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sl-ut · 29 days

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a prince’s desire

so sorry if this sucks lol I just got really high and wrote this in like 2 hours lolol

pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!pregnant!reader x daemon targaryen

description: after being reunited with her lover, rhaenyra takes her back to dragonstone to join her family and requests that daemon take her as a second wife. now, over a year after the wedding, rhaenyra wants nothing more than to see her wife pregnant, and daemon is more than happy to oblige.

warnings: SMUT, pregnancy, reader gets pretty depressed while she's preggo, mentions of masturbation, angst, slight canon divergence, alcohol consumption, mentions of (consensual) adultery turned polyamory, mentions of death (adult and children :((( ), polygamy, swearing, all other canon warnings (incest (i try my hardest to not lay this one on thick bc ew), violence, sexism, etc)

words: 5K

date posted: 27/03/24

previous installments: a princess's order a lady's demand

After his third marriage, Daemon Targaryen had absolutely no intentions of taking another wife. His history with married life had not necessarily been a good one; Rhea Royce had been nothing but a royal pain in his ass; He’d been happy with Laena, though her life came to an end far too soon; He did love Rhaenyra, though ambition and pride often came between them. Mistresses, sure–Daemon was a rather insatiable man, and Rhaenyra had been almost consistently pregnant during their early years of marriage, but he’d never even once considered that he might have to stand through yet another wedding ceremony, especially one that had been arranged and encouraged by his still living wife and future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

He hadn’t been at all surprised when Rhaenyra confessed to him that she had once loved her childhood friend, nor that she did not think that she would ever truly be able to move past the conflict between them or love another quite the same. Of course, she loved Daemon, and even Laenor and Harwin to some degree, but none would ever stand up to her very first love that she’d allowed to slip through her fingers like running water. He was equally unsurprised to find that she’d not returned to their rooms on their first night back in King’s Landing, nor that she would return in the early hours of the morning with a familiar glow that he’d only seen on her after their own late night activities, especially since he’d caught wind earlier in the evening that Lady Y/n Y/l/n had returned to the capitol a widow.

There were things that he had expected from this relationship; The two would fuck, of course, to make up for lost time, they would spend the majority of their days strolling through the gardens as they had done when they were girls, and Y/n would perhaps even return to Dragonstone with them as her mistress. Daemon could not exactly blame his wife for her affections, Lady Y/n was undeniably beautiful, and he would certainly take her to bed if he were ever given the chance. She could remarry, of course, she was still young and she’d already proven herself to be fertile, even if the children had not survived infancy. Any man would be a fool to turn her away, which is exactly why Daemon found himself standing before her on the black-sand shores of Dragonstone, a chalice between them and blood dripping from either of their lips. Rhaenyra had watched on with glee, rushing forward the moment that the ceremony had been complete to engulf her new wife in a tight embrace, sealing their own union with a firm kiss.

Daemon had not been included in the wedding night activities, though he had been invited to watch, which he did so from the balcony of their chambers in order to give them their own space. Rhaenyra’s body had been glowing in the candle light, curves and smooth, milky skin on display for him and their new wife to admire as they both had time and time again in the past. Daemon could not tear his gaze away from their new wife’s figure, no matter how hard he tried. He blamed it on the novelty of having a new wife, especially one that he was not even able to touch on their wedding night, and he might have reacted the same way if he were to see any woman naked for the first time. He stroked himself on the balcony, low grunts leaving his lips as her moans reached his ears, eyes tracing over her breasts, the pudge of her stomach, the curve of her spine, and–oh… he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a woman’s core glisten like that before, nor had he ever heard such a prominent squelch as the Targaryen princess dipped her fingers inside. He’d always known she was a beautiful lady, but now, oh now he was able to understand to some degree why Rhaenyra was so strongly under her spell.

Just over a year had passed, and Daemon had still yet to enjoy his newest wife to the extent that he would have liked. He did enjoy getting to know her personally, finding her much more amusing than he had expected, and they often found themselves sitting together in the evenings while Rhaenyra was busy with her royal duties. They had kissed each other on several occasions, and she had once allowed him to kneel beneath her skirts one evening after a tad too much wine, but nothing further had developed in their physical relationship.

She had fit into their family easier than any of them could have expected. She was good with the children, taking them all under her wing as if they were her own, though her relationship with both Rhaenyra and Daemons older children was a bit strained in the beginning. Children were a bit of a sore topic for her; She rarely spoke of her own late children, but both Daemon and Rhaenyra could easily tell how broken she was over their deaths. She and Rhaenyra had bonded even more after Rhaenyra had lost her own daughter in labour, all three parties agreeing that Rhaenyra would not have any more children.

That did not change the fact that both Daemon and Rhaenyra could tell that Y/n longed to be a mother once more. She honoured her own boys on their name days, and on the anniversaries of their deaths, but none of Rhaenyra’s children saw her as a mother, nor did she expect them to. They both noticed the way she had this longing stare in her eyes each time that one of the younger children called for their mother, or as Jacaerys and Lucerys slowly grew into young men, as her own children would not be much younger than they are now had they survived their sickness. It was just after the one year anniversary of Daemon and Y/n’s wedding that Rhaenyra proposed to him that they offer Y/n the chance to have another child, as many as she was willing to carry, but of course it would ultimately be her decision; Neither of them were very fussed either way, they both already had a small militia of children of their own, but they would be happy to welcome more into the world, especially if it meant that she would be tied to the Targaryen bloodline through more than marriage.

They waited a while longer to bring this to her, but Rhaenyra had been subtly encouraging her to spend more time with Daemon, and even suggested that they might begin sharing a bed with one another from time to time, whether it be on their own or with Rhaenyra present. She assured her that he was in fact attracted to her, pointing out how she is the one that he stares so longingly at when he watches them together. It was not that Y/n had been opposed to this, she was equally as attracted to Daemon as he was to her, but she had not been with a man since her late husband, and she had not expected to ever take another man to bed again now that she and Rhaenyra were officially together.

The conversation was finally brought to her a month after she and Daemon spent their first night together. They had been intimate, but she had still not allowed him to be inside of her, instead opting to pleasure him with her mouth, hands, and breasts. Rhaenyra whispered in her ear during supper one evening, suggesting that they invite their husband to join them that night, which she excitedly agreed to, completely unaware of what sort of proposition they would offer her, and she was especially surprised at how quickly she consented to their idea.

Rhaenyra had knelt behind her that night, both straddling their husband’s hips as the blonde gripped her wife’s waist to aid her movements, guiding her with every bounce of her long cock and whispering praises into her ear between kisses on her neck. Daemon had been uncharacteristically happy to sit back against the headboard and watch as his wives moved in unison over him, grunting as the tight squeeze of her velvet walls around him. He could hardly pull himself away from her lips, eagerly swallowing every one of her sweet moans as he emptied himself inside of her, sighing as she slumped back against Rhaenyra as she reached her own peak.

They had continued this for months until the maester finally confirmed that Y/n was with child, her skin glowing in delight at the thought of having a child to raise with her husband and wife. By the fifth month of her pregnancy, her stomach had swelled enough to show through her heavy gowns, and her hormones had taken full effect of her everyday life.

If it weren’t bad enough that she was constantly fatigued, or that her feet and back ached, or that her breasts were swollen and tender to the mere brush of her gown against her sensitive nipples, she had also grown to be absolutely insatiable. She found that her thighs were constantly slick with her arousal, and that she was able to bring herself to orgasm in the simplest ways, even by just sitting on certain pieces of furniture. Daemon and Rhaenyra could no longer enjoy bedding her on the same night quite as regularly as before, all because of how regularly she was mewling for them; Daemon had even jokingly suggested that they encourage her maids to pleasure her throughout the day so that they could keep up with her, only to be met with Rhaenyra’s palm slamming into the back of his head. It even came to the point where Rhaenyra felt the need to consult the maester about how regularly all three of them were being intimate together, who advised that, as her pregnancy developed, physical intimacy may result in causing her pain.

Instead, Rhaenyra encouraged her to participate in some “self-care” routines, as she had called them, telling her that pregnancy could cause her to think poorly of herself in many ways, so she thought it best that she take long, hot baths under the candlelight, drink honeyed wine and have her maids soak her in scented oils before taking the initiative to pleasure herself as much as she desired. Daemon had not been so keen on this idea, considering that he was constantly finding her with her hands between her thighs and not allowing him to cut in until she had finished, meaning that she was incredibly sensitive and could not take quite as much as she used to be able to before she began this routine. Even Rhaenyra was beginning to regret it, easily noticing the way that her maids now stared at her longingly, likely having seen and heard her in the throes of self-pleasure more times than they had with her husband and wife involved.

When Rhaenyra brought up her annoyances with Daemon, he had been quick to point fingers, claiming that it was entirely her fault that Y/n had not been seeking them out as much. They both came to the conclusion that they needed to get her out of this habit as quickly as she had gotten into it.

“My love,” Rhaenyra smiled sweetly as she entered her chambers, finding her settled in the bathtub with rose petals floating in the water around her. The water rippled around her rounded belly and breasts as they poked out into the warm air. Rhaenyra thought that she had never looked so beautiful in her life, with the exception of their wedding day. “How do you feel? The maester told me you had a bout of sickness after supper.”

The woman opened her eyes, smiling sleepily at her wife as she knelt at her side, one hand dipping in to feel the temperature of the water, “‘M fine, Nyra. I do not think that mutton agrees with our babe.”

The Targaryen woman laughed, “I’m sorry, my love, I know how you enjoy mutton so. I will instruct the cooks to avoid it until the babe arrives then.”

“It’s alright,” Y/n stroked a hand over her belly, “I would give anything to keep her happy.”

“Her?” Rhaenyra asked, settling her hand on the bump as well, “You expect a girl?”

“I do,” Y/n beamed, “I will be happy either way, but I have a feeling. I know how you long for a daughter, as well.”

Rhaenyra flushed, “You are too kind to me my love. I will be happy with our child regardless of gender, so long as they are a part of the one I love the most.”

Y/n giggled, “Do not let our husband hear you speaking like that.”

“He knows his place,” Rhaenyra chuckled, fingers wandering up to brush against the tender flesh of her breast, smirking to herself at the moan that fell from her wife’s lips at the smallest touch.

Rhaenyra turned her head, finding her maids looking bashful in the corner of the room. They had been witness to Y/n’s pleasure before, but never at the hand of one of her spouses.

“Out,” She commanded, “I will finish my wife’s bath on my own.”

They all hesitated for a moment before nodding, curtsying to both women before rushing out.

“Nyra,” Y/n scolded, “I was about to begin my “self-care”.”

“I can care for you, my heart.” The silver-haired woman cooed as she lowered her hand below the surface of the water, taking little care for the sleeve of her gown as her fingertips found the slick button between her thighs.

“It was your idea, Rhaenyra.” Her voice sounded firmer than before, and her once sleepy eyes had grown hard and accusing.

“A stupid one, I must admit,” She sighed, rubbing small circles into her clit, “I miss how insatiable you once were, how you begged for me to touch you, how you begged for our husband’s cock.”

A flash of sadness appeared on her face as sprung to her waterline, “You were tired of me, you do not want me.”

Rhaenyra stopped her movements, “What?”

A soft sob left her lips, “You asked me to take care of myself. I thought it might have been because you and Daemon were busy, but then I came to your rooms one night and–”

She didn’t need to finish for Rhaenyra to understand. She and Daemon had found it difficult to keep up with their wife’s libido, but once she had begun taking care of herself, they still had their own desires and spent many nights together. Rhaenyra felt stupid for not seeing how this would feel to their wife, let alone now that her emotions were heightened. She had not considered herself unattractive until Rhaenyra asked if she mentioned that self pleasure was beneficial for helping her bodily insecurities, only to find that she and Daemon were continuing to fuck without her on the regular.

Y/n pushed her hand away, sitting up and pulling her knees as close to her chest as her stomach would allow, “Leave me.”

“My love–”

“Please,” Her voice cracked, “Send my handmaidens in, I want to go to bed.”

“Y/n, please let me–”

“Go!” She shrieked, tears now falling down her cheeks readily as she pushed herself out of the water abruptly, “Get out!”

The door burst open, her handmaidens appearing in the room with worried expressions at the sound of their lady’s screaming. They rushed forward, helping her step out of the tub and wrapping her in her favourite silk robe.

Rhaenyra watched as she stumbled away, ignoring the water dripping from her as she crawled onto the bed, the most heart-wrenching sobs leaving her lips. The Crown Princess did not want to leave, longing to go after her and make her understand, but the guilt that began to force itself up her throat was too much to bear. Without another word, she pushed through the doorway and into the corridor, rushing to find Daemon.

Y/n did not leave her chambers for three days. She had breakfast, tea, and dinner in her rooms with no company except for her handmaidens. She refused to allow Rhaenyra or Daemon in to see her any time that they had come to visit, even when they each tried to assert their rank over her handmaidens. She was now almost seven months into her pregnancy, and she was continuously wondering to herself how she had let herself be talked into another child. She wept day and night, countless apologies leaving her lips to her late children, begging for their forgiveness and cursing Rhaenyra and Daemon for bringing her walls down so much that she had allowed herself to be in the position to potentially lose yet another child.

On the fourth day, Rhaenrya had decided that enough was enough, and used the secret passageway into her wife’s room. When she found her, she felt her heart clench in her throat, finding her still in nothing but the silk robe that she’d left her in four days earlier, curled in a ball on her favourite sofa and staring blankly out the window. How had she allowed herself to hurt the one person she loved above all else again after vowing to protect her heart with her entire being?

“My love,” Rhaenyra called out, closing the hidden door behind her. She frowned when she was met with complete silence, “My love, can you hear me?”

“What is it, Your Grace?”

Rhaenyra cringed, having only heard Y/n speak to her so formally when she was truly angry with her. “The maester told me you have not slept or eaten in two days. It is not good for the child.”

Y/n scoffed, “The babe.”

“It is not good for you, either, my love.”

Rhaenyra knelt in front of her, hands cupping her cheeks and grimacing at how cold she felt. Rhaenyra had gone to Daemon that night, her pale cheeks flushed red and wet from her tears as she paced for hours, wondering how they would be able to make things right with her–how had she let this happen? How could she make her feel unloved by the two people who loved her more than anything?

“Please look at me,” She whispered, head ducking to meet her hollow gaze. “I’m not sure how I can make you feel how deeply angry I am with myself. I am so, so sorry, my love.”

Y/n sniffled, but did not respond.

“May I explain myself?” Rhaenyra waited for her weak nod before she continued, “I did not mean to make you feel unwanted, by any means. You are sweet, and good, and beautiful, and I could never imagine a world where I would not want you. Daemon and I–we cannot excuse ourselves, but we can explain. We were concerned for you, for how often we were bedding you. The maester told us that we could hurt you, which is why I suggested what I did. I did not mean to imply that we did not want you. In fact, we wanted you so deeply that we turned to each other for the first time in so long because we thought you were more comfortable with taking care of yourself.”

Y/n shook her head, “I only did it because that’s what I thought you wanted.”

“I could never not want you, my beautiful wife.” Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to her clammy cheek.

“I must admit,” Y/n laughed bitterly, “I began to believe after some time that I had become a concubine for you both.”

“I do not think it is custom to love one’s concubine, my sweet.” Rhaenyra chuckled, then turned sombre when she took note of her expression, “My love, else bothers you?”

“I do not want to have another child,” Y/n whispered, “I feel almost as if I am betraying my boys. I will love this child with all of my heart, and nothing makes me more happy than to be tied to you both through blood, but I will not have another.”

Rhaenyra sighed, “I am sorry if you have felt pressured by us.”

“I haven’t,” She shook her head, “But I have done some thinking over the past two days. I have been happy here, and I do want this child, but I’m not sure that I can handle another. This child is a sibling, but to have two, it feels like I am replacing them, and to me they are completely irreplaceable.”

Rhaenyra kissed her head, “You will not have to. I will speak to Daemon, and the maester. We will make sure that this is your last pregnancy.”

“You don’t think that Daemon will be upset with me? He won’t want any more children?”

“If he is, then perhaps we would need to rethink how many people we want in this marriage, don’t you think?”

This made Y/n giggle, and it was like music to Rhaenyra’s ears. She finally leaned into her, wrapping her arms around Rhaenyra’s middle and nuzzling into her neck. Rhaenyra gladly held her, running her fingers through her hair affectionately as she began to notice her breathing grow heavier.

“You must be tired, my sweet,” Rhaenyra turned her head to look at her, “Why don’t you have a bath while I go find you some supper, then you can rest.”

“Will you stay with me while I sleep?” She murmured.

Rhaenyra kissed her lips softly, “Of course I will.”

When Y/n woke up, Rhaenyra was still at her side, her long fingers stroking Y/n’s swollen belly over her thin nightgown.

“Good morning, my love,” She greeted with a small smile.

“Evening, you mean,” Y/n had not even noticed that Daemon had occupied the space behind her in the bed until he spoke up, his own hand reaching around to lay on top of Rhaenyra’s on her belly.

Y/n leaned back into him, sighing at the warmth being emitted from his firm chest, “How long was I sleeping?”

“Almost a day,” He kissed her temple to soothe her as she cried out in surprise, “But you needed it.”

“It’s true,” Rhaenyra affirmed, “You were awake for two days straight. I’ll call your ladies, you must be starving.”

“I am,” Y/n trailed a finger up her arm, “But not for food.”

Rhaenyra shook her head as Daemon chuckled at their wife, “My love, you are very weak right now–”

“Neither of you have touched me in almost two months,” She whined, “Please.”

The two Targaryens shared a glance over her shoulder, Daemon shrugging in response to Rhaenyra’s concerned look.

“Alright,” She finally conceded, “But you must lie there, let us take care of you.”

The woman eagerly nodded, excited whimpers falling from her lips from the slightest drag of Daemon’s lips against her jugular, his fingers pulling the strap of her nightgown down over her shoulder to expose one of her tender breasts. Rhaenyra was quick to pull her into a kiss, tongue forcing itself past her wife’s lips and swallowing every sound she made, her nimble fingers twisting her perky nipple gently.

Everything moved in a blur for Y/n over the next few moments, somehow finding herself now on her back, knees bent as her nightgown was rucked up to settle over her swollen belly, Rhaenyra wasting little time in dragging her tongue torturously through her folds, which had already been dripping with her sweet nectar from the moment that she had woken up. Her cheeks felt warm, embarrassed at how sensitive and wet she’d been before either of them even touched her and at how quickly she was able to feel herself at her peak.

At her side, Daemon was needy for her attention. He tucked two fingers under her chin, quickly turning her head to capture her lips in a warm and messy kiss. Her own eager fingers quickly found the laces of his breeches, tugging at them until they were just loose enough to slide her hand inside and take hold of his rapidly hardening member, their sighs of pleasure being lost in one another’s mouths as she slowly pumped him until he was completely hard, whining in protest as he pushed her touch away.

“Patience, sweet one,” He tsked at her, instead turning his attention to suckling at her breasts, tugging her other strap down to release both of her heaving tits to his mercy.

The wave crashed over her before she could comprehend it, eyes rolling back as neither of them made any move to slow or stop their ministrations as they each licked and sucked at her most sensitive parts until she was trembling with aftershocks.

“Do you think she is ready for me?” Daemon peered down at Rhaenyra, who had continued to lick at her clit softly.

She grinned up at him, “More than she’s ever been.”

He chuckled, reaching his hand down to feel her wetness for himself with a wicked glint in his eyes, “Perhaps we should deprive our needy little wife more often if it means she will always be this responsive.”

Rhaenyra frowned, “You are bold to assume that either of us will be able to resist for so long ever again, husband. I’m certain that I can’t.”

“Perhaps I merely need to be reminded, I may not have my wits about me.”

Within seconds, his clothes had been completely removed and was was dragging her by the ankles until her bum was hanging off the edge of the mattress and he was pressed tightly between her legs. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra had helped her slide her shift off over her head, leaving her completely bare to her husband and wife.

Her back arched off of the bed as Daemon notched the head of his member against her entrance, easily slipping inside with a drawn out moan, eyes closed as he relished in the feeling of her silky walls throbbing around him.

“See how he desires you?” Rhaenyra whispered to her, “You make him weak, he belongs to you. We belong to you.”

She nodded, watching in awe as Rhaenyra’s slender neck was engulfed by their husband’s fingers, his meaty fist forcing her to meet his hard kiss as his spare hand slid beneath Y/n’s hip and flipped her onto her side, barely missing a beat as he threw her top leg over his shoulder and sped up his thrusts.

Rhaenyra grinned into the kiss, reaching up to slide her middle and index fingers into her wife’s mouth, slowly thrusting them in and out until they were dripping with her saliva. Carefully, she moved them down and began circling them around her untouched hole, feeling the snug ring of muscles tighten and release under her touch. The sloppy juices of her release had dripped down and provided an extra lubricant as one of her long fingers dipped inside, stilling for a few moments to allow her to adjust to the intrusion before she pressed the second in as well. Her movements were slow, not wanting to force the tightness of her ass and further than she already was, especially with the force of Daemon’s thrusts into sweet cunt.

Mere moments passed before her second release began bursting out of her core and splashing against Daemon’s stomach, the warmth of her juices bringing him to his own climax. She allowed him to keep forcing himself into her abused hole before she was pressing her foot flat into his shoulder to push him away.

“Look at her,” Rhaenyra murmured to him, smirking down at her wife’s trembling body, “Look at how needy she is for us. We belong to her, but she is ours alone.”

Daemons slowly allowed his cock to slide out of her, falling down to poke at her asshole as Rhaenyra pulled her fingers out. The future queen slid from the mattress, disappearing out of Y/n’s sight as Daemon huddled overtop of her, pressing warm kisses across her neck and chest. He pulled back as Rhaenyra reappeared next to her, wiping her hands clean with a wet cloth before she made quick work of wiping the pregnant woman’s sensitive cunt clean as Daemon readjusted his breeches as she moved across the room to sit by the burning fireplace.

Rhaenyra helped her wife move back up to lay against her pillows, tucking her in beneath the soft sheets. She crawled in next to her, pressing her lips to her forehead and chuckling when Rhaenyra felt her tugging at her skirts.

“I am alright, my heart,” She pushed her hands away, “You should rest. We will call for your supper.”

Y/n nodded, a touch disappointed that she hadn’t been able to taste her wife’s delicious cunt, but her sadness faded as she felt her eyes fluttering shut, lulling her into a deep sleep as she huddled closer to Rhaenyra’s chest.

#reader insert #x reader #imagines #house of the dragon spoilers #house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd rhaenyra #rhaenyra is a gay icon #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon x rhaenyra #daemon targeryan #daemon x reader

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endlessthxxghts · 3 months

Text

Hungry

Frankie Morales x afab!reader | W/C: 1.7k (drabble)

Rating: EXPLICIT. MDNI

Summary: You decide to go home on your lunch break. You call to see if your boyfriend can join you.

Content/Warnings: No physical descriptions of reader. No “y/n”. Implied that Frankie and you live together. Porn with a sprinkle of plot. Oral sex (both receiving). Face riding turned 69…Cumming untouched (kind of?). Cum eating. Please do let me know if I missed anything!!!

A/N: HI GUYS I’VE MISSED YOU. I’m on my university campus from 9-5, and I had a particularly rough day, so I went home on my lunch break (which I normally don’t do), and instead of lunch, I did something else. This was that something else. I hope you enjoy.👹

MASTERLIST || NOTIFS BLOG

He picks up after one ring. “Baby? What’s wrong?”

You don’t usually call him during your work day—the lab being too hectic even on your lunch break to enjoy anything other than the lunch you packed yourself.

“Nothing, I just- I miss you,” you tell him softly.

Today, though…Today is different. You’re exhausted and your other team members are also having a slow day, so you decide to call your boyfriend. You also decide that you deserve lunch off-site: in the comfort of your own home.

“I miss you, querida,” Frankie says, returning your warmth and gentleness tenfold.

Gods, his voice. The deep, softness of his voice never fails to make the butterflies flutter in your belly. And also… further below. You can’t help the next words that fall from your mouth.

“I want you.”

Only then does he realize—you’re not at the lab. He doesn’t hear the hustle and bustle of research going on in the background, he doesn’t even hear the air conditioning that’s always blasting in the break room. He’s called you once while you were on site, and he learned his lesson then. So, seeing you call today prompted him to think there was an emergency. And in his realization—yes, this is very much an emergency, but not the one he was expecting.

“You’re home, aren’t you?” He asks, really not needing the confirmation but obliges anyway.

“Yeah,” you say breathily.

“Do not go anywhere. Be there in ten, baby.”

“Make it five,” you whimper, ending the call, not wanting the formalities of a goodbye, too hung up on your dire need for him to handle hearing his voice without being able to touch him.

Frankie does make it home in five—taking my forty-five! he calls out to his boss as he walks out with no time for extra conversation. Professionally, that really wouldn’t do, but luckily, he’s always been on the good side of his superior.

“Querida!” He calls out as he enters the front door.

As soon as he’s through the door, you’re on him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he drops the keys in his hands to fully engulf you. The kiss is needy, desperate. You can’t help the moans already falling from your lips, and he’s just as eager to swallow them up. You do a mini jump, your legs wrapping around his waist, as he walks you two to your shared bedroom.

As he nears the edge of the bed, you untangle your legs from around him so he can sit down. But as soon as he’s hitting the bed, you’re straddling him once again, licking into his mouth as you grasp at the nape of his neck, your needy center grinding into his hard length.

Frankie’s lips break from yours, trailing kisses down your jaw, passing your chin, and settling on your neck, nipping and sucking the sweet spots that always have your hips bucking wildly into him, begging for more. He can feel the heat radiating from your center, his cock leaking at the sensation.

However, neither of you really have much time before you need to return to your respective jobs, and Frankie simply needs to eat.

His fingers meet the hem of your bottoms, pulling them down as you move your body around, allowing them to come down with ease.

Frankie starts leaning back, his hands trailing back to the meat of your thighs, grabbing them tightly and nudging you up his torso.

“F-Frankie, what-” you stutter, breathless and mind hazy from your makeout session.

You’re on your knees now, situated above his shoulders, your gaze looking down into his. “Sit,” is all he tells you.

“Frankie… we’re both on a clock here,” your voice waivers. Hesitant. When Frankie eats you out, he eats, and most of the time, he’ll continue out of his own pleasure well after however many orgasms he pulls out of you in this way.

“Just gonna make you cum, querida, promise,” he smirks, mischief written all over his face.

Without another word, he grabs your thighs, and forces your entire weight onto him, your thighs immediately clenching in the feeling as his tongue glides through your soaked folds. “Oh- Fuck,” you gasp, the pleasure hitting you all at once.

You can feel his smirk as your breathing grows heavier and your hips start to move on their own. Realizing what your body’s asking for, Frankie lifts you off of him and urges you to turn around. You don’t understand what for until his hands are guiding yours to grip onto his waist—your torso leaning forward at the movement.

Oh.

Oh, you like this. A lot.

In this angle, your pelvis opens up more for him, and you have more support to be able to freely grind against his face. This was Frankie’s main reason for repositioning you, but he didn’t realize what he just did. You now have complete access to the part of him that’s been throbbing for your attention.

Slowly, you let one of your hands glide upwards to his belt, the twang of his belt buckle making your mouth drool in response. Frankie pulls away momentarily. “What- what are you doing?” He asks, voice hoarse and utterly aroused at what you’re about to do.

You smile to yourself at his question. “Just keep eating, baby,” you say, pushing your sex back into his face, his nose nudging a particularly sensitive spot making you moan at the contact. You can feel the way he groans into you, the vibrations sending more slick for him to greedily drink up.

You finally get his cock free from the restraining khakis, and your pussy flutters at the view. He’s painfully hard, his tip red and precum all over. You put him into your mouth, swirling the head with your tongue to collect everything he’s giving you. You lift off him with a pop, a moan and a so fucking good leaving your mouth before you spit on him—watching his cock twitch as your drool drips down his length.

You pump his cock a few times to spread the mixture of your spit and his precum down his length. Satisfied, you take him back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and flattening your tongue, pushing him as far back as you possibly can. Your gag reflex triggers then, your throat constricting around where he’s most sensitive, and he whimpers at the feeling, momentarily pausing his attention on you.

Using your gag to your advantage, you don’t stop bobbing up and down on his length, the sloppiness of it all sending him into a horny spiral. He loves having his mouth on you, but the feel of your mouth on him has his eyes rolling back to his head, his tongue slowing in his strokes as his body buzzes in the pleasure you’re giving him. His hips start fucking up into your mouth, and you moan around him, getting spurred on at his desperation.

“F-fuck-” he grunts. “Taking me- fuck- taking me so fucking good,” Frankie sighs, head falling back into the mattress. You almost made him forget his task at hand—which you genuinely wouldn’t mind because he’s always putting your pleasure first—but as soon as the fact hits him, oh, he’s going in.

Frankie grabs onto your waist, forcing your entire center flush against his face as he brings your clit to his mouth, sucking and nipping at it with a calculated intensity—the feeling radiating up your spine and down into your toes—hurtling you towards your orgasm within seconds. His cock slips from your mouth at his action, but right now, you really can’t think about anything else.

“Oh, yes, Frankie-” you gasp, “fuck, I’m gon- I’m gonna cum, please,” you whine, your cunt grinding wildly into his face.

“Mmmm,” he grunts. Cum for me, querida, you know he’s telling you.

Your orgasm is blinding, eyes clamped shut as your mouth mindlessly babbles praises to the man underneath you. “Oh my- oh fuck, you’re so-” you pant, unable to catch your breath at the intensity. “Good God, Frankie,” you whine.

Although you stopped paying attention to his thick member, the way your body convulses above him sends him to his own edge, cum shooting out and landing across his lower tummy, nearly half a centimeter away from splashing your face. You don’t realize this until after your breathing has slowed, your eyes finally peeling open and peering at the pooling milky liquid near his belly button.

As much as you can in your exhausted state, you pull your head up and dart your tongue out, coating every part of your tongue with his cum, a squeaky little sigh escaping you at the taste of his salty musk.

“Christ, baby,” you hear him mutter when he feels your tongue tickling across his surface.

You untangle yourself from his body, repositioning so your head is in alignment with his. “That was fun,” you say casually before pressing a lengthy kiss to his lips, tongue sneaking into his mouth, exchanging each other’s flavor.

“Yeah? Wanna go for round two?” Frankie asks, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Frankie!” You scold, slapping his chest. “We’re on a lunch break—no, we can’t go for round two!”

He pouts at you, bringing his hand up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you into one more kiss before you both have to leave again. As if your colleagues are watching you, both yours and his phone ring right as your lips begin to touch.

Jumping off the bed, you ignore your bottoms on the floor and run straight to your phone, answering it with your last name.

“Hey. No rush, but when do you think you’ll be back? Dr. Mowak is ready for your report if you are,” your lab assistant tells you.

Oh, fuck.

“Hey, yeah, I’m on my way back now, I accidentally caught up with a last minute… emergency,” you say, a little awkwardly.

You hear a soft chuckle behind you. You turn around to see Frankie with a boyish grin, winking at you.

You roll your eyes at him, but the butterflies flutter all the same.

Or maybe it’s your stomach growling.

Shit, you’re hungry.

If you’d like to see more, check out my masterlist or follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to be updated on my new stories!! Much love to you all, thank you so much for reading and interacting with my silly little delusional self. 🫶🏼🫶🏼

@pedrostories

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rafedaddy01 · 1 month

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An: this is inspired by a TikTok I saw. Yes the TikTok was a passage from a smut book. I’m not taking credit for this idea! It just simply sparked my own twist on it. I’m not sure what the book was called, it wasn’t on the TikTok, but I remember the scenario and thought I’d share it with you guys

You were trying to make topper jealous. Ever since he broke up with you for your best friend Sarah you weren’t the same. And what better way to get back at the both of them than to date Rafe, toppers bestfriend and Sarah’s brother.

Although date would be a strong word to use. You utterly despised the man and he you, so the two of you came to an agreement. He also had his issues towards topper and Sarah so the two of you decided to fake date.

The deal was that while you were out in public you’d be the lovey dovey, perfect couple. And it worked. For the most part.

When the two of you were in private the bickering never stopped.

Tonight was another typical Friday night kook party, it had only been a week since topper dumped you and 3 days since you and Rafe came out as a ‘couple’.

“Just put your arm around me” you whispered, frustrated, as you sat in Rafes lap. He rolled his eyes but obliged. His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. Your breath hitched.

You didn’t really despise Rafe as much as you showed him. In reality the only reason you started dating topper was to get to Rafe, but topper ended up being sweet and you fell for him and now you lost him.

“Quick, pretend I said something cute” you plaster on a smile and wrap your arms around Rafes neck, leaning in closer. “What?” He scoffs. “Do it!” You say through gritted teeth as you slyly nod your head in the direction of topper and Sarah.

Rafe smiles and leans closer, lips almost touching yours. Your breath catches as you feel the warmth of his breath fan your skin. “What’s wrong princess? This too much for you” he smirks as he notices your breathing getting uneven. “Not at all” you pull yourself together and mash your lips on his, moving your hips a little, subconsciously grinding on his lap.

Rafe freezes for a minute before kissing you back. The two of you get caught up in the moment before a throat clears behind you.

You pull away and look into each others eyes but someone speaks up and ruins the intimate moment.

“What are you two doing” you turn your head and spot Sarah and topper cozied up on the couch with kelce to their right lighting up a blunt. “When did you two become a thing” Sarah’s disgust is clear on her face almost as much as toppers anger is.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business” you fake a smile at the couple before turning yourself around and getting off Rafes lap, only for him to tug you back by the waist. So now your sitting facing the group, Rafes thigh in between your legs, pressed right on your clit.

“I was just waiting for this Jackass to dump her so I could have her all to myself, right baby?” Rafe glares at topper.

You never knew what they had between them, Rafe never shared that with you and whenever you tried bringing it up he simply shut you down.

“Right daddy” you drag out the last word as you turn your head and pull Rafes face towards yours. Your lips crashing over each other.

You pull away and smile, Rafes eyes scan over your face. Searching your eyes for something until he clears his throat and sits back.

You relax in his lap as the night goes on. A couple drinks in and a little buzzed from the blunt that was passed around the small group forming in the living room. Topper and Sarah were still on the couch. You’d catch toppers eyes in your direction a couple times but you tried to ignore it, not showing him how desperately you wanted him.

As everyone around you started chatting you felt Rafes hands move to your hips. He started slowly moving you back and forth as his leg lightly shook underneath you.

Your glossy eyes shot opened. “Rafe!” You turned your head in his direction, meeting his clear blue eyes. “What princess” he said the last word a little sternly and that’s all you needed to know that you had eyes on you. “Can I not have some fun with my girl” one of Rafes hands moved to your bare thigh, lifting the material of your skirt up and inch as he drew shapes on the bare skin.

You hated to admit it but you were soaked. You took control of your own body as you tried to casually grind down on his leg. Rubbing your clit over his muscular thigh and putting just the right amount of pressure to make a small whimper come out your mouth.

Rafe pushed your hair off your shoulder before you felt his breath against your ear. “Your such a good fucking girl.” The praise he gives you encourages you more and you forget that your supposed to be making topper jealous. Savoring the moment you start grinding harder, everybody’s in their own world either too high or drunk to notice you pathetically getting off on Rafes thigh. “I knew you would be” Rafes hot breath hits your neck before he’d kissing and sucking and that sends you into a spiral, orgasm hitting you like a truck. “She ever moan for you like that top?”

Taglist

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justauthoring · 3 months

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too early.

you wanted him to live a long life, even if that meant without you

a/n: whos ready for some angstttt woop woop!

tw: minor spoilers for the manga(?), death

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

“Satoru.”

“I know.”

with barely concealed tears, you glance up at him through blurred vision. your shoulders feel heavy, and your heart hurts and Gojo knows that—of course he knows. Yet, there isn’t a single thing he can do.

He can’t change what’s happened.

“I didn't want you here.”

And he just smiles. in that way that Gojo always has. It’s bright, despite the darkness that swallows you both, and it’s genuine as his eyes sparkle down at you. He smiles even as everything hurts, even as everything else is nothing but a cold, dark space that you’ll never leave and now, neither will he.

“But I'm here.”

Biting your lip, you step towards him.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I know.”

“And annoying.”

“Yup.”

“And you never know when to shut up.”

“But…” and he pauses for effect, face in yours so you can’t look away as his bright (and unfortunately, beautiful) eyes stare back at you with a twinkle of mischief. He’s leaning to meet your height, and he’s grinning far and wide, lips stretched out as he barely contains his own enjoyment. “You love me.”

And, regrettably, you do.

Rolling your eyes, you press a hand to his cheek, pushing him away as you groan.

“As if.”

The words are a blatant lie and both of you know that.

But you’re not ready to admit yet that your feelings for your fellow classmate are anything other than platonic. You think, maybe, hopefully, he isn’t either.

(He isn’t).

So, you’ll continue to deny it. Feign annoyance and disgust when really your heart beats madly within your chest, showing no sign of stopping anytime soon, and your cheeks burn, dusted rose across the apples of your cheeks. It’s all there, plain to see, but you plead obliviousness and Gojo does the same.

Obliging to you, he steps back, chuckling to himself.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, more to himself than anyone. “As if.”

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

Blinking, you turn to Gojo. “You mean when you laughed at me… to my face.”

Frowning, Gojo shakes his head; “that is not what happened.”

“That is in fact what happened,” you correct, shaking your head at him. He’s sitting in front of you, sitting the wrong way on a chair as he leans on the corner of one of the legs dangerously (and you swear he will end up falling soon). You’d been trying to catch up on some homework when Gojo had found you in the empty classroom and had promptly decided you were to occupy him for the time being.

(Geto was out on a mission).

But, he’s brought with him some candy and even if he whined every time you did, you still proceeded to invite yourself to a couple gummies every once in a while.

So, his annoyance is forgivable.

(And really, you don’t mind, if you’re being honest.)

“I introduced myself to you, you took one look at me, called me ‘weak’ and laughed.” You explain, sending him a deadpanned look.

Gojo continues to stare back at you like you’re lying (the audacity), before he blinks, as if thinking back. The grin on his face falters somewhat as the memory resurfaces, and he blinks back at you, looking oddly apologetic.

Not a look Gojo wears very often.

“Well, I take it back.”

You’re halfway through stealing one of his gummies when you pause, hand left stretched out before you as you stare back at him.

“What?”

“You’re not weak,” he shrugs, “and I shouldn’t have laughed at you. Obviously, I’m still stronger than you,” you roll your eyes, “but I take it back.”

Raising a brow, you squint at him. “Are you trying to apologize?”

“Maybe?”

“The answer is yes or no, Gojo.”

“...Yes.”

It’s more honest than you’re expecting. If you’re being truthful, this whole conversation is not what you’d expected at all.

But still, he’s apologizing, in his own way, and he seems to mean it. It didn’t really bother you all that much all that more–it was a long time ago and Gojo was just like that, though you’ll admit he’s lessened his smugness a little bit through the time you’ve known him. At least when he’s with you, he does, and he doesn’t make you feel like a infuriable piece of trash next to him, so, you know, he’s making the right steps.

(All the right steps).

“Well,” you settle on eventually, grabbing your gummies. “Apology accepted.”

And really, his grin is bright enough to forget that his apology was pretty lousy.

“Ow.”

“It’s not my fault you got hurt.”

Pouting, you turn away from Gojo, not wanting to look at his face currently because if you have to see his smirk one more time you swear you’re going to strangle him—

“Lift your arm,” he’s calling, a hand wrapping around your wrist to guide the motion. Your lips part at the touch, hating the flutter of nerves that hits you, letting your head rest in your other hand as you listen to him, lifting your arm, and letting him move it until it’s resting on his shoulder.

You stare back at him then.

“You should’ve let me come with you.”

Huffing, you roll your eyes. “I thought you said I’m not weak.”

“You’re not,” he says plainly, pulling at your shirt to place the bandage at your side. Your cheeks warm when you realize he’s seeing skin he’s never seen before, swallowing thickly at the feeling of his fingers ghosting across sensitive skin. It’s enough to pull goosebumps, and you hope he doesn’t notice them.

(He does).

“I’m just the strongest.”

Shoulders falling, you decide to watch him. “It’s not that bad.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“That’s why I said I should find Shoko.”

“She’s not here.”

“Oh.”

(She is–Gojo wants to take care of you).

“Still,” you say after a moment, “it doesn’t hurt.”

He glares at you. “You were hissing not a minute ago.”

“That’s cause you pressed on it!” You argue, shifting in your seat as you ignore his heavy gaze. “You’re very heavy-handed, I’ll have you know. And no skill in cleaning wounds either. I swear, it hurts more now then it did before so–”

You stop rambling when you realize he’s finished patching the wound and is simply staring at you.

“So… yeah,” you finish lamely.

(You can’t think all that well when he looks at you like that).

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” he says after a moment. His voice is oddly serious in a way it rarely is with Gojo. Though, it feels like recently, Gojo sounds more worried and serious with you than he had before.

You don’t want to think about what that could mean.

(You don’t want to get your hopes up).

“You shouldn’t go on missions where you’ll get hurt.”

“It’s my job, Gojo.” You remind, “I don’t have much of a choice.”

“You do,” he says sharply. “I’ll make it so.”

Licking your lip, you stare at the worry in his eyes. Gojo was very rarely expressive in his emotions and you’ve come to learn that he often hid the way he really felt; but sometimes it felt like you were the only one who really saw how he felt. Because he’d look at you like this, with a furrow in his brow and concern in his gaze and it’d leave you stunned.

Stunned in the way you couldn’t speak.

“Okay,” you whisper, forcing the words out because that’s what you settle on. That’s all you can settle on. “I won’t.”

“Gojo–!”

His back is turned to you, shoulders tensed, his hands clenched by his sides. Whatever you’d been about to say dies on the tip of your tongue because what do you say?

How could you ever say something that would be enough to fix what’s happened?

But still, you want to try. You can’t just leave it alone. Not after what had happened. You couldn’t even begin to think how he must be feeling, the confusion and hurt and rage that must be flooding through him.

And if you could in any way soothe that, you had to try.

(Little did you know, you’d done just that the second you’d called for him).

“I’m…” You hesitate, stepping towards him with a hand stretched out uselessly before him. Even if you wanted to touch him, you couldn’t–not with his infinity… “I’m so sorry.”

Gojo stays still. The slight rise and fall of his shoulders as he takes even shallow breaths is the only inclination that he’s alive and breathing and listening.

“I heard about… about Geto–I was called away on a mission so I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” you explain, your words rambling as you try to sort through the chaos of thoughts in your mind. You’d never had to comfort Gojo before–did he even want to be comforted? Did he want to be comforted by you?

You doubted it.

(He did).

“I’m so sorry.”

And you truly are even if the words mean nothing to him. Even if he doesn’t care that you’re sorry.

You still are.

You blink, eyes falling to your feet, and you’re starting to think you should just leave. Gojo clearly didn’t want you there or to hear you ramble, and it was silly of you to think that you of all people would be able to help someone like him.

Then, there are arms wrapping around your shoulders and you’re pressed flush against a strong chest.

“Gojo–”

He just shakes his head, holding you tighter and understanding, you close your mouth, letting the words you’d been about to say die out.

Because Gojo didn’t want you to speak and he surely didn’t want to either. It was easier to be silent but better to be silent with you. You made it all a little more bearable and if he was honest with himself, you always had.

He just hadn’t known how much until now.

So, instead, you let yourself ease, moving to wrap your arms around him in return, and his head is moving to cradle into the crook of your neck, his nose pressed against the skin as he lets out the faintest, softest, shuddering breath.

You move to press a hand against the back of his head, and squeeze in the hopes it helps even just a little (—it does and more).

“Can I just–fuck it.”

Before you can even realize, his lips are pressed against your own.

Warm, soft lips against yours, his hands finding purchase on your waist as you tense at the contact, stunned, your brain lagging as you try to process what’s happening. A second ago Gojo had been chatting your ear off as normal, the two of you alone in your dorm as you often found yourselves now, because Shoko rarely had time now because of her role in Jujutsu High and Geto… well, Geto just wasn’t there.

Gojo was busy too. Really busy. And you were too. Maybe not as much, but in your own way.

Gojo made sure any free time he did have was spent with you though. You return the sentiment with ease.

It felt natural, after all.

And yeah, maybe you’d admit the two of you had been dancing around these feelings for a long time. You can’t count on both hands the amount of times Shoko has begged you to just kiss the man already if you were going to make love eyes at him all the time (her words).

There were other instances too, but they were too painful to remember.

You’d known for a long time the way you felt about Gojo, but you didn’t want to mess up what the two of you had. And that had been at first, before it had developed into this comraderie you only could find in him—and you definitely didn’t wanna mess that up by letting your emotions get in the way. So, you just… didn’t. It was comfortable, this bond the two of you had developed and the idea of losing that was too heartbreaking.

Chances were scary when it could destroy everything.

So you didn’t take any.

(Gojo was tired of not taking any).

He’s pulling back before you can move, slightly breathless as he smiles faintly down at you. “The point is to kiss me back, you know.”

And you blink, once, twice, before his words register and you gape up at him.

“I-I–!” You can’t find the words, feeling like your mind is short-circuiting as you stare up at him. Because it was so like him to be so smug when he’d just kissed you without confirming how you felt in return. It was so like him to just know that you were completely and wholeheartedly in love with him.

(Probably because he was too).

His hands are still on your waist and he’s close, more close than he’s ever been. You can feel his breath against your cheeks, and you’re sure you’re bright red, but you don’t want to pull away and you desperately want him to kiss you back.

Reaching forward, you decide Gojo’s words are all too fitting and to fuck it—you tug at his shirt, leaning to meet his lips.

He chuckles as you do, laugh warm and husky and it makes your knees feel weak as your lips meet his once more, eyes fluttering shut.

(It was, truly, everything you’d ever dreamed about).

And as you both pull away once more, breathless, he leans his forehead against your own and you run your fingers through the hairs on the back of his neck, laughing lightly.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” you confess, turning to glance up at him.

Gojo grins; “me too.”

“So we were waiting for nothing?”

He shrugs; “guess so. But it doesn’t matter now.”

Your brows furrow, shaking your head as he shuffles closer, squeezing your hips.

“Because now I can kiss you whenever I want.”

“I’m gonna go speak to that Megumi kid tomorrow.”

Pausing at Gojo’s words, you close the book you’d been reading, shifting on the bed next to him to face him better. He’s already looking at you, tired eyes focused on your own as you nod at him. “Okay.”

“Just okay?” He asks, as if almost hesitantly. “I could end up with a kid depending on what he says.”

You nod. “I know.”

Gojo seems puzzled, head tilting as he leans over to his side rather than his back. His hand falls on your arm, grip gentle. “You’re okay with that?”

“I am,” you answer. “I want you to do what you think is right.”

“Even if it means bringing a random kid home?”

Snorting, you nod again. “Yes, Satoru. Even if it means bringing a kid home.”

“We’d have to… raise him,” he explains, the words sharp and uncomfortable on his tongue. “Or, at least, pay for him to live. Something like that.”

You laugh, reaching forward to cup his cheek. “Whatever you decide, I’m okay with.”

Gojo still seems skeptical. He eyes you like he’s sure there’s some hidden meaning behind your words or worried you might change your mind suddenly.

(You’d decided long ago you’d follow him to the ends of the earth if that’s what he decided).

“...You’re sure?”

Smiling, you hum; “yes.”

“Okay…” He says slowly, eyes flickering back to you once more just to make sure.

You just giggle, leaning into him and letting your head rest on his shoulder.

“Remember I have that mission tomorrow, too,” you remind him. “Whatever you decide, I’m okay with it but I won’t be there to help you until I come back from the mission. So, you’d be on your own with him for a while.”

Gojo guffaws next to you; “you’re acting like I’ve already decided.”

You raise a brow, glancing up at him through your lashes; “haven’t you?”

Frowning, Gojo squints down at you. “Maybe…”

Shaking your head, you just laugh. “I look forward to meeting him.”

“...Me too.” Gojo agrees, “if he wants to come.”

“He will,” you shrug. “I’m sure.”

Gojo doubts your certainty, but he doesn’t argue against it either. Instead, he shifts to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you closer against his side. You’ve got an early mission tomorrow, after all, and he doesn’t want to waste every last second he has with you until he’s torn apart from you for a whole weekend.

(Truly, the worst hell those higher up can subject him to).

You feel the same, of course. So you lean into him with ease, relishing in the feeling of his warmth and familiarity.

Thinking to yourself that your whole world will be different when you return—you and Gojo and a… kid.

(It’s crazy, but you still love the idea of it).

You don’t come home after that mission, though.

You don’t come home ever again.

And you don’t see Gojo until ten years later.

Setting your hands against his cheeks, you frown.

“I wanted you to live a long life.”

Gojo shakes his head. “Wasn’t worth living without you.”

You sniffle, swallowing back the tears that just continue to fall relentlessly. It was wonderful to have Gojo in your arms once more, but… but you’d wanted him to live forever… raising the new generation of Jujutsu Sorcerers and protecting them. Live a life, even if it meant without you.

You’d been content just watching.

But he was here now, regardless, and it would be silly to deny the fact that a part of you was happy to have him with you once more even if it broke your heart all the same.

“I missed you,” Gojo whispers against the top of your head, pulling you close into a hug. He holds tight and long, savoring the fact that he can have you in his arms once again after years of being forced to live without you. “I missed you so much.”

“Me too,” you agree, pressing your face into his chest and breathing in his familiar scent. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it home.”

Gojo just shakes his head, a hand pressing to the back of yours.

“It’s okay,” he assures, “because I have you now.”

#.justauthoring #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff

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hotvintagepoll · 3 months

Text

Propaganda

Clark Gable (Gone With the Wind, It Happened One Night)—There's no proof that Clark Gable stripping in It Happened One Night caused the sale of undershirts to take a nosedive, but there's also no proof that it didn't do that. And either way, him saucily undressing for bed in front of a woman who was married—not to him—is too deliciously scandalous to ignore. He deserves votes for this scene if nothing else. He got an Academy Award for this movie! He could play comedy just as well as drama, he earned medals for his bravery as a bomber gunner in WW2, he competed in car races, he has a great mustache and perfect eyebrows for sexy smirking, he's just HOT.

Sidney Poitier (Lilies of the Field, To Sir With Love)—an unbelievably beautiful man, a complete class act. Something about his eyes breaks my heart every time.

This is round 3 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Clark Gable propaganda:

"Listen, he was "the King of Hollywood" for a reason and a suave motherfucker. Also a Major in the air force during WWII!"

"So Clark Gable was the king of Hollywood for a reason but honestly what makes him hot to me is his relationship with his wife Carole Lombard like if she loved him so she can't be wrong. Their relationship is so tragic like they met first when they filmed No Man of Her Own in 1932 and like there was nothing between them then but in 1936 they met again at a Hollywood party and this time things were different. Basically from that moment on they were inseparable and had to carry out their romance in secret until his divorce was finalized (he was separated when they met again at the party) and then they eloped in 1939 when he had a break during filming Gone With The Wind. They had a 20 acre farm together with horses, cows and chickens and they loved to do all those outdoorsy activities together. When they were apart for various work obligations they would send each other goofy gag gifts. In 1942 Carole was on a trip to sell war defense bonds when on the flight back home her plane crashed in the mountains of Nevada. Her death devastated Gable he flew to Nevada and demanded he be taken to the spot where the plane crashed despite the dangers posed by its location. Amongst the wreckage they found a hair clip he had given her for Christmas. Her death forever changed him he became more reckless and signed up for the US Army Air Corps in 1942 and he kept her bedroom unchanged in their home. He never stopped loving her when he died in 1960 he was buried next to her. I know Clark wasn't a perfect person and their is some speculation that she was racing home on that plane to him because she was worried that he was having an affair or something but relationships are complicated especially ones occurring in 1930s and 1940e Hollywood amongst two of the biggest starts at the time. (I just wanted to include this so ya know I'm not just looking at their relationship as all sunshine but like you can't deny the love they shared)

"They had an ineffable quality in romance, the ability to have fun together... they were soulmates who thought life was delicious, and they made everyone's life delicious around them" -Esther Williams

"GWtW is an epic stretching across years so Clark has a chance to show off a whole bunch of different sides, from Hot Outsider to Husband to Father and so on. But his most attractive is his final line of the movie, made only better by the story that he lobbied the Film Industry to ‘Let Rhett Curse!’ And who is more classic 30s Hollywood than this man?"

"Also apparently his name was Billy Gable then Glark Gable before finally landing on Clark Gable. A fact that I cant forget now glark gable lives in my mind now"

Sidney Poitier propaganda:

#sidney poitier #clark gable #hotvintagepoll #round 3 #fuck that old man!!!#i'd like to present the hottest man of all time: glark

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celtic-crossbow · 5 months

Text

You Would Break Your Back to Make Me Break a Smile

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria era

Warnings: Poorly written smut

Summary: A run goes sideways, leaving you and Daryl to spend the night together in a remote cabin. Nothing new until feelings are thrown into the equation.

A/N: This was originally written for my old OC. It also explored asexual Daryl and there are still elements of that here.

You pulled the corner of your bottom lip between your teeth, concentrating on keeping your arm still. The urge to overthrow your opponent was strong, but you had to play fair. Cheating was not an option. It wasn’t until you were mercilessly pinned for the fifth time in a row that you considered cheating may actually be an option after all.

“Ugh!” You groaned quietly, struggling to free yourself.

“You’re the one wanted to play,” came the gravelly response.

You conjured an unimpressed scowl. “Again.” When he didn’t immediately move to oblige, you raised your brows, angled your head for a better view, and elbowed him. “Come on. Again.” A heavy sigh resounded, but he finally raised his arm and clasped your waiting hand, blue eyes avoiding your overconfident grin. Shaking out your shoulder in preparation, you blew upwards to rid your face of an unruly strand of hair and recited “one, two, three, four; I declare a thumb war!”

After three more failed attempts, you finally gave up but not without a massive pout and another jab at his ribs. You flipped unceremoniously onto your back, the point of his elbow resting just above the top of your head. Whether due to chivalry or something else, he had offered to sleep on the floor, but you weren't having that. The full bed was plenty big enough for both of you. It wouldn’t be the first time you had shared a bed. “Your thumbs are longer than mine.”

Daryl scoffed. “Right.” He drawled, the hand he had been using joining the other behind his head. He stared at the ceiling as the last rays of daylight began to crawl away from the looming shadows of the night. It was only a matter of time before he’d hear the familiar growls and moans and the ever unsettling bump of undead bodies against the outer walls.

“Wanna play Never Have I Ever?”

Your voice drew him from his thoughts with barely a start. “D’rather not.” You didn’t know. You didn’t need to know.

You let out a sigh. “We don’t have any liquor anyway.” A pause. “Truth or dare?”

“S’with ya?” He asked, regarding you from the corner of his eye. You didn’t answer right away; only wiggled around until your hip was pressed tightly against his own. He wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t flinched at the contact and continued to watch you.

“Nothing, silly.” You replied quietly. The need to be near silent when outside the protective walls of your home was imperative. It was also something the spitfire at his side struggled with even when that need was near dire.

Daryl narrowed his eyes but said nothing else. You had been around him long enough for him to catch the dismissive undertone. The run had gone smoothly for the most part: few walkers, a myriad of medical supplies and canned foods to fill your packs and a couple of milk crates, and even a few stale candy bars you had snagged for a treat on the ride back. It was the living, breathing trio that had been in the middle of stealing the car when the two of you had exited that became the problem. Shots were fired, drawing more of the undead. A bolt had taken down one adversary, the other two making off with the rusted Buick that was meant to be your way home.

So, you had set out on foot. The supplies sorted and consolidated to fit in your packs and one crate, Daryl had insisted you carry it so he could keep his crossbow at the ready. No more than a dozen walkers were tailing you, but they had been easy enough to either lose or dispatch once you had found the simple cabin that would be your shelter for the night.

Yes, you had lost the car and had the grueling trek that would take at least most of tomorrow’s daylight hours before reaching that familiar gate, but neither of you were injured, you had food, and you were relatively safe for the night. So, what was bothering you?

“Hey, Daryl?”

Maybe he was about to find out.

“Hmm?” He had finally allowed his gaze to settle back on the ceiling only to have it find you once again. You were staring upward intently, a small crease between your brows. That ceiling must have been extremely interesting, the way you both seemed to get lost in it.

“Have you—ever been in love?” There was a hesitance, a shyness to your question that was evident yet unplanned, as you closed your eyes and your face twisted while a silent curse fell from your curled lips. ‘Nice job, idiot!’ You didn’t watch his reaction, positive that the question had caught him off guard. He didn’t move or make a sound, which had your stomach twisting into knots. This was not how you had wanted this conversation to start; not even close to what you had rehearsed over and over in your head since the prison. “I mean—have you—did you ever—that is to say—”

“No.” It was a simple but honest answer. Daryl had never found time for it; never found he wanted to make time for it. Sure, he had experience with women, thanks to his brother, copious amounts of liquor, and a few twenties scattered over the years of his youth, but no relationships of which to speak. He just was never a sexual being, lacking any desire and overwhelmed by peer pressure and pent up emotion. It was never about connection. He had never let anyone that close.

“Oh.” You weren't sure what answer you had expected. You thought maybe he would berate you for thinking he cared for such girlish notions. Perhaps he would laugh at you; tell you he had been a player like Merle. Instead, he had answered and was now staring at you from behind the fringe of hair that always found its way over his eyes. You managed a glance at him before you lifted one side of your jacket to study the zipper. “What about Carol?”

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “S’not like that with me an’ her.”

“Oh.” You repeated.

“Why?” He countered. And god, he was still looking at you.

You cleared your throat and turned onto your side to face him. Still, your eyes found everything in the room except his gaze. “Do you think it exists?” You avoided his question. Daryl watched you prop yourself up on your elbow, your dainty fingers reaching for the hem of his jacket. “Like—like there's someone out there for everyone?” You fiddled with a loose thread and glanced up at him from under your long, dark lashes. His handsome face held a mixture of exasperation and confusion. You would have giggled at his plight had your nerves not been twisting around like live wires in your gut.

Daryl Dixon was your best friend, a title he earned back when your little family was still new—even if you both would have vehemently denied it. He had appointed himself your protector, your instructor. He endured you at your worst, still managing to teach you how to protect yourself; how to survive. You had thrown actual weapons at his head while spouting insults that he didn’t even understand. Daryl had had no problem retaliating, using any and all information he had known of you to produce digs that would make your blood boil or your eyes grow wet. Actual friendship came later and more naturally than he’d probably ever care to admit. Daryl would actually request you to accompany him on runs, trusting you enough to have his back. Your once venomous verbal attacks had softened into banter accompanied by elbow jabs and hair ruffles. You began to enjoy each other's company.

Eventually, the brush of his fingertips over your bicep as he steered you out of harm’s way had begun to send electric pulses into your skin, kickstarting a thumping of your heart that was so loud in your ears, it would drown out the pandemonium around you. Your name from his lips would send shivers up your spine. The times you had bunked together, you found yourself stealing glances at him while he slept, kept watch, ate, worked on his crossbow. Everything he did was like seeing a unicorn. You were fascinated by him, in awe of this man who seemed to be born and molded for the end of the world. More often than not, he slept next to you, offering his warmth against the winter chill or his presence against the demons that knocked in your nightmares. He held you while you mourned those you had lost. Daryl was quite easily your favorite person. That, and more. And that is what scared you.

“Dunno.” The archer gave a halfhearted shrug. He couldn’t claim to have never thought about what it would be like settling down with someone; having a family. Settling with you, if he was being honest. Images often invited themselves into the forefront of his mind. You wearing his ring while you chopped vegetables for a stew you were making with Carol. You would bring him a beer and perch yourself on his lap while he had a cigarette on the front porch swing of the home you shared. You’d even steal the smoke right from his lips and take a long draw before offering it back. He’d seen your belly swollen and prominent under your sundress while you hung laundry on the line in the backyard. You cradled a tiny baby in the crook of your arm, leaning so that your family could see the infant’s face. He banished the visions with a minute shake of his head, sitting up and angling to the side so he could regard you properly. “S’this ‘bout, woman?”

Your mouth opened before snapping shut again with an audible click of your teeth. ‘Don’t chicken out now!’ Daryl’s expression was unreadable, and that alone was terrifying. All the time you had spent together, you were sure you had become fluent in Daryl Dixon. “I—” You sat up quickly, matching his position, not so much to face him but because you had needed to move before the words that were swelling in your throat came spilling out in the wrong order and ruined everything.

“Ya alright?” Daryl ducked his head to seek out your gaze, his curiosity getting the better of him. It was a strange conversation. He bit back the urge to ask if it was ‘that time of the month.’ Once upon a time, Carol had explained to him why that was frowned upon. “S’really on your mind?”

Was he imagining things or was the distance between you dissipating?

“It’s just—” You were chewing on your bottom lip, pulling your knees underneath you and then you were right in front of him, lowering to sit on your hip. His brow knitted, Daryl resisted the urge to move, holding his gaze on your face. He could feel your breath mingling with his own now, eyes flickering down to your lips and back to those shimmering irises. Peripherally, he could see your hands on either side of his face, hovering scant inches away.

“Is—is this okay?” You whispered.

Daryl didn’t answer, not right away. He was too busy trying to control the overbearing thudding behind his ribs. His breathing had picked up, and he was certain he may hyperventilate right there on the spot. ‘Too close. Too close.’ Someway, somehow, he still found himself nodding.

“Okay.” You breathed against his mouth, your lips tickling his own before meeting them in a gentle press. Your eyes fluttered closed while his widened and stared off into nothing, as if he could see right through you. Your hands finally rested against the sides of his face, your thumbs gently stroking his cheekbones. It wasn’t until your lips parted slightly that the archer snapped out of his stupor and reciprocated, placing his left hand over your right on his face while your mouths moved, slow and deliberate.

When you pulled back, just far enough to see his expression, his eyes slowly opened (when had he closed them?). You stayed that way for several heartbeats, searching one another. Your hands were still on his face, his larger fingers slowly curling around yours before he moved both to the sliver of mattress that remained between you.

Unfamiliar emotions swirling in his chest were making it difficult to breathe, constricting and contracting around his heart like a pulsating vice. A war was raging within him and there you were, patient and grounding while you waited for him to work through his inner turmoil. Your pretty eyes lowered as if you knew he couldn’t think while trapped under the weight of your gaze.

“Look, Daryl—”

“Don’t.”

You looked at him then. He was staring at your still joined hands between you, his thumb gently rubbing over your knuckles. His eyes were narrowed, a crease between his brows. He looked vaguely uncomfortable and you wanted nothing more than to reach out but something told you he wouldn’t dare let go of your hand at that moment. Several more beats of silence passed and he still hadn’t spoken another word.

You licked your suddenly dry lips, feeling an odd sense of panic. Was it time to defuse the situation? “We don’t have to talk about this.” You offered, keeping still when you felt his hand tighten around yours. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Do it again.”

“What?” It was your turn to knit your brows.

He still didn’t look at you but he angled his head back toward you. “Again. What ya did.”

“Kiss you?”

He gave a curt nod.

You hesitated. “Okay.” You lifted the hand he wasn’t holding to cup his cheek, slotting your mouth over his. He returned the kiss immediately this time, just as gently as before. Just as you thought of pulling back, his free hand came up to cradle the back of your head. Your eyes flew open for but a mere heartbeat before fluttering closed. You melted into the moment, only then noticing the enticing roughness of his chapped lips; the tickle of his scruffy facial hair against your skin. It was quite possibly the most tender kiss you had ever received. No clashing of tongues and teeth; only simple and soft movements of your mouths. You could easily become addicted.

He pulled back first this time, but his hand remained in your hair. Daryl tipped his head forward to touch your foreheads together. “Y/N.” He whispered, not really sure why. He just needed to say your name. The archer wasn’t sure what he was feeling. He knew how much he adored you, needed you in his life but this was too much. He felt like a raw, exposed nerve and wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go from here.

You pulled away then and Daryl’s head snapped up to watch you. You sat up on your knees and peeled your jacket from your shoulders before tossing it onto the floor. He all but gulped, sure of where this was headed when you reached for his own jacket.

Pushing one shoulder free, you moved to the next and risked a glance at his bicep, the muscles flexing rhythmically under his skin when he lifted his arm to toss the wadded-up leather over your head. Your pulse accelerated and you took a calming breath before reaching for his vest. “You can tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” You popped the first button free and then the next, flicking your gaze up to his but he was watching the nimble movements of your fingers. “Daryl.” He looked up immediately. “All you have to do is say the word.”

After a moment, he nodded almost imperceptibly. He watched you spread open his vest and push it from his shoulders. He shrugged it off so you could toss it over with your jacket. You sat back on your heels and grabbed the hem of your shirt, pausing for a moment to give him time to interject. When he said nothing, you pulled the garment over your head. With calculated movements, you reached for the front of his dark gray button-up, once again pausing. Daryl couldn’t bring himself to stop you. When the last button was free, you slipped your fingers under the fabric to part it. It was then that the archer felt panic bubble up into this throat, his eyes going wide. He grabbed your wrist so quickly that he hadn’t been aware of the action until he heard your gasp. “Wait—”

You stared at him, briefly alarmed before your eyes softened in understanding. The hand he wasn’t holding gently cradled his cheek. “I’ve seen them before.”

He knew that. You had tended to so many wounds during your time together, but insecurity ensured that he acknowledged the cursed existence of the mars on his flesh. With a deep breath through his nose, his hands replaced yours to slowly rid himself of the shirt, the fringed edges of the cut-off sleeves tickling his skin. You grabbed it up and twisted your body to add the garment to the ever-growing pile. Your breath caught in your throat as his calloused fingertips brushed your skin. With a quick glance, you smiled softly at the bare curiosity in his gaze. You turned almost fully away from him while unsnapping the clasp of your bra, letting it slide down your arms and to the floor with a quiet sound.

You looked over your shoulder, your head lowered so that only your eyes were visible. He could see the slight squint of your sparkling orbs. You were smiling at him and his heartrate quickened at the thought of seeing the expression clearly. He remained oblivious of his own expression and the fact that his rare grin and the soft whispers of his fingertips were solely responsible for the way you were looking at him.

You turned then, returning to your knees, giving him a clear view of your smile—and your naked torso. Daryl felt the heat rise in his face and travel all the way to the tips of his ears. He’d seen a naked woman before but never so calmly; so intimately.

You noticed his discomfort and tilted your head thoughtfully. “It’s okay to touch me, Daryl.” Your voice was quiet and soft, like you weren't sure if he’d follow through with the gentle command.

And he didn’t.

The archer determinedly kept his eyes on your face. It was cute but you’d never tell him so. You moved closer, the air between you scarce enough to take Daryl’s breath. Your lips ghosted over his while your fingers trekked a featherlight path down his arm before settling on his hand. You wrapped your hand around his and lifted it to place his palm on your left breast, keeping your fingers secure enough to ground him.

“I want this.” You whispered against his mouth. You felt his fingers twitch before his thumb swept slowly over your nipple. You drew in a sharp breath and closed your eyes. Your skin felt chilled at the sudden loss of his touch when he quickly retracted his hand. Your eyes reopened to find his flickering back and forth between your gaze and your chest.

The sudden press of his mouth on yours had you gasping again before you settled, bringing both hands to his shoulders. His fingers danced over your skin again, his other hand joining the first to stimulate both pebbled buds with gentle twists. How many nights had you dreamed of him touching you like this?

You hesitantly swept your tongue over his bottom lip before withdrawing, testing his reaction. You didn’t want to push him past his comfort level; no matter how badly you wanted him. When his mouth opened and you felt him lick against the crease of your lips, it was over. Your hands moved to his hair, fingers tangling in the greasy strands to pull him closer while you drank in the smoky taste of him. Daryl seemed to be finding a tentative level of confidence, twisting to bring one leg onto the bed, bent at the knee. His rough hands left your chest to slide down your sides, fingers hooking into your belt loops and using them to pull you closer. You let out a squeak which the archer eagerly swallowed before you broke apart, both panting. Your foreheads rested together, Daryl’s eyes closed while you scrutinized him for any sign that he may not want to venture further.

“Daryl?”

“Will ya take these off?” He questioned hoarsely with a small tug on the loops of your pants. You answered with a nod, pulling his hands away so you could back off the mattress and stand. Daryl watched you intently, your slender fingers popping open the button before sliding down the zipper. When you had shimmied the pants down to mid-calf, you bent to undo the laces of your boots, toeing them off along with your socks. The archer couldn’t help but smirk when you straightened. Of course you weren’t wearing underwear.

“I’ve shown you mine. Will you show me yours?” You purred, crawling back onto the bed.

Daryl scoffed and put his hand on your face while he stood, giving you a playful shove. You laughed quietly, but still reached for his belt. He tried to take a step back and you quickly released him.

“Do you want to stop?”

He was wearing that expression again, uncertainty warring with desire. He wanted you. God, did he want you in every way he could possibly have you. The heat that had begun to pool low in his belly was not unfamiliar yet unnerving. This would change everything. You could never go back to what you already had. And would you understand him? Would you accept him for all that he was?

And for all that he wasn’t?

“No.” Goddamnit, he wanted to try. He stepped forward again but you didn’t reach for him. “S’just—” he hesitated, rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck. This beautiful creature was sitting bare and you wanted him, of all people. What if he couldn’t be what you wanted? “Don’t usually care ‘bout this kinda shit.” He thought for a moment that he very well might vomit. You were sitting on your heels now, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. You looked like you were working out some complicated math problem in your head. Daryl barely suppressed his flinch when it was obvious you’d reached a conclusion.

“Sex.” You stated matter-of-factly at the same time the first sound of a walker clumsily stumbling into the side of the cabin brought both your gazes to the door. You could barely see one another now, day having given way to night several moments ago and your one candle giving the place a gentle orange hue that neither of you sought to complain about when it was dancing across the skin of the other. There were no windows but the archer wondered if the light could be seen through the cracks in the old door, barricaded as it was.

When the snarls and shuffling continued to pass you by, you looked to him again. Daryl was looking at the floor, any expression hidden behind the curtain of his hair. You remained quiet. He had heard you, so you would wait him out. Pushing would only make him withdraw. You sat back on your hip and pulled the dusty blanket up to cover yourself for the time being. If sex really did make him uncomfortable, having a conversation about it with your goodies saluting him from the bed would not help matters.

“Yeah.” Daryl finally spoke after a few more moments. “S’not just—” he paused to shift his weight from one foot to the other, “just ain’t never been important ‘less Merle was chasin’ some tail. A distraction’s all it were.” He sighed, crossing his arms with his hands in his armpits. He looked so uncomfortable that it made your heart ache.

You nodded, not even sure if he was looking at you. “When was the last—”

“‘Fore the world went to shit.”

A while then. You chewed the inside of your cheek. You suddenly felt too exposed, pulling the blanket up further. Where do you go from here? With another glance at him, there was another sharp twinge in your chest. For a man made for the end of the world, he appeared incredibly small and vulnerable right now. “Will you come sit down?”

From the way he angled his head, you could tell he looked at you. A heartbeat passed and he dropped his arms, his footfalls near silent as he approached the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight and you found he chose to sit surprisingly close to you. Your knees were barely pressed against his hip.

You were still utterly naked under that old blanket; your heartrate had picked up speed at his proximity. You couldn’t tell if you were anxious or aroused and you wondered if you should get dressed and deal with the latter on your own once you returned home instead of pressing him further. “Do you want to keep talking about this?” You gently probed.

“Not really,” was his immediate response. Your mouth opened to comfort him but he cut you off. “Guess we have to, though.”

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Nah, s’okay. D’rather talk to you ‘bout it than anyone else.”

You smiled softly and felt confident enough to reach for his hand. Your movement brought his head to turn toward you and he didn’t flinch away when your fingertips brushed his. After a moment, your tongue darted out to wet your lips and you took a breath. “Since the end, have you ever, you know? With yourself?”

He seemed to deflate, the shake of his head so minute that you would have missed it had you not been so keenly observing him.

“Do you ever have the urge to?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Somethin’s wrong with me.”

“Daryl.” He looked up at you, blue eyes piercing through his dark hair. It hit you like a freight train. “There is nothing wrong with you.” You could only imagine how he must have felt around his brother. How isolated, how different. You wondered if he had ever told his brother, but decided against asking. “A lot of people just aren’t that into sex, old world and new one.” His steady gaze never wavered. You smiled and let go of his hand to brush his hair away from his left eye before wrapping your fingers around his once again. “You’re just Daryl. And that’s more than okay.”

“Huh.” He muttered after a moment, eyes darting back and forth between yours.

“If it’s okay to ask though,” you ventured. Your bottom lip tucked firmly between your teeth, you squeezed his hand, “how were you feeling just now? With me?” You added with a shaky breath. He didn’t retreat, so that was good. You still didn’t want to push him into anything he didn’t want, but rather help him figure out what it was he did want; sort through his feelings. If he turned you down, you would be disappointed, of course. But his comfort, his safety, and well-being; those came first. If you could never have him in that way, you would live with that.

“I, uh—it weren’t a bad feelin’.”

So it was a good feeling? Maybe? Shit. Now what? “Okay, okay.” you nodded. “Do you want to call it a night then and just—”

“No.”

His hand squeezed yours so fast that you nearly squeaked in surprise. You did, however, let go of the blanket you held against your chest with the other hand. “Sorry,” you mumbled, pulling the fabric up once again before Daryl grabbed your wrist. You watched him chew on his lip, his eyes overflowing with something you had never seen there before.

“Wanna try. I‘ve wanted to try with ya for a long time.” His Adam’s Apple bobbed while he swallowed around the words. “If ya ain’t changed your mind.” The statement came out more like a question, his voice quieter with a slight tremble.

‘ve wanted ta try with ya fer a long time.

You felt the swirling motion of butterflies in your stomach, your heartrate skyrocketing as you allowed the blanket to fall. Moving slowly, you twisted your wrist in his grip to clasp his hand and pressed forward to throw a leg over his lap. Sitting on his thighs, you gently took hold of both his hands and placed them on the curve of your hips. “We’ll take this slow, okay?” You reached to push back his hair so his eyes were visible. He gave a jerky nod, fingers twitching against your skin.

“Alright.”

You cupped his face and brought your mouths together once again. This time, there was no hesitance when you opened up to him and beckoned his tongue. The gentle push and pull of the kiss lasted until the need for air became dire, and Daryl pulled away from you only to ghost open-mouthed whispers across your jaw and down to your pulse. Your fingers moved to his hair again and your head fell back, offering the expanse of your throat to him. He nipped and lapped at the flesh between your ear and the junction of your shoulder, earning a breathy moan when he latched on to tattoo a kiss onto the surface. The archer couldn’t help but shiver and moved his hands to splay them open across your spine, tipping you so his mouth could properly explore the valley between your breasts.

His tongue and lips wandered aimlessly, and he found himself perfectly content in connecting the myriad of freckles that were littered across there. He found all of them adorable, especially the ones that traveled around the rims of your ears. Maybe he’d tell you that one day soon. Like this, he could almost forget the anxiety attempting to claw its way through his ribcage and get lost in warmth of your skin beneath his lips and at the mercy of his tongue. He moved slowly, probably too slowly but eh, he was rusty. He barely remembered any of the other experiences and, truthfully, he didn’t care to in the least. He would be more than fine pretending they had never happened.

“Daryl.”

He shivered at the sound of his name falling from those lips. The same ones that were parted and panting while fingers twisted in his hair, urging him onward. He kissed across the swell of your right breast, tongue teasing a circle around the nipple before he pulled it between his teeth and bit down. The sound you made was intoxicating and he was plenty willing to elicit more of the same from you just before he felt your hips press down and grind against him, successfully making him see stars and release his hold on you in favor of hissing between his teeth.

Feeling him go rigid, you sat up straight, breathing heavily. “What’s wrong?” You panted, tucking his hair behind his ears while searching his face for answers. “Are you okay?”

Daryl blinked a few times before finally realizing you were talking to him in close proximity. “Uh—yeah. Yeah, m’fine.”

You narrowed your eyes. He was still completely tense, his fingers digging into your back with enough force to bruise. “Do you want to stop?”

“No. S’just—”

“Just what?” You watched him closely. So far, he’d yet to move but then his hands were sliding down your back to firmly grasp your hips and— “Oh. Oh!” Sudden understanding rang clear when proof of his desire for you could be felt through the fabric of his trousers. Your brain warred between smugness and sympathy. You had made him feel that way but it had been so long that it had taken him by surprise. “What do you want to do from here?” Whisking away a section of hair that had fallen back into his face, you otherwise remained still.

“Get up.” He stated hoarsely. It came out a little rougher than he’d meant, but you’d obeyed so he wouldn’t linger on it.

You sat in the center of the bed and watched him stand. You were grateful for what little you had done, for the things he had shared with you. If this was how he chose to end the scenario, you would smile and support him fully. There could be a next time. He was obviously attracted to you. This was enough. Whatever he felt comfortable giving you was enough.

Crawling to the top of the old bed, you pulled down the covers on the other side before reaching for your discarded clothing. You stopped less than halfway through the motion when you heard the zipper of his pants. Looking back to him, you found him toeing off his boots while his undone trousers remained on his hips. For the moment.

“Daryl?”

“C’mere.” He beckoned you with a finger, curling it under your chin as you crawled closer. The archer bent to meet you halfway and captured your lips in a desperate embrace, pushing down his trousers and stepping out of them. The kiss continued even as he struggled to remove one sock at a time, balancing on one leg and causing you to giggle against his mouth. “Shuddup.” He retorted with no real heat. Finally both hands came to cradle your face and gently pull your back.

“You okay?” You slurred, eyes dark and lips swollen.

“Yeah.” Daryl tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to catch his breath as he took a moment to just drink you in. “S’not gonna be—”

“I don’t care.” Careful to keep your eyes on his face, you guided him to sit with his back against the headboard, throwing a leg across his lap to hover over him. It would be over quickly. That was a given. But that wasn't the point. “I want whatever you’ll give me, Dixon.” You kissed him gently. “I just want you.”

“Yeah?” The corners of his mouth twitched up into a ghost of a smile. “Ya got me, woman.”

You both groaned as you lowered onto him, Daryl’s face twisting into such a grimace of barely contained pleasure that you were surprised it wasn’t already over for him. “You good?” Your voice sounded small and breathless even to your own ears, but Daryl’s didn’t seem to be working at all. He gave a jerky nod and pulled you toward him, your foreheads meeting as you both breathed through the new feeling. “Let’s just—stay like this for now, yeah?” Another barely there nod, bumping your heads together.

Your eyes drifted toward the wall when a walker stumbled into the building. Daryl flinched but didn’t move. It was hard to ignore a threat that close but as long as you remained quiet, that wall would remain between you and the undead shambling along outside.

Another tender kiss to his lips before you trailed along his jaw, feeling him exhale shakily against your neck. You allowed your mouth to roam further, your tongue dipping out to taste the salt of his skin over his pulse. You could feel it racing away there, almost vibrating. His fingers flexed on your hips, his breaths now coming in shallow pants. There was a slight tremble to his frame making it clear you couldn’t remain this way much longer lest he combust. You pulled away, cupping his face for your thumbs to gently rub over his cheekbones. You didn’t need to say anything. He nodded in spite of the silence.

Your breath caught in your throat when you moved, releasing as a low moan as your eyes fluttered closed. He felt sublime. Judging by the choked off noise that came from Daryl, he was feeling exactly the same about you. You kept your movements slow and deliberate. Soon enough, he was rocking up to meet you.

“You, I—” He was gritting his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead and running down to his chin to drip onto his chest. Still rocking, you placed your finger over his lips and then replaced it with your own.

“I know. It’s okay.” You whispered. He pushed back on your hips, moving you off of him. You wrapped your fingers around him, pumping in slow, languid strokes. There was a mere heartbeat before he gathered you against him with your arm trapped between you, every muscle and tendon frozen hard in blissful agony with a breathy moan of your name against your shoulder. Oh, how you wished you could see his face as he came undone. His warmth flooded over your hand and onto both your stomach and his, his hold unyielding even as his body twitched and shook while you gently coaxed him down from his high with hushed reassurances and tender kisses against his neck. When the spasms stopped and his hold loosened, you gave him a few moments of just resting against you to catch his breath while your fingers carded idly through his hair.

“How're you doing, Dixon?” You broke the silence with a calm whisper, slightly leaning away to encourage him to move. Daryl carefully laid back against the headboard, eyes still closed and looking more relaxed than you’d ever seen him. “Hey.”

His tired blue eyes slowly opened, blinking lazily before settling on you. “Hey.” When he brought up a hand to graze his knuckles over your cheek, it seemed to be too heavy for him to hold long. His arm fell back to the bed a moment later. “M’sorry.” He mumbled, a furious blush deepening the color of his already flushed face.

“For?”

He scoffed. “Obvious, ain’t it?”

“It was perfect.” When he grunted in response, you laughed quietly. You smiled, kissed his cheek, then you crawled off of him. Before he could even focus on the mess left behind, you had returned with a packet of WetWipes from your pack. They were expired and not very damp but got the job done.

It was hard not to focus on your touch while you worked, so he opted to reach for a strand of your hair, curling it around his finger tightly. You carried on cleaning both of you up like it was just a natural thing, Daryl’s face reddening once again when you went about wiping him down like you had seen him naked a hundred times.

He leaned toward you to reach for your shoulder, sliding his fingertips over your warm skin. You grasped his hand to press a gentle but chaste kiss to his palm before standing to retrieve your clothes. You were smiling when you turned back.

You were pulling your shirt down over your head as Daryl fastened his belt and sat down on the mattress to lace up his boots. Sleeping naked was not an option when beyond the walls of your home unless you didn’t mind leaving those things behind and showing up at the gates in the nude.

Opting to leave your jacket on the floor, you crawled up to the pillow and laid down. Daryl did the final checks to make sure everything was secure and then returned to sit against the headboard, clearly offering to take first watch. For a man that had just experienced his first orgasm in years, he sure was tense.

“Why don’t I take first?” You offered. You climbed up to mimic his position. Daryl looked like he might argue but soon nodded and moved down the bed putting his left arm behind his head.

Finding just a smidge of courage, you reached over to toy with a long strand of his hair. “So.”

“So?” He titled his head back a little to look up at you.

“That a—one time thing?”

The archer lowered his head again, looking back to the ceiling directly above him. “Did ya want it to be?”

“Nope.”

“Then it weren’t.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Do it again in the mornin’?”

“Absolutely.”

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astermath · 11 months

Text

"So? Whatever." Pt.2

pairing: dave lizewski x popular!fem!reader

summary: after closing a deal with dave to let you borrow his comics while he pretends to tutor you, he finally comes over to your house. he’s confronted with the fact that despite your reputation of being damn near perfect, you have your own insecurities and issues. you’re confronted with how much you enjoy his company, despite having your reservations about him before.

word count: 2.4K

♡ LANDING PAGE ♡

notes: thank you for the likes and the reblogs, I really appreciate it! I really enjoy writing for this reader, there’s something so fun about being able to be so playfully mean. Please let me know if you’d like a part 3, and comments are greatly appreciated too!

[unknown]: hi, it’s dave! hope I typed in the right number lol

You look at your phone as it buzzed, squinting to see if you recognized the contact as you dried your hair off from the shower. You sat down on your bed and swiped up, smiling at the name. At least he didn’t forget to text. You saved his number under a new contact and started typing a reply.

[y/n]: sorry, I know a lot of daves. are you the one from the party last saturday, or the one from the football game?

[dave]: lizewski? the one who lent you the venom comic? brown hair, glasses?

You grinned to yourself, laying down on your stomach on the bed.

[y/n]: I’m just messing with ya, nerd. I remember you, how could I possibly forget?

[dave]: right

[dave]: sorry

[dave]: could you send me the address? and what type of comics you want me to bring?

You sent him your location and a couple of screenshots of your favorite franchises.

[y/n]: think you can work with that?

[dave]: yeah, totally! I’ll be there at 2 on saturday, is that ok?

[y/n]: totes, see ya then x

Dave stared down at his phone, eyes fixated on the little “x” you added to your last text. Everything from that day had already felt surreal, and now he was actually texting you. Or, well, he assumed so. This could all very well still be part of some really shitty prank, but you did seem genuine in your request. And what kind of guy would he be to just assume you were out to get him, just like all the others?

A smart one, probably.

But it was too late for second thoughts now, as he stood in front of the driveway to your house. It was huge, nothing like the houses in his neighborhood. He guessed that’s what all that lawyer money was good for. He walked up to the front door, his hand shaking a little as he reached out to ring the bell. He heard footsteps, taking a deep breath in and mentally prepared himself to be met by you as the door opened.

Instead, he was met by the eyes of an older man, slightly taller than him, who seemed less than pleased to see him at his front door. He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow as he looked him up and down. “Can I help you, son?”

Dave gulped, hands getting clammy inside his coat’s pockets. He was not ready to be confronted by your dad, especially because he’s the one you were primarily hiding things from. “I-I’m here to tutor—”

“My daughter?” He cut him off before he could say your name. “You the kid that’s tutoring her?”

“Y-Yes sir, that’s me.” He pulled out his hand, silently cursing himself for not wiping it on his pants before because of how sweaty it was.

Your father looked down at his hand, but before he could even shake it, your voice was heard from behind him. “Daddy, that’s for me!” You walked down the stairs, making eye contact with Dave as he tried not to melt right then and there because of what you were wearing. He usually saw you wear your cute, well put together outfits at school, but seeing you in your cute comfy shorts, with your hair put up… He only realized he was staring when your dad addressed him again.

“Alright, get inside. And shoes off.”

He obliged, quickly taking his shoes off as your dad walked back into the living room.

Not long after, he was met with the sight of your room. Shelves adorned with trophies, a vanity, a queen sized bed with a TV in front of it, a plush sofa, and a huge closet… He was pretty sure he’s seen whole apartments less nice than your room. But nevermind that, he was in a girl’s room, in your room. That was intimate no matter the scenario.

You sat down on your desk chair, legs crossed as you turned it on its wheels to face the boy scanning your room. He looked like he had landed in another dimension, eyes wide as he examined his surroundings.

“What’s so interesting?” You asked, not sure if he was looking for something or if he was just genuinely this impressed by your room.

“You have… A lot of trophies…” He fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt.

You looked over to the shelf, smiling proudly. “All from cheering.” You pointed to the tiara on the shelf above it. “Besides that one.”

He remembers when you won prom queen in your junior year, though he’s not sure if he’d count that as a trophy. He’d never tell you that, though.

“So, you gonna give me my comics or are you just here to inspect my private property?”

Your comment snapped him out of his daydreaming and he quickly took off his backpack to take out a plastic bag filled with comics. “I-I didn’t know which ones you wanted specifically, so… I just took all the ones from the franchises you showed me.” He took the pile out of the bag and you got up to take them from him.

“Careful, it’s—“

Your arms almost gave out to the sheer heft of the pile before he caught them. “Jesus christ Dave!”

“S-Sorry, sorry, I didn’t realise they weighed that much combined!” He looks panicked, hoping you didn’t hurt yourself when the weight pulled you down.

“You carried these all the way here?” You looked at him in shock. There was no way he was that strong, not without you knowing about it. “What are you, some kind of secret body builder?” You watched him put the pile down on your desk, seeing the muscles in his forearm. Maybe you were wrong, you just hadn’t been paying as much attention to Dave as you apparently should have been.

He avoided the question, simply sitting down on the carpeted floor across you with his back against the side of your bed. Frankly, he knew he’d be better off saying nothing when it came to his physique, afraid it might reveal too much relating to his vigilante activities.

You looked through the pile, finding the sequel to the previous comic you had borrowed from him and pulling it out. Dave took his own comic book out of his backpack, and when he looked back at you, something had clearly changed.

Your face was now adorned with a pair of round, thinly rimmed glasses.

He blinked a few times to make sure his own eyes weren’t deceiving him, but no, he was seeing things right.

You look up from your page and raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t your mommy ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

“You wear glasses.” He said, eyes fixated on your face. His usual aversion to eye contact seemed to have vanished all of a sudden.

“What?” You realized you hadn’t thought about it when you put them on. You didn’t usually have company over while you were reading stuff. “Oh.” Your face suddenly felt a lot warmer, embarrassment washing over you. “Yeah, I uh… I need them to read, at least. I get through the rest of my day without em just fine, they just look so… Stupid.” You paused, looking back at his face and realizing how mean that must have sounded to him. “Not that you look stupid! You look, uh… You look smart! Real smart, it’s just… They don’t suit me and I…His expression hasn’t changed one bit since you had put on your spectacles. You looked so different, in a good way. A really good way.

“Pretty.” He muttered.

“What?” You broke out of your embarrassed rambling.

“I think you look pretty. With the glasses. They suit you.” He smiled demurely, hoping that didn’t gain him some creep points.

You stared back at him. You’d been called hot before, sexy, gorgeous… But hearing him call you pretty, it was something else. There were no intentions behind it, he just needed to say it, like it felt right. You blink, trying to cope with the fact that the nerd you thought you had an upper hand on had turned your brain to mush with a single compliment.

“Yeah, uhm… Whatever…” You went back to reading. “…thanks.”

He smiled to himself as he picked up his own comic book again. You were surprisingly fun to talk to, it was almost as if he didn’t feel like he was getting judged for everything he was saying anymore.

And he could definitely get used to that.

A few hours pass as you both peruse through the pile. The silence is comfortable, only being broken if someone flipped a page or grabbed a new comic. He looked up and saw you holding the Spider-man collector’s edition he took a page out of, seemingly very immersed in the story.

“Do you like Spider-man?” He spoke up, hoping he didn’t annoy you by taking you out of the story.

“Oh, uh…” You adjusted the glasses on your face as they kept slipping down your nose a bit. “Yeah. He’s like… pretty cool I guess.” You had so much to say about him, so much you wanted to gush about, but you couldn’t help but still feel a little ashamed about your interest.

Dave looked at you expectantly. He knew that look, the same look he had whenever someone would call him any type of name at school for being a top shelf dork.

And in that moment, you realised you both had something in common. Except he lived his life unashamedly being a dork, and you were concealing it.

“Alright, so,” You got up from your chair and sat down on the floor next to him, your shoulders touching as you held the comic to your chest. The excitement nearly poured out of you as you couldn’t contain your words, going over everything you liked about him. His background, his personality, his originally handmade suit, his unique powers…

Dave watched you speak with a dreamy smile on his face, your face glowing with happiness. He never thought you’d looked more beautiful, just unapologetically being yourself in front of him. He didn’t once try to interrupt you, he wouldn’t dare to, you just looked so cute gushing about this comic book hero.

“And the fact that… He’s just some kid, right?” You looked into his eyes as he nodded along with you. “Like, he never got any special training, or fancy gear, or anything like that. He could have lived every day of his life pretending he never got bitten by that spider, and live happily ever after, but no! He took matters into his own hands, because he wanted to make a change, because he cared about the people around him.” You smiled, not realizing you had grabbed Dave’s arm and were squeezing it a little to emphasize your words.

He blushed, feeling like that description fit his own endeavors pretty well. He looked into your eyes and for a second, felt the urge to lean in. It took about as much strength as it did to carry those comics to not do so.

You let go of his arms and held your legs close your chest. “But that upside down kiss with MJ… That’s gotta be bullshit. There’s no way you can kiss someone like that.”

“I don‘t know,” Dave responded. “I feel like it would be kinda fun. It doesn’t look that hard.”

“Oh yeah? How would you know?” You turned your head to look at him and gave him a cocky grin.

His face flushed pink and he regretted saying what he said. He just gave you the perfect bait to tease the ever living hell out of him. “W-Well, I… I can imagine that… From my experience… It’s…” He stammered.

You let out a soft giggle, amused at his embarrassment. “You’ve never kissed a girl, have you?”

Dave gulped, words stuck in his throat. But you had opened up so much to him, it wouldn’t be fair to not do the same. “I, uhm… No. I haven’t.” He let out a bit of a defeated chuckle.

An idea sprung alive in your head, a dangerous but intriguing glint in your eyes as you bit your lower lip slightly.

“Would you want to?”

Dave had heard you say a lot of shocking things, but that might just take the cake. His cheeks burned hot as the blood rushed to his face, his hands staying steady on his own thighs to not show they were trembling a little. He didn’t know what to say, this was all happening so quickly.

Before he could respond, you were leaning in, eyes on his soft lips, only inches apart—

“Sweetie! Come down for dinner!”

Your eyes snapped open and you pulled back, looking at Dave before glancing over at the door. Thank god they didn’t come up to knock, that would have been the death of you. You take a deep breath and get up, gesturing with your hand for him to do the same. “You should uh… Probably head out.”

He sat there a bit longer than he should have, a million thoughts going through his head before the sound of your voice finally got through to him. “Right, sorry… Don’t wanna overstay my welcome.” He gathered his comics and went downstairs with you to put on his shoes and coat again.

You opened the door for him and he looked back at you to say goodbye. “Thanks for having me over, I had a good time. I hope you did too.” He smiled shyly, hands in his pockets.

You smiled back, reaching up to ruffle his brown curls. “Don’t mention it. And don’t die on the way back, shit’s dangerous out there these days.”

He nodded, giving you a quick wave before heading out, the feeling in his chest warming up his entire body. He felt like he could take on anything, a feeling that would absolutely come in handy later when he’d be face to face with New York’s criminals.

You went back upstairs and sat down at your desk, noticing he’d left something. It was the special collector’s edition you’d been gushing about earlier. You ran your fingers across the damaged front page, smiling to yourself.

Dave was looking in the mirror, adjusting his costume a little and checking if he had everything he needed with him. A buzz of his phone got his attention, and a giddy boyish grin spread across his face.

[y/n]: so, same time next week? xx

@nephilimsss

(lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this fic and other dave lizewski works!!)

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