#gnat be quiet

[lucky-slice]

Something that TSC has me thinking about is the contrast between Kevin and Jean after leaving the Nest.

Like Jean is very confused by being confronted by the fact that his treatment in the Nest (and the Raven's as a whole) is deemed as fucked up and weird.

But you don't see that same dissidence from Kevin. Part of that is that the timelines are off so we never got to see Kevin's acclimation into the real world and we never got Kevin's pov, but another part is how different their experiences were. And I don't mean like in terms of actual treatment in the nest.

Kevin and Riko were the only ones permitted to do press. They were out of the Nest and presumably talking to other teams / people outside of games even if it was still in a controlled environment. It is more than likely that Kevin was aware that the Ravens and the abuse against him was not normal even if he didn't view it as abuse. Riko was his brother and Tetsuji was not just his coach but also his guardian. He was very aware of his place and fully bought into the Raven mind set.

However, he had media training from a very young age for a reason; to lie his pretty little face off.

Which is why I think Kevin was probably very good at hiding his coping mechanisms and trauma. Obviously, we see him using alcohol to deal with anxiety attacks, but besides that, Kevin blends fairly well into what could be deemed as normal (at least by fox standards). Wymack explicitly states that Kevin does not talk about his time at the Nest. He only reveals what is necessary for Wymack/ the foxes to understand the situation with Riko and the Moriyamas and that's it. There are no hints of anything personal.

There was a post going around about Kevin doing night training partially because his body was accustomed to doing 16 hour days for the majority of his life, but how many other things was Kevin doing (whether subconsciously or consciously) to cope? Even something as small as allowing himself to wear colours other than black.

#kevin day #i think kevin was very experienced with lying not only to the public but also to himself #the mental gymnastics that boy must have been going through when he first moved to PSU must have been insane #gnat be quiet #tsc spoilers

[echthr0s]

thinkin about the fact that Astarion's Background is called "Charlatan" and how that probably had something to do with why I found him so grating at first

#it isn't the most seamless mask. the incongruity is like seeing double in a way that makes one's head hurt #or listening to a quiet haunting melody only for someone to start blasting a bubblegum pop song over it #like. stop that. i get why you're doing it but *waves hand like there's a gnat in my face* bzzzzt #the charade is less prominent now that we've travelled together for a while and been revelatory to each other. feels different. #baldur's gate

[dilfl0v3rss]

mini me

summary: dad!ony and his mini me

cw: suggestive towards the end

word count: 1.1k

part 2

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

your son was only eight years old, but because of his father he acted way older. whether it be how he talked or how he would handle different situations it was easy to tell that he was “ony’s kid”.

it was a satuday morning. you had just finished up breakfast, making finishing touches on your son omari’s plate before you saw him and his father walk in. you had to cover your mouth to contain your laughter when you got a look at what they were wearing. ony had on his dark grey durag, black tank top fitting snug on his broad chest with his black and white plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips. white dry fit socks covering his feet in his resin yeezy slides. over the years he’s bulked up, converting most of the weight he’s gained from your cooking into muscle.

omari had on the same exact thing, but since he was so small everything looked so baggy. his tank top fit loosely on his little chest while you can tell he rolled his pajama pants at least twice for them to fit his small waist. the only things that fit right were his socks and slides since they were both things that you gifted him. the cutest thing was their durags though. the suede fabric looked nice on their heads with a small “o” on the strings so when they tie them up it can show. “g’morning beautiful” ony said as he sat down in front of his plate.

his morning voice always sounded so good. of course your son mirrored his actions, sitting down in front of his plate as well before greeting you. “g’morning momma. you look pretty” you can tell he was lowering his voice, puberty not yet hitting him to give him the same gravely tone as his father. you chuckled, walking over to them to fill their cups with orange juice. “good morning boys. what y’all getting into today.” ony began cutting into his french toasts, pouring syrup on them before moving his knife to cut omari’s up as well. “finna take man man to the park to shoot some hoops wit me.” omari nodded in agreement. “finna show all the girls my skills and they gon be chasing after me. right dad?” ony nearly choked on his spit, grabbing his cup to sip on his orange juice to wash it down.

you didn’t miss his arm nudging your son’s, signaling him to keep quiet. “excuse me? what girls?” omari opened his mouth to speak but was quickly cut off by his father. “it’s nun mama he just talking. right peanut?” ony and omari looked at each other, silently communicating about what to say next. “uhh y-yea. m’just talking momma.” you rolled your eyes at this. they were basically the same person in two different bodies. “whatever boy just stay outta trouble.” you said, pointing your finger at them before walking off into your room. you took your silk robe off before slipping into bed, matching silk nightgown fitting nicely on your body as you scrolled through different shopping sites for some new clothes.

it wasn’t even twenty minutes later when you seen the two troublemakers back in your line of vision, just itching to bother you. you looked up at them from your phone. “what y’all want now?” the both of them instantly putting their hands up in defense. “what i dooo?” they say in unison. you sighed as you gave them a bored expression. they drop their hands and walked closer to you, standing at the side of your bed. “we want you t’come to the park wit us. right little man?” ony looked down at his twin, nodding towards you for him to add on. “mhmm. dad likes- uh i mean i love when you come to the park with us.” you smirk up at your husband. he had his eyes on the ceiling as he tapped his foot on the ground, waiting for you to reply.

“is this something you want or is this something your dad wants?” you knew what ony was trying to do. you absolutely hated going to the park. the gnats and the blazing sun always seeming to bother you when you were trying to relax, but you also couldn’t say no to your baby. he was always so polite and he never asked for much. your husband used that to his advantage, which you highly disliked. you had a plan though. everything comes with a price with you. “because if this is something daddy wants i need him to ask me himself. or else i can’t go because i’d hate to be a burden to one of you.” now omari was also looking up at ony, waiting for him to reply to you. “gon head and get dressed peanut. me and mommy gotta talk.” he said, shifting his eyes from the white ceiling to your brown ones.

“make sure you say ‘please’ dad. be polite.” omari whispered before doing what he was told and going to his room to get ready. after you heard your door close, you watch as ony began to lean down towards you, one arm grabbing on to the headboard while his other one rested on your pillow, right by your head. “what i gotta do for you t’say ‘yes’ mama.” he said, deep voice rumbling in his chest. you pulled out your phone, unlocking it before showing him the screen. it was a purple lingerie set in your cart with a bunch of other different things as well, ranging from toys and handcuffs to different pieces of clothing. “i want you the clear my cart today. since mari’s going to his grandparents next saturday.”

the corner of ony’s mouth raised as he scrolled through your cart, stopping at the pair of black fuzzy handcuffs. you peeked over your screen to see what he was looking at before explaining the use of the item. “you broke the last pair.” your husband nodded his head in realization before standing upright. “tryna give me another kid, huh mama?” you shrugged your shoulders. “hmm maybe.” ony made his way to his nightstand, pulling out his card before tossing it to you on the bed. “gon head and get whatever you want. sexy ass.” he mumbled before walking towards your shared closet to pull out his sneakers. as he looked through the closet you heard three knocks on your door, letting you know your son has arrived from his room.

“come innn” you sing before he made his way in, instantly walking up to his father. he had on his little black tech suit with his slides on his feet and his basketball sneakers in his hand. “what’d she say? did you say please?” he whispered. ony looked at you, smirking as he began to think about the fun the two of you will be having next weekend. “yea little man…she said yea.”

#aot onyankopon #onyankopon x black reader #onyankopon x reader #aot #aot x black reader

[ozarkthedog]

summary: despite your reluctance, joel wants to fill you up.

kinktober ii: cnc + breeding

warnings: 18+ only -> mdni. Joel Miller x afab!reader. consensual non consent. threat of breeding. rough sex. asphyxiation. slight mention of aftercare. no beta.

word count: 1.2k

author’s note: per this post and @thornsnvultures sliding into my DMs with this thot. probably not my best but i'm posting it anyways. 🤷‍♀️

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ♁ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

He missed the power. The control. The brutality. 

The topic had been discussed only once but the point was clear. Joel did not want to raise a child in this new, horrific world.

Settling down in Jackson with you had been good for him. The boring monotony of day-to-day life. It wasn’t just surviving. It was making something out of nothing, growing together. Helping your fellow man; not just stealing from him (or worse).

Still, that unsettling need would return from time to time. It’d take root in the base of his skull like one of the countless bullets he’d left in his victims. The savagery beckoned him like a gnat scratching at the surface. The urge to claim sinking its fangs in once again.

Normally he’d go on a long hunt. Seek out unseemly folk and leave a path of destruction in his wake. This morning, however, a storm brewed outside. The windows glitter with a layer of frost as the wind howls through Jackson.

You flinch awake. Trepidation settling in your belly. You know this feeling. You’ve been here many times before. You’ll stay by Joel’s side until your last breath. So you do what you’ve both discussed; wait.

A brute hand forces you onto your front. A gasp falls from your lips as a heavy weight settles on your back. Your lungs seize under the pressure making blood pulse behind your eyes. 

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Joel sneers. He drags the hook of his nose up the side of your face, smiling as you struggle to suck a breath in. “Got you right where I want cha’, pretty girl.”

You jab an elbow back hoping to clip his jaw but he easily cages in it a steely grip. He yanks your left arm out from under your body with a dark chuckle and roughly secures your wrist in one of his large palms. 

“I like ‘em feisty.” he grits, dipping his head down and brushing his lips along the shell of your ear. “Gets my blood pumping” he drawls, a sick grin tugging at his lips. “and something else too.” 

He shifts his weight, lessening the pressure on your upper body, and grids his hard cock against your ass. You instinctively twist in his grip, bucking your hips and tugging on his hold. Joel hollers above you, “Yeah, that’s it. Show me how tough you are, sweet girl.” 

You whine, knowing there is no way out. He was much too strong. Still, it was part of the game.

“You know, it’ll be better for you if you just give in.” the warm, soothing words flutter into your brain calming your heart for just a brief moment. 

You know what he’s capable of. You’ve seen the brutality, the rage but you also know about the quiet side. The way he holds your hand when you walk into town. The soft eyes he gives you when you cuddle into his side. The way he’s so tender with you when he cradles your face in his hands.

“Wanna fill you up.” Joel murmurs. Pulling your right knee up to your chest before sliding a large hand along the apex of your sex. “That’s my pretty pussy.” he groans as he drags a lazy finger up the slice of you. “Can never get enough of it.” he coos into your hair before kissing the top of your spine. “Of you.”

“Joel- no, please.” you whimper, shaking your head. “You can’t.”

He “tsks” behind you. A brute hand catches the back of your neck and digs his digits into the tender column. Warm breath brushes the shell of your ear as he leans in close. “You think you’re in a position to call the shots? Stupid girl.”

A gasp catches in your throat when he taps the heavy tip of his cock on your barely wet opening. He notches the bulbous crown just past your folds before sliding in ever so slowly. He takes his time filling you up. He wants this to last. Doesn’t want to know where he begins and you end. 

Your core envelopes the weight and size of him. Molding around his thick length until you’re busting at the seams. “Thatta’ girl.” Joel grits through clenched teeth as your velvet walls make room for him. His cock brushes your cervix with a brazen kiss as he bottoms out making you wince.

His fingers dance cruelly on the crux of your mound, tugging on the hair that grows earning him a sharp cry before moving south. He circles your clit with expertise, knowing your body better than you did. A dense knot of unsavory pleasure forms in your belly, slowly growing tighter with every flick of his wrist. 

He finally rocks his hips and the air punches from your lungs. He sets a constant motion, sawing his length in and out. In and out. From his bulbous tip to the soaked base of his shaft, he takes. He defiles.  

Joel tugs your body close, wrapping his left arm around your font and splaying between your breasts effectively caging you against his broad form. “You feel so fuckin’ good, sweet girl.”

He grinds his cock deep after a weighty thrust, pushing his hips against the cushion of your ass. “Gonna fill you up.” he grunts, snapping his hips and pressing into the deepest part of you. “Make ya all round. Leave ya a drippin’ mess.” 

Joel’s hips snap hard. It forces the air from your lungs and shakes your bones. If it weren’t for his hold you would’ve rolled to the other side of the bed. 

A pathetic mewl tumbles from your lips, anxiety boiling over. “Joel, no!” you cry, praying he pulls out before it’s too late. 

Without thinking, you toss your head back and catch the top of his brow, bruising his eye socket with a curt blow.

The room goes eerily still. The man behind you is deathly silent as your heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free from your chest.

A heavy hand circles your neck and tugs you backward. Your neck is instantly constricted, barely allowing any air to pass by under his palm. He pins your head against his shoulder forming his large, powerful frame against your shivering one. “Wrong fuckin’ move.”

Ice runs up your spine, chilling your insides to the bone as his fingers press on your veins, seeking out the one that makes you comply every time you try to revolt.

"Just for that, I'm gonna keep fuckin' ya after I fill you up." he sneers. "Make sure it sticks."

Blood pounds under your skin as the room spins. Your sight glazes over while he shoves his cock past your walls as they involuntarily clench around his girth from the rough treatment. 

His cock swells, bigger and bigger with every drive. “Shit.” he hisses, clutching your throat just a bit tighter as his hips stutter. A black mist slowly begins to crowd your sight, your eyes roll backward, mind and body go numb.

In a flash, he loosens his grip on your neck and pulls from your warmth, circling his shiny, soaked cock with a tight grip. He pumps his length, chasing his high before coming with a raspy moan and spilling hot ropes along the curve of your ass.

A heavy blanket of silence falls over the room while Joel catches his breath. He feels the rage melting away as his heart slowly beats to its usual rhythm. That all-consuming need has been stamped out. For now. 

In a moment, he’ll scoop you into his arms and leave a soft kiss on the crown of your head. He’ll hum words of love while you relax against his chest and eventually fall back to sleep. 

You close your eyes and wait like you always do.

running away now. 😅 feel free to scream at me -> 💌

follow @ozzieslibrary for fic notifs!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miler x you #dark!joel miller #pedro pascal

[pure-oddity]

Ghost is the silent an mean lookin motherfucker in the back of the bar getting rizzed up by the ball of energy at his side. Some walk towards the pair to save either of them the embarrassment, but the big bastard just glares until they get too scared to say anything.

So when he walks out with his hand on the ass of the human embodiment of a gnat, people are reminded about how opposites can attract.

"You're so bloody fucking annoying "

"I dont know how to help you man, try an fuck me quiet? Might work."

"Un-fucking-likely."

"Then why are you taking your pants off?"

"Just 'cause I know it won't shut you up doesn't mean 'm not gonna fuck you"

Plot twist: yall know eachother and have been fuckin for a while, neither of you know what the 'one' in a 'one night stand' means.

#ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #odd blurbs #simon riley smut #simon: i cant believe i have to fuck that #gaz: you dont HAVE to #simon: no im gonna

[notiddygxthgf]

prologue

★ pairings: choso x f!reader

★ synopsis: World famous rock star Choso Kamo’s new live-in assistant is convinced that she can fix him – substance abuse issues and all. Tensions ensue, and as new feelings rise to the surface, the two find it difficult to maintain an appropriate workplace relationship (or; the one where an unstable musician struggles to keep it friendly with his assistant).

★ c.w.: none (more content warnings and tags)

★ a/n: don't be a stranger! leave some comments for me to read teehee

★ w.c.; 2.8k

smoke and mirrors; chapter index

THE MUSIC INDUSTRY BLEEDS YOU DRY. That’s just the truth. It takes every ounce of your creative passion and tramples on it. It takes everything from you, and then it takes more. I find myself reconsidering my career path on a daily basis. There’s only one thing, in fact, that keeps me grounded.

“Choso! Choso! Choso! Choso!” 

That. The chant of the crowd. The endless bodies waving their hands over the venue, reaching for me, singing for me.

I leaned my head back, feeling the cool breeze of the backstage air against my neck, against my trembling skin. Crewmembers swarmed around me like gnats, tweaking little details of my outfit – one had a black eyeshadow palette up to my eyelid and another was messing with my hair. She had said something about needing to look intentionally messy.

The low hum of their conversation was only background noise to me. I blew a bubble with the wad of gum in my mouth – a nervous tic that clearly betrayed the calm exterior I was trying so hard to maintain.

The girl who was touching my eyeliner up snapped the palette shut. My mind was elsewhere – it was out there. 

“Choso! Choso! Choso!”

I took a deep breath to steady my racing heart. The chant of my name reverberated through the walls, a frightening reminder of what lay just beyond the curtain. 

People. Thousands of them.

“Choso! Choso! Choso!” The chorus of voices seemed to grow louder. I shut my eyes, visualizing the sea of faces, the outstretched hands, the passion in their voices. The crowd– my fans; they were my lifeline. 

Another crew member informed me, “You’re on.”

I nodded solemnly, feeling that strange pit in my stomach. It was terrifying, it was familiar, it was… exciting. 

I took another breath, then I stepped forward. With each step towards the stage, the chanting intensified. The noise was like this strange, palpable force, urging me onward. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins the moment I reached the edge of the stage. The anticipation was almost… suffocating.

I stepped out. Then, for a blissful moment, it all seemed to go quiet.

I took a moment to look at them, really look at them. All of them. The mass of humanity blurred into one collective wave of joy. From here, I couldn’t even make out faces. Only smiles, flashing lights, and limbs flailing. Signs with my name on it. People with love in their hearts. 

Nothing but them and me, hearts beating in tandem. I wondered how nervous they felt – if they knew how nervous I felt standing here before them. If they knew I had been nervously chewing on a piece of gum only moments prior.

Thousands of people who all came together for one purpose – to see me. A mosaic of adoration. 

I glanced down at my trembling hands, fingers clutching the edge of my guitar. The weight of the crowd’s expectations pressed down on me. The realization hit me a second time – they were all here for me. That both terrified and humbled me.

I licked my lips, gave my old guitar a strum, feeling those familiar vibrations amplified a hundred fold. It was loud, so loud that I could still hear it reverberating throughout the venue when I reached for the microphone.

I stole another glance at the crowd as a smile broke across my face. 

Deep breaths.

I shouted, “What the fuck is up, Paris?”

The response was deafening. The crowd erupted in cheers. I could feel their energy merging with mine – the lights, the love, the screams. In that moment, I remembered why I endured the trials of my industry. I remembered why I was still living – what I was fighting for. It was all for them, the countless faces who found solace and inspiration in my music. 

And with that realization, I felt my heart begin to race.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” I asked.

They screamed back at me in response. I grinned.

“God, I love you guys,” I laughed. Strummed my guitar a second time. Looked at them. “I got a special show for you tonight!”

It was all for them. I do it all for them.

Life on the road was pretty crazy. I wish I could say that I had family to miss back home, but that wasn’t the case. I had been in and out of foster care for most of my life; had to grow up pretty fast so my brothers and I could stay off the streets. Other than the three of them, I never really had a family.

I turned to music as a crutch. I bought my first guitar with the first paycheck I earned – I was 16. I bandhopped for a while, alternating between the roles of lead singer, bassist, and rhythm guitarist. I found a passion for writing lyrics somewhere along the way. It felt nice, being able to put pen to paper and make my fucked up life sound appealing.

It was great.

I did basement shows right up until I turned 21. I would have been more than happy to keep on doing them – hell, sometimes I found myself wishing I could still fit those small, shitty little venues – but some big, music industry talent hotshot came and found me at one of my shows. He handed me a card. Told me he liked my sound, that I could be famous.

Who could have refused?

I never anticipated hitting it this big. Not that I’m complaining. It keeps a roof over me and my brother’s head – to say the least. I have more than enough money to live lavishly for the rest of my days.  I found my new family in my music team: my manager, my coordinators, my publicist. All of them. 

The music industry is notoriously blood-sucking. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows. I realized that rather quickly, though by the time I was hot enough to hire a whole team, I was in too deep. It all seemed so… superficial.

I grew to hate it.

My hatred only grew when I lost two of my beloved brothers – Eso and Kechizu. There was a shootout at the mall. They found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. I remember rushing to the hospital as soon as I heard the news. 

It was too late by that point, though. They had bled out long before I was able to see them.

I didn’t sleep for a week after that – I developed insomnia that would last for years to come. I spent my evenings curled up on my shower floor, sobbing into my own arms. It was the same after that, and then the day after that. I found myself spending all of my time replaying the memories in my head, thinking about where I went wrong.

It didn’t take long for me to find comfort in the lifestyle of the rich and famous – the drinking, the partying, the drugs. I would go on week-long benders, drinking myself into a sickened stupor, rolling up two joints a day, popping pills I didn’t know how to pronounce. Doping myself up so I couldn’t think about it.

Ecstasy, Molly, Coke, LSD, Acid – I’ve taken them all. Shit, you could probably find trace amounts of them in my blood at any given point in time.

Or… however the hell that shit works.

I took Adderall every day to keep me grounded. That’s what I told myself, at least. No doctor in his right mind would ever prescribe someone like me 80 milligrams on a daily basis. Good thing I paid mine enough to forget his hippocratic oath.

I wasn’t completely lost, though. I didn’t feel good about it. Yuuji, my only living brother, told me multiple times that I needed to cut down on my consumption. He wanted me to go to rehab. Shit, over my dead body.

He stopped bringing it up, but I could see it in his eyes – I was breaking his heart. I had to remind myself that he had lost his brothers, too, that day. Probably felt like he was losing the only one he had left.

I try not to dwell too hard on it, though. Got better shit to do.

Fucking hate the music industry most days. Everyone expects you to be all put-together, even though you wake up feeling like you dragged your feet through a field of broken glass shards. Even though you wake up every goddamn morning feeling you’re reliving the same day over and over again.

It’s like a painful reminder that the only people I have in my life are paid employees. I have no one – other than Yuuji – who I could confidently say would be there for me if I no longer had the funds to compensate them.

It fucking blows. I drink to forget about it. Drink and… well, everything else I put in my body.

Never put a needle in there, though… at least not for drugs. I’ve got more tattoos and piercings than I can count.

Enough about my unhealthy coping mechanisms, though.

My “family” never let me put out music I like making. They stripped my creativity from me. I lost all enjoyment in songwriting along the way. They turned me into a husk – a shell of the man I used to be.

I couldn’t recall the last time I felt real happiness. You know, the kind you got from taking a walk in nature and not from snorting and ingesting copious amounts of illicit substances. You would think that someone would see me greened out on the couch and know I was crying for help.

Nah. No one ever listens.

They never noticed. The only reason they cared about whether I was dead or alive was because I kept them well-fed and their pockets full.

That’s the fuckin’ music industry, baby. Nothing but a bunch of soulless, drugged-up puppets pumping out music they hate making. Begging for help.

But no one ever listens.

My head hung low as I snorted a line of powder off the tray my housemaid – or some other woman I didn’t know – had brought me. As quickly as she had appeared, she vanished. In her absence, I relished in the rush that hit me all too fast. 

I sniffed and coughed, shaking my head with remnants of the powder clinging to my nose. I blinked slowly, trying to make sense of my surroundings. 

The studio’s walls were adorned with gold, platinum and silver records, a shark contrast to the disheveled state of the room. Empty liquor bottles littered the floor. The air hummed with companionable conversation and the distant echoes of a repetitive beat.

As I raised my head, the scene unfolded before me. Half-naked women, draped in a hazy glow from neon lights, raised their glasses in a toast. The shots went down smoothly, accompanied by the thumping bass of my latest creation, reverberating through the studio's speakers.

The instrumental was infectious, quick and catchy, resonating with a bass that seemed to throb in sync with the erratic pulse of the room. My eyes fell to the scattered papers on the coffee table in front of me – lyrics scribbled in messy script on lined paper that had been torn straight out of my composition notebook.

Cigarette smoke, a whiskey glass,

Fading memories, like shattered glass,

Every sunrise feels like the last,

Trapped in the echos of the past.

Stuck in the rhythm of a broken clock,

Every tick’s an echo, every tock’s a shock.

A carouse of monotony,

Lost in a loop, just try’na break free.

Guitar wails like a distant scream,

Reality blurs, just like a dream.

Drift through the hours, like a ghost,

In this eternal purgatory, I’m lost.

Pouting, I wiped my nose, feeling the dull burn of the coke as it tingled in the back of my throat. I was congested as all hell. Still, I tried to sing the bridge beneath my breath. 

“Drift through the hours, like a ghost. In this eternal purgatory, I’m lost…” I hummed, pouting again when I realized I still didn’t like it. 

The women in the back of the room continued their celebration, completely oblivious to my internal struggle. They were too busy shooting the shit with my friends.

More glasses were poured, and one was handed over to me. I took a sip without looking – because it honestly didn’t matter what was in the cup, could’ve been piss for all I knew. The familiar burn of bourbon warmed me momentarily. Humming in recognition, I traced my finger over the rim of the glass, lost momentarily in the verbiage of my own creation. 

Something felt off.

Furrowing my brows, I stared down at the words on the page. I sniffled again. Then I downed about half of my glass of bourbon, standing up on unsteady feet. The room swayed slightly, especially when I walked over to the corner where the producer was set up – a lone figure surrounded by the chaos.

I nodded at him, muttering, “Play it again from the chorus. I’m try’na see somethin’.”

The producer – Chris, or some shit like that – nodded back. He pressed a button, and the beat started over. The room’s ambiance, fueled by laughter and friendly chatter, didn’t quiet down. 

I tried my best to immerse myself in the rhythm, but the distractions were just… it was just too much.

‘Guitar wails like a distant scream,

Reality blurs, just like a dream.

Drift through the hours, like a ghost,

In this eternal purgatory, I’m lost.’

I hadn’t realized I had forgotten to actually sing the words until my producer looked over at me expectantly. I shook my head, huffing out an exasperated sigh.

“Shit, sorry, take it from… take it from the chorus again, please?” My voice cut through the noise – or tried to, at least. 

The beat started over again, a few measures behind where I needed to be.

“Guitar wails like a distant scream…” I attempted once more. “Drift through the hours, like a lost– fuck, I fucked it up.”

The collective revelry around me was a wall – it fucked me up. I could feel a headache coming on.

“Can we pipe down a bit?” I groaned, massaging my temples. My ears began to ring a bit, growing louder with every passing second that the chatter continued. “Guys, shut the hell up.”

My pleas fell on deaf ears. The ringing persisted, drowning out everything else in the room. 

“Yuki,” I directed at her, a little louder now. She seemed to have been leading the conversation. “Yuki, please.”

No one ever listens.

And they didn’t. They weren’t fucking listening. I tried to make eye contact with her, but I couldn’t seem to make out her face from the rest. The room was blurry, moving side to side, hazy around the edges. I held my forehead, groaning quietly.

They were so fucking loud.

No one ever listens.

Downing the rest of my bourbon in one go, I – in a fit of frustration – hurled the glass against the wall above the couch where my friends were comfortably seated. It shattered, sending shockwaves through the room as stunned silence replaced the previous chaos.

“Yuki,” I mumbled, swaying slightly on my feet. “Shut the fuck up. I’m trying to.. Try’na fuckin’...”

“Choso,” She began quietly, her mouth slightly agape. Had she always had a twin sister, or was I dreaming? “Your… your nose– are you okay?”

I put a hand up to my nose, feeling around for anything out of the ordinary. My fingers were red when I brought them back, painted with a viscous crimson fluid. Another fell from my nostril onto the pale skin of my wrist. 

My nose is bleeding.

I wiped my nose, waving them off. “I’m fine,” I slurred – I wasn’t, least I don’t think I was, but the show must go on, or some shit like that. “Can we just… keep going, please?”

A thick, heavy silence enveloped the studio. With all of them finally keeping their mouths shut, I could hear myself think again. The ringing in my ears began to subside, and I, looking over my shoulder at Chuck– Chris, whatever the fuck– demanded, “Play that shit again.”

He swallowed nervously, clearly caught off guard by my outburst. Still, he pressed a button or two, and the song started all over again.

Drift through the hours like a ghost,

In this eternal purgatory, I’m lost.

a/n: hiiii! I hate the way this was written, but I always hate my first chaps hehe. NEXT ONE WILL BE SM BETTER I SWEAR!! this is gonna be a long, slow burn, smutty ass fanfic (loosely [very loosely] based on the show 'the idol'). and by based on ofc I mean I watched an ep and I was like damn I could make this better. Enter our beloved emo boy choso kamo. anyway!! comment your thoughts/wishes/etc!! I love an interactive community of loyal commenters and I loveee reading all of ur thoughts and lovely remarks!! keep them coming, and ill keep the chapters coming in retribution! love you bunches!

comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

credits: @/2OARIN on twitter (cover art). If you know the other artist, please let me know, so I can credit them properly for their work! I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

taglist: @missphanosaur18 , @bontensbabygirl, @megumissunshine, @chocoyanchan, @littlelovebug98, @lucisimpongod, @xochyw, @jaegerstan222 , @electro-supremacy, @mellytheteddy, @clover0310 , @soraya-daydreams, @priussy, @insanehumantinker, @staygoldsquatchling02, @nonksity, @hinata7346, @chososwhoresblog, @ynjimenez , @soraya-daydreams , @nonksity , @hinata7346 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @sad-darksoul , @sasuke-slut , @yuunie135 , @bratkuna , @aydene , @mshope16 , @pretentiousteentrash , @galactict3a , @kokos-property , @moonriseoverkyoto , @lyn-soso , @arilostie , @violetmatcha , @markleeisdabestdrug , @erensdior , @hp-simp505 , @fushiguro-kyuuuuuu , @bontensbabygirl , @switch-godess , @honey-yuh , @ddotsie

wanna join the taglist? | smoke and mirrors; chapter index

#smoke and mirrors ☄. *. ⋆ #notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ #choso kamo #choso #choso x reader #choso x you #choso x jjk #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you #choso kamo jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso fluff #choso angst #choso smut #choso kamo fluff #choso kamo smut

[ddarker-dreams]

Hierarchy of Needs.

Daryl Dixon x F Reader.

Notes: originally, i was gonna keep this one between me and my google docs, but it's kinda cute ngl so everyone gets to see it Tags: Not SFW, set at the start of Alexandria era, takes place from Daryl's POV. Word count: 10.5k.

Daryl is a hands-on type of man.

He was never one to dawdle, sitting in one place for too long made him squirm. He swore it could be an allergy or some shit. Gets him all itchy and shifting his weight from foot to foot. The problem is, given the general uncertainty surrounding their current living arrangements, Daryl’s limited on what he can and can’t do. For the first time since the dead started walking, he’s caught up in the invisible net of “social expectations”.

Normally, he wouldn’t give a damn, but this isn’t just about him. This is about Judith getting the nutrients she needs. Carl not having to figure out how many sips of his rapidly diminishing water canteen to take to avoid dehydration. The group that’s come to be his family, in every sense of the word, having a roof over their heads and some peace of mind at night. There’s too much on the line for him to screw this up.

So he’s just got to grin and bear it (without the grinning).

Another particular individual comes to mind — all bright smiles and what seems to him to be the physical embodiment of all that’s good in this decaying world — but he swats the thought away like a pesky gnat. In his heart of hearts, he knows he’s dealing with the uppity bullshit for everyone’s sake, but… maybe there is one person he’s putting in the extra effort for. The person that kept him from glaring at some old folk who were looking at him earlier this morning like he was some escaped convict, the person who he’d kill for if it ever came down to it. Someone he already has killed for.

“Got room for one more?”

Daryl almost jumps out of his skin at the abrupt awakening from his thoughts, though from anyone else’s perspective, it probably just looks like he’s scowling harder. It’s wholly unlike him to not notice someone’s approach, human or otherwise. He’s about to give a grunt of indifference before it clicks in his brain just who is standing before him.

It’s you, the person he’d swear he wasn’t thinking such mushy thoughts about even if someone tried to waterboard the information out of him. He has to blink a few times for your newly freshened-up appearance to sink in. Your skin is clean, not a spec of dirt or grime in sight, the same going for your hair. He can’t remember the last time he’d seen you wear it down. Since the colder months in the prison, maybe? It’s a good look on you. To be fair, he’d think just about anything would look good on you.

One of his shirts, for instance. He can envision it picture it now, clear as day—

He has to stop himself from chasing after that line of thought, recalling with mild embarrassment how he still has yet to answer you.

“Can’t stop ya.”

You roll your eyes at that, giving him a look that screams ‘oh really?’, but take a seat nonetheless. Daryl’s set himself up on the porch of the house the group’s been granted. Given the position of the sun in the sky, he figures it’s about noon now. The shift in time brought a volume change. This morning, he could hear the chatter coming from within like he was in the room, everyone having finally received a proper night’s sleep for the first time in who knows how long. It quieted down when the group dispersed to their newly assigned jobs, or in the case of others, to sightsee.

Daryl takes a long drag of his cigarette while you situate yourself next to him on the porch’s steps. He eyes your outfit from his peripherals, an odd wave of something inexplicable rushing over him at the sight. It’s a nice white blouse with some jeans maybe a size or two too large for you. He can’t help but give his garments a once over. They still show evidence of the rough past few months spent living on the road. Now that he thinks about it, everything about him probably sends that message. He’d yet to take a shower or do so much as clean his face.

Is that why the Alexandrians had been giving him the side eye? Everyone else had practically been tripping over each other at the opportunity to shower, whereas he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d disregarded Carol’s comments about it and would likely do the same if anyone had the balls to bring it up to his face, but for some reason, having you in his general vicinity is making him feel uncharacteristically self-conscious. You’re not looking at him with disgust, or looking at him with anything really, just your trademark smile that made him feel like melting into a pile of happy goo.

“You didn’t feel up to going out and exploring?” You inquire, hugging a knee to your chest. He shakes his head. At this, you scoot closer, excitement radiating from your being. “Want to come check it out with me, then? It feels… weird going places by myself. We’d always pair up in twos at least. I feel like I’m betraying our unspoken buddy system.”

He snorts at that. “Nah, ‘ve seen all I need to already.”

He knows he needs to change the subject before you decide this is a venture worth pursuing. If you gave him those damn doe eyes and asked sweetly enough, he’d do just about anything you asked. Hell, you didn’t even need to do all that for him to almost always cave. This weakness of his went mostly unnoticed to himself (or maybe he didn’t want to acknowledge it), until Merle put two and two together. It didn’t take him long either. He’d asked none too quietly how his little brother ended up pussy-whipped in his absence. Daryl had almost converted when he realized some higher power stopped you from overhearing the comment.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last smarmy comment about you Merle was destined to make. If anything, that was one of the more forgivable remarks, since the brunt of it was directed at him.

No, the worst had come when Merle had been tasked with taking Michonne to The Governor. It was a regrettable final exchange between brothers all around. Daryl can’t recall exactly how the conversation had shifted to you, or the exact words that led up to that final gut punch, but he can still hear his brother’s mocking voice speak the sentence that’s haunted him ever since.

“You've been so busy drooling over her to realize, so let me spell it out for ya nice and slow. She ain't ever gonna want you the same way you want her. We're freaks to people like that. Nothing but redneck trash. And don’t you ever forget it.”

Daryl inhales deeply, the scent of cheap tobacco mixing with the shampoo you must’ve used. It’s light and sweet. Nothing could fit you better.

“Thought you’d be at the infirmary by now,” Daryl isn’t sure who he’s trying to distract anymore — you, or him. “Got ran off already?”

Your closed-mouth smile falters for a millisecond. Anyone else might not have noticed the nearly imperceptible change, but Daryl’s got a hunter’s eye, not to mention how attuned he is to your every mannerism. He’s ready to shove his personal woes aside if it means making room for yours.

“Well, that’s a way to describe it,” he can tell by your tone that you’re trying to keep the conversation lighthearted. How very like you. “When Deanna interviewed me, I not-so-subtly hinted at everything I had learned from Hershel. Although, to be fair, I talked up everyone from our group. I even defended Eugene’s honor like the man had won a Pulitzer. I would’ve said anything if it meant not getting thrown back out there.”

He nods, listening to your every word as if the secrets to the universe were held within.

“Anyway… I guess my sales pitch went purposefully unnoticed. She did say that she’d let the resident doctor know, but that he was ‘particular’ about how he goes about his practice. I think that’s politician talk for ‘not gonna happen’. She seemed eager to move on from the subject. So, for the time being, we’re both unemployed.”

Daryl has to will himself not to get distracted and laugh at your joke. He knows you don’t like to be ‘a downer’ (your words, not his), which leads you to hide negative sentiments behind that pretty smile. He gets it, because he does the same thing, utilizing a gruff exterior instead of your near-blinding charm.

“‘S stupid. Don’t let it get to ya.”

“Oh, I won’t,” you grin at him genuinely enough. He temporarily reassesses, wondering if he read you wrong, when your shoulders slightly slump. “I just really want this to work. We need this to work. The fact we lasted out there for so long, with a baby, is almost enough to have me asking Gabriel if he can send my regards to the big man in the sky.”

“It’ll work,” he tells you, his tongue working faster than his brain. You give him a hesitant nod. You know just as well as he does that there’s no way to make guarantees like that. Still, when Daryl’s so used to seeing you in bloom, having you wilt beside him hurts. Worse than a knife being twisted in his gut.

“Yeah,” your voice drops to a whisper then. You glance around, as if checking for prying eyes and ears, then continue when satisfied there are none. “I hope everyone else thinks so too. Rick looks to me like he's been thinking 'Viva La Vida' ever since we first set foot inside.”

Daryl searches the recesses of his brain to grasp at what your vague term means, squinting while he does so. He thinks he may have heard it in a history class at some point, in between playing hooky. Sensing his confusion, you elaborate, but not without throwing in a shitty French accent that has no business sounding as cute as it does.

“Révolution.”

You’re more perceptive than you let on, aren’t you? He wonders if Carol has been taking notes, considering the friendly-totally-not-threatening-cookie-and-casserole-making façade she’s recently adopted. He supposes it’s a bit different. You don’t actively hide your strengths, but you don’t go around advertising them either.

It was one of the first things Daryl noticed about you. In truth, he hadn’t given you much thought when he initially met you back on the side of the highway in Atlanta. He mentally categorized you as some city girl who’d probably complain about how the mosquitos are constantly biting or whatever. While you did express your fair share of disdain over the bloodsucking bugs, it was more of an icebreaker than anything. A way to loosen people up. Lighten the spirits when things got too heavy.

You were the opposite of Daryl in that way, a bonafide people magnet. He hadn’t given this quality of yours enough credit until he saw you bring a smile to Carl’s face soon after his mom’s tragic death. Then there was the way you cared for the people he found out on the road back in the prison days. They were often understandably closed off, disbelieving of the security the chain link fences supposedly provided. You made it a point to help bring them into the fold. No one asked you to, you just did it, because that’s the type of person you are.

Daryl brought people in, you made them feel at home. He cherished that little connection he had with you. It made him feel warm and fuzzy, like he’d downed enough liquor to feel buzzed without getting drunk. Everything about you was similarly stupefying and addicting.

When the prison fell, he thought all possibilities of restoring that connection fell with it. A silly thing to mourn, but he mourned it nonetheless, another line on a seemingly infinite list. Maybe… maybe it doesn’t have to be a figment of the past. If this place, Alexandria, is where your group decides to kick up their feet, he could start recruiting again. Look forward to seeing how you run over to greet the fresh faces upon hearing of his return.

It’s a nice thought. He’ll have to see if reality is anywhere near as kind.

“Rick’s just wary, ‘s all. Hard not to be. Y’know how it was out there. What we saw.”

“… Yeah,” you shift in your seat. “Well, at least these folks didn’t break out the salt and pepper when we walked through the gates.”

“Jesus Christ, woman.”

He can’t stop a single chuckle from slipping out, though he still cringes at the Terminus callback.

“Heard they got a shrink somewhere ‘round here. Might wanna look into that.”

“Hey, I said I’m trying to make this work, not end up in a Hannibal Lecter getup.”

You and your damn movie references. At least he’s familiar with this one. Sometimes he swore you and Eugene were speaking in another language when you two got on the topic of entertainment. Not being able to share that interest with you made him feel a certain way — a real shitty way.

“You’re the last one of us they’d throw out,” Daryl muses. You tilt your head at that, furrowing your eyebrows like when he’d first recounted the chupacabra story. He decides not to expand on the subject; it has too many of his feelings intertwined. Not worth the risk. “Unless they catch wind of your shitty sense of humor. Can’t say what’d happen then.”

You place a hand to your chest in faux indignation. “Well, Dixon, you laugh at my ‘shitty sense of humor’ more often than you don’t, so what does that say about you?”

A lot of things he can’t bring himself to admit out loud, mostly.

You give him a playful punch in the shoulder when he doesn’t dignify you with a response. The touch is so innocent, a mere brush of your knuckles against his skin, yet it throws his mind into temporary disarray. The effect you have on him could be subject to study; it’s as if every nerve in his body is set on fire. He feels warm, from his face to the tip of his ears. Then that heat drifts steadily downward. It’s then that he becomes fully aware of how close you are. How he can see your collarbones, and if he tilts his head at just the right angle, the start of some cleavage.

It’s got to be wrong, how much he desires you. The ways he desires you. It makes him feel ickier than the months without a proper shower ever could. You’re so bright, so kind, so good, he shouldn’t be lusting after you like some boy whose voice hasn’t broken yet. You trust him, he knows you do. He’s overheard you go so far as to call him one of your closest friends. Considering the far better options you have out there, he should feel blessed you even give him that much. Wanting anything more than that isn’t just greedy, it’s downright risky.

Daryl would never forgive himself if he made you the slightest bit uncomfortable, he’s given people shit for less. Someone could look in your general direction for too long and he’d start glaring.

Right when he starts willing himself to pull his head out of the gutter, you go to tie your hair up, effectively shutting any possibility of him doing that down. Your chest arches forward at the movement and he’s treated to a lovely view of your neck. You must sense the heavy way he’s staring at you, for you turn your head towards him. He doesn’t make the situation any better by shifting his attention ahead fast enough to almost give him whiplash.

“Are you planning on coming to that welcoming party tonight?”

Daryl has to bite back a groan at this topic of conversation. Why is everyone so damn interested in his attendance to some yuppie soiree? He knows that if the request is coming from you, it’ll steadily break his resolve down.

His facial expressions must have betrayed his thoughts, for you laugh. “I didn’t think so. I can’t blame you. I’m actually planning on bailing at the first opportunity I get.”

He raises an eyebrow at this. “Really? Can’t believe ’m hearing that from Miss Social Butterfly.”

“I think I’m more of a social caterpillar for the time being. It’s just, uh, a lot. I’m pretty sure Rick wants to put me on display as some sort of standup citizen like back on the farm. That I could handle. This, I’m not so sure. I don’t know the first thing about croquet. I feel like I’m lowering the GDP just by being in the general vicinity.”

He has to stop himself from gawking. He can’t fathom why you of all people would feel this way. That elderly couple who was staring him down probably would’ve fawned over you, pinched your cheeks and welcomed you in for quinoa. He’s about to voice this when your comment about the farm catches his attention more.

“The hell’d he have you do on the farm?”

“Oh, that’s right, you may not have noticed. I’d mostly situate myself in the areas Hershel was bound to come across with a Bible in my hands. Y’know, nodding my head and stuff, looking really into it. Worked like a charm. Tensions were high, but I think he felt slightly less inclined to send us packing knowing there was a God-fearing individual among us.”

He snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. You really were something else. He swears he could talk to you for hours if you allowed him.

“Try the Bible-thumping again. Might just do the trick.”

“Somehow or another, I doubt that. You’ve noticed it, haven’t you? The staring. I swear I saw some blinds being drawn when we all came out earlier.”

Of course he’d noticed. He’s likely half the reason behind it. “That’s what you’re ‘ere for. To get ‘em to stop looking at us like a damn circus act.”

“You and Rick are overestimating me. Maggie and Glenn have got it covered, little Judith adds brownie points too,” you tilt your head back to look at the cloudless sky. “Anyway, I figured if you planned on ditching, I’d invite myself along. Buddy system, remember?”

He flicks the cigarette out of his hands and onto the ground, extinguishing it beneath the sole of his boot. “Like I said earlier — can’t stop ya.”

Daryl silently praises himself for keeping up the cool and indifferent front when he’s internally celebrating over the prospect of having more alone time with you. What he wouldn’t give for more of that. He hasn’t the slightest damn clue why you seem to favor his company, but if there’s anything the apocalypse has taught him, it’s to accept a miracle when he’s handed one.

You smile at him as if he’d just offered you the world on a silver platter. It does too much to his poor heart.

“Great! It’s a date then.”

He almost chokes on his spit from how casually you say that, his eyes wide blown and jaw slacking. Fortunately, you’re none the wiser, standing up and patting the dirt off your jeans. The realization you’re about to leave makes him feel pathetically empty. He’d spent just about every moment of the past few weeks by your side, yet it wasn’t enough, he doesn’t think anything can be enough. The more of you he gets, the more of you he wants. You’re worse than the drugs his brother used to sing the praises of.

“Heading out?” Daryl can’t stop himself from questioning, no matter how obvious it might make him look. The porch steps already felt a whole lot emptier without you sitting beside him.

“Yeah, I promised to save Michonne if she wasn’t back in ten. She’s getting swarmed by children curious about her sword.”

“Good luck on your search n’ rescue.”

You give him a silly salute then, finishing the pantomime off with a bout of giggles. Then you’re off. Daryl exhales shakily, cursing himself for the way his heart’s pounding like he’d just run a marathon. He knows he needs to squash this lovesickness before it’s too late — if it isn’t already too late. He didn’t agree with Merle on a lot of things, especially when it came to you, but that last remark rings true. It’d be laughable for him to delude himself into thinking you feel anything but platonic affection toward him.

Especially with the options you have here in Alexandria. It may have been slim pickings before, but now, you might as well have an entire buffet laid out. You’re bound to catch the eye of some of the folk around here. If you could get him to like you, he figures you could win over almost anyone. Why would you give him the time of day when there are those clean-shaven, college-educated men running around like they own the place? If the world hadn’t gone to shit, that’s probably who you would’ve gone for.

It’s only because the world went to shit that you even know his name.

Watching how some Alexandrians wave at you, a gesture you animatedly return, he reaches for another smoke.

His brother’s words echo in his head, falling somewhere between a taunt and a warning.

“She ain't ever gonna want you the same way you want her.”

He would do well to remember that, wouldn’t he?

-

If someone told Daryl he’d died and gone to heaven, he’d believe them.

You’re leaning against one of the porch’s pillars, humming a tune to yourself, not having noticed his presence yet. He decides to keep it that way if it means he gets to admire you a while longer. You’re wearing a dark blue dress (he can imagine you correcting him and calling it ‘indigo’ or some shit), looking like an angel incarnate beneath the moonlight. It’s such a simple garment, stopping right above your knees, but to him, you might as well be wearing a ball gown. You’ve got those white tennis shoes that he saw you furiously scrubbing grass stains off of earlier today, the outline of a knife tucked away in them. His chest swells with pride at the knowledge you’re always ready to take care of yourself, thanks in part to his teaching.

Eventually, he manages to break himself free from his you-induced reverie, calling out your name to catch your attention.

You spin on your heel, placing your hands on your hips at the sight of him. “There you are. I thought my ditching buddy ditched me.”

He has to stop himself from saying he’d cross a river of broken glass barefoot if you were standing on the other side, instead settling on, “Aaron and Eric invited me over, figured you’d still be at the party. Did I keep ya waiting long?”

“No, you didn’t, I’m just being dramatic,” you revert back to your usual posture and grin. “It’s good. That they invited you over and you accepted it, I mean. Aaron’s a cool guy. Eric is too, from what I can tell. You guys have some manly bonding time?”

He rolls his eyes at the teasing lilt in your voice. “Mhm, sat around chuggin’ beer and talking ‘bout sports for hours. You?”

“Nothing of much note went down, just a lot of handshaking. I did get stuck talking to one of Deanna’s son for a while, though. I had to practically jump through hoops of fire to escape.”

Daryl swallows down the unpleasant taste that revelation leaves in his mouth. “You don’t like ‘im?”

“He’s… fine, I guess? Harmless enough. Just a really dry conversationalist, which to me, is a cardinal sin,” you stretch your arm above your head and Daryl has to stop himself from staring at how your skirt lifts up, revealing more of your shapely legs. Shit, he really does drool over you. “Oh, you’ll get a kick out of this. He invited me to a game of croquet. I was joking about that earlier, turns out I was right on the money.”

“You’re shitting me,” he deadpans.

“As much as I wish I was, no. God. I knew they’d be a bit sheltered here, but this… I don’t know. It worries me. I wish I could tell myself they can keep living this way, because that’s what they’re doing. Living. They really don’t know how bad it is. And if the bad ever makes its way here…”

You trail off, not needing to fill in the gaps for Daryl to piece it together. He gets what you mean. The entire group does. Carol thinks they’re children and Rick’s ready to take over at the drop of a hat. No one aside from you has expressed concern about their wellbeing out loud, although it’d been in the back of his mind when he saw there were children and old folk here. It’s this compassion of yours that brings him in like a moth to light. After everything you’d been through, you had every right to become a bitter husk of the woman you once were, but you haven’t.

And he thanks the God he isn’t sure he believes in for it.

After a moment’s deliberation, he sets his hand on your shoulder and squeezes. “It ain’t too late for ‘em. You learned. So can they.”

“Well, it did help that I had an excellent teacher.”

He grumbles a ‘shut up’ despite wanting you to do anything but.

Silence sets in for a few beats then. It takes him longer to notice this than it usually would, his head caught up in the near-euphoric experience of receiving a compliment from you. He realizes that he has yet to take his hand off your shoulder and has undoubtedly let it linger too long. He clears his throat, detaching himself from your person with some reluctance, suddenly taking an acute interest in the floorboards you’re both standing on.

Why is it still silent, save for the buzz of cicadas and the chirps of grasshoppers? Shit, did he cross some invisible line in the sand?

“Daryl?”

He grunts at that, not trusting his voice when his thoughts are at war with one another.

“You really are a good man.”

His head shoots back up and he’s searching your countenance for any signs of deception. You’re always teasing one another, this could be another instance of that. However, when your eyes meet his, he sees nothing but unabashed admiration shining in them. He doesn’t think he deserves to be looked at that way, much less by you of all people. You were looking at him like he was the second coming of Christ or something. It makes his stomach do backflips and his poor heart might go into cardiac arrest.

He tries to dismiss your claim with a lighthearted ‘nah’, not because he can’t accept the compliment, but because he doesn’t think it’s true. If you knew the way he thought about you, you’d take your words right back. Look at him the way people have his entire life. Disgust, maybe some pity. Doing what anyone would’ve done doesn’t make him a saint, no matter how hard you and Carol try to argue otherwise.

“You might not believe it, but I hope me thinking so suffices in the meantime,” you say, doing that creepy mind-reading thing you tend to be good at. “I’m truly grateful I met you. You make this life worth living.”

Should you keep going on like this, you might make him well up with tears. He’s glad there aren’t any reflective surfaces nearby because he can’t fathom the expression must be making. What is this? What are you doing to him? Those soft, kissable lips of yours must’ve casted a spell. You’re reaching forward now, pressing your palm against his cheek, and he considers pinching himself to see if this is all a dream.

If it is, he might not want to wake up.

Out of some primal, base instinct, he leans down, wanting nothing more than anything to get a taste of you. It’s when his lips are a few inches from yours that his brother’s words come hurling his way, knocking him off balance and making him jerk backwards. He sees something flit over your face — hates himself for it, too — the sight further reinforcing the prophecy spoken over him.

You deserve more. You deserve some man who knows how to speak what’s on his mind, who doesn’t shy away the second a conversation gets the slightest bit personal. Daryl doesn’t know how to do that, he might never figure it out either. If he does try, you’d have to bear the brunt of his inexperience, and your patience is bound to run out. He can barely put up with it himself sometimes, he can’t fathom putting you through it too.

“Are you okay?”

You’re staring up at him, your eyebrows knitting together, a frown that he so desperately longs to kiss away on your lips. He should be the one asking you that. From your perspective, you must figure he’s rejecting you. And still, you don’t stomp off in a huff or put him down. The tenderness emanating from those three words melts his heart like snow come spring. He opens his mouth, then closes it, licking his lower lip while trying to decide the best approach. Catching those damn hogs back at the prison was easier than getting a few words dislodged from his throat.

“You… you’re sure?” Daryl winces at how unlike himself he sounds when whispering this. “You feel that way ‘bout me?”

The pad of your thumb runs over his cheekbone. “Mhm. Guilty as charged.”

No matter how nonchalant you’re trying to act, he can feel the way your hand shakes against him. See the lines of worry you try to cover with a smile. Hear your every shallow breath. This must be fucking terrifying for you, baring yourself before him like you did, granting him a glimpse of your heart. His mask is one of indifference and yours is one of charm. You’re trying to keep things light like all those times on the road. When he saw you tossing and turning in your sleep, fighting back tears when you thought no one was looking.

He knew. He’s always known. He just never knew what to do about it, how to provide the same comfort you gave others.

“I wanna look out for you,” Daryl’s larger hand envelops the one you’ve placed on his face, causing your eyebrows to raise ever so slightly. “Wanna… wanna keep you safe and smiling. Want you to feel like you can do more than that ‘round me too. You can cry, get angry. ‘S alright. I know. I know.”

Tears well up on your lower lash line, and maybe he should feel a bit guilty for thinking so, but damn, you look beautiful. “See? This is what I meant when I said you’re a good man.”

“Cut it with your shitty jokes, woman,” he knows his bark is worse than his bite when you laugh at him, tilting your head back and revealing more of that tempting neck of yours. He swears to burn this image into the recesses of his mind for as long as he lives. You’re being you, he’s being him, and there’s nothing better.

All his bravado slips through his fingers like sand when you stand up on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. You breathe a taunting command against the shell of his ear and he shivers.

“Make me.”

That successfully ignites the competitive streak you know he has.

For how coquettish you were acting, you return his kiss in a gentle manner, and he reciprocates the pace you set. His hands find their way to your waist without daring to go lower, no matter how loudly his instincts urge otherwise. He’d sooner breathe his last breath than make you feel uncomfortable. If this sweet kiss is all you want, he’d count himself a blessed man from this day forward. It’s you who parts first, leaning back just enough to give your lungs some much-needed air. You stare up at him through your eyelashes, giving him that look that would make him agree to anything you ask.

“Do you want… to take this inside?”

Your voice dies off toward the end and he swears his brain temporarily shut off at the implication. Barely a second earlier he was thinking how he’d die a happy man just for getting a simple kiss from you, he’d written off the possibility of anything more than that. He nods his head, his hand going to the small of your back to lead you inside, when you turn and start making for the front lawn.

Reading the confusion on his face, you explain, “We were given two houses, remember? It might be a better idea to use the empty one for this.”

Daryl really had forgotten the rest of the world exists when he was in that bubble with you. The streets may be empty, but who knows how long that welcoming party will last. He’s grateful one of you has a head clear enough to consider these things. You’re his smart girl for a reason.

“Ya plan this?” He can’t stop himself from asking when he half-jogs after you. The thoughts that run through his head when you bend over to pick up a key hidden beneath a welcome mat will stay between him and God. You slot it into place, turn, then open the door, beckoning him to follow with a finger. He feels his pants growing tighter by the second.

“I’d be a liar if I said yes, though I wish I could take credit for everything,” you lock the door behind him. “No… it just felt like it was time. I’d been waiting for my moment for ages. Guess I got a little impatient.”

Your back is up against the door the second that last word is out of your mouth. He takes your lips for his own again, something like a gasp leaving him when you lift a leg to curl around his waist. He steadies you with his hands to ensure you don’t fall over, the air in the room feeling thicker than those humid Georgian summers you spent together. When he senses you’re stable enough, he lifts one hand to cup your cheek like you did to him, pulling you as close as he physically can. Your arms are around his neck once more, playing with the ends of his hair that he’s grateful he washed hours prior. He hadn’t anticipated this, yet knowing he had plans to spend time with you gave him the motivation to clean up.

Rick teased him for it earlier. The former sheriff had walked in on him shaping up his beard, a knowing smile on his lips.

“Saw [First], didn’t you?”

“Shut up, man.”

Officer Friendly had called it. Carol gave him a nod that made him figure she knew it too. So much for being covert about his feelings for you. Deep down, he knew it must be obvious, the extensive special treatment he gave you. His brother wasn’t too far off with his pussy-whipped comment, crass or not. Daryl would offer you his last bite of rations, final sip of water, hell, he asked if you wanted him to carry you on the grueling walk to DC when everyone was at their wit’s end. You had given him a weak chuckle and said he wasn’t in any shape to do that.

Regardless of how true that was, had you said yes, he still would’ve found a way to make it happen.

You were that precious to him.

Daryl starts tugging the hem of your dress, revealing the tantalizing sight of your bare thighs beneath. Before he can pull it up any further, your hand is on his, and he stops in fear he’d done something wrong.

Those self-doubts are washed away by the sheer neediness in your next word. “Bedroom?”

You don’t need to ask him twice.

The noise you let out when he lifts you up has got to be one of the cutest damn things he’s ever heard. Your response is immediate, you encircle your limbs around him, clinging on like he’d ever dare to drop you. The house doesn’t have any lights on, but Daryl’s eyes are good in the dark. He carries you up the steps while you bury yourself in the crook of his neck. He finds an empty master bedroom, shuts and locks the door behind him, then brings you over to the queen-sized bed.

You start to take your sneakers off when he touches your wrist and shakes his head. Before you can question his intentions, he kneels in front of you, getting down on his hands and knees. This here is a gift you’re giving him. He’d be damned if he didn’t act accordingly. He takes your shoes off with a surprising amount of patience, pressing a chaste kiss to your shin when he’s done.

“You sure you’re alright with this?” His voice comes out deeper than he’s ever heard it. “That you want it?”

“I’m absolutely positive. I’ll even beg, if you ask nicely enough. I’m nice like that.”

He squeezes your thighs. “There you go, running that mouth o’ yours again.”

“You could always make it so I can’t.”

Daryl raises an eyebrow at the insinuation, his cock twitching inside his briefs at the mental image it conjures up. You, sitting pretty on your hands and knees, mouth open and waiting for him. Knowing you, you’d probably rile him up first. Kiss his tip and apply the bare minimum amount of pressure. Would you take him in slow? Lick him up and down the side while staring up at him with those gorgeous eyes?

Tempting as it is to find out, he’s got other plans in mind. He wants to see your face twist in pleasure and hear his name fall from your lips. It’d do his pride some good to know one as sought over as you chose him.

You start playing with the straps of your dress, pulling him from his fantasies. “Do you want to take this off, or should I?”

He bites his lower lip hard enough that it’s a miracle it doesn’t start bleeding. He had intended to unwrap the present before him, but when you put it like that… it makes him curious about the alternative. He’d love to see what little show you’d put on for him, he’s got front-row seats, after all.

“Alright. Let’s see it.”

Daryl gets up from his kneeling position and takes a seat beside you on the bed. You get the hint, standing with legs that wobble ever so slightly. You don’t look surprised when he chooses to poke fun at your current state.

“Woah there, you good? Legs still work?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Better than ever, thank you very much.”

He leans back, making himself comfortable for whatever comes next. “Mhm. Whatever you say, princess.”

At hearing the sarcastic nickname, you go stiff as a board. He catches the way your pupils dilate. You press your face into your hands to muffle a groan, hiding a very noticeably flustered expression from his prying eyes.

“I haven’t heard you call me that for ages. I think it may have awoken something in me,” you confess, pulling your hands away at his prompting. “I may or may not have developed the biggest crush on you when you called me that back at the prison. It got me riled up every time. Even if I was laying on my ass ‘cause you flipped me over for the umpteenth time that day.”

Daryl snorts at the memory. “Ya always did seem to be out for blood after I said it.”

He keeps the fact that he found your frustration cute. It was a hidden ace up his sleeve that he utilized when it looked like you were about to give up, his training regiment admittedly brutal. He couldn’t risk going easy on you with the world being the way it is. You’d be down on the grass, soaked in sweat, groaning for him to call it a day because ‘you think every bone in your body is broken’. Apparently, all it took was a little taunting for you to hop right back on your feet again.

Your competitive streak might be as bad as his.

“Did you like me then, Daryl?” You question, dropping the left shoulder strap just enough to give him a treat. “You must’ve, if you never shooed me away.”

Damn freakishly perceptive woman. “Why ya asking if you already know the answer?”

“Because your voice is the best sound I’ve ever heard. Can’t blame a girl for wanting to hear more of it.”

He grunts, unable to meet your eyes after an embarrassing proclamation like that, his face flushing. How is it you say half the stuff you do? You and your stupid silver tongue would be the death of him. There are worse ways to go, he figures. He struggles to keep his eyes focused on the wall when you lean forward, granting him an unrivaled sight of your cleavage. His embarrassment still slightly outweighs his burning desire to ogle you. Sensing this, you splay your fingers against his clothed chest. Slowly, ever so slowly, your hand ghosts upward. Over his jugular then settling on his jaw. You move his face until he’s looking you dead in the eye again.

“Hey handsome,” your voice pours over him, sweet and thick like honey, “Eyes over here. I get jealous rather easily.”

God, he hopes you don’t notice the goosebumps dotting his skin. Maybe you were a cross between an angel and a witch, what with your ability to enthrall him. His boxers have never felt more uncomfortable in his life. He balls his hands into fists by his side, utilizing every ounce of his self-control to stop himself from picking you up, throwing you on the bed, and utterly ravishing you.

“That so?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, the next strap falling victim to your ministrations. The front of your dress starts to slip down. His Adam's apple bobs from how thickly he swallows. The swell of your chest comes into view, pushed up by your nude-colored bra. His knuckles go white from how tight he’s grabbing the comforter to keep himself in check. You’re treating him to a show, it’d be rude to interrupt your performance now.

Without the support of the straps, the fabric continues falling, revealing more and more of your beautiful body for him. The wet patch of your panties isn’t lost on him — you’re relishing in every second like he is. While never looking away from him, your hands disappear behind your back, fiddling with your bra strap. He swears he’s never felt less like a man and more like a beast when he’s finally able to see your chest in its entirety.

You walk to him as if you have all the time in the world, your knees hitting the bed’s side not nearly fast enough for his liking. Finally, you take a seat on his lap, your crotch pressing perfectly against his. He lets out a low groan then, grateful for any pressure to relieve the near painful hard-on you’ve given him. His hands settle on your ass, grinding you against his clothed length, and you stifle a moan by biting down on your lower lip.

Daryl tuts, stopping before he’s even begun. “Nah, I don’t think so. Don’t go getting shy on me now, girl. Ain’t like ya.”

After a moment’s consideration, you nod your head, your eagerness apparently outweighing the shame he didn’t know you had. He grins at you, resuming his previous actions and earning those debauched noises he’s longed to hear. Your panties might be staining his jeans, but he can’t find it in himself to complain, he’d wear it like a damn badge of pride. You’re his woman now. He belongs to you as well — heart, mind, body, and soul — if you asked, he’d happily hand it over.

“It feel good? Hm?”

“Like everything I ever wanted and more,” you confess, the breathiness of your voice making his brain feel hazy. “You’re— god— I adore you, Daryl. You’re so good to me.”

His lips are on yours then, this kiss being the messiest yet. His tongue pokes at your lips, and when you part them, ready to receive whatever he’s willing to give, his tongue goes to explore the newfound territory. You taste sweet (is that chocolate?), like the best treat he’s ever been given. He swallows your little gasps and whimpers, giving your ass a firm squeeze to ground himself.

Daryl can’t believe this is really happening. That you want him as much as he wants you and have no qualms showing it. He might be drunk on lust, but there’s something else in there, a flavor he’s never experienced before you stumbled into his life. It’s sweeter than the chocolate, more addicting than the bottle.

He loves you. He has for the longest time.

He slows down his maneuvering of your body, letting you catch your breath and tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“You okay?” You ask in between huffs, peppering his hairline with featherlight kisses.

“Better than ever,” he repeats your words from earlier, albeit with a southern drawl. Faster than you can process it, he flips you over, kicking his shoes off to lord knows where. You get over your surprise fast enough and shuffle back to make room for him. He hovers above you, almost uncertain of where to start. You must be feeling particularly gracious, for you let him drink in the sight of you without making any smart comments. Your body is pure eye candy and he’d be damned if he didn’t get himself a nice taste.

His lips are feverish against your neck, alternating between bites and open-mouthed kisses. He’s finally able to lavish your chest in some well-deserved attention, his rough palms pressing against the flesh, feeling you up like his life depended on it. You, being the perfect creature you are, grind up against him, drawing out a growl from his throat.

“It alright if I mark you up?” He breathes against your skin in between kisses. “Show everyone you’re mine?”

“Yes, please do.”

Never one to deny you anything, especially when you ask so nicely, he gets to work leaving proof of this tryst on your neck. Little bruises start to form where he’s concentrated his attention, right above your racing pulse. Content with its appearance, his lips start adventuring down. He takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks, more than pleased at the gasp you let out in response. While his tongue swirls around you, his hand makes its way to the hem of your panties, the last clothing item keeping you from being entirely bare. He detaches himself from your chest with some reluctance, so he can witness this final barrier being torn away.

“If you look at me like that, I might just get embarrassed,” you laugh at the halfhearted glare he gives you for the comment. He supposes it wouldn’t be you if you weren’t actively trying to rile him up. You were coy like that, frequently looking for a way to get him going, not that he minded. It’s starting to add up in retrospect. You’d been flirting with him all this time, a fact that went right over his head.

“‘S fine by me. Would probably do you some good.”

Your eyes crinkle from how wide your smile is, unadulterated affection gleaming in your eyes. He can’t help himself — he bends down to peck your now pouting lips. Tempting as it is to kiss you silly for the remainder of the night, he’s a man on a mission. You lift your legs to help him get that final undergarment off. He sets it aside so you won’t have any difficulty finding it later. Then he’s drinking in the beauty that is your glistening folds, subconsciously licking his lips at such an appetizing display.

A soft call of his name breaks him from his stupor. “Hm?”

“Don’t, uh, feel like you have to do that,” you give him a sheepish glance. “It’s okay if you just want to, y’know.”

If he were a cruel man, he’d tease you until you squirmed for how adorable you’re acting, but he decides to have mercy. Gotta be gracious with the love of your life and all that. Still, he can’t help feeling slightly miffed you’d think he’s going to eat you out over some obligation. Your pleasure is his pleasure, your happiness is his happiness. He thought his desperation for you soaked into his every action since you confessed on that porch. Then he remembers he hasn’t got much room to talk, the voice of insecurity could be brought down to a whisper, yet never entirely silenced.

He gives your pelvis a kiss. “I wanna. Simple as that.”

Daryl’s reassurance comes out gruff, and while it might not be dripping with romance, it visibly puts you at ease. He doesn’t do anything until you nod. Then he’s in between your legs, feeling more at home by the second. He kisses you up your inner thigh, his beard tickling over the smooth expanse of skin. Finally, his tongue slips between his lips, pressing flat against your cunt. The way you shudder encourages him to repeat the action, testing the new waters with care.

His technique isn’t the most refined, but he’s eager, lapping you up with unmatched zeal. The wet sounds of him feasting himself on you fill the room, and he thinks it might be one of the best sounds to grace his ears. He alternates between licking you and pulling on your folds toward him slightly with his teeth. Whatever it is he’s doing, you seem to be enjoying it, if the way your legs go wide for him is any indicator. He pulls you flush against his mouth by your love handles, delighting in how you moan so prettily for him. He’d tried to imagine what you might sound like if he ever had a chance with you, what dulcet tones your voice would take on.

Those thoughts were enough to satisfy him on lonely nights, but they pale in comparison to the real thing. You’re a force of nature. So beguiling, so easy to love, that he’s once again reminded that it’s a miracle he’s the one you’ve chosen. Never has he felt so grateful. People had tried, yet you never went for it. Was he on your mind in those moments? Steering you away from anyone that isn’t him? He could only hope so.

Daryl pulls back, chuckling at the whine you let out at the loss. “Needy thing, ain’t ya?”

“Only for you.”

Once again, you prove to him that you always know what to say. You and your feminine wiles.

“Think you can handle my fingers?”

At this, you nod. He gathers your slick in his pointer and middle finger. He starts with his pointer finger, watching with something like awe as it eases inside you. Once he’s certain that it doesn't hurt, his middle finger is next, stretching out the walls that envelop him. A sinfully delightful sound is produced when he takes his fingers out and slides them back in. He eyes the slick coating his fingers, and after realizing he misses how you taste, dips his head back down to messily kiss your clit. Your hips are thrusting to meet his fingers halfway, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Close,” you breathe out in between moans, “I’m close.”

He hums against you, the low vibration adding to your mounting pleasure. He doesn’t care if his wrist hurts for the foreseeable future, he wants you to feel good, to completely unravel and show him he’s done a good job. The muscles in your thighs go tense and he hears you let out the most depraved whimper of his name. He doesn’t let up, hellbent on seeing you through the entirety of your high.

Your body goes limp as a ragdoll against the bed. Gently, you pull him back, combing your fingers through his tousled hair. He removes his fingers from you and plops them into his mouth, content to savor your taste a while longer. It’s second only to the taste of your lips. Once he’s finished cleaning them off, you guide his hand to your face, and he watches the act with muted confusion. He lets out a sound like a choke when your mouth wraps around his fingers, hollowing your cheeks while you do so.

“Christ, woman. You tryna kill me?”

A quiet pop sound resonates in the room when you detach yourself from him. “Of course not. I’m far too enamored with you.”

Daryl still can’t entirely fathom why exactly that is, but he keeps the thought to himself.

In his fervor, he neglected to shed his own clothes, a fault he works to remedy. There’s nothing he wants more than to feel your skin against his without any barriers. He stands up to make the process easier, starting with his vest, then the halfway decent shirt he picked for the night. Next is his buckle and jeans. He doesn’t have time to feel self-conscious, not when you’re laying there, waiting for him so well. The scars and other various imperfections marring his skin must be difficult to make out in the low light, anyway. He knows you wouldn’t judge him — he feels it in his bones — yet that’s a can of worms he’d prefer to leave for another day.

He lets out a sigh of relief when his cock is freed from its restraints. Copious amounts of pre-cum leak from the tip, a testimony to your influence on him. He gives himself a few strokes, yet stops when he releases how sensitive he is. He wants to make this last. He needs to make this last. He knows that every second he spends inside you is bound to feel like heaven on earth.

Daryl crawls over to you. You part your legs without him needing to ask, your eyes lidded and hair messily framing your face. He lines himself up at your entrance yet makes no movement beyond that. This isn’t an act that’s meant to be rushed through — no, he intends to savor every second as if it were his last. The intensity of his stare can only be matched by yours. It’s an intimate moment, this little reality you carved out together, apart from the struggle and anguish you’d both become so familiar with.

He knows it won’t magically go away. You know it too. But if you have one another, you can both start living again instead of surviving.

“Still sure you want this?”

“I’m sure,” you whisper in a voice meant for his ears and no one else’s. “Please.”

Daryl handles you with care he didn’t even know he was capable of. He begins to push into you, sucking in a breath while he does so, his eyes glued to your face for any signs of discomfort. Your warmth wraps around him and draws him in. When he’s halfway inside, your hand grabs his, fingers intertwining. He stops, rubbing circles into the top of your hand with his thumb, silently admiring every way your face contorts while adjusting to his length. You inhale and exhale shakily before nodding your head, giving his hand a squeeze. He groans when he’s sunk all the way inside you.

You both stay like that for a moment, breathing in each other’s air.

“Have I ever told you,” he almost sounds pained when he speaks, “That you’re fuckin’ gorgeous?”

You give him one of those melodious laughs that makes his heart do things. “This’d be the first time.”

“Won’t be the last.”

You crane your neck to give him a chaste kiss. He’s about to chase after your lips when you pull away, but the words you say next cause all his higher thought to temporarily cease. “You can move now. Fuck me, Daryl.”

He feels himself twitch inside you and curses under his breath. It’s slow at first, so he can gauge what sort of rhythm you might like. The roll of his hips is sensual, his admiration of your facial expressions bordering on worship. Your hands go to his back to find purchase, unintentionally pulling him even closer in the process, and he grunts. He sets a steady pace. You throw your head back into the pillow, letting all your pretty noises out for him unabashedly. Praises fall from your lips, reassuring him of how good he’s making you feel, and how you want everything he’s willing to give. The encouragement makes his chest swell with pride.

You chose him. Out of everyone you could’ve pursued, you gave your affection to him, and that knowledge alone almost feels better than the way your walls flutter around his length.

“I care about you,” he pants into your ear, a declaration that makes you whine. “Have for so long. Want— want to show you. How much you mean t’me.”

Daryl hears you try to muster up a response in between your gasps, but it’s no use, you’re too lost in the throes of pleasure. He notices the way your moans grow higher in pitch, the sound music to his ears. Utilizing what little brain power he has left, he figures you must be getting close. The fact you’re going to come undone around him spurs him on. His fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing rushed circles around it. You tighten around him and it takes all the strength he has not to collapse on you, lost in the dizzying feeling.

There’s no more precision to his movements, everything is messy and frenzied.

You let out a cry of his name, and then a high-pitched whimper of, “I’m—”

And just like that, you unravel for him, nails digging into his skin and hips thrusting forward to meet his. He wills himself to stave off his own release so that you can enjoy yours. The sight and sounds you let out might be the most erotic thing he’s ever seen, he etches every detail of it into his memory.

He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

Daryl pulls out once he’s certain you’re done, fucking his fist like a man possessed. It doesn’t take much for him to come undone after witnessing what you just showed him. A gruff rendition of your name leaves his lips as he spills out onto his hand, his release coming out in spurts, coating his palm in white.

You both stay still for a few moments, taking the time to catch your breath. You’re the first to move, sluggishly at that, sitting up on your elbows and giving him a content smile. He’s about to cradle your face and put his forehead against yours when he recalls his release is still on his hand. He shifts to get up, noting the attached bathroom in this room. You stop him before he gets the chance, gingerly wrapping your fingers around his wrist, stilling his hand in the process. He gapes like a fish out of water as you lick the remnants off his skin, closing your eyes and humming as if it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

When you finish helping yourself, you give each of his knuckles a kiss. “I think the bones in my legs are broken. For real this time.”

Daryl snorts at the callback to your prison days, fond nostalgia swirling in his head.

“Need me to carry ya?”

You outstretch your arms for him. “Yes, please.”

He knows you’re being dramatic but can’t bring himself to care. He lifts you up, taking care not to trip on any of the clothes strewn on the floor, then sets you down on the sink’s granite counter. You both help yourselves to some nearby washcloths to get cleaned off. He kisses your shoulder when you’re done. Once back inside the bedroom, he slides his boxers back on, and you, your undergarments. You throw your back onto the bed and stretch, letting out a cute little noise while you do so.

Daryl’s feeling exhausted himself, but he figures you both shouldn’t be missing for too long. It’d make the others worry.

“I’m claiming this as our bedroom,” you fluff out a pillow before laying it down. The way his heart skips a beat at your usage of the word ‘our’ almost embarrasses him. Almost. “I’m not going to let you keep sleeping out on the porch. It hurts my back just thinking about it.”

He makes his way back over to you, footsteps silent against the hardwood. The second he lays down, you’re cozying up against his side, resting your head on his chest. His arms wrap around your frame as if he’d done it a million times before. It’s divine, hearing your steady breathing, feeling the warmth of your body. Despite everything, you’re still here. So is he.

He’ll do anything to keep it that way.

You lift yourself up to get a good look at him, your hair tickling his face. “Hey.”

He grunts to prove he’s listening.

“I love you,” you give him a kiss on his forehead, then his nose, and finally, his lips. “Thank you for letting me.”

The words from his brother on that sweltering day breathe down his neck. For some reason, the specific verbiage can’t form in his mind, it’s more of a muffled voice coming from another room. The sentiment is still there. Piercing, meant to hurt his heart in ways a weapon never could. That deep of a wound won’t heal itself overnight, yet if you’re the one holding the thread and needle, he thinks it can finally start closing.

He only whispers his next words when you press your forehead against his.

“I love you too. More ‘n anything.”

There’s a mischievous glimmer in your eyes which makes him nervous. Uh oh. He knows that look.

“… Enough to be my croquet partner tomorrow at noon?”

“Hell no.”

Unfortunately for him, you know as well as he does that if you keep asking nice enough, he’s bound to give in eventually.

He always does.

#i know this is so random but i'm going absolutely feral over him right now. god bless #i locked myself in my room this weekend and thirsted over an older man #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead x reader #reader insert #not sfw #my stuff

[choccyhearts]

18+!!

i know im not the only thinking about renfield eating a bug before bedroom activities...

like, you bring it up to him once just as a genuine question; "what if you ate one before we had sex?"

he's flustered and speechless but secretly he's feeling tempted. he has experimented with his powers before, but that was mainly by himself to see of he could increase his pleasure

but if he did it with you, would he be able to hold back?

so one night, after some reassurance from you, he plucks a little gnat from his tin and washes it down with a glass of wine

next thing you know, you're both going at it like feral rabbits. usually, you're love making is soft and sensual, occasionally spicy but never this

he's able to keep his strength under control after a while, and he holds on to you securely as he thrusts into you. he's willing to try other positions, even lifting you up like a pathetic little rag doll

he's got you bent over a table and the wood begins to creak and wobble before collapsing -- of course, though, he holds you in place to keep you from falling

but its no biggie, he just moves you on to another surface. the only thing in his mind is how arousing it would be to take you on every piece of furniture he owns

but, after the couch splits in two, you ask him to just finish in the bed

and he's breaking the headboard just from how hard he's holding it -- like literally, just obliterated but he keeps going

he's humping you like some untrained animal, and in his mind he's thinking, "this is so dirty...so depraved...so sinful...so extraordinary". his mind is empty except for the need to cum. he needs it, and he needs it bad.

once he does, he slowly goes back to your sweet, gentle lover. his fingers run along your body as you both catch your breath. he's giving you soft kisses in your favorite places and asks if you need anything in a hushed tone.

he'll gladly help you with anything, especially the next day when your body is sore from all the poses and places renfield positioned you in. he's a bit embarrassed each time you remind him why you need him to carry you (although he isn't complaining). he feels a strong sense of pride, though, knowing it's all because of him

(bonus:

he most definitely got a noise complaint or two, his neighbors so concerned that one of them calls the police

rebecca ends up going to check on him and he opens the door red-faced, sweaty and breathing heavily, his pants hanging low from hasitly throwing them on.

it doesnt take a genius to realize what's going on, so rebecca, slightly amused, tells him to quiet down. renfield, obviously flustered, says he will try and closes the door as rebecca calls to him, "and you better be using protection in there!" )

#renfield #renfield 2023 #robert montague renfield #renfield x reader

[twogyuu]

snow in august

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader

genre: fluff/angst(?) - just soft! comfort, kind of implications of mythical/magical/sci-fi(?) bc why not!

warnings: reader is sad for an unspecified reason bc that is not the point of this lolol

wc: 604

a/n: this is your fault @wisteria-woo - i hope you know that.

. . . .

wonwoo was like autumn.

something comfortable, in between the scorching sun of the summer and icy winds of the winter. as silly and simple as it sounds, being loved by him felt like being wrapped in a fluffy blanket during a chilly fall day.

jeon wonwoo did not love recklessly - he loved firmly.

jeon wonwoo did not love with fury - he loved with care.

jeon wonwoo did not love with a hard-heart - he loved with a tender one.

for that reason, he was out here, in the park just outside your shared apartment, in the dead of the night when most people were tucked away in the comfort of their beds and only cicadas and owls were awake, with you.

your hands gripped the rusty, metal chains of the swing, your gaze downcasted. only sorrow painted your pretty face, tears staining your cheek, shining like crystals under the golden light emulating from the lamppost. and though wonwoo did not know what exactly got your heart in a wrench, he would stay here with you and wait for you to tell him. not only because he cared deeply for you, but he was a practical man as well - for your safety too.

seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into an hour. wonwoo finally dismounted from his swing and knelt in front of you. he reached over, thumb pressing gently under your eye to swipe away a tear clinging onto your lash. he bumps your chin playfully and chuckled when your finally looked up at him, something of a scowl.

"let's go back," wonwoo said quietly. he swatted at the air, shooing away the invisible gnats as if to make a point. "it helps no one to sit out here and sulk."

you clenched your jaw and he noted how your hands tighten around the swing set.

that seemed to break you.

"we don't have to talk about it tonight," he reached for your hand and you let him take it. he rubbed soothing circles into the back. "or tomorrow even." wonwoo smiles tenderly, "i just . . . want you to be safe, and um," he chortled nervously, worried that it might sound cheesy if he said it out loud, "you know, feel loved and cherished - no matter what it is."

slipping off the swing, you launched yourself into his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck. you bury your face into the crook of his neck, taking in the scent of the sandwood and lemon of his cologne.

wonwoo let's out a quiet 'umph' as you nearly take him out. his glasses were definitely crooked on his face from the impact, but he doesn't mind. he's quick grab onto your waist and steady the both of you. he patted your back, and though you couldn't see him, he was grinning sheepishly from ear to ear.

"thank you," you told him.

"always," he responded immediately.

you paused, hesitant because you've never quite said the 'L-word' before, but perhaps it was warranted when he was so patient and kind with you.

at least once, before it's too late, right?

that was always the lesson to be learned in the movies.

"i love you," you peeped.

this made wonwoo laugh - loud and heartily, out of nervousness and giddiness.

he wanted you to feel loved, but it never occurred to him to say the words himself either.

"i . . . i love you too."

he squeezed you extra tight to further his point.

you were grateful to have met him when it snowed in august. if it was any other way, perhaps a normal august, you might not be here right now, in his arms, exchanging simple i love you's.

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios

[abarbaricyalp]

Written a week late for the @sambuckylibrary Anniversary Event!

Sorry about any typos in advance

Sam Wilson, God bless his nearly perfect soul, didn't have the self-serving skills that the good God gave a gnat. From across the diner, Annalise watched her best friend's son ignore every single sign that his handsome, quiet friend was putting down across their quickly emptying breakfast plates. Her own breakfast was cooling below her, but she had already forgotten about her blueberry oatmeal (cinnamon on top).

To begin with, Sam had invited her to eat with them, despite the fact that were clearly new flowers sitting on the table as well. She knew Bucky Barnes had already made friends with the local florist and she knew he had a weekly order of Sam's favorites set up. (Sam had dropped his affinity for carnations since high school, but still liked yellow flowers and baby's breath). Bucky had also been sitting with his hand on the table, palm up towards Sam, but Sam hadn't taken it yet, hadn't seemed to notice, except to occasionally move some silverware closer to him. Then there was the matter of Bucky's feet, which Annalise could see clearly under the booth as he keep putting his ankle to Sam's, only for Sam to apologize and move his feet back.

Sam Wilson had all the easy charm of his father, but didn't seem to have inherited Paul's keen sense of when the attention was on him. Paul had been a flirt and a half back in the day. He clocked Darlene's interest before Darlene even admitted it to herself (or Annalise, for that matter). Oh, how he had worked day and night to woo her. And then he spent the rest of his life doing the same thing.

Sam was staring down an oncoming train of attention and devotion and he didn't even hear the whistle.

"Dom," she said softly when the waitress walked back by her table. She was across from Sam's booth anyway, but she was pretty certain that even if she was right next to them, neither young man would hear her, too focused on each other. "Could you send a slice of chocolate cheesecake over to them?" she asked. "Keep it between us."

Dom looked back at Sam and Bucky as well, humming in agreement. "Ma'am, consider that fine idea on the house," she laughed. "Might forget a spoon too."

"Oh, now you're speaking my language, young lady," Annalise laughed. "Isn't it great when a plan comes together?"

Dom squeezed her shoulder with an exuberant grin before she disappeared into the kitchen again.

She wasn't the only exuberant one. The boys were bright and cheery as well. It was nice to see after a couple of weeks of quiet from them. Times when one or the other of them was pulled away for their superhero business were always rough. Times when they were both gone were downright untenable. The recuperation needed for the superheroes also never sped things along.

But they seemed to be more at ease, finally back home, as they swiped bacon and toast from each other's plates and cried foul at the same time.

Sam Wilson deserved the world and every happiness. Even as a young boy, clambering over the pulpit to set up his daddy's readings before church, but getting distracted by the crickets that needed a helping hand outside, he had a heart of gold and a moral compass that would go toe-to-toe with most adults in the community. Annalise could remember all of his accolades from high school so well. The sports trophies, the academic achievements, the service awards. She didn't know how he found the time in the day for everything he did, and then helping his parents with the boat and the food boxes as well. All the Wilson kids were like that, but Gideon had gone off without a forwarding address and Sarah had learned to go for what she wanted, created a fairytale love story in front of everyone. Sam had joined the Air Force and spent the rest of the story sacrificing. It wasn't until he came home for Cassius Sr's funeral that they even heard about the accident in Bakmala. It took years after that and a slip up from Sarah for them to learn just how deep the relationship between Sam and his Air Force partner actually was. He just never spoke about it, even to his longest supports in the community. Just focused his attention on Sarah while he could before going off to save the world again.

Too much pain had visited the Wilson household in waves that just never stopped coming. First Gideon leaving, then Paul and then Darlene, then Cassius Sr. and then Sam's partner. Or near enough that order. Plenty of sunshine too, though. Sarah's boys were stunning fruit off of the healthiest of trees. It was hard not to see Sam when Cass was running around town, feeding strays, or when AJ read at church.

But Annalise had been waiting for Sam to bring someone home, make something just for himself. Being Captain America was hardly helping matters. If the young man had ever run out of excuses for his lacking love life before, he had a fresh host of them now.

If you can have lunch with me once a week, you can find yourself a nice man too, she'd said to him a while ago.

It seemed like he had found himself a nice man, she had to admit. No matter how goofy a name like Bucky was, there was no denying he was a good man. (Sure, she'd heard the youngsters talking about The Winter Soldier, but she'd never met the Winter Soldier, thank you very much. Just Bucky Barnes) He was exactly the kind of man for Sam. Not afraid to get his hands dirty, strong and supportive but soft too, on the inside. He was clearly so far gone on Sam that his eyes practically radiated hearts at all times. And, oh boy, could he keep Sam on his toes. They were delightful together in a way that made her ache for her own long-gone love.

And Sam was oblivious to it all. It wasn't for lack of interest. During their lunch dates, the conversation could center entirely around Bucky some days. No matter what else Annalise brought up, Sam would find some way to circle it back around to whatever heroic, or idiotic, thing the other young man had done recently. (Not so young, she supposed. Bucky corrected her every time she said it) If Sam wasn't as far gone on Bucky as the reverse, it was a near, and growing, thing.

So she watched them flirt and banter and pretend like their fingers weren't touching on the table as Bucky mooned over Sam and Sam couldn't look away from Bucky.

Dom came back just as Sam was eating the last of Bucky's pancake. It took a moment for them to look away from each other and to clock the cake she was setting between them.

"Oh, we didn't order this," Bucky corrected sweetly.

"Or that," Sam added as Dom produced two glasses of mimosas as well. His eyes instantly darted over to Annalise.

"Don't worry," Dom assured. "It's on the house. Just a little early-bird-regular special." She smiled brightly at them--there'd been a time Annalise would have loved to see Dom settle down with Sam and they'd have made a lovely couple too--and then turned to leave.

It was Bucky who reached for the spoon first. Then Sam, who came up a spoon short.

"Oh, wait--" he started to call, but Dom didn't look back. Sam shot another glance towards Annalise, who was doing nothing but minding her own business, thank you.

"Well, this is some of the best cake in the state," Bucky pointed out smoothly. He offered the first bite to Sam. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all that."

Sam put his fingers over Bucky's hand on the spoon. He maintained eye contact for just a second before he had to look away as he took the proffered cheesecake.

Bucky grinned cheerily at him before taking at least twice as big a scoop for himself, which led to a familiar scene of them squabbling and trying to strong arm each other into relenting.

"I'll give you the rest!" Bucky insisted, trying to hold the spoon away from Sam's reaching hands.

"The middle is the best part of the slice!" Sam argued, halfway climbing across their booth table. He put a hand on Bucky's shoulder to hold himself upright and had almost reached the spoon when he hip-checked the glass of sweet tea between them. Annalise had lost track of whether it was his or Bucky's. They both had a sweet tooth to end all sweet teeth.

Bucky took the opportunity of Sam reaching back to catch the glass to shove the spoon in his mouth. Sam squawked out a sound that Annalise was sure Captain America shouldn't make and then actually reached over like he was about to pry into Bucky's mouth.

Bucky quickly smacked a hand over his lips as he bent over laughing. "Stop it. I'm gonna spit it on you if you don't stop," he warned, trying to fend Sam off with his other hand. "Don't make me laugh."

"You didn't even taste that!" Sam accused. "That was a waste of the perfect bite!"

"I did taste it," Bucky promised. "It was so good. You missed out."

Annalise was starting to agree with AJ. Sam and Bucky were gross together, in the most endearing way. She hadn't seen Sam goof around like this since junior high. It felt like a little bit of sunshine had been restored to the world.

Bucky chopped off a bite of the crust and offered it to Sam as reconciliation. Judging by the way Sam was still pouting, it was only partially working. Sam took the spoon and they settled down as they finished the cheesecake and their mimosas.

Sam had mentioned that Bucky couldn't get drunk, on account of his serum whatnot, but Annalise wasn't sure she bought it. Every time she saw him drinking, he still seemed to get loose limbed and smiley. Then again, she only ever saw him drink around Sam, so perhaps she was giving credit where it wasn't due. She watched him practically melt into the booth seat, hooking his ankle on Sam's and finally being allowed to stay there as they chatted about their plans for the day as orange juice and champagne slowly fizzled away. They were back to working on the house they'd bought. Technically there had been a housewarming party a couple of weeks ago, but she'd seen the both of them in and out of the hardware store often enough since to know the work was not done. She'd bring over some pie for them. Bucky liked cherry and Sam liked peach, both of which she had in her kitchen.

Eventually, she turned her attention to her thoroughly cold oatmeal. She had almost finished it when the boys started shifting around, bickering about the bill. Bucky darted away to pay for it, even though he'd just been complaining about having to use the restroom. Sam came over to her table, catching her eye as he stood. By the time he sat across from her at the two-seater, she still hadn't looked back up.

"Surely you can't still want to have breakfast with me," she teased him finally when he didn't offer a new greeting.

"You're really just gonna set me up like that, huh?" he asked. The gap in his teeth always gave away his grins, just like Paul's had. He really did make her chest ache sometimes. "Just 'cause Bucky won't blame you doesn't keep you out of my sights."

Annalise scoffed softly and shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about, Samuel Thomas. Mind your manners."

Sam held up his hands placatingly. "Was there any reason cake appeared between us then?"

Annalise shrugged and pretended to read something on her phone. Usually she read the news while she had her breakfast, but she hadn't even opened her subscription because Sam and Bucky were more interesting. "I suppose there was extra. It can only sit out so long, you know."

Sam put his chin on his criss-crossed fingers, elbows on the table, which she swatted at but was ignored for. She continued to pretend to read a text message until she sighed.

"I just think you deserve something nice. You never take anything for yourself," she admonished lightly. "And I'm not talking about cake, young man."

Sam's eyebrows rose in surprise, but not at her words, she didn't think. Just at the admission. "Bucky is not nice," he said. "He's a pain and a lot of work."

Annalise hummed with a smile, thought of her loves. "All the best things are, aren't they?"

And Sam smiled. Really smiled. The sun came out. Birds sang. He really was her favorite Wilson child. "Yeah, sometimes they are," he agreed.

"Ready to go?" Bucky asked, appearing like he'd been summoned by that smile. He had his hand on the back of Sam's shoulder, inching towards his neck. "Hi again, Mrs. Corbett," he said to Annalise warmly.

"Yeah, mind pulling the truck around?" Sam asked.

Bucky glanced at Annalise, then back to Sam. "Sure," he agreed. "I'll give you two a little while longer to gossip."

Sam had a scar below his left eye that hadn't been there when he'd left for the Air Force. Shrapnel, she'd heard from someone, but she wasn't sure how true that was. Sam never talked about it and it'd be rude to ask. The first time she'd seen it, it had made her heart stop to think about something so violent coming so close to Sam's face, his eyes. By then, it had been a pale thin, still a little tender and thin, but healed. By now, it was barely noticeable, unless the sun was shining in the window just right to make it shine a little. Unless she was watching it as Bucky's lips came down on it, even though Sam's left side was across from where Bucky was standing.

Sam's eyes were still closed, long eyelashes fluttering, as Bucky stood up again. "Don't leave me idling for too long," he warned as he squeezed Sam's shoulder and turned for the door.

She watched Bucky leave, a Levi's ad come to life, and then looked to Sam who had come back to the world of mere mortals.

"Now, Samuel Thomas Wilson," she started, pointing a spoon at him.

Sam laughed merrily, slapping a hand across his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I didn't set you up anything! You set me up!" she accused. "Why haven't you told me?"

Sam was still laughing, shaking his head as he clutched onto his ribs. "I don't know, Miss Lise. I guess...I just liked having it for myself for a while. I was gonna tell you first," he said with a hand over his chest. He settled back in his seat and watched her with a slight apprehension.

Annalise watched him back. "I like Bucky," she said. "I don't like his name, but I like him. You did good there."

"I know you like him," Sam assured. "You just tried to set me up with him."

"Well, the last time I tried to set you up, you just never showed up," she said with a sniff.

"It was a dinner with you!" Sam defended. "I didn't know you were going to ditch me with a stranger."

"She wasn't a stranger. She was only three years younger than you."

"I lived in DC at the time," he added.

Annalise shrugged. "You skipped. Did you know Bucky then?"

Sam laughed softly and shook his head. "No, not then," he said. "Not yet. Besides, it took us a while to get there, even once I did know him."

Annalise knew there was a whole novel worth of story behind Sam and Bucky. She read the news about Sam, and Bucky had been mentioned in a few of them, but she hadn't been paying attention to him at the time, nor did she care to go back and reread anything.

She reached out for Sam's hand and squeezed his fingers. "I'm glad you're happy, Sam," she said softly. "It's what you've deserved for a long time."

Sam put his other hand over hers to squeeze back. "Do you think they'd like him?" he asked softly.

Annalise looked out the front windows, where Bucky was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel of the truck Sam had had since high school, singing along to some song she couldn't hear. She squeezed Sam's hand tighter.

"I do, Sammy," she said with a smile. "I really do. They'd be so proud of you. All of you. Always."

Sam kissed her hand before standing up. "Thank you, Miss Lise."

"We love you, Sam," she said, standing to hug him. She kissed his temple fiercely. "Good job on this one."

He smiled again and then left to get into the truck. He paused outside the driver's side to kiss Bucky through the open window.

Annalise smiled too. "Dom," she called, sitting again, "could I get some cheesecake over here. I earned it."

#sambucky #bucky barnes #sam wilson #writing #captain america #sambucky fanfic #the falcon and the winter soldier

[lucky-slice]

Aftg is fun cause all the characters are living in different genres like neil is in a mafia thriller while andrew is in some a24 drama film. Kevin is the horse girl in a horse girl movie and dan is in an underdogs sports story. Poor aaron is trying to have a normal slice of life forbidden romance type beat but then he has to go and kill a guy.

#aftg #gnat be quiet

[bakugous-tits]

Special Delivery

Hello Hello! So if anyone has seen, I've been talking about working on a new Kirishima fic set in the Fractured Flame universe- This is not that. This is another repost of one of my old favourites, but I promise I AM WORKING ON KIRISHIMA! Anyway, I wrote this for a BNHarem discord collab ages ago, and love it too much to let it die <3

Pairing: Pro Hero!Bakugou x Reader

Word Count: 4,636

Warnings: Fluffy and Smutty, There is an explosion and a description of the aftermath, Office Sex, Squirting and, you know me, there's a Creampie <3

Enjoy!

Working at the Ground Zero hero agency had perks. There was a fantastic coffee shop across the road, with surprisingly reasonable prices, it’s near to the bus stop, and the wide and tall windows allowed you a beautiful view of the city. The number of ridiculously attractive heroes that worked there was also a very welcome perk. 

With the likes of Red Riot, Chargebolt, Pinky and Cellophane in their ranks, you had no shortage of eye candy every day. But somehow, they were consistently overshadowed by the most domineering presence in the office. The boss, Dynamight, always took over the room simply by being there. 

You were just a secretary, doing nothing more than assisting with filing of paperwork, fielding calls, and similar clerical duties. You were friendly enough with the heroes, but you always wondered why they ever even made time to come and say hi to such a lowly employee like yourself. Pinky would occasionally come over and chat about your plans for the weekend, giggling with you about going to this club or that, telling you wild stories about her own time in various parties. Red Riot would bring you coffee sometimes, claiming that you needed the help to keep you going in a busy office like theirs. Chargebolt and Cellophane, predictably, would come over and flirt with you at every opportunity they could, leaning against your desk with charming grins. But the boss… He would simply eye you from across the room, his calculating gaze following you as you went to the copy machine, or had to deliver papers to another secretary. It was a little unnerving, to have him watch you so closely, but a small part of you always felt a small thrill run through you at his attention. You never saw him do it to any other employee. Just you.

At first, you thought you’d upset him somehow, going over every action in your head to find what you’d done wrong, coming up empty. Sure, you’d made a few mistakes when you first started working for the agency, but that had been so long ago! And you’d been new, everyone makes mistakes at first! You made it a point to become an exemplary employee from then on, double and triple checking your work before handing it in, and making sure it got in early if possible. The other heroes had commented on your increase in ability, making you smile at your success. Dynamight simply huffed at you, his eyes scanning over you from head to toe, making your back straighten. He hadn’t said a word until his friends began to leave, walking past you and ducking down at the last minute to rumble out a quiet ‘good job.’ as he left, acting as if nothing had happened.

That was the first time you’d had the thought cross your mind.

Did he like you?

You’d dismissed the thought almost immediately. A secretary at his agency, with a weak quirk that was barely usable? No way he even saw you as more than a gnat buzzing around him on a daily basis, able to be ignored but always there. 

And yet, as time went on, you noticed more and more. His friends would be huddled around him, glancing in your direction with shit-eating grins and murmuring to him, and he would frown at their words, stomping off with pink dusting his high cheekbones. The eyes that watched you so closely as you walked past wouldn’t be trained on you in general, but your face directly. Sometimes you even caught him staring at your ass as you went past, going back to his conversation with a clearing of his throat. 

He never approached you, and you never brought it up.

How could you? Not only was he miles out of your league, but he was your boss. There was no way you could pursue him, and he obviously wasn’t into you enough to speak to you about it. You let it go, resigning yourself to pine over him in secret, never revealing to anyone about your secret.

“You like Bakugou, don’t you?” Pinky sure had a weird way of starting conversations, jolting you out of some document you’d been working on on your laptop. You looked up at her with wide eyes, your brows furrowing. “I mean, you look at him a lot. I know most people do, but- like- you really take the cake, sweetie.” She was leaning her hip against your desk, one hand placed on the surface as she gave you a wicked grin. The glint in her eyes was positively evil, flicking over to where Dynamight and Red Riot were talking in his office, the door open. Both of their brows were furrowed, their hushed conversation seeming a lot more serious than their usual banter. You looked through the door for a moment before shaking yourself out of your distracted state, looking up at Pinky with flushed cheeks.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about. I only look at Dynamight as my boss, that’s all.” Her grin only widened, a giggle escaping her lips as she shakes her head. She threw a thumb over in the direction of the men, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Don’t panic, silly! He’s totally into you too. You should see the way his ears perk up whenever anyone mentions you.” She leans down further, seemingly about to whisper something to you, but she’s interrupted by a new voice.

“What are we talkin’ about?” Chargebolt sauntered over, holding a mug of coffee as he looked between the two of you. You go to open your mouth, but a further different voice cuts you off before you can speak.

“We talkin’ about Blasty and his crush? Oh, I am so here for that.” Cellophane joined up, leaning an elbow on Chargebolt’s shoulder, his wide grin focused down on you. With all 3 heroes focusing on you, your face flushed further, making you shuffle the papers on your desk and look for something, anything to change the conversation. You cleared your throat, wondering if bringing up the weather was too obvious a deflection, when a booming voice called out to the 3 heroes crowding you.

“Oi! Get the hell in here, we got plans to go over.” Dynamight addressed his colleagues, but his eyes were solely focused on you, flitting over you as if to check you were okay. As the three groaned and dragged themselves away, you couldn’t help but give him a small smile and a thankful nod.

He didn’t give you anything in return, but the way his shoulders seemed to relax made something in your chest flutter.

-------------------------------------------------

Their plans to infiltrate a villain hideout had been perfect, Dynamight’s tactical thinking making everything go off without a hitch. All 5 heroes had been celebrated for their bravery, quick thinking and overall skill, as this had been a big job catching a sought-after villain. You were happy for them, even if it meant a mountain of paperwork for you. It should have been boxed off, over and done with. So why was the office on fire, debris and smoke everywhere?

You coughed, dragging yourself out from under your desk where it had ended up overturned on top of you, raising a hand to your head to feel the sticky wetness of blood coating it. Squinting through the smoke, your hand flew to your mouth, seeing your desk neighbor lying on the floor, his neck twisted at an odd angle and his eyes wide open. You wanted to scream, to get help, but the rest of the office was in chaos. Ears ringing, you looked around once more, your eyes landing on one of your heroes carrying another worker away and toward the exit, calling out orders to other people. Red Riot seemed to have his hands full there, but you opened your mouth to try and shout for him anyway, desperate to get help for your coworker and friend. 

Nothing came out of your mouth, just a croak that was lost among the screams and sounds of the agency falling apart. Tears pooled in your eyes as panic welled within you, until you managed to make out a garbled and quiet version of your name in the ringing of your ears. You turned your head, seeing Dynamight running toward you, falling to his knees as his hands cupped your face gently, tilting it and frowning when he saw your head injury. He spoke to you, but the words didn't make sense, you couldn’t hear him properly. You shook your head at him, pointing to your coworker. “He- he needs help… You have to- to help him!” You grasped onto his gauntlets, your eyes pleading with his. Dynamight turned to look at your coworker, his expression tightening as he looked back at you and shook his head, reaching to hook his arm under your knees to pick you up. You fought his grasp, screaming that your friend needed help more than you. Didn’t they understand? His neck- surely his injury was worse, you could wait, he needed someone to help him! The further you got from the wreckage of the office, the less your ears rang, finally allowing you to hear Dynamight’s words. “He’s gone… It’s too late, we can’t help him, we gotta get you out of here…” Gone… too late…Your eyes fluttered shut as the world was enveloped in black, your mind too exhausted to keep up.

-------------------------------------------------

It smelled clean. Too clean, and there was an incessant beeping that wouldn’t shut the fuck up somewhere off to your left. You frowned, trying to open your eyes and immediately closing them in pain when the stark white ceiling and fluorescent lights blinded you. Trying again, slowly this time, you squinted your eyes open, moving to raise your arm to rub your eyes and stopping when you felt a tug at your elbow joint. Looking down, you saw an IV attached to you, and your frown deepened.

What the fuck happened? Finally registering a hushed but angry sounding voice in the room with you, you glanced around. Near the doorway, wearing casual clothes and holding his phone up to his ear, Dynamight was hissing at someone on the other end of the line. “... don’t care about the costs, I’ll help cover ‘em. We gotta get the office rebuilt… Listen, Shitty Hair, I won’t let some minor thugs think we can be taken down by something like this. We get rebuilt, and show ‘em they can come at us with whatever they got- we ain’t stoppin’.” He turned in place, his eyes roving over the floor, up the bed, and finally resting on your open eyes. His own eyes widen at the sight of you awake, his feet already bringing him closer. “...gotta go.”

Dynamight hung up the phone, pocketing it as he stopped by the side of your bed, leaning both hands on the covers. You eyed him for a moment, unsure what to say, before you tentatively reached out, covering his hand with yours as tears filled your eyes. “Thank you. For saving me.” His hand froze under yours, his eyes shooting to stare at the limbs with what looked like panic before he relaxed, flipping his hand over to grip yours. With a sigh, his free hand came up to scrub down his face, his eyes moving to yours and staying locked on the bandage you could feel above your eye. “Scared the shit outta me, princess. Thought- with how close you were to the door- didn’t think you’d made it.” His words are tight, almost choked, and you frown at him.

“What happened? I don’t really… remember…” “S’fine, doctors said it’d probably be blurry. We thought we got ‘em all. But we missed one, a guy who was pretendin’ to be quirkless. We didn’t think he was even really one of the villains, more like a civilian caught up in it… just a good actor, I guess. He- he built a bomb. Packaged it up like a delivery and dressed the part, got in and left it on my desk. He had the detonator and I got him before he was outta the building but he- turns out he had a quirk. Technopath, or some shit, let him detonate it even though we were downstairs… I’m- I’m so sorry, I thought I got ‘em all…” His free hand clenched into a fist, you’d never seen him look so distraught. You squeezed the hand still in your grip, giving him a small smile. “You had no way of knowing, Dynamight. You did everything you were supposed to.” “Bakugou. Don’t bother with my hero name here.” Your eyes widened, but you nodded. Without letting go of your hand, Bakugou pulled a chair up to the side of your bed, staring at your intertwined fingers. You’d never been this close to him, not like this, but right now you needed the comfort. Not questioning it, you let him play with your hand, enjoying the companionable silence until he opened his mouth again.

“I really thought… When I got up there, and saw everything all- destroyed… I really thought I’d lost you.” You frowned, about to speak, but he cut you off. “Don’t- Just lemme talk, okay? I’m a coward. I spent all this time tellin’ myself I didn’t have to tell you, because you were always right there for when I was ready. Let myself think nothin’ would ever happen, but- then it did. And when I got up there and couldn’t find you… I just thought- I thought ‘I should have told her.’ Because I didn’t think I had a chance. And then I saw you, and it was like I had a second chance. So here I am- takin’ that chance. You know what I’m talkin’ about, right?” Bakugou turned his head towards you, his eyes pleading, a nervous twitch to his brow. Your eyes had widened a long time ago, your heart pounding in your chest as you processed his words. 

Slowly, a smile crept across your lips, your head nodding. “Yeah, I know. I’d like that, a lot.”

-------------------------------------------------

It’s amazing the difference a few weeks can make.

A few weeks ago, you never would have dreamed that you could call Katsuki Bakugou yours, and yet here you were. Turns out that dating your boss is okay if your boss is literally at the top of the food chain at work, and no one is going to call him out on his shit. Mina, Sero, Kaminari and Kirishima were overjoyed at this development, teasing Bakugou at every opportunity they could, not having to hide it in front of you anymore. This in turn delighted you, loving the blush and harsh glare that would appear on his face, the soft pops  and crackles of his palms becoming one of your favourite sounds. He took you on modest, low key dates, to keep you away from the prying eyes of the public, and you loved how silently affectionate he became. A hand in yours as you walked home after a date, a gentle kiss at your doorstep, a lingering touch at your lower back as you turned away that had your thighs tingling. 

The little glint of hunger in his eyes as he watches you leave.

It was like you were back in high school, closing your front door and squealing into your hands after each date, wanting more than anything to drag him into your home and fuck him senseless right there in the entryway. The only thing stopping you was that every time you tried to, he stopped and said he had something special planned for your first time together. You trusted that he knew what he was doing.

As he walked you toward the office one evening, you thought he’d lost his mind.

You had been having nightmares about the building ever since the event, waking up gasping for air as if you were still stuck in the smoke filled room. Your heart was pounding just looking at the building, your steps slowing until you came to a complete stop, looking at him warily. He gave you a rare smile, tugging on your hand gently to bring you into his side. “Just trust me, yeah?”

And you did. Because he’d never done a single thing to make you lose faith in him, even before you were together, there was probably no one else on the planet that you trusted more. 

Bakugou walked you into the building, keeping you tucked into his side the whole time. It was odd being here after hours, the building looking so dark compared to the usual bright sunlight that filtered through the large glass walls. When you arrived at your floor, the lift gave a soft ding! to alert you, and you held your breath.

Suddenly, you understood. 

The whole floor had been refurbished, reinforced walls around those with cubicles, the offices with their large, see through windows being replaced with thicker, frosted glass and thicker doors, everything redesigned with a more durable design in mind. It looked entirely different, a clean slate.

Your desk was right outside of Bakugou’s door.

“I wanted to keep you close, in case anything happens again…” Bakugou’s free hand reached up to swipe at his nose, a bashful blush trickling across his cheeks. Your eyes watered slightly as you realised that he’d done this for you. The other staff would benefit too, of course, but he’d made some of the changes with you and your fears in mind, bringing you back here to show you that it wasn’t the same anymore, that you wouldn’t ever be back in that position again.

You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. A soft kiss to the top of your head had you pulling back, looking up at him for just a moment before you pushed up to press your lips to his. One of his hands came up to cradle your cheek, keeping you from moving away as he kissed the breath from your lungs, pushing you back against the lift doors, the cool metal biting at your back through your clothes. 

Bakugou reached down, grasping your thighs and lifting you, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you through the office space and into his office, kicking the thick door closed behind him and seating you on the edge of his desk. He finally pulled back, letting you breathe as he moved his lips to your neck, inching toward your collarbone. When he found that little spot on your collarbone that had you gasping, he smirked into your skin, biting down on the flesh softly before latching his lips there, leaving behind a deep mark. Finally leaning back, he reached up to grasp the back of your head, tugging it so he could straighten up and look down at your panting form.

“Gonna help me christen the office, princess?” The pet name had your core throbbing, your mouth parting around a soft moan as you nodded your head, his lips spreading into a dark grin. You’d been waiting weeks for this, for him, and now that he was between your thighs, his hard length pressed up against your pussy through your clothes, you couldn’t wait to get him inside you. Bakugou reached for the hem of your shirt, ripping it up and off you. Pulling one of the cups of your bra down, he moved to wrap his lips around your nipple, making you unwrap your hands from his neck, leaning back on the desk to give him better access. The office was so quiet, just the lewd noise of Bakugou sucking on your breast and your soft panting filled the air, one of your hands moving to unclip your bra behind your back. As the garment fell down your arms, one of his hands came up to tweak at your other nipple skillfully, a sharp pinch making you cry out for him. 

The way he handled you, harshly but as if you would break if he went too hard, was making your brain fog over with lust. You couldn’t focus on anything but him, his tongue flicking at your nipple, his fingers on your breast, his hips rolling into yours slowly. It was too much, it wasn’t enough, you just needed more. Bringing one hand up to his shirt, you tugged at it until he understood you wanted it off, leaning away and pulling it over his head to reveal what could only be described as an adonis-like body. Pale scars littered his skin, evidence of his past battles, and you reached out to trace a few of them softly, flicking your eyes up to his before leaning forward to kiss him once again. Bakugou placed his hands firmly on your hips, pulling them closer to grind into you more intently. Forgoing his scars, you let your hand trace down his abs, feeling them twitch under your fingers until you reached his waistband, undoing his jeans deftly and reaching into his pants to cup his erection through his boxers. He hissed into the kiss, his lips separating from you as he rested his forehead against yours, looking down at where your hand disappeared into his open jeans.

Smirking at his reaction, you pushed at his clothing until both his pants and boxers were around his thighs, freeing his cock for you to wrap your hand around. Your mouth filled with saliva just looking at his cock, long and thick and just asking for you to wrap your lips around it instead, but Bakugou wouldn’t let you move him away to get to your knees. “Sorry, babe, but if you put that pretty mouth on me I won’t last. Next time.” Pouting, you nodded your head at him, moving to get your own jeans off. Bakugou helped pull them off you, leaning back to get a good look at you when you were bare before him. He bit his lip, eyes tracing over every curve, every piece of skin hungrily, and your face heated at his attention. “So fuckin’ beautiful…” You didn’t have time to react to his uttered words, because in the next moment he had you on your back on his desk, his hands pushing at the backs of your thighs to push them against your chest. His mouth descended on your aching core, tongue pushing into you to taste the sweet wetness gathered there, before he moved it up to your clit, suckling harshly at your sensitive bud. You cried out sharply at his treatment, a hand shooting down to tangle in his hair, fingers tightening in his soft strands as your walls pulsed around nothing, begging for something to fill you. Bakugou stood, separating from your clit with a pop! as he grinned down at you. “Sorry, needed to have a taste of that sweet pussy, princess. Tastes just like I thought- perfect.” Eyes hooded, chest heaving, you were about to scream at him to just fuck you already, but he seemed to get the idea from your look. Bakugou pressed the blunt head of his cock to your entrance, one hand keeping one of your thighs pressed open for him while the other squeezed at the base of his length. He looked up to lock eyes with you once more, a brow raised in question, giving you one last chance to back out. You nodded as you braced yourself, knowing that this would hurt a little as he wasn’t exactly small. 

Bakugou pushed his hips forward, the head of his cock popping past your entrance, the both of you exhaling slowly as he pushed further and further into your core, parting your walls until his hips were flush with yours. You dragged in a ragged breath, the burning stretch edging on pain before melting into complete pleasure. Head falling back onto the table, your eyes rolled back as you squeezed around him experimentally, relishing in his groan at your actions. He swatted at your thigh as he began to pump his hips, moving both hands to your hips in order to pull you into his thrusts. Your mind was reeling with pleasure, unable to think of anything other than the drag of his thick cock against your walls. Moans tumbled freely from your lips, mostly incoherent versions of his name, interspersed with oh god’s and right there!’s. Bakugou himself wasn’t faring much better, groans leaving him on every other thrust, his brows furrowed in pleasure as he watched his cock disappear into your pliant body. 

Bakugou lifted your legs to rest both of your ankles on one broad shoulder, arms wrapping around your thighs as he pounded into you harder, yanking you into each pump of his hips, his eyes focused on your face. Watching you fall apart around him like this, was all he’d wanted for so long, now that he had it… he knew he wouldn’t ever be able to get enough. He was getting drunk off the feeling of your pussy pulling him deeper. Burying himself deeper until his tip was hitting against your cervix, the feeling causing your eyes to shoot wide open, a pressure building in your lower belly. Bakugou’s length hitting so deep and dragging against that special spot inside you, it was so much more than you’d ever felt before, that pressure building and building, a worried look appearing on your face that he catches immediately. He slows down a little, looking at you in confusion. “I- Something feels- weird- pressure…” Your words come out disjointed with his hips still slapping against you, and it takes him a second to process. Once he does, all he does is smirk and lean over you further, resuming his original pace and power, ignoring your worried words. You try to push against his abdomen, concerned at the pleasure building within you, but he’s so strong that he barely budges. Your walls start to flutter around him as you approach your climax, clamping down on him rhythmically, until-

“C’mon, princess. Make a mess on me, lemme have it.” 

It seems that his words are all you needed, flying over the edge of your orgasm as that pressure released, your cunt gushing around him as you came harder than you ever had before, your vision whiting out and your mouth caught wide open in a silent scream. Bakugou watched you come undone, your pussy clenching so hard and drawing him deeper, his own release taking over as he pumped into you, hard, and shot ropes of come deep into your body. He slowed gradually, panting hard over you as he let your legs fall to the side. The two of you caught your breath, Bakugou pressing soft kisses to your chest as he rested his forehead on your collarbone. You ran your fingers through his hair, basking in the glow of your orgasm, until he shattered the moment with a snort. With a raised brow, you looked down at him as he propped his chin on your chest.

“You fuckin’ squirted on me. So dirty, princess.” Huffing in indignation, you pushed on his forehead, ignoring his chuckles as he pulled out of you, both of you getting dressed slowly. He caught your elbow, pulling you close and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Hey- I didn’t say I didn’t like it. In fact…” He leaned down, pressing his lips to your ear as he murmurs;

“...I wanna find out how many times I can get you to squirt for me back home, baby.”

You shuddered, dressing quickly and practically dragging him back to your apartment.

#Katsuki Bakugou #Bakugou smut #Bakugou x reader #my hero academia #mha #bnha

[itwasthereaminuteago]

I come bearing slutty thoughts.

Imagine Rumlow coming home from a mission where he got hurt and in that moment, all he could think about is not returning to you.

And ehm... when he gets home, he shows you just how much he loves/needs you 😜

(I hope this won't get flagged 🤣)

Alrighty sweet stuff, it's finally here (so sorry about the wait)! Good god he's a beast isn't he? Happy Sunday to you I hope 😁

|| Kissed by Death ||

Brock Rumlow x female reader

Tags/warnings: just love and (unprotected but on BC) smutty appreciation.

He didn't call, didn't think to let you know he would be back today, tonight. His mind was solely on a single track, focused on his own one mission.

With the water running over your ears when you're washing your hair you don't hear him come in, only gasping as you suddenly feel hands on your waist and the press of his body against your back.

“Brock!” You turn in his arms, not only surprised to see him home but also still almost fully clothed under the spray of water. “You're back, I wasn't expecting-” your warm smile only lasts a moment as you take in the pained look on his face, excitement turning to concern. “Oh my god, what's wrong? Are you hurt?” You ask, scanning his form for anything obvious, your worry only increasing at his continued silence. “Brock, please tell me.”

Out in the field that day he'd almost fucked up. A literal gnats ball hair away from getting his head blown off because he had been too cocky, too sure of himself in a dangerous situation that the near brush with death had knocked sense back into him with the force of a blow from a sledgehammer. It was the sense that he might not be able to come back home to you again if he acted that way again. That vile feeling had twisted in his guts, gripped him hard and mercilessly, the singular thought that he could lose you driving him to you as fast as possible once the mission was over. No other members of his STRIKE team had witnessed what had happened and so didn't question him bursting straight out of the briefing room after giving the absolute bare minimum communication necessary. He felt like he'd taken you for granted up until now. Felt like a failure. He needed you now. Craved your grounding touch, the feel of your soft skin against him, your mouth on his to remind himself how lucky he was to still be alive.

He lifts a hand to your face, cupping the side of it as his bourbon-brown eyes rake slowly over your nakedness as if he's seeing you for the first time. You let out a muffled whimper as he leans in, kissing your lips with such fierce desperation that you're panting hard when he eventually lets you surface for air and guides you both out of the spray of water. You help him when he begins to strip, your fingers slipping over the buckles and snaps as you both work in-between breathless clashes of your mouths to rid him of his tactical gear that is eventually flung into a wet heap in the corner of the bathroom. He's sucking possessive marks into the skin of your neck up with you pinned against the wall as you palm his thick length through his sodden boxers, trying to tug them down at the same time as he's reaching between your thighs with eagerness making you moan at his sure touch.

You touch him too, your hands skimming over his wet skin feeling him flinch slightly as you explore and find the inevitable fresh bruises and cuts with dismay.

“Brock,” you gasp out as his lips cover your face with kisses and he carefully slides his fingers between your folds, gathering your slick arousal and dragging it up and over your sensitive bud. The words almost catch in your throat as you question him.

“Brock, talk to me! What happened? You're scaring me…please!” you grab hold of his wrist to stop him.

He’s gruff but quiet as he finally answers, eyes dark, almost black and you recognise the deep need in that gaze. “Sorry I scared ya baby, don't you worry. I just had to see you, couldn't wait.”

You nod and slowly release him, knowing that he'll tell you when he's ready, and instead of pushing any further you arch your body into him as he drops down to his knees propping your leg over his shoulder as he puts his mouth on you. Your fingers grasp to hold on to something, anything for balance as his tongue delves between your folds, lapping and licking, curling up inside to savour your sweet taste. He's never going to let you fall, supporting your ass with his big hands as you lose yourself in the feel of his mouth working you up and up, the sensation only made more intense by the shower steam slicking your bodies. Your head thunks back against the wall as Brock flicks the firm tip of his tongue over and around your throbbing clit taking you higher and closer to a crescendo, your thighs quivering around his face. He's looking up at when you open your eyes and look down at him, listening to your moans and whines and watching your mouth drop open when he pushes two fingers up inside your tight walls and fucks you with them.

“Baby you gotta come for me, please, please baby you're so fucking good to me… I wanna make you feel so good-” his mouth is back on you, thick fingers curling gently as he draws them back out of your cunt and then straight back in. Each thrust of them almost punches the air out of your lungs as he takes you right up to that sweet edge.

He groans loud with you against your core as you let go, feeling you squeezing and creaming around his fingers, licking it all up as you pant and shake with the intensity. When he carefully lets you down, you circle your arms around his neck, pulling him in and holding yourself up on wobbly legs at the same time as you taste yourself on his lips. He's still hard and heavy against your stomach, swearing under his breath as your fingers then wrap around his length and slowly start to move your hand up and down.

“Let me take care of you, now.” your soothing voice melts into his ears. But that's not how it's supposed to go. He's the one that's gotta show you what you mean to him, how you're the only damn thing on his fucked up brain when it comes down to the dirt and blood of it all. He stops you, scoops you up in his arms and out of the bathroom into the bedroom, fuck the fact you're both dripping wet he doesn't give a shit about the sheets all he cares about is you.

“You need to know,” Brock's tone is level and serious as he lays you down on the bed. “you got to know you're everything to me, yeah? Everything.”

You gently rake your hand through the top of his hair where it's longer, curling your hand around the back of his head and lightly scratching your nails at the shorter shaved parts. He's not yet admitted to you how he really feels, that he has this love for you, it's raw and new, but it's definitely real.

“I know, baby.” you assure him, pulling him closer. You're so sweet for him, better than he deserves as you lay back and guide him inside you.

“Brock-” the warmth of your breath brushes his neck and he dips his head down to kiss your shoulder, listening to the way your breathing hitches as he sheathes himself all the way to the hilt.

“Oh fuck doll, feels so-” Brock makes a sound you've never heard him make before, almost a whimper as you move your hips up to meet his slow thrust. You clasp your arms around his broad shoulders, holding him close to you as you move as one, your skin still damp from the shower. You hum in agreement, your parted lips slotting perfectly together, still tasting yourself on his tongue as it tangles lazily with your own.

The muscles of his arm are obvious as he holds most of his weight above you, his free hand caressing it's way up the side of your body, the rough pad of his thumb rolling over your peaked nipple. Your back arches and you hike your leg up higher and lock it around him as he keeps on rolling into you at a steady pace that's already got you well on your way to seeing fireworks. It's not a rare thing that he's so tender with you, far from it, but the Brock you see at work is the completely opposite side of the coin and every time you're together this way you can't help but feel special. He bares himself to you, makes you feel like a goddess, gives you more than you could ever ask for. And he feels exactly the same way. He must have had some dumb luck that you fell for him just as he did for you. He's always been seen as a bit of an asshole, most weren't quick to trust him, but not you. You trusted him with your life and that's why he was home this instant with you. You kept him on track, had seen something in him that must have been worth sticking around for, and he was intending on spending all the time he could making sure that was true.

“Thought I was a fucking goner today,” he grits out, “I was a fucking idiot.”

Your eyes snap back open at his confession, searching him for more.

“Brock, you're here, you're okay, that's all that matters.”

“But I need you doll, need to be with ya and that can't happen if I wind up dead.”

You grab his face in your hands, focusing his attention again. “Then don't die.” You tell him, giving him a smile before you kiss him deeply.

He shakes with a burst of laughter and then as you lean up and graze your teeth over his jaw hisses with pleasure. He grins, his hand cupping your jaw, watching as your eyes flutter closed when he fits his hand around your neck with a tiny amount of pressure, just the way you like it.

“Mm, that's my good girl.” Brock praises with a husky whisper, moving his hips faster now pushing a desperate mewl of his name from your lips. “So good for me, don't deserve you…”

You can feel your second orgasm building, moaning out as Brock shifts his hand down your body to reach between you and rub his slick fingers over your clit.

The sound of you purring his name under him and the telltale twitch of your thighs draws him right along with you, pulling his cock almost all the way out of your pussy before plunging back deep inside. As you start falling apart around him he snaps his hips faster, shallower until you're clenching and squeezing over and over and he gives you everything he's got, releasing inside your soft heat with a deep moan of your name.

You're both panting as he carefully withdraws and rolls to your side, and as you half drape yourself over his spent body, you can't help smiling as you peck his cheek, turning his face towards you and kissing him over and over.

“Thanks for coming back to me.”

He lets go of a relieved sigh, like the weight of his guilt has been lifted by you saying that.

“I'll keep comin’ back, baby. Don't you worry.”

#brock rumlow x reader #brock rumlow x female reader #brock rumlow smut #brock rumlow fluff

[estrellami-1]

So that bit where Steve rips I to Murray about outing his loved ones and pushing Nancy to cheat on him...

Have you considered (yes, I just realized it was part of the initial ask, but I've been dwelling on this for years, man): Not only does Joyce find out that Jonathan helped Nancy cheat on the boyfriend he DEFINITELY knew about, but she also just found out about the photos through Steve's upstairs bedroom window. Photos that could not ever be claimed as accidental. Now, Joyce has been holding a bit of a grudge against Steve since he broke her boy's camera. Jonathan only told her that Steve Harrington got pissed off and busted it, not why. And then Steve went and fought with Jon and her son got arrested while that rich boy got off scott free. That just reinforced her grudge, especially considering the stress she was already under at the time. But then she finds out it wasn't just Steve being a bitchy popular jock, but that her boy was also being a creepy dick. And she recalls that Steve not only apologized for breaking his camera, but that he replaced it, too.

Enjoy! Also @zerokrox-blog hope this answers your prompt :)

Jonathan’s been scared of his mom before, for good reasons: when he was seven and broke a vase after she’d told him to stop running in the house, at eleven when he lied about his grades, at fifteen when he snuck out for the first (and only) time.

Every time she gets really mad at him, she gets quiet.

She’s been silent for a solid ten minutes. The only words she’d spoken had been to Murray, to tell him to leave. She’d been quiet then, too, then just stayed silent.

“So here’s what I thought the story was,” she starts, and Jonathan wants to dig a hole to China and bury himself. “I thought Nancy and Steve had broken up, then you and she had gotten together. I thought he broke your camera because he got mad at you for who-knows-what. I thought he fought you, antagonized you, until you couldn’t hold back anymore. I thought I knew you. I thought I knew the son, the man, I raised, would never sleep with a taken woman. Would never hide in the bushes and take pictures of someone else’s property or body. And to think she’d been half-naked…” Joyce shakes her head, leans back in her chair. Considers the knife still clutched in her hand and very carefully places it down next to her plate. “To think that I thought he’d been acting like Lonnie. Worse than Lonnie, even, which maybe wasn’t a fair comparison for a teenager, but I thought I knew my son.” She shakes her head again, stands, picks up her plate and silverware. Doesn’t look at Jonathan when she says, “I was partially right. Someone was acting like Lonnie. It just wasn’t who I’d originally thought. And to think I held onto a grudge against him for years.” She purses her lips, steps back from the table. Whispers the next line. “You need to think very, very carefully about your next move. I don’t know if Steve’s forgiven you. If I were him, I don’t know that I would.” She steps back again. “While you think about it… well. Forgive me if I need some time to think about it too. After all, you also lied to me.” She tilts her head in thought. “If memory serves, he replaced the camera he smashed. I feel that bears remembering when you think about what to do.” With that, she turns and makes her way to the kitchen.

And Jonathan? He feels about as small as a gnat. Even smaller. Nancy’s trembling next to him, hand over her mouth, and he’s not sure he should reach out. He’s not sure she’d want him to; not sure he wants to. He does, though, grazes the back of her hand with a fingertip. She chokes, looking at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, and he helps her up, helps her out the front door and into his car, gets in and starts driving without thinking about it first.

He realizes most of the way there that he was driving to the Wheelers’. Walks inside with Nancy when they get there, all the way up to her room. Silent.

“We need to talk,” Nancy says, and Jonathan nods even as he feels like the rug’s been yanked out from under his feet.

Fighting monsters was easy compared to this.

#stranger things #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #jancy #past stancy #joyce byers #Joyce is a badass y’all. don’t think she’s not when she is #she’ll tear you apart with a smile #request #ask #by the way my inbox is still open!! #keep ‘em coming #(if you want to ofc) #starambles

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Reader: colleagues to lovers

Being bored whilst bodyguarding isn't a bad thing. That just means there's no problems. Your fists are itchy though.

"This is what you do all day? Just sit around and wait for Crystal's meetings to finish?" Gun looks at you like you're an annoying little gnat and ignores you. This bastard. "And put that cigarette out it stinks"

You pick up on the ins and outs of your job easily. Afterall you are a professional. The one thorn in your side though is Gun. He's your senior so you begrudgingly show him respect but you hate the way he looks at you with those black eyes, like he's constantly sizing you up. Seeing whether you're worth the hunt.

You tend to spend your night shifts with Gun at the old school. Both making routine rounds to make sure there are no break ins. When there's nothing else to do he is on his phone and straight out ignoring you.

Tonight you look over his shoulder and see him watching on old fight on newtube "that brekdak is something else" you say. Gun seems surprised you know who it is. "I've never seen anything like his 65th title defense match" all Gun can respond with is "huh."

You bond over all sorts of fighting styles and techniques. Jiu Jitsu, Aikido, Kyokushin, Muay Thai. You realise this man lives and breathes fighting and nothing excites him more than a worthwhile opponent. You more than meet his expectations. You now spar during quiet days. You learn how to move against each other and together, finding each other's strengths and weaknesses.

You and Gun have now partnered together in real fights more times than you can count. Individually you were formidable, but together you are unstoppable. You work well together, watching each other's back, blocking stray hits from landing and your fighting styles develop to complement each other.

Still nothing can ever be perfect and injuries happen. You tend to each other carefully and efficiently, making sure the other heals quickly. You look out for each other and Gun is gentle with you in a way you didn't think he was capable of.

The final stand off with DG is particularly frustrating. You are waiting in the car, watching and ready to leap out if something went awry but it ends in a stalemate. Gun might have already beat up the other crews, but he returns back still antsy and itching for a fight.

"That was rough" you say when he gets in "what you going to do now?" He looks at you with an inscrutable expression but you're wary "don't think you can let off steam by trying to beat me up"

Gun runs his hands through his usually perfect hair, as if weighing something up. He takes a deep breath then turns to you and says "I can think of something else, do you want me to show you?"

You're intrigued. What does this demon do that could compare to fighting. "what is it?"

He moves closer. His rough hand lightly tilts your chin up to him "are you sure you want to know?"

You are curious if you both move in other ways as well as you fight

"Show me"

#lookism headcanons #lookism #lookism x reader #lookism hc #gun park #gun park x reader #park jonggun #park jonggun x reader #lookism fic #lookism fanfics #wannaeatramyeon

[grizzersmamma]

Son of Zmei | Fae AU | Nikto x F!Reader

A/N: Playing with @ghouljams​ ‘s Fae AU again, this time with my boy Nikto. This is just a bit of an intro to Nikto and his pet, our dear reader. We’ll get into what kind of creature Nikto is in the next part and how that plays into his personality. (I swear I’m working on the next BTL chapter, this fic is just on the side).

Warnings: Nikto being a bit of a creep. Reader gets knocked out lol. Nikto in this is similar to how he is in BtL, so kinda spoilers for that?

Series Masterlist: Here

CoD Masterlist: Here

Next Part

The little antiques and curiosities store you manage is quiet most days. The owner rarely visits, simply paying the bills from his comfortable home the next town over, leaving you to your own devices. So long as everything is kept clean and the newest items are properly displayed, the man doesn’t seem to care much for how you choose to keep yourself entertained throughout the day.  

You sit behind the shop counter most days undisturbed, tapping away at your laptop that seems frightfully out of place in a room filled with such ancient items. You can’t complain, however, as the pay is reasonable and most of the work is simple admin duties. You’re more than content to spend your work hours browsing the internet for new and interesting supplies and chatting with the elderly ladies that visit you every Thursday.  

Today is one such quiet day, with only the soft humming of the old lights hanging above you for company. Earlier, the nice lady who, for some reason, goes by the title “Witch”, had stopped by to talk to you about some sort of shop owner’s association being formed for the town. You thanked her for the consideration, informing her you didn’t actually own the store but would pass the word on to the owner. She had insisted that you drop by at some point, and you promised to consider it.  

You were the one tasked with running the store, even if the building didn’t technically belong to you, so perhaps it would be nice to get to know some of the people working nearby. The Witch seemed nice enough anyway, and she was one of the few people who purchased things from the shop rather than simply browsing the items. It would only be polite to accept such a kind offer.  

You’re drawn from your bored musing by the sound of the little bell above the door ringing, a figure moving into the entrance. As you push your laptop away from the main counter, you offer a bright greeting to the customer, straightening up to make it look as though you weren’t just leaning back in the chair, lazing about.  

The customer, what you can only assume is a man given their massive stature, turns a pair of ice blue eyes on you. He doesn’t return the greeting, just staring at you for an uncomfortably long moment, before he approaches. He’s dressed head to toe in black fabrics, not even his face visible save for the small holes in a rather large mask where his intense gaze pins you in place.  

Is this how you’re going to die? Murdered in broad daylight by a giant masked man? It seems likely given how the man is stomping toward you like a man on a mission, eyes not leaving your own.  

“How can I help you?” It comes out a bit strained as you struggle to get your voice to crawl its way out of your throat, vocal cords frozen in fear. Even stopping a few feet from the desk you’re stood behind, the man towers over you, looking down on you like you’re a tiny gnat underfoot.  

The man breathes out, the sound a strained rumbling noise like the growling of some sort of wild animal. You worry that he didn’t hear you, but a second later he finally speaks, “I have an order,” he growls. You weren’t expecting the deep, snarling voice and thick Russian accent that comes out of him, barely resisting the instinct to jump in surprise.  

“Right,” you breathe, slightly relieved that this guy just appears to be here on business and not actually planning on stabbing you. “What name would the order be under?” you ask.  

The man doesn’t appear to appreciate the question judging by the way the skin around his eyes crinkle slightly in distaste. He glares directly into your eyes as if your question is a riddle he needs to decipher. Eventually, he must find his answer because he finally answers you, “Nikto,” he grunts, “Son of Zmei.”

You battle to not furrow your brows at the rather odd name, knowing the people around this area are a little... quirky to say the least. To escape the awkward situation, you quickly dart into the storage room behind the counter where orders are stored for pick-up. There’s luckily only a single package, the name “Nikto” scribbled hastily across the top.  

When you finally return, the man, Nikto, has begun browsing the items on display next to the counter. His head shoots up the moment he catches sight of you, observing you again in that strangely intense way of his, silently placing the object he had been inspecting back onto the shelf.  

“Here you go,” you chirp, doing your best to plaster on a fake smile and not wilt under the man’s displeased look. He somehow manages to communicate a surprising amount of disgust with merely his eyes. You’re glad that the order was pre-paid, you’re not sure if you could handle trying to get money out of this man.  

He picks up the box, tucking it under his arm with a firm nod. “Good,” his voice, dangerous and low, sends a shiver down your spine. You’re not sure if it’s a good or a bad shiver. You’re about to breathe a sigh of relief, when the man turns around again. “You,” he snaps, “come with me.”  

You blink slowly at him, not entirely sure how to respond to being given a command like that. You awkwardly shuffle toward him, keeping a little bit of distance between the two of you. “Did you need something else?” you ask, cautiously.  

Before you can blink, a hand shoots out and grabs your face in a painful grip, yanking you closer. You gasp and try to pull the man’s hand off of you, but his grip is far too firm. “you will do,” he hums, looking you up and down. You want to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but he forces you to lift your head further, staring deep into your frightened eyes. “Sleep now,” he rumbles.  

The room tilts dangerously, or maybe that’s just you, your vision spinning. You vaguely recognise that the floor is rushing toward you, but before you can think much of it, everything turns black.  

When light floods back all you can focus on is the terrible stabbing pain behind your eyes. You huff slightly, nosing your face deeper into the pillow under your head, reluctant to get out of bed while feeling so sore. You open your eyes you’re met with an unfamiliar sight.  

The bed you’re currently resting in is not in fact a bed and this is decidedly not your room.  

You’re lying on an old couch, a soft pillow shoved under your head to keep your head from being too strained, even if the sofa is far from comfortable. A thick blanket is wrapped around your shoulders, keeping you warm. The house was old, a frosty draft blowing through the room and leaving you with goosebumps despite the comforter.  

You want to try and get up and explore the area. You don’t know where you are or who could be nearby, but your head is still spinning and everything seems to be cloudy. You hear the sound of heavy footfalls on the wooden floor and the door to the lounge room swings open. You try to scramble away from the man when he strides into the room.  

“Who the hell are you?!” You nearly screech, almost slipping over when you try to get out from under the blanket, disorientated. “Where am I?”

Nikto, or at least you think he called himself that, just stares at you as if you’re the one asking strange questions. He seems to decide that ignoring you Is the best course of action and continues where he was walking previously.  

You can't help staring slack jawed at the man as he just wanders past you and into the kitchen. After a moment of sitting in stunned silence, you cautiously rise from where you’re sat. You can’t recall how you actually got there, just a vague recollection of the man coming to the store and then nothing. The blanket is still curled around you, providing an extra layer of safety.  

When you finally muster the courage to poke your head through the doorway leading to the kitchen. Nikto doesn’t seem to be paying you much attention and, after taking a deep breath, you tentatively ask, “Why am I here?”

“You are payment,” comes the disinterested answer, the man still keeping his back to you as he digs through one of the cabinets, “you agreed to this, no?” His voice is still firm and aggressive in its tone, but for a moment your fear leaves you, replaced by anger.  

“No? Why would I agree to this?!” You snap, before you can think any better of it, “who the hell said I did?”

Nikto grows deathly still and, for a moment, you think you’ve angered him and your life may be forfeit. However, he lets out a deep breath, grumbling “this is... unfortunate...” under his breath. “Petrov is more of a coward than I anticipated.” You feel that statement was not for your ears as it’s mumbled softly under the man’s breath, but his voice is still loud enough for it to carry to you clearly.  

Petrov, your employer. The friendly old man who owned the store you worked at. He had told this stranger that you had agreed to be some form of payment? “So, uh, this seems to be just a big misunderstanding,” your words draw the man’s attention back to you again, his displeased, blue eyes narrowing at you, “can I leave now?” Your voice has started to weaken under the intense stare, sounding more like a strained squeak than a proper question.  

To your surprise, Nikto simply waves you off, “do as you please. We will deal with Petrov.” You genuinely weren’t expecting to be let go so easily, but this isn’t a situation you want to stick around to resolve and you certainly don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. Before you can move, however, he adds, “are you certain? The walk is long.”

“How far is it to town?” You slowly start moving away from the kitchen and toward what you assume is the front door.  

The man thinks it over, growling out an eventual, “two hours, as the crow flies,” just as you reach the front door. “Take dog with you.” He says, opening the door for you, and before you can ask what he means you almost trip over a large, black canine sitting at the bottom of the front steps. It’s absolutely huge, looking more like a small bear than a dog and you would be intimidated if it weren’t for just how poofy the dog’s fluff is.  

“Okay, uh, thanks?” You offer weakly, stepping around the dog. You’re not sure what else you can really say. ‘Thanks for not murdering me!’ ‘Please don’t go around kidnapping other people ‘cause that’s hella illegal!’ No, you don’t want to push your luck.  

The man doesn’t bother replying, stepping back into his house and closing the door with a slam that makes you jump. You hope you don’t encounter that creep ever again, especially with the whole murderer-in-a-cabin-in-the-woods vibes he gives off in spades. You quickly start putting distance between yourself and the stranger, trying to ignore the massive dog padding after you.  

Suffice to say, you’ll be handing in your letter of resignation first thing in the morning.  

#writing #call of duty modern warfare #nikto call of duty #nikto x reader #tf 1fae1 #fae au