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wannaeatramyeon · 3 days

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Meeting Student!Gun Park for the First Time: Part 1

Part 2! G/N. 3.2k. Remember when Gun wanted to get his GED? Well. Stranger to~ Masterlists

"How old are you?"

"20."

Press X for doubt, you think, and that's the exact meme you send over on chat.

"20 like 20 or 20 like you're mid 30s and planning your mid life crisis 20?"

You know you're being rude and making a terrible first impression. It's the first day of a new school year, of a new school in fact, and for some reason the class is held on video call and you're all forced to pair off with a classmate for an icebreaker introduction.

It’s already cringe worthy and awkward enough, icebreakers must have been created as a form of torture. To add insult to injury, you're sure this guy is bullshitting you.

"I'm 20." He deadpans.

Momentarily, you’re stunned into silence. It stretches almost a tad too long before you manage to choke out, “My bad. Sorry."

Wow. You're torn between thinking that's a rough 20, this guy has easily got 40 years under his belt and oh no, when is your puberty and hormones gonna kick in like that.

And that's also the exact moment this 20 year old Gun Park takes a drag on a cigarette and you decide that it's definitely a rough 20.

"So what do you do for fun?" You probe, and you have the distinct feeling he might say something like alimony, planning his third marriage, investing in the stock market - whatever someone in their 50s might say but-

To your surprise and glee, his body language turns shifty.

He likes to game he says, like it's a dirty little secret. Amongst other things. Mentions something about training and martial arts and you fight to keep a straight face as it turns out you were also right about investing in shares and the stock market.

Gaming, however, is what you latch on to.

"Cute. I bet I could kick your ass."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yes."

And this is how you ended up at 4am on a school night, playing Tekken with your new classmate and getting your ass kicked.

"One more!" You screech down the mic, after the KO sign appears on screen, mumbling something about cheating and how if you can time this combo just right-

There's a huff of laughter coming through your tinny headphones and an amused "Fine."

Dark circles under your eyes grow. It's been a week of straight losses.

You blame the sleep deprivation on Gun Park, though really you have your own stubbornness to blame.

He never tends to say much during the gaming sessions apart from the odd expletive and you rant enough after each of your defeats for the both of you.

Sometimes this will earn you a chuckle and he will snidely add that you asked for this, you were the one who was supposed to kick his ass. This would piss you off enough for another game or three in the hopes of defeating him and getting to gloat.

Which unfortunately has not happened yet.

With a sigh, you hope your camera quality this morning is bad enough and pixelated enough that your poor sleep habits don't show.

You scan over your classmates, the few that have their camera turned on and find him.

Gun looks completely fine. He looks completely fine in what must be 4k and ugh, you scrunch your nose up in annoyance.

You keep an eye on him through the class. Observe how he's usually paying rapt attention, scribbling and typing up notes every now and then.

It's impressive how studious he is.

In comparison, you're daydreaming. Thinking about lunch, other combos or characters to play to counter his own when you catch on to the back end of a sentence as your teacher mentions ‘this’ is something to pay attention to as it will be on the pop quiz.

Huh? You blink a couple times. What is ‘this’? Unfortunately she swiftly moves onto another topic.

You type out a direct message to the only person you know.

You: I missed that, what did she just say?

Gun: You should have been paying attention.

You: Fuck you man!

You see his eyes dip to the bottom of the camera screen, briefly moving as he presumably reads your message.

He smirks.

That night he kicks your ass again.

Then as consolation, reveals what will be on the pop quiz.

If Gun looked like that in 4k, nothing could prepare you for how he looked in real life.

You're setting up your laptop and notepad in the classroom, the first actual in-person session, when someone takes a seat next to you.

Initially you feel a surge of irritation that they could have sat anywhere else and chose to sit next to you, then you look at the offender and-

Hold on.

You double, triple-take-

Is that?

It must be.

Shit.

It's fucking Gun Park.

You don't entirely regret your initial comments on his looks because this guy definitely does not look 20 but goddamn he looks-

He chooses that moment, when your jaw is on the floor, to turn to you and give you a nod of acknowledgement.

"Y/N."

"H-hi." You manage, and even to your ears it sounds like a simpering fool.

He must have thought so too if the quirk of his lips is anything to go by.

The cherry on top is that you expected this guy to smell like stale smoke, instead all you get is fresh laundry and something faintly dark and heady like leather and cedarwood.

Fuck.

Control yourself, a disapproving voice in your head says. Even that sounds vaguely like Gun.

It does nothing to stop your wandering gaze, peering at him in your periphery when you think he's not looking.

After you have taken your chance to not so discreetly run your eyes up and down his form, the only thing that makes you feel better is his hair. Because yeah he might be hot, but holy shit that must be a gallon of hair gel in there.

The other thing, as it turns out, that makes you feel a lot better is that he doodles.

It’s utterly charming.

Someone like Gun Park doesn't look like he doodles, but in between lines of his chicken scratch (seriously, who can even read that), there's little stick figures.

Maybe all the time you thought he was being studious he was just drawing-

Wait. You squint at the picture.

Is this guy for real?

"Are they fucking?" You whisper, using your pen to point at the page.

He doesn't answer straight away. There's a moment of surprise as he reacts like this is another secret of his he has unwittingly let you in on before his nostril flares and his eyes narrow and you grin in response.

Your grin grows when he grits out an answer. "No. Fighting."

He doesn't call you a dumbass but you can hear it loud and clear tacked on at the end.

"Whatever, pervert." You counter. You guess if you squint even harder then you suppose they could be fighting. Although the way one is lying on top of another is very suggestive. You don't hesitate to point that out to him.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

Even without a seating plan, one forms.

Places taken by chance on the first day becomes a regular arrangement.

You exchange a few words with your classmates, familiarise yourself somewhat with their names and faces. Pieces of their backstory, why they're here studying for a GED but take your spot next to Gun regardless.

No one really talks to him, you've heard them saying he's menacing and intimidating. Yet when your first encounter of him was mistaking him as someone about to hit mid life crisis, how intimidating can he really be.

Besides, he still doodles his lewd figures that he insists are not in any way shape or form comprising sexual positions. So no, you don't find him intimidating at all.

Gun, as you have come to know, is a man of few words. He is also unsurprisingly not great at literature.

What you don't yet know is he likes to say what he means and mean what he says. His patience only extends to The Art of War, so all the flowery prose and poetry only serves to irritate him.

If Gun glared at you the way he's currently glaring at the textbook, you think you may either burst into tears or burst into flames.

Luckily you do neither of those things but you do take pity on him. Leaning over, you ask him quietly if he needs help.

He doesn't respond but the pen he's clutching in his right hand snaps in half.

Alright then.

Half an hour later, when the class empties out you ask Gun to follow you to the library.

He hesitates, and you add "if you've got time" to give him an out. In the end he doesn't take it and trudges obediently after you.

You very quickly learn that he really doesn't like literature. You're explaining and working him through the analysis and also mildly offended at the bored look on his face.

"This is a waste of time," he interjects and there's a sullen undercurrent to his words.

"Just memorise the analysis then." Exasperation tinges your tone, "That's all you need to do to pass."

He arches a brow at your words.

"They're testing your memory. So just remember what our teacher says."

There's an angry air of resignation as Gun nods, and you slide your notes over for him to copy.

Not long after, you have your first minor evaluation on the literature material.

You notice during the test that while the vein in Gun’s temple is prominent and he’s clutching his (new) pen tighter, there’s barely any pause as he fills in the answers.

A few days later, the graded papers are handed back. There's a sigh of relief from Gun.

He gives you a smile, small and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corner.

"You owe me one," you tell him jokingly though he takes it to heart and gives you a stern nod.

Gun repays his debt, with a coffee.

He places the paper cup on the desk in front of you. Logo of the coffee house to the side but still visible. It's new, expensive, and there’s regular lines around the block.

Of course it would be from there.

The issue is, who repays a debt with an espresso. He didn’t even ask for your drink of choice!

"Thanks for this thimble of coffee," you remark as Gun sniffs in distaste at your comment, placing his own matching cup in front of him and saying something about how it's the best untainted way to drink it.

Of course he would also be a coffee snob.

You tell him you usually like it with a bit more cream and a lot more sugar and he mutters that you sound like Goo.

You think that's an insult.

"Well, at least Goo has good taste," you snipe back with a grin.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

You: Are you doodling or actually writing notes?

You: Cos on camera you look very studious but I’ve seen your notepad

Gun: None of your business

You: Still drawing your disgusting pornographic stick men then

Gun: They are not-

Gun: Whatever

You: Ok, maybe that espresso wasn’t terrible

Gun: I know

You: Who’s Goo anyway?

Gun: …

Gun: No-one

You: Suuuure

You: Tekken tonight?

Gun: Aren’t you tired of getting your ass kicked?

You: >:(

You: Do you wanna go over the new lit material in the library this week?

Gun: Ok

Gun: Thanks for your help

You: :)

Gun: You’re tired. You should game less.

You: Spoken like a coward!

Gun: Dumbass

You: Hey!!

Gun: I’ll bring you an espresso tomorrow. You need it.

You: Does it have to be an espresso?

Gun: Yes

You: …Thanks

To anyone else, the figure standing in the doorway is just smoking. To you, it suspiciously looks like they’re waiting.

It's not a crime. Gun Park can wait for whatever or whoever he wants.

What really throws you off is his smoking. You've seen him casually take one single drag before throwing the whole cigarette away. Even to you, it seems like a waste.

However, this time he smokes one all the way to the filter before stubbing it out. Then does the same to a second, and third.

Strange, very strange.

You approach him. Taking gentle steps, in case he might get spooked and bolt which is really a ridiculous notion for someone like him. Nevertheless, you keep your footsteps light, yourself clearly in view and you wander over to him.

"Hey," you say, with a somewhat forced smile. He doesn't acknowledge your greeting apart from a brief nod.

"... Everything ok?"

It's a perfectly normal question to ask but a vastly bizarre one for Gun. He doesn't look like the type of person where people casually enquire about his well being.

He must have thought so too if the look he gives you is anything to go by.

In response, he stubs out his cigarette (his fourth!) then asks, stilted and stiffly, if you want to come back to his for a game of Tekken.

At least that's what you interpret as he seems to be crazy cryptic.

"Are you interested in Tekken?"

"...Yes." You wonder what on earth this question is because did you hallucinate all those games you played together?

"Then meet me. After class."

"Where? Here?"

"No. At mine."

"Where's that?"

"..."

He gives you another look, as if you're the one trying to coax a secret out of him despite him offering.

Gun dips forward, murmurs quietly into your ear his address and some vague directions like it's highly confidential information.

You nod along, thinking what is with this guy.

So firstly, what the fuck.

Then secondly, what the fuck.

Don't think you hadn't noticed the designer brands Gun wears. If they're fakes, they're very convincing fakes. But you're almost certain they have got to be counterfeit when he brought you over to a junkyard claiming this is where he lives.

You've seen films like this. Granted, it's less in a junkyard and more in the middle of nowhere in America where college kids meet their gruesome ends in fantastical ways.

You never thought this would happen to you. You have sorely miscalculated.

Is this Gun Park (if that even is his real name) going to butcher you and leave your body on top of a pile of scrap metal in the corner?

Instead of a night of gaming where you’re the one KO-ing him, he’s actually the one that’s going to chase you around wearing a mask and wielding a knife or axe?

"You’re here. Come in," Gun says, opening his front door just as your inner monologue begins to truly spiral out of control and you're considering doing a runner.

"Eh?" You grunt like an idiot, not noticing when the shack appeared nor when you stepped onto his porch, or the side eyes Gun had been giving you.

He gives you another look, likely regretting inviting you at all, and leaves the door ajar for you to either enter or turn back and go home.

"This is... nice," you lie, through the skin of your teeth.

Gun sees cleanly through your white lie and exhales a huff of amusement.

It's sparse. Peeks of luxury here and there - the extensive PC gaming rig, the entertainment system and consoles, to name a few.

Apart from that, it's barely a home.

"Take a seat." He offers, and it sounds more like an order. Obediently you sit on his sofa, feeling very much a guest.

"You're not in danger," he says, bemused at how awkward you are in his domain, how tense you hold yourself.

'That's exactly what a killer would say,' you think and when you hear a low chuckle, you realise that you said it aloud.

"Don't worry," Gun reassures and it doesn’t really help before he strides off to somewhere in his house and leaves you sitting alone.

He returns back minutes later as you’re in the middle of admiring his entertainment set up and going through his vinyl collection (because obviously someone like Gun has vinyls) with a coffee for you that looks much more milky and to your taste than the usual ones he offers.

“Thanks.” you take your drink and return back to your seat.

Taking the first sip, you finally manage to relax. Sinking into a sofa that is much more comfortable than at first glance and you take in your surroundings a bit more.

Sort of. You actually take in Gun Park more.

He’s casual, in a way you have never seen or even considered. Dressed in a t-shirt and grey sweatpants, hair floppy and the only styling is done with his hands running through his hair now and then to keep it back.

Even during the online classes, he is usually dressed up in an open collared shirt.

If you thought he was hot before, it’s nothing compared to now. There’s an air of domesticity, the drink he made for you cradled in your hands, and the distinct feeling that not many people have had the luxury to see Gun in his natural habitat, so intimate and vulnerable.

You wonder if this is how he looks all those nights you’ve been gaming together.

You catch his eyes, having been caught checking him out and he raises his eyebrows at your blatant staring.

Blood rushes to your cheeks as he chuckles into his own espresso and takes a sip.

"Holy shit, I won!"

You're familiar with the KO screen. What you're not familiar with is being on the side of victory. You're usually a hair trigger away from rage quitting, from throwing a tantrum down the mic.

Finally. All your hard work has paid off. Time spent thinking of combos, attacks and defences (which would have been better spent studying) is coming to fruition.

You peer over to Gun, expect the controller he is clutching to maybe have been crushed into pieces with his freakish strength. Expected nothing except for a vein throbbing on his temple.

What you do find is-

Gun looking at you, fondness in his eyes. He's taking in your grin, letting your gloating slide.

Doesn't do more than roll his eyes when you perform a victory dance of sorts around him.

And when you get in his face to tell him that you're the winner, you're the best-

(More words are on the tip of your tongue but your gaze drops to his lip, drawn to the small smile he wears.

It sinks in.

The patience he has, the attention he gives, the way he has opened his home to you.

From the very first meeting, the even-handed way he has dealt with your insults, entertained you to the early hours of the morning on Tekken.)

Gun reaches out, tugs your hand and pulls you into his lap and agrees.

"Yes. The best."

You think it's a lie, an embellishment.

But the way he holds you - tender and precious, and the way he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours - soft, like you might break - can't be anything else but the whole truth.

(Update! Part 2 here!)

#lookism #lookism x reader #gun park #gun park x reader #park jonggun x reader #park jonggun #wannaeatramyeon

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seresinhangmanjake · 2 days

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His and Yours

Summary: When you're told your pregnancy could cost you your life, Feyd demands you do whatever necessary to keep yourself alive. When you decide to have the baby anyway, it creates a rift in your relationship. Only when you go into labor, does Feyd show himself for who he really is.

Warnings/ Notes: Very angsty, but ends on a happy note. Very sensitive topics about pregnancy, abortion, and conversations about potential death. It’s Feyd here people, and we can imagine how he’d be with sensitive topics. Please only read if you understand this. Requested by @tgmreader

**While it is not necessary to read my other work to read this fic, this works also as another part to my "His" series. However, (even though it ends on a happy note) if this content makes you uncomfortable, it is not necessary to read in order to understand any future parts in the series. I know people love them together and that this is a difficult issue, so do not feel obligated.**

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Words: 2950

“Feyd…” you sigh as you watch him pace back and forth. He doesn’t so much as acknowledge you until you attempt to get up from your seat to go to him.

With an outstretched arm and a finger pointed directly at you, he says in a harsh tone—harsher than you’ve heard in a long time, “Don’t you move a fucking inch!”

You plop back into your seat. “We have to talk about this.”

“No!” he snaps. He descends upon you with rushed stomps, his hands gripping the armrests of your chair. You have to tilt your head back to meet his fiery gaze. “There will be no talking about this,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “No discussion. No negotiations. No weighing the pros and cons.” You swallow as a tear builds in the corner of your eye. Feyd groans and pushes away from the chair. “Stop crying.”

“What do you expect from me?”

“To not die!” he shouts, his voice echoing through the vast, empty room. “I expect my wife to do whatever she has to in order to keep me happy! That’s your job!”

You glance down. Your hand runs over the slightly bulbous shape of your stomach. A tear creates a dark patch on the fabric of your dress. A dress he picked out for you. He’d been so enthusiastic about every element related to your pregnancy, including dressing his wife in new gowns as you grew with the passing months. This is one of the first he’d chosen.

“I thought my job was to provide you with an heir,” you say.

“Not at the cost of your life!”

He had almost missed the appointment for more professional matters. Now you wish he had. When the doctor told you that you might not survive giving birth, he gave you a choice: risk having the child anyway or drink a tonic that will terminate your pregnancy while it’s still safe. You knew Feyd’s mind was made up in that very moment. But yours wasn’t. This is your child, a perfect combination of you and the only man you’ve ever loved, and yet, your questioning of what is best has your husband looking at you like you’ve lost your damn mind; like you’re a fool with a knack for selfishness.

“I’m the na-Baron,” he says. “You’re under my authority. I decide for the both of us.”

You shake your head. “That’s not fair.”

“I don’t care if it’s fair! We can make a hundred heirs, but there isn’t another you!” he screams. You wonder if the rest of the Harkonnen fortress hears—the soldiers, the servants. You wonder if they fear for their lives because of an outburst that has nothing to do with them. They should. Your husband is likely to go on a rampage throughout the place the moment this conversation ends, should it ever.

When you shrivel in your chair, a crease dents the center of his brow. Feyd returns to you, his warm palms cupping your cheeks, his forehead resting against yours. “You can’t ask me to let you do this,” he says with a subtle whimper. “I won’t ever forgive you.”

“What about my forgiveness of you?”

Feyd jerks back. The pain in his eyes shrinks under darkness. “You have nothing to forgive me for.”

Finally, you stand. “You want me to give up our baby,” you argue. “You don’t think I deserve to–”

“No!” You jump. “I care about you! I love you! Not some thing that wants to take you away from me!”

“Feyd–”

“I refuse to continue this conversation,” he says. “I’ve made the decision. It’s done.”

—

He’d tried everything. He had meal preparers mix it in with your usual dinner drink until the nasty sludge color disappeared. He attempted to have your maidservants slip it into your morning tea, your evening glass of warm milk, and, even more desperately, into your bathwater. However, the only servants close enough to you that he could demand such a task from became primarily loyal to you after your marriage six months prior, and as a result, each one informed you of his plans. Five servants fell to your husband's blade before he surrendered that tactic to attempt anew. But with his final effort, what died between you was nothing other than what had been keeping you together—affection.

With your feelings numb, there was little foundation for your relationship to stand upon. When he took you and made you his concubine, Feyd kept you safe. He did the physical work to protect you in a newly twisted relationship while you did all of the emotional work. You broke down the walls he’d built, got him to open up, showed him that caring for you wouldn’t be the end of the world. Convincing you to get rid of your baby was the hardest he’d ever emotionally worked for you, and since failure was not a thing he had known, nothing was going to stop him.

He didn’t understand that kissing you with the tonic filling his mouth was too far, even for what he’d already done. He didn’t understand that he had already lost so much of your trust with his deceit and that that kiss was enough to scorch the rest of it. You might have left him had you not been able to wash the substance from your mouth before it could do its damage.

When you first turned him away, he threw his fits. He screamed at you and for you every day until you made it clear you weren’t coming to him, but even then, he didn’t allow you to neglect the expectations he had for you. In front of others, you were to act as his wife—stand by his side, attend meetings in silence, kiss him goodbye before his trips to Arrakis—but the larger your belly grew, the less he was willing to have you near.

You don’t sleep in the same bed now. You don’t take your meals together or bathe together or, frankly, see one another. He looks the other way when he crosses your path. His fists clench like he wants to touch you, his Adam’s apple bobs like he’s holding back from kissing you, but his eyes refuse to meet yours, and he won’t go near you.

You know he's preparing himself to lose his wife. Anger, while present, hasn’t been the dominant fuel for his behavior for a while, and neither is it yours. You were furious, but with your baby due in a month, you struggle to bear the loneliness, and the longer he continues to treat you like you’re a plague, the more you miss him, and the more you fear for your child. Who will love it if you are not here? Who will protect it and teach it and nourish it? Certainly not the one who should and once promised he would. And as the days close in, you wonder if he was right. If you made a mistake.

—

I need him—that’s all you can think as your baby fights to leave your body. You need your husband here, and the reasons are far too overwhelming, but you can’t focus on anything else. You miss him. You can’t do this alone. And if you die today, you have to say goodbye. You have to tell him you love him and make him swear to protect your child, or it was all for nothing.

“I need him,” you screech through your teeth with the contraction that hits you.

“My Lady–” one of the nurses begins. Her voice is shaky, worried eyes flicking back and forth between yours and the doctor between your legs who has just reached for another clean rag after discarding a blood-soaked one. “My Lady, the na-Baron–”

“I don’t care! I need him!”

He must’ve been there, listening, because Feyd’s through the door in an instant, and as his eyes lock on to yours, everything else—all the pain and lies—is shoved behind you. He takes a step forward but pauses, momentarily distracted by the wear on your body, before he blinks and continues forward, shoving people aside to get to you. He falls to his knees by your bed and when your hand reaches out, he clutches it tightly in both of his. Too tightly. You can feel your pulse throbbing harder from the pressure on your veins, but you don’t care.

“Feyd, I–”

“Don’t do this to me,” he mutters as tears well in his eyes. The first you’ve ever seen. He didn’t so much as shed a tear on your wedding day or when you told him you were pregnant, but as the first one falls down his cheek, you realize he’s about to make up for every missed opportunity.

You can’t respond. You don’t have it in you to tell him that you won’t do anything to him, that you won’t hurt him, that you’ll be fine, and that you’ll be a family. You’re too exhausted to lie. He seems to know it because he doesn’t make the request again. Instead, he kisses your fingers over and over, repeating words of love that are not often said.

“My Lady, I know it hurts, but if you can shift downwards a bit,” the doctor starts. “At this angle, we might be able to–”

Feyd wipes his eyes and shoots to his feet. “You can save her?”

“There might be a better chance.”

You groan as you maneuver your body. Feyd does what he can to assist, but it doesn’t ease the searing, stabbing feeling at your core.

“That’s better,” the doctor praises.

“She’s your priority,” Feyd says sternly.

You gasp. “N-No…”

Your husband’s head whips back to you. “I’m not watching you die,” he growls.

“For…our baby,” you say to Feyd’s hardened features. You cry harder for the pain of realizing that out of you and your baby, he would still choose you. You don’t know why you expected any different. In the five minutes of his presence, he gave no indication of a change of heart, but it’s disappointing all the same. “P-Please.”

The doctor doesn’t look up from the task at hand but listens for further instruction. “My Lord?”

Feyd stares at you for a long while, his expression unchanged. He doesn’t squeeze your hand or kiss your forehead or brush away the damp hair from your forehead with your next contraction. He doesn’t flinch at your joining shriek. He’s gone, lost in the world of his thoughts until he decides to come back. His eyes close. He grinds his back teeth. His brow pinches and he shakes his head.

“The baby,” Feyd struggles to get out. He pauses before he says, “And then my wife.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The next half-hour is white-hot, blinding agony. You can no longer move—a statue as the doctor slices pieces of you open to accommodate your child’s position. He doesn’t want to come out. He doesn’t want to leave his mother. You can’t blame him. If you had the same fate awaiting you upon joining the world, you might not rush to leave the confines of comfort either. He has no reason to separate himself from everything he’s known to fall into the hands of a man who does not love him. But his unwillingness to leave you is what will eventually take you from him.

You can feel it. The draining. Of blood. Of life. Your energy is long gone and at this point, you can’t imagine lasting long enough to be saved, even if you survive just in time to hear your baby’s first cry.

“We’re almost there,” the doctor says. His words are hazy as your brain drifts, struggling to keep you conscious. But then you feel a release of pressure, a missing weight. Emptiness. Solitude.

“Save my wife!” you hear in the aftermath, but you’re not worried about that. You need to know he’s ok and perfect and that he has all of his fingers and toes. You need to know if he has a dusting of hair on his head, or if he’s like your husband. Does he more resemble his father? Complexion and eyes and lips poutier than yours? You need to know these things about your son.

But you suppose you never will. Your vision is too blurry to make out his tiny form, but among Feyd’s shouts, you hear a beautiful little wail as your eyelids flutter closed. And that’s enough.

—

The last thing you heard upon your death is the first thing you hear when you wake. And it terrifies you. Surely, you should not be hearing that sound. If you can hear him, then he’s with you, and he can’t be with you because you’re not here. Not really. You don’t exist on the plane he should be existing on. You exist in darkness now, and he was only ever meant to see the light. That’s what you saved him for. That’s what you used every remaining ounce of your will and soul and heart to do. You left so he could stay. So how could he be with you?

“Can you hear him?”

Yes. You cannot see him, but you can hear him. He sounds so much like you remember. His coos are not the wails, but the noises are brothers. You part your lips to call his name only to realize you never got the chance to give him one.

“He’s perfect,” the voice says. “Everything about him.” A tear trickles down your cheek. “I need you to meet him. He wants to see his mother.”

You want to see him, too, so badly, and as you feel the desire, a flash of light shoots across your vision. One flash, and then another. Another flash, and then one more. Brightness obscures every image as your eyes shift, attempting to take in your surroundings. You’re not sure this is better. In the darkness, you can rest. This is simply torturous, and your baby is not even here.

Heat from a heavy, shaky sigh hits your skin. Relief. Lips land on yours for a long beat before finding your forehead. A skull presses to your skull. The breath is taken from your lungs by another kiss. A droplet splashes onto your cheek.

“You don’t ever do this to us again.” When your vision adjusts, your husband is there. “Do you understand me?”

You nod before you can think not to, before you can think that Feyd is not meant to be here, either. But if he is here, then why does he look so happy? Would he really rather the three of you be gone forever than to raise your baby without you? You scold your idiocy. Of course, he would.

“You were out for three days,” he says. “Longest three days of my life.”

Out. Not dead. Not gone.

Feyd helps you sit up. He disappears and then returns with a bundle of fabric. “Look,” he says, smiling, sniffling, and then smiling again. Two of his fingers gently nudge a section of the blanket aside to reveal a tiny face. Tiny nose, tiny lips, tiny eyes. Lashes that rest on tiny cheeks. A much smaller spitting image of your husband. “He’s got your eyes, I promise,” Feyd says, and your son proves it when his eyelids flutter open.

“Do you think you’ve got the strength to hold him?”

You nod again. “Y-Yes,” you say, like it’s your first word.

Feyd uncurls his arms from the baby and settles him into your awaiting ones. He’s lighter than you expected—probably to do with coming a little early—but the weight of him snaps the bits of you that were lagging behind in the unconscious world to the present. You gasp.

You’re alive. Your baby is alive. Your husband is here. They’re both beautiful. “I’m alive.”

Feyd sits back down in the chair that is pulled up to the side of your bed. He swallows. “Yes. Barely, for a moment, but…yes.”

You cuddle your baby to your chest and run your finger down his nose. He’s softer than the blanket that snuggles him. Soft like you rather than his father. He’ll grow strong like the man you can’t help loving, but he’ll have more heart, and that balance will make him a great Baron one day. A great man.

“Do you hate me?” Feyd asks. “For what I did?”

Your head hurts and you still feel groggy, but you’re aware enough to know that you don’t hate him. You can’t hate him. It shocks you that he doesn’t know that, but then again, he’d never done anything like what he did before, and if you’re honest with yourself, you don’t know that he wouldn’t do it again should you fall pregnant with another child. You don’t trust him right now, and there’s only one thing that could ever convince you to attempt repairing that trust.

“Do you love him?” you say as you gently rock your baby.

Feyd glances down at your son. There’s no contemplation. “More than anything.”

“You’ll protect him?”

His eyes flick back up to yours. “With my life,” he says. And you believe him.

You became a mother the second you felt that little life growing inside of you, but you can accept that upon looking at your son, spending time with him, your husband learned to become a father. Had you died, you don’t know what would have happened, but you can’t dwell on that and hope to keep your family together at the same time. He loves the child you made together, and that’s all you ever wanted.

“Then, no,” you tell him. “I don’t hate you.”

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #austin butler #feyd rautha fic #dune 2

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luveline · 19 hours

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hello lovely angel!! humbly requesting zombie!steve au, perhaps more of jealous steve? i love their dynamic so much💗 maybe someone is flirting with reader, and enter protective steve:)

thanks for requesting! fem, 2k

You tend to think of it in two weird halves. You love Steve, and you never would’ve known that without the end of the world, so things are okay. Sometimes you wonder if he ever could’ve loved you if he hadn’t been so close to you for so long, but he loves you in this insane capacity of softness that says otherwise. Like, soulmate style.

It didn’t begin that way. Steve your reluctant guide, and you his unlikely saviour. You’d stopped him from dying at the very start of it all and he couldn’t leave you behind. And Steve, he’d been mean to you. He didn’t want to take care of you initially, but you’d grown to get along. You’d argue black and blue and he’d still rub your back at night.

There are so many moments you’ve shared that make what you have all the more special. A hundred different memories from before you’d ever kissed. You think about it now, watching him across the firepit as he shows a young girl, Cassandra, how to braid her hair.

The one that’s sticking today is when Steve got really bad food poisoning for the first time. When you’d known you were in love with him for a while, and when he’d stopped pretending he didn’t know. He’d been sick everywhere, on both your shoes, and you’d rubbed his back through everything.

It was nice to take care of him. Nicer that night when you’d shared a bed and he’d hugged you half to death.

He has no idea how much he means to you, or how much those moments with him kept you going when you were all alone. You’re lucky now to have found community, but those stolen hours in bed with him hugging him and getting to be his support, you wouldn’t have made it here without them.

“Hey.”

You look up as a man sits down. A boy, a man —what do you call twenty somethings? You don’t feel like a woman most of the time, but you are.

“Hi,” you say.

“I’m Jamison.”

“You’re Eddie’s friend, right?”

“Who, Munson?” Jamison makes a kidding face, a disgusted scrunch of his eyebrows that falls away to more friendly fondness. “Yeah, we go back. You’re Eddie’s friend too, right? I saw you guys taking out some laundry a few days ago.”

Jamison is handsome. He has tan skin, short hair, and a crooked nose. His smile is disarming. If you hadn’t fallen in love with the handsomest guy around, you might feel nervous under his gaze.

Time spent ugly under Steve’s reverent handling makes you confident. You genuinely feel prettier knowing Steve loves you, and it makes it easier to be yourself with strangers.

“Eddie’s awesome,” you say easily. “I thought he was gonna kill me when we first met, but he’s too nice.”

“Nice, really?”

Jamison is casual, as people go. You wonder what his motivations are for talking to you at first, but as conversation stretches, littered with the cracking pops of the fireplace and brief pauses of surprisingly comfortable silence, you realise he’s just talking. Maybe he’s lonely. You know how that feels.

He tells you that he and Eddie had been in a rock band together before the apocalypse. You’d known to some extent that Eddie was in a band, but Jamison tells you all the details you’d been missing. They were called Corroded Coffin, four members, Eddie played guitar and Jamison thought he was pretty fucking good at it, actually.

“I don’t think we would’ve been, like, Metallica. But we could’ve been good. We were gonna make a record.”

You smoke sympathetically. “I bet you could’ve been.”

“What were you doing? Before all this?”

“I honestly barely remember,” you say quietly. Your life before Steve is a blur, and it’s painful, too. “Things are harder now, I know that. I wish every day that we could go back to how things were, you know, I miss TV and grocery stores and my family.” You lick your lips. “I wish things were different, but somehow, I think I like my life now. I have stuff to do. Is that crazy?”

“It’s not crazy. Everything fucking sucks,” —you both laugh— “but that’s not crazy. I’m lucky, I still have my dad, and my friends. There’s purpose in being here.”

You nod emphatically, just once. “Exactly.”

You have purpose, now. You get to be a friend, a girlfriend, a confidente. You take care of people.

It all comes back to Steve, at the end of the day. Would you change the world if it meant never having met him?

Nope.

You glance across the fire for him, but he’s not there.

You put your arm behind your back and bend, looking for him.

“Looking for someone?” Jamison asks.

You deflate with relief when you spot him standing near the gaggle of tents about fifty feet away. He’s looking at you from over Robin’s shoulder. You wave, and he waves back with a big smile.

Something seems a little wrong.

“Steve,” you explain.

“He’s your boyfriend, yeah? Eddie told me you’ve been together since the start.”

You don’t bother correcting him. He might not mean together as how you’re thinking it. “Yeah, that’s him. Have you met him?”

“Kind of. We all thought he was a huge dick, back then.”

“He sort of was,” you say. “I mean, we all had our own stuff going on. I get that I’m biased, but he’s my favourite person I’ve ever met. He’s so kind, I don’t think I could describe it to you or anyone just how much he cares about people. I wouldn’t be here without him, and… I don’t know, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but if you ever wanted to meet him again, he’s amazing. He’s a great friend. He’s so fucking funny, he makes me laugh every day.”

“He’s sort of giving me the stink eye,” Jamison says.

You wave your hand weakly. “He has raging jealousy issues.”

“Shit, am I getting you in trouble?”

“No, never!” you say, tempted to laugh. “He doesn’t get mad at me for stuff like that. He’s normal, I promise. Just sensitive.”

You tell Jamison that it was nice talking to him because it really was, but you’ve been missing Steve for hours already and you need to get back to him before you go totally bonkers.

He’s sitting on the floor in the tent. The weather has been beautiful lately, you could sleep under the stars if you weren’t scared of being zombie charcuterie. Steve has stripped down to just his jeans and socks, no t-shirt or shoes to be seen. He has his sketchbook splayed open on his thigh, but he abandons it the moment you kneel down.

“Hey,” you say.

Steve folds his book closed, pencil between its pages. “Hi. Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?”

You shuffle in to take his hand. Clumsy touches, his fingers warm and a tad clammy between yours. “You told me yesterday that I have a smile like an angel. I know you were kidding, but I still felt it.”

“I wasn’t kidding,” he says, wrinkling his nose with a smile. “You think every compliment is a joke.”

“Don’t make me laugh so much, then.”

He squeezes your fingers gently. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself to Jamison. Just, I knew him already from school. And he did not like me.”

“That’s okay. He seemed nice, I think you’d get along if you met now.” You kick your shoes off and crawl as close to him as you can get. He looks up at you, but you look down at his lap. “What are you drawing?”

“I was just trying to touch up that landscape I did of the river,” he says, a sheepishness to him as he opens his sketchbook.

You read it with affection, trace lines and hatchings in awe. “Steve, I really wish you had time and space to do this stuff properly. Not that you aren’t doing it properly, just, I know you could make something just as beautiful as this with paint.” You slide to be sitting properly, putting you both at the same height, so you can meet his eyes as you continue. “Did you know what you wanted to do, when you were finishing school? Did you ever think about art?”

“I thought about it.” His lips quirk. “Mostly about how my dad would’ve kicked me out if I said something that stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“I know.”

That would’ve been a nice life. You and Steve living together, with a basement for his paintings, or a garage turned studio. You’d read books together every night like you do now, and you’d scrub paint smudges off of his cheek.

You love him so much it must give you an aura.

“I’ve got nothing to worry about, huh?” he asks softly.

You drift in, tipping your head back for a kiss you don’t take. “I don’t know, Steve, Jamison used to be in a rock band.”

He scoffs in disgust. You think it might be a mixture of anger at Jamison and himself. “Who wants to date a rockstar?”

“I might’ve.”

You’re teasing, of course, smiling as your kiss draws nearer, and nearer.

“Well, I can be a rockstar,” he says quietly, warmth of his breath on your lips. “Just give me a chance to get there.”

You brush the tip of your nose against his and hold your breath. “That’s okay,” you say, letting it rush out of you in a huff, your excitement to be kissed too much to bear, “I like my guys all mixed up. Preferably good at track, and swimming, but with a soft side. Kind of guy who fills a sketchbook up with my face.”

Steve lists to the side. Your lips are so close, you can feel the phantom of them against yours as he moves in. “It’s not just your face… it’s your hands, your arms… your everything–”

He cuts his own explanation off with a soft kiss. That softness swiftly hardens, turns rough, ten long seconds of sweetness before his hands coming up behind your head and he’s pressing inward, deepening the kiss, and giving you little room to breathe.

You have no intention of dating any rockstars, but his jealous streak has nothing but upsides for you. Steve knows that his jealousy over the innocuous is his own problem, his own insecurity that he’s working on, and while you sympathise with him (after all, haven’t you yourself worried he’d find someone else he liked more?), you have to confess to enjoying the edge to his kissing.

You make a pleased, humoured sound as he breathes you in like you’re a drug he’s been waiting for. He gets sloppier, and you can’t help pulling away to laugh.

“What?” he asks, thumbing at your cheek in a soft juxtaposition. “Sorry, am I being a dick?”

“No, it’s fine. Kiss me how you want to.”

Steve kisses your cheek softly. “He knows you have a boyfriend, right?”

“He knows.”

Steve hums like he’s smiling and nudges your nose with his, until you part your lips, and he wades in for another dose.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things

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violettwrites · 2 days

Text

trailerpark!daryl headcanons

a/n: this includes both sfw & nsfw ( below the cut ) headcanons for tp!daryl

if you enjoy my stuff, please don’t forget to like, reblog, and/or comment ! here you can find my masterlist, and my ask box is open for requests !

warnings: there is mentions of abuse, and weed in this post, also nsfw content. please proceeded with caution 🫶🏻

resources: divider by @adornedwithlight

sfw tp!daryl dixon headcanons.

➵ tp!daryl dixon is very much different to his older brother. quieter, less annoying, but overall just nicer. he is extremely loyal, & protective.

➵ he is extremely self sufficient. being left home alone for days on end helped him build his resilience.

➵ he has a soft spot for stray animals. the amount of times he has found a tiny stray kitten and wanted to bring it home is countless, but he knew his father would not be happy with him.

➵ he’s surprisingly very good at drawing. he often likes to sketch scenes of his surroundings, wherever he may be. that may include the creek you and him spend a lot of time together at, the silver dome arena where countless concerts he’s snuck into have played, or even just random doodles.

➵ he loves heavy metal and rock music. his favourite bands are motörhead, slayer, iron maiden, metallica— just to name a few. he gets his taste in music from merle.

➵ he is not much of a talker, but he is definitely a listener. he will listen to you rant and ramble for hours on end, often just replying with a nod of his head or a mhm, but you know he’s always taking it in.

➵ he often wears long sleeves & sweaters to hide the bruises and scars on his body from his father. it’s harder when he ends up with a black eye, but he just plays it off as him and merle roughhousing.

➵ the first time he ever smoked weed was with you, and merle, in one of the old broken down cars at the trailer park. merle and daryl sat in the front and you in the back, dutching out the old chevy with the smoke.

➵ he didn’t like going to school, often skipping classes or just not showing up at all. but you can bet he was always there to walk you home at the end of the day.

➵ he can often be extremely withdrawn, isolating himself several times a week. it’s never personal towards you, but you’ll often notice he’s been missing for a few hours. you can usually find him down at the creek, in the woods behind the trailer park, or even on top of his trailer sometimes.

➵ because he’s too broke for concert tickets, he’s snuck into concerts so many times.

➵ he’s had a crush on you since he knew what crushes were, really. merle constantly teased him for looking at you like a lost puppy, urging him to make a move. but he’s too shy for that, and he didn’t like the idea of possibly ruining your friendship.

➵ overall, he’s your best friend. you trust him with your entire life, and you couldn’t ask for anyone better.

nsfw tp!daryl dixon headcanons.

➵ big switch energy !

➵ when he’s topping, he’s rough with you, but always makes sure you’re okay. he’ll press your thighs to your chest while he fucks you, or he’ll pull your hair from behind. the rings on his fingers also add to the pleasure when he spanks you.

➵ when he’s subbing, he’s a whiny, begging mess. he’ll grip at your thighs or ass, looking up at you with big blue eyes while he begs for you to keep going.

➵ the first few times you two fucked, he kept his shirt on. he was too nervous to take it off, but you never pushed him. slowly he became more comfortable and now it’s one of the first things he’s ripping off.

➵ aftercare king ! not that there’s much he can do without possibly outing himself to merle or his father of his activities, he’ll always make sure you’re okay— wether that be just getting you a glass of water and snuggling with you after, or kissing every inch of your body.

➵ certified pussy eater™. he’d go down on you for hours if he could.

➵ if he had to choose between ass and tits, he’s definitely an ass man. he loves grabbing handfuls of the flesh, especially when you’re riding him or he’s fucking you from behind.

➵ loves leaving hickeys in place only you and him can see.

➵ loves to hear you moan but also loves to shove his fingers in your mouth to shut you up when you’re being a bit too loud.

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genericpuff · 2 days

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What do you think about Reachel's new redraw?

I feel like the characters look good but the background is too gray compared to the original one 😕

It's pretty rough, ngl. Not even necessarily because of the art itself, but because it's not a panel she should have ever redrawn to begin with.

The whole point of that scene was to showcase Persephone bringing life into the Underworld, a place where only death existed, but in this redraw it completely lacks that messaging, resulting in a scene of Persephone and Hades simply hugging each other in the dark with very dead-looking foliage surrounding them.

On a structural level, the composition has gone from vertical to horizontal, giving us way too much empty space around them which, again, is failed by the background being so dull and lifeless; Persephone's somehow become even smaller; and worst of all (though I'm sure some people will think I'm overreacting) her hair isn't tucked up in Hades' arms anymore, it's just sort of falling perfectly over his shoulder as one solid goop of pink, strangely changing shape as if it's resting on something but there's clearly nothing there.

That said, my opinions should be taken with grains of salt because I also have a lot of personal beef with a redraw like this - that original panel was my phone background for like, 2 years, and the episode it came from is still one of my favorites of all time in spite of all the criticisms I now have of the series, with art that originally inspired me to want to learn how to draw like Rachel.

There's been a lot of evidence over the past year or so to suggest that Rachel has "fallen out of touch" with her own work and these redraws that she's been making lately feel like tangible proof of that. The context in which she created those original panels no longer exists so to try and redraw them fundamentally misses the point of why they were so iconic to begin with.

I can understand that feeling of falling out of touch with your own work, to the point of not even seeing the appeal of it yourself anymore, but that's all the more reason to keep moving forward, not back. The fact that she's still just muddling around with LO stuff despite announcing two more projects and seemingly not making any progress with either the TV show or Rachel Smythe Presents... it really does seem like she's stuck in limbo. The deadlines and contractual obligations aren't there to motivate her anymore, and while that may now have freed her from the burden of creating LO in such a cramped and unhealthy space - now being able to create it simply for herself - I think the years of working on it have definitely taken its toll on her ability to create the way she used to and so we're seeing those growing pains now.

The real bummer about it is that it's being celebrated as "growth" but it's about as much growth as the illustrated environment above - dead and bleak.

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical

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retroellie · 3 days

Text

Little black dress

Summary: After wearing a little black dress that gave nothing to the imagination, Daryl decides to drag you to the bathroom and remind you who you belong too.

A/N: It's been awhile y'all! Omfg, I have been so busy writing a book that started out as a passion project but now I'm like really into it lol. But this is filth, and honestly took me 6 days to write no mf joke. It didn't really read through it so it might be messy lol, anyways miss y'all!! enjoyyy <3 (also it is so fucking long, omfg...I'm used to writing long chapters in my book HKAHKSHFJA)

Warnings: Sexual harassment, public sex, face fucking, unprotected sex, BDSM, mentions of SA (kinda?), just men being gross tbh, dirty talk

Word count: 13.7K

It had been years since you actually had to worry about what you were wearing, even longer since you had to dress presentable. But here you were, caressing every inch of your body trying to decide if your short black dress was "presentable" or plain slutty. You were teetering towards plain slutty, the way it hugged your curves slightly... showed a bit too much of your scared-up legs, you're breast perking to attention as if they were made just for it.

You examined your body, wondering what everyone would say if you showed up to something so classy wearing this. The dress code was nothing special, "Halloween costumes and formal!" the flyer said. You had nothing that would be considered either of those, maybe you're old bloodied shirts from before the commonwealth... you could dress like a walker. However, you had to look approachable... as if you were a reporter of some sorts.

You sigh softly, brushing your hair from your face as you exited the bathroom. You don't even know why you cared so much, it's not like you actually wanted to go to this stupid ball. You were only going because you were helping Connie out with her story. You promised her that you would talk to some people there, and write down their opinions of the commonwealth. You told her you would look presentable and approachable, something you didn't look very often.

"Plain slutty" wasn't a bad thing, before the fall you would dress that way on a night out anyway... But you weren't who you were back then. You didn't want all the male or female attention, especially in a new town like this. They would whisper, they would gossip... no matter how pretty you looked in your cheap dress, you knew they would be merciless.

You walked to yours and Daryl's shared room, grabbing your bag you've had since the fall... it didn't match the outfit at all but you needed something to remind you who you actually were. You placed the bag on your shoulder, turning around only for your attention to be drawn to something shiny on your bed. Your husband's knife...

"At least Daryl will be there." You thought to yourself, biting your lip softly as you stared down at the knife. This new life has been a fairytale almost, almost like the entire apocalypse thing never actually happened... like you and Daryl were just a normal married couple with normal problems. It was so weird worrying about small things again, like what you were going to wear for this stupid masquerade ball.

You two had been "married" since you became a part of the commonwealth. It was strange, especially since everyone called you "Mrs. Dixon". You had been with Daryl for around 7 years, but you weren't married. However, when coming to the commonwealth there was an option for you two to be married "legally". You couldn't help but laugh when they brought it up, there was no government, and there was no "marriage" anymore. They were dead serious though, looking as if you were crazy when you laughed in their face. But you signed the papers basically stating yours and Daryl's "marriage"... so now you guys just are.

Daryl was a security guard at the ball, leaving much earlier than you to go do his job, so he had yet to see the way the dress showed off what was his. Suddenly your mind went another way, remembering the last time you wore a low-cut shirt or too short shorts... It was a decision that had you wobbling for 3 days, kiss bitten down to your calves and completely fucked. You blushed at the thought of it, hoping you could get through the night without Daryl scolding you for the too-short dress. Maybe you wanted that... maybe you wanted to tease him.

Daryl was completely comfortable in the relationship, he had no real problem with you showing your body off sometimes. But if anyone knew how a man could think, it would be Daryl. He knew the disgusting thoughts that would go through a man's mind when they saw a woman's upper leg... He knew just how they could spin that to make it sexually gratifying. It made him sick to his stomach knowing what men think when they see you... he fucks his anger out, hard and fast just like how those men think they can do to you... only he's the one doing it.

You shook the thought away from your head, making your way down the hallway of your dingy apartment. You realized how sad and depressing your apartment was, you made a mental note to get some art or posters to hang up... you needed to make this apartment into a home, or at least something ya'll feel safe coming home to. You passed by Judith and Rj's room, peeking in to make sure everything was in check... "in check" meant there was no one or thing hidden within it. The fall had done that to you, made you cautious, and made you the type of person to make sure each room was clear before leaving. Even though you personally went through every inch of the house trying to find RJ's hat just this morning... you just had to make sure there were no changes.

You finally were able to leave the apartment after making sure the door was locked 4 times. It was a short walk to the ball, about a 7-minute walk, but with heels on it was 15 minutes. You were never much of a heel walker before the fall, you envied women who could... but you never got that walk down. You would have killed to look so classy in heels, but you never got that kind of feminine gene. So you took it slow, walking with caution as you brought down your foot for each step. You looked stupid, maybe even drunk to some of the passersby.

You finally made it though, only 10 minutes late... but you found Connie and Kelly waiting for you at the entrance. You gave them a small smile, wobbling over to them. You were super close with Kelly and Connie, ever since they stepped foot in Alexandria... you guys were insufferable. So it didn't come as a surprise for Connie to come to you first when she needed help gathering "stories", which really meant gathering dirt about Pamela. You were more than happy to do it, it was something to get you out of the house and even landed you getting an invite to the most talked-about party of the year.

As you wobbled to the 2 women, it seemed as if you took them off guard for a second, completely unrecognizable as they didn't know who you were. It wasn't until you got closer that they saw who you were.

"Y/n?" Kelly asked, almost in disbelief that you could get all dolled up like that. "Jesus I could hardly recognize you with all that... boob."

You looked down at your figure, seeing just how different it was from your usual attire. It was strange being this... naked. You started to feel a bit uncomfortable, almost nauseous as you looked down at your heels. You weren't used to attention, you were but you weren't. You are not the ugliest person out there and you know that, people seemed to think quite the opposite which you didn't really agree with. You would catch people looking at your ass while walking past them or catching a feel of your breast while hiding from hoards.

You were no stranger to that attention, hell that's even how you and Daryl became what you were. Daryl couldn't keep his eyes off your hips and your lumps... that's the only attention you wanted though. The rest of them, it didn't matter to you. You could live without it, you were over wanting that attention just to validate yourself... that was in the past for you.

"what? Is it too much?" You asked, pulling your dress up just for it to almost flash your ass to the world, causing you to pull it back down just for your boobs to pop out again. There was no winning in the dress.

You searched both of the women's faces, hoping they would say all they needed to say. Kelly's eyes were focused on your face, probably noticing the cat-eye look you were trying to do... which used to be your specialty, but now you're out of practice. She was probably not used to seeing your lips so red as well, which that part is what you were most proud of simply because you made the mix yourself. You wondered what she was thinking, maybe you should run home and put on some normal clothes. Maybe this was a bad idea and you should have just stayed home. Connie brought a hand to your arm, bringing you back to reality.

"No! You look beautiful." She signed, making you feel a bit better. "Thank you for helping Y/n."

All of your worries slowly melted away just by this gesture, making you relax a bit. As said before, Connie was one of your best friends, you even learned sign language from her. Ever since you met her, she was always so gentle with you. No one really understood your insecurities or your panic attacks or the reason why you were so damn quiet all the time... but Connie did. She read you like a book, you hated it... but it was nice to know that someone could. Especially someone like Connie who would speak up for you if you needed her to. She knew you could never stand up for yourself.

You just gave her a small smile, nodding your head basically telling her that you were okay and you could do this. It was just for a night and you've taken out hordes, you've bashed a man's head in with his own leg bone before... you can take a night in a skimpy dress, you can take the attention it will give you. Plus Daryl was there, he would kill a man for touching you if he needed to and he has before. So you felt more than comfortable walking into that door and forcing stories out of men to get dirt on their leader.

"Yeah, well I'm your girl when you need to get information out of a man." You said, trying to lighten up the mood even if you were the one who needed some lightening up. "All you need is a small waist and huge knockers, Take notes ladies."

Connie and Kelly both let out laughs, boosting your confidence a bit. You smiled softly at their laughs, looking at the doors and seeing how crowded they were getting. Women in big dresses and men with fancy little tuxedos made their way into the double doors, Some were even wearing their own handmade Halloween costumes. They all were trying to get into the door, only to be met with the security who had to pat them down for weapons and whatnot. You once again felt a wave of relief, knowing you weren't the only ridiculous-looking one there. You suddenly were so thankful for it being Halloween. You sighed softly, putting your smile back on as you looked back at Kelly and Connie.

"We should probably get in before the line gets too long." You spoke, signing as you did so.

You all made your way to the double doors, Connie's hand on your arm as a way to make sure that you knew she was there with you. You appreciated it, this was a big crowd of actual people and you weren't used to that... especially with live people. You knew this night was going to suck, you were probably going to be a nervous wreck by the end of it. But at least there will be alcohol.

“But seriously, Y/N…” Kelly’s voice cut through your distraction, drawing you away from the parade of ridiculous-looking rich people. Her eyes were fixed on you, a playful suspicion lacing her tone. “You don’t strike me as the type to pull off this kind of glam… were you some kind of model or something?"

You just let out a soft laugh, walking up the stairs to the soft light illuminating the doors. You couldn't help but let your mind linger on your past. It wasn't something you were proud of that's for sure, you were a mess. You were freshly out of high school, going to college away from home so it was pretty much guaranteed that you would be doing something you would grow to regret. You would do it all... men, women, drugs, alcohol, partying until the crack ass of dawn.

It was a time in your life that was so confusing and being around people who were half your age, you weren't sure what was right and what was wrong. That phase lasted until you found Daryl, suddenly something inside you switched. He was nothing but soft and gentle with you, at least as soft and gentle as he could be. You meant something to him and that's when you realized that you weren't some drunk college girl that men and women could tear down for their own pleasure. You were someone, and that was enough.

There had been countless nights where Daryl had to carve that fact onto your skin, kiss your soft lips until you could say nothing but who you were, fuck it into you. You had lots to work on, Daryl did too... that's what made you two such a power couple. You worked on your shit together, made sure the other knew where they stood in life... who they were and who they weren't even though multiple untrue things have been drilled into your heads. You let the thought wander through your head before coming back to the moment.

"I am full of surprises." You joke back. You knew you could tell her what you really were back then, you're confused and you're hurt... but you left it at that.

The night went too slow for your liking, not even halfway through the night you were at your limit with men and you were ready to go home. As you sat at the bar, sipping on some fruity drink one of many men had bought for you, you pulled out your notepad from your dirty bag. It was almost empty, only 3 stories collected simply because the men were too focused on the way your dress laid against your breast. You swore you talked to almost 20 men tonight and only 3 of them actually had the decency to keep their eyes to themselves and answer your questions.

Most of the men didn't want to hear you talk, they just wanted to undress you with their eyes. You gagged at the thought every single time, even more disgusted by how some of them thought it was their right to put their hands on you. You could still feel a hand on the small of your back or placed softly on your hip. This dress started to feel like not a good idea and you should have caved into your desire to change into something different. You will say, that at least a lot of the men bought you drinks... you could have only gotten through this night with "Sex on the Beach" and "Strawberry Daiquiri". You would much rather have whiskey if you were being honest, you had been hanging out with Daryl too much.

You started to read through the notes you wrote down, jotting down some keywords in their stories so Connie could rearrange them for her story against Pamela. You were almost halfway through the second story and your 3rd Strawberry Daiquiri when you felt a hand on the small of your back once more.

"My, my... ya here all by yourself sweetheart?" You heard a deep voice say, you could almost feel their breath on your neck.

You jumped at the sudden touching, yelping as you turned around in the spinny bar chair. You were ready to swing on the perpetrator, you were too frustrated and grossed out to have another man try to get into your pants tonight. You lifted your hand up, ready to slap the shit out of the man... only for your hand to fall back down as soon as it went up.

It was Daryl. His shit-eating grin spread on his face as he chuckled softly at your sudden burst of violence. Little does he know, he's not the only guy tonight to say those same words and touch the same spot just above your ass. You would probably tell him later, but for now, you kept it to yourself... you knew he'd be furious, probably dragging you to the bathroom and fucking you till you couldn't walk properly anymore. The more you think about it, the more you want that to happen.

You sighed softly, closing your eyes softly and leaning against the bar. You were so glad to see him though, you hadn't seen him all night. You tried looking but you were far too busy trying not to get groped by old men or beat up by their wives. You knew this night would have been 100% better if you found Daryl earlier, he would have really made the night somewhat fun or maybe at least been your bodyguard.

"Not alone... My deadbeat husband is somewhere around here." You joke, turning back around to face your notes.

You could hear Daryl chuckle behind you, he set himself between you and the empty chair next to him. He looked down at your notes and your 3 empty cups, he knew these were not your first and definitely not your last drinks of the night... then his eyes trailed down to your dress. You had told him you would be here and what you were doing here, but he didn't know just how you were going to show up. The dress was going to get you in trouble, especially with the way that it caused Daryl's pants to tighten.

His eyes drifted down your body, the sight of your almost bare breast made him almost choke on his own tongue. Daryl watched as you brought the last bit of drink from one of your cups, watching you slurp it down. He let out a soft cough, clearing his throat as if it would clear the thoughts of what those lips could do.

"Deadbeat, huh?" he started, watching you bring the cup back down to the bar counter. You licked your lips, getting every ounce of the alcohol from it. "Well then, your deadbeat husband should be ashamed of letting you go out in something like that."

He brought his hand up to touch the fabric of it softly, placing his hand on your hip and giving it a soft squeeze. You tried to stay up straight, even if the alcohol was creating a glorious feeling between your legs that made you feel like you could melt into his touch. Even the smallest of gestures from Daryl could have you at his feet, just the tiniest softest touch could create a fire deep within you. You were feeling bold tonight though, maybe it was just the 7 drinks you had but something within you burned with the need to be devoured.

You bit your lip softly, feeling the loose skin that resided there. You looked up to him, eyes full of lust. Daryl couldn't help but feel the same kind of fire erupts in the pits of his stomach. Your glazed-over eyes, the smell of the pure alcohol that he knew was affecting your ability to think, the way the black dress was still on you even though he wanted it off. You leaned in close to him, his hand still wrapped around your hip softly.

"if only he was here to put me in my place." You spoke, words flowing off your tongue like honey.

Daryl let out a soft breath, his clothes suddenly feeling so constricting against his skin. He never knew all he needed to do was get a couple of fruity drinks in your system for you to be so... feral. It made all the blood in his body rush straight to his cock, making the head of it rub up against his jeans so uncomfortably. You were everything but a perfect angel... you knew how to talk dirty, you knew how to get Daryl's cock up and ready to pound into the first hole he could get to. But something about the way your tits looked in your dress and every single man wanting to tear you apart with their bare teeth... and yet you only wanted Daryl to fuck you in the ways only these men can dream.

Daryl looked around, being sure of his surroundings before making any stupid decision he knew he would make with you. No one was paying any attention to him... some of the men you talked to earlier were still trying to catch a peak, hoping that maybe your thighs would spread wide enough so they could see just in between them. So they could store it in their minds and use it for spank material when they need a little push. That made Daryl's breath get heavy, hands shaking slightly on your hip as you leaned closer into him... he could smell a hint of your perfume and it was giving him a slight high.

Daryl looked back down at you, seeing your soft stare... watching your eyes move down his body and then back up to his eyes. Daryl placed a hand on your cheek, rubbing it softly as he debated on dragging you somewhere more private. His lips ached, his cock already leaking with need... if anything could make daryl dixon be reckless, it was you. He almost gave into you, almost engulfed your lips with his, and made you whimper... made you his in front of everyone. However, something caught his eye... his abandoned post.

He was supposed to be guarding the door, making sure no one else came in, and making sure everyone was on their best behavior. Rosita was there, on one side of the door as she too watched the dance floor. He had a job to do, a very important one that would have you both moving up in life if he did it right. He shouldn't even have left in the first place, but something about the way your thighs looked from afar... he found himself stalking towards you just to get a better look at them. He let out a soft smile, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before he retracted away from you.

"Ya look beautiful sweetheart..." He said simply, giving your body one last glance before stepping away from you completely. He could feel your energy fall slightly as you groaned at the loss of warmth... your dress did nothing to cover you up, so his warmth was appreciated. "I gotta go do my job, I just wanted to see you before I got too busy."

You wanted to pout, you wanted to kick your feet and scream like a child... that's how drunk you were, you would beg for him if he wanted you to. You didn't find that fair that Daryl could get you going, put his hands on you, and warm you up just to pull away like it was nothing. You were too drunk, too cock starved, too horny to let him leave you like this. Your legs were wobbling already, you're cunt throbbed and every time you would move your legs it would create irritating friction that you wish were from his fingers. You sighed softly, not done with this just yet...

"Well that's too bad..." You said, hopping down from the bar stool. Your dress came up a little too high, showing just below your ass. You pulled it down, which once again caused your breasts to pop out... but this time you wanted them too. You watched as his eyes focused on them. "I'm wearing my best panties... I was really hoping someone could help me put them to use."

You sighed dramatically, grabbing your bag and throwing it over your shoulder. Daryl gulped back a comeback because there was nothing good that was going to come out of his mouth. He was torn between two nasty names.... some of the most degrading names he could think of. All he wanted to do was slam you against the bar counter, tell you how fucking slutty and how much of a fucking whore you were... 2 things he knew you loved, he knew it made you weak in your knees just thinking about it. But he had to keep it cool, y'all were in public and he would like to keep those names between the two of you.

You stepped up to him, looking down at his obvious erection... you smirked to yourself knowing just by your words you did that. You looked back up to his eyes, reaching up to adjust the buttons on his shirt and patting his shirt down. You could tell just by his eyes what he was planning on doing to you, you could tell you were in trouble. You leaned up to his ear, standing on your tiptoes just to make sure he was the only one to hear.

"I will be in the men's bathroom if you need me..." You whispered, pecking his cheek with your lips just as he did to you. You swear you could see his eyes twitch, his anger rising within him as you teased him softly. You gave him a soft smile. "I hope to see you soon, Mr. Dixon."

You said, teasing him even further and not giving him any time to even react to your words before you walked away. You could feel some eyes on you as you walked away, except they weren't Daryls... they were the countless men that weren't Daryl, their eyes boring into your skin but you paid no attention... they weren't your target audience right now.

You were able to slip into the men's bathroom without anyone noticing, which was tricky since every man and women's eyes were on you the entirety of the night. You knew you would get some attention but the amount you got was overwhelming... you forget sometimes that a lot of these people have been in the commonwealth since the fall, most never experiencing the horrors just outside of their walls. So when a woman who is covered in scars speaks so confidently to them, it is intriguing. Not to mention the way your body curves, how it dips and stands out so perfectly. Not a lot of women in the commonwealth have that kind of "fighting for your life" kind of body type.

You open the door to the men's bathroom, slipping in before anyone notices you even did. You choose the men's bathroom simply because you knew it would be easier for Daryl to slip into and away from his post for a bit, allowing him some time to fuck the shit out of you. Luckily the bathroom was empty but you didn't spend too much time making sure since you knew someone could walk in at any minute, so you entered one of the stalls and locked it.

The bathroom was one of those nice ones you see in fancy restaurants, the stalls were almost like little rooms that only held a toilet and a trash can. The walls surrounding the toilet were painted a cream color and went all the way to the ceiling down to the floor. These were the types of bathrooms that were perfect for fucking if you're being honest, I mean the privacy... it was almost as if they were made for horny couples who need to let some steam off.

You sat on the toilet, imagining all the possibilities and positions you could find yourself in the small confinement of the 3 walls and door. Your eyes locked themselves on the door which was the only "stall-like" thing in the small area. There was a large gap between the door and the floor, making it so you were able to see the shoes of people who walked by. Luckily you could see none, but the anticipation of seeing those black boots with the mix-match shoe laces... Jesus, you hoped he would come, you didn't even give him time to answer.

In this moment, the anticipation and the hope you don't get caught brought you back to when you and Daryl started seeing each other. while on runs or even around the small time you and the group were on the road... Daryl would get sexually frustrated from watching you, his cock rock hard and eventually he couldn't take it anymore. He would grab your shoulder, bringing his mouth as close to your ear as he could... growling into it that he needed you, ordering you to go to a secluded area and "wait like a good girl" for him. You were so needy for him that you did exactly that, sometimes waiting an hour before he showed up and fucked you into the dirty ground.

That was around the time when your relationship was kept hidden, Daryl's choice. He told you it was because of the 15-year age gap between the two of you, he was worried about the things that would be said about the two of you. It was strange for a 37-year-old man to be romantically involved with a 22-year-old. But deep down you didn't believe his words, you subconsciously knew it was because he didn't want to get close to you. He had this thing with trust, so it came natural for him not to want to trust you at first... he was okay with just fucking you and leaving you limp on the forest floor. However, somehow along the way... he fell so deeply and utterly in love with you, that now he feels ashamed if he has to hide you.

Suddenly, you were pulled from your thoughts when the bathroom door opened. A slight tingle made its way through your body and it wasn't the good kind. You placed your feet on the toilet along with your body, hoping the person didn't see your high heels, and called security to come to escort the woman in the men's bathroom out of the ball... that would be embarrassing. You heard the person's heavy footsteps, not able to see their shoes because of the walls of the small bathroom covering your view. You held your breath, trying to keep yourself quiet as the person made their way to the stalls.

You listened closely to the steps, hearing them walk closer and closer to your stall. Questions filled your mind, did someone see me come in here? Is it one of the men who now thinks this is his chance? Am I completely fucked and was this a bad idea? Fortunately, it didn't take too long for your questions to be answered because when the two heavy-duty work boots with the mix-match shoe laces appeared between the gap of the floor... your body relaxed slightly.

You chuckled softly at your worry, realizing how fucked the fall actually left you. You were expecting Daryl yet your mind went to the worst that could happen... Jesus, hopefully, the commonwealth will ease your paranoia.

Knock

knock

Those three knocks were too familiar to you. It was the knock you and Daryl used when hunting or when you holed up in a random cabin for the night... it was just a way for you two to say "Hey it's me. You're safe.". You smiled softly, standing from the toilet and wasting no time in opening the stall door. The stall door opened to reveal your angry-looking husband, he did not look too happy about the fact he had to fuck some sense into you while he had to do actually important things, like make a living for you two. You couldn't help but laugh softly at his face, how angry he looked... you were feeling the buzz of the alcohol throughout your body and it was hitting hard. You leaned yourself against the door frame, making sure your hips stood out as you did so.

"Mr. Dixon!" You exclaimed, almost as if you weren't waiting like a little dog would for its owner... You placed a hand on your hip, head laying against the door frame. "I didn't expect to see..."

You couldn't even get your words out before Daryl pushed you into the stall, shutting and locking the door behind him. He pushed you against the stall door, attacking your neck roughly. The warmth spread across your body, your body going limp for only a second before you threw your head back onto the stall door you were pushed against.

"Shut up..." He whispered into your neck, biting and sucking at your soft spots. He wrapped his arm around your waist, keeping you in place as he worked his mouth on your neck.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, trying your best to stay up straight as he basically touched you in all the ways you craved. It was fast, very fast as he basically speed ran trying to make you as wet as he possibly could get you. You knew this was going to happen, you basically begged for it to happen... but that doesn't make you any less surprised by his sudden touch. He licked a strip up your neck, biting your ear lobe softly before going back to leaving down your neck... you knew this was his way of marking you up, making sure the mark would show so pretty on your neck in your black dress, scaring away the men's attention.

His kisses led down to your chest, leaving bite marks here and there as he did so. You could come undone from his abuse on your neck, your body arching into him as you tried so desperately to quiet your soft moans. Daryl pushed you further into the stall door before pulling your dress down, exposing your breast to him as he softly kissed down your body. He stopped his kisses, taking a moment to take in your squirming figure and how red you had gotten from just kissing. He leaned down, taking your breast in both of his hands, and squeezed them together before sucking on your already hardened nipples. It all happened so fast, making you not only drunk but also now high off sudden pleasure. Your hands went to his hair, pulling it softly as his soft sucking on your breast sent small zaps of pleasure straight to your clit.

He went back and forth between the right and the left, squeezing one while he sucked and licked the other. Your world was spinning, not sure if it was the 7 strawberry daiquiri or if it was the way his mouth felt on your tits. You could feel yourself getting so close to the edge, embarrassingly close... he barely even touched you and you were almost coming undone in your panties. You gave his hair a particular rough pull, trying to remove his mouth from your nipple... you were too close to the edge, not wanting to cum now... You didn't want to give Daryl an even bigger head than he already has when it came to making you feel good.

"Jesus... Daryl, I'm too drunk for the foreplay, just fuck me." You whispered out, your words shakey as you shivered from the cold air brushing against your now slobbered-up tits.

Daryl detached himself from you, your hands still in his hair as he did so. He tried to hide the smile from you but trust and believe the way you were begging made his own high come to him. He couldn't tell which one of you was drunk, and he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol this entire night. You leaned against the stall door, the lock from the door digging into your back. You squirm underneath his gaze, feeling his hands make their way back to your waist. Your tits are still standing to attention, red and puffy from his kisses.

You breathed heavily, looking into his lust-filled eyes as he brought his face closer to yours. You could feel his breath fan across your face, the smell of your shared toothpaste bringing memories of the nights you would have together in your small apartment... All the nights spent bent over the sink as he rammed his cock into you, praying Judith and rj were asleep, or even the days where you two just had to be with each other. So you filled the bath, lit some candles, and spent hours making out with each other... no fucking, no dry humping, no cumming onto each other. Just you two, taking in each other's presence and exchanging saliva.

"You beggin' me?" He whispered, lips hovering over yours as he spoke. You debated on reaching up, touching his lips with yours... speeding this entire thing up. But you couldn't deny you loved a long drawn-out fucking session in a fancy bathroom.

"No..." You teased, smiling up at him as you brought your face even closer. Your eyes make their rounds from his lip back to his eyes. "Simply asking for a favor."

You had a way of getting underneath Daryl's skin in the most delicious ways, with your innocent-looking eyes and your silky smooth voice. He knew better though, he knew you were far from innocent. Not only have you done things, murderous things that to this day you will never be able to repent from... but also sexual things that have the angels crying. You have allowed Daryl to fuck you on the dirty floor of an abandoned cabin while your people were only mere inches away from you. You have fucked him while covered in blood, even going as far as to cover yourself with more blood because it turned you on so much. You have asked to be held at gunpoint while you sucked his cock, asked to ride the handle of his knife, asked to be slapped in the face until your nose bleeds.

You liked pain, you loved every ounce of it and it was heartwarming that you trusted Daryl enough to be so open with these things... but it was disgusting how you did these disgusting things with such innocent eyes. However, Daryl was a sucker, because he did everything you asked him to with a smile on his face. He never knew he held such a disgusting pervert deep down inside of him until he came the hardest he ever had while fucking you by a trapped walker. Although, with age and the further you got into the relationship, you both settled down a bit. You two were so fucked for each other, you were basically cumming at the sounds or each other's names.

"Real cute... Just asking for a favor huh?" Daryl mocked, his hand running down to the top of your cunt... stopping so he could watch your squirm. He had other plans than to give you what you wanted, you guys were already fucking in a public restroom while hundreds of people were outside.. might as well go the full mile right? "Well then, you're gonna have to ask a lot better than that sweetheart. Knees."

He didn't have to say anything more than that before you were dropping to your knees. Daryl could cum from just knowing you would do anything for him in a heartbeat, especially sucking his cock when he wanted you to. You were never the type to turn down sucking his cock, you loved watching him come undone on your tongue... you even thought he looked so much more pretty at the angle.

You stared up at him with big eyes, your lips red from you biting them and your tits hanging from your dress. Daryl hummed in contentment, reaching down to wrap a hand through your hair as you looked up at him innocently. He ran a soft hand through at first, making sure you knew you were safe with him... making sure you were okay with what was happening. You nodded softly, a way for you to say "I am okay with this". He shot you a soft smile, running a hand once more through your hair to get it out of your face.

It started off so soft, it always started off so soft because you brought out this softness in Daryl... a softness he had never known he had until he met you. But it always ended up rough, because that is how Daryl loves and that is how you love it. Daryl suddenly gripped your hair, a tight grip that had you gasping and wincing. You groaned softly, chuckling softly at his sudden outburst... you knew you were about to get destroyed and in such a pretty dress.

"Want you to suck my cock..." he said, keeping hold of your hair but reaching down to the top of his pants. He unbuttoned them, almost ripping his belt off as he did so. "Gonna cum all over your pretty little face, then maybe I'll fuck that hole of yours."

You watched up at his hands as he unzipped them, pulling them down slightly so only his cock could come out. The sight of it almost had your mouth watering, not able to think coherent thoughts as you watched it twitch slightly. It was rock hard, the tip already covered in precum and flush red as it desperately craved friction. You knew your teasing left him desperate, and needy for your touch… but it’s as if you hadn’t touched him for days which was not true. You could not keep your hands to yourself around Daryl, so fucking was an everyday thing.

Daryl watched your eyes go wide at the sight of it, his grip on your hair tightened which pulled your attention away from his cock and back to his eyes. He couldn’t help but pump himself a few times, more precum dripping from the tip as he did so. You smirked at him which told him you weren’t done with your teasing.

“Is that any way to speak to your wife?” You asked, your words making his cock twitch even more. "Bet none of those men out there would ever talk to me like that..."

As said before, you had this way of getting under Daryl’s skin… and a little part of you enjoyed the way it affected him. It caused this fire within him that you were able to see from the outside, it was a small change in his demeanor, a small twitch of his eye that was probably only noticed by you. It was that small change that had you slightly terrified but completely and utterly exhilarated. That is the main purpose you teased him the way you do, just to see that small fire build up inside of him until he couldn't take it anymore and he just snapped. You were able to get him into so many dirty positions with that fire, so many nasty things just because of your teasing words.

Daryl's hands shook slightly, a slight hint of jealousy coursing through his blood. He gripped your hair harder, pulling some of it out, as he tried to stop his hand from shaking so much. He pulled you closer to his cock, causing a soft yelp to escape from you. His cock was now laying on your cheek, twitching softly.

"Well, those men don't know you like I do..." He said, pumping his cock one last time before setting his hand on the base of it. "They don't know my wife is a horny sex fiend who can't shut her fucking mouth... open."

You didn't have to be told twice, your mouth opening, and Daryl didn't give you any notice or any warning before he shoved his cock almost completely into your mouth. You held back a gag, feeling the head of his cock in the back of your throat already. Daryl kept your head in place, watching you fight with the urge to gag and recoil back from his cock. He can not deny how much pleasure it gave him to see you in pain, obviously the good kind of pain. The consensual pain that you allowed him to give you and enjoyed every single bit of it.

Daryl stayed still for mere seconds, allowing you to get used to the feeling of a cock in your mouth. You eventually allowed your throat to relax, looking up at him with your watery eyes as you went further down his cock. You wrapped your lips around him, staring him right in the eye as you took his entire cock in your mouth... until your nose was buried into his happy trail. Daryl almost collapsed, seeing the bulge in your throat... he could cum down your throat at this moment.

"good girl... good fucking girl." He said, trying his best to keep you like that for a couple more seconds so he could burn this image in his brain for later use.

He knew that you would be giving him that shit-eating grin that you usually give him when you get a big ego... but you couldn't since his cock was down your throat and you were loving every second of it. Once Daryl stored every single detail of how angelic you looked right now, he pulled your head back with your hair. As he pulled back your head, his slobbered-up cock was revealed... this would be another thing he would store in his mind for later.

Daryl didn't keep your head off his cock for long before he slammed your head back down on his cock, once again forcing his cock down your throat and causing you to want to gag again. You couldn't get used to it this time, you weren't able to stop yourself from gagging before Daryl pulled your head off his cock once more but like he did the last 2 times... he forced your head down on his cock once again. You couldn't help but feel your cunt flutter away as your throat was burning slightly. It was a delicious kind of burn, the taste of his cock making its way down your throat.

before you could even almost gag for a 3rd time, Daryl pulled your head away and then slammed it back down. Now his movements were quick, his cock massaging your throat as you just kept your mouth open and your lips wrapped around his cock. You dug your knees into the bathroom floor, your hand holding onto his thighs as you allowed him to use you like a literal sex toy. You felt so degraded, so disgusting... but you wanted more, you needed more. The feeling of someone walking in excited you even more, knowing that any of those men from earlier can walk in just to relieve themselves and be met with the sounds of gagging... gagging from the woman that they wished would do the same from them.

The thought of that alone, the look on their face as they realized what the gags actually were. The cold sweat that runs through their bodies, the red tint that spreads across their cheeks, the inevitable boner that pops up simply because they imagined how you looked while doing such a disgusting thing. You didn't mind someone walking in and that alone left a sense of shame within your stomach, you begged for it really. You knew it could lead to Daryl losing his job, knowing how they would look down on him because he left the partygoers he was supposed to be protecting so he could get a blowjob from his wife in the bathroom. But you would risk it all. The sudden burst of shame and excitement and complete lust caused you to bob your head along with Daryl's hands. Setting your hands on his ass so you could force him into your throat yourself.

"God... fuck, such a fucking whore huh?" Daryl moaned, keeping his hand entwined with your hair. He looked down at you, watching you work his cock in and out of your throat like it was nothing... your slobber dripping from every crevice of your mouth and onto your already spit-covered tits. "Ya like my cock in your mouth, the only thing you're good for huh?"

The degradation of it only made you speed up your movement, the sounds of your choking and gagging filling the air completely. You kept your eyes on Daryl, watching as he finally pulled his attention away from you and lost himself to the feeling. He threw his head back, eyes fluttering closed as he tried to steady his breathing. You looked up at him like he was some kind of god and in this moment... he was to you. You would have licked the floor he walked on if he asked you, in this moment and in any. Daryl was the closest thing to god you have ever believed in, because how can someone so fucking perfect be real? He must have been made from everything good in the world, like candy or fresh laundry.

You got too ahead of yourself, feeling Daryl pull your head back roughly as your rhythm becomes too sporadic, too messy. Daryl pulled your head completely off his cock, a string of salvia was now the only thing connecting you and him now. Your throat burned, it ached as you coughed softly... trying to catch your breath as you waited for what he was going to do next. When Daryl was in these moods when the fire sparked within him, he was unpredictable and that made your liquids leak from your cunt.

Daryl had a plan to destroy you completely and he was going to go through with it. You weren't going to be able to talk to another man without thinking of what Daryl would do if he saw you... you won't be able to speak for the next few days to come, or walk, or get out of bed. He was going to completely fuck you. Daryl took the base of his cock once again, placing his cock back on your cheek... watching it cover your face in your own saliva. You chuckled softly, closing your eyes as his cock drenched your face with spit. That soft chuckle made Daryl's blood heat up again, he didn't want you to laugh... he wanted you to beg for his mercy, cry so hard that you could barely speak, he wanted you to be a ruined puddle on the floor.

"Sit on your butt, head against the wall." He demanded, pulling your hair back and giving your face a harsh slap as a way to tell you that you would regret it if you didn't.

You did what you were told, sitting flat down on the floor and laying your head back on the stall wall. Daryl moved closer to the wall, so one of his hands was resting on the stall. There was only a small gap between the wall and Daryl, you between the both of them. Daryl's cock slid across your face once again, his hand pumping it softly as he made it so you were between his legs.

"Tap on my thigh if you need me to stop." He said softly, running a hand through your hair comfortingly. He was planning to destroy you, but if you genuinely needed him to stop he would in a heartbeat. "Okay?"

You nodded, repeating back a little "okay" before giving him a soft smile. You adjusted yourself so you were closer to his cock, sitting so you were face to-face with it. You were so ready... your mouth begged for it.

"Alright, sweetheart." He reached down, pulling your mouth closer to his cock as he bent his knees slightly. "All you gotta do is keep your pretty little mouth open for me alright?"

You nodded, opening your mouth once more. Daryl smiles, watching you so eagerly waiting for him. He let you catch your breath for a few more seconds, not wanting to completely overwhelm you all at once. But before you knew it, Daryl's cock was back in your mouth... his thrusts started slow. He allowed you to get adjusted to his cock once more, choking slightly as it hit the very back of your throat.

He didn’t wait too long though, after a few soft thrusts he didn’t go so nice on you. His thrusts became rough and fast, his cock slipping in and out of your throat, making your head almost bang into the stall every single time. As his cock assaulted your throat, hand wrapped in your hair as he used it as a way to keep your head back so he could fuck your throat until it ached, he imagined the way the men looked at you.

He saw you from afar all night long, watching you closely as you collected your stories. You pulled your dress down throughout the night, your tits looked heavenly under the softly yellow light. Then you would pull your dress up, revealing skin inches away from your lace black underwear. It was almost as if you were playing with him, making him a hot mess at his post. Then there were the men, all looking everywhere but your eyes... trailing down to the necklace he had found for you, but not staying there very long before looking directly at your tits. They had no shame, they slowly undressed you with their eyes and you knew it.

His thrust became even faster, your nails digging into his thighs and your eyes watered... Your choking and gagging only egged him on more as he violently banged your head into the wall. You loved every second of his abuse, throat throbbing and raw but so was your cunt. You were clenching around nothing, rubbing your thighs together to get some kind of friction. You would even go as far as to say... you were just as close as Daryl. You could cum from the sight of him alone, that's all you needed for your cunt to feel satisfied.

You could sense his orgasm nearing, his moans started to intertwine with your gagging and choking. He had to keep his hand on the wall to balance himself as his legs started to shake violently, thrust getting messy as you started to lick the vein of his cock so softly with what control you had, his hand gripping your hair roughly. If his cock wasn't in your mouth right now, fucking your throat till it bled... you would be begging him to cum down your throat, wanting to taste his salty seed as he came undone from fucking your face.

"So fucking close baby... so close." He groaned softly, trying to keep his voice below a whisper but the feeling of your velvet throat made him lose control of his own voice. "gonna fucking cum."

You hollow your cheeks, closing your lips around his cock and running your tongue down his shaft. You could feel his cock twitch on your tongue, basically begging to cum. Daryl continued his fast, rough thrust... the knot in his stomach was thrust away from bursting and you did everything in your power to send him over the edge, you craved to see the way his face contorted into pleasure as he came... how his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth opening into a slight O shape, his entire body shaking softly.

Suddenly, just before his breaking point, Daryl pulled his cock out of your mouth. You couldn't help but whine softly at this action, your throat needing to feel his warm cum slide down it. Daryl took his cock in his hand, pumping it at the same pace he was fucking your throat. It only took him a good 3 or 4 pumps before hot strings of cum shot out of his cock, landing directly on you. He milked his cock, watching as it spurted on your cheeks, your nose, almost into your eye but you closed them before it could.

"Fuck..." He let out, huffing as he leaned against the wall... his cock still in his hand as it twitched, almost overstimulated now.

You stayed underneath him, your cunt throbbing in your panties. You were sticky with Daryl's cum, with your own spit, and your sweat. You felt disgusting, you felt so disgusting that not even 10 showers could wash away this feeling... this degrading, embarrassed feeling. But somehow, your cunt still screamed for Daryl's abuse. You looked up at Daryl, his cum now dripping from your face as you did so. He looked so tired, so out of it as his orgasm still sent soft shocks down to his cock. You've noticed as he's gotten older that he has had to take more time to recover from his orgasms, it really takes it out of him.

You remembered when you first started fucking him, Daryl wore you out before he could even think about stopping. After every single nut, he would be hard all over again. It was heaven, but also physically draining. Now in your older age, you would much rather 2 or 3 long drawn-out rounds more than multiple quick fucks. Your and Daryl sexual relationship has come a long way, from quick fucks to long passionate, and kind of perverted sex. It was kind of sweet to you in a way, how you both experimented with each other and picked and chose what you liked and what you didn't. It was something no one in the past would have done for you, it was why you "married" Daryl in the first place.

"So beautiful..." Daryl said, pulling you out of your thoughts. He was caressing your face, wiping away his own cum while he did so.

You blushed softly, leaning into his hand... kissing the palm of it softly. Daryl was always so nice afterward, so gentle and sweet. Nothing like he used to be, so distant and cold... not even helping to clean you up. However, as sweet as this moment was... in a weird and fucked up way, your cunt still throbbed. You still needed your cunt stuffed, still needed it fucked raw to match your sore throat. So you dug deep into your chest, trying to find your voice and force out of your beaten voice box.

"Are you up for round 2 or are you gonna need some time to recover?" You teased, your voice raspy and almost barely there as your throat was quite literally broken.

Daryl couldn't help but chuckle, placing his head on the hand that was keeping him upright. Daryl was never the type of person to leave you all high and dry, even if you truly deserved it. He would always give you what you wanted, only he would give it to you over and over and over again until you begged him to stop. He loved watching you cum as much as you loved to cum, so he couldn't deny you the very thing he held dear to him.

Daryl finally was able to get his legs to stop tingling as much, pushing himself off of the stall wall. He now stood inches away from you, just needing to see you in your entirety. You were drenched in his cum, legs sprawled out and shaking on the dirty bathroom floor, your tits hanging from your dress, your hair matted to your forehead and neck... you already looked so destroyed, but you wanted more? He could never understand the pleasure you got out of being destroyed, he loved it too... but being in such degrading positions? Maybe that's why he was the one giving it to you.

He reached his hand out for you to grab it. You did it in a heartbeat, struggling to stand up but balancing on his arm as you did so. He took you softly into his arms, holding you up with one arm as he wiped more of his cum off your face. He slowly brought his knee up to your cunt, you gasped softly as it made contact with your puffy clit. You wanted to move your cunt up and down it, feeling the delicious friction it would give off... but you knew how much of a dick Daryl could be and how easily he would tease you, denying you of his actual cock.

"Old man huh?" He chuckled, still holding you close to his chest. He could feel your heartbeat in not only your chest but also your cunt that was throbbing against his knee. "I'll show you an old man."

He suddenly turned you around, shoving you into the stall door so your face was flat on it and your ass was pushed out. You yelped as he did so, feeling his hands pull your panties down... he wasn't going to take it slow with you this time, he wasn't going to ease you onto him and let you adjust yourself. No, he was going to continue to teach his lesson... make sure it was carved into your brain that what's his, is his, and if you allow another man to look at you like a hungry bear would to his prey... you'll know what happens.

Daryl pumps himself in his fist a couple of times, getting his cock hard again before lining it up to your cunt. You grabbed onto anything that you could, preparing yourself for the devious stretch that you begged for the entire time he fucked your throat. Daryl collected the slick from your dripping cunt onto his cock, making it nice and wet... as if he needed to, your own spit was still covering it. He teased your hole, putting the tip of his cock inside before dragging it down once again. He was trying to tease you, make you feel an ounce of what he felt the entire night with you prancing around in the slutty dress that was now bunched up around your waist. You subconsciously bucked back on him, trying to fit his cock inside your needy cunt... but he held your hips in place, gripping them so painfully that you could feel it throughout your entire body.

He kept this motion up for only seconds before he got tired of it, he got tired of your whines and your pleas, deciding to give you what you craved. In one swift movement, he slammed his cock inside of your wet folds, bottoming out in one thrust as he did so. This action made you moan loudly, almost screaming when you felt the sudden stretch of your cunt around his cock. Daryl revealed this noise, like it was his favorite song... making you scream from pleasure, making you feel so good you didn't care that hundreds of people were just outside of this door... some of those people being the family you have gathered along the fall.

Daryl didn't waste a second, doing the same thing to your cunt that he did with your throat... he pulled his cock all the way out before slamming it back in. You could feel his cock in your stomach, moving around your organs as if it was meant to be in there. You don't think you will ever get used to the size of his cock, because each time you both fucked you would always have to get used to the shape of him all over again... and each time it took you off guard. His cock was merciless, nails digging into your hips, cock buried so perfectly into your cunt... it was pure light.

You were so lost in pleasure, your moans just dripping from your mouth and Daryl allowed it... he was far too lost in his own pleasure to mind. You hoped that the loud music playing just outside would cover the noise and since no one had come running in to make sure you weren't being murdered yet, you felt it was doing a good job of covering up the noise. Daryl kept up his harsh thrust, one hand coming up to your hair to pull your head back so he could attack your neck. His teeth sunk into your skin, causing your body to go almost limp... balancing on Daryl's cock was the only thing keeping you upright.

He watched your eyes roll back into your head, face flush red as he pushed himself further into you as if there was any room for him to do so. He reached his hand that was placed on your hip, sliding it down to between your thighs... rubbing your bundle of nerves slowly. He knew you were close, he knew you could have gotten off his cock down your throat alone.... so he knew you wouldn't be able to hold on very long from his cock being deep inside you. He touched, licked, fucked every single spot of your that he knew would send you off the edge, he was proving pretty successful with it too.

But suddenly, all his movements stopped and so did the entire world for a second. While you were lost in your pleasure, the bathroom door was slammed open and voices now replaced your moans... engulfing the bathroom with their noise. You were too lost in your own pleasure to notice, your moans still slipping through your mouth and your hips trying to once again buck back into his. Daryl however was now in his "security/guard" mode now, reaching up with his hand to slap it around your mouth... pulling you flush to his chest. You gasped into his hand at the sudden action, eyes widening as you felt his cock dig deeper into you. Even though that was not Daryl's intention, it still caused his cock to twitch inside of you.

"Shhh." He cooed, his mouth hovering over your ear.

But how could you be quiet when Daryl's cock was so deep inside of you, how could you be quiet with how close his body was to yours, how could you be quiet when you could smell his toothpaste and the college he wore. but you obeyed, knowing that if you did then maybe you would get a mind-blowing orgasm out of it. You could hear two sets of footsteps, they sounded heavy... almost like 2 men. IT would make sense, if you were in the men's bathroom... You couldn't hear what they were talking about, you could hear them but you couldn't understand them with Daryl's cock grazing your g-stop.

Daryl peaked through the small gap between the wall and the door, watching the men through it. You could tell by the way his eyes relaxed slightly that the men had no idea you two were in here, that they were lost in their own conversation to pay any attention to the stall you two had been hidden behind. Daryl took a step back, pulling you along with him... his movement caused his cock to almost slip out of you, but him pulling you close to his made it once again thrust inside of you. You squirmed against him, his free hand keeping you still.

"Did you see that girl...uhh she had that black dress on? She was going around interviewing people about how they like the commonwealth?" One of the men said, you could hear him unzip his pants as he did so... soon after the trickling of urine could be heard.

"Dixons girl? yeah, I saw her alright." The other man said, his voice almost laced with lust.

You froze at the mention of you, more specifically how you were labeled "Dixon's girl". You had a name and you even gave it to them, fucking assholes. If it were any other time, you would correct them with a fist through the teeth and a knee to the groin... but right now, you were too occupied getting stuffed by Daryl's cock. Your senses were completely filled with Daryl, your cunt full of him... it made it hard to think any coherent thought, especially with how his cock pulsed inside of you, rubbing you from the inside softly.

"Dixons girl huh?" The other man chuckled, finishing up his business as he did so. You could feel Daryl's ego grow a bit, especially with how his hips started to move softly into yours. He got such a big head when it came to you, knowing you were his. "So what's the deal with them? I mean, she's like 20 years younger than that old fuck. Does she have daddy issues or does she just like me older?"

You would have corrected them once again, telling them that you just liked Daryl. You didn't go after him because he was older or because you lacked a father... They would probably have done the same thing with what Daryl did with his cock, how it turned you into a madwoman every time he pulled it out. You huffed into Daryl's hand, which caused him to chuckle silently. This was entertaining, to say the least, this entire situation was.

"With the way she was dressed tonight, I think maybe she's just a whore." The man said, causing your blood to go cold. "Maybe Dixon was just lucky enough to be the first guy she fucked."

You loved being degraded, you loved being called a whore, you loved being told you are nothing but a hole for a man to cum in... but only when Daryl said it. It was like when it came out of another man's mouth, it sounded so wrong and so degrading but in a not good way. Daryl had a way with his words that made it sound like pure honey, like candy dripped from his lips and you couldn't wait to get a taste. Daryl felt this too as if your genuine degradation actually affected him... like he could feel it flowing through his veins too. Daryl thrust his cock into you, trying to make you forget what they were saying, making you present with him instead of them.

"She seems like the type. " The man replied, the sink running as he said. Daryl once again thrust his cock into you, the knot in your stomach coming back. "Those outsider girls, man, I hear they let you do some weird shit to them."

One more sharp thrust from Daryl, his hand pressing harder on your mouth so they wouldn't hear your moans. He let his free hand roam down to your clit once more, rubbing it in small tight circles. To him, Daryl thought that maybe if you were too focused on your nearing orgasm, you wouldn't let the words of disgusting men get to you... he was slightly right because after that last sentence, their words turned to just background noise. You could feel yourself giving in the pleasure, you threw your head back on his shoulder, your back arching as you pressed your ass more into him so the gaps between your bodies were nonexistent.

"Damn, I might have to pay a visit to Dixons girl huh?" The man chuckled, the sound of zipping pants and water filled the air. "You think she'd take us both at the same time?"

Daryl's thrust started out as a way to comfort you in a way, but now with the venomous words these men were letting out... he was doing it out of anger, and jealousy as they talked so grossly about his wife. His thrusts were deep, and rough as he imagined what he would do to these men when he got done with you. How he'd cut off every single finger of one man's hand as the other watched. How he'd slit the throat of the man who even asked that stupid question in the first place, basking in the way his blood sprayed on him.

You took your hand and reached back to set your hands on Daryl's hips as he dug his cock so violently into your cunt. You couldn't take it anymore, your juices had dripped down your legs, now soaking the floor as you let Daryl abuse your pussy. You gave his hip a soft squeeze, a way to tell him "Keep fucking me, I'm gonna cum." He didn't slow his movement, instead, he sped up. Hacking away at the knot that was about to explode inside of your stomach.

"If she's fucking that old redneck... shit, she should be glad we would even consider fucking her." The man spit out, heavy footsteps leading to the door as he spoke.

And that was it, those words caused Daryl to thrust so harshly into you that it broke the knot inside of you. You almost screamed into Daryl's hand, your body tensing completely, your toes curling, your vision going white as he didn't stop his abuse. He fucked and rubbed you through the earth-shattering, mind-blowing, entire life-changing orgasm. Your cunt spasmed around his cock, liquids puddling up on the floor as you came around his cock. His fingers that were playing with your clit while you came were now covered in your slick.

"I call fucking her tits first." The other man said, another pair of footsteps followed the first ones you heard... both of the men now leaving the bathroom. "You can have him..."

The door shut, silencing the men's words which were now just jumbled as you came on Daryl's cock. You heard the door click shut, suddenly being shoved against the door once again in just seconds. You were still having the aftershocks of your orgasm while Daryl thrust into you, shoving your head further into the stall door. You moaned loudly, you're an overstimulated pussy trying to reject his cock but also craving it, his hand no longer silencing your moans. He shoved his cock inside of you, over and over again until the door was shaking along with his thrust.

You could feel his anger, feel the way that he tensed... the way that those men's words got more to him than they did to you. You could tell with every thrust of his hips that he was furious. He thrust into you only a couple more times before he groaned loudly, almost growling as he felt his own orgasm consume his body.

"Gonna cum in your fucking pussy..." He spit out, his grip on your hip tightening now and you could cum again just by his anger. "Gonna fill you up so fucking good baby... so good baby."

His words filled your brain, your body still so exhausted from the orgasm. You let him use you though, let him use your body so he could fuck his anger out. It was only mere seconds before you could feel his thick, warm cum paint your walls. When he said he was going to fill you up, he fucking meant it. He gave your pussy a few more good thrusts before he drained himself completely, his body allowing his veins to fill with pleasure. There's something about anger that makes orgasms feel so much better, feel so much more intense... and Daryl was a very angry man.

Daryl's cock softened inside of you, throbbing against your walls. He kept himself in you though, allowing you both to recover from the pleasure that filled you both. Daryl leaned down, kissing your back softly as he came down from his high, rubbing your hips to ease the bruises he left on them. This night was not supposed to go like this, you two were not supposed to fuck in the bathroom of this new town you had just been welcomed into. This was behavior that you two would do in your earlier years when you were both reckless, both so horny your hands never left each other. It is comforting, how things never really change.

"You okay?" Daryl asked, brushing your hair from your face... your face still pressed against the door and still very much covered in his cum.

You nodded softly, not able to speak well because Daryl's cock really took a number on your throat. Daryl smiled softly, slipping his cock out of you... watching his cum leak out of you. It was rare for Daryl to cum in you, he was always so adamant about cumming anywhere but inside simply because....he didn't want to knock you up, kids weren't supposed to grow up in this world. But something about tonight, he wasn't worried about you getting pregnant. A part of him actually welcomed it.

Daryl stepped back from you, pulling his pants up and buttoning them back up. You straighten yourself up, legs shaking as you attempt to pull your dress down. You weren't sure if you should bring up what happened, about the men who said those things but the words left a tension between you two. The words did hurt, you did feel massively sexualized by those men and you didn't like the feeling of it. But you thought maybe you could ignore it, it will go away on its own. Daryl noticed your struggle to put your dress back on, feeling a slight twinge of sympathy.

"Let me help..." He said, reaching over to help fix your dress. Covering up your body, his hands grazing your soft skin as he did so. He too was having that debate in his head, if you two should talk about it. "You know, those men. They're dead, you know that?"

It was almost like he heard your thoughts, could read your mind, and laid out what you needed to hear. This entire night you had been sexualized, but you didn't mind it... it was just attention to you. But hearing it while Daryl was there, feeling the way it affected him as well. It made you feel so gross like maybe all you were was actually just a piece of meat to some men. You could never imagine a life without Daryl now, how respectful he was even with his degradation.

Daryl was 2 steps ahead though, he already planned on making their life a living hell. It was one thing to gawk at you in front of your face, imagining what you tasted like or how you would look butt naked on top of them... all the while you just wanted to collect stories. But it was another thing to write you up as some lust-filled woman who would give herself any man who would ask her nicely. You weren't what they made you out to be, but then again they made every woman who liked sex like they did out to be some kind of whore. You liked sex, you liked it rough... but so did they, so why were you any different?

"Don't get yourself in trouble because of that asshole diary." You said although you urged him not to... a part of you really wanted him to. Men like them deserved to be put in their place, they deserved to be made to feel just how they made women feel. Plus you wouldn't mind Daryl coming home all bloody...

"Who said I'll get caught..." He smiled, inching closer to you, and laid a soft kiss on your cheek, wrapping an arm around your waist while he did so. Daryl was good at his craft, he knew how to be careful."So, I want you to go home... Take a nice bath, make some tea or something.... maybe get some rest. And I'll be home before you know it."

He kissed your forehead, brushing your hair from your face. It did sound so nice to just give in to sleep, especially with being a nervous wreck all night and then being fucked so hard in a small bathroom. But the feeling of Daryl going to hunt down these men, staying up till the early ends of the night punishing them for what they said... something inside of you flips, causing a small knot in your stomach to form wants more. You reached up on your tiptoes, bringing Daryl into a passionate, long kiss. This hinted to Daryl what kind of mood his actions had put you in, he pulled away when he realized... he'd already been away from his post for long enough, he couldn't go another round with you.

He chuckled softly, stepping away from you... he slid his jacket off and placed it on your small body. You were completely engulfed by it, it covered your body more than the black dress did, and you couldn't help but feel so safe in it.

"I'll leave the bathroom first, you wait a couple of minutes and sneak out. There should be a backdoor in the kitchen you can slip out of, but then I want you to go straight home okay?" He said, pulling the jacket closer to your body before setting another kiss to your lips. "And clean your face off before leaving, it's already bad enough i fucked you in here... don't need them to see the evidence of it."

You couldn't help but let out a soft laugh, zipping up the jacket as you did so. You did completely forget about the cum that still dripped from your face, you were covered in so many liquids that his cum was completely forgotten by you. You nodded your head, watching him unlock the stall door and slip out of it. You poked your head from it, making sure the coast was clear before you also slipped out of it. You looked in the mirror, jesus... you were a complete mess. You watched as he peeked out of the bathroom door, making sure he could slip out successfully.

"Round three when you get home..." You called out, making him whip his head around to look at you. He scoffed, shaking his head softly.

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goldenroutledge · 21 hours

Text

never say goodbye

pairing: daniel ricciardo x reader

word count: 2.3k

summary: you remind daniel of who he is when he needs it most.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, swearing but a happy ending (i tried)

a/n: self-indulgent to unbreak my heart a little bit. if he really leaves for good, the void will never be filled. there will never be another danny ric :,)

i listened to michael giacchino’s bundle of joy from inside out while writing this. if i could put my feelings into music, it would be this <3

Your heart aches seeing the expression on Daniel’s face; painstakingly bittersweet in showing his signature smile even when it kills him. It gives you at least a little comfort knowing that no matter what happens, nobody will take that away from him. As he recounts his time in Formula 1 in the interview, it is clear that his journey here has not only been a mere time in his life but it is a part of his being. The ebbs and flows, the triumphs and defeats he’s experienced over the last decade condensed into a few short yet symbolic sentences.

This might be the least talkative anyone has ever seen Daniel Ricciardo, who's otherwise radiating relentless positivity to a point that is undeniable. You know that’s still alive in him somewhere underneath it all. Maybe that’s part of why it hurts so much, he is someone so undeserving of such treatment, to be dismissed this way. Everyone can feel it, and even under the night sky of Singapore, the paddock is enclosed in its own bubble. When the bright lights go down and the noise turns to silence, you can only imagine how he’ll be when it’s just the two of you again, knowing that those with the brightest smiles hold in the heaviest tears.

It’s impossible to miss the solemn glances toward him or the way the interviewer’s eyes match the look in Daniel’s, searching in the dark for an end to this nightmare. Even from afar you can see the way he’s holding back tears, choosing his words carefully to keep the dam from breaking just a little bit longer. He musters a smile and a nod at the end of his interview trying to convey that it's going to be okay, he is going to be okay.

Before you know it he’s making his way back to the team’s hospitality. Claps and cheers interrupt your thoughts, and you glance around to see his team members and friends now surrounding you near the entrance. It’s hard for everyone to see him this way but they also can’t help but be astounded at the way his head is still held high. He thanks each and every one of them with gratitude, before locking eyes with you at the very end.

Unexpectedly, your eyes are filled with tears at the sight of him. A quiet sob leaves your lips as he scoops you into his arms, swaying you both soothingly. “I’m sorry.” You whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear and for reasons you can’t quite explain. I’m sorry I can’t keep it together. I’m sorry you have to be so strong. I’m sorry this is happening to you.

Daniel knows everything you mean by that, and feels his throat swell up, pressing a long kiss to your cheek instead. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting yourself take in his embrace for a few moments before it’s over. A few tears fall down your cheek and you’re not sure who they belong to.

After a deep breath you pull away from him, returning a kiss to his cheek along with a proper smile of reassurance. As deeply as you feel for him right now, you feel just as much of a responsibility to make sure he’s taken care of.

“Meet you at the hotel after your debriefs?”

Daniel nods, eyes solemn as they drift behind you into the hospitality suite. He sighs, knowing what’s ahead of him. You figure it would be nice to give him a little time to himself, to stitch up his remaining wounds and take in what could be his last moments as a Formula 1 driver. To say a sudden goodbye to this paddock, his second home for the last 13 years, and to say goodbye to all of those that have been beside him, who have become a second family over those 13 years.

“Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”

Daniel gives you one last smile of reassurance, knowing that no matter how many times he tells you he’s okay, you won’t believe him. He pecks your lips softly, walking inside and waving to you from behind the glass door. You wave back, still struck with emotion, feeling like a parent sending their child into their first day of school. Instead of the moment being a new beginning that’s filled with hope and joy, it’s a moment of bittersweet ending filled with sorrow and sadness.

You can only hope that whatever’s waiting for him on the other side of this, he’s happy. You make a promise to yourself that you’ll be there through all of the grief and the restlessness it will take for him to get there.

Back at the hotel, you sit quietly for a while, gathering your thoughts. It certainly wouldn’t be in your best interest to scroll through the endless articles and videos of a heartbroken Daniel giving interviews. Though seeing him secure both the fastest lap and driver of the day makes you smile. P1 or P18, he is beloved by everyone inside of the paddock and out. He infects others with a unique energy that can’t be replicated. One could only dream to help him truly understand that.

The unzipped suitcases in your hotel room were taunting, as if they could know how badly you didn’t want this to be the last time you both have to pack up and leave a race weekend. But the thought of Daniel coming back and having to do all of this himself was even more painful. Begrudgingly, you began to organize the contents of your luggage.

Underneath one of Daniel’s hoodies were a collection of bracelets and trinkets from fans given to him over the last two weeks. Yet another reminder of something he’d be saying goodbye to. These gifts weren’t simply material things. They were symbols of the love and adoration people had for Daniel. They were a representation of the inspiration he gave to so many around the world. And not only to them, but to his friends, his family members, and to you.

This moment felt like deja vu as you vividly witnessed him say goodbye once before when his time ended at McLaren. And then the spark of hope began to glow brighter once again when he was welcomed back to Red Bull as a reserve driver, and then as a driver for RB.

It was a journey you’d been capturing for quite some time now on your own camera, moments that you weren’t ready for Daniel to see just yet. Of course the end of his career was bound to come, but you believed you’d have more time and you’d have more experiences turned memories for him to look back on. You find the camera in your handbag before gathering your laptop and USB. If now wasn’t the right time, you didn’t know when it would be. The clock tells you that you only have a couple hours, maybe more depending on how long he spends at the track. Thanks to the extra surge of emotions you’d been feeling tonight, the memories from your camera and a video production class you took in school many years ago, you’re able to pour it all into a little gift for him.

After watching it once through, you uploaded it onto a spare flashdrive. Luckily you had one that would’ve otherwise been used to store photos for daniel3.jpg.

You barely noticed that hours had gone by, the clock now reading 1:46am. Your heart breaks for Daniel. Despite being apart from him you know how he must be feeling. Yet above it all, you knew he’d be leaving with a smile.

The door clicks open.

Exhausted, Daniel drags his feet inside. He’s relieved to see you stayed awake for him. There’s nobody he’d rather be alone with right now. Without a word, he relaxes into your arms that are open and waiting for him, and his for you.

Unsure of how to start the conversation, you decide that you should let the video you made for him speak for itself. You hold him for as long as he needs, feeling his breathing steady into a calm rhythm.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“Is it underneath this hoodie?” He teases suggestively, lips curling into a smile. He tugs at the bottom of the fabric to emphasize his point.

“Later.” You quip, taking his arm and patting a spot for him to sit next to you.

He looks utterly confused yet intrigued when you hand him a flashdrive, but puts it into the laptop anyway. “What is this?”

“You’ll see.”

Daniel clicks the play button on the black screen. The sounds of soft piano music is the first thing he hears before a picture of himself as a child illuminates the screen.

The voice of an interviewer plays over it, asking: “What would you tell your younger self?”

“Enjoy the butterflies, enjoy being naive, enjoy the nerves, the pressure, people not knowing your name… all that stuff. Enjoy the process of making a name for yourself, getting faster and faster with each lap, and meeting some great people along the way. Embrace the good ones, stay focused.”

A collection of pictures plays in sync with the audio of Daniel from his youth to now, edited in a perfect sequence. The clips show his best moments; his podiums, his shoeys, his radio messages, his laughs shared with fellow drivers, him riding into the Austin Grand Prix on Horsey McHorse, his fans cheering as he walks through Albert Park, hugging his niece before a race.

“You got to the dance in the first place doing what you do so don’t change too much. Don’t forget what got you here. Earn the parties, earn the drinks. Bring friends along, bring family along, don’t assume they’ll be a distraction, they might be something to take the weight off your shoulders on a race weekend, they’re also people to enjoy the moment with and to celebrate with, so don’t be afraid to surround yourself with people you care about and love.” The clips showed moments in the paddock with his fans, friends, family, and with you, always cheering for him.

The video shows him again, smiling wide as he reflects on some of the best lessons this life has shown him. “So, yeah. Get after it.”

Soft piano notes play once again, detailing ambivalent sounds that are yearning and wishful but also bring solace. Daniel is focused on the screen, so much so that he doesn’t pay attention to the tears that have started streaming down his face. In his eyes is love and gratitude for the journey he’s been on, and to you for reminding him of it in such a meaningful way. Your head rests on his shoulder carefully and you’re anxious to know what he’s thinking.

“You made that for me?”

“Mhm. I’ve been wanting to do something like this for you, I just didn’t know when it would be a good time to show you.”

“I guess there’s no better time than now, right?” Daniel mumbles, looking at you with admiration.

“I know you’ve been unsure of yourself for a while. And as much as I want to, there’s nothing I can do to change that. I don't always know what to say, so I thought, there’s no one better to tell you who you are than you.”

You take his face in your hands, gently brushing away any spare tears.

“But what I can tell you Daniel, is that I love you. I know you don’t want to be sad because you think you’ll be letting everyone down, but you could never let me down. You can be happy or sad or angry, you can shatter these lamps on the floor if you need to and I won’t be disappointed. If you let me, I’ll help you pick up the pieces. Whenever you feel alone, just remember you have me.”

Daniel can’t deny the way his heart warms at your words, an abundance of love and sincerity behind them. He tilts his head, pressing kisses to each of your wrists. “I love you, too. Even if I don’t deserve you.”

You scoff, harmlessly nudging him in response. “Shut up, they don’t deserve you. Fuck them all. That’s why I did that, to show you that there’s actually no one more deserving than you.”

“Yeah. Fuck ‘em all.” Daniel chuckles, looking down to hide the blush on his cheeks. You both sit there in a comforting silence, happy to be hidden away from the outside world for the night. With both of your busy schedules keeping you apart, times like these are especially important. There’s nobody you’d rather come home to, there’s nobody else that feels like a safe haven away from the cruel world that’s now turned its back on him.

“I can’t thank you enough, honey. I love you. I don’t know what the future holds… but I promise I’ll never take you for granted. How you always stick beside me, I’ll never know. It might be the end of an era in my career but I could never forget that I have you. You have me, too. When it comes to this,” Daniel gestures between the two of you, “I wouldn’t even know how to say goodbye.”

“And you won’t have to. We’ll never say goodbye.”

Your eyes twinkle and you press your lips to his, kissing him with a passion that can’t be put into words. Perhaps he didn’t get the fairytale ending he wanted and deserved in his career, but what he has here with you could easily pass as a fairytale of its own kind. It's what allows you both to sleep peacefully, knowing that whatever lies ahead, the only goodbye you won’t have to make is to each other.

a/n: comments, reblogs, and feedback is greatly appreciated! stay strong dr3 nation 💌

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jeonscatalyst · 3 days

Note

oh!

https://x.com/ChicknBunny13/status/1837421144309194972

I got this ask hours ago and wanted to get my thoughts right before I posted it because for some reason I didn’t know Jungkook said this. I guess it probably wasn’t translated by most translation accounts so that’s why I missed it.

So for years, Jimin and Jungkook’s bond has been attacked by so many people because of the way they constantly tease, and banter and bicker with each other. To so many it meant that they hated each other, or they were just bros you know, because “that is how siblings behave” but now we see that Jungkook grew up watching his parents constantly tease and bicker and playfully roast each other and he saw that as them showing their love for each other or keeping things fun in the relationship. That is what he knows love is. That is the way he grew up believing couples behaved. They always say the way kids grow up watching their parents behave is how they try to be with their own partners because that is all they know and this is what Jungkook said so many years ago after Jimin got frustrated at him for always teasing……

It really doesn’t get any clearer than this. You see to Jungkook, he knows that his parents show their love for each other by playfully picking on each other or roasting each other. He doesn’t see it as hate or anything negative but as love and this explains so much about how him and Jimin behave with each other. Someone sent me an ask once about this and I explained that romantic relationship don’t have a set dynamic. Yes there are some characteristics of romantic relationships that are pretty much universal but these things usually depend on alot. So many people think that couples are always extra soft with each other, or don’t bicker or roast each other forgetting that people are just different. I had always known that Jimin and Jungkook probably found it fun to constantly tease each other to get a reaction but coming to find out now that Jungkook probably grew up seeing his parents like this and knowing that they bicker because they love each other is definitely something.

Just for more context this happened on one of his station head Lives where he mentioned that his mother’s cooking was really bland and that his dad sat by him complaining about how bland the food was and how his parents got into bickering about it but he (Jungkook) ate it well because it was his precious mom’s cooking.

You see, this is why it is important to not box things together. This is why it is important to try to understand context before drawing certain conclusions. This is why it is important not to look at every aspect of life as a one size fits all because I can bet good money that more than 3/4 of this fandom doesn’t know Jk ever said this but this single statement changes the way you view alot of things about his dynamic with Jimin. You know that dynamic that many people claim is sibling coded because of the constant teasing and banter but now we know how he feels about that kind of a dynamic in general.

Next time someone tries to make you feel like Jimin and Jungkook could never be in a romantic relationship because of how they banter or how they “push and shove” each other, kindly show them this.

Thanks anon for sending this to me and thanks @chicknbunny13 for this post on X because even I didn’t know Jungkook said this.

#jikook #jungkook #jimin #are you sure #my asks #jikook blog #ays

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faeriekit · 23 hours

Text

Health and Hybrids (XXVIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Man, we've got a lot of these, huh? It's YJ's fault this time; whoopsie doodles! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Danny,” Diana says from the door.

Danny looks up from his place in the book. It’s definitely aimed at younger kids, but it’s a pretty wordy picture book; there are a couple paragraphs he can’t quite parse, but he’s making pretty good progress on the words he can’t recognize.

It’s a story about a cat who misses its mother. Danny tries not to relate to it too much.

“Hm?” he asks, flipping the front flap of the dust cover over his current pages to mark his place. The book goes back onto the nightstand, beside his space shuttle; Danny uses the railing beside his bed to support himself stepping up and out of his wheelchair, leaning on the railing until he can figure out…wait, where’d he leave his old people walker?

“This walk is long. You will want your chair.”

Well, then. Couldn’t she have said that before Danny did all that pulling? Danny falls back into his chair, kinda peeved. “Fine.”

Diana smiles. She doesn’t have to wear the mask around him anymore— Danny’s pretty sure that his injuries have been declared as clotted, or sealed, or whatever at this rate. They for sure swabbed his ectoplasm and came to some kind of conclusion, anyway, which means he only looks gross, but isn’t, like…actively leaking fluids.

On the one hand, gross! But, well, you know. Nothing for it but bandaids and time.

And her face looks nice. Danny hadn’t known what she’d looked like, before. She smiles when she sees him. Her light eyes crinkle, and her lips turn up… She’s nice. Danny’s sure that she’s only there to be in charge of him in case he gets scary, but she’s in charge of him and she’s nice. She doesn’t have to be nice; lots of people have been in charge of him and been mean about it. There was that one guy who kept holding him—with the taser—

(Time slips away from him, a little. When he gets back to the world in front of him, Diana is carefully looking at his face, the back of her hand stroking the back of his.)

Danny’s in his chair. He’s not…there. He’s in his chair, on a big space station (????) with a bunch of really colorful fighters on it, and Diana is touching his hand (that’s so much weaker and slower than it used to be) and he’s not hungry and he’s only scared because of memories. He’s safe. He’s not being pinned down by the neck so that they can strap down his wrists and hips to the table—they’re not shocking him—he can move his fingers, he’s not stuck in his core—

His core throbs. Danny bites into his bisected lip, and tries not to cry.

“Are you alright?” Diana asks, voice gentled. The soft touch of her hand doesn’t stop. “We can wait. There is no—“

Danny shakes his head, and takes his hand away so he could wipe at his eyes. It’s fine. Bad memories are everywhere: in the walls, in the floor, in the ceiling, in the hands of people taking care of him. That’s not… There’s nothing Danny can do about that. That just. Takes time.

…He think he might have that time. Now. He thought he would die for good in that five by five box, waiting for something that would finally end him instead of just keeping him in a cycle of injuries he never fully healed from.

But now he’s not. He’s here.

He wants to keep going.

“Alright,” Diana says, slow and careful. “Hold on.”

Danny doesn’t hold on—or, well, you know, he engages his core muscles and all that, but he doesn’t cling to his arm rests or to the frame of his chair because he knows that Diana is really, really strong, but she also really, really doesn’t want to hurt him.

She rolls him out of the medical wing and into the space station proper. Danny feels like he’s been here before, but he doesn’t remember it super well. Maybe it was when he was sick or something? Either way, a lot of different people wave at him as they go by—or just straight up stare, if they’re rude—and Danny generally just watches people rush by, carrying all kinds of equipment, and a potted plant, and a…starfish in a jar…?

Oh, the starfish waves at him???? Danny waves back because?? What??

Danny rolls to a stop at a smooth, cylindrical elevator. It looks like a giant test tube.

…Oh boy. Danny takes a deep breath, and holds it. Reflexively. Sure, this elevator probably isn’t like being dunked into water to see if his body absorbs ambient oxygen from the atmosphere or if his biology is truly not oxygen-based, but the memory is. Bad.

They go upwards. Nothing happens but Diana’s pushed button.

Danny exhales.

They get off at a section of the base Danny’s never been to, and it's essentially just a long, somewhat narrow hallway. The walls are actually painted a creamy off-white here, and there’s…like…decorative panels towards the base of his wheels trailing down the hallway? An orange ceiling, too?

Huh??

The rooms are numbered, but they’re not plain steel like in other areas downstairs; some of them have stickers, or drawings, or marker written straight onto the door itself. They look...cozy...? Danny thinks so, anyway, compared to the rest of the ultra high tech space base.

They roll to a stop in front of a door. It’s got a number on it, same as all the others, but there’s a box cutout taped to the front of it. The—

—The print is of the same style of space shuttle Danny keeps next to his bed, inked onto glorious cardboard medium.

Danny stares.

“Gegrapa,” Diana urges, so gentle. Too bad that, uh, Danny doesn’t know that one. He looks at her. She mimes touching the door— Oh. Got it.

Danny leans forward just enough to touch the door with his fingertips.

The door says something in a robotic voice, but the synthesizer is too mangled for Danny to make out the words. The door slides open horizontally into the wall, instead of the way the other doors open like portals or from below, and it’s kind of cool?

Inside is a bedroom. Danny stares.

…No, it’s actually a bedroom. Not a medical wing, not a cot, not a repurposed conference room or—it’s actually got a bed in it. Like. A real one. There’s a wooden headboard and it’s got a mattress on it that’s thicker than a VCR.

There’s constellation sheets on a bed big enough to curl up on.

There’s a nightstand, a small desk on the far wall—there’s a little lip where the bedroom dips into a tiny sitting room, a small television on a table and a small table and chair. It’s kind of…it’s kind of like a little hotel suite.

Danny’s mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t move, and Diana doesn’t wheel him in. “It’s okay,” Diana says, and—Danny almost flinches when she touches his hair, but it’s only Diana, who’s never hit him, and they’re fine. He’s…safe. It’s safe. He’s safe here. “Do you want to go in?”

Danny doesn’t move. His hands don’t touch the wheels. They’re shaking; he puts his hands in his lap and he tries to breathe. “…What?” he asks hoarsely.

“A rum for my Danny,” Diana murmurs, quietly. Danny’s heart throbs at the possessive. “You are healthier now. You do not need doctors every hour, but only sum hours. You cuðe spenda more time here, all ana.”

Words go by so fast even at Diana's smooth, unhurried pace— and Danny licks dry, split lips. He looks around the room—and the room is small, sure, but they're in space. Space will always be a premium. Even in this small room, though, the furniture is sparse and placed distant from each other…distant enough that Danny can wheel around freely in his chair.

There’s a Moon clock display hung on the wall over the doorway, and Danny can faintly see the outline of what he assumes is the current lunar phase as seen from Earth.

Having the lamp isn’t exactly the same as glow-in-the-dark-stars, and thank goodness for that. If it had been, Danny might have cried.

(Or, he realizes, something burning in his eyes that isn’t ectoplasm, maybe he is crying.)

“...Me?” Danny asks, terrified to know the answer. Is this room for him?? Is he getting a room here? Is he supposed to stay here? On the moon?! Is he supposed to stay with everyone here, in a tiny room, where there’s nowhere to go and nowhere to escape?

…It’s a bedroom. It’s already so much more than the stupid guys in white ever gave him.

“Yes,” Diana says, and lets go of his hair. “Use it, or do not. Sitta here, or sitta in the medical bay, but now you have two choices.”

Okay. So Danny has choices. He swallows his feelings—they taste a lot like snot—and rolls himself inside to inspect the room.

There’s another little fridge inside the sitting area. It’s not right next to the bed like it is beside Danny’s cot, but it is the same style of fridge. When Danny pops the door open, it has the same styles of snacks. Fig Einsteins. Peanut butter squeezies and applesauce squeezies and yogurt squeezies. Protein shakes in bottles. Pedialight. Hummus packs.

Danny might still need someone to open the snack packs for him. That’s kind of a high dexterity food, if he thinks about it.

“If you wish to sitta here, we will visit you all you like. There is a belle at your bed,” Diana says, and walks in with all her purple scrubs and tied-up hair to point to a little button on his nightstand. It’s red. It’s got a little smiley face sticker next to it, and Danny thinks he recognizes the style from one of his nurse’s bestickered name tags. Belle is probably a direct cognate for bell. He’ll be able to get everyone to come up here if he needs help.

…Okay, that’s kind of nice. To have personal space. He hasn’t had that since… Danny’s eyes squint as he thinks; he rubs an eye. Wait, when had he been squatting under a conference table? Was that a real memory??

Diana is very tall, even in the little space, but when she ducks her head, the gesture makes her a little smaller, a little more manageable for Danny’s lower-than-usual-gaze. Now that he can see her expression, she looks soft, and even uncertain, even though she looks stone and strong on the television when she goes out to fight. “Do you like it?” she asks.

Danny fidgets.

He—does. He likes it a lot. The room doesn’t have any windows, but if Danny moved all his things in here, got used to being able to come and go, and people coming in and out…this space could be just another space. It’s quieter than the medical ward. More peaceful.

…The room is utterly devoid of other people.

(Danny thinks of The Box. Danny thinks of being in The Box.)

(Danny doesn’t like remembering The Box.)

“I am scared,” Danny admits to his twitching thumbs, his fingers itching for a fidget toy or one of his physical therapy tools. Diana’s face immediately drops.

“Why are you scared?”

I’ll be alone Danny wants to say, but he doesn’t know the word for alone and he struggled with phrasing. “No…people here.”

“That is triewe. You would have more dīegolnes here,” Diana agrees, and straightens out of her crouch. “Is that good, or bad?”

It isn’t good and it isn’t bad…? Danny isn’t sure how to phrase it. It’s neither. Being alone is just scary.

“You not hurt me,” Danny tries, knowing he’s missing some connecting word in the middle. He ignores how Diana comes back to kneel beside him, because if he looks at her, he won’t say anything. “Do not.”

“No,” Diana says, from beside and below him, gentle, careful. “We do not.”

No. They don’t. Danny swallows. “Bad…hurt me.” He doesn’t know the word for Earth or planet or even downstairs, so he just meekly points downwards.

Diana stills. It’s like watching Vlad’s Maddie cat spot a bird to hunt down. Danny tries not to feel pinned. “On eorþegearde?” she asks, still light, still gentle. Danny can hear a shadow of steel, though, and he counts himself lucky that she’s never treated him like an enemy. Danny quickly nods. His eyes squeeze shut.

“Who?” Diana asks feather-light.

Danny doesn’t want to tell them what he is. Admitting the name of the agency hunting him itself would be given in.

…But maybe if he doesn’t say the name…and they...and they promised they'd help hide him...

He wants to be right. Danny wants to be right that they're nice, and that they want to help him. Danny wants to be right that they want to protect him. As long as he never, nevernotevernever tells them he's a ghost...

Maybe someone will help him. This time.

“Bad,” Danny repeats, because he genuinely has no idea how to translate?? “Wants…hurts me? For…” WHAT WORDS DOES HE KNOW? Danny gives up and just draws a y-shaped autopsy incision on his chest. It goes down from his collarbones to his belly button.

Diana watches. Her eyes are sharp.

“Do you feel safe with the staff dunstæger in medical?” Diana is quick on the ball with the question and Danny nods quickly—he’s never alone there, and no one’s ever hurt him, and people whose job it is to help people are always coming in and out, and Medical helps them too.

“Good,” Danny whispers. “Talk…talks to me.”

“Ealne weg,” Diana affirms firmly. Whatever that means. “We will cepa you safe.”

You safe and we is all Danny needs to hear. He could probably cry by himself, but Danny wants the comfort anyway; Diana lets Danny take her hands into his, and he lets tears fall into someone else’s grip instead of his own.

Bruce is halfway to the monitor room before he feels himself be picked up from underneath the armpits.

Usually finding himself at inappropriate heights involves horseplay from Clark. No one else would be so bold as to actually put their hands on him within the professional setting of the Watchtower—and Bruce has worked very, very hard on maintaining a reputation that keeps the handsier of his fellows at bay.

The culprit is not Clark this time. Bruce finds himself looking downward at Diana’s tearstained face, fury and resignation warring in her expression.

Bruce is careful not to sigh. “Wonder Woman. What is the matter?”

“Someone,” Diana grits out, voice carefully modulated to cut out her own pain, “Hurt my charge.”

On the one hand, the situation with their patient is exactly as Bruce had expected. The circumstance is tragic. The circumstance was predictable.

On the other, Diana's new upset means that Bruce now has more information to work with than ever before.

Bruce can work with this.

“Tell me everything.” Bruce’s voice is just as firm—even held midair like a cat. “I will help you in every way I can.”

#HEy guess who got a covid booster took a nap so fat that SOMEONE almost suffocated and then woke up at 6am to write 1800 words of Hybrids??#Danny: so like. They don't TREAT me like a ghost. so if I just say I'm NOT a ghost..it's good right?? They won't do what mom n dad did??#Wonder Woman (seething with rage): You are NOT going to be able to stop me from killing people #Bruce very quietly: (noted)#health and hybrids #dp x dc #danny phantom #dcu crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #tw medical #tw body horror #tw gore #although at this point we're mostly a recovery fic #this whole thing has been a recovery fic huh #the healing power of watching someone else get picked up after being punted around like a football #I think we're also a mystery fic but I'm really drawing out the details here ngl #clark is eating chips w nightwing rn they're both missing out on the action

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buckyshoneybunny · 3 days

Text

Their Babydoll

WinterWidow + Shy!Stark!Curvy!reader

Summary- Bucky and Natasha take a liking to the shy designer.

W.C.- 2212

Warnings- Smut, fluff, cursing, unprotected sex, oral (fem, reader), cum eating, let me know if I missed anything.

A/N- I hope you guys like! Sorry if the smut sucks, I was tired lol. I know these fics are usually Bucky x Reader x Steve but I would want Nat more. Anyway I already have an idea for a new series and it includes Biker Bucky! Not proof read, all mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy it my lovelies!

Masterlist

“Please Uncle Tony!” You beg for the hundredth time.

“No,” he says, not even looking up from the device he was tweaking.

“But-”

“No,” he interrupts you.

You stick your bottom lip out and give your best puppy eyes. It would always work when you were younger. Now though?

“No”

You groan and cross your arms. You smile to yourself. “You know, Aunt Pepper has been wondering what happened to her-”

“Okay! Okay,” he sighs and pushes the protective glasses further up his nose as he looks at you. “There’s no need to bring Pepper into this.”

You giggle and lean your hip against the table he’s working at. “You always were afraid of Aunt Pepper.”

“I’m not afraid of her,” he huffs. “I just happen to have a healthy amount of respect for her.”

“You’re afraid of her, Tony,” Bruce pipes up from across the lab.

You giggle as Tony sends you and Bruce a glare.

“Why do you even want to use the holographic interfaces?” Tony asks.

“Because it would make designing floor plans so much easier! Using your tech would help me with the critical parts of my job.”

“But you don’t even know how to use them.”

“You could teach me.”

“But I don’t hav-” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he huffs.

You squeal and hug him. “Thank you, Uncle Tony!”

He pats your arm, “Yeah yeah.”

Most people didn’t know Tony had a sister; hell no one knew he actually had any siblings until you showed up with your stuff one rainy day.

Freshly 19 and ready to make a name for yourself in the world of Interior Design, you’d moved to New York thinking this was the best place to do so.

Your mother, Tony’s younger sister only by a few years, called to express her worry of you moving there and being alone.

So, Tony being the ever so giving person he is, and a few not-so-subtle threats from your mother, told you that you could stay at the Avengers Tower. You were furious, ranting about how you wanted to make it on your own and didn’t need any help. But when he mentioned you’d get to meet and spend time with the Avengers, you quickly got over it.

You were so excited to meet the Avengers, you’d always had a major crush on Bucky. You even wrote a paper about him for your history class in the 6th grade. His sparkling steel blue eyes taking you captive. You wanted nothing more than to run your fingers through his shoulder length brown hair, hoping it’s as soft as it looks. And you can’t forget those full, pink lips that could make a gal melt like butter on hot asphalt.

But he was taken, by your second favorite Avenger, Natasha Romanoff. You definitely had a girl crush on her. She was so strong and skilled, every womans idol. She was the reason you tried and failed at learning how to fight. So what if you were thicker than the other girls? Yeah okay, you had thick thighs, a pudgy, soft stomach and flabby arms, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t learn some moves like the other girls. To be fair though, that instructor was a womanizer.

He said, and I quote, that you’d ‘never make it anywhere in life looking like that’. Boy did you prove him wrong. You were one of the best Interior Designers in New York, you had a special touch that other designers didn’t have. And you loved your job, you loved bringing peoples dreams to life and seeing the joy on their face.

You enjoyed it, but it wasn’t always easy. The meticulous planning, writing up contracts, getting a crew for certain aspects in and out on time could be grueling at times, but seeing the looks on your client’s faces when they’d see the finished product was always worth it.

You had been worried when you first got to the Tower, worried the other Avengers wouldn’t like you. It was all for nothing though because they absolutely loved you, you were a part of their dysfunctional family now and they had no plans of letting you go. Everyone had really taken a liking to you, especially Bucky and Natasha.

When you introduced yourself to them with your cheeks flushed, hands nervously fidgeting behind your back, and your shy little voice, it made Natasha want to wrap her arms around you and protect you from the world.

But, on the other hand, seeing your long thick thighs on display, juicy ass just barely covered by the shorts you wore, and your tank top that hugged your curves just right made her’s and Bucky’s mouths water. That body paired with your shy, innocent demeanor made them want to swallow you whole.

They had been happy just the two of them, rekindling their love once they both were free. They never thought about having someone else in their relationship, never wanted anyone else, until you.

One knowing look and desire fill conversation later they knew they had to have you. They just had to be careful so they wouldn’t scare you away, and make sure Tony didn’t find out and do something crazy. He was very protective of you.

So, the next couple of years were spent with heated looks, lingering touches, and subtle hints thrown at you that you never seem to catch. They were tired of this game of chase, frustrated and on a level of horny so high that they couldn’t fuck down no matter how hard they tried. Bucky was this close to fucking up against the closest wall, Natasha not far behind. But they’d soon get what they longed for.

You studied your reflection in the mirror again. The thin strapped, black dress that stopped mid-thigh, and had a slit going up your left thigh, hugged your body perfectly. You wouldn’t normally wear something so revealing but Wanda said this dress was perfect.

She’d said you’d definitely be getting fucked tonight. She may or may not have read Bucky and Natasha’s minds and knew this dress would make them lose it.

Tonight was Sam’s birthday party, although his birthday wasn’t for two more days, he’d be in Louisiana visiting his sister so Steve wanted to throw him a party before he left.

Making sure your curls were perfect, you sprayed on some perfume and put some black heels on and headed down to the floor the party was being held at.

Natasha and Bucky were sat at the bar area, formulating a plan on how to make you theirs. Natasha wore an off the shoulder, floor length, blood red dress that fit her just right, with matching lipstick and heels.

Bucky had a tailor-made, black suit that showed his defined muscles. His face clean-shaven, displaying his sharp jaw and his hair tied back in that low, sexy bun he’s always sporting.

Natasha was the first to see you, choking on her drink as she takes you in, causing Bucky to follow her line of sight. His cock rock hard instantly. She bit her lip and one shared glance; they knew tonight was the night and they had just the plan to do it.

You lock eyes with Natasha and she beckons you over.

“Look at you, firefly,” she grins and you blush.

Bucky whistles and looks you up and down. “You’d give poor old Steve a heart attack in that dress, doll. You look amazing.”

“You think so?” You shyly ask.

“Definitely,” Natasha adds.

You begrudgingly do a shot with them after the persisted you do at least one to help loosen you up, even though they knew you didn’t like alcohol. They didn’t leave your side the rest of the night, not that you minded, you loved being the center of their attention. They were waiting for the perfect moment to sneak you away, that moment came after the cake and presents, everyone having gone back to drinking and dancing.

Natasha loops her arm with yours. “So, firefly,” she smirks. “Me and Bucky were thinking of changing up our room, think you could help us?” There a devious sparkle in her eyes that you miss.

Your eyes light up. “Yes!” You smile.

They lead you away from the party and up to their room. Once inside Bucky locks the door. You look around as Natasha comes up behind you and puts her hands on your waist. She runs her nose up the side of your neck, taking in the scent of your perfume. You freeze.

“Nat?” You ask on a shaky whisper.

“Yes, firefly?” She nibbles on your ear, causing you to shudder.

Bucky stands in front of you and cups your face, tilting your head to make you look at him. His lips inches from yours. Your follow-up question gets stuck in your throat.

“Do you know,” Bucky starts, leaning forward to nudge his nose with yours.

“How long we’ve been waiting for you?” Natasha finishes, kissing your shoulder.

“What?” You ask through the already forming fog in your brain.

“We want you, firefly. Will you let us have you?” She slides her hands up to just under your boobs, waiting for your consent. You whimper and nod.

“Words doll,” Bucky says.

“Yes,” you whisper breathlessly.

Bucky smashes his lips to yours as Natasha cups your boobs, squeezing them. You moan and grab Bucky’s forearms.

He steps back and takes his suit jacket off, instructing Nat to take your dress off. She slowly unzips the dress and pushes the straps off your shoulders. It gets bunched around your middle, you blush, insecurities sneaking up on you. She just pushes it the rest of the way down.

Your hands itch to cover yourself but stop when Bucky lets out a deep groan. He whispers a fuck and reaches down to squeeze his throbbing cock. You let out a whine.

“Get on the bed and spread those gorgeous thighs, doll,” he rasps. His eyes black with lust. Your bra and panties come off and you get on the bed, laying on your back and shyly spreading your thighs.

Natasha moans. “Look at her Buck.” He hums and pushes the straps of her dress off her shoulder, revealing she had nothing on underneath. He groans and kisses her; she unbuttons his shirt. You whine, more slick coming out and coating your folds. They break apart and grin.

While Bucky finishes taking his clothes off, Natasha comes beside you and starts to play with your breasts, pinching and tugging your nipples causing you to moan. Bucky, now naked, kneels between your legs, taking in the sight of your soaked pussy.

“Already so wet and we’ve hardly touched you babydoll,” he taunts. You whine, the feeling of his hot breath causing you to shudder.

“Don’t tease her Buck,” Natasha says as she takes one of your nipples into her mouth.

She nips lightly at the bud as Bucky presses his tongue to your clit, you let out a high-pitched moan and grip his hair. As she teases your nipples, Bucky eats you out like a starved man, mumbling out how good you taste in between slurps and gasps of breath.

Bucky can’t handle it anymore and stands up before you can cum. “I gotta be in you, doll, fuck.” He gets in between your legs and lines his leaking tip up with your entrance.

He slowly slides in and your eyes roll back. He gives you a second once he bottoms out, letting you adjust. Natasha rubs your clit as he starts to move.

“How does she feel?” She asks

“S’fucking good, so tight, shit” He groans and pounds into you.

Natasha oscillates between making out with you and sucking you breasts and leaving hickies. She keeps rubbing your clit. You grip the sheets, panting and moaning. Bucky angles his thrusts just right and you scream as he hits that spot inside of you that causes you to see stars.

“I-I’m go-....gonna...” You can’t even finish your sentence.

He speeds up his thrusts, “Cum, doll, soak my cock.”

Your eyes roll back and your back arches as you squirt, soaking his balls, thighs, and the bed. His hips stutter as he cums unexpectedly, he rides out both of your highs, his cock not softening at all.

Natasha motions for him to pull, when he does, she immediately gets between your legs and eats you out, moaning at the taste of your slick and Bucky’s cum. He groans and starts to fuck her.

This goes on for hours, both of them pull orgasms out of you. By the end of it, you lay cuddle between them, exhausted. They say that they want you to be a part of their relationship, you agree, feeling like you’re dreaming. The two people you’ve had the biggest crush on actually wanted you to be with them, you couldn’t have been happier.

When Tony finds out he whacks both Natasha and Bucky in the back of the head with a rolled-up newspaper. He also now carries a spray bottle with him for when y’all get a little too handsy.

All in all you’re living your dream and you couldn’t be happier.

#honeybunnywrites #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky #bucky fanfic #marvel #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff smut

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miasmaghoul · 3 days

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WAHHHH AEON CONVINCING EVERYONE THEYRE HIS FIRST. thinkijg thoughts about omega and aether breaking him in and then hes all virgin to whoevers next and after they go to aether like “why did u not fuck the new guy??” and aethers like i did?? and it all comes out but they keep it a secret to see how long/how many ghouls/papas aeon can get with his bit

I think Aether is his first, and he's enough of a gentleman not to let anyone know. Not his information to share - well except for one night when he replays it all for Dew in excruciating detail, but that's easily taken care of with a little quintosis. No harm done.

Swiss is Aeon's second, though, and he's been enough of an actual first to be able to see right through Aeon's coy smiles and the way he bats his lashes. It's easy enough to figure out who was:

"Can't believe I haven't gotten my hands on you yet."

Swiss murmurs it into his throat, both hands shoved into Aeon's hastily undone jeans. One tugging at his semi and the other curled around his bony hip, Swiss' rough fingers petting at his hole. Aeon's gasping already, still half-tangled in the hoodie he was removing when Swiss shoved him onto one of the hotel beds. This is what he gets for spending all evening - hells, all day, really - being a flirty little shit, he supposes. He licks his lips and swallows hard, putting on his best innocent face; wide, damp puppy eyes, pouty lips, the whole nine yards. Swiss stares down at him like a wolf who's pinned a deer, smile sharp even without his fangs, and Aeon's heart skips in his chest. He knew Swiss would be rough, but this is a thrill.

"Surprised Aether didn't get you first," Swiss rumbles with a twist of his wrist, and Aeon gives himself away when his eyes glaze over.

Swiss isn't even sure if the other ghoul knows he does this, or if the others have caught it, but when Aeon really remembers something he sort of...disappears for a second. Just for a heartbeat, very easy to miss if you aren't looking for it, but Swiss has spent more than enough time with the new kid to pick up on it. It's like he's reliving the moment he's been reminded of in a flash. Swiss wonders if it has something to do with his magick; Omega had something of a photographic memory, maybe Aeon has something similar? He doesn't know.

What he does know, is that when he says Aether's name Aeon does that thing where he goes away for a moment, and his cock flexes so hard they both choke.

So that's a yes, then.

Swiss doesn't say a word, lets Aeon play the blushing virgin because, well, it's not like he isn't into that, and holds him close afterwards. Gives him a bath and orders his favorite takeout meal before they go to sleep. He even lets Aeon be the big spoon.

He calls Aether while Aeon's in the shower the next morning, just to make sure, and the silence when he asks Aether if he knows if Aeon's slept with anyone is so, so loud. Swiss says it's kinda hot that Aeon likes to play pretend, and they both manage to squeeze out a quick one and agree to keep this knowledge to themselves before Aeon's even done in the bathroom. Swiss texts Aether a quick video of him blowing a kiss with his cummy hand, and Aether responds in kind.

After that, I think Mountain is next, but he isn't one to brag. Rain comes after that, but is suspicious about being Aeon's first despite his shy admissions while Rain was between his legs. He finds out for sure via a good ol' fashioned footjob, because Mountain would give up nuclear launch codes if it meant having the chance to feel Rain's toes work the head of his cock. Rain doesn't feel particularly miffed - the kid put on a good show, after all, and good sex is good sex. He and Mountain both think they're the only ones, though, so they agree to keep it between them.

Word gets out after Dew has his turn with Aeon and brags about it to Swiss over gas station coffee a few days later. Swiss, who cannot for the life of him let the little guy have anything, and immediately snorts into his styrofoam cup. Rain overhears them and they all share a knowing snicker (as soon as Dew finishes scowling) once they figure out Aeon's little game. Swiss calls Cirrus over to let her know, just in case Aeon's tried the same thing with her, and she looks absolutely delighted.

"He asked me just yesterday if I would "answer some questions about his body"," she shares, accepting a sip of Dew's hot chocolate. "That he's experiencing some "new things" and has "questions about girls." He was blushing like a whore in church and everything."

The squeak of sneakers on slick tile echoes behind them, and a pair of lanky arms loop themselves between Swiss and Rain's shoulders.

"Speak of the devil," Swiss grunts, Aeon tugging him down to plant a good morning kiss on his cheek. Aeon grins.

"Mornin' Cir," he greets with a nod, ignoring the rest of them entirely. The ghouls share a collective eye roll. "I just talked to Papa, like you asked." If the new kid's tail was out, it would be wagging like an excited retriever's. "He said it's $750 for tomorrow and $1250 for Thursday, but if you need more then just use the black card."

Cirrus gives him a warm smile, reaching across their little circle to ruffle his hair. Aeon beams at her, might as well have hearts in his eyes when she cups his chin and says,

"Good boy, thank you."

Cirrus gives his cheek an affectionate pat, and that blush they've all come to know by now makes its appearance.

"Tell you what - come to my room tonight. You can help me pick out where we stay for the next few nights. I can show you all sorts of secrets," she adds, giving him a slow once over that makes Aeon flush down his throat. "About how to pick the right hotel in these smaller areas, of course," she clarifies, handing Dew back his lipstick-stained cup and straightening her coat. "I might even have the girls drop in and give you some extra hints."

Cirrus winks, and Aeon's walk to the bus is slow and awkward. They all have the kindness to hold in their laughter until he's out of earshot, but Swiss and Rain both have tears running down their cheeks by the time they calm down.

"Don't break the kid, Cir," Dew says through a cough, wiping his eyes. "I have at least one more ticket for that ride."

"No promises," she grins, eyes sparkling. "Oh he's going to be fun."

That night, Cumulus and Aurora have him together, with Cirrus guiding them all through a very thorough anatomy lesson because Aeon is just so new to all this and has no idea what he's doing, please don't tell anyone:((((. And they're all just so sweet to him, so giving, even after it starts to hurt because they just know he must have so much stuffed inside those tight little balls of his if this is his first time!

They pinky swear not to tell anyone that he cries.

#miasma's work #the band ghost ficlets #aeon ghoul #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #cirrus ghoulette #phantom ghoul #(for tagging purposes)#aeon/everyone #aeon/swiss #aeon/rain #rain/mountain #aeon/cirrus #cw virginity kink #not rereading before posting so if you see mistakes #no u dont

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glaciertea · 3 days

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Tickets for Two

Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader two-shot

Part 2 (coming soon)

This is part one of this story that's been on my mind for quite a while.

Summary: Working the graveyard shift at a movie theater has it quirks. It's not the best thing, and it's not the worst.

Well, there is one thing that keeps you from leaving this job.

The huge, gorgeous man who comes in every Thursday.

CW: Nothing for this chapter, just having a crush on Miguel.

Word count: 1.7k

There was something about Thursday nights in the movie theater that always made you exhilarated.

It wasn't the smell of freshly stale popcorn that stunk up your nostrils or the fact that you were able to score the after-hours time slot on this day. The ones many would kill to have because after 9 p.m., the place is a barren ghost town. Oh, no. It wasn't one of those reasons.

It was him.

Throughout the year and a half you managed to survive working here; you've never seen a man like that before in your life. Yes, you've seen your fair share of attractive people come in and out; of course, this was a place to watch the latest hit-or-miss films. But this one, this one was different.

Tall, high cheekbones, a jawline that could shapren diamonds merely by looking at them, those piercing eyes, and those muscles. You always have to pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming.

He started coming three months ago for the ‘Traditional Thursdays’ feature presentation. Your theater would show old movies from the 1930's ranging to the 2020's or 2030's. It was a nice addition, as your boss wanted to have that “retro-style feel,” and it was pretty successful… if one were to go at the 9 p.m. slot. That frame usually brought in a decent amount of customers, but you were happy to not deal with that anymore.

You managed to get in the ten-to-one schedule block. It was a ghost town during those hours, especially with the midnight showings. You would lounge behind the concession, eyeing a few nightcrawlers emerge, but you would wait for him.

He would walk through the sliding doors exactly at midnight. Never a minute early, never a minute late. The actual film doesn't begin until 12:10 to showcase the following week's feature and a trailer or two.

So it gives him enough time to head in your direction. He has become a regular for you, always ordering a medium black roast coffee, a small popcorn, and a pack of gummy worms. It got to the point where you realized the items were never going to change, so you made it a habit to have them prepared for him on hand. You barely speak because you don't know what to conjure up, and you certainly don't want to make a fool of yourself, so you stick to the basic “Here's your order” and “Enjoy your film.”

He always responds with a “Thank you” or an “I appreciate it,” and each time, your knees will wobble. His voice was smoother than the butter that you poured on the popcorn. He had you weak. His chiseled profile, his domineering height—he was too good to be true. You want to know more about him, but he's very much to himself. You are intimidated by him; his demeanor can make him seem unapproachable, but that only draws you in more.

There will be a day you will finally find the courage to strike up a conversation. One day.

You just weren't expecting it to be today. You manned the concussion stand, eyeing the time and counting the milliseconds. It was, of course, slow, but you loved it. Easy money to you.

His order was fresh and ready to go; he was going to stroll in less than a minute, and you had to put a lid on your excitement. And like clockwork, he came in and made his way right to you.

Putting on your best smile, you placed the snacks and beverage on the counter. “I got everything ready to go, sir. Piping hot and a new batch of popcorn made.”

“Actually, I want to switch it up. I'm sorry for the inconvenience.”

Your brain practically malfunctioned. Not from the request, but from the fact he uttered more words to you. Your reaction must have given something away as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“If not, that's fine. I don't want you wasting supplies on me.”

Scolding yourself, you shook your head and waved your hands. “No, no! No, sir, it's not an inconvenience at all. I'll gladly ring you up with a new order. Anything for the customer.” You despised saying that phrase as it got so many ungrateful, smug idiots out of problems they decided to cause. But for him? You would repeat it endlessly.

Discarding the usual and clearing the order from the register, you nodded. “What are your taste buds tingling for?” Did you really say those words in that order? Your body suddenly wanted to combust.

The man raised a brow as you chuckled nervously. “That sounded... less dumber in my head.”

His lips turned upwards at that, and your heart stopped. He smiles? He can smile! You never once saw him do that, but if you did, you managed to miss it. He managed to look more radiant; how was that possible?

“Well, my taste buds are craving pretzel bites, fruit snacks, and... can I make my medium roast into a large?”

“Yes, sir, I'll try to get it done before the film starts.”

“No hay necesidad de apresurarse. Take your time.”

“Okay.” You squeaked out, hiding your flustered state from him.

Miguel rested his arms on the countertop and observed the way you moved back and forth, blending new beans and meticulously placing the hot pretzels in a bag.

“Here you go.” You reached down and took a packet of fruits and propped it nicely on the pretzel bag. “Steaming and raring to go.”

“Are you usually precise when making these orders?” Miguel pulled his wallet out and paid for the meal, leaving a nice tip.

“Kind of. Maybe it's because I have more time to do these things, and I like my regulars to enjoy nice treats.” You grinned and went to clean up his usual. “I hope you enjoy.

“I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Definitely keeping sure. Thank you again.”

You didn't know what meant by that as he took up his things and headed off to catch the film. You put your hand to your chest and calmed your heart rate, going on about your night. You honestly believed that would've been the end of that interaction and that the following week would revert back to the same old, same old, but you were far from it.

The next Thursday, he was there, but fifteen minutes earlier, asking for a new item from the menu alongside the other treats. You were once again thrown off, but that didn't mean you got to be near his presence more, and if not longer.

It started off with small extras. A bag of pretzels, sized up on the popcorn, an extra bag of candy—nothing too extravagant. However, as the weeks coasted by, the orders got bigger. A hotdog, flatbread pizza, sliders—those meals took you longer to make, but you did not mind one bit.

You got to chat with him constantly; when Thursday rolled around, you had that extra pep in your step. The conversations ranged from his tedious office filled with people of the same personality, the many tales of strange movie customers from you, or anything that springs to mind. He was awkward, loveable, and sweet, and your crush for him only grew more with each visit. To the point that it was overwhelming.

And it wasn't blowing away anytime soon.

You were fixing him up a basket of curly fries and chicken tenders casually yapping away when the topic of movie genres popped up.

“I'm into animated movies. They seemingly are able to convey more emotions than actual humans.”

Miguel enjoyed watching you; he honestly preferred looking at you than the film he was supposed to see. “I enjoy them as well. They tend to have moments that resonate with you on a higher emotional level.” He tapped his finger on the glass counter. “Do you have any favorites?”

“Hmm.” You rubbed your chin before moving back over to the fries and dumping some extra salt and pepper on them (they barely had any flavor to them). “I like a good Lixar film. It's funny how they're able to give certain things sentiment. Rather it's inanimate or not, they find a way. I mean, they gave a torso and sweater emotions. A sweater!” You poured the fries into the plastic basket and moved onto the tenders. “Now in particular, I love Bouillabaisse. Up is a heartbreaker, but I can understand the older man's pain. Searching Elmo is so gorgeous, especially for the time it came out. And Coco, that's a tearjerker. That ending scene when he's singing to her? Gets me every time.”

“I enjoyed all those as well.” Miguel took a sip of his freshly brewed coffee. “Especially the last one.”

“Oh yeah?” You grabbed some tongs and flipped the tenders to cook them evenly.

“Sí. A bit of a bias though.”

“A bias?”

“I share the name of the main character.” He stared right into your eyes as he said that.

“Miguel.” It was velvety as it slid off your tongue.

Was that a suave way of him giving his name? It never occurred to you that you actually never learned his name. He knew yours because of the required name tag, but you were glad to know it now and took it with no complaints.

“It fits.” You smiled and finally finished and rang up his meal. “I shouldn't keep you from the movie. I hope everything is of satisfaction for you.”

“You already know it will be.” He paid and reached for his goods when he stopped.

You crooked your neck and looked down to make sure you didn't miss anything. His usual and the new meal were there, so you didn't know what was up.

“Is everything okay? Did I mess up your order?”

“Everything is fine. I only want to…” he snatched up a napkin and scanned, even going as far as peering over the counter.

“Miguel?”

“Do you have a pen?”

“Yes?” You took one from under the register and handed it to him.

“Thank you.” He scribbled down at lightning pace and folded it half, sliding it across to you. “I'll see you then.” He bowed his head, snagged up his meal and left.

You had to wait several seconds to recover from your shock when you hastily snatched up the napkin and opened it up. You drew your lips to your teeth to prevent yourself from screaming.

There were ten digits written in blue.

#miguel fanfic #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel x you #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x reader #two shot

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outofconcheol · 1 day

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Tune In For Love (KSM x GN!Reader)

pairing: college radio host!Seungmin x co-host!reader

genres/au/rating: sfw, mostly fluff, the mildest of angst, idiots to lovers, pg

summary: When you and Seungmin come up with a crazy new idea for your radio show, a week of chaos and unspoken feelings unfolds. As you learn more about relationships, will the two of you tune in for love? Or decide to shut it down completely?

warnings: swearing, fake exes trope, a playlist of seungmin coded songs mentioned, stupid amounts of pining, mentions of relationship drama, they almost kiss, then they actually kiss, one mild (joking ) threat of violence, Jeongin being the best wingman ever, RAIN, Ningning, Joshua, Cheol, and Day6 all make cameos

word count: 2.8k

a/n: happy Seungmin day!! honestly this could have been a whole fic on its own but i'm happy with this cute little drabble! this draws some inspiration from the ex talk by rachel lynn solomon. our boy deserves all the love, i hope you enjoy!

“Okay everyone, this has been another week at The Sound FM, the university’s #1 radio station! ____ and Seungmin signing off!”

Your voice fades out to the tune of the hit that Seungmin had selected for the week, ears perking up at the rumble of the bass and the tick tick tick of the hi-hat. Another Day6 song. Congratulations this time.

“When will you admit that you’re Day6’s number one fan?”

“When you admit that you’re their number two,” Seungmin adjusts his glasses, a devious smirk lighting up his face.

(You were, but you would never give Seungmin the satisfaction.)

“That segment on how to deal with the stress of midterms turned out great! What should we do next?”

You fidget with your pen, tapping it against your notepad, twirling it around in your fingers, before moving to put it behind your ear–

Seungmin’s hands shoot out, fingers clasping around yours for a brief moment, and a shiver runs through you, despite the fact that it was sunny outside with not a cloud in sight.

“I had an idea, actually, well it’s not my idea, Jeongin brought it up..”

For however composed the two of you were on air, you turned into awkward rambling messes when the mics were off. It had always been like that though. You’d been hosting the show with Seungmin for the better part of a year and you still didn’t know why you felt shy around him, or why you’d barely progressed beyond simple acquaintances.

“There’s this girl that uh, he, yeah he wants to impress, so he was asking if our next segment could maybe have something to do with dating advice.”

“That is sooo much better than the segment on recycling tips I was planning,” you nudge him, oblivious to the way his ears turn red.

“Oooh but what if we make it spicy you know? Like approach relationships from a different angle?”

“What angle?” Seungmin rubs at the back of his neck. “As far as I know, neither of us are in a relationship. I mean, right?”

“Right but no one else has to know that! What if we pretend that we’re exes, who broke up? Hindsight is always 20/20, people will eat that up!”

“I thought I was supposed to be the menace here,” Seungmin’s tone is deadpan but his eyes sparkle with mischief.

“What can I say, you’re rubbing off on me Min,” you giggle. “So, what do you say we put your charm to good use?”

“You think I’m charming ___?”

You miss the excitement in his tone, writing it off as enthusiasm for the whole absurdity of this plan.

“Who knows, Min! Maybe we’ll even find people! This is so exciting!”

Seungmin pauses briefly, a choked sound escaping his mouth, but you think you imagine it, watching him straighten and nod.

Laughter fills the studio as you bicker back and forth about what to include and how the next week would go. It was a risk, but you hoped it would pay off — both on the airwaves and maybe even for your stagnant love life. The possibilities were endless.

“Hello, and welcome to Tune in For Love! We are your hosts, ___ and Seungmin, and for the next week we’ll be tackling all your relationship questions and concerns!”

Your voice booms into the mic, echoing throughout the tiny studio, and you take a moment to mute yourself, heart pounding in your ears. Butterflies had begun to bubble up in your chest – you were really doing this.

“You ready for this?” Seungmin’s voice knocks you out of your daze, and you look over to see his lips twist into a lazy smile, running his fingers through his hair.

Fuck. Why did that make your stomach flip-flop?

You give him a shaky nod. It was probably just the rush of trying something new, so different from what you were used to. The simultaneous thrill and terror of dipping your toes into uncharted waters.

Seungmin unmutes the mic, his softer, more melodious voice reverberating into the windscreen. He’d make a great singer, you think. Maybe for your next segment you could convince him to croon on air.

“We’re your resident experts on dating, whether it's still in the early stages of puppy love, the cool cruising of the honeymoon phase, or the bitter sting of love gone wrong. We have all your answers, right here, right now on The Sound FM!”

“Trust me, we’ve had experience with all of those,” you chuckle.

The story just falls off your tongue – a tumultuous end to a relationship that had never existed, one full of angst and heartbreak that even the finest writer couldn’t think of. Seungmin interrupts you spontaneously to respond to your dramatic anecdotes with dry quips of his, and you can’t believe it — you actually sound like a couple. A real couple.

“How was I supposed to know you were allergic to garlic? You let me take you to an Italian restaurant on the first date!”

“As my boyfriend, you should have asked my best friend about my allergies! That’s like standard dating protocol,” you shoot back, making sure to smile so that Seungmin knows you’re not serious.

“Noted, I’ll keep that in mind for the next relationship,” Seungmin grunts, the air becoming thick with a tension you can’t pinpoint.

Clearing your throat, your fingers hover over the buttons of the soundboard.

“How about we take some listener calls instead?”

The line crackles to life, a caller named Ningning groaning about how her girlfriend forget their anniversary and didn’t even apologize.

“It’s an honest mistake,” Seungmin mutters.

“I don’t think so,” you counter, chewing your lip. “It’s important to be considerate of special moments like anniversaries, birthdays. It means you care. I mean Seungmin probably doesn’t even remember mine–”

“October 17th,” he interrupts you, and you go rigid. How did he even know?

I asked Jeongin, he mouths, and it only leaves you more confused. Why would he need to know that? It leaves you more embarrassed that you don’t know his exact day, only that it was sometime in September.

Ningning rambles on, thanking you both for the added perspective and resolving to make things right with her girlfriend. You feel your heart warm at her determination, amazed at the effect that you and Seungmin had already managed to have on your listeners.

Seungmin closes out the show, the easygoing and carefree chords of Polaroid Love ringing into the mic, and you think to yourself, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

As the sun sets, campus comes alive, buzzing with excitement. You glance out the window, watching students filter out of the library, walking towards the commons for a cup of coffee, or hugging outside their dorms. A deep pang of longing hits your gut, not sure whether its from watching them outside or the fact that you’re cramped here in the tiny studio, band posters all over the walls, and Seungmin is playing Love You For A Long Time, Maggie Rogers’ ethereal voice filling the space between you.

“Had to ease you into our next listener call,” Seungmin grins into the mic. “This one is – ouch. It might hit home for some of us, I mean you all.”

“Hi, ___ and Seungmin? I’m Joshua, a senior. I’m calling because I have a dilemma – my best friend Seungcheol just started dating my ex, and I’m not sure how to feel. On one hand I wanna be happy for them, but on the other hand, I’m a mess. What would you do if you found out one of you was dating someone else?”

“Oh.” Seungmin breathes out, and he remains there, lips parted like he’s frozen. An awkward silence falls over the studio, and you’re sure Joshua is blinking on the other end of the line, wondering what the hell just happened.

“I’m not sure,” you shudder, thinking of the hypothetical situation. But it wasn’t so hypothetical. You and Seungmin were free to date people. There was nothing stopping you. But it still felt wrong somehow.

“I would give yourself some space, Joshua. Take time to confront your own feelings about this, and when you’re ready you can decide what to do. Let yourself heal first.”

“That’s a good answer,” Seungmin whispers, and you panic, muttering out a rushed goodbye before cutting the broadcast.

“Wow,” you sigh. “That was, I–, I guess I didn’t think of that when I suggested this.”

“Think of what?” Seungmin’s eyes glimmer with interest, and he leans in closer.

“How shit would get so deep? Like how would I actually react if that happened to me? I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Sometimes this feels almost like we’re not pretending,” Seungmin murmurs, a strained laugh escaping his throat, a mask for the change in his tone.

You’re not sure what you want to say, but it feels like you should say something. The moment hangs heavy in between you two, and you don’t remember how Seungmin got so close, brushing his thumb against your cheek.

“Seungmin, I–”

“You had a piece of hair in your face,” he responds, straightening up to stretch his arms. “It’s late, want me to grab you an americano?”

Shaking your head, you manage to muster up a weak response, telling him to go ahead without you. He nods slightly, before throwing his jacket on and slipping out the door, leaving you alone.

An unsettling dilemma dawns on you – this was supposed to be an act, but why did it feel so real?

“You know,” Jeongin’s loud chewing echoes in the dining hall, Seungmin bristling as he watches his friend stuff five french fries into his mouth at once. “I should revoke your roommate privileges for this stunt you pulled. I thought you were grumpy before, but breaking up with ____ has taken it to a whole new level.”

Seungmin scowls, cursing under his breath at Jeongin. Yanking his headphones out of his ears, the lamenting tune of These Days by Wallows cuts off abruptly.

Outside the rain patters, echoing his stormy emotions. Over the course of the past week, his mood had felt like he was on the world’s most nausea-inducing roller coaster ride. The highs were the times he got to spend with you in the studio, cracking jokes and watching your eyes shine as the two of you came up with the next devious plot for the show. The lows were the knot in his stomach every time someone would call in with a question that hit a little too hard.

After this week, he was glad the show would end, and maybe you guys could go back to the way things were before. That easy, comfortable dynamic that always existed between you two.

“Bullshit,” Jeongin sees the way his eyes zone out, like he can read Seungmin’s mind. “I know you, and I know what you’re thinking and it’s absolute bullshit. You’re in too deep, hyung.”

“I’ll fucking punch you,” Seungmin hisses. “What the hell am I supposed to do, huh? Just spill to ___ that this isn’t some game for me? That my feelings are real? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Hyung–”

A gasp echoes from behind him, and Seungmin turns to see you behind him. Your lip trembles, and you lock eyes with him, a tear escaping the corner before you’re turning on your heels, running out of the dining hall.

Seungmin stands there, frozen with the weight of what he’d just confessed, heart sinking to his shoes. All of a sudden, he feels a sharp jab to his arm, Jeongin’s fist colliding with it.

“What are you waiting for? Run!”

The rain pelts the back of Seungmin’s neck as he runs, indifferent to the fact that he’s probably soaked to the bone, slipping and sliding along the cobblestone. He can make out your figure storming ahead furiously, like you can’t get away fast enough, and he speeds up, panic in his voice.

“___, wait! Please stop.”

His voice turns hoarse from all the yelling, and he’s about to give up, turn back in defeat (and go sock Jeongin cry into his friend’s shoulder), when you stop under a streetlight, your figure slumping.

Seungmin is by your side in moments, not caring that he takes your hands in his, blowing on them to give you warmth.

“Y-you d-don’t even h-have an umbrella, w-what were y-you thinking?” he chatters, and he watches your lips turn up in a smile. But your eyes remain downcast.

“What about you?” you whisper, and Seungmin cocks his head, looking at you in confusion.

“I left my jacket in the dining hall with Jeongin—”

“No Seungmin, I mean what about you?” your voice croaks desperately.

Seungmin takes a deep breath. There was no use in pretending anymore.

“I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do,” he chokes out.

You take his hands in yours and Seungmin feels dizzy. The cold rain no longer bothers him, warmth filling his veins from the inside out.

“You think?” you sniffle.

“I know. I know I’ve been in love with you, since the day you walked into the studio and pitched your ideas for five-star dorm meals.”

“I really like your hands,” you blurt out, and Seungmin’s eyes widen in shock. That was not the response you’d been expecting.

“They’re warm when mine are always cold, I like the way they look when they’re holding a pencil, or when you bring me a cup of coffee. I like your voice too – the way you sing along to Day6 when you think no one is listening, or your annoying little laugh–”

“It is not annoying–”

You press a finger to his lips, and Seungmin thinks he might just evaporate.

“Not now, Min. I’m trying to say something here. What I’m trying to say is that if there’s anything this whole week has taught me, it’s how much I like you. How much I want to have those crappy problems that everyone complains about with you, how much I want to celebrate birthdays with you, and anniversaries with you, and how I think I might collapse inside if I ever saw you with someone else—”

It’s Seungmin’s turn to interrupt you now, cold lips colliding with yours, the initial shock replaced with heat. Your hands burrow into his hair and he draws you closer, hands weaving around your waist. The startled, frantic sounds of your breathing did nothing to help the pounding of his heart, and he wonders if you can hear it too.

In this moment, Seungmin never wants to let go, holding you steady against him even when you part, your breath fanning in the cold air.

“I just, I, needed to be honest. No more pretending.”

“No more pretending,” he smiles against your lips, nudging his nose against yours.

The wet slap of shoes against the pavement interrupts you both, turning to see the Jeongin behind you, Seungmin’s jacket in his arms. He takes in the sight of you two wrapped around each other, a smug grin lighting up his entire face.

“Hell yeah! It worked!”

“___ and Seungmin signing off, this is Tune in For Love on The Sound FM, and we’ve loved having you this week!”

The air in the studio buzzes with a different kind of excitement – the dreamy notes of Hypnotized by The Weston Estate filling up the room.

“Before we go, we have something to share with you–” your voice wobbles, and Seungmin reaches out immediately, squeezing your hand.

“Please send your email petitions in so our show doesn’t get canceled, but we’ve been faking it this whole time. We’re not actually exes.”

You can almost hear the collective gasp across campus, the soundboard going crazy as it lights up with calls.

“We are, as of yesterday, the happiest, and newest–, couple on campus,” Seungmin beams, his pride echoing through the mic and your heart lurches at how right it feels to be his.

You hit the answer button, the lines flooding with congratulations and well-wishes to the news.

“Congrats!” Ningning’s voice echoes. “I always thought you were the cutest together.”

“You make me want to find someone of my own now,” Joshua says in the background, and the studio fills with you and Seungmin’s laughter.

When the last call goes through, Jeongin gives you both a thumbs up, shutting off the soundboard.

You turn to Seungmin, heart racing.

“I can’t believe we actually did this,” he says, half-laughing.

“Me neither,” you reply, a soft smile on his lips. “But I’m really glad we did. It feels… right, you know?”

“Thanks for being part of this with us,” he echoes through the airwaves, his voice sincere. “We’re excited to see what’s next—together. And while the show may be over, we hope you’ll still tune in for love every single week — no matter the topic.”

“Next – how to cook a five star meal worthy of any restaurant using just your dorm microwave…”

a/n pt. 2: As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

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