on the right path. 

Initially, it was simply a resource for you. At a young age, you often struggled with social anxiety whenever you were dragged along to some upper crust event. The notebook was a gift from your father after hours of being scolded by your mother for your shy behavior and awkward responses. He provided pages of generated responses for you to practice and certain important names you had to remember. It was helpful in the beginning.

Then, he added more to it. You suddenly had a section of people to avoid, people who were of no value to you. There were only a few names there at first—people who had gotten involved in scandals, people who had the intent to scam, people who had a bad reputation—but then your father had you write in a name that threw you for a loop. 

Kim Sunoo.

It was around high school when you started feeling worse about the notebook. You were always encouraged to associate with Park Sunghoon, so your dad was naturally pleased by your growing friendship with him, but when he found out that Heeseung was part of your group, you had to walk around with the guilt of writing your dear friend down as someone who was meaningless to your future. Expendable.

“Now, I have some edits I’d like you to add in.” He paused to adjust the reading glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Do you have a pen?”

You begrudgingly grabbed a ballpoint pen from his pencil holder. “Ready.”

The first few names mentioned were from the Order. (Stay close to Song Eunseok—his parents are government officials; be on good terms with Ning Yizhuo—her dad owns a steel company; be friendly but don’t worry much about Shin Ryujin—her dad’s a casino owner.) He always gave you some rundown about their families, how they’d prove to be useful connections, and then you would have to just trust your father’s judgment. There was never room for you to go against his words.

Then, he pushed a piece of paper in front of you. 

Your heart sank.

Jay Park: Rebound from Sunghoon. Temporary fun. Won’t last past graduation. 

There was something furious inside you, and it sank its icy jaws right into your heart. You felt your blood pumping, drumming in your ears so violently that you almost couldn’t catch him telling you to copy the words into your notebook.

You stared unblinkingly at the words, horrified. “I thought you liked Jay.”

“I do,” your dad insisted with an earnest nod. “He has a bright future ahead of him, and we had a great game—though I think he could practice his swing—but just because I like him doesn’t mean he’s anything more than a friend to you.”

You spluttered, outraged. “More than a—what?”

“Y/N, I don’t want this to upset you, but guys like Jay might seem fun and exciting at first, but you and him are from completely different worlds. He’s not gonna mesh well in our world.” He spoke to you in a gentle yet firm voice, but there was a condescending undertone that made your skin crawl. “You don’t see it now, but you’re gonna do great things in the future, and you need to be with someone who can match your standard.”

You knew he was hinting at Sunghoon. Your father took the news of your breakup strangely well, but you were certain that he thought you and your ex-boyfriend were simply on a break. Yours and Sunghoon’s family had constantly pushed for you two to get together from a young age; it was almost as if you two were destined to be together, but now it was clear to you that he just happened to be from an accomplished family. 

But what on Earth was your dad spewing about Jay? He often spoke about your feelings on your behalf, but he never genuinely tried to understand how you were feeling. 

“Dad, it’s not like that,” you tried, meeker than you had hoped. “I really want this to work out, like, I think I finally found someone who makes me feel the way you do about mom.”

As soon as the words came out of your mouth, you realized that it probably wasn’t the most ideal comparison. Your stomach only sank deeper when you saw your father’s eyes harden, clouding over with some unrecognizable emotion that made you falter. 

“And look how that turned out,” he said sadly, hardly louder than your voice had been. 

You overstepped. 

It was as if that rage inside of you subdued at once. It shriveled back immediately, and you tried to reason with yourself. 

It wasn’t anything to worry over. Your notebook was only for your eyes, so writing empty words wouldn’t do any harm. It wasn’t like your father’s mind couldn’t be swayed; you managed to convince him to take you off of the Mercy Health internship, so you could definitely get him to warm up to Jay. They seemed to get along well, after all, so it wouldn’t be an impossible feat. 

So, you gritted your teeth and copied down his dreadful text word-for-word. This time, you weren’t quite sure if this was all worth your father’s smile of approval.

Your meeting with your father sapped all of the energy right out of you. You dragged your feet all the way up to your room before remembering that you were supposed to bring Jay an extra blanket.

And, never mind that, you were also supposed to have a very important talk with him. This was something you had actually been anticipating, too, because he was the one who offered to have a discussion. You felt like you were floating high up in the clouds throughout the day until you spoke with your father.

As you made your way down the hall, your heart raced. Deep down, you knew that nothing felt right about keeping this from him. You needed to tell Jay, but then wouldn’t he resent your father and steer clear from you? You couldn’t screw this up before it even started. 

Jay opened the door only seconds after you knocked. He was wearing the suit he was planning to interview in, and you remembered him mentioning that he wanted to tailor the parts that didn’t fit as well himself. Immediately, the nonchalant façade you were trying to put up had shattered at your feet, and your throat felt thick with emotion. He gingerly took the blanket before gesturing for you to come inside. 

“Your guest bedroom’s huge,” he started after closing the door. “This is bigger than my—” Jay stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed you wiping at the corners of your eyes. Sincerity dripped from his tongue, like honey. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You had been trying your hardest to bottle up how you felt, but you always happened to wear your emotions on your sleeve around him. 

“Come on, what’s wrong?” he pressed again, this time craning his neck lower so that he could make eye contact with you. As much as you tried to avoid his gaze, Jay just took your forearms gently and turned you to face him. “You can talk to me.”

You weren’t going to tell him. You couldn’t. He would just pull away from you again, and you didn’t want him to slip from your fingers.

Somehow, you always felt so anxious about him leaving you. It almost felt like it would be inevitable; the closer you got to him, the harder you had to hold on to keep him by your side. The discussion with your father only cemented that fear—the kind of fear that got deep inside your skin and dug a grave. 

“No, I’m always crying around you. It’s embarrassing.” You used your sleeve to wipe your eyes. “I was crying the first time we met, too.”

The corner of Jay’s mouth picked up in a grin, and he simply brought his hands to your face so that he could wipe away your tears with the pads of his thumbs. “It’s not because of me, right?” When you didn’t respond, he pulled back to catch your expression, eyes wide with shock. “It’s because of me?” 

“Not completely,” you tried, but Jay was already taking a seat at the edge of the mattress and letting his head hang, as if he was reflecting on his past actions. “I just”—you took a few steps closer to him until you were standing between his legs—“feel like you’re not really here sometimes.”

His calloused hands gently held the back of your knees as he looked up at you. “What do you mean?”

“I feel like we feel the same way about each other, and I feel like there’s something there, but you always pull me in and push me away whenever we get too close,” you said. It was honestly shocking that you were even able to frame the words that you couldn’t even string together in your head. “What is it about me that’s making you hesitate?”

Jay swallowed thickly. For a moment, he just stared at you, unblinking, and you were afraid that he was going to run away from you again. Then, he slid his hands up to the back of your thighs and pulled you down to straddle his lap. Your cheeks heated up when you remembered being in that exact position in your hotel room in Monaco. 

“It’s not really something I can explain right now,” he murmured. “I just—the person I am right now isn’t ready to be the person you need me to be, but it feels impossible to stay away from you.”

“I don’t need you to be anyone but yourself,” you insisted. With a frustrated sigh, you went on, “I’ve basically been taken advantage by most of the people in my life, and you’re the first guy to make me feel like I’m worth more than my last name. I don’t want all of this”—you gestured to the space around you—“to make you feel like you have to live up to some expectation.”

“It’s not that, Y/N, I—”

“Then what is it?” 

“I told you, I can’t explain it right now.”

“Well, if you can’t tell me, then what’re we even doing?” Exasperated, your voice broke. That was all it took for your tears to start spilling again, and even though you willed them to stop, you couldn’t keep them from pooling at your waterline. Jay simply looked agonized as he struggled to form coherent sentences. “What is it, am I—am I that hard to want?”

You couldn’t quite catch Jay’s outraged expression properly with the way your vision was blurring, but the tension between you two was unbearable. You could feel his grip tighten around your thighs upon hearing your words. 

“No, it’s easier than breathing.”

You sucked in a breath and shook your head. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be talking about this before your—”

It all happened quicker than a flash of lightning. One second Jay’s thumb was rubbing circles on your tear-stained cheeks, and then his soft lips were pressed against yours. 

Jay kissed you.

He kissed you.

There was a violent storm in your chest, and it left strong gusts of passion and a torrent of arousal in its wake. It appeared that Jay, too, only felt the weight of his actions after pulling back to look at you. His eyes were searching yours, a little helpless, but you could tell that they were clouding over with something fiercer. 

“I shouldn’t do this,” he whispered—a failed attempt at forced conviction. His lips were inches from yours, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. With little self-restraint, Jay leaned in once more, leaving gentle, chaste pecks that grew more and more fervent, his hesitancy ebbing away as he did. “No, no, no, no—I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

You couldn’t do this either. A voice in the back of your head kept telling you to backtrack, to tell Jay what being together would mean for him right now. But his interview with your father was tomorrow; you couldn’t unnerve him right before it. Despite your internal conflict, however, it was hard for you to focus on anything but the curve of his lips.

A bubble of fear dared to burst as your vulnerability bled through, but all you knew was that you wanted more—no, you needed more. 

His gaze was still piercing, and you knew exactly what he was asking. Although your voice had been wavering up until now, you never sounded more sure of yourself when you said in a breath, “But I need you,” and something primal inside Jay snapped. 

He sealed his mouth over yours again—hot and slow—and the way his hands roamed your body wasn’t pure in the slightest. He pulled you in by your waist, dragging your clothed core against his thigh, and then his bruising grip found its way to your hips.

You felt feverish.

There was something intoxicating about the way Jay kissed you. He was precise, like he had mapped out exactly what he wanted to do to you beforehand, and he saw to it that you were fully satisfied. Although you two had all the time in the world, there was a sense of urgency in the way you held the back of his neck. You wanted all of him before you couldn’t have him at all.

You heard a low rumble in the back of his throat. The sounds he made were so addicting that you grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged, rousing another groan from Jay before he proceeded to slip his tongue past your lips. 

Jay pulled away to kiss down to your jawline, leaving small pecks down the column of your neck and the expanse of your collarbone until he found that perfect spot that stole the breath from your lungs. He sank his teeth into your shoulder, inciting a yelp that he muffled with a chaste kiss. 

Then, he was pulling down the front of your shirt, kissing as much exposed skin he could find. You moaned softly as you rolled your hips down against him, but Jay was still focused on ravaging your chest. 

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he rasped again, practically growling against your skin, “but I can’t think straight around you.”

Your nerves felt like they had been lit aflame. You had fantasized about this moment for a while, but you never anticipated that Jay would be so forward, so desperate. Despite that, though, he was still gentle in the way he kissed every inch of your skin as if he worshiped your body. 

You drew back to hurriedly pull your shirt over your head. Jay eyed you with a hunger in his eyes that couldn’t be satiated, but he seemed to regain some of his conscience when he threw a nervous glance over his shoulder. The door was still unlocked, but you weren’t worried about anyone walking in. 

“Here? Are you sure?” he asked. He kept his eyes trained on you as you tossed your shirt to the side, then hooked your fingers in your waistband to slide your shorts down, then your thong (which he ended up tearing in half). His hands traveled up your sides, and then he moved to unhook your bra. “I told you we couldn’t do this.”

“We can’t, or you won’t?”

“We can’t,” he insisted, firmer this time, although his eyes were unfocused, “but I’ve never been good at standing my ground when it comes to you.”

“Good,” you started, slipping your bra off and letting it fall to the floor.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, “you’re a dream.”

Despite your burning cheeks, you ignored his praise and continued, “I want you to stop caring about everyone else and just pay attention to me.”

His eyes were hard when he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I won’t be able to stop,” he said, “and you might not be able to sleep tonight.”

“Prove it.”

He stared at you, almost like he was enchanted, and his hand crept up your inner thigh. “C’mere.”

You thought Jay was going to pull you back on top of him when he took your hand, but he ran his hands up to your hips and left hot, open-mouthed kisses up your thigh. You gasped, pressing your legs together because your core burned with arousal, but Jay looked up at you through half-lidded eyes.

He stood up, making you take a few steps backward. Jay loosened his tie and unbuttoned his coat as he walked you back into the wall. You took that as your cue to push his coat off his shoulders and carefully undo the buttons of his white button-up. 

“Careful,” he said in a low voice, “they’re hanging on by a thread.”

You weren’t sure how rough you were handling his clothing, but you swore you heard the sounds of fabric tearing while you were trying to undress Jay. He gave you a look of disapproval, but once you let it drop to the floor, neither of you cared about the state of your garments anymore. 

And, oh, did he look heavenly; you hadn’t noticed it much before, but his broad shoulders and sculpted chest made you feel like you were going to be ruined. His body was truly something else. You were almost certain it belonged behind velvet ropes at a museum, not brazenly on display before you. You ran your hand down his abs, making him draw in shallow breaths because of your featherlight touch.

“Want me to make you feel good?” he asked in a low voice, lips at the shell of your ear. You short-circuited and let out a pathetic, breathless sound, which Jay only cooed at. The pad of his thumb ghosted your bottom lip. “You’ve been waiting, yeah?”

“Well, I’ve been waiting, too,” Jay continued, “and I’ve been waiting for so long that I’m scared I won’t hold back. Think I’d break you.”

You let out a whimper so pathetic that your cheeks burned with shame immediately after. Jay smirked at your reaction, pushing you further up against the wall. You two were now chest-to-chest, and he experimentally rolled your nipple between two fingers, watching how your face twisted in an attempt to keep quiet. 

“I think you should just break me, then.”

“Should I?” He hummed, pausing to look you up and down. “Want my fingers or my mouth?”

“Both?”

You received a smug grin in response. “Good girl.”

He lowered himself to the ground until his lips were near the apex of your legs. You felt your heart hammering in your ribcage.

“You’re so wet for me already,” he observed, experimentally breaching your cunt with the tips of his fingers. “How often do you think about me, baby?” 

His words ripped through your body like an inferno. “I… I don’t—”

“Don’t what? You don’t think about me?” he asked, and he didn't look like he believed you at all. You shook your head in protest and he grinned. “That’s a lie, isn’t it?”

“I’m not telling.”

“That’s fine. I’ll just get it out of you.”

The Order member had a wicked side to him, you concluded. Jay stood up once more to look you in the eye. Despite his gentle tone, he slid his pointer and middle finger into your cunt with a suddenness that made you grab onto his shoulders. You inhaled sharply when his thumb found purchase on your clit, and his gentle murmurs of encouragement didn’t exactly match the unforgiving pace his fingers were pumping inside you at. 

As if that wasn’t enough, Jay started kissing up your inner thighs again. He littered your skin with kisses and bruises, which you hardly noticed because you were too focused on the way his fingers curled inside of you.

Every mewl and whimper spilling from your lips only seemed to encourage Jay further, and it was only a matter of time before he experimentally dragged his tongue along the folds of your cunt. You let out a shaky breath, steadying yourself by gripping his hair. Coupled with the pace Jay fingered you at, you were almost worried that he would actually break you by the end of the night. He was so tedious and meticulous about the way he pleasured you, gauging your reactions and intensifying his ministrations whenever he noticed you were enjoying something. 

A certain desperation clouded your eyes once you felt that familiar warmth blossoming under your skin. Your arousal was all but rushing in your ears, so loud that you couldn’t even think about anything but the undeniable pleasure. 

Jay seemed to take notice that you were reaching your climax, so he slipped his fingers out of you. Before you could even let out a whine, he grabbed your hips and buried his face in your cunt. You gasped, but it quickly broke off into obscene moans as his tongue skillfully snaked its way past your slit. Your hips canted a little for more friction, but Jay had a formidable grip on you, keeping you pinned to the wall. 

“Like that?” he purred, flattening his tongue and licking one long stripe to your clit. He laughed a little when you could only let out a helpless cry, begging for more. “No one’s made you feel this good, baby? Is that why you can’t get enough of me?”

You weren’t sure what you were trying to say, but whatever it was came out as an incoherent string of words. Jay pulled away to stand up, which frustrated you beyond belief because you needed his hands to be on you. A sheen of your arousal glistened on his chin and nose, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as you pulled him close to connect your lips again. 

Jay’s fingers buried themselves in your cunt again, and your breath hitched against his mouth as you readjusted to the sudden penetration. The pads of his fingers brushed against that perfect spot right under your cervix that made you see stars. You were so, so close to the edge of your release, and you could feel the corners of Jay’s mouth lift when he realized you were about to cum. 

He pulled back to ask, “No?”

You shook your head, and Jay smiled, curling his fingers at the perfect angle to get you to come undone before him. Pleasure rippled through your body. You felt like your knees were going to give out from standing, and you ended up falling forward against Jay’s bare chest. 

You felt him press a kiss to your temple, and it got a weak smile out of you. You tried to look him in the eye when you wrapped your arms around his neck, but he was licking off your arousal from his fingers in a way that immediately flustered you.

“Take these off,” you said shyly, tugging at the waistband of his pants. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one naked.”

“Uh-huh,” Jay replied absentmindedly, ghosting his hands down your sides. “I can’t believe you look this good.”

You pouted. “You’re not even listening to me!”

“Nah, I always am.” His hands found the back of your thighs, and you took that as your cue to hold onto his shoulders and jump. Jay hiked your legs up his waist and carried you to the bed, setting you down carefully at the edge. He was towering over you when he stood between your knees and asked, “Why don’t you take them off yourself?”

“M-me?” you stuttered out, but your fingers were already fumbling for his zipper. 

You swallowed thickly. Jay’s cock was strained under the fabric, and you were already overwhelmed by his size. You tugged his pants down by the belt loops, and Jay assisted you by pushing the rest down his legs. His boxers were next, and you were especially nervous about this one. As you pulled them down, with Jay shuddering as you traced his v-line with your manicured nails, his erect cock sprung out and slapped the underside of his abdomen. 

There was an alarming issue at hand: Jay was huge.

Not that you were one to compare dick sizes, but his was considerably thicker and heavier than any other ones you had seen before. You were almost worried that Jay wasn’t exaggerating when he told you he would break you.

You felt hot again when he cupped your cheek with his palm. “Hm? Keep going.”

“Keep going…” you echoed, distracted, and you pressed a gentle kiss to the head of his cock. Then, you looked up at him through your lashes. “Like this?”

Jay groaned. “Exactly like that, Y/N.”

He wasn’t yours. No, he wasn’t yours, but you needed to have him. You wrapped your lips around Jay’s cock and let your tongue glide against his slit, drawing a sharp breath from him. His hand gripped the back of your head, fingers curling in your hair as you dragged your tongue along the underside of his head. 

Jay wasn’t one to be impatient, but you were getting excited at the thought of him getting frustrated with you. He hastily bucked his hips forward to chase the pleasure, but you continued to tease him with your kitten licks. He suppressed a moan at the back of his throat. You pulled your lips off of him to roll your tongue along the vein that ran down his shaft. 

“Fuck, you’re such a damn tease,” he growled. His fingers curled until he had your hair in a fist. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know?”

You laughed, lips still pressed against his shaft. “I wanna be the only one who makes you feel this way, that’s why.”

“Oh,” Jay started with an odd expression dawning on his face, and he was dead serious when he said, “you’ve already ruined everyone else for me.”

Your face broke into a dreamy smile before taking his cock into your mouth. His moans were addicting, so you continued your torturous antics until Jay gripped your jaw tightly with his free hand. You let out a sound that was an attempt of a giggle which resulted in you choking on his length, and Jay tilted his head back and moaned. 

Then, you took the rest of him in, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock that you couldn’t fit inside your mouth. His cock hit the back of your throat, and soon, Jay was thrusting his hips at a steady rhythm while you deepthroated him. Tears pooled at your eyes at the stretch, but you still hallowed your cheeks and sucked him off, unrelenting. 

You knew he was close by his strangled groans and the way his cock twitched in your mouth, so it wasn’t long before Jay stuttered out a string of curses and came in your mouth. You felt his hot seed down your throat and swallowed. Jay just stared at you, dazed, drinking in your fucked-out appearance as his thumb grazed your bottom lip. 

“So good for me,” he murmured, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He was barely audible, but nevertheless, his voice set you on fire. 

You couldn’t even think straight anymore. Couldn’t think of anything but him.

“Jay.”

“Yeah?” He hummed the words, still relishing how you looked before him. 

“Fuck me.”

You heard the way his breath hitched at your words. Saw the way his eyes went unfocused again. It was the same look he had given you several times in the past; you could never place your finger on what he was thinking, but now it was all too clear.

He wanted you—possibly even more than you expected.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asked, voice pitched an octave deeper. You crawled back on the mattress as Jay moved on top of you, using his strong arms to hover over you. “Want me to turn you into a mess.”

You grabbed his shoulders. “Yeah, need you to fuck me.”

“I don’t have a condom.”

You groaned. “Can we just buy Plan B tomorrow?”

“Do you know how expensive Plan B is? That’s, like, at least—”

You rolled your eyes and cut him off by sealing his lips with yours, cupping Jay’s face with your hands. After you pulled back, much to his displeasure, you asked, “You have me naked underneath you right now, and you’re worried about how much Plan B costs?”

He cocked his head to the side, as if the answer couldn’t be any more obvious. “Yes?”

“We can deal with that tomorrow,” you insisted, “just please.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at Jay’s lips. “Never thought you’d be this needy.”

“I’ve never had sex like this,” you admitted in a breath, gripping onto his shoulders a little harder. It was true; you had never had all of your needs fully satisfied without any expectations of returning the favor.

“Never?”

You shook your head. “And… can you start slow for me? Please?”

“I plan on taking my time.” He moved your hair out of your face. “Hoon didn’t?”

Again, a hesitant shake of your head. Jay’s eyes narrowed. 

His laugh was devoid of mirth. “Of course.”

This time, it was Jay who rolled his eyes. You thought he was frustrated with you, but then he pulled your hips forward so that you were flush against his pelvis. Something about the steely resolution in his eyes told you to prepare yourself. 

“I’ve stretched you out enough, haven’t I? I’m gonna show you what you’ve been missing out on,” he murmured, low and matter-of-factly, “and I’m gonna make sure you forget how that idiot treated you. ‘Cause it’s just me now”—he pushed his fingers into your mouth, shivering at the way your tongue wrapped around his digits—“right?”

You let out a broken whimper, spurring Jay to press his fingers down against your tongue. 

“Right, Y/N?” he repeated—gentler, this time. 

All you could do was nod, and you grabbed ahold of his wrist to suck on his fingers once more before moving his hand lower. Jay gave you a bewildered stare as you guided his hand to the base of your neck. He quirked a brow at you before realization seemed to wash over him; he splayed out his fingers to wrap around your neck. His pointer and middle finger made a ‘v’ around your Adam’s apple, applying the slightest bit of pressure.

“You still have to tell me, you know,” Jay murmured, running his free hand down the curve of your hip. He moved it lower and lower before his thumb found your clit again. Before you could ask for clarification, he added, “How often you think about me.”

Your face felt hot—whether it was from his comment or the way he was looking at you so intently, you didn’t know. “All… all the time.”

“Huh. Is that so?” 

You could hardly speak coherently as took his hand off your throat to rub the head of his cock against your cunt. You let a trembling sigh slip as he lazily ran it along your folds. 

You whined. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

He leaned down to press a kiss to the shell of your ear. 

“I’m here now, baby.”

Jay’s shifted forward a little, just enough for his tip to breach your entrance. You attempted to suppress your moans by biting your lip, but the next jerk of his hips had you crying out far too loud to go unnoticed. Jay waited for you to adjust before he went any further. He hadn’t bottomed out inside you yet, but the head of his cock was fully inside you by now, and fuck, did it feel good. 

You ran your nails down his back, digging them in when Jay thrusted shallowly to work his shaft into you. He gripped the back of your thighs to stretch you out some more, groaning out loud whenever you clenched around his length. You felt like you were being split in half, drowning in a molten sea that pulled you back down each time you surfaced for air. 

Your back arched off the bed, and Jay reached to hold the small of your back so that he could keep your body pressed against his. His other hand was pushing your hip up his waist. Right as he rocked his hips forward, you cried out as Jay bottomed out inside you. (He also clamped his hand over your mouth immediately after and said in an undertone, “You have to keep it down, princess.”) Through half-lidded eyes, you met his gaze that never once left your face. 

“You’re doing so good for me,” he murmured, drunk off your reactions. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep looking at me like that.”

You pulled Jay down into a searing kiss, and the butterflies in your stomach scattered. His lips melted over yours effortlessly. He moved his hand from your back to your cheek, rubbing small circles with his thumb. You dug your nails into his back when he started pistoning his hips into yours. 

He started out with slow, languid thrusts. You were overwhelmed by a dizzying sort of pleasure that clouded all rhyme and reason. Despite his hips snapping into yours, the way Jay kissed you was so passionate that you nearly lost yourself in your haze.

Jay pulled away to litter kisses across your jaw and down your neck. You whimpered when he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the conjunction between your neck and shoulder, but then you were squirming under him as he started sucking the supple skin.

“Wish I could have you like this forever,” he growled against your skin. 

“I’m all yours.”

Jay pressed a sweet peck to your lips that grounded you momentarily.

Then, his pace sped up. If you were dizzy before, now you felt like your limbs had turned into jelly. Jay moved his hand to hold onto the headboard, pounding into you at a pace that made you feel like you were drowning in that sea of pleasure. If it wasn’t for Jay quieting you down each time, you two would’ve been caught already. You were gasping, moaning for more, and shuddering as Jay whispered praises against your skin. 

This was the closest to heaven you had ever been in your life. 

"F-fuck," you whimpered out, "that's it, Jay—please."

You were close. Fuck, you were so, so close. Each drag of Jay’s cock in your walls made you feel another torturous jolt of pleasure, bringing you closer and closer to the brink of your release. You screwed your eyes shut, ready to lose yourself to white-hot bliss, and Jay tenderly kissed your forehead.

Pinpricks of light exploded in your vision as your orgasm washed over you in full swing. 

Too good. Way too good. You never felt anything like this; of course you had experienced orgasms before, but this was, by far, the most intense climax you ever reached. Jay let out a strangled groan shortly after, his eyes rolling back and his moans muffled against your neck, and pulled out so that he could cum on your stomach. 

He sat up, panting and staring at where his cum trickled down your sides. For a moment, you were worried that the clouded expression on his face was out of regret and not lust, but you shook off the bad feeling and steeled your nerves. 

He liked you. There was no doubt about it. After everything Jay did and said, there was no reason for you to be so insecure anymore. 

You were both spent, panting and slipping in and out of consciousness in each other’s arms. Jay held you so tightly, like he never wanted to let go, and his head was tucked in the crook of your neck from how exhausted he was.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I ruined my only suit.”

“Oh,” you breathed out absent-mindedly. You rolled over to find wherever you had strewn your phone, and it took several minutes for you to peel Jay’s arms off of you so that you could retrieve it. While he sat up to run his hands through his sweat-matted hair, you dialed the number of your father’s go-to tailor. “Hi,” you chirped into the phone, “I know it’s late right now, but could you please do me a favor and open the showroom for my friend?” 

Jay looked up at you with a questioning gaze, though he placed his hand on the small of your back and tugged you close so that he could pepper kisses on your hip.

After exchanging a few more words, you hung up and tilted your head to get a crick out of your neck, leaning in to Jay’s touch as he kept his lips pressed to your skin. 

“Who was that?” he asked. 

“We’re going out to get you a suit,” you said, grabbing his hand with a grin. “C’mon, put on some clothes.” 

He raised a brow and laced his fingers with yours. “Now? But it’s already late.” 

“Trust me.” You giggled when you caught him staring at your lips again. “I’ll make it worth your time.”

prev | masterlist | next

SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE ▸ jay's cooked LOL also gta 6 is not plot relevant at all i just wanted to be a little shit and let it happen before jay/n 🙂‍↕️ and very random but if you wanna join my discord server feel free to check it out here! we're having a barbie movie night soon so <3

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[sooniebby]

Hey brother. I ain’t quite sure if you’re receiving this request or not (didn’t figure how to send them corrrctly yet), it could you write something with tsukkishima or Kuroo, please? With a character that is also somewhat smart academically but stupid for other shit. A intelligent himbo, if I can call it that way. And the other character is just feeling this weird sense of pleasure by putting the reader back on his place with some sort of dumbification. Thanks man

ఌ 𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐎 𝐓𝐄𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐎

꧁ 𝙏𝙚𝙩𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙤 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

Word count › 1.4k

Rating › NSFT

Warnings › you’re very dumb :/

Kinks › light degradation

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＢＥＧＩＮＮＩＮＧ

“That’s not how it works, Nekomata-San…” 

(Name) glanced back at Kenma with a confused look. “Why not? Isn’t the ball supposed to not hit the floor?” 

“Yeah, but…” 

“So then double hitting it should be fine.” 

“We can’t. It’s illegal.” 

“You can’t go to jail for that. There’s no law about it.” 

Kenma wanted to jump off a roof. He simply sighed and shook his head, deciding his mental health was worth more than explaining volleyball to his coach’s grandson. (Name) was honestly just confused on how something could be illegal in a game. 

“Kenma! Oh, afternoon, Nekomata-San.” Lev yelled, quickly bowing towards (Name). 

“Where’s Kuroo?” Kenma asked, wanting someone else to entertain (Name) before his brain turned into mush. 

“Dunno! I just got here,” Lev said, noticing only Yaku and Nekomata (the coach) was there. “Where is everyone?” 

(Name) hummed. “Maybe they got stuck in traffic?” 

“But… they were at school.” Lev said. 

“They could still get stuck in traffic.” 

“But they only have to walk. There’s no cars.” 

Lev looked confused out of his mind while Kenma simply wondered how could someone be so stupid but be one of the smartest kids at the school. He sometimes wondered if it was the price (Name) had to pay to be a top student. 

“What’s today’s date?” (Name) suddenly asked. 

“October 15.” Yaku said, walking over towards them. 

“Ah, It’s Kuroo’s birthday tomorrow!” 

“No, it’s Kenma’s.” 

“Ah,” (Name) blushed in embarrassment. “Sorry, Kenma.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“So are they just getting a party ready for Kenma? Oh, but why wasn’t I told?” Lev pouted. 

“Because you’re annoying.” Yaku grunted. 

Kenma shook his head. “I doubt it’s for me. Wouldn’t they do it tomorrow? We’ll have practice tomorrow too.” 

Nekomata coughed, earning the boys attentions. “(Name)… did you forgot the day you were born?” 

(Name) blinked. “I don’t think so. It’s September 15.” 

His grandfather sighed. “No, it’s today.” 

Kenma wondered how one could forgot their own birthday but he kept his mouth shut. Lev quickly went on a spew of questions on how (Name) could forget while Yaku simply muttered a happy birthday. 

“Ah, but that doesn’t explain why they aren’t here,” (Name) muttered. 

It did but no one had the heart to tell him. 

The door to the gym suddenly opened with Yamamoto, Kuroo, and few other players holding a cake. They yelled out a happy birthday with grins on their faces while (Name) just looked confused. 

“Who’s this for?” 

“Uh, for you.” Yaku said. 

“Ah! Right, thank you!” (Name) took the cake out of Yamamoto’s hands and blew out the candles, a small smile on his lips. After the quick happy birthday song, they all cut the cake into equal slices for everyone. 

“Nekomata-San, did you really forget your own birthday?” Kenma asked once (Name) was left with the largest slice of cake. Birthday boy gets the biggest slice, Nekomata had said. 

(Name) blushed. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you… But I was busy worrying about what to get you.” A cute smile appeared on his lips. “I guess I forgot about myself for a moment. I’ll give you your gift tomorrow.” 

“Ah, okay.” Kenma was honestly surprised (Name) would give him something since he had forgot his own not too long ago.

Maybe (Name) just had short term memory.

“Nekomata!” An arm suddenly wrapped itself around (Name)’s neck, causing him to wince. Kuroo grinned mischievously as he pulled (Name) close to him. 

“You’re going to choke him.” 

“He’s fine. Eh, Nekomata, I heard from Lev that you don’t know how volleyball works.” 

(Name) pouted. “I was only wondering why something was illegal if there’s no laws against it.” 

Kuroo blinked, a confused look in his eyes. He wasn't expecting that level of stupidity but he’d ignore it. “Those brains of yours certainly can’t help with everything, huh? It’s okay, though, you have me to teach you.” 

Kenma felt awkward being here. It felt oddly sexual with the way Kuroo was holding (Name) close to him. The more lustful look in his eyes while (Name) looked into it in a way. 

He should go for his sanity sake. “I finished my slice. I’m going to go practice now.” 

“Oh, okay.” (Name) muttered, meekly waving him goodbye. Kuroo simply hummed. 

Kuroo waited until Kenma was gone before pulling (Name) outside. (Name) went along with him, a blush creeping on his face. Once they were outside and behind the gym, Kuroo easily manhandled him to press against the wall. 

“Cute, I love when you play dumb.” Kuroo chuckled, pressing light kisses on (Name)’s neck. 

“I wasn’t!” (Name) mewled. 

Kuroo and (Name) were dating, which was something only Yaku and Yamamoto knew. And it wasn't because they told them. It was more of they were having sex in the locker room and Yaku and Yamamoto hadn’t actually left yet. 

It was a traumatising day for them both but they were nice enough to never tell anyone. (Name) mainly didn’t want his grandfather get angry or anything. 

“Tetsuro, they might hear us,” (Name) muttered, watching as Kuroo pulled down his pants. 

“They’re busy practicing. We can be quick,” Kuroo grinned, reaching down to slip a finger inside only to feel the string of something. He blinked and looked at (Name) who looked as if he wanted to die. 

“Oya? Is this what I think it is?” 

(Name) flushed. “No, it’s not a dildo!” 

Kuroo still wondered what he saw in (Name). “I know that. It’s called a butt plug. I’m shocked you used it,” he laughed, reaching inside to pull it out. (Name) groaned as he felt his hole now clench around nothing. 

“Did you have it inside you all day? Thinking about me…?” Kuroo smirked. 

(Name) pouted. “You said you’ll be happy if I did…” 

“Hm, did I?” Kuroo slipped in two fingers easily, enjoying the needy whines he earned from him. “You just do whatever I say huh? Don’t think for yourself.” 

“What..?” (Name) whined. “I do think. It’s impossible not to.” 

Kuroo simply shook his head and slipped out his fingers. “Do you want me, (Name)?” 

“Please.” 

(Name) wrapped his arms around Kuroo’s neck as the volleyball player grasped his legs and held him up. His legs quickly found themselves wrapped around his waist as Kuroo reached down to push his cock into (Name)’s twitching hole. 

From the butt plug that was inside of him the entire day, his cock easily slid in, earning a whimper from (Name). It certainly took some strength to hold him up but Kuroo was able to began his slow thrusts, enjoying the small gasps that left his boyfriend’s lips. 

“Tetsuro, it feels good.” (Name) babbled, his grip tightening around Kuroo as his thrusts began to pick up speed. His back was rubbing up against the wall, possibly causing them to collect dirt but he didn’t care. He loved spending his time with his boyfriend and having sex on his birthday was arousing to him. 

(Name) quickly pulled him in for a kiss as his thrusts began to feel sloppy. Maybe it was the thought of getting caught or the fact that (Name) was really walking around school with a butt play all because he said he’d like it but Kuroo felt as if he was about to cum already. 

He wanted to last a bit longer but thought maybe it’s good he’ll cum now. So they won’t be out gone for too long. 

The two continued to kiss, allowing them to moan without being heard as (Name) could feel himself getting closer. The grip on his legs was driving him crazy as he felt Kuroo use them to move (Name) back into him with each thrust. 

Sounds of soft gasps and squelching filled the air was the sun began to set. In a weird way, it was oddly romantic. With a few more thrusts, (Name) came first, arching his back as he gripped Kuroo’s shoulders painfully. Kuroo was right behind him, grunting as he pushed in deep inside. 

(Name) shivered at the warm cum inside him, wondering if he was really about to walk home with it inside. Kuroo simply hummed, not sorry at all for not pulling out. A pout appeared on (Name)’s lips as he was about to complain until he noticed that they were no longer alone. 

There stood a traumatised Kenma and Lev. 

“Kuroo….” 

“Nekomata-San…” 

Oh, fuck. 

“(Name)?!” And his grandfather?! (Name) was shocked to see his grandfather right behind Kenma. 

(Name) felt himself faint. Oh, no. His grandfather really just saw him butt ass naked with cum dripping. Kuroo himself also wanted to shrivel up and die right then and there from the glare his coach was giving him. 

Yeah, he was gonna have to kiss that leader title goodbye. 

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＥＮＤ

I hope I did Kuroo Justice lol! Thank you for requesting! And requests are open!!

[cranberryjuice-posts]

Hey I was wondering if you could make a Korra x reader where reader is an engineer for future industries and has been working nonstop with Asami to help rebuild republic city after the events of book four. So since reader is always out Korra plans something like a mini date for when she gets home.

- date night! -

Pairings - korra x fem! Reader

An - I’ll be taking a break from clarisse fics for rn but I will get all the request in my inbox for her out eventually it’ll just take a while 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 but please do request for other wlw characters!!

“Right and if I move this here it’ll clear out this section for this” you mumbled to yourself moving the pawns across the board. The map of republic city before you casted different locations that were in need of repair.

The wooden doors behind you opened, figuring it was just some secretary you payed them no mind. “Set the plans on the desk beside the window” you aimlessly spoke waving your hand off.

“I would do that-” a feminine voice chuckled. “-If i was an assistant.” Turning around quicker than you should of you shockingly looked at asami. Her sweet smile making you feel a little embarrassed. “When did you take a break?”

Smiling cockily you stood up and crossed your arms. “Actually, I took one at 12”

“Am or pm”

You rolled your eyes which gave her the answer she assumed. She shook her head disapproving, leaning on the table she examined the work you had started. Flicking the pawn down asami brought her eyes back to you. “The office will be closed for the weekend.”

“I’ll still be coming in if that’s fine, I just need to finish a few plans an—“

“Do you ever take a stop working?” She laughed. “Whatever plans you have can wait.. besides the avatar has been a quite worried about you” her playful teasing made you hold your head down in shame.

It had been a few months since you began your relationship with Korra. Her only writing you and asami letters for months help build a strong connection between you all, but her getting encouragement and advice from the beautiful woman made her eventually ask you out.

Throwing your papers into a folder and grabbing your bag you left the office embarrassed. If she wanted you to take a break you were going to do it by choice not force.

———

Taking your shoes off and setting your bag aside you sunk down onto the couch. The apartment you shared with Korra had been decorated in water tribe style.

It took only a minute before you felt an all to familiar weight lean beside you. Opening your eyes you saw Korra with her back pressed against your arm. She wore a pair of pajamas with her hair wet.

“Hey” you tiredly smiled.

“Hi” she smiled, moving to fall into your lap. Looking down you couldn’t help but fall in love with her childish yet charming grin.

“Hungry?” She eventually pulled herself up. “I ordered some takeout” walking to the kitchen Korra brought out two containers, one filled with your favorite order.

Sitting with you again she happily ate her meal. It was sweet how she was always thinking about you. “So” she spoke with a mouth full. “How was today?”

“The normal, making adjustments here n’ there, making new plans and changing the budget when needed” you sighed. Even with the spirt world being connected with yours and the multiple improvements you were making after the Kuvira invasion it sometimes still felt like too much. “And you? Any new avatar business”

She shook her head with a smile. “No, actually I spent today doing about the same with you”

“Really?” You playfully went along.

“Yeah” she grunted setting her food on the table in front of you and grabbing a stack of papers. Shuffling through them she handed brightly decorated flier.

Confused you looked down, examining the blue and purple paper you read what you as written in bold ontop.

I LOVE MY GIRLFRIEND

My beautiful and wonderful girlfriend has been working so hard to rebuild republic city, so in as a Thank You! She will be receiving a relaxing and soothing spa weekend

“A spa day? Baby you know I can’t do something like that, I have work” you sighed with a heavy heart. It was clear from how her excited expression went flat that she was clearly looking forward to it. However from her smile you knew she wasn’t done just yet.

“About that… the papers that you brought home today asami switched. So for the entire weekend while the office is locked you get to spend time with me with no distractions”

At first you didn’t believe her. Then you got up and ran to your bag, digging through the folder. It was just as Korra said everything you had brought home was just scratch and blank papers.

Giving into her you returned beside your girlfriend. “Fine.. Well do the spa day” her happy cheer made you quickly become content with letting everything go. Only for the weekend though, that’s all you could spare.

———

Laid back you groaned in satisfaction as Korra gently placed the hot stones along your spine. Using her bending she helped adjust the temperature.

“Fuck I needed this” you let out a heavy breath that had been kept in a while. It felt nice to let everything be bygones.

“It’s ok to admit I’m the best” she cockily smiled, setting yet again another stone on your body.

Her comment made you giggle “mm yeah but if I did then who would tell you when your wrong?”

Her scoff like laugh proved you won the banter. Turning your head to the side you watched as the avatar set a group of rocks into the water, using fire bending she created heat around her hands to make it boil.

“Have i ever told you how beautiful you look when your concentrating on your bending?” You mumbled out, falling asleep.

“Yeah but telling me again can’t hurt” her cocky streak was going to be the death of you. Bringing the bucket over she took the now cooled stones off your bare skin. Before placing the newer hotter ones on she kissed you quickly on the lips. Almost like an attempt to embarrass you but it only made you happy.

“Just relax” Korra’s strong voice lulling you to sleep. At this point you couldn’t fight it anymore, maybe she was right you did need the break.

[beautifulbrainrot]

spencer reid x reader

ykow i’m not sure what this is. i kinda just started writing out of no where and this is what i got to. it’s meant to be like young spence and reader, mabye they’re at the academy together, mabye they’re roommates, childhood best friends? idk. not my usual writing style so lmk if you like this, i might write more depending on how this is received.

cw kissing, autistic!reader, autistic!spence, i don’t know if it’s obvious but i based the reader of how i act sometimes and whatnot and im autistic so.. , kinda unfinished

i’ll be properly back from my break and answer request soon i’m just struggling bad rn. love you all

“Hey, Spence?”

He looked away from his book towards you, his eyes widened slightly as he awaited your words. But nothing could have prepared him for what you said.

“Are you sexually attracted to me?” You asked, expression pretty much blank as if it was the most normal question in the world. Maybe to you it was. But to Spencer?

His eyes widened more as he heard your question, his face flushing. He gaped slightly, floundering for an answer to your very personal and out of the blue question. Well he could deny, but he hated lying to you. The truth was, he was attracted to you. Sexually and Romantically. He thought he had it under control and undetected by you, but apparently he was wrong.

He decided to lie.

“What? No!” He answered, his voice high pitched as he looked away from you.

You tilted your head at him, expression still blank and unreadable.

“You’re lying.” You said simply, furrowing your eyebrows slightly as you watched his blush deepen and his mouth gape.

“I’m- I’m not lying.” He lied, clenching his jaw and trying to maintain eye contact with you, but miserably failing.

“Yes you are. You’re blushing, and you’re averting your gaze and you’re bouncing your leg.” You continued, getting off the bed you were lying on and walking over to his bed.

Spencer's eyes widened as he looked up at where you were now towering over him. Something about the sight of you standing above him, and practically interrogating him, was seriously turning him on.

“Spencer…”

“..Yes?” He squeaked, looking off to the side.

“You have a boner.” You said.

His eyes widened as he looked down at his lap, his face somehow flushing darker as he saw the bulge there.

“You see Spencer, I think you are sexually attracted to me,” You started, “And I'm sexually attracted to you. So.. Where do you want to go from here?” You finished, looking down at the blushing boy in front of you.

Spencer's brain paused. You were sexually attracted to him too? And you wanted to… Do something about it? Holy shit.

“Spencer?” You asked.

“Yes..” He responded quickly.

“Tell me what you want.”

He paused for a second, thinking. What did he want? All he knew was that he wanted you. In any way he could have you.

“..You.” He answered earnestly, finally looking up at you.

A small smile graced your beautiful features.

“Can I sit on your lap?” You asked simply, tilting your head.

He could only nod, still slightly overwhelmed by the situation.

Sitting down on his lap, you look directly into his eyes, now finally properly face to face with him.

Slowly, you leaned in, pressing your lips very softly and tentatively against his.

He kissed you back quickly, your lips moulding together perfectly.

You leaned back after a few seconds, biting your lip lightly.

“That was.. nice..” You said, smiling slightly. He smiled back, nodding. It was nice. Your lips were so soft against his, and you tasted sweet.

“You taste sweet.” He responded. He furrowed his eyebrows slightly. Is that what you're supposed to say after kissing someone? He wasn’t sure. But you smiled.

“I just had some candy, so I think that makes sense.”

He nodded slightly before leaning in again, capturing your lips with his.

This time you pushed your tongue into his mouth slightly. The kiss was clumsy, but it became more passionate as you continued, your bodies pressing closer against each other as you kissed.

You broke apart from him to catch your breath.

“Are we making out?” You asked, eyes closed as you pressed your forehead against his.

“I think so. I’ve never made out with anyone before.” Spencer replied, panting lightly.

“Me neither.” You said before tilting your head lightly and pressing your lips against his again.

[littledollll]

Hey 😊 I love your littlespace oneshots. They're so comforting to read when struggling/in a small headspace.

If you take requests at the moment, could I please ask for a larissa weems (caregiver)& Reader (little) oneshot where the reader has been struggling with nightmares due to it being a trauma anniversary so she's getting flashbacks in her dream. Larissa comfort her with cuddles and stories. Maybe uses a pacifier and Teddy for comfort.

(If you aren't taking requests that's okay)

I've had a hard time myself irl and need the comfort fics aha

In her arms

Cg!Larissa Weems x little!reader

A/n: listening to a little kid sneeze as I write this, lovely entertainment.

Warnings: nightmares mentioned, nothing else I think.

____________________________________

“Darling.., little one, what’s wrong?” Larissa mumbled, still half asleep as she felt your body practically clinging to her own. She was woken up by you tucking yourself tightly against her, and then she heard your quiet sniffles, feeling your silent tears bleed through her nightshirt.

You had hidden yourself against her the second you were startled awake by yet another nightmare, this is the third one of the week.

“Did you have another nightmare?” She asked softly and you nodded. “Oh sweetheart..” she spoke through a soft sigh, wrapping her arms tightly around you now. One of her hands gently massaging your scalp.

“You’re safe here with me. I promise you that.” You nodded once more.

You knew that. You felt it. If there was anyone in this world you’d want to be with you in this moment it would be her. You truly did feel safe with her, but it didn’t stop you from getting shaken up.

“Here, sweetheart.” Larissa’s voice brought you out of your thoughts as she handed you your favorite teddybear. Of course it was immediately received with a smile and a big warm hug. “thanks you mama..”

“You’re very welcome, little one. Now, would you like to talk about your dream, or do you just need some comfort and your paci, hm?”

“ask that every time..” you complain, and she nods. “One day, you may want to. And I just want that option to be out there for you.” She placed a kiss on your cheek before she got up, heading out of the room. You missed her for a moment, but knew exactly was she was doing, so your mind was eased of any worries.

She came back only a few moments later with your favorite paci in hand, and she sat against the headboard, letting you get comfortable against her once more along with your teddy before giving it to you.

“You always look so cute with your favorite paci.” You giggled, hiding your face in your hands.

“Rest your head little one, we can talk and cuddle until you’re back to sleep.” Immediately you burrowed yourself against her, the soft, cool fabric of her pijamas felt comfortable against your cheek.

“When I was younger, I use to have only nightmares. If I went to sleep it was either nightmares or nothing… obviously I preferred nothing.” You nodded in agreement as you nuzzled ever closer against her. You nudged her hand, encouraging her to continue playing with your hair as she was before.

Larissa silently complied while she continued speaking. “But after some time those nightmares started to fade away. Being less and less each night an eventually they became rare.”

“I have no doubt in my mind that soon you’ll be resting easy just like before.. and with time those nightmares will be only a far away memory in your mind. You’ll start forgetting all about it. Of course sometimes it’ll still hurt, but it won’t haunt you as it is now. And I will be right by your side through it all, okay?”

Larissa looked down to find your eyes attentively on her. You looked tired, but calm.

“okay..” you mumbled through your paci and against her skin, sinking into her. “Very good. Just close your eyes, sweetheart. I’ll be right here to protect you.”

She felt you sigh deeply, a sense of relief and calmness making you feel warm and comfortable as her arms hugged you just a little tighter.

This was the safest you could be. Wrapped in the warmth of her love, she would let nothing in this world harm you.

[dreamingdixon]

Eyes on me

Anon request: “can you do something like what happened to Maggie with the governor when her and Glenn were kidnapped? maybe the reader was in that situation, and Daryl finds out and is like comforting them?”

This fic contains sexual assault, and everything that comes afterwards. This could be potentially triggering, so please keep that in mind before continuing. My intention is not to trigger, upset or make anybody uncomfortable. I will post an edited version, that will have any graphic content (including the SA itself, and any mentions thereafter) removed, so this story can be enjoyed by those who do not want to read the full/graphic version, but still enjoy the hurt/comfort element of a soft Daryl <3 If anyone is in a situation where they have experienced anything along the lines of harassment/SA, my ask box is always open to be a listening ear and a friend. I wrote this story from a place of my own understanding and experience, and I found it comforting to write a different 'afterwards'.

17,349 words.

“I’m sorry about Merle.”

You’d kept your gaze trained on the bloodied denim on your thighs when the heavy door creaked open, managed to keep your eyes averted even when you heard footsteps against the harsh concrete. You’d told yourself you weren’t even going to so much as look at the man who’d dared to hold a knife to your throat and drag you from your friends. 

But this was a different voice.

Snapping your head up, you quickly blink away the fog in your vision to reveal a man, his hands held up high, palms towards you. There’s a smile on his face that you immediately hate and you instinctively pull against the tape on your wrists as he edges himself closer to you.

“Sometimes he just doesn’t know when to stop. I’ll be having a word with him.”

There’s a rawness to your skin when you continue to move your hands, your mind begging for your small movements to be capable of breaking the layers of thick tape, desperate - pleading as he reaches the other end of the table. He doesn’t seem overly satisfied when he asks ‘May I?’, gesturing towards the chair and receives no answer, his only response a continued glare, but he sits regardless and places a towel on the metal in front of him. 

“I hope he didn’t hurt you too much, that’s not the way we do things around here. Especially not to young women, survivors like yourself.”

The sickly sweet voice phrases itself like a question that makes your skin crawl as he sits so casually, one leg over the other, hands across his lap. He carries himself well, you think to yourself. Powerful, or he thinks he must be - power that he’s brutally taken, not earned - as he watches your face for any sort of reaction to his presence or words. He continues when he sees none. We don’t want to hurt anybody, we’re a community of good people. People, food, walls. Woodbury. 

He gestures around the damp room, apologising for the ‘inhospitable accommodation’ one of his men brought you to. It seems like a storage room, bits of old furniture leaning against the bare walls and corrugated metal sheets, and there’s a faint bitterness to the air - cold from damp gathering on the roof and an unwelcome breeze from the outside world making its way inside, and you can’t ignore the goosebumps prickling against your exposed arms. 

“I’m not staying.”

Your nose and cheek throb from your movements to speak, but your words come out firm and final exactly how you intended, no trace of the fear that’s slowly building up inside you. You have your own people, food, and walls. You have gates you’re carefully reinforcing against men like this, people who have done more for you since you joined them than others had your entire life prior to the fall, and there isn’t much food but it’s better than anything this man could ever offer you. You ignore the blood that trails down past your lip and the metallic taste on your tongue. His confident smiles only widens with your words, shrugging carelessly as if you hadn’t turned him down - like he was happy with your answer.

“You don’t have to. We can just take you back to your people, I’d escort you personally, make sure you get there safely, maybe strike a deal with your group for extra protection, share supplies, ammo.. What do you think, would your group be interested?”

You wonder how many people have fallen for his act. In the span of what you’re assuming to be a few hours, you’ve been forcefully taken, knocked out, your nose most likely broken in your struggle and you’ve been tied up, and this man has the audacity to offer a deal? You manage to swallow down the laugh that you’re desperate to vocalize, but a small smirk escapes onto your lips instead. 

“I think my group will kill you on the spot when they find out about you. No fucking deal, asshole.”

Your brows furrow because he laughs at your words, deep lines forming between your eyebrows because he doesn’t seem phased. He’s acting like he didn’t expect this conversation to go any other way, like he’s about to shake your hand and send you on your way and you’re confused. Waking up in the situation you did, you’d expected a few threats and a gun to your head at the very least, but it doesn’t come, so you wait. Leaning forward, he watches you, studies you and he can tell you’re not acting - you’re tough. You’re sitting up straight, but he knows you’re uncomfortable by how you flex your shoulders occasionally against the pull of the awkward angle of your restraints. Like a racing horse with blinders, you haven’t taken your gaze away from his - not even once - like you’re not in the precarious situation you’re currently in. Your chest isn’t heaving with nerves like others who sat in the same chair just last week, and he admires you for it.

Bringing himself to his feet, he grabs the towel as he edges himself closer to you and your mind runs, pure anxiety tainting all of your thoughts and you’re ashamed of the wave of cold that suddenly courses through your veins and you shiver.

Stepping behind the chair, the hairs on your arms stand upright because you can’t see him anymore. White noise fills your head because he isn’t even walking, there’s no footsteps to be heard until you’re being suddenly dragged, a deafening scrape of metal as your chair is slowly turned 90 degrees and he gradually brings himself into your view again. 

There’s fear now, he realizes, from removing himself from your line of vision. It gave you courage to have your eyes on the man in charge and taking that away for even just a moment gave that courage a shake - and he likes that, given him just a tiny bit more control. Your eyes are wider now, not narrowed like just moments ago. He could get off on that fact alone, so he crouches down in front of you to drink in the sight.

He’s looking at you like a child looks at the highest ticket prize at an arcade, full of want, a craving to be satisfied and unthinkingly your nose scrunches in disdain but oh my god that’s a mistake because you can feel your pulse in your nose and a dull twinge that shoots through you at the motion that has you sucking air through your teeth. 

He whispers a ‘shhh’ that absolutely repulses you, and his eyes don’t leave yours as he slowly brings the towel in his grip up to your face and he lightly dabs at the skin above your lip, the white terry cloth coming back a deep crimson. It takes a second to realize he’s trying to clean you, and he’s doing it like it’s second nature but his other hand is resting on your thigh when he goes to repeat the motion for a second time, but this time you’re ready because he’s touching you and there’s rage bubbling inside of you because who the fuck is he to be responsible for your broken nose, then have the audacity to mop up the evidence?

Before the material reaches your lip, you muster the energy and ignore the strain on your muscles and you spit on him. It’s discoloured from the blood that made its way between your lips, and it’s revolting and it’s the least he deserves. How dare he touch you?

The man scoffs before taking the towel in his hand and erases any trace of you from his cheek, as he raises his eyebrow and suddenly the air seems heavier and the room just got darker because so did his eyes, and within a second he’s behind you again, but he’s not silent or at a distance - the material of his trousers are pressed against your restrained hands behind the cold bars of the chair and he’s got an arm wrapped around your neck. The pretend silkiness gone from his voice, replaced with a gravelly ‘I was right, you’re feisty’ and he’s applying just enough pressure with his forearm for you to not move, and you don’t.

You’re completely still as you look right ahead, you’ve stopped your fight against the tape because he’s everywhere behind you and if you’re completely still maybe you can ignore him, but you can smell his cologne and it’s so light and delicate but it’s overwhelming. Waiting for the inevitable blow that doesn’t come, he adjusts his grip as he lifts his forearm slightly, tilting your head upwards against the pressure and when your eyes angle towards the ceiling, he’s staring down at you, shaking his head, tutting his disapproval. 

The towel's still in his grip, but he’s rougher this time as he brings it to your nose - tugging the scratchy material firmly against broken skin, replacing the gentle patting of the earlier attempt and it drags out a throaty whimper from your throat and he feels the vibrations against his arm as he repeats his actions two, three, four times. Eyes screwed shut, you feel his grip harden against your throat when you try to pull your head away but the pressure against your windpipe increases and you’re not going to black out so you do your best to hold still instead, groaning at the feel of rogue droplets of blood escaping down your throat from the angle, and the way your face absolutely throbs by the time he lets go.

Stepping back in front of you, he assesses his handiwork and tells you ‘see, that’s so much better’ before striding out of the room, a thunderous clang of the door ringing in your ears after he leaves. 

Hours are spent rotating between a few tasks - wondering how you’re going to murder this man, planning your escape, counting the individual bits of furniture in the room and thinking about the group. It has cost so much to clear the prison, people have paid with their lives for the remainder to have somewhere safe to call home, you will not be the reason it falls by giving anybody the location. This entire situation solidifies what you already knew - you’d die for the rag-tag assortment of individuals and you’d call them family any day of the week. You think about how lucky you were to be taken in by them after crossing paths on a random dirt track months ago, and how they spread their scarce rations even thinner to take you in. 

Family.

Struggling to find the strength to hold yourself up, you sit with your head limply resting against your chest, the occasional thin streak of crimson collecting on the neckline of your vest. Stiffness dominates every part of your body by the time the door swings open again, and you roll your eyes at the familiar man who isn’t smiling this time.

He approaches slowly, and by the time he’s next to you he’s offering you a plastic water bottle that you reluctantly ignore by sealing your lips and turning away. The bottle gets placed on the table, and he tells you to ‘suit yourself’ before grabbing your chin, tugging you to face him and he’s relieved to see the flow of blood has slowed despite the majority of your upper lip, chin and down to your chest decorated in cracked, dried crimson. He tells you you’re looking in bad shape, and he’d love to take you back to your people so I’ll ask again - where’s your camp?

The back and forth gets him nowhere, and the frustration becomes visible. His velvety voice becomes forceful and loud in his demands, fists hitting the table when he’s answered with another ‘fuck you’ and his jaw clenches hard. 

“Okay. We’ll try something different.”

He slips the mask back into place, allowing the mellow tone returns to his words, but there’s still an edge to his voice. He’s worked up, but he sounds like he’s got a plan and you don’t like how he perches himself in front of you again, but you like it even less when his fingers toy with the bottom of your shirt.

“You wanna tell me before or after I cut this shirt off of you?”

Your blood runs cold at the question. You stare at him while your brain goes into overdrive, how can I get myself out of this? But without any hesitation, he brings the knife to the base of your shirt, holds the material taut with his other hand and drags the knife all the way up, catching the skin of your abdomen and your chest a few times on the journey. It cuts so easily, like scissors through wrapping paper and the bloodied material hangs limply by the straps until he easily nicks through the remaining fabric, and you feel completely helpless when he holds the destroyed shirt in his hands before tossing it in the direction of the door. 

You’d known violence since the fall, but this was a different shade of cruelty - one that had your chest heaving and embarrassment showing itself with redness on your skin, and you had no control over the trembling that took over you within seconds and it only worsens when he returns to his favourite spot behind you, and you wait for the first cut against your skin but instead, he carefully slices some of the tape away, splitting the section binding you to the metal frame of the seat while maintaining the integrity of the layers around your wrists as he pulls you to your feet, shoulders lifting away from the frame painfully. 

He’s staring at you like you're rare mixture of gold and silver and diamonds, like you’re there exclusively for him and he's not planning on sharing his riches with anybody, without a care in the world for the redness around your eyes or the tears that are threatening to spill over, or the fresh blood pooling around tender wrists where you’re furiously fighting with the tape that somehow feels even stronger now. 

He ignores your whimpers, telling you ‘it doesn’t have to be like this, you’re in full control here, got it? How this plays out is up to you, don’t cry, shhh.’ as you try your best to stand tall, you’re not going down without a fight.

“This is how it’s going to happen, alright? I’m going to ask you questions - about where y’all are hiding out, about your group, and for every question you don’t answer, I’m going to take something else off of you until either I know everything I need to know, or there’s a nice pile of clothes over there. Ball’s in your court, sweetheart, cause I’ll do much worse than this to them when I find ‘em, and trust me, I will find ‘em.”

Fear and hatred consume your features, and he whispers a ‘don’t move’ when he steps closer to you and you step backwards, his hand delicately moving overgrown hair away from your eyes and tucking it behind your ear. Despite the light movement of his fingers, the touch feels like sandpaper and you silently promise to cut off each and every one of his fingers with the dullest knife you can find. Standing in front of you, he starts with his questions. “How many of you are there?” which seems harmless enough, but you already know you can’t win in this game so you remain silent and sob when he cuts through the wire of your bra, letting it fall to the floor. 

You wonder how this man came to be as he eyes you up and down. You try to pretend you aren’t completely exposed by wondering if this place - Woodbury, he said - existed from the beginning, or if he had a role in setting it up. Nowhere’s safe anymore, and you swear the only decent people who are still alive are your people who you pray are currently out looking for you. Would Rick try to interrogate him first, like he did Randall at the farm? Would Daryl - the man with the thickest shell, who’d warmed up to you slowly - hesitate to kill him for you? Would Carol hold your hand when you tell her what happened? Would Beth think of you when she sang over the campfire?

Frustration hits you like a wave when the man's eyes linger over your chest, and you swear you’ve never hated anyone more in your entire life so you do the only thing you think to do in that moment, you bring your head backwards for momentum and you aim for his nose to return the favour, longing for the sound of a crunch that doesn’t fucking happen. He’s too quick, too practiced. Fast reflexes and learned instinct told him what you were about to do, so he swerves and you loose your footing, a stagger towards that leaves you barely on your feet.  

Disappointment hits you like a tonne of bricks, the chance presented itself to you on a silver platter and you were too slow. You’ve barely found your balance before there’s a bruising grip around your biceps, warm fingers digging painfully into haggard muscles and chilled skin, and the hot breath against your neck telling you to ‘turn around, slowly.’ brings bile to your throat that you swallow down as you follow the instruction. He re-adjusts his grasp when your eyes meet, bringing his fingers to your chin instead, tracing the discolouration along your jaw. 

“Nice try. What’s it gonna take until you spill, huh?”

He notices the tremor in your muscles, the involuntary vibrations beneath the palms of his fingers that have you shaking. He’s telling you again about how he doesn’t want to hurt you, and you’re so desperate to call him out on his lies but he’s got the upper hand and you know it, so the words die before they’ve even began to form.

He takes his time. It’s almost worse when he isn’t actually doing anything to you, it’s like the anticipation builds and builds until you’re breathing is short and fast because he’s playing mind games - and winning. You’d almost prefer if he’d just get it over with, whatever it is. 

There’s so much fire behind your eyes despite your sore state, so he decides to up the stakes.

“Okay, time for round two. For every question you don’t answer, not only do you lose something you’re wearing, keep in mind you’ve not got a whole lot left, but somebody from your group dies. Simple as that. You’re at two so far, and I’ll give you the honour of deciding who.”

His hand trails from your jaw, fingers tracing the curve of your neck to your collarbone, across the flaky, dried blood on your chest before drawing an agonizingly slow line up and down your sternum but his eyes never leave yours - threatening.

“Might even give you a pretty dress for the show, since it looks like you won’t have anything left on you by then.”

There’s tears forming that you aggressively try to blink away, burning against your dry eyes. He’s asking you then, where’s your camp? Must be near by, right? How long d’you reckon it’ll take my soldiers to find, hmm? But his fingers are just below your navel, now, and you’re shuddering because you want to be anywhere but here. 

He waits. Patient in his resolve. Whatever your people have, he wants it. He counts your accelerated breaths in his mind, still smiling and it widens sickeningly when your features warp into terror and panic as his index finger reaches the skin just below your breast, vaguely following the curve of the flesh but his eyes are still trained on yours and he just watches the way your nostrils flare and eyes widen because he did that. He’s proud to get a reaction out of you, but you still haven’t answered his question, so he brings his fingers just a tiny bit higher, that tiny bit closer to where he shouldn’t be anywhere near and he’s humming, a firm reminder to answer. A question in itself.

But the question remains unanswered, and his patience has run out.

“Get on your knees.”

There’s no time to react before his hand moves from your torso to your shoulder, pushing down while his other drags down firmly against your now bruised bicep. You buckle against the momentum, your arms still restrained leaving you off-balance and you’ve never felt like an easier target in your life. Your knees collide painfully with the concrete, and you wince against the jolts that burst up your thigh from the harsh collision. 

Your thoughts run rampant. Is this your execution, or something else? Is he going to bring a knife out again and murder you, a sharp puncture to your skull to prevent the turn, or will he drag it out by holding it to your throat first? Would the group ever find you, hidden away in a storage room of a community they don’t even know existed?

Would Daryl be the one to find you, to bring you back to the prison and bury you, even if you’d turned? You imagine him sweating in the prison’s yard, a shovel gripped between bleeding, sore fingers while you lay there, covered by a sheet and the tears flow down your face like a running tap at the thought. When he’d promised to look after you, you’d vowed to do the same and you meant it, and he’d wrapped his arm over your shoulder at the way you’d said it - so full of sincerity and commitment. If you didn’t make it out of this room you wouldn’t be able to carry out your promise and that made your chest ache. 

Your face is angled upwards forcefully, thumbs brushing away the salty tears streaming down your cheeks. He’s telling you it’s okay, shushing you quietly as he continues to drag the pads of his thumbs across your cheeks, the warmth from your tears and his movements smearing blood across your cheeks haphazardly. He smiles softly, telling you once more that it’s okay, that he’ll be gentle before his hands move to the back of your head - one gripping the nape of your neck, the other against your crown and he tugs you towards him.

You collide with the rough material of his trousers nose-first in a way that makes you howl with pain, it shoots into the back of your eyes and you’d swear you’d felt something shift that shouldn’t. He presses you against the crotch of his pants, forehead digging into the cold metal of his belt buckle and pulling against him gets you nowhere, only a firmer grip against the nape of your neck that you’d swear just yanked out strands of hair. He holds you still, ignoring your wailing and he moves his hips against you, smears of blood staining the fabric with evidence of his violence. The warmth of his body heat and the fact you can smell the metallic edge of your own blood and you’re going to vomit any second. The room is too cold and the denim too rough and you can feel the gathered-together tape digging into the oozing blood gathering around your wrists. You try to focus on anything else you can - the design etched into the material of his pants, the feeling of how you wiggle your toes, the pattern of your breathing, anything to give you an escape.

He moves you then, making you look to the side until your cheek is pressed into the fabric instead, and he simply holds you there, and that’s when you decide this will be easier if you close your eyes - if you can’t see what he’s doing, maybe it won’t exist. But it does, and suddenly he’s grabbing fistfuls of your hair, a rough grip that burns with so much intensity that it prickles down your neck and spine and he tugs you away from him. He speaks then - something about your eyes, but you’re completely unfocused until he repeats himself, emphasising his words with a harsh tug and when your eyes shoot open - he looks so proud of himself. 

The sound of his zipper is the next thing you hear, a dull noise that seems to echo way too loud against the metallic walls, vibrating against your ears until you start counting backwards in your mind in a desperate attempt of distraction that doesn’t work.

/

When the door squeaks open suddenly, and you feel like you’re saved when the man talks about a breach, men with weapons and he needs to come immediately, panic written all over his features as he stumbles over his words with white knuckles over the barrel of his gun, but always keeping his eyes averted from your direction. The man holds you where you are while he listens, completely shameless when he grinds against you one last time before telling you I’ll be back, before tugging you backwards and pulling up the zipper of his pants.

You’re left with your knees against concrete, tears that won't go away and the heaviness in your chest feels like you can’t breathe because you can still feel the lingering grip against the base of your skull and the roughness of his trousers pressing against you, and when you can’t shake the sound of his breathing out of your mind you lean over and empty your stomach, retching from your hunched over position until there’s nothing left but stomach acid and it burns.

Time doesn’t exist anymore, there isn’t a single window in the entire room and you’ve truly lost your sense of timekeeping - has it been a few hours or an entire day, maybe more? The way the air is colder now makes you think it’s the milder evening air seeping in through the walls, fresh and bitter in contrast to the usual daytime Georgian dry heat that you suddenly crave against your skin. You curl in on yourself, back against the furthest wall from the door, the metal behind you only adding to the uncomfortable position but you swear if you don’t lean against something you’re going to keel over and die so you’ll take it, ignoring the discomfort of your wrists digging into your lower back.

If it’s night time, you wonder if Judith is asleep and if Glenn and Maggie got back safe, are they together now? Are you missed? Is Daryl using his tracking skills to bring you back home, like he promised you he would after you lost Sophia, when he vowed he’d never lose you?

You feel like you’re waiting for the inevitable, a reminder of sitting in the hospital waiting room for hours as a teenager after falling on your arm - you knew it was only broken, the result of an unsupervised houseparty, but what if they found something else on the x-ray and told you in 6 months you’d be dead? Your mother was adamant that wouldn’t happen, but what if? Turns out it was a hairline fracture, and you wouldn’t be dead in 6 months because of it, but your mother held your hand regardless, promising to take you out for dinner in exactly 6 months to celebrate - and so she did. But you’ve never forgotten the experience of sitting in the waiting area and how sterile everything was and how everything was so blue and bright made you vow to never need a hospital visit again. This felt the same, like waiting for the terrifying result of that xray that you were so sure was going to give you an expiration date - but it’s worse, there’s no exit or your mothers soft skin against your own, no nurses to make you laugh when they see your anxious eyes, there’s only the heavy metal door that wouldn’t budge when you tried to kick it, the scraps of fabric that you can’t wear anymore, the empty space and the occasional trickle of warmth down your chin. 

You bring your knees up to your chest and cry, because it’s all you can do and you shake from the intensity of it all. You’ve never felt so useless, you’ve been so productive and exhausted and helped keep everybody safe for so long and now you’re here, playing a waiting game with a villain. Like a mouse caught in a trap with your own vomit a few feet away. 

There’s a commotion outside that you try to ignore, scrunching your eyes closed and you wish you could cover your ears and pretend it doesn’t exist - so that’s what you try to do. Resting your forehead against your knees you just pretend. You’re not trapped and you’re not crying and you’ve definitely not just had him touch you like that, but then you hear gunshots and there’s only so much pretending you can do.

/////////////

It wasn’t supposed to turn into a bloodbath, but it was their fault.

A new woman - Michonne, was the only reason they had any lead about where you might be, and of course it was risky to go along with it, but this was you they were talking about, and it was a risk that was absolutely worth taking. Daryl would have gone alone if he needed to, because seeing Glenn and Maggie run through those doors without you had his heart in his throat, and when Maggie started speaking ‘I didn’t see who took ‘er, she was right behind us when we went inside, then there was a.. A yell, and by the time we came out there was a car drivin’ away.’ he already had his crossbow over his shoulder and a goal of getting you back.

On Rick’s command, Daryl slowly pulls the bolt securing the door, easing it carefully enough to avoid drawing the attention of whoever - or whatever - was potentially inside. The rusted metal rang when it rested on the other side and he placed his hand on the frame, ready to push with the signal. A last look around confirms they’re alone except the unfortunate outline of an man who’d raised his gun towards the wrong people, and when Rick gives a nod of his head, Daryl’s swift in his movements, opening the heavy door with one instantaneous push and he’s inside with a single stride, gusts of lingering smoke following the movement. 

There’s a vague smell of damp to the room, mingled with something else - something bitter that hangs densely in the air until there’s a faint taste in the back of his throat. Rick follows the archer’s lead, a crossbow and gun darting around each corner of the room, and within a second they’ve both detected the few items of clothing - one by the door and as Daryl inches closer around the table, there’s a bra that comes into his view. Behind him, Rick makes his way towards the shirt, he’s about to get Daryl’s attention because he recognises it, it’s yours, you’re here somewhere but Daryl’s already next to you.

When your eyes meet Daryl’s, your chest fucking heaves and you cry from relief because he’s right here and he promised he always would be, that he’d find you and he did. His crossbow points at your chest for only half a second before it’s quickly dropped to hang loosely from the strap over his shoulder and he’s running towards you, calling over to Rick that he’s found you.

He’s kneeling next to you, face only inches from yours and you want to touch him but your shoulders ache in resistance and your wrists sting but you need to touch him to see if he’s real but you can’t and you’re hyperventilating, pulling harder, cutting deeper into already broken skin. Panic sets in and it’s so ridiculous because why are you crumbling now? Daryl’s softly calling your name and trying to meet your gaze but your ears are flooded by the resounding noise of your own pulse and your eyes are darting between the concrete floor, the open door and Rick who’s keeping his distance - he doesn’t want to add to your fear by towering over you so he turns towards the door, protective, guarding. 

“Hey, hey, you’re alright. It’s alright, I got ya.”

The voice is grounding, it brings you back just enough to look at him and see him properly. 

“There ya go, keep those eyes on me, okay?”

So that’s what you do, you keep your eyes on him and it helps. It doesn’t stop your heart racing or the cold sweat that’s forming against your temples, but you direct all of your focus to him because he told you to and it’s all you can do because it’s Daryl.

He’s trying to keep his features soft in feigned confidence and calm, praying some of it transfers to you because you’re shaking so much he can see it and your eyes are blown so wide that he wonders what happened to you? He’s never seen you like this before, he’s not sure how present you actually are, or the extent of the damage, but he can see that your nose isn’t in the best condition - there’s a deep gash across the bridge and there’s a bump where there wasn’t before. He’s determined to keep his eyes on yours so he relies on his peripheral vision to tell him the blood trails down, ending in a thickly caked mess down your chest.  His gaze doesn’t follow the stream of crimson, instead, his eyes stay on yours as he tells you ‘I’m gonna give ya my vest, gonna put it right here until we get ya on your feet’ as he gently tucks the material in the space between your raised knees and your chest, and the chilled leather warms you in a way that’s entirely new. 

“Good girl, there ya go. Lemme see what’s goin’ on with your hands.”

He inches to the side, so when you shuffle forwards slightly he can see the bloodied skin and the grey tape around you in thick layers. He’s only got his crossbow on him, so he tells you ‘I’m gonna get Rick over, alright? He’s got a knife, shh, yer fine, then we can cut ya free and get ya back.’ before calling the man over. Rick’s next to you both then, kneeling down and asking if you’re okay - Daryl nods on your behalf when you don’t seem to have the strength to. 

“Look at me an’ only me, that’s it.”

He reminds you, soothes you while Rick slices through the mess on your wrists despite the fury that’s bubbling up inside the archers chest. You look terrified at the sensation - the back and forth of the blade and the pull against your irritated skin has you pale, oxygen trapped tightly in the confines of your lungs because you’re preparing yourself for pain until Daryl’s prompting you to ‘breathe’. 

He’s on alert, ears perked against any footsteps, voices or gunshots he might hear. Usually he’d never have his back to the door, but Rick has his eyes towards the entrance and his crossbow is loaded and ready on his shoulder and right now you’re his priority.

“There ya go, feel better?” 

You want to speak, but the simple ‘yes’ catches in your throat like a dry pill so you simply nod instead, slowly rolling your shoulders against the tightness of your muscles to bring your hands in front of you to confirm they’re actually still attached to you. The cold air nips at the broken skin but Daryl watches the cautious wiggle of your fingers and hears the quiet hum of relief that escapes you from the newly found freedom, and your downcast eyes miss the tiniest smile that lifts the corner of his lips and how Daryl’s expression softens just a little.

It’s taking a stupid amount of effort and self control to not throw you over his shoulder and just run miles and miles and miles away until you’re safe, until you’re somewhere he can run you a bath, hold you, - or not, whatever you wanted - make you a warm meal with some tea and maybe even hold your hand because he always wanted to, and he was so fucking scared that he’d lost the opportunity to ever intertwine his fingers with yours, to have you safely tucked against him. You’d only been gone a day but he ached with longing, and he still would until you were safe.

“C’mere, lets get ya up.”

He notices how your hand wraps around his vest that’s still gathered at your chest, tightly clutching a fistful of the black leather like a lifeline while your other hand positions itself against the floor in an attempt to pull yourself up, and Daryl stays low, mostly to avoid towering over you but also so he can give you a hand if you need.

If this were any other day, any other situation, he’d have unabashedly grabbed your hand to pull you to your feet but he’s afraid of crossing a new, unknown boundary and making everything worse. He knows your broken nose will heal quickly, a few weeks at most with Hershels knowledge, but this is a different sort of healing that he isn’t familiar with and he’s going to have to wait to hear you to know how to help. 

He ignores the twinge that shoots through his chest when you ignore his outstretched hand.

Your body aches against every movement, like when you’d catch the flu as a child and stay in bed for days until you felt better, only to be left with fatigued, aching muscles from disuse. Wincing against the burn of everything, you see Daryl coyly offer his hand but you can’t take it - you already feel so humiliated. It feels like you’ve lost some of your dignity to have needed a rescue, to be sat in a corner so exposed, so you need to prove to yourself you’re capable of something, trying your best to subdue the want of Daryl’s hand in yours that dominates your mind.

Finding your balance on wobbly feet, you manoeuvre the leather over your shoulders as Daryl averts his gaze to the other side of the room. He listens until he’s heard the pop of the fasteners on his jacket before he turns his head back towards you, just as Rick announces ‘we’ve got company’, the urgency in his voice followed by a much louder pop, a deafening gunshot in retaliation to the ones suddenly don’t seem so far away.

Daryl’s crossbow is in his hands with remarkable speed and he’s telling you to ‘stay behind me, alright?’, and you glue yourself right behind him as he makes his way over towards Rick but all you can focus on is the jumble of deep voices that are approaching much too quickly. Rick reaches behind Daryl, handing you a loaded gun with a reassuring nod - it’s heavier than you remember, but it’s familiar in your grip. You silently pray you won’t need to aim or fire with the shakiness in control of your body. 

Rick leads the way with Daryl closely behind, and you obey without question when the southern drawl directs you, telling you to stand in front of him when the gunfire seems to come from behind or when he urges you to watch out. There are multiple casualties but none of them are you or your two saviours, and you’re back at the car before you know it. 

The drive back towards the prison is strange, the atmosphere thick with jumbled emotions and unspoken words. It’s entirely dark, now, only the black outline of the trees visible against the deep navy of the sky that’s void of any stars tonight - they’re hidden away, ashamed and remorseful of what they allowed to happen.

Rick’s desperate to apologise, to tell you how he wishes he’d never asked you to go on the run, or how he simply should have gone instead because this is a trauma he can’t take back - that you shouldn’t have had to go through, and that’s on him. He feels the responsibility and blame somewhere deep inside him, a failure as the leader of a group he’d sworn to protect. He grips the steering wheel harder.

You’re desperate to apologise for endangering the group, to scream because you’re so overwhelmed but you remain silent because you’re empty at the same time, there’s a medley of relief, anxiety and fear consuming your mind that it’s turned into a forcefully loud static, an unbearable cacophony painfully gnawing at the back of your eyes. You dig your nails into the palm of your hand for a shred of relief - it doesn’t work.

Daryl’s desperate to apologise, to whisper a quiet promise of revenge but he knows this isn’t the time, so he doesn’t. He feels entirely chagrined, furious that he didn’t get to you sooner, that he couldn’t prevent some prick from hurting you - no, thinking about you - anything without your permission. He tries his best to swallow his anger, to focus on the comfort of the fact you’re alive, that you’re right next to him because you asked him to be. It makes his jaw twitch but he does it.

There’s an empty space between you and Daryl and it hurts so much more than the throbbing in your nose or the ache in your hands, because that space has never existed until today - you’ve always sat shoulder to shoulder, crammed into the back of the car or lounging together in the RV laughing over some ridiculous story, but you’re not squeezed right against him or begging him to play UNO with you over the table in the RV - you’re both sat by the windows and the middle seat feels like the size of a football field and it’s devastating. 

“Keep me company?” The shyness in your voice surprised him, like you’d expected him to say no, but Daryl would never deny you of anything let alone his company, so he grabbed a blanket from the trunk before joining you in the back, gently throwing the thick material over you.

It isn’t a long journey, but it’s an exhausting one and by the time you park up by the prison gates your adrenaline has completely worn off and you’re shuddering under the blanket, grasping the scratchy material for a shred of warmth and there’s a familiar uneasiness in your stomach that you do your best to temporarily swallow down. Daryl’s watching you from the corner of his eye, protective.

He jumps out first, opening your door for you while Rick marches ahead to ask Hershel to check up on you. You peel the blanket from your bloodied skin as you shuffle yourself out of the car onto wobbly legs as a result of pure exhaustion, you’re so drained from today’s events and you’re so pale - so Daryl acts on instincts, reaching behind you for the abandoned blanket on the back seat. You’re shaking as he brings himself in front of you, and you do your best to overlook the unreasonable fear that forms from his towering figure.

It’s Daryl - just Daryl. Your Daryl, the same man who specifically went into a Walmart on his last run to get you fluffy socks because you’d told him the Prison was chilly, followed by a story about how you didn’t spend a single night without fluffy socks before the fall because it was your thing. He’d stuffed his bag on the next run, he already knew the Walmart was wiped of medicine, camping gear and food, but the clothing section was almost entirely untouched and it was worth the detour because you were ‘chilly’.

The same Daryl that jokingly told you he’d build you a treehouse because ‘don’t you think it’s the best way to survive an apocalypse? Daryl, shut up, why are you laughing? They can’t climb but we can, it’s logical.’ and technically you weren’t wrong, and maybe one day he will.

He’s so ridiculously tender as he opens up the bundled blanket, gently placing the fabric over your shoulders to protect you from the breeze. It feels risky, but he’s rewarded with a small smile and a quiet ‘Thank you’ that sounds so meek but genuine and it almost floors him, and he pulls the blanket just a little more snug around your shoulders, motioning you inside to get you fixed up. 

Maggie’s the first to see you, and she’s so relieved she basically runs to you, pulling you in for the tightest hug that squeezes the air from your lungs but you’re so happy to see her that you don’t mind. When she steps back she takes a moment, scanning you up and down and it dawns on her that nothing looks right - and within a moment she’s calling for Hershel, a kind hand on your lower back guiding you to the veterinarian’s cell. 

Daryl doesn’t move until you glimpse at him over your shoulder, and he hates himself but he hesitates, do you want him to go with you? Would he be intruding if he joined, or do you need time to talk without him? His feet feel heavy because why is every decision suddenly so big, so critical? 

Your hand reaches from under the cloak of the blanket, reaching for him with outstretched fingers. You’d only taken your eyes off Daryl for a moment in your approach to Hershel, and that moment was all it took for an unsettled feeling to rip its way through your chest and your vision to blur because you can’t be without him right now. You’re somewhere between a rock and a hard place - you want to be alone but suddenly he’s a lifeline, a lantern in the darkness of the abandoned prison that you’re being pulled towards like a moth to an open flame. Maggie’s hand on you feels comforting but you want more - and that’s exactly what Daryl is, he’s more.

Maggie watches the interaction with hopeful eyes as Daryl slowly paces over, knuckles white over the strap of his crossbow over his shoulder and his bottom lip tucked beneath his teeth, nervously wearing away the dry skin out of - habit or nerves? 

There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to reach out and touch you, and he wonders if he should just follow to prove he understands your gesture because he’s been burning for your touch for so long and he doesn’t want this to be a gesture born from fear -  anxiety of whatever trauma you’ve just endured, but if it’s what you want, he’ll give it to you tenfold. If it brings you even a modicum of comfort, he’d keep his fingers intertwined with yours until the second apocalypse rolled around. He’d like that, and he doesn’t realise that you’d like that, too. 

Wiggling your fingers just slightly, you prompt him and when he slips his hand into yours, Maggie feels your exhale through the muscles of the small of your back as you head towards Hershel again. There’s a clamminess on both of your palms from a combination of stress and adrenaline, and it’s an awkward grip because your wrists and fingers ache and Daryl doesn’t want to hurt you, but it’s him and it’s you so that makes it perfect.

You’re both too tired, too weary to blush and tease each other like you normally would have, but it’s a different sort of intimacy that relaxes the muscles between your eyebrows and warms a tiny corner of your stomach against the continuous queasiness. 

Your hands rests lazily against your thigh as Hershel assesses the damage, and you’re all too aware of the small audience that’s accumulated by the door of your cell. You can feel the tension, the way everyone’s barely holding back the questions on the tip of their tongue, what happened? Who? How? but nobody speaks, and neither do you. Daryl's thumb traces your knuckles with indistinguishable shapes, and it’s a welcomed distraction. 

His hand doesn’t move from yours when Hershel points out how there’s some bruising forming under your eyes now, a clear sign of a break, he says. He tells you he could try to re-shape it, put the bone back into place - an offer you fervently decline. You’d seen far too many accident and emergency shows way back, and you simply couldn’t bring yourself to willingly let somebody crunch your nose, so you’re content with keeping the small bump. 

Daryl watches you the entire time, monitoring your reactions and gauging your body language, squeezing your hand just a little tighter when you flinch against Hershel’s touches. He tries to ignore the waves of protectiveness that wash over him with every wince, but he hisses out a ‘careful with her’ when you visibly recoil against the prodding on the side of your nose - a comment that doesn’t bother Hershel because your eyes flick over from your lap to Daryl’s and he’d have to be senile to miss the way your lips twitch into the smallest smile at the comment. Maybe you find it funny, maybe you’re grateful to have somebody watching over you - either way, he’ll let this one slide.

“Whoever did this, they didn’t hold back, did they? But you’re tough. Looks like the jaw is just some superficial bruising, but it might be sore for a while.”

No, he didn’t hold back. Not at all - you can still feel the pull of your hair and the impact of his palm against your jaw when you didn’t follow his directions quickly enough.

He asks if there’s anywhere else, any other injuries. Despite the fact you’re fully aware of the pattern of cuts between your chest and abdomen, you say nothing because the sting isn’t bothering you enough - it’s the least of your worries. When the only response he receives is a blank stare, Hershel speaks to both Daryl and Maggie, asking ‘If one of you could help her clean up, I’m sure she’d appreciate it.’ and gesturing to some clean towels.

Focus seems to be a thing of the past as you simply sit and exist. Maggie comes into your line of vision but it doesn’t matter because you can’t feel anything. Daryl’s hand on yours, the mattress, the cold.. It’s all there but you’re unaffected, in an unfeeling bubble. Maybe you’re safe there, maybe you’re not. There’s no way of knowing anymore.

Going through the motions, you follow Maggie to the showers instead, because there’s vomit caked in your hair and you’d rather die than have someone else ‘clean’ you with a towel again, so you opt for the constant stream of water instead.

‘Stay?’ was all you’d managed to rasp out from your bruised throat, and Daryl followed immediately with a nod, sitting outside the shower door with Maggie as they waited.

Maggie sits with clean clothes - baggy, dark colours. No bra. Daryl dug out a clean pair of the socks you loved as if they would be a magic touch, like they would heal you immediately. Maybe he hoped they would.

“The water might open up those cuts on her chest, dependin’ on how deep they are. Might need you to help me convince her to get stitches.”

The fact that you even have cuts, even a single cut makes his blood boil. He doesn’t fully understand what Maggie’s asking though - there’s nothing he could do differently to her, or Hershel. Maggie would disagree, though. Everybody in the prison would disagree. 

“She’s struggling, Daryl. I think she’s gonna be leanin’ on you after this. She’s strong, and we all know it - stronger than most of us. But this is a different kind of pain.”

She’s leaning in just a little closer to Daryl to emphasize her point. Maggie’s always hoped you two would find a deeper connection with each other, been waiting for it to happen. It was inevitable. She’s heartbroken with the circumstances and she doesn’t pray as much as she used to, but there’ll be quiet prayers uttered from her bunk tonight - prayers for healing and connection and love, despite the anger in her heart at God.  

“What’re ya telling me for?”

You are strong and he knows it, he’s witnessed it daily ever since you met.

“She looks at you different, Daryl. She’s already wanting you around a whole lot more than she wants anyone else around, she must feel safe with you.”

Chewing at his lip, he wants that to be true. He wants to be safe for you, he always has, because you’re safe for him, and it’s not a feeling he was familiar with before meeting you - there was a pull that couldn’t be ignored, a pull that was even stronger now.

“How is she?”

Rick joins then, sitting opposite your two guards.

“She’s been better. Broken nose, but she doesn’t want Daddy to fix it. Bruised jaw.. Saw some bruises on her back. Her wrists are pretty raw, too. Might need stitches on a few of the cuts on her chest, but we’ll only be able to tell when she’s cleaned up.”

Rick only nods, grateful you’re able to stand up long enough to take a shower.

“More worried about her head. Mentally, I mean. I don’t know exactly what she went through, but I think we’ve all got a good idea based on what y’all saw. She’s gonna need time.”

She tells the men about ‘traumatic shock, and how it’s similar to PTSD but different. She was so zoned out Rick, she was just starin’ at the wall. Helped her out of her clothes ‘cause she just couldn’t, and I wouldn’t expect her to be alright after today either. There was a literal handprint on the back of her neck..”

Rick can only bring himself to nod, but the information makes his heart hurt. He makes eye contact with Daryl, where there seems to immediately be an understanding between the two men - The Governor, and anybody involved will pay a heavy price, tenfold what you’ve been forced to feel. 

When the shower shuts off, Maggie heads back inside with the clean clothes, guiding you to your cell to inspect your now clean injuries.

////

The night drags and counting sheep does nothing to help. It’s been hours and the pattern of the springs of the bunk above are ingrained in your mind in an attempt to keep your thoughts on anything but him. You bounce between thoughts, memories, people and events but nothing’s powerful enough to keep the feeling of his hands or the whispering against his ear away. It’s exhausting but overstimulating.

The metal frame of the squeaky bed is too hostile and the rusty shade grey is far too similar to the cold Woodbury walls and it’s making you want to crawl out of your own skin, and the silence within the cell block is so awful you’d swear it’s giving you double vision. It’s all so cold and the stupid 

mattress is suddenly the most uncomfortable thing in the entire world - frustration rips through you, quickly turning into anger as you twist yourself into a sitting position and the thin blanket tangles around your calf, it feels like a hand grabbing at you and oh my god, anger turns into panic and it consumes you like you’re on fire, a lit match to sensitive skin and everything inside you is gasoline. 

You burn and writhe, sweating as you wrestle against yourself until you hit the concrete floor with a dull thud, your spine taking most of the impact, and the pressure around your calf only increases in your struggle but it doesn’t matter because you’re being grabbed, but it isn’t just your leg - there’s more now, large hands around your arms and you’re gasping for air but there isn’t any. 

“Hey, hey! Eyes on me again, c’mon, look at me.”

Everything’s so foggy, there’s a voice somewhere in the darkness but it feels so distant, maybe the words aren’t even directed towards you. It’s familiar but barely, you want to give the voice your complete attention but you just can’t because your heart feels like it’s in your throat and you need the grip on your leg to go away, it feels like the man who forced you to your knees - a tight, malicious hold that wants to hurt you again, but even your kicking and thrashing doesn’t shake it off. 

The hands around your arm are so mild in comparison, they aren’t dominating or restraining, they’re just there - a light hold around the tops of your arms, warm. The voice is there again, shushing you and you didn’t even realize you were screaming until you have to quieten your cries to hear it for yourself. 

“Shh, you’re okay. It’s just me, just me an’ nobody else.”

The voice is a tether keeping you where you need to be. You’ve never heard a southern accent so soft yet so authoritative - it’s telling you again, eyes on me, and it takes all your strength to try.

Your dreary cell slowly comes into focus, blurry outlines of your bunk and the door forming hazy lines in your vision. It’s Daryl - you know that now. He’s the only person in the world to ever be so patient with you, always the first by your side. It’s like he can read your mind, he’s so tuned into you it’s ridiculous, like you’re both on the same wavelength, harmonious even on a bad day. 

He watches your eyes slowly come into focus and he makes a point to breathe slowly, albeit somewhat dramatically, in the hopes you follow his lead - and you do. His hands slide down from your biceps to your forearms where they rest just above your wounded wrists, hovering slightly. He held your hand earlier because you wanted him to so he prays this is okay, that his calloused fingers don’t feel uncomfortable against your skin or that he isn’t crossing a line. He wants- no, needs you to feel him, to understand that his touch is, and always will be harmless. When he sees no fear in your eyes and feels you steady beneath him, he lets his hands fully rest around the curve of your forearm. 

“It’s just you an’ me in here, ya understand?”

You respond with a nod between shaky breaths, but his raised eyebrows tell you it’s inadequate. He waits because he needs to hear you say it, needs to know that you can distinguish between the cloud of anxiety fogging your mind and reality. 

Patient. He’s so patient as he sits cross-legged on the floor of your barely lit cell, giving you all the time in the world to come back to him. He feels your pulse calm beneath his grip, a slowing beat under cold but clammy skin, hears your breathing even out until it matches his. You’re looking at him in such a daze and you look so exhausted - dark circles and the bruising at your jaw a daunting contrast against your skin, he wants to brush it all away with his thumb until there’s nothing left except unblemished skin - to be the reason you don’t hurt anymore.

“Tell me ya understand. Need to hear it.”

His words are demands but he says them so softly, and the way he’s looking at you makes you feel so good, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. The blue of his eyes is so him, so clear as he watches you behind unkempt waves and he acts as an achor, and all you can do is be still.

“I understand.”

The words sound so tired as they pry their way up the dryness of your throat, clawing their way up despite the tightness of your muscles. Daryl can see how much effort it takes to speak, and he nods in silent praise. 

“Who’s here?”

He watches as you take a cautious look, a sweeping stare around the cell behind him. He gives your arms the tiniest squeeze in motivation. After inspecting every outline and every wall, you answer.

“Me and you. Nobody else, just us.”

You echo his words because he’s right. There’s nobody else here, despite Daryl’s presence being so overwhelming in the best way possible it is just the two of you, hidden away in the darkest corner.

“That’s right, ya wanna tell me what happened?”

“It was- fuck, it was around my leg and it just, it felt like-like him and I just, fuck.”

You slide your hands out of Daryl’s grip, bringing your hands to your hairline out of pure annoyance, clutching a fistful of hair as he shifts his gaze towards your outstretched legs where he understands immediately, nimble fingers unraveling the sheet around the bottom of your calf, letting it fall to the floor. Like it was so simple.

This is so fucking annoying, is this the life you’re sentenced to now? Crying over a sheet?

Weakness, is that what this is? 

Conflicting emotions muddle together in a hazy barrier, separating fact from fiction. 

Daryl’s looking at you so softly, eyebrows raised ever so slightly from his usual scowl and it changes his face entirely, and you wonder what you’ve done to deserve having his eyes on you so attentively, so caringly. He should be asleep, it’s the middle of the night, and he’s always the first one up every morning but you can’t bring yourself to send him away - not yet, anyway. 

Guilt joins your already mixed emotions, because Daryl’s such a powerhouse, yet you’re here keeping the man who does so much awake for no good reason. Clutching tighter, you tug at the strands of hair still in your grasp until your scalp burns in a desperate attempt to distract yourself from the cesspit of the direction of your thoughts.

“I’m okay.”

Too quick. Too unbelievable. Try again.

Loosening your grip, your hands fall into your lap in a fidgety attempt to look sane. People who are genuinely okay don’t pull at their hair, and it’s difficult but you manage. 

Inhale. Exhale.

“I’m fine, really. It just- it was too similiar to, y’know.”

“Nah, I don’t know. Ya wanna talk to me about it?”

He truly doesn’t know. He assumes, but a million different things could have happened while you were captive, and he doesn’t want to assume wrong. There’s no guessing game when it comes to trauma. 

“Not tonight.”

He wants you to talk about what happened - he’s always been somebody to bottle everything up inside and suffer because of it. He’s hauled memories and scars for as long as he can remember and he’ll be damned if he lets you do the same. It’s too damaging, too corrosive to carry alone and he knows that better than anyone. ‘Not tonight’ is good enough for him because it’s not a ‘never’, it’s simply ‘later’, and if that’s what you want then he’ll take it - he’d take anything you gave him. 

Forcing the corners of your lips into a smile, you want to show Daryl you’re okay enough to survive the night. Daryl sees right through it - it’s the most insincere smile he’s ever seen in his life, especially when your eyes tell a completely different story.

“Okay. Not tonight.”

Sitting back, he gives you some space to acclimatize, to breathe.

He asks if you want him to stay the night on top bunk, which you decline. You convince yourself you’d be awful company because at times you don’t even feel like you exist. Other times you just want to cry and pace around your cell, and you don’t want to disturb him more than you already have.

‘I’ll be just in that guard room out here, ya know the one. Just yell if ya need me, okay?’ He tells you, emphasizing with a ‘M’ serious, ya come get me if somethin’ don’t feel right.’ as he stands in the doorway, hesitant to leave you alone. 

After convincing (lying to him) that you’ll be okay, you spend most of the night cleaning your weapons and pacing the confined space of the cell that’s completely miserable. Too dark, too lonely.

Daryl finds you before dawn. He’d watched you during the night as you dragged your thin mattress from the creaky bed, out into the walkway outside your door. He was moments away from coming over, to ask what you were doing before he saw you simply lay down with your back against the wall. You had to have a different view, a different environment before you lost you mind. Hauling the mattress was easy even if you did have a headache afterwards, but the open space just felt so much better - windows, even with the discoloured bars, they were a blessing with the dark treetops in the distance. It was just a little bit easier out here, so there you sat until dawn.

//

In the morning, Daryl heads out, but not before checking in on you. He checks your nose and your jaw with delicate prompting, telling you to get some sleep ‘for me, please?’ even though you both know you won’t. 

While Daryl’s gone, you find yourself trying so hard to exist and it’s difficult. Everybody’s trying so hard to distract you, to interact with you and give you something else to think about - and you’re grateful, but it’s so obvious. Beth talks to you the most and it’s nice, there’s no pity or questions, she just talks like she always does and although your answers are lacklustre she doesn’t complain.

“Ya alright?”

His voice takes you by surprise. There’s packs of candy in his arms, and a small, pink, fleece blanket that he places on the table, which Beth grabs. She excuses herself, telling you she’s going to give the newborn that’s currently asleep in Carol’s arms the new blanket. 

“Yeah, just a bit tired but I’m okay.”

You look tired. Truly tired, it physically hurts him to see the dark shadows creeping into your face, but he knows the bruising isn’t helping your overtired features. He tries to convince himself it’s the lighting or a bad angle - the shades of purple almost look black beneath and around your inner eye, and your jaw isn’t much better.

“Hm, did ya eat?”

“There’s stew over there, did you eat??”

So, no, you didn’t eat. 

It’s not quite a feeling of nausea or needing to vomit, yet it’s something more than just a ‘lack of appetite’. You don’t have a logical explanation, and you don’t try to come up with one, either.

“I’ll get some later.”

Any other day, you’d both be first in line for any meals going, relishing in the game you’d managed to catch earlier in the day. There was always a satisfaction verging on pride when you’d bring anything back, which was almost every time you and Daryl went out together. The teamwork you both shared was striking, celebrated amongst the group. 

“Promise?”

Pointing his nose into the air is all the confirmation you seem to be getting, but you take it.

“What is it, are you okay?”

He’s alternating between chewing on his bottom lip, and his thumb. 

“Got somethin’ to show ya.”

There’s no eye contact with his words, in fact there’s the opposite - is he.. Nervous?

Twiddling with his crossbow and biting his lip, the ground must suddenly be very interesting because it’s all he’s looking at now. 

“Really? What is it?”

“Wanna see ya eat somethin’ first.”

“I already.. Fine.”

You change your course when you see the raised eyebrow. Knowing fully well he knows you’re lying, you make your way over to grab a bowl of the still hot stew, sulking as you swallow it down.

He’s quiet as he leads you outside, pebbles crunching beneath you as you make your way through the humidity towards a lone guard tower. His nerves make you nervous as you walk up the stairs behind him, but you’re so curious. 

“It aint a tree house, but I know ya ain’t been sleepin’, so, uh..”

The door is held open for you at the top of the stairs, expecting to see yet another drab, cold guard tower.

“Daryl.. Oh my God.”

Oh my God.

It’s a guard tower - but it’s not drab, and it certainly isn’t cold. It’s colourful and homely and a chill runs up your spine from the thought that went into this - into the transformation he’s created because it’s wonderful. You were in this one just a few weeks ago. Rick wanted somebody to join him to finish clearing the area and the guard tower itself, and he’d asked you ‘Saw one of them in full protective gear, and I want your good aim for the job’ so you did without hesitation. There were some guns, some ammo, you’d told the group. Forgetting to tell them you’d peeled the gun from a grey corpse, the barrel aiming towards his own jaw was simply an accident.

There was no trace of that incident, now. Anything worth taking was with the group in the main prison, and the walls were.. Fluffy. Cracked windows were now draped with thick blankets acting as curtains, the floor almost entirely covered with similar fabrics and pillows in every colour. It was an absolute eyesore and you loved it.

“You did this?”

Disbelief has your mouth agape. Appreciation has you walking around, fingers tracing everything you can touch. Even the scruffier blankets feel nice, but those are over the windows, cloaking you from the afternoon sun. Tip-toeing around, you lean down to admire the absolute pile of softness at your feet. There’s so many. Light blue and knitted. Multicolour patchwork that’s just a little bit itchy to touch. Pale yellow, crocheted with thick, silky yarn.

Daryl nods with a grunt, using the excuse of chewing the nail on his thumb.

“This is.. Amazing. So amazing. The cell just, doesn’t work for me right now. I miss sleeping so badly, my eyeballs hurt. This is really for me?”

This feels magical - nobody’s ever gone to so much effort for you. There are tall candles standing atop the control panel with a box of matches right beside them, ready for nightfall. 

“Course, can’t have ya in that cell right now. I ain’t like it, either. Found a Hobby Lobby while I had the car today. Didn’t know what half the shit was in there.”

You make a mental promise to pay him back tenfold. He broke into a Hobby Lobby for the sake of a few hours sleep, all for you. You knew he was soft for you, but this? Images of him lugging armfulls of fabric into the back of the beaten up little car flood your mind and you can’t help but smile at him.

When you’re done admiring, you head back into the prison to keep busy. Carol and Beth are experimenting with some of the prison supplies for dinner, so you try to be productive until Hershel pulls you to the side, to check in. He asks how you’re feeling, how you’re holding down food, sleeping, pain on a scale of one to 10.. Hershel knows you’re lying with most of your answers - you’re stubborn, not wanting to draw any more attention to yourself and your situation, so he lets you go after reminding you he’s always available to talk to.

Daryl subtly observes how you play with your food, but still thankful you’ve managed some. Pushing re-hydrated mashed potato around your plate with heavy eyes and an orange glow from the fire, he’s trying to not stare but his efforts are in vain because he can’t help but shift his gaze to you, wanting to make sure T-Dog isn’t sitting too close, or that your wrists aren’t hurting too much even though he watches how you occasionally rub the tender skin. 

While dinner gets cleared up, you make your way over to the archer who’s adjusting the string of his crossbow with a furrowed eyebrow. 

“Busy?”

He finishes twiddling with a gruff ‘Nah’, standing to join you, crossbow in hand.

Good. You’ve wanted to slip away since the group gathered together. There’s so much love for every single individual sat around the log cabin fire Daryl built, but there were moments you were filled with exhaustion, craving peace and chunky knitted blankets instead. You adored when Beth sang, when Rick’s beautiful daughter cooed and the excitement that came with having an actual meal with friendships that were essentially family ties.

But not tonight.

Linking your fingers with his, Daryl doesn’t even consider protesting as you gently pull him behind you towards your little safe haven. As you walk, you miss the sympathetic smile from Maggie, and the one full of hope from Beth.

Once inside, Daryl tells you he can sit outside and guard, but you’re quick to remind him he can do that from the inside, too. There’s anxiety in your thoughts, nerves from wondering if those men will find you again. Find your camp, your people, Daryl. It occupies a dark, weary corner of your mind that you’re desperate to not think about for one night, you’re simply craving peace and rest. Daryl sits facing the door, quietly continuing his mission with his crossbow.

“You should lie down, too. Only one of us needs dark circles this bad, and I’m already claiming it.”

He scoffs, but oh how he loves hearing you tease. The playful edge in your voice sounds spent and dreary, but it’s still there and it sparks an entire new wave of thankfulness and admiration through his soul - feels it so deeply as he watches you gather a handful of fabric, clutching it by your chest like a child would a comforter.

He tells you he will, that he just needs to finish fixing this one part first. It’s a blatant lie - what he means is, he’s waiting to make sure you actually get some sleep. Actual rest. Not only do you deserve it, but you need it at this point. Your voice is barely above a whisper when you tell him ‘don’t take too long, okay?’ The room is so dark but you’re still so bright for him. He’s still not over the fact that somebody could willingly hurt you, someone so honest, so selfless - he can control his anger right now, mostly grateful you’re here in his company.

It takes a little while until you seem settled, when you toss and turn just a little bit less, only then does he close his eyes for just a moment, back still against the wall ready to defend against anyone who dares try to disturb you tonight.

/

Everything’s so bright tonight - the stars and the moon look like they’re trying to lure you in, desperate for attention against the pitch black of the night sky, and the air is muggy but it’s a welcomed distraction. Another failed attempt at sleeping finds you bundled out on the balcony with heavy eyelids and a million thoughts, but absolutely nothing you can focus on, nothing’s distinct enough or sharp enough to latch on to, so it’s easier to not try - looking at the sky is easy, and you don’t have to try, so it works.

You tried for hours. Sleep simply did not want to be your friend again tonight, and it was so frustrating. Every way you tried to lie was uncomfortable for no apparent reason, and when you felt a headache forming in your temple, you almost screamed into your pillow before remembering you had company. Daryl was slumped, a thick yellow blanket draped over his shoulders against the metallic chill against his back, despite the blistering heat that had the entire group in a chokehold every moment of the day.

“Can’t sleep?”

You’ve been so engrossed in the sight before you - the stars, the moon and just how captivating they are, that you don’t notice the footsteps of heavy boots against metal flooring behind you and you almost give yourself whiplash with the speed you turn to face the source. Daryl’s stood just a few metres away, back leaning against the frame of the open doorway with tousled hair, concern hidden behind a sympathetic expression and a question he couldn’t stifle.

“No chance, apparently. I could ask you the same question, though.”

Rubbing your eyes as you speak, you turn yourself back to the direction of the thick canopy of trees. You can feel the puffiness beneath your eyes, and the fragility of the delicate skin - a prominent display of just how exhausted you are, and you sharply inhale at the throbbing sensation that pulses beneath your fingers from the bruising. 

Was it his fault that you couldn’t sleep? Was he too close to your personal space, too invading? He hesitates by the door, already fumbling over words that haven’t even formed yet, chewing down on his bottom lip as his gaze lingers on your dark silhouette.

“D’ya want me to go? If it helps ya sleep better, I can-”

As much as he wants to stay, if you need to be alone he’ll go - he’d find an excuse to be somewhat close, maybe he’d patrol the fences or collect some firewood, but not behind thick walls because he wouldn’t be able to see or hear you from inside and you might not know it yet but you’re his responsibility now. You’re fully capable and he knows it - so powerful and stubborn, passionate and perfect and Daryl's never had a single doubt in his mind about your ability to fight or overcome, and he isn’t about to start now because it’s you, and although you don’t need anybody to protect you, he still wants to. Right now you just need some time to heal and he’s consumed by the desire to help - to absolve you of the pain you’re going through because you deserve better. He would take your experiences and endure it tenfold if it gave you peace, he would kiss away the bruising around your eyes with the gentlest, most angelic brush of his lips if you let him because he only exists to make you feel better. 

The words die in his throat the moment you turn back towards him, because there’s a trace of a smile on your lips as you tell him ‘No, I don’t want you anywhere but here.. only if that’s okay with you, though.’ and Daryl can hear the way you second guess yourself, the way the second half of your sentence drips with insecurity - don’t you know he longs to be by your side, aches to be yours, to get you through the turmoil you’re currently trying to dissect?

You watch as he makes his way closer until he’s next to you, crouching down until his eyes are level to yours and he shuffles himself until he’s sitting next to you, legs swinging over the edge of the balcony. There’s a warm breeze and you feel yourself relaxing into the warm gust of air, letting your head lull backwards and your eyes close for just a moment - the night sky and warmth used to be enough to pull you into a nights sleep, so why isn’t it anymore? 

Your mind flashes with memories - you can feel them, hear the way your friends would laugh into plastic cups and the crackling embers of a fire, a blanket around your shoulders and the way your body would relax so deeply into the shape of your hammock that you could have slept for days. The breeze feels the same and despite your closed eyelids, you know you’re still sitting beneath the same flickering stars. You’re so deep in the memory and the calmness that corresponds to it that you might as well be back there - then it hits you that you’re not. There’s no overflowing party cups and no gossiping around the campfire, you lost your hammock long before the world fell and there’s an absence of burning ashes lingering in the air, and although you could swear you heard the repetition of jokes and laughter so distinctly that it must have been real - it isn’t. 

But there’s a slight smell of smoke, and you know it’s real and you’re not losing your mind and it smells so much like your favourite evenings that you take a deep inhale, then another before slowly opening your eyes, letting the memory fade out as you focus on the stars for just a moment.

Your friends aren’t here anymore, but Daryl is. 

Daryl watches you, wondering exactly where you went. He’s so content just observing you, admiring the rise and fall of your shoulders and the strands of hair that move ever so slightly in the Georgian breeze that he just can’t take his eyes away from your profile, doting on how you look beneath the silver of the night sky. He’s never seen anything so beautiful in his life, and when you open your eyes and turn towards him, it only solidifies what he already knew because the moonlight is reflecting in your eyes just right, and out of everything you could be looking at, you’re choosing to look at him, and when a light gust of air sweeps a cluster of hair into your face, he moves on instinct.

He’s slow as he raises his hand, and he expects your eyes to switch to his moving fingers, but your gaze remains on his as he inches closer. 

You catch yourself, resisting the natural urge to simply push the rogue strands away, instead you find yourself yearning for the simple gesture - and when his rough fingertips brush over your cheek, you find yourself leaning into the friction, the way his calloused skin feels so effortless as he glides the hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. There’s a pang of something that shoots into your chest so suddenly, but as daryl’s fingers delicately trail the shape of your ear, you realize what that feeling in your chest is - it’s not fear or dread, it’s affection, and it’s blooming so intensely it’s threatening to spill over through your eyes because you’re not scared, you’re something that you can’t quite give a name to, but it feels good.

Slowly, Daryl reminds himself. Every movement is steady and gentle, two fingertips trailing one after the other in tiny little shapes and squiggly lines just below your lobe, and he swells with pride as you quietly sigh, comfortable enough to close your eyes against his touch, so he continues - mapping the contours of your face from your hairline to the slight dip beneath your cheekbone, gently tracing the discoloration along your jawline. The touch is so soft, so barely there that it almost tickles and it’s incredible. You spend minutes just letting yourself be touched, focusing solely on being in control of your emotions and how this is special, how Daryl is special and how this is completely okay and he’s not hurting you and he never would.

The archer changes his movements then, using his hand to cup your jawline, hovering lightly over the bruising, and when you open your eyes and focus on him again, he repeats the motion on the other side until he’s holding your face gently between both of his large hands, angling himself in front of you.

“Let’s get ya back inside, alright?”

You’re so pliant and warm and soft for him, completely oblivious as you relax into his hands. He’s supporting your weight with his palms as he traces his thumbs across your cheeks, every fraction of a movement is brand new territory, and he’s concentrating hard to not scare you - he’s not going to move until you do, because he might be the one touching you, but you’re in control, he’s not going to make any decisions on your behalf, no matter how small. As far as Daryl’s concerned, this is your world - he just lives in it.

You want to stay just like this, because he’s tracing over your darkened bruises with so much tenderness, and the damaged skin is so sensitive - the combination feels magical. Your gaze drops, suddenly you can feel the lethargy rest heavily on your eyelids because since when were they so heavy?

“Think you’re ready for a good night’s sleep, c’mon, let’s get you tucked in.”

When you finally nod, he’s careful as he takes one hand away first, giving you a moment to adjust to the lack of support, with just one last brush of his thumb from below your eye to your cheek before he pulls away, bringing himself to his feet beside you. Your hands slip into his outstretched ones, supporting you as you steady yourself against the dull thud of the metal beneath you, and he leads you back into the mess of tangled sheets.

There’s a moment of ‘when do we let go?’ when you’re inside, neither of you entirely sure because you simply don’t want to. Thick pillows call your name, and you’re the first to lower yourself against a velvety throw blanket, and in succession, as if he’d been doing it his whole life, Daryl follows the gentle pull of your locked hands, but he’s oh so careful to subtly leave space between your thigh and his - he hasn’t been invited to touch anything but your hand, so he doesn’t.

The softness beneath you is so potent you can feel it through your clothing, and although it feels like the most inviting thing ever, your attention quickly shifts from the gentle back and forth of his thumb over the back of your hand to the gap he’s purposely left between you, and you’re heartbroken. 

Insecurity surges through every neuron in your body with so much ferocity that you feel absolutely annihilated, paralysed - your entire chest constricts, tightening at the sudden awareness of how feeble you feel, how damaged. Pulling your hand from his, your thoughts race with such force - why is there so much space between you? What did you do wrong?

You swallow hard at the lump in your throat, and Daryl watches the smile fade from your lips, and your knees pull up to your chest. He waits only a moment before perching himself by your feet, eyes on your downcast ones.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on?”

How can he sound so concerned, so doting when you’re so.. Broken?

He’s calling your name so softly, voice just above a whisper but you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to block him out. Even just his voice feels like an assault on your senses, and the small percentage of you that wants to listen is overpowered by the crushing weight in your chest, the doubt in your mind.

He waits a moment - caution at the front of his mind. He doesn’t understand exactly what just happened, but he’s going to fix it because he can see the way your hands tremble ever so slightly as they cover your eyes, hear the way your breath catches in your throat and he hates it. For every fear-induced vibration of your fingers, he vows to cause an hour of pain - no, a day, for the man who did this. He’ll slice off a finger for every cry he causes. He starts a tally in his mind.

“You’re gonna get through this, ya know that, right?”

He receives a shaky exhale in response, so he carries on.

“You’re gonna get through this ‘cause it’s what ya do best. You survive.” 

Patient is all he can be right now, and he does it well. Lets you calm down, to process whatever it is you’re feeling right now without intruding, and when you finally speak, he can’t disguise the flash of anger that forms in the pit of his stomach.

“He- The Governor, when I wouldn’t tell him where my camp was, he..” 

Inhale. Exhale. Again. 

You can’t bring yourself to look at the man in front of you when you raise your head, quickly dragging your sleeve across your damp cheeks. Shame builds in your throat - if you don’t tell him what happened right now, this very second, you swear you never will but you need Daryl to know. If anybody’s going to know, it’s him.

“That’s when he cut my shirt off, that’s how I got the cuts on my chest. He left.. When he came back he kept asking. I would never, ever tell anyone about the prison, please trust me. I never told him.”

Daryl knows, and he tells you this as you pat the skin under your eyes a little too harshly. 

“He.. He forced me to my knees, Daryl. I had to-”

You don’t bother wiping the tears away anymore as they ferociously spill over. Chills and shivers make their way down your spine as you recall the event and you can only imagine the pity - or worse, disgust that must be all over Daryl’s face right now. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t shy away from your confession, instead he dips his head lower to get your attention. When your red eyes reluctantly meet his, you’re surprised by his features - the lack of repulsion or horror, you’re astonished because he seems to have shuffled just a little bit closer, not further away, and he nods - there’s more, and he knows.

“I didn’t think I- I thought he was going to.. Until you came. I knew you’d come, but I was so scared. I was terrified. I fought back, that’s how I got the bruise on my jaw. After that he just held a knife to my throat.. Told me to be extra careful.”

Almost on instinct, your hand delicately touches the front of your neck, where you’d felt the sharp blade dig into your skin just enough to keep you docile. 

“And you’ve been.. Here, right next to me ever since, and I know it’s stupid but when you sat down, you felt so far away and I thought I’d done something wrong, or that I’m.. ”

Daryl watched and listened as you spoke, heard the panic creep into your speeding up voice, saw you wince from the torment that was so clearly playing in your mind. Every word you’d just spoken had bile rising in his throat, an acidic taste to be quickly swallowed down because this is your ‘not tonight’, this is when he sits and listens. This is your experience to talk about, your trauma to unpack. He already had a vague idea of what happened - an assumption of your ordeal - and actually hearing it were two very different things. He can’t even fathom that you’d think he was even capable of thinking about you badly, that you’re..

“Broken, disgusting.. Patheti-”

“Hey, that’s enough. C’mere.”

He reaches out to you with open arms, and you sob an absolutely gut wrenching sob because Daryl’s always felt like home, and despite the voice in your head telling you how unworthy you are of his support, he’d never deny you. Shuffling into him, he cocoons you with his arms without a moment of hesitation, pulling you against him just a little more because it’s what he’s always done - he’s nervous, ready to release his hold at the first sign of unease. Instead he feels you press yourself further against him, tucking your head beneath his chin. 

“Ya aint none of those things. An’ I’ll tell ya that every day if I need to, alright? Ya ain’t never, and never gonna be broken or pathetic. Sure yer gonna feel that way sometimes, don’t mean it’s true, and ya ain’t disgusting for what someone else did to ya, that aint how it works.”

Soft spoken words tickle the crown of your head as you take in the little patches of heat where his body overlaps your own, and there’s a warmth blooming in your chest like a bouquet. These words are so special, even more so because they’re coming from him, in a little hideaway he built to keep you safe.

Hearing your thoughts out loud forced him to voice his own that had accumulated over the last few days. Daryl’s no stranger to trauma, he’s masked his own distress and memories with a need to be protective - support the group, hunt, track, find shelter. There’s almost a responsibility that’s bubbled to the surface to prevent the people around him feeling even just a snippet of what he’s felt over the years, and he does it willingly, out of a love that he himself doesn’t even understand - and it’s a feeling that’s always been more prominent with you. He couldn’t let another moment go by with you thinking that way about yourself - ‘you didn’t do this, the Governor did, an’ your worth don’t change ‘cause of a prick of a man’s actions.’ Daryl’s careful as he tells you this, hoping and praying he’s choosing his words correctly. He mumbles into your hair that he’s ‘sorry about not sittin’ right next to ya, I just thought maybe to just.. I dunno, we were already’ holdin’ hands and I didn’t wanna cross no line. ‘M sorry.’ and although the tears don’t stop, the excruciating weight on your chest lifts just slightly, faintly circling his palm against your back to calm you.

“Aint nothing you could’ve ever done to deserve any of this. Nobody here thinks any different of ya, and I’m gonna be right here until you’re okay again, we all will.”

You’ve been by his side since you stumbled across their camp by the quarry. You had your sister back then, like he had Merle. Suddenly neither of you had your siblings, your best friends to survive the world with, but somewhere down the line you found solace in each other. You clung to cigarette smoke as he did your unfamiliar softness and the group could only admire from a distance - an admiration that only grew stronger, as did your affinity towards each other. 

There’s a pause to his words, and before you can wonder why, he places the most delicate kiss against your hair. His stubble itches your scalp, and your heart flutters at the tender press of his lips - another source of warmth that has you raising your head and bringing your eyes to meet his.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry. I didn-”

You idiot. You didn’t ask, she’s going to hate you and rightfully so. His mind floods with regret immediately, waves upon waves of quick scenarios running through his mind - will you never talk to him again? Walk away from him, never to return? His arms relax around you just slightly, ready for the inevitable moment where you pry yourself out of his grasp.. But it doesn’t happen? The inevitable doesn’t happen, and when your gaze meets his, he’s surprised.

“It’s okay.”

Delicate. Fragile. Powerful. Understanding. Pretty. Soft. Gentle. Strong. Warm. Kind. Forgiving. Patient. Loving. Accepting.

Daryl sees every single good thing there is about the world in your face. You’re telling him that it’s okay, with your tear-streaked rosy cheeks and sad smile. Loss after loss after tragedy and you’re still here smiling at him, tucked between his arms like it’s where you belong, and he’s astonished when you re-adjust yourself until you’re sat across his thighs, but astonished would be an understatement when you willingly lean your forehead against his lips - innocently pining for the feeling of him against your skin.

Giving you exactly what you want, you’re so momentarily content with the control that you have with his lips against you, exactly where you wanted him - exactly where he wanted to be. It’s pure and beautiful and he doesn’t hurt you when he places a hand on your lower back to support you, nor does he when his other hand cradles the nape of your neck. Not forcing, not grabbing you or keeping you still - but there to hold you, like his only purpose is to be a pillar supporting a temple of worship. The man who hurt you - his hands were softer, free of calluses but malicious, whereas daryl’s are rough and dry from hard work, but every single movement towards you has always been filled with grace.

The same hands that pressed over yours the first time you used his crossbow, and guided you until you got your first successful shot on a walker. He’d been proud of that moment, teasing about how ‘you’re a natural’.

The same hands you’d babied from fights - scratches and burns, wear and tear from being in a fallen world. ‘M fine, stop wastin’ shit on me’ he’d tell you, and you’d always ignore him as you dotted lotions on broken skin and wrapped him in gauze.

Those same scarred hands weren’t to be afraid of, you’d refuse to be timid of Daryl. He was capable of so much and you’d seen it. Watched him take on dozens of the dead, unafraid to take on the living with dangerous weapons to protect his people - to protect you. He was there for others to be fearful of, not you. 

But even if you were afraid, were cautious he would understand. He would hide his hurt feelings because they weren’t the priority here, he would back up and apologize and leave you alone with a single word and you know this. He knows trauma, acknowledges the healing that comes afterwards even if he never got it - he’ll sure as hell make sure that you do.

There’s a long pause before either of you move, you both simply sit and breathe and soak in the closeness and admiration that’s growing tenfold every moment. Your hands ended up resting on his hips for the most part, with the occasional play of the buttons on his vest as he continued to lightly knead into the knots of stress in your neck, his lips never wandering far from your forehead. 

“Tired?”

He mumbles into your hair when you yawn, tears prickling your eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve slept in days. Yes, I’m tired”

Prominent dark circles are an obvious answer to his question, but he just wanted to hear the lighthearted teasing in your voice he’s been hoping for - not that you’d ever disappoint him. Daryl’s willing to stay up until dawn if sleep wasn’t going to take you, but he’s thankful at the opportunity that you might actually get some sleep tonight. You both agree to lay down, and you ruefully peel yourself away from him.

There’s an echo that rings when heavy, ill-fitting boots are pried from threadbare socks before Daryl’s shuffling, rustling blankets along the way until he’s crouched by your muddy shoes. Gesturing to your laces, he waits until there’s an unashamed smile and a giggle before un-doing the tangles, pulling them off your feet despite quiet protests of ‘Oh my God, they must smell so bad, I’m so sorry’ before joining you back against the pillows. 

There must be a specific blanket and pillows store he stripped bare for your comfort, and you’re nothing but thankful when you come back into contact with chilled fleece and fluff. Pressure’s been lifted from your mind, alleviated just enough that breathing actually feels possible for the first time in days, and Daryl’s laying on his side, watching and cherishing the peace he can see between your bruises. 

You join him, then. Rolling onto your side until you’re face to face, suddenly shy beneath his gaze. He asks how your nose feels - and when you tell him ‘it’s not awful, but I’m sure it looks awful, Daryl don't look at it, jeez!’ he can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. Awful is the least it feels - he remembers the day he broke his as a teenager. The man who did that to him didn’t apologise either, but he’s certain he was less bruised than you and it was tender for months.

Jokingly, you hit his shoulder and his grin kills you. There are strands of hair across his forehead and his eyes are creasing ever so slightly and you’re so flooded with the sincerity of him that you feel tears forming in your eyes again. There’s no desire to cry and you’re not upset, and you try to blink them away before he notices but he does. 

You’re cocooned in a homely comfort as he grabs an extra blanket, bringing it over and tucking it below your chin, whispering a ‘thank you’.

“Look at me for a sec. I aint him. Gonna keep ya safe, want ya to know that.”

Nothing above a mumble in volume, but thunderously loud in promise. Safety and refuge abundantly thick in his words and immediately you’re curling in against his him, dragging the blanket with you until once again, you’re wedged beneath his chin, chest to chest because you want to feel his words, physically feel the shields that are his arms and hands. You don’t have to wait more than a second for reciprocation - he’s immediately understood, adjusting himself until he’s got an arm over yours and a hand cradling the back of your head. You tell him that you know.

It’s just perfect.

Innocent intimacy that just feels so right, so natural. He holds you so close, like it's a necessity, and honestly it might actually be.

Careful, gentle touches from rugged fingertips lulled you to sleep that night, and many, many nights after.

/

Hours turn into days, days into weeks, weeks into months.

Healing was difficult, especially when the war broke out. People - good people lost their lives. Friends were lost, blood spilled and the prison fell and things were hard.

Almost nothing was consistent - not the company, meals or housing. The sun would rise and things would change, the sun would set and things were dangerous. Daryl was consistent, though. The tips of his fingers against your skin were consistent, as were his lips against your forehead, your cheek, and one day, the very corner of your own lips.

He watched as you gained your confidence again, how you’d zone out just a little bit less every week. It wasn’t consistent. There were good days, and there were days you’d wake from paralyzing nightmares but he was there, ready to pull you against him - what’s goin’ through that head of yours, huh? He’d whisper with a gentle nudge of his fingers below your chin.

His presence was healing you, you would tell him - and he would always correct you. ‘Nah, this is all you. It’s you doin’ the hard work, not me.’ and you would always disagree, even if he was right.

[salaimoi]

talk to me nice or i'll cry, seriously ;ଓ

- 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘺 @𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘪 -

⋘…𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎...⋙

⤷what is this series about?

it consists of silly, random dialogue-packed, short interactions between reader and a JJK character :3

⤷victims of this series:

Gojo Satoru, Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna (maybe Choso Kamo later on)

⤷how is this different from regular fics on tumblr?

the only difference is that these stories will be more dialogue than narration. maybe it’s bc I’m tired of narrating fics, but I’ve always wanted to read/create more stories where the characters interact directly with one another via words.

⤷why not just write drabbles?

I’m taking the easy way out by writing in this format. yes, you read that right. sometimes I picture a character saying/doing a certain thing in my head, but I don’t want to write a 500+ detailed fic about it. for me, personally, a drabble is too short for what I have in mind. at the same time though, a fic is too long

⤷can you make requests for this series?

not at the moment — since it is a brand new piece of work for me, I want to get used to it before I begin to accept requests. my ask-box will always remain open tho! so if you feel as if you need to submit a request you’ll probably forget later, do not hesitate to drop it there and I’ll get to it in due time. please be patient with me ! ^^

ೀ 🍨 ‧ ˚ 🎀 ⊹˚. ♡

now that that’s out of the way. every time I publish a new story, I will come back here to update it. all credits go to original creators — other than the gojo section, all pictures are from pinterest.

all fics go in order from newest ➜ oldest respectively for each character

Gojo Satoru ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆

⌗ rich boy activities .ᐟ where gojo intends to transfer you all the money in his bank account for the sole purpose of receiving a compliment from you.

Fushiguro Toji 𓊆ྀི✰𓊇ྀི

⌗ 𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 .ᐟ where you shamelessly state that you’re going to get toji pregnant, but he’s not having it with your weirdness today.

⌗ i love you .ᐟ where you ask toji if he loves you mid morning sex session.

Ryomen Sukuna ★₊˚﹟🪐 '

⌗ yawn .ᐟ where you beg sukuna to have a normal conversation - devoid of sex - for once.

⌗ cloud talk .ᐟ going sight seeing with the king of curses

more coming soon to a theater near you .ᐟ

[natimiles]

I’m close to 400 followers! It’s crazy! This idea started as a 300 followers celebration, but suddenly… where did all these people come from? WELCOME!

Thanks y’all! I’m happy we’re so many loving our fictional hubbies and going crazy over these games. Thanks to all the reblogs, likes, comments, or even you ghost reader. I see you! (no, not really, but you got me)

To celebrate it, I’m throwing this little event. And it’s gonna be my first time opening requests. So, please, read the guidelines and be patient with me :3

Places to Kiss & Their Meanings:

♥ Forehead: you mean a lot to me ♥ Neck: I want you, I love you ♥ Tip of the nose: fondness ♥ Cheek: affection, support ♥ Lips: deep passion, the epitome of love ♥ Hips: possessiveness ♥ Fingertips: I vow my life to you ♥ Top of the hand: appreciation, respect ♥ Top of the foot: devotion

Rules & Guidelines:

♥ Requests will be open from May 8th to May 31st. I will try to write them during the event duration, at the latest by mid-June. Keyword: try!

♥ Choose 1 suitor and 1 place to kiss, and you shall receive little scenarios/drabbles.

♥ They’re all gonna be “x reader” with the only exception being Isaac/Arthur. This one can be with or without reader.

♥ I’ll only write for the listed suitors. I already selected the ones I’m more confident and comfortable in writing.

♥ We’ll keep it SFW so everyone is welcome to participate. I’ll ignore any kind of request that asks to spice the scenario, it doesn’t matter if it comes as anon or not.

♥ It can be an established relationship, pre-relationship, platonic, or even unrequited love. If you want a specific relationship, specify it on your request.

♥ I usually write with a female reader in mind, and sometimes it can have some insinuations about that. I always tag it.

Fandoms & Characters:

♥ Ikemen Vampire: Isaac, Mozart, Arthur, Isaac&Arthur, Jean, Comte, and Mitsuki

♥ Ikemen Villains: Roger, Ellis, William, Liam, Jude, and Kate

♥ Obey Me: Levi, Simeon, and Satan

Most of the prompts here were based on an Ikemen Vampire event (Cover me With Kisses). Big thanks to the lovely Mo (@/kissmetwicekissmedeadly) for checking all the stories she had saved for this event to help me out with this! I only had Shakespeare and Sebastian, so it was a great help (and a great laugh)!

♥ Would you like to request?

♥ Event Masterlist

[ithaquasbbg]

I have requests in my inbox.. but instead of focusing on those like I should.. I am writing a little bit of self indulgent stuff today (I’ll do reqs soon)

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Joseph desaulnier | Photographer general relationship Headcanons

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Tw : very brief mentions of Claude’s death

Extra : I love this man so much, he’s my favorite grandpa

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|🩷| Joseph is a person with a large amount of attachment issues due to his childhood. He finds himself growing more attached to people than he should, and doesn’t take loss well. This is apparent in your relationship at Least at the beginning. He will constantly need reassurance that you won’t leave him.

|🩷| He loves giving gifts, something that he can see you wearing preferably. The way your face lights up when he gives you gifts is something that never fails to put butterflies in his stomach.

|🩷| When it comes to receiving, words of affirmation make him fall even harder than he already has. Things as small as “I love you” will cause him to blush.

|🩷| When he’s intoxicated, which happens quite often, he’s much more easily flustered than normal. He’s unable to play it cool when he’s in a state like that, and will often end up silent with a dumb little smile on his face.

|🩷| He loves giving you pet names! Things like “Cherie”, or other French words of endearment are typically his go to. Occasionally, he’ll slip in a “dear” or two as well.

|🩷| If you were to give Joseph pet names, he’d act like he hates it up front, but the silly little smile on his face definitely tells you otherwise. Calling him things like “pretty boy”, “darling”, or other endearing terms are the ones that evoke the biggest reaction.

|🩷| Joseph’s not a fan of heavy pda. He prefers to keep things “classy” like how he was raised. Things like hand holding are fine, but kissing (like mouth to mouth.. cheek kisses are fine) is pushing it a little too far.

|🩷| In private, he’s among one of the more affectionate people in the manor, especially when drunk. Joseph longs the embrace of another person, as it fills the hole in his heart that was left after his brothers death. Depending on who you are as a person, he may or may not be the one initiating this.

|🩷| In terms of big spoon and little spoon.. Joseph can swing either way, which does like many other things depend on his level of sobriety and emotions.

|🩷| When he’s big spoon, you can bet that he’s going to have you held as close to him as he possibly can, though he tries his best not to crush you. Sometimes you’ll catch him playing with your hair absently. If you bring it up, he’d be flustered and may stop doing it for a while.. so choose wisely.

|🩷| When Joseph is the little spoon, he loves being held tight as he holds you sometimes. You’ll often find him with his head resting on your chest so he can listen to your heartbeat.

|🩷| You can borrow some of his clothing, but Joseph would much rather have some clothing custom made so they can fit you better. He has the money to spoil you, so why shouldn’t he?

|🩷| That in mind.. Joseph probably borrows lots of your clothing if he can fit into it. Even though he can make some of the most expensive clothing out of anyone in the manor, he finds himself feeling much safer when in your clothing

|🩷| Despite being as charming as he is, Joseph doesn’t have much romantic experience, and likely doesn’t know quite what to say or do yet in terms of dates.

|🩷| If you asked him though, Joseph would say his favorite place to go on a date would be the gardens. He loves flowers, and loves you even more.

If only he could get a photo of you amongst them.

[midnightsnyx]

Hi I had an imagine idea for any hockey player as a boyfriend (I'm indecisive if you can't tell lol) but what about a scenario where reader's watching her boyfriend's hockey game, and while she cheers for him there's a group of girls nearby who hate on her? Like what if everyone knows that the hockey player and reader are dating and there are a few fans that aren't really happy with the reader and a couple of those people happen to be sitting near her at the game?

The rest is up to you, happy writing :P

hi ty for the request❤️ i picked jack hughes i hope you like it!! <3 also sorry it’s kind of angsty and short & definitely not edited cause i’m 99% asleep rn😂

you loved supporting jack at his games, it was one of your favorite things to do. however, you didn’t like the attention you received sometimes especially considering it was almost always bad.

yeah you get it, jack is good looking (too much for his own good sometimes) and he’s a professional hockey player so there are a lot of girls who like him but even though they know he’s taken, they will still throw themselves at him. and they will say awful stuff about you sometimes. anytime either of you post something on instagram, you have to disable the comments.

you’re still as supportive as you can be and that includes attending as many games as you can so you decide to surprise him tonight by showing up at a home game. you’d originally told him you were unable to make it which was true but when your boss let you go home early, you decided to surprise him instead of going home and watching the game on the tv.

it was too late to get a decent seat and you still weren’t quite comfortable enough to go to the wives lounge. the other girls were absolutely wonderful and supportive but you were still warming up to them and didn’t feel like you should be there yet.

the downside to getting a crappy seat though was that there were sometimes people around who weren’t exactly nice. you were wishing you had either gotten a suite or decided to just go to the wives lounge when a group a girls start whispering about you. it’s clear that they want you to hear them and as much as you try to tune them out, it’s hard.

by the end of the game, your self confidence is pretty low and you just want to go home and crawl in bed but jack noticed that you were here so you had to go meet him at the locker room doors. when he comes out, all smiles due to their win, he notices your mood right away.

“hey, what’s wrong?” he asks softly, wrapping his arms around you. you bury your face in his neck, hoping that he doesn’t notice the tears.

you just shrug, looking at the ground when you pull away.

“i think i’ll just go back to my place tonight.”

you don’t have to look to see the disappointment on his face. you’d promised you would spend the night at his place and the two of you were looking forward to it.

“they’re wrong, you know,” he says and of course he knows what’s wrong.

“i know jack,” you mutter. “it’s just hard to ignore sometimes.”

you don’t give him a chance to reply, turning on your heel and leaving quickly. a warm bath and your bed sounds like heaven right about now.

but you only get as far as your car before a hand gently wraps around your wrist and you know it’s jack. he tugs you into another hug, not letting you escape this time. not that you want to now.

“i won’t say i understand how it feels, baby,” he whispers in your hair. “but i don’t give a shit what any of them say.” there’s a pause and then he pulls away only far enough to be able to look you in the eyes.

“i love you.”

those three little words that weigh so much haven’t been said between the two of you. you always show your love in other ways and you were okay with that but hearing it, hearing him say them out loud, heals something inside you.

“yeah?” you ask quietly and he chuckles softly.

“yeah.” his head tilts to the side slightly. “you know, i was kind of hoping you’d-”

you cut him off before he can say anything else.

“i love you too.”

[greynatomy]

Right Person, Wrong Time

Trinity Rodman x Reader

This was so fun to write honestly. Thank you to @deynacastellonaswife for the request and prompt. I hope I wrote to your expectations.

Also haven’t wrote a fic with over 1,000 words in a long time so that felt nice.

If you like this, please let me know!

-grey

———

You were standing in the middle of your apartment, figuring out what you should take with you to London, and what you can get rid of. You didn’t realize how much stuff you had until it was all laid out in front of you.

You’ve received many offers from plenty NWSL teams and many abroad, but when Arsenal put in an offer, it was one you couldn’t refuse. You decided to not finish college and go straight into playing what you love. You’ve always been a fan of Arsenal, watching the likes of Leah Williamson, Caitlin Foord, Alex Scott and so much more.

You know you wouldn’t stay in London permanently because you’d be homesick and missing your family. You’d also be missing your girlfriend of two years, not being ready for long distance at all.

You were so far into your own head that you barely heard someone ringing your doorbell and knocking on your door. Opening it, you smile at the sight of your girlfriend, but it quickly disappearing after seeing tears running down her face.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” You try pulling her into your arms, but she pushes past you into your apartment. You close the door behind you and follow after her.

“I-I-I need to talk to you.”

“Okay. About what.”

“I don’t-I don’t really know how to say this, but I-I can’t do this.”

“Do what?” You try to reach out for her, only for her to pull away, hurt showing on your face.

“You’re going all the way to England and I’m staying here and I-I don’t want you to go.”

“I thought we talked about this Trin?”

“We did, but thinking about it more, I don’t want to hold you back, tie you down. You’ve always wanted to play for Arsenal.”

“You’re not tying me down babe.”

“My decision is final. Focus on your career, I’ll get drafted here and maybe we’ll still see each other sometime.”

“You won’t even talk to me while I’m there? I could be there for years. I can’t just not talk to you.”

“You’re an amazing player. You’ll do amazing there, so focus on that, don’t worry about me. Maybe we’ll come back together in the future, but now is not our time.”

“You’re sure about this?” Your bottom lip trembles, trapping it between your teeth to make it stop.

“I am.”

“You’re younger than me but so much wiser, I swear.” You can’t help but let out a small laugh, Trinity letting one out too.

“I love you and I can’t wait to see how you play with them.”

“Can I have one last kiss?”

She doesn’t reposed but grabs both sides of your head, smashing her lips to yours. You wrap your arms around her waist, holding tight, not wanting to let go.

‘Right person, wrong time’, you thought.

———

Here you are now, January 2023, in a similar situation three years before. Having packed all the essentials and must haves into boxes and suitcases and sent some off to be shipped to your new apartment.

After three years in London, playing for Arsenal, truly making a name for yourself, it was time to go back home. You’ve requested a transfer and your managers and teammates were very supportive of you.

You’ve already said your goodbyes to everyone, especially to Leah and Caitlin who’ve taken you under their wing, with lots of tears shed, you’re off to the airport for a long journey home.

———

Trinity Rodman, a star player for the Washington Spirit and the US Women’s National Team, got ready for practice like normal. But today was a little more exciting. Newly drafted and signed players are arriving for their first practice with the Spirit.

Arriving at the stadium, she went straight into the locker room to get her gear on, many of her teammates joining her. Gathering everything she needs, she heads to the field with everybody else. Their head coach, Mark, asks them all to gather around, to welcome all the new players.

“Now, we do have one more person, but she seems to be a lit—”

“—I’m here! I’m here! Sorry for being late!” You come running towards them, gear in your hands, shirt only halfway on.

Trinity froze. She hasn’t heard your voice in such a long time. She didn’t know if she should go up to you, but her body decided for her, not being able to move from her place, looking at the ground.

“Right. This is Y/n Y/ln. Wanna introduce yourself?” He gestures to you.

“Right. Uh, again, my names Y/n and I played in Arsenal and now I play here. I’m twenty-three and I’m a CM.”

“Well, good to have you here. Now let’s start practice.”

The whole practice, Trinity was distracted. She couldn’t get her foot on the ball properly, even missing some open shots. Her friends/teammates notice her distracted, but decided to talk to her after practice.

She found herself staring at you. Some times you would catch her eye, her turning away just as quickly. It was weird seeing you after all this time. It was extremely awkward too because she wanted to just be wrapped up in your arms like you did years ago.

Practice ended, Trinity rushes to the locker room grabbing her stuff and leaving, not bothering to use the showers there like she always does.

You, on the other hand, try to look for Trinity, rushing into the locker room to see if she’s still here. Unfortunately, you just missed her.

“What’s got you looking stressed?” Ashley asks you.

“Nothing. Nothing. Just probably still jet lagged or something.”

“Alright. Let me know if you need anything.”

Needing to cool down, you hop into the showers, taking a cold shower. You didn’t know what kind of reaction you could’ve gotten from Trinity after not seeing you for a long time, but it definitely wasn’t her ignoring you and practically running away from you. Quickly getting dressed, you look for Ashley.

“Hey, do you happen to know where Trinity lives?”

———

Trinity was not chilling on the couch, watching her favorite show when there was a knock on her door. She looks through the peephole, not expecting to see you standing outside. She didn’t know if she should open the door for you or not, opting to stay silent.

“Trin, come on, I know you’re there looking through the hole. Let me in, please.” You sounded so desperate for her to answer.

Giving in she opens the door, moving aside to let you in.

“What do you wanna talk about?” “Why are you ignoring me?” You both asked at the same time.

“You first.”

“Why are you ignoring me?”

“I wasn’t.”

“You practically ran away after practice. Couldn’t even catch up with you!”

“I-I didn’t know if I could still talk to you. You’ve been gone for years and it’s not the same anymore!”

“‘Cause you told me not to talk to you when I left. Said to focus on me when all I wanted was to tell you whenever some good, something great happened in my life, but you blocked me!”

“Because if I didn’t I would be calling you.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You we’re with me. If I hear your voice and you’re not near me I’m gonna cry and I’ve cried for so long already.” Her voice breaks, tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

You close the space between you and wrapped your arms around her. She tries punching and punching you away, but you hold on tighter, not wanting to let go.

“I’m not leaving you ever again, you hear me?” You voice muffled into her hair.

She finally wraps her arms around your waist, holding tight as if you’d disappear.

“Don’t leave me again.”

You gently grab her face with both of your hands, looking into her eyes. “I’m with you. I’m staying. Wherever you go, I go. You’re it for me.”

She leans her face up to yours and kisses you passionately, missing the feeling of your lips on hers.

She pulls away, mumbling into your lips, “You’re it for me too.”

Now is our time

[xmhhoe]

Heyo!

I'll resend my request!

Can I please request dom!lee know with sub!fem reader

Smut+fluff+ corruption

Reader is shy and inexperienced

Thank you 🫶

Wide-eyed (m)

lmh • f, s • 3.1k

I don’t know why this is so long lol but thank you for waiting literally months for this😭 I hope you enjoy it 💕

It’s lightly proofread, as usual I’ll probably come back and edit it later on lol I feel like I could add some more fluff, but anyone can feel free to give me other suggestions on how I could make this story or my writing better in general :)

Includes/warnings: corruption kink, innocent shy reader, female reader, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, lil bit of cum play, lil choking, loss of virginity, minho is very adamant about consent as we all should be

“This is my friend, yn.”

Felix motioned towards you as you shyly greeted his members. Minho slightly bowed his head, locking eyes with you once he stood up straight. You smiled softly but quickly looked away. Minho turned towards Felix as he spoke. “She’s a bit shy, takes a while to warm up, but she’s cool.” Felix nudged your arm as you blushed.

That was the first day he saw you. A pretty girl, shy and wide-eyed. Probably inexperienced. And for some reason, Minho couldn’t shake you from his mind.

You’d visit often, clinging to Felix’s side, the only familiar and comfortable face in the room to you. He didn’t know the reason, but your shy demeanor alit something in Minho. Minho couldn’t help but subtly glare at his friend every time you’d turn to ask him a question, talking solely to him. He wanted to be the one that you clung to, the one you spoke to, the one you felt comfortable around.

Sometimes you would catch him, his glares and not so subtle staring, and you honestly thought Minho didn’t like you. But one day Felix somehow flaked on a movie night, his seat replaced with Minho. You were stiff as a board, sitting straight up with your knees pressed together, your hands in your lap, trying to take up as little space as possible.

Minho chuckled to himself, watching you for a minute before he gently put his hand on your knee. “Hey yn, relax,” his smile disarmed you, your cheeks heating at your awkwardness. You sat back, now within earshot of Minho’s voice as he joked throughout the movie. He loved making you laugh, the rest of the boys knowingly ignoring you two.

As your relationship grew, you slowly opened up to him. Minho loved being in your world, loved picking your brain, and once his suspicions were confirmed, that you were inexperienced in sex and relationships, he loved fantasizing about ways to corrupt you.

Minho never pressured you, glad to take it slow. But when he caught you with your hand down your pants, you confessed that you were too shy to ask him.

“That’s alright, baby,” he said, climbing on top of you, slipping his hand right in your panties. “I’ll let it slide this time, but remember,” his finger swiped along your slit, collecting more of your wetness to flick the pad of his finger repeatedly against your clit in a slow rhythm. Your hips bucked at the rough movements you weren’t used to, biting your finger as you held your hands close to your chest, embarrassed to be caught like this, but loving the attention Minho was giving you.

“This is mine from now on,” he growled, cupping your wetness to prove his point, then teasing your opening, feeling the tension as it clenched around nothing. “Don’t touch it without permission.”

“Have you tried putting a finger in, baby?”

Minho almost choked when you shook your head, your voice squeaking out that you were too scared, that you only ever rubbed your clit. The hungry look in his eyes, the wolfish smirk on his lips, sent another wave of arousal between your legs, your mouth watering as his fingertip dipped deeper and deeper into you.

That night, he managed to get you addicted to his fingers and tongue. Which made it difficult when he was very busy for a few weeks.

You were innocent enough, sensing that he had had a bad day when he came in and slumped on the couch. You zeroed in on his empty lap, a perfect spot for you to comfort him. He watched lazily as you strolled up to him, placing your knees on either side of his lap.

You went to place a gentle kiss on his lips, but in typical Lee Minho fashion, he whined playfully as he moved his face away from your lips. You giggled at him, holding his face still in both hands. Minho couldn’t help but smile at your cuteness as you placed light pecks all over his face, but his attention was quickly drawn back to the short length of your shorts. The hems were riding up your soft thighs, teasing him by covering his favorite place to be. But when Minho met your wide, innocent eyes, your soft, sweet lips asking him how his day was, he was almost ashamed of his thoughts. 

Almost.

Your innocence had seemed like a facade to him. But after all these years of taking your relationship slow, he’d learned that you were indeed often oblivious to the effect you had on him. That didn’t stop him from teasing you whenever you’d unknowingly turned him on, a blush spreading across your cheeks when you’d suddenly remember how easily you could drive your boyfriend crazy, the way the look in his eyes became ravenous as he hovered over you.

Minho’s hands found your waist, giving it a light squeeze. He sighed, knowing that, unlike him, your mind was probably far from thinking about the heat of your sexes pressed together through your clothes. “My day was… a bit stressful. But I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

You nodded, giving him a quick peck to his lips and smiling reassuringly at him. He smiled back, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes were darkened and hooded, the soft sparkle they usually had gone. “Now, tell me why are you on my lap?”

Your eyes briefly widened in confusion, that innocent look never leaving you. You tilted your head. “Just wanted to be close to you.”

“Is that all?”

You nodded. “Mhm. I missed you a lot today.” You looked down, his stare too intense, busying your hands with the necklace he wore around his neck. Minho grabbed your ass, giving it a squeeze as he pulled you closer, your crotch grinding against his. “Hm, what was that?”

“J-just missed you,” when you looked back up at him, his eyes were on your lips.

“Is that it?”

You didn’t answer, hiding your face in his neck. You whined his name, knowing your boyfriend would tease you to no end. “Look at me, baby.”

You raised your head, obeying his words. “Good girl.” He smiled at you before he dipped his head to kiss you. A sigh exhaled through your nose as Minho’s lips met yours. The kiss was slow, but no less sensual as it sliced the tension you built earlier by crawling on his lap. Minho felt you press your hips into his, that devilish smirk once again finding itself on his lips.

His lips made their way towards your ear, his teeth grazing the lobe. “My shy girl, grinding her pussy on me.” Your eyes opened at the realization that your hips were moving on their own. “Minho…” your hips stuttered before stopping, your boyfriend continued talking.

“You sure you missed me? Or did she miss me?” His hand cupped your pussy through your bottoms. When you didn’t answer he spoke again. “Did this pussy miss me?” His voice was so soft, the vulgar words making you clench.

“Too shy to say, huh? Then let’s see what she has to say.” His hand dipped in your shorts, fingers running up and down your slit, your wetness already drenching it. “Is this okay?” He checked in. “Yes,” your voice was almost a whisper as you nodded.

His fingers slid easily, creating a wet slippery mess underneath your bottoms. The slight wet sounds made his cock twitch. “You hear her, baby? Sounds like she missed me too, hm?” You nodded your head, biting your lip as you made eye contact with your boyfriend. Minho grins.

You usually were never able to look him in the eyes as he played with your pussy. He’d tease you, tell you to look at him, pinching your clit harshly until you did. But now, your desperate eyes shamelessly pleaded with his, glazed over and low with lust.

“You’re turning into the perfect slut for me, baby.”

You nodded again, barely registering his words as your hips began to move, seeking more friction on his fingers, your clit brushing against his palm, a heat rising to your cheeks at the squelch it made. “Minho, please,” you whined. “Need more…”

Minho continued to caress your cunt, teasing your clit by barely touching it. Minho licked his lips, your fucked out gaze following the movement of the skilled tongue that you’ve come to know very well. “Tell me, then. Tell me who really missed me.”

You whined, your shyness returning, but Minho quickly slapped your ass with the other hand, giving you a stern look that you were afraid to challenge. You bit your lip, avoiding his eyes as you mumbled shyly. Minho's hand cracked against your ass again. You yelped, jumping a bit. Minho could feel your core pulsing against him. “Louder. And look me in the fucking eyes when you say it,” a harsh note entered his voice.

You obeyed, eyes wet with tears of frustration and embarrassment, but more wetness flooded into his hand. “My pussy missed you, really missed you.” You were surprised at how whiny your voice was. Minho really was doing things to you, molding you to satisfy and be satisfied by only him.

Minho grinned, bringing you in for a tender kiss as he slipped a finger inside. Your lips fumbled a bit against his, letting out a whimper as you tried to focus on finding a rhythm. It reminded Minho of when he gave you your first kiss, how nervous and awkward you were. But he loved it so much, loved how innocent you were, how he could be your first for many things, and corrupt you into a perfect plaything for him.

It didn’t take long for your clothes to be on the floor, your naked form in Minho's lap. He’d only managed to unbutton his shirt, his toned torso on display. His fingers were moving inside of you, curling on a sensitive spot as his thumb rubbed your clit. You held onto his shoulders, slightly bouncing on his hand.

“Look at you, baby. Riding my fingers, such a slut,” Minho rasped. He loved having you wrapped around his fingers, you tight, warm walls throbbing on him. He could only imagine what you would feel like around his cock, but it was up to you if you two would go that far yet. “Think you can handle something bigger, baby?”

Your heart beat faster as you immediately understood what he was asking. “Yes, please,” you breathed. Minho placed a hand on your hip to stop your movements, stilling his hand that was working on your core. His eyes were sincere as he looked in your eyes. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I need to hear you say it, princess.”

“Yes, Minho. I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately,” you admitted, already sensing the teasing as Minho's eyes became dark and playful again. He removed his hand from your panties, grabbing your hips as he flipped you under him on the couch. His lips immediately went to you neck, sucking and biting a mark into it. You moaned out loud as your legs fell open wider. “You’ve been thinking about my cock lately?”

He removed the rest of his clothes, leaving his boxers on. You watched him as he did, your eyes eventually drawn to his bulge. “Liked the show?” he teased, not giving you a chance to respond before he grabbed the back of your thighs, pushing them up and to their sides a bit, exposing your cunt to him. You let out a surprised yelp, as you felt the cool air on your wetness. Minho licked his lips, watching your hole clench around nothing, you keening in embarrassment at being so exposed.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself. He couldn’t help it, your wet slit immediately tempting him to dip down and lick a stripe up your wetness. A high-pitched gasp left your mouth as he began to make out with your cunt, licking and sucking on your clit. You moaned and squirmed as you got closer to your high, but his hands on your thighs kept you pinned down. “Minho, I’m gonna cum, please, can I cum?”

The man groaned as he pulled away, a pop sounding out as he released the sensitive nub from his lips. It pained Minho to pull away from you, but not as much as it frustrated you, having the pleasure torn away from you twice tonight. He ran his fingertips down one of your inner thighs, admiringly as you shivered. “Want my sensitive girl to cum around my cock.”

He pulled his boxers down to his muscular thighs, his large, erect member twitching as he caught your wide eyes fixed on it. “Baby, do you still want this?” Minho asked again, your heart swelling at his concern. “Yes, I want this, it’s just… how will it fit?” your eyes flickered up to his.

Minho was officially convinced, you were going to be the death of him. “We’ll go slow,” he reassured you as he moved closer, rubbing his tip around your opening, spreading your slick around even more. “I’ll make you feel so good, baby. I promise.”

He pushed in slightly, closely watching your face for any discomfort. You were looking down, watching curiously as he pushed inside you. Your brow started to furrow, your mouth dropping open once Minho got half his length in. He stilled his hips.

“How does it feel, baby? Do you want to stop?” he breathed, holding himself back from just pushing forward, no matter how his body screamed at him to fuck the tight cunt in front of him hard. Minho hoped to the universe that you wouldn’t say no, but if you did, he would stop immediately.

“It’s so… feels full,” you couldn’t think straight, the weight between your legs foreign to you. Minho began to move his hips slowly, thrusting only half of his length in. “Does it hurt?”

“No, just feels different.”

Minho bit his lip, your wetness and warmth around even just half his cock was better than he imagined. After a few moments, he spoke. “You feel so good around me,” his voice was rougher than you’d ever heard it, your pussy clenching around him at the sound. Minho groaned. “I’m gonna try going deeper, okay?”

You gave him your approval, pleasure sparking in you as each of his thrusts began to get deeper and deeper, until he finally pushed all the way in. Your mouth fell open, your hands flying to his waist in reaction as he pressed his hips to yours.

He stopped moving, letting you get used to his cock inside you as he bent down to kiss you. Your arms found themselves around his neck, one of his hands finding your breasts and groping them. You moaned into his mouth, his hands finding yours and pinning them above your head. His fingertips slid down your arms before his elbows rested on either side of your head, looking down at where you both were connected. “So fucking warm, fuck,” he swore at the sight and feeling before bringing his attention back to you. “Can I move, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathed. Minho began to thrust into you gently, moans leaving your lips as you felt the textures of his cock gliding along your snug walls. “Feels good,” you said. Minho smirked as he sat up, his hands finding your hips. “I’ll make it feel great.”

His thrusts got rougher, angling your hips until the head of his cock met the sensitive spot that his fingers were well acquainted with, after months of just playing with your pussy and making you cum on his fingers. Your toes curled as your hands floundered around for something to grab. They settled above you on the arm of the couch, keeping you from moving upwards on the couch as the force behind Minho’s thrusts increased. “Fuck, Minho,” you cursed between mewls.

Minho leant down again, grinding into you deeply as he held you in place by your shoulders. “My baby’s got such a dirty mouth. You like my cock that much? Like it so much that you turn into a dirty whore for me?”

“Yes!” you sobbed, Minho’s movements not only fucking his cock into you so deeply, so good, but also his pelvis grinding into your clit, heightening the pleasure. “I’m a dirty whore.”

“My dirty whore.” he growled, correcting you, a hand making its way around the front of your neck. You gasped in surprise, a rough moan clawing its way out, Minho taking that as a sign that you liked it. “Gonna have to fuck this little pussy more often, make sure it remembers me.”

“Yes! Please, I’m gonna…” your voice trailed off. Minho felt as your thighs tensed up, your back arching as your arms held onto him.

“You want to cum, baby?” Minho asked, squeezing the sides of your neck, feeling your cunt squeeze down harder on his cock. “Yes, please! Please, let me cum!” you begged. Minho sat up, his other hand traveling down to thumb at your clit, his thrusts speeding up, his hand around your throat holding you in place, making your head feel floaty as your high crashed over you.

You screamed his name, loud whines as your cunt clenched with each wave of your high. Minho rode out your high, your sound spurring him on as his hands found their way to your hips. His thrusts turned sloppy, his own moans and groans getting louder. He pulled out, stroking himself until he spilled on your stomach.

His chest heaved as he caught his breath, one of his hands pushing his hair out of his face, as the other rested on your thigh. His eyes were low, basking in the post-orgasm euphoria.

You sat up on your elbows, still catching your breath, but also taking in the sight of your freshly fucked out boyfriend. You looked down at the hot cum on your skin. The white puddle intrigued you. You always wondered what it would taste like, but of course you were too shy to ask your boyfriend to teach you how to suck him off. And what if you didn’t like it? Of course, Minho wouldn’t make you continue if you didn’t enjoy it, but you wouldn’t deny that it would be kind of awkward.

But now, figuring that this was the best opportunity, you bit your lip as you swiped a finger through the puddle, placing it on your tongue. You let out a hum at the salty taste, noting Minho’s incredulous expression as he looked back at you. He let out a unbelieving laugh, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. “You’re gonna kill me,” he rasped before leaning down, his tongue salivating and ready to lick you clean.