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#when i get settled in at my new place and finished up with my other projects id love to take commissions in this style
konigslittleliebling · 2 months
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König and reader stoned breeding!! But like (if you have the time ofc) sitting on his lap and sharing a blunt, while his hands slowly get more and more touchy all over your soft sensitive body! Or taking edibles beforehand and them hitting when he enters you!!
Accidentally he mentions breeding you and you lock your legs around him in instinct! Which only gets him going more!
(Am I 🍃 at the time of writing? Maybe)
EDDIES EDDIES ‼️ being 🍃 when writing is the only way !!
mdni. cannabis, edibles, high sex, raw sex, breeding.
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you pass the joint to him, allowing him to finish the rest as you puff out a cloud of the herbal drug. your boyfriend chuckles, fingers that are so much longer and thicker grazing yours when he takes it, positioning it between a pair of slightly chapped lips. (parched from the acidic juices of your pussy where he’s spent most of the night thus far.)
“mein lieb, i think we have a problem.” he inhales from what remains of the roll-up, potent and dizzying. an intoxicating fog fills the room, a haze settling over the bed. you’ve been fucking and smoking all night — you’re both so drunk on sex and cannabis that you couldn’t walk in a straight line if you tried. you can’t walk anyway, he was a bit too rough :((
he taps the burnt-down butt into the ceramic ashtray that had once sat precariously on the bed — three used filters already in it, surrounded by ash. it’s already fallen off the bed thanks to the number y’all did on the bed frame, ash stains and a fourth stub on the floor beside it. “it’s chipped.” you pout, fingertip coasting over the crack in the ashtray. “i made this myself.” you wince when the sharp corner pierces your skin and könig chuckles, lifting it to his mouth to suck it clean. “i was wondering why it has a hand-drawn penis on it, schatz. it is not very big, nein?”
“i did it before i met you.” you chuckle, shuffling onto his lap between beefy, outstretched legs. you pull your slender digit from his mouth, before licking your tongue in its place, tasting the metallic tang of your blood on his. “i’ll make a new one and draw yours on it.” he laughs at that, deep and hearty. “the ashtray will have to be much bigger then, little liebling.” you nod in agreement, smirking against his lips.
you sit up on your knees, straddling his mighty thighs. “baby… i wanna try something. just say no if it’s too much.” his blue eyes narrow at you, fair-haired brows knitting together. “please, lieb. not a strap-on. i do the fucking.” you gasp at the crude assumption, slapping his chest playfully. “oh my god, no! i’m steering clear of your ass, mister.” he hmphs with relief. “gut. so what is it?”
you smile, teetering over to open the drawer of your bedside table. his hands glue themselves to your bent hips, covering the red handprints and fingertip-shaped bruises that already mark them. you swallow a moan when he starts to grind your sticky cunt over his semi, one of its veins massaging your sore clit. bastard hasn’t been flaccid since he first pinned you to the mattress however many hours ago.
when you lean back up, you’ve got two powdery small cubes in your palm — one pink and the other yellow. könig frowns, slowing his movements of manually rocking your hips against his length. “candy?” he presumes, voice unimpressed and dare you say disappointed. you’ve got a devilish look on your face, lips tugging upward as if by invisible string. “sorta.” you say, ghosting your tongue over his bottom lip — tracing the raised skin of a scar that stretches to his jaw. “they’re pebbibles!” your excitement confuses him and his eyes dip to the sweets in your hand.
he takes the yellow one, examining it between his thumb and forefinger. “these are not circular. pebbles are round.” you roll your eyes at his pedantic approach. “it’s a play on words.” your hand — so small in comparison — takes gentle hold of his wrist. your fingers are too short to wrap around it entirely. “they’re boiled gummies.” you tell him, eyes widening when he shrugs and pops it onto his tongue. you stop him, hooking your finger into his mouth like a mother fishing a plastic, choke-hazardous toy from her infant. “which contain canna-oil.”
he just stares at you dumbly, probably offended that you’d snatched the sweet from his watering mouth. you’re hungry too, these munchies are hitting pretty hard, but you need him to know what he’s getting into. he’s never consumed the drug like this before — only ever smoked it. you knew someone once who reacted badly to an edible. “like, cannabis oil, babe.” his eyes light up with understanding then, and he plucks the gummy back. “ah, i see. so why did you do that?”
“i need you to know the risks—” but he pops it into his mouth, chewing it just once before gulping it down. you sit there dumbfounded, mouth agape with your own edible still in the cup of your hand. könig smiles, dangerous. you know that look; you see it every time he fucks his cock into your tight hole. he takes it from your fingers and lifts his hand to place the crystallised cube on your tongue, then gently closes your limp jaw. “go on, my little sonnenschein. let’s have fun, ja?”
you huff out a giggle, surprised. you weren’t expecting him to be so into trying something new. it took you a while to convince him to try a blunt; you thought dust would collect on your shelves by the time you got him to test an eddy. “you’re so sexy.” you snort, chuckling away like a tipsy teenager. he grins lazily and lopsided, eyes half-shut and reddened. “on your back, bärchen.”
you roll off him, legs spreading instinctively so he can position himself between them. you’re so wet from his dick already, a little looser thanks to the impossible stretch of his width. immediately, his mouth is on yours, pulling your lips apart with his teeth before curling his tongue with yours. you can taste the fruitiness of the edibles when your saliva mixes, lips smacking and nipping in a slobbery clash of teeth and groans.
you feel his purplish cockhead pushing at your entrance and he doesn’t even have to try because with a small twitch of his hips, he’s halfway inside, sliding in with lewd ease. for once you’re thankful for his previous force, he’s opened your cunt up so well already, the dregs of your combined cum acting as lubricant. you garble around his tongue as it fucks your mouth, muffling your moans. your high intensifies significantly as soon as he’s balls-deep, the candies choosing the perfect time to manipulate the inebriated senses of your neural waves.
he doesn’t waste time, thrusting his mushroom-tip against the spongy entrance to your cervix without pulling out. your mouth falls open, gaping at the sensation of him fucking into you without retracting a single inch and you glance between your sweaty bodies, your vision slightly doubled as you watch the base of him hammer against your hole over and over. his slick bush of curls brushes against your swollen, exhausted clit every time and you swoon, head thudding against the pillows. “könig~! s’good, fuck-” you’re a mess, babbling like a teething baby whilst the mountainous man above you drills his cock into the silky roof of your cunt.
“Scheiße.” he croaks, overstimulated and strangely sensitive already. “those were not aphrodisiacs, nein? i cannot keep going much— much longer.” you shake your head, nails clawing at his back and toes curling as he continues to pump you full of his dick. “no, just— stronger than what you’re used to.. ah!” your legs lock around his middle, feet unable to touch behind the large stature of his back. könig starts to shake, hips stuttering and muscles spasming.
“mein gott.” he stutters, balls slapping against the underside of your arse cheeks and he feels an abnormal tingling in said region. he feels alien, almost. “lieb, you’ll have to… mmf- let go now.” he knows he can’t hold back, his cock screaming at him to release his hot cum into your eager uterus. you’re not ready for a family, not yet. but you cling tighter, fingers biting into his skin. “no, baby.” you whisper, broken and choked. “give me a baby. please, könig. y’know you wanna.”
oh god, he’s so close. eyes scrunched up and teeth gritted.
“feels so good, könig. please, please please.” you’re pleading with him and lord knows how much he loves it when you beg for it. he falters, hips snapping wildly into yours. your room is humid, thick with the smell of sex and skin-on-skin. he crumples on top of you, a heap of mass as he breeds you thoroughly. his cum is so warm as it shoots through your cervix, painting your insides and claiming you completely.
you can smell it drooling from you — sweet and rich. you’re still milking him, drenching his cock with your climax as he still rolls against you slowly and clumsily. your hands glide up to stroke his hair and the short ones that grow down his neck — damp and sparse. “jesus.” you breathe, chest heaving and legs trembling. his tired laughter rumbles, vibrating against you. “we mustn’t say a word, meine liebe.” he lifts his head to gaze down at you and you hold his face in your hands, looking up at him quizzically. “about what to who?”
“to our child about how they were conceived.”
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erwinsvow · 27 days
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it’s like you were put on this earth to bother rafe.
everyday, without fail, come some sort of request—rafe, let’s go get coffee. rafe, i want ice cream. rafe, i wanna go to bed. he tells you to go to bed and you whine immediately after, letting out a faint “not alone! not what i meant!” before he rolls his eyes, one huge hand settling on your hip and the other one on your back, throwing you over his shoulder and taking you to bed. 
once you finally get him there it’s all laughs and giggles and avoiding his gaze, getting shy again, refusing to tell him what you really want. he rolls his eyes and gives it to you hard, like he knows you need it, so you’ll fall asleep and let him finish his work in silence. and it works—for a few hours, that is. then you're up again, usually with more requests.
“rafe, they’re having a sale.” you fiddle with your R pendant, the way you always do when you want something and can’t find the words to just ask for it. for a girl pawing at his dick and begging for it raw half the time, you get awfully shy. 
“so? how many fuckin’ clothes do y’need?” 
“you’re the one who keeps ripping ‘em up! not my fault-”
he rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair.
"knock it off," he says, coming out louder and more frustrated than he meant.
then he watches you quiet down and scroll on your phone, biting your cheek. he thinks he messed up and made you cry. he feels bad the second it's done, because there’s definitely some pretty, tiny dress pulled up on the screen that you want to show him. 
he knows how your brain works at this point—you want him to get it for you, take you out to a cute dinner so you can wear it and then have him yank it off of you later that night. you won’t ask for it though, there’s your shyness again. 
you feel bad when he actually does buy you anything more than a six-dollar latte or a big ice cream that you can’t finish.
"what're you looking at?" he finally asks, not even a minute later, looking at your body resting on the complete other side of the bed now.
"nothing."
"you gonna do this right now?"
"do what?"
"just show me what you want."
"no, it's nothing. i'll just ask my other boyfriend for it, it's fine-"
before your sentence is finished, he's already on top of you, squishing your cheeks together, pinning you down. he stares into your eyes, maybe expecting tears, but they don't come. instead you look... satisfied. satisfied with yourself for riling him up like you wanted.
"yeah? other boyfriend?"
"jus' a joke, rafey." your voice comes out all quiet and squeaky since he's holding your face tight. your eyes are big and wide staring up at him. he hates that he's getting hard right now. he lets you go, rolling off and feeling your body sink into his bed.
“get your ass in the car.” it comes out as a statement, not a request. you comply immediately, leaning over to give him a wet, sloppy kiss before stumbling out of bed to grab your shoes. he gets up too, looking for his keys, when you come right back to give him a hug. you press your head against his chest, arms wrapped tight around his neck, eyes fluttering shut, breathing in his scent.
“thank you, rafe,” you murmur against his shirt.
“yeah, yeah, whatever,” he starts, but you don’t miss the way the tops of his ears are flushed with pink. “get the fuckin’ address for that place out-”
he does take you out to dinner, a cute place where he pulls out your chair for you and holds your hand in his on the table. he gets you flowers that match the color of your new dress, which are resting in the backseat of his car now. he kisses your cheek when he helps you put your jacket back on. then he slaps your ass when you’re getting into the passenger seat of his truck, because now it’s his turn to have fun with that dress.
later that night, close to sleep, you paw at his arm and ask for ice cream. the two of you are on the road five minutes later. he turns his head at the red light to watch you lick your cone. then you hold it up to his mouth so he can have some too, smiling and laughing when he takes a big bite.
he's starting to think he likes when you bother him for stuff.
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keeksandgigz · 5 months
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my guy
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eddie munson x fem!reader
Eddie being your personal handyman and stupidly in love.
cw: 2k words. no warnings just two kids being absolutely smitten for each other. tooth rotting fluff. teeny allusion to smut. Eddie being a flustered mess bless him. 18+ mdni
AN: this is literally the most low stakes thing i've ever written i just started cheesing at the idea of eddie cheesing at being called your guy
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The sputtering of the washing machine startles you.
Huffing, you put your book down on the couch, rising from the depth of the cushions in which you had settled yourself into after finishing your chores and go assess the issue.
"Shit," the floor is wet and you shudder at the feeling of the cold soapy water getting into the bottoms of your socks as you slowly make your way to the washing machine to unplug it.
You try your best to dry the floor, wincing at the feeling of wet socks on the linoleum floor, cursing under your breath at the cold feel of the fabric against your skin.
Despite the floor being dry, your washing machine was broken, and you couldn't afford to buy a new one. Fortunately, your neighbor, Eddie had been your own personal handyman ever since you mentioned in passing that your sink was leaking a bit after moving into your place a couple months ago. The day after he was at your door, toolbox in hand. Your sink was fixed in less than a couple hours.
You knock at his front door, three precise, well timed knocks. Your mind cannot help but start counting just to see how long it will take him to open his door.
One, two, three, four, five, si--
The rattling of the door handle distracts you from your counting. Eddie's eyes are wide as they stare at you. His hair is tied in a low bun and he's fidgeting with a guitar pick in his hand. He must have been playing.
He's really quiet for a second, then clears his throat. "Oh, um. Hey, what's up?"
"Hey, nothing much? just wondering if you're busy right now" your tone always softens up with him around.
He looks around his apartment, almost as if he needed to remember if there was anything he should've been doing.
"Nope, don't think so. Why?" He leans against his doorframe, and he's cute in the way his pitch perks up, his smile expands just a bit to let a few crinkles form around his eyes.
"Well um... my washing machine broke and I can't afford to buy another one. I have a really important interview tomorrow morning and I need a clean dress shirt to wear. I thought I could get my guy to take a look at it and assess the damage?" you lightly punch your fist across his chest and he blushes a bit. You can tell by the way he starts blinking a bit faster that he's flustered.
"Your- your guy?" he stutters, almost as if he heard nothing else aside from that.
"Yeah, silly. My guy, like, my handyman" you smile at him, and if someone could get even more nervous, you're sure that Eddie just did, because he lets out a breathy laugh.
"Right. Your handyman guy, of course" and he shakes his head, smiling to himself a bit.
"So... can you do it?" you ask, breaking the silence.
"Yeah, no of course, sweetheart. Gimme a couple minutes and I'll be right over to you" he says smiling.
You head back to your apartment, leaving the door open for him to follow you with his toolbox, and Eddie feels like he’s lost every sense of reason when he enters and becomes surrounded by your scent.
The fabric softener you use has taken over every corner of your house, but he’s not complaining. Taking one last sniff for courage, he steps into the kitchen, where you’re sitting at, waiting for him.
“Alright, can I take a look at your washing machine?” he asks, tilting his head.
“Yeah, it’s right this way” you lead him to the laundry room, and Eddie’s suffocating. You’re everywhere.
He kneels in front of the machine and opens its door.
"What's this interview for anyway if it's got you actin' so nervous?" He says from inside the washing machine. He's fidgeting with the rubber at the opening, the hose.
"It's for this job at the school. I applied to teach at the middle school, but I'm not sure if they'll give it to me" you say, panic settling in. He's taking too long, you're done for. No clean shirt, no job.
"Nah, sweetheart, there's no reason why they shouldn't. You're incredibly smart, from all the books I've seen you read, your apartment is all books, you nerd" he starts laughing, and then stops.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to call you a nerd." He takes his head out of the washing machine. "I just- I know you're gonna do great. And if you don't maybe you can become my apprentice, would you mind passing me my flashlight?" he gives you a half smile.
Reaching for his toolbox you pass it to him.
"See? You're already perfect for the job, you're hired" he says, making you laugh. He smiles proudly to himself, and he's happy that you can't see him from inside the washing machine, because he's sure he's bursting with joy at the sound of your laughter.
"Thanks, Ed. I'll consider it." you say, and immediately after you hear a oh shit! coming from inside the machine. Concern washes over your face.
"Ed? What's wrong?" you say, as you carefully step closer towards him.
“I know what the problem is." He takes his head out again The rubber thingy that helps you close the thingy is broken” he says, like you understood what he meant.
“For a handyman you sure have your way with words” you laugh, and he doesn’t even care that he’s made a fool of himself by forgetting what the rubber gasket was called. Because he’s made you laugh.
"So how do I get this rubber thingy fixed, mr handyman?" you ask, voice still amused at how flustered he is.
"Well, I'd need to go down the hardware store and get a replacement, but it's 8PM, so I can't do anything about it now, sweetheart. Sorry" he says, and it breaks his heart to have to say no to you.
"Oh, okay." your voice sounds sad, it hurts him. "Thanks anyway, Eddie. I'll stop by the hardware store tomorrow morning before my interview if you wanna stop by in the afternoon and finish this?"
He thinks about it, about the interview. About how much you said you want the job.
"Wait, I have an idea. What if you wash your clothes in my washing machine for tonight? So you can have your shirt ready for your interview, then tomorrow I can go and get the gaskets to fix it. It's called a gasket, not rubber thingy" he says, playing with his hair.
"Ed it's fine, I can go get it" you say, trying not to blush at how gentle and kind he is "I'll take you up on your offer of using your machine, though. Thanks, Ed. You're too nice" you say, reaching for the basket of wet clothes on top of the dishwasher.
"Anytime, sweetheart. Y'know I take good care of my clientele" he says, smug smile on his lips. You giggle and fake a gasp.
"Are you cheating on me? Are you being someone else's guy?!" he laughs and goes along with it.
"Well, Mrs. Davis did ask me to fix her bathtub, after learning from someone that I fixed their sink" he said, a fake accusatory stare at you.
"You should get paid for this, Ed. You've already fixed my sink, my door hinges, helped me change my lock and now my washing machine. Soon the whole complex is gonna ask you to do their maintenance" you laugh.
"I do it out of the kindness of my heart" he says, taking a dramatic bow , then rises and leans against the washing machine. "Really, though, I don't mind doing it. I enjoy being helpful. I don't want your money, sweetheart"
"No, Eddie, I insist. I need to pay you, especially after you said you're getting the rubber thingy for me, what was it called again? A gusset?"
"Gasket" he says smiling, pointing a cheeky finger at you. Then the air becomes a bit tense, he stiffens up. You see him takes a deep breath, he's suddenly nervous which puts you on edge. Did you say something wrong? Then he speaks up again. "Tell you what, as a payment for my services, I pick you up Friday night at 7 and we have dinner. What do you say?"
Shit. You would not have pegged him for the type to be that smooth, but he had you. He liked you and he was sweet to you and he wanted to take you out to dinner. It helped that he was cute. There was no hesitation when you nodded your head yes.
"I say that's a great idea, Ed. I'll let you know how the interview goes. Should we go to your apartment?" you say. You notice the quizzical, borderline alarmed, look on his face.
"So I can wash my stuff, I mean" an awkward laugh escapes you as he motions for you to lead the way.
His apartment is the same layout as yours, but rather than books, his walls are filled with painted figurines, guitars, notebooks and DnD game sets. A true nerdy den.
"Um, the washing machine is down the hall. We have the same one, let me know if you need anything, okay?" he says, heading over to the couch, setting his toolbox down and picking up his guitar.
His laundry detergent is strong. The thought of this load of washing smelling like him makes your head spin.
After you've started the load, you head out of the laundry room and head over to the couch, where Eddie is. You swear his eyes glint a little when he sees you.
"Hey mr. handyman." you say, plopping down next to him "Keep playing, I'm just gonna watch you." You smile at him.
His face is concentrated, tongue darting out of his lips every once in a while. Cute, you think, a silly quirk that makes your mind travel to places that it should not even dare to go, you haven't even had your first date yet. God, you wanna kiss him.
He plays some aggressive guitar chords, one after the other, music sheets scattered on his knee, balancing precariously as he taps the rhythm with his head, his hair falling out of its confinements with each bob of his head.
"I hear you play sometimes." You interrupt. He raises his head, his hair has all fallen out of the bun and lays on his shoulders.
"What?" he says weakly.
"Sometimes, in the afternoon, because you're so respectful, I hear you play. And I- I just stop whatever I'm doing and listen to you and- and it's so cool. Your playing is so cool" you stop your ramble, because now he's staring at you and he's making you nervous. He's closer, and closer, and closer. And he's kissing you.
His lips are soft, albeit a bit too wet from all the times he's licked his lips to focus. His hand is on your cheek and it's big and warm and his breath is on you and you just melt into him. Soft kisses, quick kisses.
After what feels like hours, your mouth is open and you're reaching for his shirt, but he stops you, a puzzled look on your face. "Let's save this for another time, sweetheart." He says, and you can tell he's struggling to say no to you "I wanna take my time with you. Maybe after our date?" he gives you a sly smile and you think you have melted into the cushions.
"Can we cuddle, then?" you say shyly and he opens his arms for you to fall in, you take a deep breath. He's warm and smells nice.
"For a handyman you kiss really well" you say, laughing a bit. He jerks his head and quirks an eyebrow.
"How many handymen have you kissed?" his tone is dramatic and you know he's joking.
"None that I am aware of, but y'know, it could be a side job" You giggle.
"I thought I was your guy!" He says with a whine, and he makes you laugh like no man has ever made you laugh before.
“Maybe you can be my guy for real then” you say, smiling, finally holding eye contact with him.
“Yeah, I can be your guy, sweetheart.”
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bakubunny · 5 months
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bnha: voice kink!reader
bakugo | todoroki | kaminari | shinso
because sometimes, just the sound of their voice is enough to make you….
summary: head canons and drabbles on various bnha characters when they find out you have a voice kink
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bakugo: the roommate
you’re trying to be quiet knowing you have neighbors, but it’s a little hard to tell how loud your whimpers are with noise cancelling headphones on. and it’s not like your roommate is home anyways, so it’s fine. plus, you can only do so much when you’ve got a dildo in one hand making a mess of your bedsheets. your mind is floating, rubbing your clit with the other, body shuddering in pleasure.
katsuki comes home early from a day of patrol paperwork and settles onto the couch in the livingroom. he can hear you because the walls are too thin in your tiny apartment. he wouldn’t mind (because honestly, everyone does it,) if he didn’t wonder what the hell has you cumming so goddamn much. he glances at the clock nearby; that must have been the fourth or fifth time in less than ten minutes. a small, breathy, “kats-” travels through the thin wall.
that’s it, he has to know.
you’re on the brink of cumming again as the bedroom door slowly swings open. katsuki leans on the doorframe and watches an orgasm rip through your body, back arching off the bed as your legs shake while he goes entirely unnoticed. he pulls the headphones off your head and puts them on before you can stop him. the grin on his face is almost sickening as he listens while you frantically reach for a blanket and your phone to cut the audio. the guy’s voice is low and gruff, filthy words spilling from his lips between growls and heavy groans, and he’s got to be using a pussy sleeve given the wet plap-plap-plap in the background.
funnily enough, katsuki thinks, the voice in question is… kind of similar to his, but his dirty talk is mediocre at best. your head is still foggy and swirling when you stop the audio.
“tch. is this really all it takes to get you off like that? some half-assed dirty talk from a random guy with his dick in his hand?” katsuki teases.
your face burns. “what the fuck are you doing in my room?” you ask as you sit up. “how long have you been here?”
“i can hear you in the other room, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls the headphones off.
your cheeks burn. “then don’t fucking listen, sweetheart. i don’t walk in on you jacking off in the shower twice a day, do i?” you deflate a little when his grin only gets bigger.
“y’said my name. don’t hear me sayin’ yours do ya?” he replies, leaning down to look in your eyes.
your stomach drops. “i-i didn’t-”
“don’t fucking lie to me. answer my question.”
“fine. it slipped out. and no, i don’t. does that stroke your ego enough, asshole? will you get out now?” at this rate, you’ll be looking for another place to live by morning with the level of shame and embarrassment you feel.
katsuki leans in further. you almost pull away, but he grabs you by the neck, his lips grazing your ear. “why should i leave you with that pathetic little toy when i’m right here, hmm?”
“oh fuck,” you whine.
“oh fuck is right, princess,” he says. “lay back down and open your fucking legs.”
soon, katsuki’s got your legs wrapped around his waist as his big, thick cock bullies your already swollen cunt. every grunt, every groan, every word he says is right in your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. you’re not sure how many times you’ve cum by the time he’s finished, but you do know you probably have a new record thanks to him.
bakugo with a voice kink!partner
i get the feeling that katsuki knows how sexy his voice is… he’s not that surprised. as a partner, he teases the hell out of you with it. if he finds out you get turned on by him saying the most mundane shit, it’s over for you bbg. he’s going to use it against you lmao.
he likes being close, lots of physical touch (especially during sex), uses touch as a way of communication…. this has its benefits when you’re shivering from his voice and his breath on your skin.
sends you the filthiest audio clips you could ever dream of because he gets off on how much it turns you on. may or may not be stroking it for you to hear while he records them.
will absolutely call you and tease you if he knows you’re turned on/playing with yourself and he’s not around. it doesn’t matter what he’s doing (within reason). if he’s home alone or anywhere he can get away with it, it’s praise, dirty talk, and degradation. if not, he’ll talk to you about anything while he listens and his pants get tight. might even put you on mute during a virtual meeting or smth just so you can hear his voice, knowing what you’re doing while he does.
꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦
todoroki: the clueless nerd
"...yeah. overall, this is well written. if you fix a few things you'll get a much better grade…."
shoto has no fucking clue, does he? you think as he continues to rip apart help you with your essay. it's for one of the last classes you have to take for your major to graduate; the content is dense and your professor is absolutely ruthless. shoto was one of two people in a class of thirty who managed to get higher than an 85 on the first essay, and luckily for you, he's also your friend who's willing to help.
you're trying to focus on shoto's words, truly, you are. but his low, slightly raspy voice is distracting as hell. it makes your skin hot every time he leans into you a little bit to look at your laptop screen to get a better look at what you're doing.
"...so if you break this paragraph up into multiple, you can further expound with an analysis of..."
it feels criminal how good one man can sound. your cheeks are turning red as he plainly explains what can be fixed. you find yourself leaning in as he speaks and you kiss him on the cheek mid-sentence.
shoto stops. he blushes. “i uh. i didn’t know kissing was part of helping you with your essay.”
you laugh softly.
“it’s not. your voice is nice to listen to, and it makes me wanna kiss you. is that okay?”
“y-yeah, that’s okay,” he says, a heavy breath on his lips as he smiles a little.
“then how about you keep talking, and i keep kissing?” you say with a grin and another peck towards his jawline.
shoto replies with a nervous laugh. “that - that might prove to be a little distracting.”
“i think that’s only fair after how long you’ve sat here making it so difficult to focus with that voice of yours.” your lips graze the shell of his ear as you speak and he shudders. you turn his face towards you. “can i kiss you?”
a breathy “yes,” leaves his lips before they crash into yours.
todoroki with a voice kink!partner
if he (somehow) didn't find out abt your kink until you were well into your relationship, he might wonder if there's anything different he should do. he's not insecure, but rather practical and wanting to give you the most pleasure. it's kind of sweet, actually.
shoto is absolutely clueless about how darling his voice is. he’s always a little surprised about how much he can turn you on by just talking. he thought his skill with dirty talk had improved (it had), when really it’s the sound of his voice brushing against the shell of your ear that makes your heart pound.
best moments are when you’re laying in bed and he’s telling you about his day. he’ll never truly get how incredibly sexy that low, raspy murmur of his truly is to you, but he’ll start to get a few hints if you interrupt him with periodic kisses.
he loves discreetly listening to you get off over the phone while he talks to you about whatever.
might try phone sex every now and then, but he’s probably not going to send you audio/video unless you ask him when you’re in the middle of it.
꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦
kaminari: the boyfriend
denki is singing along to the tune on the radio as you sit in his passenger seat. his hand is on your thigh, and your mind can only focus on the bright smile and pretty voice leaving his lips.
“have i ever told you how sexy your voice is?” you ask.
denki stops singing. without missing a beat, he puts on a faux-seductive face and says, “who wouldn’t think this voice is sexyyy?”
“denki, i’m being serious,” you reply as a smile pulls on your cheeks. “you could say just about anything and i’d be able to get off from it.”
“oh really?” his grin widens. “then open those pretty little legs of yours and show me.”
kaminari with a voice kink!partner
once he finds out, he doesn’t realize that he’s so much hotter when he doesn’t try that hard. a little effort goes a long way, and you’re going to have to explain that to him. otherwise you’ll have to put up with his comedic “sexy man” voice when he’s actually trying and you’ll be holding back giggles for the rest of your relationship. 😭
he uses his voice to get you going and tease you once he figures out what you like.
even if you live together, he’s a fan of phone & video sex. whenever he’s gone for more than a day, he’ll be caling you.
denki loves recording the two of you together.
also another one that loves only giving and receiving via audio/video. he’s more than willing to talk to you on the phone discreetly and loves sending clips of him jacking off.
꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦
shinso: the “best friend”
“hey, what’s up?” hitoshi says when he picks up the phone.
a shiver slides down your neck. how is his voice always so damn smooth?
“you busy tonight?” you ask, simultaneously hoping he wouldn’t catch the slight need in your tone while hoping he’d say no. you hear laughter in the background.
“i’m with a couple of the guys, yeah,” he replies slowly. his voice lowers a little. “why do you ask, hmm?”
it’s slight, but you can hear the playfulness in shinso’s expression. heat rushes to your thighs. why does he have to be such a tease? the background noise faded briefly.
you pull your phone away from your ear and mouth a silent, “fuck me,” before answering. “no reason in particular, just wondering if you were free to hang.”
“so you called?” it was more of a statement than a question.
“i- yes, i called,” you say, another flash of heat hitting your cheeks this time. “i’ll let you go. have fun, okay?”
“no. stay on the phone,” he demands. “get something for me.” shinso wasn’t asking for you to get just anything. no, he only said that when he wanted you to pull out a toy, and a specific one at that.
“shin, no. aren’t you with friends?” you ask. truthfully, your heart races at the thought of them possibly overhearing you.
“yes, i am. go on, get it out and send me the link,” he replies.
you sigh and shuffle around a bit as you grumble something about him being obnoxious, trying to avoid telling him that you were already wearing the g-spot vibe he was referring to.
"you've already got it in, don't you?" shinso's voice is warm and deep, so smooth that it slides straight down your body and sinks into your skin.
your shuffling stops. “maybe i do, yeah.”
————
“good girl.” his speech is slow and drawn out as he grins.
denki glances over at him, brows raised. hitoshi listens as a heavy breath leaves your lips. he holds up a hand indicating for denki to give him a moment. he puts a finger to his lips and taps the speakerphone button.
“can you quiet down? jeez. someone’s gonna hear you,” you reply.
“send me the link and maybe, yeah,” he says.
now denki, hanta, eijiro, and even katsuki fall quiet, not knowing what’s going on. a text message pops up on his screen.
“there it is. you listen so well, pretty girl.”
you hold back a moan. “fuck, don’t talk like that. what do you mean maybe?” you ask.
hitoshi turns on the vibrator and a whimper comes through the speaker. “i think you might enjoy it if everyone knew what you were doing right now.”
————
a shudder rolls down your back. “f-fuck you,” you say weakly.
“oh you want me to fuck you, huh? wanna hear me moaning in your ear instead?” hitoshi teases.
he starts moving the control for the vibe from low to high in waves and you can’t hold back a moan. your hand sinks between your legs to relieve the ache of your throbbing clit.
“yes, please, your voice is so sexy. wish you were here,” you reply
“stop on by, sweetheart.”
another smug voice chimes in.
“yeah, there’s plenty of you to go around, i bet,” denki says.
you groan, the weight of his voice and his words falling into your ear. “‘toshi, you fucking asshole.”
hitoshi put the vibe on high and left it there as your whining moans filled the room.
“what? you sound so pretty when you moan for me. it would be impolite to keep that from my guests, don’t you think?”
shinso with a voice kink!partner
shinso has a voice modulator with his hero costume. do you rly think he doesn’t know the power his voice could have over you without his quirk? he’s a smooth talker when he wants to be. he knows.
he’s constantly trying to nuzzle up to you and use that tone of voice that makes your head fuzzy. he could be telling you about the weather or his plans for the day and you’ll have goosebumps shooting over every inch of your skin because he’s damn good at it. then he’s all, “aww, what’s wrong, kitten?” like he doesn’t already know while you bury your face in his chest.
also calls you often or leaves unnecessarily long audios to give you something to listen to. sometimes it’s just to be sweet and let you hear his voice because it’s soothing to you. other times? he wants to hear what his voice does to you.
can totally see him asking to listen as you get off because your voice turns him on just as much. may discover his own voice kink.
will occasionally send audios of him jacking off as a way of showing love.
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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year
Text
II ║ Threads
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Joel Miller x F!Reader
{ Part I: Seams | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }
Rating: M
Summary: When Joel revisits Main Street Outfitters two weeks later, he finds you on your knees. Again.
Warnings: Very spicy thoughts but not explicit, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, some language, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N
Word count: 4.3k
Notes: This crept up on me and happened just as I was finishing up edits. I am so grateful, and I hope Threads is a fitting thank you gift to you all 😘 I’m thinking about doing a sleepover celebration, we shall see!
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Joel and Pin are back ❤️ They're back because you guys have been so generous with your love, sending me so many ideas and hyping me up - I can't thank you all enough! This chapter is all thanks to Singer machine anon who bravely (affectionate 😉) shared their story of getting stuck under a sewing machine table. I hope you enjoy this one!
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A treadle sewing machine is powered mechanically by a foot pedal that is pushed back and forth by the operator's foot. 
If you're not familiar, here is a classic Singer treadle cabinet, which is no way big enough for the purposes of this story, so please exercise your imagination 😉
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Joel hovers outside the Jackson Grocer’s, arms crossed, trying to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible in front of the leafy display of butter lettuce heads.
It’s been a few months since he’s settled in, but sometimes he can’t get over how fucking nuts this place is. Looking at the shelves brimming with fresh fruits and vegetables outside, canned food and home goods inside, he could easily be standing outside the 24/7 mart in his old neighbourhood. There are even shopping baskets, for crying out loud - stacked neatly one on top of the other by the door.
A voice pipes up from his left. ‘Didn’t know you ate greens.’
Joel scowls. ‘I don’t.’
‘Why are you loiterin’, then?’ asks Tommy, picking up a couple of apples and examining them with exaggerated care.
‘I’m not loiterin’,’ he spits out the last word as if he’s above it, turning his gaze to the high street. 
Tommy tosses him a cocky grin, head tilted at a knowing angle. ‘Yeah, you are. And now you’re makin’ eyes at Bob. It’s disturbin’.’
Glancing across the main thoroughfare at the welder’s shop, where the said proprietor is cutting up wooden planks on the porch, Joel grumbles sarcastically, ‘That’s right. Bob is just my type.’
At that very moment, right next to Bob's, the door of Main Street Outfitters creaks open, and Joel recognises Lucy instantly as she sneaks out on tiptoes. She skips down the stairs and wanders up the street in what appears to be another impromptu work break.
Joel’s already taken two steps towards the shop before he remembers that he’s not alone. Braking abruptly and bringing up one hand to scratch the back of his neck, he feels Tommy’s eyes on him.
He half-turns, and snaps, ‘What?’
The younger Miller brother shrugs, pursing his lips thoughtfully. ‘Why are you going to the Outfitters again? Didn’t you just get those new jeans a couple of weeks ago?’
‘Thought I’d get a new shirt for your stupid baby shower.’
‘Joel -’
‘Sorry, sorry.’ He throws his hands up in capitulation. ‘Baby showers are not stupid. Especially in the middle of an apocalypse.’
Taking another two steps forward, a thought stops him dead in his tracks again. He can practically feel Tommy smiling smugly at his back.
For fuck’s sake.
He doesn’t turn around this time, jamming his hands into his pockets and asks, ‘Can I bring someone? To the party?’
‘We know Ellie’s comin’.’
Whipping around, he growls, ‘Tommy -’
He laughs. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. Joel Miller makin’ friends in town? Maria’s right - you’re fittin’ right in, big brother.’
Rolling his eyes, Joel flips him off and stomps his way across the street.
Tommy calls out at his retreating back. ‘Say hello to Pin and tell her we’d love to have her come over on Sunday!’
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When he steps inside, the shop is as empty as it was a fortnight ago. Joel shuts the door firmly, making sure the bell jingles, so his entry doesn’t go unnoticed.
Your voice, though muffled, comes promptly. ‘Lucy! Is that you?’
He heads towards the doorway that leads to the workshop. ‘It’s Joel, actually.’
‘Oh, shit!’
His eyebrows reach for his hairline - you don’t seem to be the type to curse. Concerned, he asks, ‘You alright back there?’
There’s a touch of panic in your reply, ‘Don’t come back here. Did Lucy sneak out again?’
On your instruction, Joel hesitates in the middle of the room, talking to air. ‘Yeah, saw her leave a couple of minutes ago.’
‘Goddamnit, Lucy!’
He shuffles his feet awkwardly. ‘Uh, you sure you’re ok? Should I come back later?’
There’s a resigned sigh, then a pause. ‘Promise you won’t laugh.’
One end of his lips tugs upwards in a smile. ‘Why would I?’
‘Promise.’
At your insistence, he humours you, ‘Alright, I promise, sweetheart.’
‘Come on back.’
When he steps into the workshop, he doesn’t spot you immediately. The space is seemingly empty, everything standing still and in order. He sweeps his eyes across the room, starting with the shelving unit and the desk along the near wall, then trailing over the large timber work table in the middle, where a stack of folded shirts stands neatly.
His throat isn’t the only thing that tightens when he glances at the rug under the skylight -
‘Joel?’
Your voice draws his attention to the far corner of the room, where a sewing station is tucked into a little alcove.
Joel doesn’t know much about sewing machines, but he can recognise a vintage Singer anywhere even without the name blazoned across its elegant body. His grandmother had one in her drawing room by a sunny bay window, and he used to watch her work on it when he visited every other weekend. For a disorienting second, he can almost smell homemade cinnamon rolls and black tea.
Little did he know that things were about to get a lot more disorienting than a pleasant childhood memory.
As he steps around the work table, the rest of the sewing station comes into view, fronted by a big window, the light streaming through the glass glancing off the black sewing machine on top of a classic treadle cabinet. What looks like a half-finished dress lies on the wooden work surface, which stands on quintessential wrought metal legs, and between them - his throat constricts with a slow swallow when he realises what - or rather, who - he’s looking at.
The words barely come out, as if his tongue is suddenly too big for his mouth, as he makes his presence known. ‘I’m here, sweetheart.’
To be fair, you’re not making things easy by any means. All he can see is your backside hovering in mid-air, the rest of you out of sight under the desk. It has built-in cabinets on each end, the right side of it backed up against the far wall, and a chair is pushed to the side.
Joel stops two measured paces away, staring down at the curve of your ass and the way your top rides up, baring the small of your back. His eyes linger on the soft skin between the shirt’s hem and the waistband of your very tight jeans.
Jesus Christ. Do you always have to be on your fucking knees in this workshop?
Your small voice jolts him from his daze. ‘Well, at least you’re not laughing.’
He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from scoffing. If only you knew how laughing is the furthest thing on his mind right now. ‘What happened?’
‘A spool rolled off and I went down to get it, but I fell on the treadle accidentally - I think my shirt is snagged in the band wheel. I can’t move at all, and this Singer is an antique - I can't risk breaking it.’
Unfamiliar with what you’re talking about, he probes, ‘And where’s the band wheel?’
‘Under the table, on my right.’
You wriggle your hips, perhaps to help him locate where you’re stuck, unaware that you’re not helping. At all. 
He swallows thickly and implores you, ‘Stay still, sweetheart. I’ll take a look.’
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It’s been two whole weeks since Joel Miller came into the shop. You’ve caught glimpses of him in between - Jackson is tiny, after all. He catches your eye as he ambles down the high street with Ellie, his gruff Southern accent carrying even in the mid-afternoon bustle, too preoccupied arguing with the teenager to notice you on the other side of the road. He’s in the cafeteria a couple of times when you arrive for a late dinner, nodding at you from a few tables over, while you work up the nerve to smile back.
Every time, he’s wearing the jeans you handpicked for him, which makes your chest swell and constrict at the same time with something like - pride.
You picked out the pair for him. You assured him that he looks good. And by the way he’s wearing his confidence on his sleeve, he’s certainly taken your words to heart. 
Whenever you see other women eyeing him as he struts about town - which is entirely too often - it awakens an ugly possessiveness in you, one that twists your insides into grotesque balloon animals.
Fourteen damn days. Even in the privacy of your workshop, you can’t escape that man. The simple touch of denim provokes a visceral reaction from you, heat chases beneath your skin every time you pick up the tailor’s scissors. It doesn’t help that most of your daily tasks are not exactly cerebral, which gives this man all the more leeway to lay claim to your subconscious.
If you believed in magic, you would've thought you summoned him with the sheer energy you’ve spent thinking about him. But what kind of witchcraft conjured him up at the precise moment you get trapped like the bumbling idiot that you are?
One minute you’re reaching for the stupid thread, the next thing you know, you’re stuck, unable to move without the mechanisms of the antique Singer groaning ominously at your attempts to free yourself.
But maybe, it’s still better than Lucy finding you. She’d take a hammer to the sewing machine to get you out, no question - patience is not her strong suit - and she’d be laughing at you for days.
You hear the floorboards give behind you as Joel moves into the space, which isn’t much - when you’re sat down at the treadle cabinet, the wall is barely two steps behind.
The wooden table creaks above you as he braces one hand on the surface, and you startle at what sounds like the vicious crack of a vertebra.
‘Um - you okay?’
Joel grunts. ‘I’ll live.’
So you wait, thinking absent-mindedly how your elbows are starting to get numb. There’s a scruff of boots and what sounds like a brief struggle, before Joel sighs. ‘Back’s too stiff ‘mfraid. Gotta get on the floor to see underneath.’
Before you can squeak out a reply, there’s a boney click of what you presume is his knees as he crouches down, and an unexpected brush of denim on your left ankle surprises you. Forgetting where you are, you jump in reflex, hitting the underside of the table so hard that you screech in pain.
‘Shit!’ Joel cusses behind you, one warm hand landing on the side of your hip to steady you. ‘You ok?’
Up until this point, you’ve been too consumed with embarrassment by your predicament to even think about the position Joel found you in. But once the warm imprint of his palm registers through the denim, it hits you like one of those interstate trucks that you used to see out of your window.
You’re leaning on your forearms, ass in the air, and now - he’s behind you, getting onto his knees. You can’t decide if the back of your head or your pussy is throbbing harder as you stutter, ‘I’m fine, just - get me out, please.’
‘Alright, hang on, sweetheart.’
You swallow the childish urge to stamp your foot. He has no right going around dropping sweethearts all over the place.
There’s a throaty exhale as Joel lowers himself onto the floor, his knees bracketing yours to shift closer to you. You know he feels the shudder that chases down your spine when soft flannel grazes your bare back, heat spilling from his solid frame as he looms over you.
‘You say you’re stuck in the band wheel?’
Somehow, you manage to answer, ‘Yeah, to my right.’
He clears his throat. ‘I - uh - I’ll have to lean down pretty close to you to take a look, is that ok?’
You feel all the air leave your body, which is probably why your reply comes out far breathier than you intend it to. ‘Yes, Joel.’
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And with those two words, Joel has a problem with his jeans. Again.
They’re too tight. Again.
There’s nothing he can do as his mouth goes dry and his cock hardens with a vengeance, his self-control slipping like sand between his fingers.
He was doing so good - well, he was more or less holding it together, as much as he could be expected to while kneeling behind you. And of course, his damn knees hurt, but so does his bottom lip which is caught in his teeth, trying to regulate his breathing when his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest. 
He already has one hand on you, and goddamnit, it’s taking him all he’s got to hold back from gripping you with his other, to grasp the swell of your ass between his palms, to trace your curves up to the dip of your exposed waist, to bow his head and run his tongue along the arc of your spine -
And the jeans you’re wearing - fuck, they’re tight. He wonders idly if you wore them for him. His eyes follow the seam that runs down the cleft of your ass, the way the pockets stretch over your backside has his fingers twitching, thinking about how well you will fill his hands, and how the slow rub of denim will burn his skin.
He wants to hook his thumbs into the belt loops and pull you flush against the zipper of his jeans, where his cock is straining against - rub himself on you, grind on you, his thighs plastered to the back of yours -
‘Joel?’
Fuck.
He sways as he snaps out of his stupor, dangerously close to knocking into you, light-headed from the lack of blood to his brain. He chokes out, ‘Yeah, I got you, sweetheart.’
Get it together, you dirty bastard.
He’s careful to leave a couple of inches between his front and your ass when he bends his elbows and ducks so he can peer beneath the desk. His chest pressed flat against your lower back, he can see the bunched fabric of your shirt where it’s caught.
‘Yup, you’re right, your shirt is snagged tight in there.’
‘Can you untangle it?’
‘Think so, but I’ll need both hands.’ He pauses. ‘I’d better get on my back under you.’
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You swear you’re going to black out.
‘Pin?’ he prompts when you’ve been quiet a beat too long.
‘I - um, what do you mean by going under me?’
‘If I’m on my back, I can use both my hands, like a mechanic under a car,’ he explains. ‘If you’re uncomfortable, I can find another way -’
‘No!’ you blurt out, wincing at the desperation in your tone. ‘I mean - whatever is easiest for you. You’re the one doing me a favour here.’
‘Alright,’ he says, placated by your reassurance. ‘On your hands and knees then, sweetheart.’
Your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. Oh, come on. Can he hear himself?
Scraping together your last vestiges of control, you push up on your palms to make space underneath you. You have to consciously lock your elbows - your joints suddenly feel like barely set pudding. 
‘Move as far to your right as possible so I can slide in.’
Shuffling on your hands and knees until you’re pressed up against the band wheel, you hear the brush of fabric on wood - must be his back against the floorboards as he slides in. To say it’s a squeeze is an understatement. His broad shoulders brush the front of your thighs as he inches in, and then, his face appears under yours, head between your hands.
His lips quirk. ‘Hi, sweetheart.’
Your breath hitches at his proximity, your wrists brushing the soft red flannel he’s wearing today. ‘Hi.’
‘You ok?’ he asks.
You’re this close to pouting. What does he think? There’s a telltale stickiness between your legs that you’re frantically trying to push to the back of your mind while you mmhmm noncommittally, hoping that he doesn’t smell your want in the tiny, claustrophobic space you’re now both caught in.
You can only assume that he’s none the wiser, since the next thing that comes of his mouth is - 
‘Climb on top of me so I can slide in closer to the band wheel.’
Someone might as well say your last rites. This is the end.
You’re taken aback when your limbs start to move on autopilot, because your faculties have well and truly abandoned ship. One trembling leg attempts to swing itself over the solid breadth of his body, but it wobbles like jelly, and your knee ends up connecting firmly with his stomach instead of landing clear on his other side.
At his grunted oomph, you panic and bang your head on the underside of the table again, which sends your whole weight sprawling onto his front with a yelp.
Joel cradles the back of your scalp with one hand. ‘Shit, you ok, sweetheart?’
The seams of your lashes sting, your head smarting with the impact, and you blink drily as your gaze focuses on Joel under you. He’s so close that you can see flecks of gold in his brown eyes, his breath hitting your face in warm puffs. Your glance at his lips, and with that one little motion, all goes quiet.
He watches you back, neither of you breathing, and in the stillness you realise that you’re fully straddling him, your palms pressing into the hard floor on either side of his ears. Your tits are crushed up against his ribs, his soft tummy warmly cushioned under you. Lower still, where your hips are nestled into the spread of his thick thighs, something stiff and long and insistent presses into you -
Your jaw goes slack when it dawns on you. 
Oh god.
He’s hard.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Joel breaks the silence, a pained frown on his brow as he shakes his head. ‘This is embarrassin’. Couldn’t fuckin’ help it, seein’ you in those jeans -’
Tongue-tied, you can only stare at him, wishing you were brave enough to say something. Tell him that you pulled extra shifts to buy this particular pair of jeans, knowing that they flatter your figure. That you’ve worn them almost every day these two weeks, hoping that he’d swing by again. 
But you can’t. 
So you pray that he can see what you can’t say by the way you’re looking at him, by the way your heart races wildly in your ribcage against his chest.
His voice cracks. ‘I understand if you want me to go -’
You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth and cut in, ‘Don’t.’
His warm eyes widen, something like hopefulness in the way he looks up at you. ‘You don’t want me to go?’
You press your body closer into his, filling in the gaps. ‘No. Please don’t, Joel.’
He leans forward, so close that you can feel the phantom burn of his silvered beard, his palms finding the meat of your legs, blunt nails biting into the denim.
He really should be ashamed of himself, at the way his cock pulses unabashedly, nudged right between your thighs as you stare down at him, lips parted. He’s hard enough that he worries if there’s a wet spot of precum on the front of his jeans - he can feel himself leaking through his boxers. 
The wicked tip of your tongue traces a wet trail on your bottom lip, and he almost chokes on a half-buried groan deep in his chest. He knows that you don’t even know you’re doing it - and in turn, what that does to him.
It would be easy to close the two-inch gap between you. To kiss you, taste you, lick into your sweet mouth. All he needs to do is to cup the back of your head and pull you down, or crane his neck and press his lips to yours -
And Joel is someone who always follows the path of least resistance. 
But - he wants to do right by you. He knows you deserve more than a quick fumble under a table.
Sucking in a shaky breath, Joel steels himself and brushes a chaste thumb over your cheekbone. ‘Let’s get you out of here, and then we can talk, ok?’
It’s almost perverse the way his chest warms at the flicker of disappointment in your eyes as you give a reluctant nod, ‘Ok. Please be careful, the Singer’s really delicate.’
It’s hard to focus - his attention keeps drifting to how snugly you fit into his chest, between his arms, and it’s not a stretch to imagine a soft mattress underneath his back. It's funny how quickly his body has adjusted to creature comforts after months of sleeping on the cold winter ground.
Joel’s mindful that an antique sewing machine will be a pain in the ass to repair without the requisite parts, so he moves carefully, gently coaxing the band wheel back and forth to see how he can extract you. It doesn’t take long to loosen the grip of the metal teeth on your shirt, but he has to reach up and untangle the threads snagged into the mechanisms one by one.
He muses idly that this is not his method. These hands of his, with crooked knuckles that never healed right, where many a dagger, knife, gun, rifle have found a home - they break things, people.
When was the last time someone asked gentleness of him? 
He wants to scoff. That’s not what he’s good for.
Despite himself, his throat rumbles with a hum of satisfaction when the band wheel finally lets go of your shirt, the Singer whirring to life as it spins freely. He gives you a lopsided smile. ‘There you go, sweetheart.’
You smile, but don’t seem to be in a hurry to move, which pleases him. He likes looking at you from this angle, relishing in your weight on him. He takes his time running his eyes over your face, his palms coming to rest on your knees.
You duck your head prettily. ‘Thank you, Joel.'
He gives you a playful shrug. ‘Well, I owed you one for these jeans.’
You roll your eyes in good humour. ‘Actually, I told you specifically that you didn’t.’
Joel basks in the lighthearted turn in the conversation, egging you on, ‘Well, in that case, you owe me one for this instead.’
‘That’s hardly fair -’ you chide him, punching him in the shoulder in a half-hearted rebuke.
Taking the opportunity, he grabs you by the wrist, the contact prompting a bodily shudder from you that he doesn’t miss. He smirks, ‘M’fraid I don’t play fair, sweetheart.’
You glare at him in mock sternness, bold enough to demand, ‘Fine - what do you want then, Joel Miller?’
For a split second, he hesitates, woefully out of practice at whatever it is that he’s about to do. Swallowing his self-doubt, he asks, ‘Tommy and Maria are throwing a baby shower on Sunday at their house - do you want to come?’
Your shoulders stiffen. Now, that you were not expecting. Your social anxiety bubbles between your ribs and looms over you like a spector. You sputter, ‘Um, I -’
You start when his fingers draw soothing circles on the top of your knees, as if seeing straight through the source of your apprehension. He reassures you, ‘Lucy is welcome to join too. The more the merrier.’
Your eyes soften. ‘Ok. I’d love to.’
The endearing way the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles has you swaying towards him, his nose just brushing the side of yours - when the doorbell rings, cutting through the loaded silence. 
In your haste to sit up, you knock your head against the table for a third time. 
‘Ow!’ you cry. Even Joel flinches at the hard hit.
Lucy calls out, sounding dangerously close. ‘Pin? You ok, hon?’
‘Shit!’ You start scrambling backwards, bent over awkwardly, convinced that you’re one more blow away from a concussion. You’ve barely scrambled onto your feet when Lucy steps into the workshop, the world tilting on its axis for a moment as blood rushes to your brain. 
She watches in amusement as Joel drags himself from under the sewing station, head cocked to one side. ‘Hi again, stranger. You really like our shop, don’t you?’
His shirt is rumpled from where you sat on him, bits of his curls sticking up. He rubs the back of his neck, as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘I just swung by to, uh, invite you and Pin to the baby shower. Tommy and Maria’s. This Sunday.’
Lucy crosses her arms, arching an eyebrow. ‘And it’s a tradition where you’re from to talk about weekend plans under a table?’
You narrow your eyes at her. ‘Luce -’
She winks. ‘You know what? I don’t need to know the gory details - but I’m in. See you Sunday, Miller!’
Joel huffs a chuckle as Lucy disappears into the front of the shop, leaving you two alone. You smile, suddenly shy for no reason, twining your fingers to stop from fidgeting. ‘Thanks again, Joel.’
He shrugs it off, a touch of boldness in the way he stands, hands in pockets, hips cocked. ‘Pleasure was all mine, sweetheart.’
Instead of heading in the direction of the door, he takes two long strides towards you, leaning down to murmur in your ear, ‘Wear those jeans for me again on Sunday?’
Stunned, you gape at him as he turns with a crooked grin and walks off, dispatching a two-fingered salute at Lucy as he goes. Pausing by the threshold, Joel gives you one last wink that has your breath stuttering - but you only allow yourself to sag against the wall when the door closes behind him, your knees giving.
Lucy wastes no time skipping back into the workshop, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. ‘Alright, time to raid the party clothes rack, girl!’
You laugh - Sunday can’t come fast enough.
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Notes: I had the best time writing this chapter - it was fun to flip the tables on Pin, not that Joel comes out completely unscathed!
I definitely have ✨ideas✨ for these two, but I'm enjoying keeping things loose, so I have no plans to turn this into a full-blown series just yet. I hope you enjoyed this instalment, comments/reblogs/asks are so so appreciated as always ❤️
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Text
Open mic night was Eddie’s favourite night of the week. It wasn’t often that the group was able to make the drive up to Indy but everyone was finally available this time. Gareth, Jeff and Grant were going in his van. Steve was taking Robin, Argyle, Jonathan and Nancy. Steve hadn’t seemed too interested when Eddie had invited them but he owed Robin something and she forced him into being their designated driver for the evening’s festivities. It would be the first time the groups would be mixing and Eddie was incredibly anxious about it.
He loved Gareth, Jeff and Grant but they had no filters whatsoever and even though Steve might not be a douchebag anymore, he had still been King Steve and that didn’t just go away because they had fought interdimensional demons together. He also couldn’t explain to the guys the real reason he was hanging out with Steve without mentioning said interdimensional demons. So. Eddie was anxious. But it was open mic night and he was going to hope for the best. He fucking loved open mic night.
“Tell me again how you became friends with Harrington?” Grant asked from the back seat.
Eddie couldn’t help but sigh, he had explained (lied) to them all multiple times but they could sense that something was missing from the story.
“I told you! Henderson introduced us. You know how he always went on and on about him, had to see for myself.”
“And you hit it off? Just like that?” Jeff asked.
Eddie shrugged. That was the story and he was sticking to it.
“But why did you have to invite him to open mic night?” Gareth whined.
“Chill out. We’re going to have a good time,” Eddie said as he reached for the radio dial. He turned the music up louder, ending the Q and A portion of the ride.
When they pulled up at the bar, he saw that Steve and the rest of the gang were already there and waiting outside. He parked the van and went to meet them. Steve was standing a bit off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, scowling at Robin. He looked good. A simple black t-shirt showed off his arms and tight acid washed jeans showed off his ass. Eddie assumed Robin had helped him pick the outfit, he had never seen Steve wear black before. Nancy and Johnathan were holding hands and leaning into each other’s space and Argyle was finishing off the last few tokes of his joint.
Robin spotted him and the guys and waved them over.
“Hey, Eddie!” she said with a bright smile lighting up her face.
Eddie tucked one hand into his front pocket and used the other to wave back. “Hey guys, this is Grant, Jeff, and Gareth,” he said pointing at each of them in turn. “This is Robin, Nancy, Johnathan, Argyle and Steve.”
Introducing them all to each other might have seemed a little silly – they did all go to high school together. Well, except for Argyle – but it felt right, too. Eddie wanted them to get along and making introductions felt like a new start. They all nodded at each other, somewhat warily before moving to the door. They didn’t intermingle – group lines still clearly demarcated and Eddie sighed.
Wayne was good friends with the owner of the bar, so he let Eddie and his friends drink a bit. Usually just a pitcher or two of his cheapest beer, which was completely fine with him. Beer was beer as far as he was concerned and he wasn’t going to complain when he was getting it for free while he was still underaged. The place wasn’t too full yet, he liked to arrive a little early so he could get a spot near the front of the stage. He got everyone settled at the table and then dragged Jeff off to the bar to help him with the drinks.
“Hey there, my main man Moe,” Eddie sing-songed as he approached the man behind the counter. He was Wayne’s age with wrinkles around his eyes and grey in his hair. He and Wayne went way back, the best of friends even though they were complete opposites. Where Wayne could be quiet and standoffish, Moe was charismatic and brash – they balanced each other.
“Eddie!” Moe called back and smiled widely at him. “Good to see ya, how’s Wayne?”
“Wayne’s great! He says hello.”
“How many glasses?” Moe asked as he started to fill up a pitcher of beer. “You brought a big group this time.”
“Oh, uh – nine!... Please.”
Moe set the pitcher on the counter before turning to grab and stack a bunch of cups. Jeff picked up the cups and Eddie took the pitcher.
“Thanks, Moe.”
Moe waved him off, still smiling.
He and Jeff made their way back to the table. Eddie was pleased to see that the two groups were intermingling a bit when he got back. Robin was chatting with Grant and Gareth, which made sense – they probably had the most in common. Johnathan and Nancy were sitting side by side, listening. Argyle was currently a space cadet, staring at the popcorned ceiling like it was the night sky. And Steve – well Steve had his arms across his chest and was leaning back like he wished he was anywhere else. Whatever, he could be a grumpy goose all he wanted. Eddie placed the pitcher in the center and Jeff started handing out the cups.
“So, what’s the King been up to since graduating?” Gareth asked and then took a sip of beer. Eddie rolled his eyes. The question was innocent enough but the way Gareth asked it made it sound like he already knew the answer and it couldn’t be anything good.
“Family Video re-opened, so me and Robs have been working,” he said and shrugged, taking the question and the way it was asked in a surprisingly good stride.
“That’s it? Working at Family Video?” Grant chimed in with a smirk.
Everyone could read between the lines of what Grant and Gareth were saying – the great Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, King of Hawkins High graduated but going nowhere – Working a menial service industry job that he probably hated. Eddie didn’t know if Steve had any other plans. He knew Robin and Nancy were all set to go off to college once they graduated but he and Steve had never really talked about their life goals. Maybe he was happy with an easy job and no stress. There were worse things, he supposed. But he also couldn’t imagine getting stuck in fucking Hawkins.
“Yup,” Steve replied. “That’s it.”
“That is not it, Steve!” Robin said from across the table. “Why don’t you tell them –” Her words were cut off when Moe walked onto the stage and announced that open mic night had officially begun.
A cheer went around the room and usually Eddie would be the first one to go up to the mic but he wanted Robin to finish her sentence. It was clear she wasn’t going to when the cheers finally quieted and a man from the back of the room approached the stage. Eddie listened but he found himself distracted; he hated mysteries. Puzzles needed to be solved or else he felt them like an itch in the back of his mind. He would need to bring the conversation back around to Steve later so he could find out what else the man had going on.
When the first performance ended to polite claps, Eddie jumped up to go next. He loved putting on a show. Moe always had an acoustic and electric guitar on the stage for anyone who wanted to use them. Eddie grabbed the electric guitar and strummed a few chords, testing it out before he went up to the microphone. He usually stuck to more rock and roll songs for open mic night over the heavier stuff he performed with Corroded Coffin. It was nice to be able to do both and he loved it when the crowd sang along with him. He finished his slowed down version of For Whom the Bells Tolls with an exaggerated bow.
A few regulars he knew went up after him. Jeff did a great acoustic version of Number of the Beast which Eddie had not expected to work at all. Robin and Nancy did a Blondie’s song together that wasn’t half bad. They had nice voices, and Robin at least managed to stay on key. Blondie was no joke.
They were on their third pitcher, the mood at the table loosened as they talked and sang and drank. Eddie and Steve only had one beer each before switching to sodas – a stipulation of Moes that anyone he brought to drink had a safe drive home. Eddie had never bent this rule, he appreciated Moe giving them a space to come and drink and he wouldn’t get him in trouble by driving drunk.
“Steve! Your turn!” Nancy yelled.
Steve shook his head. “I’m not getting up there. I’m only here because Robin made me come.”
Jeff and Gareth shared a look between them, rolling their eyes.
“Afraid to sing in front of us, Harrington?” Eddie asked. He knew that Steve wasn’t afraid of anything. His dumb bravery would put the strongest barbarian to shame but sometimes heckling worked and Eddie really wanted to hear him sing.
Steve just leaned back calmly. “Not gunna work on me, Munson.”
“Steve,” Robin whined and stretched out his name, “you have to sing.”
“Nope,” Steve responded.
Robin leaned over so she was practically in his lap and squeezed his cheeks together.
“You have to sing, Steve,” she said with the utmost seriousness.
Something passed between them because Steve’s eyes got large and frightened and Robin snickered. She had something on him! Something he didn’t want her to tell them and she was threatening him with it. Good job, Robin!
Steve sighed deeply before heading up the stage as the crowd hooted and hollered.
Robin leaned back in her chair with a satisfied smirk on her face.
“He’s probably going to sing Tears for Fears or Abba or something,” Eddie said to the group.
“My money is on Madonna,” Nancy chimed in.
Robin snorted. “Duran Duran!”
They all laughed.
Steve grabbed the microphone and took a deep breath, looking out into the crowd. His first note echoed in the room and the talking and laughter ceased immediately, all eyes turned and focused on the stage.
I get up in the evenin’ And I ain’t got nothing to say Come home in the mornin’ I go to bed feelin’ the same way I ain’t nothin’ but tired Man, I’m just tired and bored with myself     Hey there, baby, I could use just a little help
Not a sound could be heard from anyone in the room as they all listened in rapt silence. Steve’s voice was ethereal, perfectly pitched, beautiful. Eddie had never heard anything like it.
You can't start a fire You can't start a fire without a spark This gun's for hire Even if we're just dancin' in the dark
The thing was, Eddie liked Steve. He was a better person and friend than he could have ever expected of the former king. But he was a surface level person, what you saw was what you got. He could be sassy and mean and didn’t seem to dive too deeply into his own feelings. Steve was simple and he liked simple things. He was Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington for Christ sakes, he could not have the deep well of emotion and pain that he was conveying in this song.
But he did.
And he was.
Eddie turned to Robin and hissed in her ear as quietly as he could, “did you know about this?”
But she was looking at Steve just as dumbstruck as the rest of them and slowly shook her head.
You sit around gettin' older There's a joke here somewhere and it's on me I'll shake this world off my shoulders Come on, baby, the laugh's on me
Steve was baring his goddamn soul. And maybe Eddie had still been judging him too harshly on who he used to be – because they had fought a fucking war together. But it had always seemed to just…glide off Steve. They must have missed it – the darkness and loneliness in his eyes that Eddie was seeing now. They were all seeing it now. Nancy and Robin were both staring at him like they had never seen him before. Eddie was ashamed. How often did he lament people for thinking they knew him? For judging him on his looks before they even tried to know him? And now he had done it, too. But this was worse because Steve was his friend… and he hadn’t seen it. He had seen a piece of the man and assumed it for the whole.
Stay on the streets of this town And they'll be carvin' you up alright They say you gotta stay hungry Hey baby, I'm just about starvin' tonight I'm dyin' for some action I'm sick of sittin' 'round here tryin' to write this book I need a love reaction Come on now, baby, gimme just one look
This blew all of his preconceived notions out of the water. Steve was singing like his goddamn heart was breaking and no one in the world understood him. It was a masterpiece and Eddie was floored. Absolutely floored. He had heard Dancing in the Dark a million times. But Steve… The way he sang it gave the words such a deeper meaning. It was beautiful and haunting and pained. It changed everything about the song… and everything he thought he knew about Steve Harrington.
You can't start a fire Worryin' about your little world fallin' apart This gun's for hire Even if we're just dancin' in the dark Even if we're just dancin' in the dark
He held the last note, beautifully pitched, before he let it go. The room was silent, everyone as awestruck as Eddie. After a pregnant pause everyone erupted into cheers and whistles and Steve dropped his head as a blush starting creeping over his cheekbones – his hair falling over his face. Adorable.
Oh. Oh no.
No. No. No.
He did not just think that.
Appreciative eyes followed Steve as he made his way back to their table and Eddie bristled. He wanted to growl and bare his teeth at them all.
“You have the voice of an angel, my dude,” Argyle said.
“Thanks man,” Steve said as he sat back down.
Robin immediately attacked him, shoving him and screaming, “what the hell was that?”
“You wanted me to sing! So, I sang!” he yelled back.
“I didn’t know you could sing, Steve! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Steve shrugged. “Never came up, I guess.”
“Never came up!? Neve came up?” Robin’s voice kept increasing in volume and incredulity. Eddie was right there with her. “I am betrayed! Betrayed, Steve!”
Steve rolled his eyes at her dramatics. “Calm down, Buckley. It was just a song.”
“It wasn’t just a song though, was it?” Nancy asked quietly.
Steve tensed up and ducked his head but not before Eddie saw something dark move through his eyes. He wanted to ask if Steve was okay, wanted to drag him somewhere quiet where he could talk to him and ask him questions and find out what was behind his eyes – what was behind that song. Eddie wanted to split his skull open and peer inside and learn everything there was to know about Steve Harrington. He couldn’t take his eyes off him, was begging desperately in his head for Steve to look up, to look at him, too.
Who are you, Steve Harrington?
Eddie’s mind itched at the unexpected puzzle.
Part 2
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greatstormcat · 2 months
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Of Wolf And Man - Part 1
Poly TF141 x f!reader Werewolf AU
Series Masterlist
TW: MDNI 18+, suggestive themes
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Spring
It had broken your heart when you got the news that your Great Aunt Annie had passed away, but the shock came when you learned that she had left everything she had in the world to you in her will. This included, most significantly, the little cottage that she had spent her entire life in. It was a place you knew well, and loved dearly.
The process of taking over her estate took months, but finally the day came where it was officially yours. You took a year’s leave of absence from your job, sadly helped by a recent incident that had taken its toll on your mental health, and uprooted yourself to move to the cottage. The goal was to spend a year doing the place up and then return to your normal life.
Getting there wasn’t easy, the tracks through the forest to reach it were narrow so only a small moving van could reach it while you stopped in the nearby town in your crappy little car to stock up on supplies. You remembered the town from your childhood visits, and nothing seemed to have changed in all these years. You headed into the small supermarket, loading up with food and cleaning supplies.
“You’re not from around here, sweetie,” the lady at the till says to you as she takes payment for the bags of food, cleaning products and other items you’d purchased.
“No,” you smile back kindly. “I’ve just moved here, I am living in my aunt’s cottage as she left it to me in her will.”
“Oh! You’ve taken over Annie’s cottage! I remember you when you were little, haven’t seen you in years. I’m so sorry for your loss, she was a good woman. Good for you moving in there though, getting back to nature’s good for your health,” she chuckles and makes idle chat about your aunt while you finish up. You can’t help but feel this is a good omen of things to come as you load everything into the back of your car, heading out of town into the watery afternoon light as you head to the cottage. You hadn’t been here in a long time, and you felt guilty about that. The single track road winds through the forest, over small streams and twisting back on itself several times until you drive into a clearing.
It is a little thatched roof cottage built so long ago no records existed of when it first appeared. The rough hewn rocks making up its walls are dusted with moss and make it look as though it had been grown from the earth rather than been constructed by human hands. There were two low beamed floors inside, with a bedroom and small bathroom upstairs and a living area with a small kitchen and open fireplace downstairs. In front of it a beautiful wild flower meadow stretched out like a soft blanket.
Beyond the meadow was a dense and gnarled forest of oaks and sycamores, leading up to rolling hills beyond. There was electricity and running water now, both recent additions, but no phone line or internet. It was perfect.
The chill of winter still hung in the air as you waved away the last of the removal vans, and you stood on the simple porch at the front of the single story building on your own for the first time. The silence once the noise of the engine receded was heavenly.
You spent the rest of the day unpacking and arranging your belongings, working around your Aunt’s furniture inside, until the light faded outside and night fell. Memories come back as you move through the building, times when you’d stayed here for weeks during the school holidays as a child, running across the meadow, picking flowers and climbing the trees. It was a happy time and you look forward to reclaiming that feeling again.
As evening darkens the sky you settle down by the fire. The logs in the fireplace crackle and snap, the warmth and light filling the space around you is as far away from the harshness of your old flat in the city as possible. There’s almost total silence outside the cabin, save for the odd rustle of the trees and the calling of an owl in the darkness. You pull the blanket around your shoulders and shuffle further down into the softness of the sofa, sipping at the hot tea in your mug.
The bubble of peace is pierced sharply by a mournful howl in the distance, and you sat bolt upright, nearly spilling your drink everywhere. With a huge grin you bolted to the front door, throwing it open and standing there, blanket draped over your shoulders and holding your breath hoping to hear the sound again. Sure enough, the howl drifted on the breeze once again. Wolves. There were wolves out there in the distance.
You faintly recall your aunt telling you stories about witches and werewolves when you’d visited in the distant pass. She had quite a thing for wolves and it had rubbed off on you as you grew up.
As the chill of winter warms into spring you spend time digging the soil outside the cottage to reclaim the overgrown garden, making trips into town to get seeds and tools to replant it. It turns into an intense labour of love and ends up with you heading into town again to get bags of compost to enrich the soil when you decide a vegetable patch is needed. You’re sweating despite the chilled air as you try to heave the heavy bags you’ve bought into the back of the car, dropping the last one onto your foot with a curse.
“You need a hand there?” a friendly, Scottish voice calls. Before you can turn to see who has spoken, the heavy bag is taken from your hands and dropped with ease into the back of the car.
“Wow, thanks you’re too kind,” you exclaim and turn to thank your hero. Before you stands a huge, muscular man with piercing blue eyes, his brown hair cut down short either side of his head to leave him with a shaggy mowhawk of hair across the top. His blue shirt is pulled taut over his chest and shoulders, the cold clearly not bothering him. But it’s the wicked smile in his face that stuns you into silence.
“It’s nothin’ lass,” he winks, and then sniffs deeply. “I’ve not seen you around here before. I’m Johnny,” he declares and holds out a huge hand for you to shake. You tell him your name and explain you’ve just moved here recently. “Oh, you bought the cottage?”
“It was my aunt’s, she left it to me. You know it?”
“Sure I know it, we have a place up there too,” he replies, his eyes sparkling as listens to your story.
“Oh, who is this we?” you ask, trying to suppress the wave of disappointment at the possibility he isn’t single after all.
“Ah, come with me and I’ll introduce you. As we’re neighbours and all, yeah?” You find yourself towed along by his charisma, as though you were on a lead being pulled along by him as he heads into the pub across the road. It’s the first time you’ve been in here, and it’s a low ceiling, cozy space full of dark booths and horse brasses on the wooden beams. Johnny leads you to a far corner where three other men are sitting. Four pint glasses sit on the table indicating that Johnny was either here before, or expected. The men are as big, or even bigger than Johnny and you feel a sudden wave of trepidation as he presents you before them. Three pairs of eyes look at you with suspicion as you approach, and Johnny wraps his arm around your shoulders protectively.
“Who’s this now, Johnny?” One of them asks, sounding a little weary, as though you’re an annoyance already. The man has thick mutton chops on his face, and a dark beanie hat and dark jacket.
“This is our new neighbour, she’s Annie’s great niece and has taken on the cottage,” he says to the bearded man, making it sound as though they had recently been discussing the matter.
“Oh really?” he says, eyebrows raised and suddenly looking much friendlier towards you. “I’m Price. This is Kyle and Simon.” He indicates the other two men in turn. Kyle gives you a beautiful smile, his dark features managing to be even more gorgeous than Johnny, but Simon just looks at you coolly and nods. This man has scars on his pale skin, his top lip snarled slightly giving him a dangerous look, helped by the fact his hood is up on his black jacket.
“Yes, I just moved in last week and I’m doing the place up,” you explain.
“Well, we will have to get used to seeing more of you then. We helped your aunt out and have been keeping an eye on the place since she passed away.” Price raises his glass to you and smiles warmly.
A drink is bought for you, and you’re quickly seated between Johnny and Kyle having a genial conversation. Despite their slightly intimidating appearances they’re very warm and friendly towards you, and you suspect it’s the fact you are their neighbour that does this.
“I heard wolves the night I moved in,” you say excitedly, sipping at your glass of coke. “Do you ever see them as you live further up the hills?”
“Yeah, we see them regularly,” Price replies with a broad grin. “You gotta watch out for them though, they’re bold and they aren’t scared of humans.”
“Really? Then I’ll see them again?” You say with undisguised awe.
“I’d say that's a certainty,” Kyle states firmly. “You live on their territory, so they’ll be around your cottage regularly when they patrol and hunt.”
“Best security you’ll ever have,” Simon says, his voice gravelly and eyes fixed on your almost unnervingly.
“That’s… that’s good to know,” you gulp, slightly nervous of the sudden intensity in the air between the four men, feeling as though something unspoken is being agreed.
After spending time getting to know your new neighbours you return to the cottage and decide to leave the heavy compost bags in the back of the car until tomorrow, not bothering to lock it. As the light fades you change into your sleepwear and eat infront of the fire until you hear howling outside the window. You hurriedly pull your coat on over your thin clothes and hurry outside hoping to catch a glimpse of them this time. As soon as you get outside you see four shapes run from the tree line on the right hand side of the meadow, picked out under the light of the half moon in the clear sky above.
You sit on the bench by the door and watch as the four wolves move across the far edge of the meadow, pausing briefly on a small mound which gives you the perfect chance to see them. Two of them seem determined just to run and fight, knocking each other over and snapping playfully at the other. The other two move more carefully, watching their surroundings and sniffing the air. Your breath catches in your throat as you sit there watching them. Eventually the smaller two bowl over one of the larger ones and they end up getting chased, making you laugh at their antics.
The sound must carry as the breeze changes direction as they stop and turn to look towards you. For a moment you hold your breath as they see you, and you fear they’ll bolt away. Instead, something magical happens, one of them throws back its head and howls, soon followed by the rest. The sound makes the hairs all over your body stand on end, and you feel your throat tighten as tears well in your eyes at the spectacle before you.
All too soon they stop howling and one by one they trot back into the forest beyond.
In the morning you find the compost bags are laid neatly beside the vegetable patch, and you spend a while standing and staring at them, trying to work out what’s happened.
A few days pass before a knock on the door makes you jump out of your skin, who on earth would be knocking on your door in the middle of nowhere? You peer through the window and see Johnny outside, shuffling his feet as he waits for your answer. You bite your lip, trying to fight back a smile and hurry to open the door. His face splits into a wide grin when he sees you.
“Ah, I was worried you were nae gonna answer,” he laughs and rubs the back of his neck.
“Why wouldn’t I do that?” You chuckle and invite him in. He looks around as you walk through to the kitchen to put the kettle onto the range to make tea.
“You’ve settled in then?” He asks politely.
“Yeah, I’m keeping Annie’s things as much as possible. It doesn’t feel right to get rid of them. I miss her and want to keep the feeling of her around.” Johnny nods in approval.
“Aye, she was a special lady, we really liked her. It’s right to honour her memory, but it’s nice to have you here now,” he grins, that sparkle in his eyes again and you feel your face warming at his words.
Conversation flows easily between you, and Johnny is an obvious flirt. You hope desperately that he isn’t just another fuckboy, like you’ve fallen for before, but it hardly seems the case for someone who lives such an isolated lifestyle. Plus your aunt would have been furious if he behaved like that, and would have nagged him out of such behaviour while she was alive.
As night settles outside the cottage you find yourself sitting closer to Johnny on the sofa, the blanket draped over both your laps, knees touching under the fabric. You can’t tell if your feeling warm because of the blanket or him, the feeling of security he brings filling the empty ache you’ve been ignoring in your chest for so long.
“I take it you’ll be staying permanently?” He asks suddenly, clear blue eyes searching your face.
“I haven’t decided yet actually,” you reply thoughtfully and see a flicker of something cross his face. “I have taken a year out of my job to come here and… well,” you pause and clear your throat. “The timing of this place coming into my lap is pretty good, I need time away from some bad things back home.” Your voice catches slightly as you speak. Johnny frowns and leans closer to you, an arm falling over your shoulders in a comforting gesture.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he coos softly, his breath warming your cheek. “We won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
You look up at him, his words almost taking your breath away and the feel of his arm around your instantly calming.
“You’re safe here with us now, ya ken?” He says, his eyes searching your face and he leans into you a little more. Without thinking you lean back under the gentle pressure from him, laying back against the softness of the sofa. Your heart thuds heavily in your ears as you find yourself looking up at him, and you force yourself to remember to breathe as the air thickens to treacle in your lungs.
He is almost on top of you, his thick arms either side of your head braced against the arm of the sofa. Your body floods with heat, and all you want is for him to touch you more. The look in his eyes is almost frightening, as though he wants to eat you alive here on the sofa, and you can’t help but want to know what that would feel like. His lips part, and you catch a glimpse of the tip of his tongue as it skims his bottom lip before the plump flesh gets caught on his incisors. A tiny part of your brain registers that they are longer than they should be, sharper than they should be, but all you want is to taste those lips.
As though he hears your thoughts, Johnny leans down tilting his head slightly and you part your own lips willingly. Outside the wolves howl and Johnny pulls back from you with a grimace.
“Shit, I better go,” he mutters with a shake of his head, as though clearing his mind. “Sorry, hen.” He speaks with a tone of disappointment that mirrors your own feelings.
You blink as he stands up, confused by the sudden change and mourning the loss of the almost kiss. He heads to the door, and you follow behind him, aroused and yearning.
“Do you have to go?” You ask, wincing at the needy sound of your voice and feeling a touch of shame at throwing yourself so readily at your hot neighbour. He gives you a wink and touches you cheek gently.
“I do, sorry,” he leans down and kisses your cheek, inhaling the scent of you hair as he does so and you hear a soft moan in his throat. “I will be back though, dinnae worry about that.”
You watch as he walks outside and down the path, disappearing into the forest. Later that night as you lay in bed, replaying the encounter in your mind you pause and wonder how he finds his way home in the dark.
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ahgasegotarmy116 · 16 days
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Just Take It | Jeon Jungkook | Part Three
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Summary: You settle into your new normal with Jungkook but looks like this new normal is going to get a little more interesting Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 7k~ (Damn I spoiled ya'll lmao) Warnings: Smuuuuttt, Explicit Language and a crap ton of pet names (I'm sorry okay I love pet names lmao) a/n: I got carried away with this one and it's barely edited but I wanted to post it asap since I left you guys hanging for so long. I know I used hella pet names but I had to okay it was very necessary if you ask me 🤭 Requested by: @kkusadmirer 💜
After getting up from my nap yesterday Jungkook and I spent the night just talking about anything and everything and nothing all at the same time. It's been nice getting to see him in this kind of context, the both of us totally relaxed and comfortable around each other. He does throw the occasional compliment or flirt my way and it gets to me every time but I try to hide it. I have a horrible poker face though and he knows it.
Sunday morning started out the same as yesterday, minus the hangover thank God. I woke up late and Jungkook had lunch ready for me along with a coffee made just how I like it. "How do you know how I like my coffee?" I ask while taking a sip, smiling when I see his body stutter for a second before relaxing and going back to cleaning up, even though I told him I would do it after I finished eating. 
"I just kind of noticed from the times you would sleep over and have breakfast the next morning with Jina" he says and I nod my head, a reasonable enough answer but still cute that he took the time to make sure he got it right. "Do you have any plans today?" I ask and he shakes his head no before responding. 
"No, not really. I was planning on going on a hike later on though if you'd like to join me" he offers and I cringe at the thought. "Are you going to be running?" I ask, knowing for a fact that I couldn't keep up with him even if I tried. "I said go for a hike not a run Darling" he chuckles, his pet name of choice always causing a fluttery feeling in my stomach. 
"Then okay, if you don't mind" I say and he brightens up at my answer before telling me the details and soon enough we're getting in his car and heading out. 
"What's the name of this place again?" I question as I unbuckle my seatbelt, looking over at him while he does the same.  "Lunar Falls, I'm guessing you haven't been here before" he says with a crooked smile before getting out of the car. "No, I don't think I've ever heard of it. I guess it's because I'm not much of a nature girly" I respond truthfully and he chuckles at my wording. "Well hopefully this will convince you otherwise" he finishes while we make our way to the path. 
~~~~ 
After we've been walking for a bit I start to notice a bit more of the wild life and Jungkook humors me when I stop and watch as a little bunny hops around in a little clearing we're passing. 
"Do you like bunnies?" he questions, his eyes crinkling at the sides while he smiles softly. "I do! I used to have one when I was a little girl" I say while watching it continue to hop along. "What was their name?" he questions, eyes totally focused on me without my knowledge. "Bunny!" I say, turning my face back towards him, eyes lighting up at the memories I made with her.
I watch as Jungkook gives me a crooked smile and holds back a laugh. "What's so funny?" I ask, scrunching my eyebrows together. "No, no it's nothing. It's just that Bunny isn't a very imaginative name for a bunny" he laughs, finally letting it loose. "I was four okay leave me alone" I mumble, crossing my arms over my chest and pretending to be upset. 
I start to walk away and make my way further up the path but he jogs up in front of me, and stops me in my tracks. "Hey, hey I'm sorry I just thought it was cute" he explains, making my ears go red and I walk around him wordlessly and continue up the path, making him feel even more guilty.
"Are you mad at me?" he questions, walking beside me and I glance over at him briefly before cracking a smile. "No I'm not mad at you, I was just playing around" I say, uncrossing my arms and settling into a more relaxed posture to further support my claims. "Okay good" he says, visibly relieved and following suit and settling into a more relaxed pace. 
As we continue walking we stop a few more times to look at more wildlife and as we finally make our way to the top I stop in my tracks. "What's wrong?" he asks stoping beside me, following my line of sight and notices that I'm staring at three beautiful waterfalls with a steady stream of crystal clear water rushing down them into a great big pool that's as pure as the water falling into it. 
"You don't like it?" he questions, worried that he might've oversold the place to me since I haven't moved or said a word once I laid sight on it. "N-no, no Jungkook this is amazing!" I stutter out, hardly believing that something this beautiful had been so close to home this whole time. "Really? I thought you might like it but from your reaction you kind of had me second guessing myself" he says while rubbing the back of his neck, almost looking bashful. 
"No I mean it this is incredible! How did you find this place?" I question, making my way over to take a closer look. "I mean I've always loved to hike and so I looked up places to go hiking when I first moved here and this was the first place that caught my attention" he explains and I nod my head mindlessly, listening but keeping my focus on the scene in front of me, shivering once the mist from the falls starts to hit my skin. 
He takes notice of how silent I've gone and decides to just fall back and let me take my time enjoying the serenity of the moment.
"Thank you for bring me here" I say, turning to face him after a while. "I figured you needed to get out and clear your head for a while" he says softly, walking over to where I'm standing against the railing and watching the various fish that are swimming below us. 
"I can bring you back another time if you'd like?" he asks and I can't help but let my face light up at the offer. "Maybe next time I can bring you after dark? That way you can see why they call it Lunar Falls" he suggests and I agree immediately. "I'd like that" I respond and he nods him head, satisfied with my answer. 
~~~~
After we finished our hike we made our way back to Jungkook's house and got cleaned up, deciding to keep things low key for the rest of the day.
"This has been really nice" I say aloud, voicing my thoughts and garnering his attention while we spend time on his back patio, enjoying the night sky. "What has?" he asks, curious to know more. "Well, being here with you and I don't know, feeling like I'm welcome and appreciated and safe. I feel like it's been a while since I've felt like this" I admit and he nods, listening intently and hanging on every word. 
"Well then I'm glad my intentions have been conveyed well because you are very welcome, appreciated and safe with me" he reassures with a soft smile, making sure to use my wording to show his sincerity. 
"Thank you Jungkook, really, for everything" I say and I see his features soften a bit, relieved that he's been able to help a bit. 
"You're welcome Bunny" he says with a cheeky smile. "Bunny? What happened to Darling?" I laugh, enjoying the switch up, maybe a little bit more than I should. 
"Well you just looked really happy watching the bunnies hopping around, so I feel like the nickname fits. Would it be okay with you if I called you that?" he asks, which makes me want to say yes even more. "You can call me Bunny if you want to" I say, feeling almost a bit bashful at the memory of it. 
"So Bunny, have you thought things through a bit more?" he questions, bringing up the topic I was scared to broach our whole time together. "I'm still not sure what I should do but all I know is that I really don't want to stay there while I try to figure things out" I say and while I take a deep breath before continuing he jumps in. 
"Just stay" he offers again and as much as I want to say yes I don't think it would be the right thing to do. "Jungkook..." "No I'm serious, just stay. What kind of man would I be if I didn't help a friend in need? I told you I have more than enough space for you and it would be nice to have another person around the house again. Things have gotten pretty boring here ever since Jina moved out so please, just stay" he say and I know that he really does mean it. 
"You sure you don't mind?" I question and his face lights up at my words "So you'll stay?" he says, not bothering to answer my question. "Yes I'll stay. But only until I find my own place!" I say, making my motives clear right off the bat. "Of course but you're free to stay as long as you want" he says and I nod my head, excited but also scared that I made the wrong choice. 
Who cares though? There's no reason to deny him since he clearly just wants to help. Lord knows I need all the help I can get...
~~~~
Living with Jungkook for the past month has been great! We work well together and share the household tasks even though he wants me to leave them for him to do. 
"I said I would wash the dishes. Just go sit down and relax, you had a hard day at work today" he says, while coming up behind me and grabbing the sponge out of my hand. "Hey!" I say in protest, reaching out for it while he holds it over my head, water droplets falling on my face. 
"You had a hard day at work too! Plus you cooked tonight so let me do it" I say still jumping up and trying to grab it from him but to no avail he still keeps it far out of my reach. 
He places his hand on me and I falter a bit, feeling his strong touch on my bare waist, my shirt having ridden up a bit from jumping and that's when he gets his way. "Go sit down on the couch and we'll watch a movie together" he says and I just end up looking up at him, watching the way his mouth moves instead of listening to what he's said. 
"Bunny?" he says, squeezing my waist a bit to get my attention. "Huh?" I question, now looking at his eyes, and I see the amusement written all over his face after catching me staring at his lips. 
He leans down and decides to whisper in my ear instead, teasing me mercilessly like he does every now and then and I have to brace myself against the sink behind me to keep my knees from giving out. 
"Go turn on the TV Bunny and we'll watching something together tonight yeah?" he says in a hushed low tone and I'm only able to nod in response, clearing my throat to choke back the whimper my body was begging me to let out. But with the way that he is I know that answer is not good enough for him so he decides to play dirty and starts rubbing circles on my waist, waiting for a verbal answer. 
"What was that Darling? I couldn't hear you" he presses leaving me choking out an 'okay' before slipping out of his hold and running up stairs to get dressed for bed although my main reason is to catch a breath after that. 
After opening and closing my door quietly I throw myself on my bed face down and scream into my pillow. 
'What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck is he doing?' I ask myself and this hasn't been the first occasion I've done this, oh no. These lines have been getting blurrier and blurrier as the days go by and this was one of the reasons I wasn't sure about staying here.
We're both two adults though. Two adults that live in the same house who, as far as I know are attracted to each other. We haven't really talked about that kiss after my engagement party since the morning afterward and nothing like that has happened since. 
I don't know what's supposed to be done in a situation like this but I think I just need to stop over thinking it. If something happens then it happens and that's all there is to it. 
I get up and quickly get changed into more comfortable clothes and head back downstairs and grab a blanket out of the little basket he has before plopping down on the couch and grabbing the remote. 
"Did you pick something out yet?" he asks while coming downstair, also having gone to change into sweats and a t shirt and I glance at him for a second to say something but do a double take after having seen he's wearing grey sweatpants. I can't help but gulp at the sight before quickly looking back at the TV, praying that he didn't catch me but from the way he decides to sit a little closer to me I know I've been caught. 
"Um no, is there something you want to watch?" I ask after clearing my throat and going back to scrolling through our choices. "Let's watch the next episode of that show you showed me last time" he says, picking something he knows I would like to make a choice quickly. "Oh um, yeah sure" I say, typing it in the search bar and pressing play. 
As the show progresses I can't seem to pay the slightest bit of attention to it. All I can think about is the line we've been toeing for a while, and at this point I'm not sure what side of the line I want to end up on. 
"Is everything okay?" he asks, placing his hand on my lap, catching me off guard and making me jump. "Yeah no, I mean yeah everything's fine" I stammer, not really knowing how to respond. He takes his hand off me and nods, not bothering to push anymore so as to not make me anymore uncomfortable than I already look.
I feel bad since I know I've changed up the atmosphere and for what? Because I might have a crush on my ex best friend's dad that I've been living with. Well, now that I lay it out like that I guess I do have something to be conflicted about but I don't know what to do, especially since I think he might like me too. 
"Did you want to watch something else?" he questions, noticing again how spaced out I am. "Can I ask you a question?" I say before I can stop myself. "Ask me anything you want" he says, turning to face me. 
"Why don't you have company over?" I ask the most general question I possibly could, leaving him laughing. "You wanna be a little bit more specific with that?" he chuckles making me squirm in my seat, trying to figure out how else to word this. 
"Well I mean you haven't really had any friends over ever since I started staying here and I feel like I'm kind of getting in the way of your life here" I say truthfully, looking down at my lap, feeling a bit insecure at the fact that I might've overstayed my welcome. 
"What do you mean? Did I do something to make you feel like that?" he asks and I immediately jump in, hating that I even brought this up. "No Jungkook you've been the perfect host I just can't help but think that I'm, I don't know, cramping your style" I say, cringing at my efforts to dance around the subject that I'm really curious about. 
"You're not cramping my style Bunny. I don't have friends over because I don't really enjoy bringing people over to my house. Especially other women" he says the last part in a slower more purposeful tone, making me look up at him embarrassed and relieved that he's gotten down to what I had been getting at. 
"I told you before that first night that you stayed here that I don't have a girlfriend and I'm not seeing anyone. I'm okay with not having someone right now and plus I wouldn't want to ruin what we have going on here" he say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "What do you mean by that?" I question and he smiles at my adorable reaction from his point of view. 
"That's a topic of discussion for another time Bunny" he says booping my nose and turning back towards the TV and grabbing the remote to change it to something else. "I- what? No tell me please!" I plead but he doesn't budge. "Another time, I promise" he says, giving me a soft smile and I nod my head before letting it droop a bit. 
"I think I'm gonna go to bed" I say, getting up but he grabs my wrist before I can get too far. "Oh come on Bun don't be like that" he says, his eyes full of concern but I know that he won't budge on the subject. "No it's okay I really am tired" I say and gently pull out of his grasp and walk over to the basket to put the blanket back. 
"Are we okay?" he asks, following behind me. "Yes Jungkook we're fine don't worry" I say while turning the face him and my heart stops from seeing how close he is, giving me his undivided attention. After standing there and studying my features for a bit he nods his head and leans towards me, giving me a kiss on the forehead like he always does. 
"Okay Darling, goodnight" he says grabbing my hand and placing a kiss on it as well before letting me walk away after I say a quick 'Goodnight' in response. 
My heart races all the way back to my room and what feels like hours afterwards while I'm laying in bed. I don't know what's happening to me and I'm scared to find out. I never saw myself as someone who would be with an older man but the thought alone excites me when it comes to him. If he means what I thought he meant down there then what am I supposed to do? 
Where do we go from here?
~~~~
It's been a few days since we had that conversation and I wouldn't say things are weird between us but I would definitely say they're not normal. 
I guess until we have that conversation he had mentioned there's gonna be a bit of tension between us. I'm too scared to broach the subject again so that leaves me to just wait helplessly until he brings it up again. 
Putting my keys in the lock and opening the door I'm expecting to see Jungkook downstairs but seeing as I've gotten home a bit early I guess he might be busy doing something else and as I make my way further into the house I hear the shower water running and realize he's in there. 
Walking upstairs I go to put my things in my bedroom but stop in my tracks when I hear what sounds like him calling out my name. 'He doesn't know that I'm home though so why would he be saying my name?' I think to myself and I place my things inside my room before walking over to his door but before I'm able to knock I hear something else that has me stopping in my tracks.
"Fuck yes Bunny just like that. Shit y/n, fuck" I hear Jungkook say between grunts and groans and I unconsciously clench my thighs together. 'I shouldn't be listening to this' I say to myself quietly and turn to go but my feet feel like they're stuck to the floor and I'm drawn back in by the sound of him moaning my name again. 
"Fuck, wish I could have you in here y/n. My pretty little Bunny" he says and I start to hold my breath, trying to catch onto each and every word he says. 'I really shouldn't be doing this' I think to myself but lean in closer, curious to hear more. I've never heard a man moaning like this, let alone hear someone moan my name like this. 
I never knew someone like him would be so, vocal. 
I don't think I'll ever be able to hear him call me Bunny ever again without getting images of what I know he's doing on the other side of this door. "Darling want you so so bad. Come choke on this cock, there you go, just like that Bun" he groans and I know I'm a goner. 
The pulsing feeling between my legs is getting stronger and I can't seem to catch my breath. 'What is this man doing to me? How am I gonna face him after this?' I ask myself but I lean my ear against the door and listen until he finishes, sounds of curses and my name are mixed with a low moan before I hear the shower turn off minutes later. 
I stand there almost frozen in place before my brain catches up seconds later. 'Shit I've gotta get out of here' I scream in my head and run downstairs as fast as I can, grabbing my keys and putting on my shoes before running back to my car. I open it up with my key, not bothering to use the remote in fear of Jungkook hearing it from inside and sit in it for a few minutes, trying to calm my racing heart. 
What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do? What the fuck am I supposed to do in a situation like this? It's not like I can call someone and say 'Hey I caught my ex best friend's dad who I happen to be living with moaning my name in the shower. What should I do now?' like who the fuck could I possibly go to to talk about this? 
Taking a few deep breath in and out, I quiet down my racing thoughts as best as I can before opening my car door and heading inside. When I unlock the door I'm stopped in my tracks as I'm met with the sight of Jungkook with his bare back to me while he drinks a cup of water he just poured for himself. 
"Y/n? I didn't know that you'd be coming home so early" he says flashing me a smile and putting his cup down on the counter before walking towards where I stand. "Oh, um yeah we finished up our meeting early so they let us go home" I say while bracing my hand up against the wall while taking my shoes off. 
"I'm glad they let you do that! You've been working way too hard recently" he says while watching me. Just as I'm stepping out of my second shoe I end up tripping over the first leaving Jungkook grabbing my waist to steady me on my feet. "Careful Bun" he says and my heart rate picks up again from almost falling as well as gaining flashbacks of the last time I heard that name from his lips.
"Darling?" he asks, breaking me out of my train of thought "Huh? What?" I ask quickly, straightening back up and pick up my shoes to put them on the shoe rack by the door. "Are you feeling alright?" he asks, taking note of the sweat on my neck and shortness of breath. 
"Yeah I'm fine why do you ask?" I say, looking into his eyes and trying my hardest to not look at his bare torso but ultimately losing the battle, my eyes flickering down to it for a second. He looks down and takes into account that that might be the thing that's making me act like this so he takes a step back to give me some room to breathe. 
"Sorry Bun, I wasn't expecting you to be home this early. Let me go put on a shirt" he says and walks towards the stairs "You don't have to say sorry. It's your house, don't let me stop you" I call after him and he laughs in response before disappearing down the hall and into his bedroom. 
I sit down on the couch to take another breather, begging my flustered self to get over it. I'm flattered that he thinks of me that way but I don't know how to act around him anymore after hearing him. 
Like what am I supposed to do? Pretend like hearing him in the shower didn't turn me on and make me want to beg for him to take my virginity again. What am I supposed to do with this information? 
"Y/n?" he calls out to me again and places his hand on my shoulder, now sporting a black t shirt and appearing behind the couch and looking down at me. "I'm sorry did you say something?" I say after almost jumping out of my seat from the scare he gave me. 
"I said your name like ten times and you didn't respond. Are you sure you're alright?" he says, taking inventory of how I'm acting again. "No, yeah I'm fine don't worry about it. I guess these long days are starting to catch up to me" I say awkwardly scratching my head. He nods and takes his hand off my shoulder, not pressing me for more answers. 
"Maybe you should go lay down until dinner?" he suggests but I go to protest right away. "It was my turn to make dinner tonight though" I say and get up to head into the kitchen but before I can get there he takes a hold of both of my shoulders and stops me in my tracks. 
"No you need rest. Go upstairs and I'll come get you when it's ready" he orders. "But I-" "No buts y/n" "I-" "No. Go" he says, emphasizing each word and not giving me a chance to get in a word edgewise. "Fine" I grumble and he smiles before placing a kiss on my forehead. "It'll be ready soon" he says and turns me by my shoulders and points me towards the stairs. 
I turn to face him and try to say something one more time but he cuts me off again "Go!" he chuckles and I let out a sigh before running up the stairs and into my room. 
~~~~
"Bunny? You awake?" I hear him say as he comes into my room quietly after having sent me upstairs.
Somehow I ended up falling asleep after taking his advice of coming upstairs to lay down and I'm really glad I did. Hopefully I'll be able to act a little more normal now that I've given my brain a rest. 
"Hmm?" I hum out, acknowledging his presence while trying to slowly regain consciousness. "I told you you needed some rest" he says, coming to sit down on my side of the bed. 
"You ready for dinner?" he asks and I nod my head right away leaving him chuckling at my enthusiasm. "Do you want me to bring it up to you?" he asks while brushing the hair off of my face. "No I'll be down in a second" I mumble and he chuckles again at my groggy state. 
"Okay well, don't fall back asleep okay? You don't want it to get too cold" he says, standing up and heading out of the room after gaining a nod in response. I take a deep breath and stretch before sitting up and taking in my surroundings for a second before throwing off the covers and getting out of bed. 
Trudging downstairs I'm met with a the table all set with my favorite meal and a glass of wine for each of us. 
"What's this?" I question sleepily, still rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. "I thought you could use a little pick me up and remembered how much you liked this dish when we tried it for the first time" he says, pulling out my seat and pushing it back in once I've taken a seat. "I feel like I'm at a five star restaurant" I joke and he chuckles at my enthusiasm. "You flatter me" he responds while taking a seat next to me, feeling as though sitting across from each other would feel too distant. 
"Should I have dressed up?" I continue to tease and he does a motion for me to look at what he's wearing and laughs at my question. "Do I look like I'm dressed up to you?" he says, and I smile and shake my head before taking a bite. "This is delicious! It's even better than last time!" I say, humming in content and savoring the rich flavor. "I'm glad you like it! I wasn't sure of the spice blend but I'm glad it worked out alright" he says and take a big bite of his too. 
As dinner continues it feels like normal again, the both of us talking freely and laughing together and it all just feels right, until he uses that nickname again. "Are you feeling better Bunny?" he asks, bringing up my weird behavior from earlier again and suddenly everything comes rushing back. "Yeah I think I really was just tired" I say awkwardly and he nods his head and thinks for a second before saying something else. 
"Did I do something wrong?" he questions and I feel my heart break at his words. "No you didn't do anything wrong I promise. Why would you even say that?" I question, hating that he's doubted himself. 
"I just feel like you've been acting a bit strange these past few days and I just thought I was doing something that might've made you feel uncomfortable" he explains while pushing around the rest of his food with his fork, distracting himself from having to look at me. 
"You've done nothing to make me feel uncomfortable I promise. I've just been tired and drowning myself in work lately so I think it's starting to catch up to me" I say, telling him a half truth. I have been working a lot more lately but I've been doing it to distract myself from having to think about him. 
It feels as thought all I can do is fixate on that conversation and it's been driving me crazy. I just wish that things could go back to the way they were but a part of me wishes that we could be something more than this. What that is exactly I have no clue but I think I might want to find out...
~~~~
After washing the dishes together I tell him that I'm going to bed early and although he looks as though he was about to ask me to stay he nods and says goodnight before letting me go.
Tossing and turning is all I've been able to do since I came back up here and I can't seem to catch a break as my mind plays and replays the sound of him moaning my name. The sounds of him growling in pleasure and praising me as if I was there with him makes me clench around nothing, begging to be full. 
After trying to ignore that feeling as long as I can I finally break. 
I trail my hand down my stomach and play with my waistband, debating on if I should really do this but as the memory of Jungkook's bare torso and his sweatpants hung low along his waist flashes through my mind I finally give in and take my clothes off, leaving me totally bare and open to touch myself.
My right hand trails down my torso just as it had before while my left one trails up and gropes my breast, pinching my nipple and making it harden from the contact. Once my right hand reaches the apex of my thighs I drag my ring finger along my folds, teasing myself and only just barely tracing over my clit. 
I let out a shaky breath and continue my movements, slowly dipping further into my folds and dragging my finger up and down, gathering up my slick, making my movements more fluid. I drag my finger back up and draw circles around my clit, slowly working myself up and starting to get in that fuzzy headspace. 
One that's desperate for release. 
I let out a moans as I pick up the pace, switching to drawing figure eights with my thumb against my sensitive bud while dipping my ring finger into my entrance, making me let out a shaky breath. "Jungkook please" I whimper, my thoughts traveling back to him and how he touched me today, his strong hands on my waist and his intense eyes paying attention to me and only me. 
"Fuck" I say, throwing my head back as I add another finger and continue rubbing my clit. Feeling myself getting closer to that edge I start thinking about how his hands would feel if he touched me like this. My left hand now on my other breast tugs on my other nipple and I call out his name. 
"Jungkook please" I whine, so lost in this fantasy and not bothering to keep quiet anymore to the point of not noticing how he's standing in the doorway and watching me as I pleasure myself to the memory of the sound of his voice. 
"Please what Bunny?" he says in a deep tone, leaving me pulling my fingers out and sitting up, pulling the blanket up higher on me. "M-mr. Jeon?" I say, reverting into that more formal tone, having gone from one extreme to the other. 
"Come on Darling, you know better than that. Now what were you saying? Jungkook please? Please what Bun?" he says, stalking towards me and I can only open and close my mouth, losing my words from the shock of being caught. 
"What would you like me to do for you baby?" he says while sitting next to me, the bed dipping under his weight. He called me baby this time, he's never done that before, why is he doing this? What is he doing in here?
"Look at how cute you are. Confident enough to moan my name while I'm sleeping just a few doors down but now that you've been caught you can't even say a word. But you sounded so pretty Darling. Can you say it again for me?" he taunts, leaning in and placing a kiss under my ear. "Come on Bunny, I know you know how to use your words" he whispers in my ear, leaving me choking out a response. 
"P-please Jungkook" I say just barely above a whisper. "Please what Darling?" he says, ghosting his lips along the nape of my neck. "Please let me cum" I choke, tears now threatening to fall. The embarrassment and intensity of this moment being nothing like I had ever felt before. 
"Would you like me to help you cum Princess?" he ask, leaning back to look at me and I nod my head, a stray tear streaming down my cheek. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to. I can walk right out of here and we can pretend that nothing ever happened" he says, reassuring me that this is my choice. 
"Please help me cum" I plead, another tear falling and he cups my face and quickly wipes it away. 
"Lay down for me yeah?" he says in a hushed tone, kissing my forehead again and guides me back down onto the bed. I watch as he caresses my face again, studying my features before saying another word. 
"Can I kiss you Bunny?" he asks and I nod my head immediately. He leans down to kiss me but stops just short of letting our lips touch. "Use your words Darling" he says, his warm breath fanning across my lips and making me choke back a moan before saying 'yes' leaving him smiling against my lips before pressing them against mine.
This kiss is different than the one we shared before. It's more delicate, more sensual and it has my hips bucking up, begging for some friction. "Someone's needy now aren't they?" he taunts before kissing me again. "Can I take this off?" he questions, playing with the blanket I have covering me and I nod before letting go and he gets up only enough to push the blankets off of me.
His eyes drink in my form, trailing slowly up and down my body and leaves me clenching my thighs together, still frustrated from having my orgasm cut off. "You want me to touch you?" he asks, his cold fingers ghosting along my waist, leaving me shivering at the feeling. "Please" is all I can manage to choke out, overwhelmed and excited by what's to come. 
"Open your legs for me Princess" he says while guiding my legs apart and now tracing patterns on my stomach. "Were you just using your fingers baby?" he asks and I nod leaving him following the path my fingers once traveled. "Want me to use mine?" he continues and I nod again, taking in a sharp breath once he runs a finger through my folds. 
"Baby was all wet just thinking about me huh?" he says and I cover my face, too embarrassed to say anything. "Can I ask you a question Darling?" he says while he traces lazy patterns up and down my slit. "Y-yes" I whimper, pressing my head back against the pillow. 
"Did you hear me earlier today when I was in the shower?" he asks and I take my hands off of my face, looking at him like a deer in headlights shocked at the fact that he found out. 
"I noticed that you didn't bring your bags in from your car like you normally do and when I was walking out of my room I noticed that your door was open and your bags were already inside. Meaning that you were probably in the house before I first saw you. Isn't that right Princess?" he says before pushing a finger inside me.
"Yes" I moan, my back arching as he drags his fingers lazily along my folds, never having felt this before, never having been touched like this before. 
"Is that why you were acting so jumpy today? Were you thinking about how I was moaning your name in the shower? How I was saying I wanted you in there with me so bad? Were you listening when I said that Princess?" he says while easing another finger into me leaving me choking back a moan and letting tears fall down my face from all of the intense feelings I'm having all at once.
"Yes, fuck yes" I moan out when I feel him hit that spot inside me that I've never been able to reach. "You like that? You like it when I touch you like that?" he says now leaning down and biting my collar bone gently leaving me arching up into his touch. He licks the spot slowly, easing the slight pain and trails kisses down my breast. 
He looks up at me before he goes too far and glances down at my nipple that's right in front of him and looks back up at me wordlessly asking for my permission. "Yes Jungkook please" I groan out and he pushes his fingers in further dragging harder against my walls as he takes one of my nipples into his mouth. 
"You make such pretty noises Darling" he praises, switching over to the other nipple after having abused the first one, leaving it puffy and wet. I clench around his fingers in response, loving the way he's talking to me. 
"Does baby like getting praised? Do you like it when I tell you how pretty you look while you're under me?" he taunts and I clench around his fingers even harder while my back comes off the mattress, feeling myself getting closer to tipping over the edge. 
Babble out a slur of curses attached to his name, begging to cum and he chuckles dryly, enjoying the way my face contorts in pleasure. "That's it Bunny, just like that" he say, coaching me through it until I'm about to reach the edge and as I tip over I grab the back of his neck and pull him down, smashing his lips against mine, making him swallow my moans as I come undone. 
 His fingers don't falter for a second as he fucks me through my high and only stops when he hears me whining from overstimulation. "You did so well Princess" he says while brushing the tears off my face. "You did so good for me" he praises again and I hum in contentment, feeling myself start to drift off to sleep. 
He chuckles at the sight and goes into the bathroom and comes back to clean me up before picking me up and taking me into another guest bedroom so I can sleep on fresh sheets.
"Goodnight Bunny" he says, leaning down and placing a kiss on my forehead before slowly leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.
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devilmademewriteit · 7 months
Text
If You Lie Down With Me
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pairing: (pre-ellie) dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader
summary: there’s only one guy in all of boston that can get you a morning after pill. unfortunately, on top of being a huge asshole, Joel Miller also happens to be your dad’s closest peer.
warnings: rough sex / smut (masturbation, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; unprotected sex; light choking & restraint; light dom/sub dynamic; fem afab reader; reader has long-ish hair (that gets touched); plot-typical violence (guns, death); plot deviations (no Tess); medication ingestion; pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel); dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, no explicit consent).
word count: 6.5k+
no use of y/n in this fic
alright y’all I’m baaaaAAAaack! so this is basically the other version of Dark But Just a Game that I started back when I was writing it & figured I’d finish it to get out of my hiatus. like any devilmademewriteit fic, it’s dark and nasty and deprived like meeeeeee <3 hope u enjoy !
don’t forget to reblog, check out my masterlist, sign up for the taglist, & leave any comments / feedback / & suggestions!
(ps: new part of Salvatore up next !)
“three times the guy I ever thought I would meet, so don't say you're over me when we both know that you lie”
— lana del rey, ‘If You Lie Down With Me’
Fuck.
Waking up to a racing heart, a pounding head, and a stomach swimming with nausea was never ideal, although it was always a better experience alone — when you could squint and hiss at the light slicing through the weaknesses in the drapes without hearing your groans echoed by a lower, louder, and annoyingly more pitiful voice.
Right. What was his name?
Jared? Jordan? Jermaine?
Ah, who cares.
If he’d wanted a safe place to nurse his hangover, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed. Sure, the odds of dad being conscious at this hour (especially the odds after a party like last night’s) were Kate Moss — no, Rolling Stones — slim, but the man would get up at some point, meaning that this poor J-whatever was likely sleeping through his only window of escape from certain homicide.
You whisper. You shake him gently. You gingerly tap the roundness of his bicep.
Huh — Not bad.
You congratulate last-night-you for reeling in this morning’s good-looking catch.
Still… nothing. Not a twitch. Nary a croaked ‘lemmesleep’ graces your ears.
After loosing an exasperated sigh and running through your options, you decide to take the most effective (and least girl-next-door) route. The corner of your elbow collides with his ribs, and the boy jumps up, his loose, blonde curls as wild as his eyes, searching the room for his attacker.
You want to smile at the scene, but the motion hurts your head.
“Y’gotta go,” you croak out, thumbs rubbing circles against your aching temples.
He collapses onto his back, copying your movement with his own fingers to his brow. “God. I feel like shit.”
Despite muttering your agreement, you let your eyelashes flutter closed and your weight turn you away from last night’s paramour: no use figuring out who he is after the (f)act — that just makes it personal.
After a few breaths, the boy moves back up to a shakey sitting position.
Probably sourcing for his clothes.
He reeks of booze and sex — but then again, so do you. His roughened, unfamiliar tenor climbs to barely above a whisper, “Z’something stuck on my leg… blood, or something…”
His interrupting your suffering comes as a deeply unwelcome annoyance, so you try to sort him out to clear him out: “Prolly just the condom,” you mumble, rolling back onto your shoulders, reluctantly supervising his movements.
He lifts up fully, sitting criss-cross and pulling his calf towards him.
“No,” he tries to laugh but succumbs to the nausea, settling for a low breath instead, “S’blood, dude, from beer darts — and I didn’t use a condom.”
Your eyes immediately dart over, settling on his naked, wretched, shivering form. He notices your ire and the hitching of your throat, immediately defensive.
“I asked if you wanted to.”
Unfortunately, he had. The memories of your drunken entanglement start to resurface inside your mind. “It just feels better without one.” This time, you curse last-night-you for being such a careless, inconsiderate, horny bastard.
You’re making problems for me, girl.
“J’s get out.”
J-whatever spares no time complying, collecting his few strewn belongings and staggering out the front door. Once it slides shut, so too do your poor, weary eyes.
Shit.
There goes the afternoon.
Getting your hands on condoms in the QZ was at least fifteen times easier than snatching a morning after pill. Those were a hot commodity, especially among the younger, less responsible crowds.
Luckily for you, as a member of aforementioned younger, less responsible crowds, you knew where your best chances lay in finding whatever it was you needed (if what you needed was deeply immoral or wholly illegal). Unluckily for you, that ‘best chance’ happened to be your dad’s closest and longest-running business partner: temperamental, judgemental, frustratingly competent, Joel ‘Local Asshole’ Miller.
But that could all be dealt with after another eight hours of sleep.
Opportunity strikes sooner than expected.
Miller’s in your living room by the time you wake up, the low rumble of his southern baritone recognizable even through the closed door. After scrambling to throw on some clothes, you press an ear to the chipping paint, hoping to determine the number of bodies gathered in your home.
Not many. Just Miller (and the old man, of course).
The latter’s presence bodes ill for you. This would all have to be done in secret, which was not an uncommon strategy where ever the former was involved. No one dealt with Joel Miller to conduct clean-cut, wholesome activities. No one was calling him up for a spare copy of the holy book.
No, getting him alone was essential.
A drink slams down on the counter. After a good, patient ten minutes, you hear your father (‘s rather crude way of) excusing himself to the washroom and heavy-set footsteps decrescendoing down the hall.
This is it.
You slip through the door.
At first, your company takes no notice of you, his eyes still glued to the maps and papers littering the counter before him.
Then, a low grumble: “fun night?”
His voice makes you weak in the knees — an involuntary, near ritual-like response you’d noticed around your mid teens and hadn’t managed to kick yet.
You swallow before responding. “Yes.”
It’s all you manage to muster. Miller finally looks up, wincing slightly as his back straightens. He looks tired, at least more than usual, with his wild, grey-streaked hair tousled and the lines by his mouth cutting deep into his skin.
You’re sure you don’t look much better, a suspicion proven by the man’s slowly spreading, barely-noticeable smirk. That gaze makes you self conscious, mute; your right hand snakes up, absent-mindedly dragging a fallen bra strap back to its proper position.
“So, what was his name?”
He’s teasing, sure, but Miller was there last night. He’d always had sharper perceptions than your father did, especially — and ironically — when it came to you. That skill tended to squander your confidence as the daughter of a modern-day mafia-boss and the owner of a hard, violent heart.
Rushed by the sound of your father’s footsteps, you default to honesty.
“I don’t remember.”
“Try.”
“Josh.”
Amusement flits across his stern expression. “Again.”
“Jamie.”
“Warmer.”
“J-J-something—”
“Gettin’ colder, sweetheart—”
“I need the pill.”
It just tumbles out, an exasperated, desperate plea. Miller, a bit taken aback by your candor, drains of his previous playfulness. You almost notice the split second those dark eyes glaze over. For a second, you’re almost convinced he’s distracted by his imagination’s recreations of the act that had you making such a request.
You almost notice the tingling between your thighs.
He stares. You stare back.
Fuck.
It was moments like this that made you wish Tess was still around. Oh, she wouldn’t be any kinder — no, not at all — but she’d certainly be more professional. Tess was all work, no play. Joel was…
You’re enjoying this, you bastard. You’re enjoying that I’m cornered like this, aren’t you?
The bathroom handle clicks when it turns, and your heart drops into your toes.
Maybe Miller really wasn’t going to help you. Maybe he didn’t have the pill and you’d just embarrassed yourself for nothing. Or, maybe he did, but preferred outing you to your dad at the very first opportunity — letting him deal with you the only way he knew how.
Your fears seem confirmed: his eyes leave the grace of your own, trailing back to his big, splayed hands on the countertop. Unwelcome tears burn the corners of your eyes as the panic begins to set in, as footsteps begin to fall…
“Mine. Tonight.”
It’s low and rushed, but it’s clear, cutting off to the sound of your father lumbering in. A man who saw, thought, and lived through transactions, he’s (thankfully) blissfully ignorant of the tension collapsing around him.
“Morning,” he throws your way.
A taunt, of course — it was well past noon.
You nod in acknowledgement, slowly backing into the doorway of your sacred, beckoning room. They resume their conversation from before, letting you sink into irrelevance.
Before shutting yourself in, you catch a few of Miller’s hushed words. They’re spoken casually to your father but, you later decide, surely meant for you:
“Not that one kid — Jeremy — don’t trust him.”
The door seals (well, not seals… it creaks on its rusty hinges and squeezes into its shrinking frame), and relief courses through you, reaching the very tips of your fingers.
That only lasts a minute.
Soon, you’re negotiating with the rising anxiety of being at Miller’s place alone, asking for his help with a problem that could’ve been avoided if you’d only kept your legs shut.
Alone with Miller, the both of you knowing that you hadn’t.
Crawling back under your covers, you begrudgingly make a vow of celibacy. If this was the cost of attention and a (potential) mid-range orgasm, you were about to become very frugal.
Dreams come easy, but they don’t come sweet.
Flashes of last night’s sins overlay Joel Miller’s unintelligible speech, his voice from the next room over lulling you into a rather confusing, disturbed sleep.
At nighttime, it’s a short walk to his building.
Down this alley, past this street, up this back stairwell. Part of being in with Boston’s seedy underbelly gained you access to the best and most up-to-date intel; by the age of twelve, you could run the safest — well, least policed — post-curfew routes from memory.
(Which had come in handy in situations a lot more dire than this.)
Sneaking in was easy, although you cursed him for being so preoccupied during the day. Coming in at this hour required some delicate maneuvers through a half-shattered window, and a less-than-graceful leap down left you with a nick on your cheekbone and a shallow cut along the side of your hand.
Thankfully, the blood mostly dries on your walk up the six or eight or ten flights of stairs. You don’t resent the exercise; it feels good to move, putting the jitters building in every still moment in abeyance.
Still moments like the kind that passes after a barely-audible, coded knock delivered by a girl sucking on the side of her hand, almost wishing for the door not to open.
It does.
He’s in jeans — dirty jeans, dusty — and a simple flannel. It’s Miller — it’s Miller at his most Joel-Miller-like-ness.
So why am I so fucking nervous?
He holds the door open, brows knitting at the sight of your hand in your mouth.
“Window,” You offer.
He mouthes a silent ‘ah,’ before leaning forward to duck his head out the door and, in the process, somewhat sandwiching you against his chest.
Maybe it’s because he smells like forest-fires, but your skin burns red-hot.
Miller looks both ways, checking the status of the hall (empty), then nudges you into the dim light of his place with the weight of his hand against your lower back.
The door shuts behind you.
You’d been here at least a million times before, but the thoughts rising now feel so… new. The jacket strewn on the side of the sagging sofa is his — Joel Miller has sat at this table and showered, slept, fucked inside these walls.
Cut it out. It’s just ‘cause you’re alone. And older.
But what about it, now that you were alone and older?
Old enough to know what goes on between a man and a woman and a little bit of desperation at just the right amounts… and there sure was a lot of him, and some desperation, too…
“Nervous?”
Your feet hit the floor, all thoughts evaporating at the sound of his word. Blushing, you try to de-code his taunt, spoken with playfulness and too much condescension.
“Wh — what’d you — nervous for what? No.”
He’s already across the room, sifting through a box of miscellaneous items. A yellowed lamp shade catches his side-profile, illuminates the smirk spreading across his face. Then, a low command:
“Relax,” and your spine settles, acceding to his wish. “Some girls get nervous, y’know, takin’ it the first time.”
Oh.
You clear your throat, daring to take a step into his place, incensed enough to trace the indents and stab-marks decorating his kitchen table.
“No.”
You’re taken aback by the accuracy and the strength underpinning your answer. It’s true, you aren’t afraid, and hadn’t been afraid of much in a very long while.
What’s a Joel Miller to your best friend’s public hanging? What’s he to a dozen rows of semi automatics raining down on your zigzagging toes? What’s he to a period cramp?
Like a bolt of lightning hitting you in the chest, that cocky, gauche and indelicate rebel you’d grown into reappears.
“I’ve been told I take things pretty well my first time.” The tension rises — this time, at your command — just as Joel does, carrying a leather pouch in his right hand. “And it’s not, anyways,” you add for good measure.
The leather drops onto the marked-up table. Joel crosses his arms.
“Not sellin’ me on givin’ you one of these, sweetheart.”
He gestures to the bag.
A mock-frown as you draw closer to him. His eyes, although severe, reflect the playfulness dancing in your own.
“Why not?” You ask, voice dripping with false innocence.
Joel’s gaze doesn’t stray as it hardens, focused on your own. “They’re for accidents, mistakes, attacks,” he explains, deep and dangerous, “Not girls who can’t keep their pretty lil’ legs together.”
Oof.
On one hand, it sounds like he’s genuinely chastising you for your careless behaviour. But, on the other, he sounds jealous, taunting, hungry.
I’ll play that hand.
Sleeping all day had left you wide awake, and that long-time, school-girl crush on the man before you was dying for content to fantasize about. Even if he pushed you off, you’d get to feel the weight of his hands on your body, right?
So, you return with a taunt of your own: “You think my legs are pretty?”
He shakes his head, his signature scowl spreading as he mostly ignores you. “I think you should at least use condoms,” a breath, “N’ know their first names.”
Ouch.
“I usually do.” you murmur, “and it broke last night.”
“Bullshit.”
“What do you mean, bullshit?”
Joel sighs and lowers himself into one of the four old, rickety chairs lining the table. His hand comes up to his temples and you notice how his legs, exhausted, part.
The man doesn’t deign to respond.
Irritation begins to well in your core, sneaking through your arms and up into your throat. The muscle in your jaw must be twitching like crazy.
How does he know? How the fuck does he always know?
Across the QZ, as a skilled liar and born and bred bandit, people tended to hold whatever image of you that you’d crafted for them.
Not Joel. Never Joel.
He saw through you in a way that had always felt… intimate. It was one of the reasons, you guessed, he didn’t dare spend too much time alone with you and why you’d always been curious about him (as a man, of course). Now, there was no avoiding your obvious vulnerability from either of you — you were stripped bare, your dressings in his hand.
It makes you want to flee as much as it makes you want to leap into his arms.
You snatch up the pouch, opening it up to find a mass of differently coloured and shaped pills. Rifling through, you ignore Joel’s stare boring into your hands’ erratic search.
“Yellow ones,” he says.
“I know what they look like,” you retort.
“‘Course you do.”
He moves faster than he should be able to.
One moment, your palm is slicing through the air, headed straight for the highest point of his cheek. The next, you’re facedown on the table. Your attacking hand is caged in by a much larger, much stronger one, pinned to the decaying wood; the other, he pins behind your back. Pills litter the floor — Joel’s boot crunches into a wayward one as he adjusts himself behind you, leaning over your struggling, smaller frame, immobilizing you with his weight.
“Let go of me—” you hiss, words smothered by the wooden surface pressed to your profile.
“—Shut up ‘n listen,” he commands, leaning over to tower over his trapped victim. “Try that again n’I’ll do worse’n kill you. Understand?”
Despite the authenticity of his threat, a strangled laugh wracks your lungs.
“Gonna turn me in for contraband, Miller? Watch them gun me down in the square?”
You smile through your heavy breaths. There, behind your hips, is a growing movement indicative of some other kind of punishment he’s got in mind.
“Or,” you continue on coyly, “Give me another reason to need that pill?”
Joel pauses, untangling your meaning.
Then, an exasperated scoff. His hold tightens on your wrist and you wince. “You always thinkin’ of the fastest way to get a man to fuck you?”
“Only when his cock’s pressed against my ass.”
He goes quiet — only for a moment. Somewhere outside, rounds echo through the night.
“Z’that what you want?” His voice is deep and threatening, promising of the kind of hard, mind-numbing fuck you’d been craving for weeks.
After a hard swallow, you nod, catching the raise of his eyebrows in your periphery.
A moment passes as he mulls over your answer. Only your shallow, anticipatory breaths populate the quiet space.
“Alright.”
And he lets go.
Heart racing, wrists aching, you flip around to his neutral, impenetrable expression.
“Get down on your knees.”
Without taking a moment to decide whether you’re living anything more than just a really fucked up dream, you sink to your knees, folding your hands in your lap (to stop them from shaking). Before you, Joel’s bulge twitches while he watches you yielding to submission, and you try to ignore the excitement building between your own two legs.
His eyes burn into yours: black, starved, weighty. He tells you to shut your own and you do, unable to resist the tone of his command. Within the self-imposed darkness, Joel’s following order — ‘open your mouth,’ — parts your lips as if they were under his spell. You wonder what you must look like to him, needy and ready to receive whatever you’re given.
He speaks again.
“Show me your tongue, angel.”
The gruffness punctuating his arousal doesn’t let you stand a chance. You let your mouth fall open wider.
Next, there’s rustling. You try to remember whether or not he’d had on a belt, listening and failing to hear the soft clinks of a buckle coming undone.
Too soon, something wraps around your chin — thick, calloused fingers — and the pressure of a thumb running down the middle of your tongue sends a rush of electricity down every stacked vertebrae. It’s slow, tantalizingly slow, as if the man were trying to memorize the feel of every groove, ridge, and bud on his leisurely way out.
When Joel drops his hand, a small weight remains at the back of your throat.
“Close.”
You do, opening your eyes to meet his own: severe and wanting — or wanting for severity?
It’s a pill. That much is obvious once the taste begins to spread, bitter and chemical and totally gag-worthy. He follows up with ‘swallow’ for his own sick enjoyment; by the time he says it, it’s clear that you already have.
What kind of game is this, Miller?
Your cheeks burn when your company kneels down. He places his big, broad hand partly on your neck, partly to the side of your jaw, and you’re still too taken aback to tear it off. The feel of his rough palm against your racing pulse silences every urge to enact revenge. Words don’t come — too quickly forgotten on one’s knees.
“You’re way too easy for your own good, sweetheart,” he near-whispers, shooting to kill in a blow packed tight with condescension. “Don’t let me see you here again.”
And that’s it: your cue to get lost.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Miller pulls away from your reddening skin, straightening to stand. You follow suit soon after, heart pumping lead, tongue bruised by the memory of his touch (more overwhelming than the metallic residue dripping down your throat).
He turns, running a few fingers through his hair. It’s the last look you get before resigning yourself to the journey back home.
Still, before turning the rusted handle, in a brief moment of respite, of clarity, you seize the final word:
“I’m only ‘easy’ when I’m drunk. Or interested.”
Silence courses through the room as Joel registers the meaning behind your confession.
“Goodnight, Miller.”
With that, you see yourself into the hallway, checking its status before tearing into the stairwell.
You barely breathe.
He wanted me — he had to have wanted me.
Miller was a pragmatic player; surely, he’d only bother to play with toys he liked like that… right?
Right?
Unable to clear your head or cool the heat radiating through your core, you take the long way home, the distant sounds of a war between rivals soothing the cacophony of noise swimming between your ears.
For the next two weeks, all you’re able to think about is him.
You think about him when he’s gone and when he’s in the room, grumbling in hushed tones to your father. You think about him when you’re unable to fall asleep, letting your hands slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, imagining your own fingers as thick, tan ones running through the warmth between your legs.
He takes no notice of you — a fact you deeply resent. Even in your skimpiest clothing, he’s like a damn horse with blinders on. You decide, in the past weeks, he’d either acquired the patience of Job or purged every sinful craving from his system when he’d stuck his fingers down your throat.
Naturally, you’re more than happy when, at breakfast (two in the afternoon), your father gives you the heads up about tonight’s gathering at the Bar (which was really just an asbestos-ridden basement equipped with enough prohibition-style gadgets and architecture to host a good ‘strategic meeting’ every other month).
“Everyone’s gonna be there,” he mumbles. “Need you to keep your ears open. Had to take a couple rats out last week…”
Everyone’s gonna be there.
Smiling to yourself, your thoughts start to spin out. Business, distractions, booze. Tonight would host a million opportunities for you to get him alone.
Hope blooms through your chest.
Do your worst, Miller.
“Man, I wish we could’ve experienced cocktails. Straight hooch is ass.”
A peer named Mel, just a year older than yourself, cringes as she sips on whatever murky liquor’s found its way into her cup.
You don’t mind the taste so much, having grown mostly immune to its taste and burn. In fact, you’d come to welcome the subsequent lapse in breath and judgement.
There was little else in this world that made you feel alive.
“Mhm,” you respond absent-mindedly, looking for a familiar scowl among the mass of scowls peppering the crowd.
A sigh to your right. “Always awesome, having your attention.”
The criticism snaps you back into your body. You smile sheepishly at your friend, apologizing through a wince.
She shrugs, her raggedy, pin-decorated jacket jingling with the movement. “S’okay. Known you long enough to know that look.”
For that, she receives a quizzical glance.
Mel comes back with a scoff. “No victims tonight?”
“Oh god,” you shoot her a look of disgust. “Do you mind not using such weird vocabulary? Make me sound like a predator.”
As the words tumble out, you zero in on the object of your search. There he is: eyebrows knit together in concentration, drink in hand, unsurprisingly (and annoyingly) in conversation with your father. A few other stragglers are in the mix, too, but they’re easily overlooked. Time slows to a full stop in his wake —only for the briefest of seconds —
“Well since the last guy actually wound up dead a week later, I think it’s fitting.”
Once again, Mel’s managed to wrangle your interest.
You stare blankly into her onyx eyes, ringlets falling through molasses around her face. “Jeremy?”
And she’s bewildered. “You didn’t hear?”
This time, both of your heads turn in the same direction.
“Ratted to FEDRA about the storehouse off tenth,” she explains, gesturing towards Miller and your father with a tilt of her head. Famous for her bravery, she stoops into your shoulder, averting his gaze and speaking under her breath, “Judging by the way they found him, my guess is it was mostly Miller’s stuff.”
It’s as if she’d screamed it.
The subject of your conversation turns to face you right as your company’s words drift off. Despite the level of noise, the amount of people, and the cloudiness of the air, you’re trapped in the corridor of your mutual stare, cornered.
The challenge, the knowing marking his expression.
“I need some air.”
You twist into the body standing behind you, shoving row after row of criminal scum out of the way. Mel doesn’t follow — she’d never hung around to comfort you, only to inform you. A mutual, typical relationship for the age, and just how things worked in the QZ.
You slam into the door, stomping into a deserted, silent alley, empty save for a few drunk strays. Your lips begin to tingle and a scream builds inside your lungs. Stalking blindly into the night, unsure of your direction, alone in half a top and a plain, ass-length skirt, shivering despite the warmth of the air…
You’re practically begging for trouble.
Just as your eyes catch the numbers on the old, rusted street sign above, just as you realize you’re on a monitored street tonight, only safe after curfew every other Monday and Wednesday, you’re grabbed by the waist, pulled into the space between two buildings, and shoved into a sheltered nook.
A dim, yellow light clicks on automatically. There’s a door (chained closed) leading into the building to your left and darkness to your right.
And there’s Joel Miller above you, his expression indeterminable.
“You asshole,” you barely hear yourself breathe over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears before lunging forward in a useless attempt to, once again, strike his profile.
He catches your wrist, no doubt having anticipated the attack. It’s written on your face, in your eyes, in your shallow, uneven inhalations. He takes your other hand before you’ve even thought to use it, lifting it above your head and slamming it against the old stucco behind you.
“You’re violent,” he says flatly.
He tightens his hold when you struggle against it. “Proud of yourself, yeah? You’re a killer.”
That inspires a slight smirk. You half expect him to return with an ‘as if you didn’t already know that.’
Instead, he says, “Sweetheart, you didn’t even know his name.”
“You should’ve told me.”
And that’s the real source of this anger: it’s rage at being the last to know.
And for what? To protect your feelings? Since when had anyone in your life bothered to do that?
“And don’t call me ‘sweetheart’,” you add for good measure.
You’d wanted him to touch you so badly for weeks now, but here, scorned at being left in the dark and confused at the death of a paramour, you only want to get free.
“And what’d he call you?” He spits, leaning down and in, inadvertently pressing his thigh between your legs — when his breath grazes the skin of your ear, it causes them to part (against your better judgement). “Got lots of names, right?” He continues to tease, “Heard your boyfriend’s pretty one for you before I shut him up — ‘that fuckin’ slut,’ f’I’m rememberin’ right.”
Despite your rage-shakes, you’re warming at the core, Joel’s pressure against it dizzying your already-addled head. It confuses you, makes the scorn easier to access.
“How did I come up, Miller?” You exhale, jutting your chin towards him. “Couldn’t help asking for all the dirty little details, could you?”
He smiles, and the act lacks any sort of kindness. “‘Lot easier gettin’ him alone once he thought he was meetin’ you.” Joel slams your wrist harder into the wall when you try to wriggle away. “Not sure you wanna keep making that kind of impression, angel.”
It’s hard to rationalize with him so close, as his pet-names echoe inside your head. He’d used your name to enact gang-law violence on a boy who’d been inside you, and yet, all you can think, all you can hear, is the way ‘sweetheart’ sounds tumbling off his lips.
“Fucking let me go, Miller,” you manage to exasperate, resenting the begging edge to every word. “I don’t need another abstinence lecture from you.”
Kicking one ankle off balance, Joel turns you around, pressing your stomach to the wall, your back into his chest. Ignoring your whines and pitiful struggle, he wraps a free hand around your neck, pushing your head against his collarbone. Your stomach erupts with butterflies as the rough pad of his thumb traces the front of your throat.
Yes — no — yes, he wants me — no, no, this is wrong, this is so wrong —
“‘Be wasted on you, anyways,” he says, rough and earnest, like his hand sliding down your chest, your breasts, your stomach, “Startin’ to realize if I can’t fix your dad’s mistakes…” and he’s finding the hem of your skirt and yanking it up, bunching the fabric around your hips —
“Might as well take advantage of them.”
He moves hungrily. He’s everywhere, sliding into your underwear and across your breasts, his big arms and suffocating biceps enveloping your entire frame.
“Joel—”
But he claps a hand over your mouth, silencing any hope of your pleas being effective.
“Think I haven’t seen you? Your lil’ looks…” a low laugh, “n’ those fuckin’ clothes?” God, the rumble, the sheer want in his voice hammers at your initial resistance, and you feel yourself welcoming the feel of his thick, long fingers, sliding between your wet folds. You’re clay, melting against the curved, firm wall of his chest.
You mewl pathetically into his palm.
Another low laugh wracks his lungs, dances at the top of your ear.
“Knew you’d be this wet for me.”
“Knew since you got down on your knees,” Joel continues, uncovering your mouth only to ease a few fingers between your lips — lips that part as though commanded, and a mouth that welcomes and caresses whatever it receives, “‘N opened this pretty lil’ mouth for me to fuck it. Can’t close my eyes without seein’ you like that — so fuckin’ needy.” He exhales from between his teeth, signalling his approval while you suck him down to the knuckles.
His fingers tease your clit and you give him your thanks by pleasuring those of his other hand.
When his hands move, it’s to hold you steady and balanced as he drags your underwear down your legs. That thick, heavy cloud of arousal hides any and all rational thoughts from view.
And he knows. He knows you’re past the point of no return, restraining you only out of his desire to rather than out of a real need to. He knows from the whine you breathe at the loss of his hand against your clit, moving to work at his belt buckle instead.
“Gonna use a condom?” You breathe, emboldened by your clearing senses at the temporary lack of stimulation.
At first, you think he’s missed your taunt.
He backs up, pulling your hips along with him until the tips of your fingers are no longer touching the decaying wall before you. Joel pulls you upright and against him with an arm around your waist and a hand around your throat, turning your head and tilting it back to meet your eyes.
You grasp onto his forearms, failing to stand, unable to breathe. His hardness digs into your back, and his cruel eyes show you just how much pleasure he takes in your struggle.
“Don’t like to waste ‘em,” he finally answers, rocking his cock against your spine, “But I will if you beg. You gonna beg?”
He manipulates your answer, fingers moving to your red-hot core — he barely grazes the nerves, only dancing over the needy flesh. You can’t tear your eyes from him either, tethered to your body through his gaze.
Joel Miller was a frustrating lover.
“N-no,” is your answer, slightly strangled and softly stuttered.
He smiles. “S’what I thought.” Then, “Show me what you can do, angel,” he coos, lips just inches away from yours, his hold on your body relaxing —
“Use your pretty lil’ hands n’ put my cock where you want it most.”
And you both know exactly where that is.
After a nod, Joel allows you to bend forward slowly — it’s like moving through honey. Your legs burn with effort as you reach between your legs to wrap a hand around his thick, hard length.
Christ, he’s huge.
He groans when you touch him and uses his own hand to help guide his tip between your folds. One hand holds your waist, fingers extended under your ribs to support your weight in a skilled show of experience.
With his tip at your aching entrance, you try to lean back, to slide yourself slowly down his many inches.
But Joel doesn’t allow it.
He pushes into you in one go, clicking his tongue at your strangled gasp —
The man hadn’t even bothered to open you up with his fingers.
“Ah, c’mon,” he condescends, “You can take it.”
Then he’s setting a hard pace, hands moving from your hips to your ribs to your biceps to your hair to your neck — anywhere he wanted to go, he went. One eventually comes to the front of your throat, tilting your eyes back and up towards the ceiling. Every one of his thrusts arches your back further until you’re contorting into a half-moon shape, standing only by the grace of his support.
And it feels so good. Joel fills you up to the brim, takes you to heaven and floods your ears with hymns, punishes you in the kind of way you’d only experienced in dreams.
Words tumble out, but they’re filled with nothingness. “Joel,” “fuck,” and “yesohgodyes,” quickly become staples of your vocabulary.
He laughs whenever you sob, grows harder every time you moan, restrains you when you try to run away.
The hand around your throat tightens, digging unforgivably into the flesh as you start to let go, as your walls begin to clench and flutter appreciatively around his cock.
“M’I making you happy, sweetheart? My cock making you smile?” He asks gruffly, pulling you back into his chest. Joel readjusts you into whatever shape you need to be in at the new angle, hips still slamming into your ass. Struggling to stand on your tiptoes, he steadies you with his arms and his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look up into his rugged face.
“Mmhm,” is all you can offer him, the pitch jumping up halfway through when the head of his cock grazes that perfect spot inside your cunt.
He doesn’t let up.
“Show me, baby—” he commands, out of breath, too, but not nearly as tortured as you, “—Show me your smile.”
You do your best, smiling up at him, degrading yourself even more at the hands of Joel-fucking-Miller. And he eats it up, loves the way your grin turns into a bitten lip and knit eyebrows over closed eyes, slowing his thrusts to rock even deeper inside you.
You moan something unintelligible, and a laugh rustles through your tangled hair.
“Am I makin’ you come?”
You nod, feeling that familiar rush of pressure blooming somewhere within that throbbing bundle of nerves under his spell.
He smirks in pride and victory, the last look you get before your head falls against his shoulder, your muscles going lax as the peak builds, as your half-sobs grow louder.
“S’it, baby, tell ‘em,” he coos, nipping and sucking the skin on the side of your throat. “Gonna tell the whole street how you take it like a good lil’ slut.”
His fingers fall to your clit, enticing you right over the edge. You vision blurs and your legs shake, but Joel talks you through your orgasm, sweet nothings starting with, “S’right — show me — yes, fuck — good girl…”
And then —
He stops.
You whine, stars dancing before your eyes as the mean, mean man inside you refuses to fuck you through your climax.
“Joel,” you plead, grinding back against him in a pathetic show of need, “Come with me.”
He does the opposite, sliding himself out of your sore opening. You turn to face him, restoring your balance with hands against his chest, gazing up at him in desire-stricken reproach.
“Use your mouth,” he says, voice gruff at your ruined sight and from his own hand on his cock, keeping his arousal level, “Not gettin’ any more help from me.”
It’s unclear whether ‘help’ means pills or his cock, but you assume both to be safe.
You try to argue (having spent the last few weeks dreaming of Joel dripping down your legs) but he just won’t budge.
Then, his voice softens.
“You know your dad’d kill me, angel.”
And it’s really the sweetness of his tone that does it.
Sinking to your knees, it’s déjà vu when you open wide for him, steadying your shaking knees with both hands on his half clothed, half naked hips. Gravel and debris dig painfully into your bare knees, but you ignore the sting, smiling instead at the taste of yourself on Joel’s cock, lips sliding adoringly down the thick length of it.
He groans his approval, tangling his fingers in your hair to help guide your movements.
As you take him in again and again and again, pleasing every inch of him, he chokes out a laugh.
“Never seen you so quiet,” he muses (mostly to himself), caressing your cheekbone with his free hand —
“Gagged by an old man’s cock.”
You pull off, pumping him with both hands, asking breathlessly, “Are you all so big?”
He smiles, eyes darkening at the dirty compliment. “Give you a few numbers n’ you can tell me.”
God, he’s beautiful from down here.
You hold his attention and lick a slow stripe down the underside of his cock, half-grinning up at his lust-filled expression.
“I only want yours, Joel Miller.”
An uneasy inhale as you take him back in, his brows furrowing and his cock growing impossibly harder. Your words please him, he returns by groaning orders and praises like: “S’all yours, baby — take it all — take aaall that dick — good fuckin’ girl.”
He’s so close and you know it, moaning in submission at his hand’s pressure against the back of your head. With your nose crunched into his abdomen, you hold your throat open for him to use it however he pleases — reduced to nothing more than the man’s plaything.
There’s a low “ah, fuck,” from above, and then you finally know what Joel Miller tastes like.
It’s better than the Plan B.
You hear nothing beyond his recovering breaths, feel nothing past pride, lust, and exhaustion.
Eventually, he loosens his grip. You pull off of him delicately, drawing a groan from between his gritted teeth when you make sure to suck every last drop of his seed into your mouth.
Sitting back on your ankles, you roll your head up to face him.
He swipes a thumb under your lips, clearing the saliva connecting you to his softening cock.
“Still mad at me?” He asks.
You’d be crazy to say yes.
“Only for pulling out.”
You note the twitch at the corner of his mustache.
Joel helps you back on your feet, using one hand to pull you up by your arm and another to arrange himself back to decency.
You adjust your shirt; Joel fixes your skirt. It’s a strange kind of silence settling inside this pocket at the side of a random, ruined building.
Then, your company clears his throat, that mask of seriousness falling over his expression once again.
“You gonna be smart?”
What ever could he mean?
Stay away from him? Stay away from men? Practice abstinence? Use protection?
Either way, you’re not one to make promises you know you can’t keep.
You cross your arms.
“No.”
He sighs.
Well, looks like things are already back to normal.
His face softens and he shakes his head, already regretting his next words. “Just — just come find me, then. I won’t do… this again, but — but I’ll help.”
You frown.
“What do you mean, ‘this’?”
He stares down into your accusatory eyes with a look you’d received many times from him, one screaming, “get real.”
“Fine,” you mutter, breaking eye-contact, “Thank you.”
With a stoic nod, he walks around you, heading back into the night. You try, in vain, to watch him go in silence — god knows you had some thinking to get to — and find that, instead of getting it out of your system, the entanglement had only left you wanting for more.
And more and more.
“Is this what you meant?” and you hear his footsteps halt, “When you told me you’d do worse than kill me? When I tried to hit you?”
It comes out before you can help it, and you twist around to face his still, broad shoulders.
You can hear the smile teasing his lips as he utters the words.
“Why are you askin’ me that?”
Still facing his back, you break into a smile of your own. “So I’ll know what I have to do to get you to do it again.”
You watch him shake his head, grey-streaked ripples in the low light.
“Try your best not to find out, angel.”
With that, he disappears into the darkness, leaving you in the flickering doorway. Thighs aching, heart racing, you take a deep breath, trying to memorize the feeling of what it felt to have them taken from you by Joel Miller.
A feeling you’d chase.
Put your red boots on
Baby, giddy up
Baby wants a dance
Baby gets her way
Dreamy nights
Talk to me with that whiskey breath
Twirl me twice
I'll treat you like a holiday
And don't say you're over me
When we both know that you ain't
Don't say you're over me
Baby, it's already too late
Just do what you do best with me
Dance me all around the room
Spin me like a ballerina, super high
Dance me all around the moon
Light me up like the 4th of July
Once, twice, three times
The guy I ever thought I would meet, so
Don't say you're over me
When we both know that you lie
If you lie down right next to me
Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie
If you lie down right next to me
Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie
When you lie down right next to me
Get your jacket on
Be a gentleman
Get into your truck
And pick me up at eight
'Cause we were built for
The long haul freight train
Burnt by fire
Without trial like a stowaway
And don't say you're over me
When they all know that you ain't
If you lay down right next to me
Dance me all around the room
Spin me like ballerina super high
Dance me all around the moon
Like six times 'til I'm sick and I cry
Once, twice, three times
The guy I ever thought I would meet, so
Don't say you're over me
When they all know that you're lying
If you lie down right next to me
Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie
Lie, you lie
If you lie down right next to me
Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie
Lie, you lie
When you lie down right next to me
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dixons-sunshine · 3 days
Text
Hazelnut | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader
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Summary: Daryl didn't know exactly what he expected when his group settled into Alexandria—maybe some snobby, incompetent inhabitants who couldn't stand their ground if something were to happen or people who would turn on him and his group at any given moment, but definitely not a little girl who basically attached herself to his hip. And he definitely didn't expect to find himself drawn to the mother of that little girl.
Genre: Fluff, angst but not a lot.
Era: Alexandria, pre Saviour war. (Timeline is kinda wonky. Saviours kinda don't exist in this? I don't really know.)
Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, child abandonment, mental abuse, mentions of drugs and alcohol, single parenthood, sexual content but not smut.
Word count: 8k
A/n: This was such a cute idea that @louifaith had! I tried my best, but it honestly sucks. I'm not really happy with how this turned out, but I hope you like it! Also, definitely go check out @celtic-crossbow 's version! Pure perfection, honestly.
As always, my requests are open for any TWD requests, and now for Scud Frohmeyer as well!
“You have to lighten up, Daryl. How do you expect to make any friends with that 'leave me alone' attitude of yours?”
Daryl grumbled to himself as he continued tinkering with his crossbow. The hot late afternoon sun was relentlessly beating down on the community as its inhabitants continued about their tasks. Daryl had been observing silently everyone from the porch steps he was sitting on, enjoying the moment of solitude he had, but Carol had other ideas.
“Daryl,” Carol started, crossing her arms as she descended down the steps. She turned around to face Daryl, her voice stern. “It would do you good to socialise a bit.”
“I talked to Tobin when we finished up with the construction of the new walls yesterday,” Daryl replied nonchalantly, keeping his eyes focused on his crossbow instead of the stern woman in front of him.
“That doesn't count. That's work talk. I'm talking about actual socialising. Like, striking up a conversation with someone that isn't in our group or someone you have to talk to for work.”
“I dun' need to. Y'all are the only company I need. Ain't gon' waste my time tryin' to make buddies with people who dun' even like me,” Daryl responded with a sense of finality, gripping his crossbow and getting up. “Now get off my back, woman.”
“Where are you going?” Carol called after him, watching the archer walk away from the house.
“Somewhere,” he replied shortly, ending the conversation effectively.
Slightly irritated, Daryl walked with no particular destination in mind. He passed by some people who sent him friendly greetings and small waves, which he returned half-heartedly. After a while of mindlessly walking about, Daryl stopped in front of a makeshift park of sorts. It was a small area surrounded by grass and had a big tree towards the edge. He moved to sit on the grass underneath the shade of the tree. The few kids in the community loved to play in this area, but it was deserted for now; the perfect place for the archer to relax for a while.
Daryl went about sharpening his knife for a while. The mediocre task kept his mind busy, busy enough to ignore the parents and kids who arrived, busy enough to ignore the wary stares the parents threw his way. Daryl simply shook his head—even after two months, there were still people who were wary of him and the rest of his group. Even after everything they did and sacrificed to ensure the community's safety.
“Mistah lonely?”
Startled, Daryl's head shot up and his eyes locked with those of a little girl who looked no older than three years old. The girl looked at him with curiosity written all over her young face, eyeing the knife in the archer's hands with wonder. She tentatively reached forward to touch the knife, her fingertips close to making contact with the cold metal of the knife.
Daryl jerked the knife away and out of reach of the young girl. “Dun' touch tha',” he barked coldly, standing up to keep the knife out of the young girl's reach.
“Sharp mife?” the girl questioned, moving closer towards the archer. She reached up to grab his arm, trying to reach the knife.
Daryl frowned at the girl. He gently pried his arm away from the girl's grasp and took a step back, unnerved by the soft touch of the child's hands. That didn't seem to deter the girl, however.
“Mistah use sharp mife?”
“Scram, kid. Go back to yer mama.”
“Mama?” the girl asked, her eyes lighting up at the mere mention of her mother. “Mama! Get Mama!”
“Wha'? No, tha' ain't—” Daryl started, but was abruptly cut off when the girl took off and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her. Daryl raised his eyebrows as he watched the girl's retreating figure, confused by the interaction he just had.
Well, he thought, at least that's the end of that. However, as Daryl gathered his crossbow and sheathed his knife, he inwardly groaned at the sound of the little girl's voice calling out to him.
“Mistah! Mama here!”
Daryl turned and looked at two approaching figures. The young girl was holding a woman's hand, leading the woman over to him. The woman was laughing lightly, allowing herself to be pulled by the little girl.
“Come, Mama!” the little girl giggled, excitedly tugging your hand harder.
“Okay, okay! No need to rip my hand off,” you laughed, soon coming to a stop in front of Daryl.
Daryl looked at you with a frown, scowling slightly. His eyes darted between the excited little girl and you, slightly taken aback by the friendliness you radiated. Despite everything he's done for the community up until that point, only a few select Alexandrians—mainly Aaron and Eric—didn't show him any contempt or wariness. Yet there you were, smiling up at him and looking as pretty as a picture.
“Mama,” the little girl excitedly told him, pointing up to you. She smiled at you, dimples forming on her chubby cheeks.
“I'm Y/n. You must be Daryl?” You introduced yourself, extending your hand for a handshake.
Daryl looked at your hand, not moving to take it. However, just as you were about to lower your hand awkwardly at his dismissal, the little girl stepped forward.
“Like this, mistah,” she instructed, taking the archer's hand and putting it in yours.
Daryl flinched at the contact and quickly withdrew his hand, looking at the little girl with a small frown. He looked back at you, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.
This was the worst random social situation he's ever been in.
“Sorry,” you apologized, giving him a sheepish smile before turning back to your daughter. “Hazel, we don't touch people unless they say we can, alright?”
“Sorry, Mama,” Hazel apologized half-heartedly, not fully understanding what you were saying. She turned back to look at Daryl. “Sorry, Dar.”
“Daryl,” the archer corrected her, talking for the first time since you had approached him.
Hazel looked up at him in confusion. “Dar,” she repeated herself, a look of concentration on her face.
“No, 's—nevermind. Forget it,” Daryl grumbled, shifting his weight from his one leg to the other. He looked back to you again and noticed how awkward you looked, your lips pursed as you avoided his eyes.
“Sorry. She has trouble with the pronounciation of some words and names. I'm working on helping her with that,” you explained.
Daryl noticed the defensive tone in your voice and raised his eyebrows questioningly, yet he refrained from questioning why. “S'alrigh',” he mumbled, awkwardly fiddling with his crossbow that was slung over his shoulder.
“Okay,” you said, gathering Hazel up into your arms. “Well, it was nice meeting you, but I have to get going. I have to get this gremlin ready for dinner. Sorry for bothering you.”
With that, you turned around and retreated back towards the houses, Hazel happily babbling in your arms. Daryl watched your retreating figure with a sense of uneasiness. In that short interaction, he found himself unexplainably drawn to you. He didn't know you, but some part of him wanted to get to know you.
However, as quickly as that thought entered his mind, he just as quickly disregarded it. He didn't need to get attached to any more people, especially people who couldn't protect themselves in this harsh world they lived in. In the end, everyone he cared about died or left, so it was better to spare himself the inevitable pain and keep you and your daughter at an arm's length.
Something told him that it would be easier said than done, however.
The next morning, Daryl found himself working alongside Aaron. The two of them were busy carrying large pieces of metal to the wall they were busy fortifying, Aaron making casual small talk while Daryl simply hummed in acknowledgement. Once the last piece of metal was added to the already existing pile, the two men wiped the sweat from their foreheads and took a drink of water, before walking over to Aaron's house. Aaron took a seat on the porch steps while Daryl remained standing on the grass.
“So yeah, that's how I met Eric,” Aaron told him, concluding his story.
“Story straight out a damn romance novel,” Daryl replied sarcastically, eliciting a laugh from Aaron.
“Yeah, yeah. Make fun of it all you want. Everyone always does.”
“Nah, 's a good story. Pretty cliche with the whole spillin' yer coffee on his shirt bit, but 's still a good story,” Daryl assured him. “Now c'mon, didn't ya say somethin' 'bout havin' a part fer my bike?”
“Dar!”
As if materializing out of thin air, Hazel excitedly bounded down the porch steps and threw herself against Daryl, clinging to his leg in a hug. Caught off guard, Daryl stumbled a bit but regained his footing, his eyes darting down to look at Hazel. His eyebrows raised in surprise before he gently pried the girl from his legs, not used to any kid other than Judith clinging to him like that.
“Kid, what are ya doin'?” he questioned, taking a step back from her, but it was to no avail. Hazel simply smiled up at him before throwing herself at him again, clinging to his leg like a monkey.
Aaron chuckled. “I see you've met Hazel. She's quite the character, huh?”
“Wha's she even doin' here?”
“Eric asked to babysit her. He loves having her over, and her mom said yes.”
Hazel giggled against Daryl's leg, turning her head to look at Aaron. “Hi, Rin!”
“Hey, Hazel,” Aaron chuckled fondly, sending the girl a small wave.
“Rin?” Daryl questioned, placing one of his big hands on the little girl's head, accepting his fate of being clung to for now.
“She can't say my name properly,” Aaron explained. “She has trouble with pronouncing some things.”
“Yeah, her mama said somethin' 'bout tha',” Daryl said without really thinking about it.
“So you've met her?” Aaron asked, leaning forward with slight interest. He had a small smirk on his face, one that Daryl couldn't understand.
“Briefly. Hazel practically dragged her over to meet me yesterday,” Daryl replied, looking down at Hazel when he felt her grip loosen on his leg.
Hazel looked up at him and raised her arms, looking at him expectantly. “Upsies,” she said, jumping slightly on her toes. “Dar, upsies!”
To his utter surprise, Daryl found himself leaning down to pick her up. The act hadn't even registered in his brain until the small girl was already in his arms, her small, chubby hands gripping at his shirt as she giggled. The small sound of her laughter made the archer's heart fill with an unexpected fondness, taking him by surprise. It was the same type of fondness that filled his heart whenever he coaxed a laugh from Judith, and yet it was completely different at the same time. He couldn't explain it.
“She seems to like you, Daryl,” Aaron laughed, standing up from his position on the porch steps. “Not a lot of people can say that about her.”
“Wha' do ya mean?” Daryl found himself asking, confused entirely by the man's revelation. From the limited interactions that the archer has had with the young girl up until that point, he naturally assumed that Hazel was this way with everyone. What would make him special enough to the little girl, who just met him, to make her treat him differently than she would others?
Aaron motioned for Daryl to follow him into the house, and he obliged, silently entering the pristine house while still carrying Hazel in his arms. The girl took a great interest in his hair, playing with it to entertain herself.
“From what Y/n told us, she was with a group before she got here who treated her and Hazel badly, and Hazel hasn't fully regained her trust in adults yet,” Aaron explained.
Daryl frowned. “Badly, how?”
“She wouldn't say, but it took forever for Eric and I to gain Hazel's trust. We even tried to bribe her with candy but she wouldn't budge. But she seems to trust you and you say you only met her yesterday?”
“Yeah. She approached me at tha' makeshift park the kids play at,” Daryl nodded, rubbing a hand over Hazel's small back unconsciously, shifting her in his arms slightly.
“Then you're definitely special, buddy. This kid doesn't trust easily,” Aaron declared, sitting down on a chair in the dining room.
Daryl followed his lead, sitting across from him on a chair while still holding the small girl firmly in his arms. Hazel's attention shifted from his hair to the loose threads on his sleeveless shirt, playing with them to keep herself busy.
“They were with a group 'fore this? How long have they been here?” Daryl questioned, interested in knowing more about you.
“Yeah. Hazel and her mom haven't been here all that long. I actually found them a couple of days, maybe a week, before I found you all. From what I know, Y/n and Hazel had been on their own for a while before I found them. Y/n almost killed me the first time we met. She thought I was gonna hurt them. It took me and Eric a while to convince her to come back with us, but even then she refused to let her guard down. She was kind of like Rick when we first met, except she didn't tie me up or force me to eat apple sauce.”
Daryl hummed, hissing slightly when he felt Hazel tug at his hair rather harshly. He brought one of his hands up to pry her hand away from his hair, subconsciously rubbing his thumb over her small fist.
“Tha' hurts,” he said softly, surprising himself by the gentleness of his voice.
“Sorry, Dar,” Hazel apologized half-heartedly. She yawned before laying her head on his shoulder. She wrapped her small arms around his neck, nuzzling her head into his neck.
Daryl felt his heart swell with fondness for the second time that day. He gently rubbed her back. From his experience with Judith, that small action could lull a small child into slumber, and he hoped that proved to be right with Hazel.
“You're good at that,” Aaron commented, a smile on his face as he watched that small interaction between the big, 'scary' man and a small, innocent child.
Daryl looked at him, confused by the look the man was sending him. “Good at wha'?” he asked.
“That,” Aaron repeated himself, motioning to Hazel. “Were you a dad before all of this?”
Daryl stiffened at the question. “Nah,” he shook his head, adjusting Hazel in his arms again. “Not the type of guy who could've started a family back then.”
“And now?” Aaron asked, unaware of Daryl's inner turmoil.
Daryl inhaled sharply. “To start a family ya need a partner,” Daryl started, slightly rocking the small girl in his arms. “I ain't got a partner, and there ain't exactly women linin' up to be with me. So kids ain't somethin' I see in my future.”
“It could still happen, you know? You might meet someone. Hell, you know what? I know you'll meet someone.”
“A lot of confidence fer somethin' tha' might never happen,” Daryl grumbled.
“Never say never, Daryl,” Aaron replied, giving the man a small smirk. “Never say never.”
“Mama! Mama!” Hazel called through the house, excitement clear in her voice.
You smiled at the sound of your daughter's voice, glad to be able to see her again after a whole day of being alone at your small house. The sun was setting, the stars starting to twinkle in the sky and you were almost done with dinner. Eric had told you that he would bring Hazel back before sunset and you were starting to get worried, but thankfully she was okay.
You walked into the living room and hunched down to pick up the small girl that ran into your arms, hugging her tightly to you as you placed kisses all over her face. She giggled at the sensation and pulled back, grabbing your hand and excitedly pointing towards the door.
“Mama, Dar here,” she said, smiling widely before turning towards the door.
You followed her line of sight and locked eyes with the archer. You stood up and gave him an awkward smile, painfully aware of the awkward encounter you had with the man the day before. Daryl seemed to mirror your unease—he nervously shifted his weight from one leg to the other, ducking his head to avoid your gaze.
“I see that, sweetheart,” you replied, keeping your eyes locked on the man before you.
“I played with Rin and Eric. Dar played too!” Hazel happily exclaimed, clapping her hands in excitement as she looked up at Daryl in awe.
“Did he, now?” you asked rhetorically, marvelling at the sudden and unexpected change of character for the quiet man. Just the day before he'd shrugged Hazel off and seemed to want nothing to do with her, yet now your daughter was claiming that the huntsman had spent time with her that day. It didn't make sense.
“Yeah! So fun!” Hazel laughed happily, waddling over to Daryl to seemingly hug his leg again.
Daryl, who had been hugged multiple times that day by the toddler, instinctively crouched down to have her hug his side instead of his leg. Hazel wrapped her small arms around him and nuzzled her head into his neck, and Daryl couldn't help the small smile that spread across his face. One day had been more than enough for him to grow fond of the small girl, and he cursed himself for letting his guard down enough for that to happen, but the damage was already done; that little girl had already wormed her way into his heart.
“I'm glad you enjoyed yourself,” you smiled at her, watching the interaction between the archer and your baby girl. “Baby, why don't you go get changed into your blue PJ's, huh? You're a big girl now, right? Think you can get changed without mama's help?”
“Yeah!” she exclaimed happily, pulling away from the hug and giving Daryl a smile, dimples on display. “Bye, Dar!”
“Bye, Hazel,” Daryl greeted her quietly, watching the girl waddle to the stairs and begin to climb them carefully. He then hesitantly shifted his attention to you, but instead of seeing that wariness he'd grown accustomed to other parents giving him, one that he expected you to give him after his encounter with you the day before, there was a look of curiosity and wonder in your eyes.
“Thanks for bringing her home,” you thanked him, offering the archer a small smile.
Daryl ducked his head. “Ain't nothin',” he replied, shaking his head.
“So, you spent the day with her?” you started, looking at him questioningly. “By the way you looked uncomfortable around her yesterday, I would've thought you'd avoid her at all costs.”
“I was spendin' the day helpin' Aaron. He invited me to his place 'cause he had a part I needed fer my bike and Hazel was there. She wouldn't let go of me after she saw me,” Daryl explained, fiddling with his hands.
“So she basically forced you into spending time with her?” you asked with a small laugh, your eyes crinkling in amusement.
“Pretty much,” Daryl joked, his lips involuntarily twitching into a small smile.
You laughed lightly and Daryl chuckled softly, admiring the way your eyes seemingly sparkled. The dim light of the living room gave you a golden glow, and Daryl found himself admiring your beauty. The unnerving thought struck him at full force and he tried to shake that thought from his mind—he couldn't let his mind go there. He wouldn't let his mind go there. He had to keep you at an arm's length. It was bad enough that Hazel broke through his barrier in a day, so he couldn't allow her mom to do the same, too. More attachments wasn't something the archer needed.
“Well, Hazel seems happy. I think you just became her best friend, whether you like it or not,” you told him playfully.
“I have a feeling tha' I ain't got much say in the matter.
“Nope,” you laughed. “But thank you. She hasn't looked that happy in a long time.”
“Glad I could help,” Daryl replied, a small smile on his face. “Sorry fer bein' a dick yesterday.”
“It's fine. We shouldn't have bothered you.”
“Ya weren't botherin' me. I jus'... Wasn't in a good mood, 's all. 'M sorry.”
“Apology accepted.” You gave him a sweet smile before turning around. “Wait here. I'll be right back.”
Daryl frowned in confusion but didn't say anything. A few minutes passed until you reentered the living room, a lunchbox in your hand. You promptly handed it to him, and Daryl could feel the heat radiating off the bottom.
“Wha's this?” he asked, giving you a questioning look.
“Stew. I made more than Hazel and I can finish, so I figured I'd give you some. And before you say anything, just take it. Consider it a thank you gift.”
Daryl pursed his lips but nodded, resisting the urge to deny your 'gift'. “Thanks.”
“No problem at all,” you reassured him, looking up at him with a smile that made his heart flutter uncontrollably.
Daryl ducked his head, willing the blush on his face to go away. “I should get goin',” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.
“I'll walk you out,” you replied, walking with him over to the door.
Daryl stepped out of your home and turned to you. He gave you a nod and turned to walk away, but stopped when he heard you speak up.
“I hope you realise that she isn't gonna let you off the hook. You're going to be stuck with her now. And my daughter and I are a package deal, so you're going to be stuck with me, too.”
For some unknown reason, Daryl didn't mind that thought at all.
“Easy, Hazelnut. Ya dun' wanna hurt yerself, do ya?”
The toddler giggled, her small hands toying with the arrow in her hands. “Sorry, Dar.”
Daryl smiled at the small girl, bringing one of his hands up to ruffle her hair, successfully coaxing another laugh from her. “I know ya are. Jus' try to be more careful, alrigh'? I dun' want ya gettin' hurt.”
“No boo-boos. Boo-boos hurt,” Hazel replied, gingerly handing the arrow back to the archer.
“They do,” Daryl agreed, taking the arrow from the girl. “Tha's why ya gotta be careful, alrigh'? Dun' want anythin' to happen to someone as sweet as ya, Hazelnut.”
Hazel giggled and nodded. “No boo-boos.”
“No boo-boos,” Daryl repeated, smiling fondly at the young girl.
Two months had passed since Daryl initially met you and Hazel. In those two months, Daryl had found himself becoming intertwined with your lives, a constant presence for you and your daughter.
The archer hadn't asked you what had happened to Hazel's father yet, and he wondered when he could be permitted to ask that. However, Daryl knew that there could only be two plausible explanations; either he was dead, or he willingly left. The huntsman really hoped it wasn't the latter. No person should be left to raise a kid on their own.
However, as Daryl's love for the young girl grew, so did his feelings for you. It got to the point where he had started wishing that he was Hazel's dad, that he could've been there during your pregnancy and watched your belly grow. He would've worshipped your body and been there for you every step of the way. However, as much as he wanted that, that was a dream that couldn't be a reality, so he settled on being Hazel's best friend.
“The two of you look like you're having fun. Mind if I join?”
Daryl's head snapped up at the sound of your voice. His eyes met yours and his heart skipped a beat, that sweet smile of yours making butterflies swarm around in his stomach.
“Mama!” Hazel exclaimed happily, hurrying down the porch steps to fling herself into your arms.
You laughed, picking her up and placing a kiss on her forehead. You looked at Daryl and sent him a smile. “Hey, Daryl.”
“Hey,” he greeted you quietly, fiddling with the arrow in his hands.
“Mama, play with us!” Hazel giggled, wiggling in your arms to be put down.
You lowered her to the ground, watching her climb up the porch steps and clamber into Daryl's lap. Daryl lowered the arrow and wrapped his arms around her, placing a small kiss to the side of her head. You smiled at the interaction, your heart speeding up against your will.
“I can't, baby. It's time to go home. It's dinner time,” you told her.
Hazel frowned and nuzzled her head into Daryl's neck, a whimper building up in her throat. Instinctively, Daryl started rocking her back and forth, rubbing her small back and shushing her quietly.
“S'alrigh', dun' cry. Ya will see me again tomorrow, alrigh'?” he whispered into her ear, his heart breaking at the sound of her sniffles. When he felt her nod, he placed one final kiss to the side of her head before placing her back down. “Why dun' ya go say bye to Jude?”
Hazel looked at you expectantly, and you nodded. “Go ahead, baby. I'll wait for you.”
Hazel ran into the house, leaving you and Daryl alone on the porch. The archer stood up and walked down to meet you on the grass, pushing his hands into his pockets as he looked at you through his hair.
As you looked at him, it took all of your willpower to resist the urge to brush his hair out of his face and cup his cheek. Not trusting your own hands, you crossed your arms and looked up at the huntsman, giving him a small smile.
“This is the first time ya have come to pick her up. I usually bring her home. 'S somethin' wrong?” Daryl asked, searching your eyes for an answer.
You shook your head. “No, nothing's wrong. I just figured that I could come pick her up for a change. Spare you the walk back to my place.”
“It ain't that far,” Daryl pointed out, motioning down the street. “Jus' a couple of houses down.”
“Yeah, I know, but...” you trailed off, unsure if you should lay your problems onto him.
“But wha'?” he questioned, suddenly on edge. Had you changed your mind about him? About him being around you and your daughter? He really hoped not.
You hesitated for a moment. “It's nothing. Just some mom's around the community who like to be judgy.”
“Wha' are they sayin'?”
“That I'm a bad mom for not taking the time out of my day to pick up my own daughter. That I'm smearing my responsibilities onto other people. Just thought I'd start proving them wrong.”
“Hey, yer not a bad mom. I like bringin' Hazel home at the end of the day. Tha' way I know she's safe.” He also liked it because it meant he got to see you being all domestic, hugging your daughter tightly and sending him beautiful smiles, inviting him to stay for dinner each time. He always declined, not wanting to be a burden, but your offer never waned.
You smiled at him, but it didn't quite reach your eyes. Daryl instantly noticed it and placed one of his hands on your shoulder, taking you by surprise. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and your skin flushed where he touched you.
“Dun' let them convince ya yer a bad mom. I ain't ever seen a better mom than ya. How many mom's here can say tha' they kept their kid alive out there in the real world? Tha' despite everythin', their kid came first and tha' they would kill fer them?”
“How did you know I wasn't here from the start?”
“Aaron told me he found ya and Hazel on yer own not too long before he found us. The fact tha' ya kept her alive on yer own for tha' long proves to me tha' yer the best fuckin' mom under the sun.”
You smiled at him and placed your hand over his that was still resting on your shoulder. “Thank you,” you whispered.
“No problem,” he replied, holding eye contact with you. His hand lingered on your shoulder for longer than necessary, and he gazed deep into your eyes.
Your heart sped up and stopped beating at the same time, noticing a shift in the archer's emotions. However, before either of you could do anything else, Daryl snapped out of it and withdrew his hand, taking a step back.
You cleared your throat and ducked your head, your face heating up. Luckily, Hazel ran out at that moment and bounded down the stairs, throwing herself into Daryl's side and clinging to his leg.
“Bye, Dar!”
Daryl pressed Hazel tightly to him. “Bye, Hazelnut.”
Hazel unwound her arms from around him and moved over to you, extending her arms to be picked up. You did just that, holding her tightly to you. You turned to Daryl and offered him a small smile.
“You know, my offer still stands. You could join us for dinner.”
Daryl was about to decline your offer again, but Hazel cut him off.
“Yes! Please, Dar!”
In that moment, Daryl found that he wouldn't be able to say no. He gave you both a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
You smiled broadly. “Great! Come on, then.”
“Dun' I need to change?”
“No, you're fine, don't worry. You can come as is.”
“Alrigh',” Daryl nodded. “Let's go.”
“Could you maybe get Hazel settled into her highchair? I'll be right out with the food.”
Daryl nodded and watched you retreat from the dining room into the kitchen before turning around. “Hazelnut!” he called, hearing the toddler's footsteps come into the dining room.
Hazel stared up at the archer with a huge smile, her arms extended to be picked up. Daryl smiled softly at the girl and leaned down to pick her up, placing her in her highchair. Once he was sure she was settled and wouldn't fall off, he got settled in the chair next to her, listening to Hazel's happy babbling.
Soon enough, you reentered the dining room with a pot of spaghetti and meatballs. The aroma of the meal made Daryl's mouth practically water. The last time he'd eaten spaghetti was when Aaron had invited him, and that was a good couple of months ago.
“It smells fuckin' good,” Daryl said without thinking, and instantly regretted his choice of words.
“Fuck,” Hazel repeated happily, completely oblivious to the horrified look that spread over Daryl's face, and the amused one that spread over yours.
“Nah, Hazelnut, dun' say tha'. Dun' ever say tha',” he told her hurriedly, his heart beating faster at his mistake.
“Fuck,” Hazel giggled.
“No, I jus' said—” Daryl started, shooting you a worried look. However, he calmed down when he saw your amused smile. “Wha's so funny?”
“You,” you told him, laughing lightly while serving everyone some food. “Don't look so worried. I'm not gonna bite your head off because of one slip up. If I had a penny for every time I accidentally slipped up since she was born, I would've been able to buy a yacht in the old world. You're good, don't worry.
“Okay, but we can't have her goin' around sayin' tha', though,” Daryl said, taking a deep breath to calm himself.
“You're right about that,” you started, turning to look at Hazel. “Baby, you can't say fuck, okay? That word belongs to Daryl. Until he's ready to share that word, you can't say that, alright?”
“Okay, Mama,” Hazel replied, starting to eat her food rather messily.
Daryl chuckled softly at the girl before turning to his own food. He started eating as well, the flavours of the delicious meal melting on his tongue. He wanted to gulp it all down but he resisted the urge, instead eating with a decency he never knew he had.
The meal was mostly spent in silence, save for Hazel's happy babbling and the occasional input from you or Daryl. Daryl did, however, sneak glances at you when you weren't looking, admiring your beauty and the soft, loving way you acknowledged your daughter and the tenderness you used when you wiped her face clean of the sauce.
Unbeknownst to the archer, you had also been sneaking glances at him. Admiring his gentleness with your daughter, the way his eyes softened and the quiet chuckles he would let out whenever Hazel did something amusing, or the small smiles he gave you. It was amazing how important Daryl had become to you and Hazel in a span of a few months. The big, gruff, quiet man with a heart of gold, who had invaded your thoughts and your heart.
The meal was soon done and Hazel's eyes were beginning to droop. You noticed it and got up to take her out of her highchair. She instantly layed her head down onto your shoulder and closed her eyes, and you placed a tender kiss on her forehead.
“You tired, baby?” you cooed, rubbing her back gently. When she simply responded by nuzzling her face deeper into your shoulder, you laughed fondly and turned to Daryl, sending him an apologetic look. “Sorry, I should probably get this little rascal to bed. You can stay here, I'll be right back.”
However, as soon as you said that, Hazel interjected. “Dar tuck me in with Mama?” she asked innocently, lifting her head up to look at Daryl.
Daryl looked surprised. He locked eyes with you, his heart fluttering at the smile you sent him.
“If Daryl's okay with it,” you whispered.
“Yeah, 'course,” Daryl replied, nodding his head.
You motioned for him to follow you upstairs and he obliged. Together the two of you descended up the stairs and into Hazel's bedroom. Daryl stopped in the doorway, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, but you had other ideas. You gently took his hand and led him into the room, only letting go of it to tuck your daughter into bed. Daryl subconsciously placed his hand on your shoulder instead, watching place your little girl into bed.
Hazel was already half asleep when you put her into her bed. She instantly curled up into her pillow and let out a big sigh, her eyes opening only slightly. In her view, she saw you, her mom, the woman who always protected her when the two of you were living on the road outside the walls, and always loved her despite her shenanigans. And Daryl, the man who at first had been kind of mean, now always there for both her and her mom. The man who started to feel like a daddy to her.
“Night, Mama. Night, Daddy,” Hazel mumbled, her eyes closing and she drifted into slumber. In seconds, she was out cold.
Time froze for a moment. Daryl's eyes widened and his heart practically pounded out of his chest. There was no way that he had heard it right. There was no way that Hazel had just called him dad. There was no way that Hazel trusted and loved him enough in those few months to see him as her father. She couldn't, could she?
He turned to look at you and noticed the unreadable expression on your face. You didn't address what she had just said, however, and Daryl was too nervous to bring it up himself.
“We should probably let her sleep,” you whispered.
“Yeah,” Daryl agreed and followed you out the door.
Together, the two of you descended down the stairs and back into the dining room. You turned to look at Daryl and motioned towards the living room.
“You can wait in the living room. I just wanna put the dishes in the sink and then I'll join you.”
“Nah, let me help,” Daryl protested, moving over to grab all the dishes.
Before you could protest, Daryl walked into the kitchen. You quickly followed behind him and watched him put the dishes in the sink, but before he could start washing them, you quickly stopped him.
“No, it's okay. I'll wash them tomorrow,” you assured him. “Do you want some wine?”
Daryl nodded and hummed, silently observing as you grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, as well as a bottle of wine. You placed the glasses on the counter before popping the the bottle open, pouring the two of you each a glass of wine. You handed him the glass and propped yourself onto the counter, letting your legs swing below you.
Daryl leaned against the counter and took a sip of his wine, humming in approval at the taste. “S'good. Thanks.”
“It's nothing, really. I've been wanting a reason to open the bottle for a while now.”
“Ya can't jus' drink it whenever ya want?” Daryl questioned, taking another sip from the glass in his hand.
“I could, but I prefer not to. I don't want to be like—” you started, but abruptly stopped. You hurriedly took a sip of your wine, welcoming the taste in your mouth.
“Like who?” Daryl asked, frowning at the uncomfortable look on your face.
You hesitated for a long moment, not sure if you should tell Daryl about your past problems. You were afraid that Daryl would look at you differently if you revealed anything. However, as you looked into his eyes, you only saw care and concern, so you found yourself confiding in him.
“Hazel's father,” you said, pursing your lips at the thought of the man you hated more than anything.
“Wha' was he like?” Daryl asked, placing his glass down on the counter. He turned his full attention to you, his eyes trailing over your face for any shift in emotion.
“He was a fucking asshole,” you spat angrily, clenching your jaw in anger. “He was a raging alcoholic and a frequent drug user. He didn't even stop when Hazel was born. If anything, it got worse. I tried so hard to get him sober, but nothing worked. He always yelled at me and threatened to hurt Hazel whenever I brought it up. And then one day, when I woke up, he was just... Gone. No note, no phone call, nothing. Hazel was barely one year old.”
Daryl frowned deeply, anger bubbling inside him at the thought of someone hurting you and Hazel so badly. He clenched his fist and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.
“Not too long after that, the world went to shit. His sister came to pick us up and took us to her camp, and that's where I saw that asshole again. He treated Hazel so badly and got the other people in the camp to be mean to her. Hazel didn't even do anything wrong, but they all ganged up on her. Thankfully it never got physical, but that really scarred her. It went on until the camp got overrun, and all of those fuckers got what they deserved. The only reason Hazel and I got out was because his sister helped us. She sacrificed herself for us. After that, Hazel and I were on our own for more than a year. I'm surprised that I managed to keep us alive for that long on my own, but I managed. And then Aaron and Eric found us and the rest is history.”
Daryl was speechless. It angered him that someone would hurt you like that, would hurt little Hazel like that. And the fact that you had to survive on your own for that long... It amazed him. He wished that he could've found you earlier and have protected you and Hazel from all those horrors, but there was nothing he could do to change the past. He could only ensure that nothing ever touched you in the future.
“Yer a strong woman. The fact tha' ya went through all tha' and managed to keep Hazel alive and love her unconditionally proves tha'. Yer amazing and I hope ya know tha'.”
You were taken aback by the sudden confession, but soon a smile spread across your face. You hopped off the counter and stood in front of him, almost chest to chest. You looked up at him, your faces close enough to close the remaining distance between your lips.
“You're amazing too. I don't think you realise how much you mean to Hazel, how much you mean to me.”
With that, you closed the remaining distance between your lips. You pressed your lips against his softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. After a moment of shock, Daryl kissed you back feverishly, pulling you closer by your hips. You gasped against his lips, allowing Daryl to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moaned into his lips and pressed yourself harder against him, eliciting a groan from the man.
As soon as you pulled away for air, you tugged Daryl by the lapel of his vest. “Wanna take this to my room?” you whispered, breathless from the ravenous kiss.
“Wha' 'bout Hazelnut? Won't she wake up?” Daryl asked, pressing his forehead against yours.
“No. She's out cold. The chances of her waking up are basically nonexistent.”
Daryl let out a deep breath and nodded, allowing you to pull him up the stairs. The two of you soon stumbled into your room, hurriedly closing the door and pawing at each other's clothes. However, when you reached for Daryl's shirt, he stopped you, a pained look on his face.
“What's wrong?” you asked, a worried look on your face. “Did I do something wrong?”
Daryl shook his head. “Nah, ya didn't do anythin'.”
“Then what's wrong?” you asked him gently, cupping his cheek in your hand. “Talk to me. I won't judge.”
Daryl inhaled sharply. “I didn't have a good childhood,” was all he said before slowly removing his shirt.
Your eyes hungrily trailed over his body, your hands reaching forward to press against his chest. You didn't understand what Daryl was talking about until you got a glimpse of his back in the mirror in your room. The scars on his back were jagged, and you instantly knew what they meant; someone had hurt this perfect man before you, and you felt so angry.
You walked behind him. “May I?” you whispered, your hands hovering over his back.
Daryl hesitantly nodded. You softly ran your fingers over his scars, your touch feathery light. The archer shivered involuntarily, closing his eyes at the feeling. Before meeting you, the only feeling that he would ever associate with his back was pain from his father's cruelty, yet there you were, tracing over his scars as if they were priceless paintings in a museum.
Soon your fingers were replaced with your lips, and Daryl's eyes flew open. Your lips softly kissed over his scars, trailing down to the last scars on his lower back. When you were done, you turned him around to face you. You gently cupped his cheek, a small smile on your face.
“You're perfect to me, Daryl. You're so sweet, kind and caring. Hell, my daughter called you dad. That says plenty.”
“'M perfect?”
“You're perfect.”
That was all you had to say for Daryl to pull you into another fiery kiss. The two of you soon toppled onto your bed, spending a night filled with passion together.
That next morning when Hazel woke up and walked into your room, she was pleasantly surprised to find Daryl sleeping there, holding you, her mama. She was, however, confused that when she woke the two of you up, you clutched the sheets to your bodies and refused to let her climb under them with you like you normally would do.
Two years later...
“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Hazel. Happy birthday to you!”
You and Daryl cheered as Hazel blew out the candles on her homemade cake. Hazel laughed as she struggled to blow out the last one of the five candles on the cake, eliciting soft chuckles from you and Daryl. When she finally managed to blow it out, you and Daryl handed her each a gift. She clapped her hands excitedly. She got up from her seat and ran to hug you and Daryl, which you both returned.
“Thank you, Mama. Thank you, Daddy,” she said with a big smile, eyeing the wrapped gifts on the table.
“Dun' thank us yet, Hazelnut,” Daryl responded with a smile. “Go ahead and open 'em.”
Hazel hurriedly opened each of the gifts and gasped with delight, holding up a colouring book, new crayons and a new doll. She giggled in excitement at the gifts.
“Can I go show these to Judith? We can colour and play dolls together now!”
You laughed and nodded. “Sure, baby. Just be good for Michonne and Rick, okay?”
“Okay!” she agreed and took off in a run, throwing the front door open and disappearing out of it.
“I can't believe she's growin' up so fast,” Daryl mumbled, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He rested his chin on the top of your head.
“I know, right? She'll be moving away from home soon enough,” you joked.
“Hmm,” Daryl hummed, chuckling at your joke.
“Oh!” you exclaimed, turning around in the archer's arms. “I got something for you, too.”
“Fer me?” he asked in confusion, frowning slightly. “Why? It ain't my birthday for another couple of months.”
“I know, but this can't wait that long. Here,” you said, handing him a small box.
Daryl gingerly took the box from your hands and opened it. His eyes widened at the item inside, picking it up and looking at it. After examining it for a couple of moments, he confirmed that his mind wasn't playing a trick on him—it was a positive pregnancy test.
“Yer—Yer pregnant?” he asked, a smile spreading over his face.
“Yeah,” you confirmed, nodding your head. A laugh escaped you when Daryl picked you up and spun you around, before he placed you back on the ground and pulled you into a kiss.
When he pulled back, he leaned his forehead against yours. “Hazelnut's gon' have a baby sibling. We're gon' have another kid.”
“We are,” you agreed, closing your eyes. “I love you, Daryl.”
Daryl placed a gentle kiss against your forehead. “I love ya too. And I already love tha' little peanut in yer belly.”
“Hazelnut and Peanut, huh?”
“Yeah. Our two babies. Our own little family,” Daryl said, placing his hand on your stomach, over the life that was growing there.
“We have Hazel to thank for this. If she didn't instantly like you back then, this might never have happened,” you told him, placing your hand over his.
“Remind me to thank her when she gets back later. But fer now, let's enjoy our alone time,” Daryl replied suggestively, tugging you with him as he walked backwards towards the stairs.
“I like that idea.”
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flowerfan2 · 8 months
Text
Steve falls hard, is the thing.  At least, he does this time.  He knows it’s crazy, that Eddie has only been out of the hospital for a few weeks, that Steve has only really known him for a few days more than that. But he knows more than most people that life is full of cliffs and dangers and if there’s happiness to be had, he’s ready to take it.
It happens so quickly that he speeds right past any potential sexuality crisis, doesn’t pass go, just realizes one evening while he’s tucking a blanket around Eddie’s feet when he dozes off on the couch that he’s in love.   He knows it’s real, because Eddie’s feet are frankly stinky since it’s still hard for him to get around, and yet Steve’s content to curl up with Eddie’s feet in his lap and make sure they stay toasty warm.
He tells Robin that night, and once she’s finished swatting him with a nearby magazine and then hugging him until his ribs squeak, she asks him what he’s going to do about it.  “Tell him,” Steve answers, and Robin stares at him as if he’s grown two heads (he hasn’t, he checked).  “Just like that?” she asks, eyes wide.
“Know any good reason to wait?” Steve asks, and when Robin shakes her head no, he smiles.
The next day Steve puts on a clean pair of khakis and his favorite striped polo.  He ever so briefly considers wearing something not so preppy, but he doesn’t think Eddie would appreciate anything less than the truth.  The real Steve, polo shirts and all.  Begin as you mean to continue, and all that.
When he arrives at the trailer the next day (yes, that same goddamned trailer, flimsy and broken but in somewhat better shape than it was a few weeks ago), Steve takes a deep breath and knocks on the door, then remembers he’s supposed to use his key so that Eddie doesn’t have to get up off the couch too often.  He juggles the grocery bag in his arms and finds the key, glad to see when he gets the door open that Eddie hasn’t been disturbed.  In fact, it looks like he’s fast asleep.
Steve puts the groceries away and settles at the end of the couch like he always does, pulling Eddie’s feet onto his lap, and paging through a comic book.  A little while later Eddie stirs, blinking his eyes open and smiling at Steve.
They decide to watch a movie, but after a few minutes Eddie complains that his neck hurts from lying in the same position all day.  Steve helps him switch around so that his head is at the other end of the couch, and Eddie continues to gripe, but he’s smiling the whole time.  Steve can tell he likes the attention, likes when Steve slides an arm around his back and gently rearranges his limbs.  Steve likes it too.
Steve fetches some snacks from the kitchen and returns to find Eddie shuffling himself around again, claiming that the new position isn’t working either.  Soon they’re sitting next to each other, legs stretched out on a pillow on the coffee table, the television directly in front of them.  Steve is getting a suspicious feeling about the whole thing, and it only intensifies when Eddie gives a little sigh and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder.  “Thanks,” Eddie says softly.  “This is perfect.”
Steve’s not sure how much time goes by – time is weird when you’re practically holding your breath – but when he tilts his head to look at Eddie, Eddie’s looking right at him.  
“Eds?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m falling for you, you know.”
Eddie bites his lip and smiles, his nose crinkling adorably.  “Yeah, I figured.”  He turns back to the television and snuggles in closer against Steve’s side.  “It’s good, ‘cause, you know.  Me too.”
______
You can read all of my Steddie ficlets in one place on A03 here.
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azrielwingspan · 28 days
Text
A 'TEA' PARTY (AZRIEL X READER)
Summary : The prince of Montesere was a heartthrob with his exceptionally good looks and charismatic words. You were raving about him to the girls but Azriel was having none of it.
Warnings : Nooone
A/N: You guys have no idea how EXCITED I was to write this. This is definitely one of my favourites. Enjoy !
"And he said 'I'll make time for you. Always.' I DIED. LITERALLY DEAD DIED." You said waving your hands animatedly.
The girls oohed and aahed while clutching their drinks. Feyre pretended to swoon, Mor was holding a hand to her heart and Elain went starry eyed. Nesta remained stoic but you could see the hint of a smile gathering at the corner of her lips. You would bet a 100 marks that it was straight out of one of her romance books.
"What's going on ?" heads whipped to the door where Gwyn and Emerie stood holding more snacks.
"Just in time! Get over here. You guys are missing out on top secret information." Mor helped them out with the snacks, sharing a shy look with Emerie.
"The Prince of Montesere is what is going on." Nesta said, a sly smirk on her face.
"Ooo..I've heard he's quite the charmer." Gwyn piped in and everyone nodded their heads enthusiastically.
"We think he has a crush on Y/N." Elaine said making a stupid grin crawl onto your face.
"What the fuck? Details PLEASE." Emerie grabbed the bowl of popcorn placing it on her lap to share with Mor.
A rush of joy consumed you as you looked around the room. All the girls were finally taking some well deserved time off and you were glad that you could spend it with each other.
"Okay." leaning forward as you channeled your inner storyteller. "Sooo...let me just start off by saying he looks DIVINE. Dark hair, dark eyes and don't even get me started on his voice...UGH. I think my ovaries might have exploded."
"Wait hold on." Feyre carried a confused look on her face. "Are we talking about the Prince or our shadowsinger?"
Silence engulfed the room.
Someone snorted and the entire room descended into laughter. Your face heated up. From embarrassment or from laughing you weren't sure of.
"She definitely has a type alright." Nesta said setting off a new round of laughter.
"OKAY LISTEN IN MY DEFENSE---" you shouted over the chaos.
"Don't even try." Mor was clutching her stomach, slightly wincing at the pain.
"OKAY SHUSH. Y/N CONTINUE !" Gwyn came to the rescue and you shot her a grateful smile.
"Anyways as I was saying.." you shot a pointed look at the girls daring them to say something. All of them had shit eating grins on their face.
Emerie and Mor had already finished half the popcorn.
"He showed me around the city and took me to all his favorite spots. It was very---"
"Did you make out?" Emerie interrupted and the girls leaned forward their eyes twinkling in anticipation.
You were about to respond but your face had already betrayed you , turning a scarlet red. Elaine and Mor squealed , almost falling off their seats. Feyre had a wide eyed expression on her face, her drink long forgotten.
"You should have STARTED with that, you idiot !" Emerie shouted, an incredulous look on her face.
"OKAY SHUSH. The most important question. How was it?" Gwyn made everyone settle down again as she awaited your answer.
You'd just opened your mouth to respond when Nesta asked "How big?"
Spluttering in shock, you smacked Nesta's arm. "I didn't sleep with him!" You hissed in a whisper. "We just made out. He is a really good kisser. I'll give him that."
"Tell me what this male is bad at. Why aren't you with him already?" Elain asked taking a sip of her tea.
"Honestly, he's too good to be true but.."
"He isn't a certain someone." Feyre finished for you, eyes softening in understanding. You'd never told the girls about your infatuation with Azriel but they knew. Somehow, they just knew.
You didn't bother denying it and just shrugged nonchalantly. A wave of understanding passed through the room. Almost everyone had been in a similar position before. Sometimes your soul craved another's so violently, it made you blind to anyone else.
"Well..it was fun while it lasted." you said breaking the silence.
"For two days." Emerie laughed softly.
"You should tell Az---" Mor was interrupted by the opening of the door. Seven pairs of eyes focused on Azriel as he stood at the door , looking sheepish.
"Look who's hereeee." Feyre said playfully, a blush rising on Azriels cheeks as he bowed his head.
"Rhys wanted me to grab a book." he muttered softly, edging towards the wall and trying to ignore the six pairs of eyes with a mischievous twinkle in their eyes.
You were just utterly mortified. Did he hear everything?
I put up a sound barrier. Wouldn't want the Illyrian babies snooping around. Feyre's voice echoed in your mind.
You shot her a grateful smile which immediately fell as she shot you a wink. Oh no. She was upto something.
"Az, tell Rhys I'll be there as soon as Y/N finishes telling us about her Prince."
Both you and Azriel stiffened, his back still facing you. Emerie dissolved into a fit of laughter that she was trying to hide behind her palm. Nesta's eyes twinkled at the prospect of messing with Azriel.
"I can't believe you're going to be a princess, Y/N !" Elain played along. You swiped a hand across your throat repeatedly, indicating at them to cut it off.
"He basically professed his love to you already. I don't know what you're waiting for." Nesta said looking like she was ready to plan the imaginary wedding if she had to.
Azriels shadows were growing a little agitated, rapidly bouncing off bookshelves trying to find the damned book.
"If he had wings, I'm sure he would have the biggest---" Mor cut off , finishing her sentence by widening her eyes and looking down.
Emerie choked on her tea, making it go up her nose. Mor rapidly hit her on the back trying to help and stop laughing at the same time. In her urgency to move, she'd knocked over the tea pot spilling hot tea over Gwyn's leggings.
Gwyn stumbled out of her seat fanning her hands at her legs like it would help. Elain grabbed the jug of water and threw it on Gwyn's leggings soaking the carpet beneath her. Feyre who had been about to fill a glass with water for Emerie stared at her empty hand where the jug had been.
Nesta watched the entire scene unfold before her eyes with mild interest , sipping on her tea.
You just stared, absolutely and completely horrified by the turn of events.
A tendril of shadow made its way over to you and tucked a strand of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes behind your ear. You shivered from the sudden coolness and turned your head towards Azriel.
Wearing a cool mask of indifference, he walked out of the room pretending like nothing ever happened.
A/N: AHHHH, this entire thing made me feel some type of way.
Please take a min to leave a comment and let me know if you liked it as much as I did !!
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vivwritesfics · 13 days
Text
Hooked On A Feeling
Chapter Twenty - Monaco Daniel
Daniel is a Formula One driver, but, more importantly, he was a single dad to a wonderful little girl. He wants her to be a normal little girl, to have a normal social life, so he sends her to daycare. That was where she met Milo, her future best friend.
Milo's mother was incredibly stressed. She worked so hard to provide a good life for her son. But then he makes a new friend, a friend who has a hot dad (ofc they fall in love)
2.7K
Single Dad!Daniel x Single Mum!Reader
Warnings: light smut, eating out, handcuffs, Daniels gorgeous nose being put to work
Series Masterlist
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"I can't wait for you to meet Monaco Daniel."
He'd said it after she'd explored the entirety of the gorgeous apartment, had looked out onto the balcony and then put her bags in the room they would be sharing.
She was looking at the pictures on his walls when he walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around her and placed his chin on her shoulder.
"Who is Monaco Daniel?" She asked him, placing her hands on top of his.
Daniel moved his chin from her shoulder and whispered in her ear. It was enough to make her choke as she pulled away from him. "Monaco Daniel sounds..."
She had no response. Not because she didn't want Monaco Daniel. Quite the opposite. She wanted Monaco Daniel real bad. "Who are the friends who would look after the kids?" She asked.
"Max and Lando," he answered.
Y/N knew very little about Max and Lando. But Daniel trusted them, and that was enough for her. Plus, every time she had met them, they'd been friendly towards her. "Sounds brilliant," she said, turning to kiss him.
Daniel gave her a bit of time to shower, freshen up and change into something else. As soon as she was done, she walked out of the bedroom and got herself a glass of water.
"Milo, Olivia and I were thinking about going out for lunch," Daniel said to her, his arm settling around her waist.
All he wanted was to be near her. He was like a teenager in love again. Of course, he didn't notice the way that Milo refused to look at him, the way Milo looked down at his lap.
"Sounds great," said Y/N, leaning against him. "What're we thinking of getting?"
That was how the four of them found themselves walking around Monaco, looking for somewhere to eat. Daniel let the way, pointing things out of them as they went.
They sat in a café. Milo and Olivia got sandwiches and juice, and the adults got coffee's. "Hey Milo," Daniel called, wearing a grin. "Do you wanna walk the track after this?"
Milo looked up at Daniel. He'd seen the Monaco Grand Prix that year, had seen the other AlphaTauri crash into the wall. He didn't realise it wasn't Daniel, at first. It had panicked him slightly, until he saw the driver that wasn't Daniel climb out of the car, safe and sound.
Milo nodded his head, chewing on his lip. He finished his sandwich and looked towards his mother.
But it wasn't his mother who spoke to him next. "My daddy won the Monaco Grand Prix a few years ago," she said proudly.
"You did?" Y/N asked, turning her attention to Daniel.
Daniel grinned and nodded his head. "The year that Olivia was born. I had technical problems but I pushed that car over the finish line and brought home the seventh win of my career."
"That's incredible," she said, reaching for his hand under the table. "We definitely need to watch it, right Munchkin?" She asked, turning her attention to Milo.
Again, Milo just nodded.
After they had eaten, the four of them headed out of the café. Daniel let the way, walking them around the streets that made up the Monaco Grand Prix. He walked beside Milo the entire time, pointing things out and telling him facts and stories from the Grand Prix he'd taken part in.
Y/N could see what Daniel was trying to do. She just had to hope it was working. At first Milo nodded along to what Daniel was saying, not offering much in terms of conversation. But Daniel kept going, kept trying. He wasn't going to stop until Milo was talking to him.
And it worked. Soon, Milo was talking back to Daniel, asking him questions. Daniel pointed out the breaking zones and the two of them visibly slowed their steps before taking the corner. It was adorable.
"Are you excited to go to America with your dad, Olivia?" Y/N asked as she walked beside her.
Olivia nodded her head. "Yeah! Daddy said we could go to a ranch and go horse riding!"
"That's great, Livvy! Can you do me a favour and get your daddy to send me pictures? I'd love to see it," she replied.
Olivia looked up at her. "Can't you and Milo come with us?" She asked innocently.
Y/N gave her a grim smile. "I'm sorry, Liv," she said quietly, shortening her name even further. "But Milo and I need to get back home. We'll try to call you as often as we can," she promised.
"Can you guys come next time?"
"We'll try our best."
***
There was a knock on the apartment door. Daniel got up from the sofa and pulled it open, greeted with the faces of two of his best friends. He stepped to the side, letting Lando and Max walk into his apartment.
"Uncle Max!" Olivia cried, running towards her favourite uncle.
Immediately, Max picked her up. It lasted maybe two seconds before Olivia was back on the floor. "Hey Milo," Max called, waving across the room.
Lando stepped out from behind Max and opened his arms for Olivia. "You gonna come say hello to your Uncle Lando or what?" He asked, wearing a grin.
The hug Olivia gave Lando was less enthusiastic than the way she hugged Max. But she instantly broke out into giggles and gave Lando a proper greeting.
"Hey guys," Called Y/N as she walked out of the bedroom, putting in earrings.
Daniels breath caught in his throat. She was dressed in a red satin dress that fell to her knees. The material hugged her body. The neckline dropped slightly lower at her chest, but revealed nothing, and two thin straps went over her shoulders.
"Hi Y/N!" Both Max and Lando called across the room.
Her small heels clicked against the floor as she walked over to where Milo sat on the couch and crouched to his level. "Milo, munchkin," she began as she moved Rexy to one side. "Max is gonna take you and Olivia to go play with his cats. Would you like that?"
Milo picked up Rexy yet again. "Can I ask him about racing?" He asked.
"I'm sure you can, Munchkin," she said.
Taking his hand, she got Milo down from the sofa and walked him over to Max and Lando. "Hi, Mr Verstappen," he said. Milo immediately began showing off Rexy.
His mother turned to Lando. "Thanks for taking them," she said and leaned against the wall. "He's probably gonna spend the night asking you about racing."
"It's no worries, seriously," Lando replied. "He can have a go on our sim if he wants. You two just go have fun, you crazy kids," he said and grinned.
Lando and Max took the kids with them as they left Daniel's apartment. They said goodbye, Milo hugging his mother, and followed the F1 drivers away.
As soon as they were gone, Daniel turned his attention to her. His hands were on her hips, pressing her against the wall. "You look incredible," he whispered as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Tempted to skip dinner and show you Monaco Daniel right here and now."
She leaned forward and kissed him quickly. "You know I can't wait to see Monaco Daniel. But lets get food first. For stamina and all that, you know?"
Daniel grinned. He stepped away from her, holding her hand and pulling her away from the wall. She followed her into the bedroom and sat her on the bed as he began getting dressed.
As soon as he was ready, they were heading out of the apartment. Daniel held her hand as he led her down to the parking garage. He pulled open the car door and held her hand as she climbed in. "Thank you, Danny," she said. He kissed her hand before letting go of her and shutting the car door.
Throughout their dinner, it was hard to concentrate on anything but each other. For Daniel it was hard to concentrate on anything but the way she pressed her leg against his in the rounded booth they shared. For her, it was hard to concentrate on anything but the way his hand gripped her thigh.
Daniel could hardly pull himself away from her to eat. He had no idea what he ordered, wouldn't be able to tell Max and Lando if they later asked. He was far more interested in her.
After the dinner, Daniel parked up near the beach. As he walked her across the beach, the waves crashed against the stones and pebbles. "Milo would love this," she said as she leaned against Daniel, looking out across the sea. "He'd sit here and draw the view."
"Tomorrow," said Daniel. "We'll bring them here tomorrow."
And suddenly, Y/N got an idea. She pulled away from him, pulled her phone from her bag and placed it on the ground as it softly played music. "Come on," she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck and began swaying. "Just like our first date."
Daniel was more than happy to move with her. His forehead was against hers and he kissed her as they moved. Soon the dancing stopped and they were kissing beneath the stars.
She pulled away from him and rested her head against his chest. "Take me home and introduce me to Monaco Daniel," she whispered.
Before she knew it they were driving back home at such a speed. A thrilled laugh ran through her as Daniel pulled into the parking garage. He parked quickly, grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the car, up to his apartment.
"You're gonna love Monaco Daniel," he said as he rushed to unlock the apartment door. "Monaco Daniel is all about you."
As soon as he got them into the apartment, he kissed her. Her back was against the door and he kissed her as he pushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders.
Monaco Daniel wasted in time and undressed her, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. It seemed unfair that he was still fully dressed as he led her into the bedroom. "Sit on the bed," he commanded, and she did just that.
Monaco Daniel stripped himself as he dug through his closet, looking for something. "Aha!" He called when he found what he was looking for, pulling a box forward from the back of the closet.
Daniel presented her with handcuffs. "Oh, so Monaco Daniel is kinky," she said, reaching forward to take the handcuffs off of him.
But Daniel held them just out of reach. "Whose wrists do you think these are going on, baby?" He asked, pocketing them. He reached back, unclipping her bra, and laid her on the bed.
He pulled her bra away from her body and dropped it to the floor. Daniel kissed her, raising her arms above her head, until her wrists were up by the headboard.
There was no protest as Daniel used his handcuffs to secure her to the bed. She tugged once, testing out the strength of the metal. She let out a satisfied hum when they held up.
Daniel kissed her again. He kissed down her body, kissing between her breasts and down her stomach, until he was where she needed him most. "Monaco Daniel is gonna eat you out until scream my name."
Monaco Daniel dove in. His hands were on her stomach as his tongue moved across her folds, pushing in.
She couldn't deny that she had thought about Daniel's nose before. At first she thought it was gorgeous. And she still did think it was gorgeous. But she couldn't wait to see it in use.
The moment his nose bumped against her clit, she let out an almost pornographic moan. "Holy shit," she cried as she tried to reach for his hair. But, fuck, the handcuffs held her back. She settled for gripping the headboard instead.
***
"Ugh, you beat me again!" Cried Lando as Olivia once again beat him in a video game. "How are you so good at this, Liv?"
"You're just really bad, uncle Lan," Olivia answered as she started another game.
In another room, Milo was asking Max any and all questions he had about being a racing driver. Max leaned against the counter as he cooked up something for the four of them to eat. He'd made the effort to go shopping to get something for Milo and Olivia to eat the minute Daniel texted him.
As Milo asked his questions, he had a piece of paper in front of him, drawing away. Max had opened his laptop in front of Milo, giving him a picture to draw.
"Do you wanna be a driver?" Max asked as he began plating things up.
Milo shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno," he answered. "I don't think my momma has the money for it."
Max gave a grim smile. "Well then, I guess you'll have to just watch me and Daniel race until you can join us on track."
"Really, Mr Verstappen? That would be so cool!"
Milo grabbed his colouring pencils from his bag and began to fill in the F1 car he was drawing with colour. Dark blue, just like the car Max drove.
He put the plates on the table, calling Lando and Olivia to sit and eat with them.
"My daddy said I could start karting soon," Olivia said as she ate. "Uncle Maxy, Uncle Lando, do you think you could come to my races?"
Lando nodded. "Are you gonna go karting too, Milo?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Probably not," he said.
The look Max sent Lando told him everything he needed to know. "Well, Olivia said it's your birthday in a few months," he said. "Maybe Max and I chip in, help you pay for karting as a birthday present."
"Really, uncle Lan?!" Olivia called excitedly. "That would be so cool!"
After they ate, Lando stuck on a movie while Max cleaned up. Full up, both kids found themselves nodding off as they watched the movie. Max and Lando made a decision to take them home. They gathered their things, put them into their bags and checked their phones.
Suddenly, Max's phone began ringing. He swiped his phone across the screen, silencing it before it woke up Milo or Olivia. "We're just about to take the kids back to yours."
"Don't!" Cried Daniel, his voice panicked. "We're having a little emergency here. Y/N and I will be by to pick the kids up in a little bit. Just keep them there!"
"What the hell is going on?" Max asked, his voice hurried. "Are you guys okay?"
They were, in fact, not okay. Y/N was still stuck to the headboard, her body sweaty. She had only just stopped shaking and Daniel was desperately searching for the key.
"Maybe we should have made sure we had it before sticking me to the bed," Y/N said. It was obvious now. She desperately pulled as Daniel searched through his closet.
"Fuck," he cried, digging through his things. But it was nowhere to be seen. "Shit, babe. I think we might have to find another way to get them off."
She looked up at the handcuffs. "Do you have a bread knife we can cut them off with?"
Suddenly Daniel was out of the bedroom, running towards the kitchen. He searched through his kitchen drawers, desperately searching for the serrated bread knife.
"AHA!"
Daniel ran back into the room. "Danny! Stop running with the knife!" She cried and he slowed down. "I can't have you stabbing yourself while I'm stuck here," she said.
Placing the knife between his teeth, Daniel crawled on top of her. He took the knife from between his teeth and instantly began cutting at the leather of the handcuffs. It was a good minute before the knife went through the leather.
But Daniel kept going, until the knife went all the way through and she pulled her hands apart.
The handcuffs were still around her wrists as she and Daniel rushed to get dressed. "We'll get them off later," he said as he threw a clean shirt towards her.
Together, she and Daniel rushed to the front door. But he stopped her before she could pull it open. "I love you," he said and kissed her.
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setsugekka · 11 months
Text
❥get you alone (m)
↳ In which your new job as the company financial advisor makes one thing loud and clear: the no dating the talent policy is one that is quite frequently disregarded.
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bang chan x fem!reader — coworkers to lovers, idolverse, forbidden romance, explicit sexual content. [6k wc] cws: alcohol consumption, penetrative sex (unprotected), creampie, rough sex, Chan wants it bad-bad, Bang Chan has a Big Dick.
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Starting the new job in the summer would be good.
This is what you told yourself when you begrudgingly hauled all of your belongings across Seoul in the blazing heat, for a move that took all of fourteen hours – from start to finish, and even with the help of some friends. It didn’t feel like it would be good then, but you had to hold onto the self-imposed reassurance that it would eventually be good. Autumn was right around the corner, after all, and a shiny new loft apartment in an excellent spot in town was hard to say 'no’ to, especially given the salary increase you were taking on to top it all off.
Your friends constantly prodded you with jokes the whole day about how lucky you were – to be working alongside idols. You insisted that this were hardly the case as someone working in finance of all things. Not exactly the glitz and the glam of microphones and high heels. You insisted that the chances of you meeting anyone all too often were slim to none, much to their displeasure.
You wanted that to be true. You genuinely thought it would be.
After all, that was the case at the previous companies you worked for as a temp financial advisor – you didn’t see much of anyone that had been on television. You could count the times you had run into someone famous in the hallways of your work place on one hand, and it was always simply in passing. Nothing exciting. Nothing to report. Taking on a full-time gig at JYPE – you had no reason to assume any different.
Three days into the job, you finally feel a bit settled in. Papers, pens, and comforting knick-knacks just in all of the right places on your desk – it’s a sign of a newbie for sure – someone not quite yet frazzled by the whirlwind of what the job would entail. Seated a bit in the back of the large office room, you hear the door open and the woman at the front most desk sighing exasperatedly – cautioning something about how someone can’t be here, but from the tone of her voice, it sounds as if this is not the first, second, or even third time she’s said the same – and only for it to fall upon deaf ears just as it seemingly had today.
“I just need to talk about the budget for the video,” you hear coming towards you – and you can’t see him yet, but you can hear him getting closer, accompanied by the sounds of other financial workers in the office shuffling about in an attempt to remedy the situation.
The situation?
“We have people for that, you don’t need to come and do it yourself!” the woman from the front nearly yells, but by that time, the man has just about reached your desk – and you’re a little worried about what it is that you might have to deal with right about now. What sort of absolutely nuts, disgruntled, higher-up is coming for your head already about a project that you’re not even filled in on yet?
“Yeah, but I like to do it my—”
The stranger reaches your desk finally, popping his head around the side of your cubicle wall to find something that apparently must be surprising to him, as it cuts his thought process off in an instant. You watch his brows furrow in confusion – not necessarily anger – but more so that he wasn’t expecting to find the sight he had found. His head cocks to the side suddenly, and he pulls himself into your field of vision entirely, still visibly confused by the fact that he’s looking at you.
“Y-yes?” you stutter out, completely frozen in place with uncertainty about what the complete fuck is going on right now in this office.
“Oh!” he exclaims, realizing now that the entire scenario is obviously absolutely bizarre to you. “Sorry, umm, so I guess the other woman doesn’t work here anymore?”
“Suppose…not.”
“That’s fine, I’m sure you can help me—”
But the woman from the front of the office finally makes her way to the back where the both of you reside. The mans face dropping and beginning to take on that of a childs who knows he’s about to get reprimanded.
“You don’t have to answer to him,” she says to you, but also sort of speaking to him as well. “Despite what they’d have you think, the idols don’t actually run things here. We have a particular way of doing things and Chris absolutely loves ignoring that.”
…The idols?
It hadn’t crossed your mind before, albeit, a lot was going on, but since the I-word had been mentioned now, a lot of things were beginning to come together now. He is quite good looking, and given how revealing his tank top is – appears to work out, as well. Nice skin, beautiful smile…a little short, but that’s okay.
“I’m just a guy!” the man you have now learned is named Chris retorts as the woman takes her leave, and he turns back to face you again, leaning his arm up against the wall next to you, “what’s a guy gotta do to get treated like a guy around here?”
“Probably not be famous,” you respond in sort of a half-giggle, trying to restrain the smile from your lips as you turn back towards your computer to finish inputting some data. “But if you need something, I’ll be happy to look into it. You came all this way after all.”
Chris catches the way sarcasm drips from your last few words and rolls his eyes, gently tossing the stack of papers he came in with onto a empty spot of your desk.
“Are you going to treat me like this now, too? The new girl already tainted, how tragic.”
“You asked, I gave you a legitimate answer as to why.”
“Mm, fair,” he nods, pushing his bottom lip out for a moment as he considers the fact – then quickly finds himself along a separate path of thought. “So, what’s your name?”
You tell him, he responds that it’s pretty. You find that more than a little bit annoying, given your awareness of the incredibly strict 'no dating’ policy among office workers in JYPE, and even more strict 'no dating the talent’ policy – one that lands your contract terminated if they so much as even suspect that you’re engaging in unsavory behavior with any one of the idols under their label.
Chris lingers about a bit longer before you finally look towards him again and tell him that you’ll take a look at the paperwork the next chance you get, which, despite not directly telling him to leave you alone, he does manage to take the hint and bids you farewell, that it was nice to meet you, and that he looks forward to your next meeting…to which the woman from up front once again responds, “you shouldn’t be in here!”
You think about this story often now – the story of how you and Chan met. It seems so cute and casual now, like a story that two children would tell about how they met on the playground because the little boy pushed the little girl into the sandbox…except now they’re thirty-five and married with three wonderful children. It only feels that way in essence, though, because while yes – your relationship with Chan was far from married with children, it wasn’t zero.
And that was a problem. Ironically, mostly for you, it seemed.
As the months carried on, Chan did indeed continue coming to your desk for all of his financial needs instead of going through the appointed channels put in place by the company. He eventually tells you that he does it this way because he feels more comfortable doing it himself – he knows who did it, and when, and whether it got done or not. He knows all of the steps, so if anything goes wrong, he knows exactly how and why. Easier to fix. It makes sense, of course, until the few times you have to call him for some unsigned documents and he tells you to come meet him in the studio, or the practice room, or even at the dorm.
It’s not okay, and the both of you know that. You find yourself very quickly sneaking around – hoping not to be seen on your way to your secret rendezvous with Chan – and not even for that. But certainly, that’s what everyone would think if they were to know.
You kind of wished it were the case, too.
And there had been a few nights where things got a little strange. A little out of line. Chan was a flirt, and you wanted to be flirted with by him. The occasional hand grabbing, or his hand placed at the small of your back as he passes behind you, lingering a little bit longer each time he does it – but nothing overt. If you were honest, you weren’t quite sure if chan was into you or not. He was never entirely clear about his intentions. While financials and paperwork had obviously, at times, fallen to the wayside and perhaps simply been an excuse to get you into the same room as him, he had never made a move, and never said anything that would indicate a completely inappropriate and – by work standards – illegal romance between the two of you.
That didn’t necessarily stop you from desiring it, though.
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It took nearly a year before the wall showed a crack. The impenetrable Bang Chan.
“Can you come to the cafeteria with it? I’m trying to have dinner before I get back to work.”
You roll your eyes, shoulder and face craned to hold the phone in place as you type on the computer in front of you and sigh upon finding the time – already much later than when you were supposed to be out of the office and also well over your allotted overtime for the month.
But, it was Chan, and yeah, you were a bit soft for him and the few quiet moments you got to spend around him. Even if they didn’t mean anything. Even if they never would. A guilty pleasure – partaking in all of the things that you shouldn’t.
When you arrive, much to your surprise – Chan is the only one there. Being well past office working hours, it was prime time for idol working, and you think that you’ve never seen the place so empty before – although, if you were honest, you didn’t spend much time there, either.
Chan waves you over to his table, well into eating a bowl of mild cup ramen as you sit just ahead of him and place the stack of papers on the end of it. You take a moment to look around at the scenery – which perhaps isn’t much to him, but for a moment, it makes you consider what it must be like. To live life as an idol.
The man in front of you manages to mumble out a 'thanks’ in between eating and you assure him it’s no problem. In a moment of his looking away from you, you take in for a moment his features a bit more intricately. The bags under his eyes from restless nights and messy hair – the gray hoodie adorning him looking potentially slept in from the night before – and it’s a little charming. You know next to nothing about this man, but if there’s one thing you know, it’s that he works hard. Tirelessly. Selflessly. For the group of men he lovingly refers to as “the kids”.
“Can I ask you something? And you don’t have to answer if it’s too personal or anything,” you start suddenly, placing your chin in your palm and elbow on the table as you look across towards him. He stops eating, cocking an eyebrow inquisitively and hurries his chewing so that he can assess the question faster.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“Do you have a girlfriend? Well, or boyfriend, I guess, didn’t mean to assume anything—”
And Chan snorts, looking down towards the table and grinning – and for a moment you could swear that he almost looks…embarrassed. Sheepish. Shy.
“No,” he says, ever so slightly shaking his head in response as well before looking up at you through his eyelashes, and it’s truly as if he’s self-conscious about the fact. “No I do not. Kind of hard to meet someone in this line of work.”
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little taken aback – both by the fact that he answered the question at all, and by – well, everything else about the interaction.
“Surely that can’t be true, you’re surrounded by beautiful people everywhere.”
“You see, the thing about being surrounded by beautiful women,” Chan starts, shoveling some more noodles in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before finishing his thought, “is that they are also surrounded by beautiful men.”
The implication of his response sound insane to you. Is he really implying that he’s…not?
But Chan doesn’t give you time you think it out much further, starting up another thought. “The truth of the matter is that I’m just too busy,” he says, wiping his face and hands with a napkin, crumpling it, and placing it on the tray in front of him before sliding it just out of the way of your conversation.
“Most days I work about fourteen, maybe sixteen hours? And that’s everything: any filming, recording, then there’s the producing I do as well, plus I’m on the business end of a lot of the things that we get to do, and then when I come home I’m still sort of dad even though they are, of course, plenty capable of doing things for themselves, but it’s just the position I’ve taken on within the group…I don’t have the kind of time someone would deserve, y'know?”
“Yeah,” you respond fast enough to show acknowledgment, but his words run through your mind for much longer than that. A man that takes on so much more than the average idol.
You’d have been lying if you said you didn’t think he was sexier now. That’s a problem. Especially because the next question out of your mouth is extremely self-indulgent, and perhaps even gives you away.
A woman of stronger might may have been able to avert the trajectory of this scenario. That woman was not you.
“You don’t even have anyone you like…just, see?”
Chan looks up at you slowly now, eyebrows tensed slightly together – and it’s not anger, but curiosity to match your own. It’s sort of a playful smile that purses across his lips as you watch the thoughts bounce around his head in real time – holding your facial expression perfectly as to not give even more away than you already had. He has to be the one to speak next or it’s doomed.
“What do you mean?”
Fuck.
It’s not what you wanted, because now you have to speak more. It’s not even like you’re offering, or extending the invitation as it were, you’re just…curious. Innocently curious. Completely innocently curious about where his dick has been lately.
“Like, a friend…with benefits? I guess?”
The man in front of you holds fast, continuing to stare at you for a moment before cracking up a bit again and shaking his head just as he had the first time you asked him something that, to him, is completely absurd.
“No,” and you watch as he cocks his head to the side suddenly and smiles an awkward smile into the table – knowing that he’s about to admit something even more humiliating than he already had. “It’s been quite a long time since anything like that.”
Oh, now you’re really intrigued. So much so that the allure of playing coy is completely thrown out of the window. You have to know everything, and now.
“Oh my God, how long?” you ask quickly, jutting yourself forward toward him as if he’s some sort of exhibit on display for your viewing pleasure, and he pulls back suddenly, still laughing, but obviously absolutely beside himself in sheepishness. 
“Oh come on, really? Is it that hard to believe?”
“What!? Yes! Of course it is!”
“Why?”
“Because look at—”
It’s in that moment that you consider that this entire situation was a set up from the beginning, and not on your end. A sudden realization that all of the upper-hand you had thought that you had, never really existed at all. Had…Chan been playing you this whole time?
Chan sits back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and looks away with a smile, still shy, but obviously amused by the turn the situation had taken. Maybe it wasn’t a set up. Maybe it was just a happy little mistake.
“About three years, I just have other stuff going on, that’s all,” he finally responds to the originally intended question – before the derailment of what’s and why’s.
You choose not to respond, having already given far too much of yourself away to the discussion.
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When Moa from the creative direction department celebrates her 10th year with the company, the higher-ups green light a huge party for it, citing her relentless contributions, hard work and loyalty. It’s your first time attending one of these anniversary parties, but you’re assured that most of them are not like this.
It’s one of the few times that the idols and the office workers mingle much. Given Moa’s direct work with the talent in particular, it’s expected for them to be invited to such a gathering, and despite it taking place at the company building, dress code is (not so) strictly enforced and everyone is told to “dress nice,” a guideline that works better for some than for others. If honest, not even you are particularly sure what this means – stuck somewhere between completely formal and business-casual, you simply decide on the latter…more or less. Something similar to the usual just above the knee length dress you would wear to work, but more casual, and a blouse with a bit more sheer to it.
When you get back to the building, it’s well past typical closing hours but the sound of a party is easily heard from even the lowest level. Nine floors up, the elevator dings and you step out with a bottle of wine in one hand and your bag in another – plus your eye out for Chan, of course.
And that makes you feel a little bit silly, yes, because this being an after hours party doesn’t make the company policies any more suspended. They are still very much in place.
But still, the joys of flirting aren’t to be ignored, and no one better to do it with than him.
When you step in, you quickly notice a few of the twice ladies there – beautiful girls, glowing from all of the way across the room, and Chan standing with two of them in particular, looking especially cozy – and you do your best to ignore the ping of pain in your chest that you know without a doubt does not belong there. Chan looks over and makes eye contact with you and you both nod a silent hello, before making your way over to your colleague, and the table in which you are to leave your offering of wine.
It’s rather quick, much quicker than expected, that Chan catches up with you – as you’ve barely had time to say hello to Moa before he’s placing that sly hand on the small of your back and greeting the both of you. You watch the look on your colleagues face switch to one of confusion – wondering why one of the idols is getting so handsy with you, but she simply smiles and thanks you for coming.
You suspect in that moment, that the 'no dating the talent’ policy is one that is frequently disregarded.
The black haired man to your side pours you a drink, then pouring himself, and you take notice of the way he’s dressed for the occasion – just a nice button down shirt and some nicely fitted jeans – nothing fancy but he took a moment to step out of the sweats that he had probably been wearing for a few days straight by that point. Appreciated. Chan hands you a cup and raises it towards you just the slightest bit in cheers before taking a sip.
You catch the way his eyes linger on the silhouette of your waist and hips before pulling away in an effort to not be seen.
“Friend?” you say, nodding towards the girls that Chan had been talking to previously, and watch him in nearly a panic raise a hand up as if to swear upon something.
“We’re just friends.”
“That’s…what I said,” you respond, chuckling into your cup and shaking your head, “calm down, we’re friends, not married.”
“And I’m sure that’s devastating to you.”
The response fully takes you off guard, practically causing you to choke on the drink you had quite disastrously already taken into your mouth. You think of why he’d say this to you – as best as you can in only the few seconds you have to do so: he’s been there longer, is he drunk? Is he stupid? Is he insane?
“What?” you retort, looking at him with a face that one would surmise that they had grown an extra nose since the last time they had looked in the mirror. A look of absolute bewilderment.
“You were going to say I was handsome that one time, back at the cafeteria, don’t think I forgot,” Chan replies with a smug tone, as if winning some sort of battle that you hadn’t known about.
“Yeah that doesn’t mean I want to marry you, are you insane?”
“I was filling in the blanks, whatever,” he answers back, waving a hand about playfully and purposefully avoiding eye contact with you. It’s true that he might have had a few and that’s what had been causing him to be so bold, but he was very much aware of the game he was playing.
Two can play, you think to yourself.
“So am I to assume then that you wish to raise a family with me, with the way you were just checking me out only a moment ago?”
You watch Chan bite his bottom lip in an attempt to keep himself from smiling – knowing he’s caught – he looks down to the floor before looking over at you. “Ah, saw that, did you?”
“Yeah, not sure you could have made it any more obvious, actually.”
“Sorry about that,” he says, playfulness dropping from his tone slightly and replaced with seriousness. It catches you off guard, because wait, no, I like what we’re doing right now.
“You don’t have to – it’s fine,” you answer back hurriedly, to reassure him and try to bring the both of you back to a flirtatious place, but the look on Chan’s face is yet again another reminiscent of that day in the cafeteria.
All according to his plan. You’re right where he wanted you all along.
“So, you like it when I look at you then?” he says in a whisper, leaning over closer to you to assure that no one else will hear the conversation.
Now or never, shit or get off the pot.
You lean towards him, meeting him just about halfway to close the distance between the two of you, before turning your head to look at him and find your faces only mere centimeters from the other.
“That’s not all you can do.”
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Sneaking out of the party was the easy part, it was the finding a place where the two of you could be alone long enough to make anything happen that was the difficult part.
Ducking and weaving through hallways and doors – all led by Chan who had the better understanding of the area in which the two of you were now navigating, he dragged you around by the hand in an attempt to find a place that he could have you. Away from prying eyes. Just you and him. And from the grip he had on you, and the information he had divulged to you previously, his intent to completely devour you once the opportunity arose was ever present, and lended itself to a dull throb between your legs already – the man hadn’t even touched you yet.
“I know,” he whispers, darting around a corner and looking down a hallway to make sure that no one will spot you, “I have just the spot.”
“Ooh, so exciting,” you tease, but it’s only seconds later that Chan has his weight pressed against you, your back to the wall and chest to chest – lips just barely missing your own – and the bratty attitude is swept from you in an instant and replaced with unfathomable desire.
“Or I could just have you right here,” he whispers against your ear, hooking one of his hands up under your knee and granting his hips space between your legs against the wall – and you can already feel the tenting in his pants at simply the prospect of getting his dick wet again after so long.
It’s hard to tell him 'no’ to the idea, but thankfully you don’t have to, Chan knowing it being a poor one as he smiles and pulls himself off of you only to once again pull you towards an unidentified place that the man has mapped out in his mind.
You’re thankful that it’s only a few more twists and turns down halls before Chan looks around and opens a door to a room, hurrying you inside of it and closing it behind with a 'clink’ sound of the lock. the room is pitch black in darkness and Chan had already let go of you once ushering you into the doorway, but it’s not long before you feel his essence – the feeling of his hands softly grazing your hips and causing the fabric to bunch up at your lower back as his hands slide in the direction. Your behind meets a table at his insistence in pushing you only a couple of steps towards it, and the mans hands creep back down to the outsides of your thighs, only to slide up again and hoist you onto the table.
Chan hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties, and it’s the first time that he finally, after what feels like a fucking eternity, presses his mouth against your own. Kisses that at first start out gentle and experimental, quickly devolve into needy and sloppy – and mostly from his end. It’s easy to tell that he is quickly becoming unraveled, and the thought of it only intensifies the dull ache already present between your legs. Slowly pulling the fabric from your legs, he carefully pries them open by the knees and settles himself between – pulling your body as flush as possible into his as he kisses deeper, harder into your mouth. An attempt to taste every bit of you that he can, no doubt, and the absolutely intoxicating feeling of unbridled desire for you making your head spin. Chan was losing himself in you, and quickly.
It had been a long time, and he was going to ruin you.
Pressing one hand up against your face, fingers slightly woven into your hair to pull you harder into his mouth, the other hand quickly dips down in the space between himself, and the apex of your thighs. One, lone, fingertip gently pressing against your folds and it’s not only the whimper that escapes your lips and is quickly swallowed by him that makes him grin, but the physical desire for him dripping from you, as well.
“Good to know I wasn’t the only one dying for it,” he whispers into your lips as he begins slow circles right above your clit. “You might not walk out of here when I’m finished with you.”
The words cause an involuntary reaction, that surely he’d have felt had he been inside of you already, and you’re sort of glad he isn’t just for the sake of being able to get away with how absolutely, catastrophically, horny just the idea of it was making you.
And bless his heart, the fact that he’s only able to make a few circles into your pussy by hand before he’s pawing at the front of his own pants in an attempt to free himself and finally have what he’s been wanting all this time. He makes quick work of his confines for a man not necessarily practiced in the arts of having a quick fuck in a dark office, so it’s impressive – almost as impressive as what he has to show for himself when he pulls his length from his boxer briefs.
Chan’s kisses get sloppier by the second now as you feel him lazily stroking himself by hand against your sopping wet pussy, the head of his cock prodding between your folds and up against the entrance to your cunt as he shallowly presses into you, but never enough to enter much at all, and you don’t want to beg for it – well, you do – but you won’t. Maybe.
“Do you have a condom?” you finally whisper, pushing to the side one of the computer mice to illuminate the room slightly with a turned on monitor screen.
“No,” he responds, peppering kisses along your jaw, but pulling back his hips from you just slightly.
“Okay.”
“Should I stop?”
“I said 'okay.'”
“Yeah but you said it as like, an acknowledgment.”
“Chris, I said okay!”
“Okay, okay!”
It feels almost like a brutal display of force, the way he digs fingers into your thighs from the underside and pulls your hips towards his – the edge of your ass just barely hanging onto the edge of the table as Chan lines the head of his cock up with you and not-as-slowly-as-he-probably-should presses in – one arm wrapped around your waist for leverage and the other hand placed firmly onto the table – it makes your head spin, the burning stretch of him forcing  your body to accommodate his, all the while kissing you deeply, passionately. The juxtaposition of Chan’s primal urges, his innate desire to have you, to be inside of you, to fuck you, compared to the whimpers that drop from his mouth at the way you’re so snug around his length, so warm and wet – a feeling he had almost completely forgotten in all of the time he hadn’t had it. So enveloping and all consuming in the moment.
When Chan finally bottoms out inside of you, it’s a hiss of “fuck, so tight,” and in your mind you think that it could be that, or combined with his substantial girth – the way you can feel every wall and muscle inside of you tugged and pushed with every movement he makes within you even in spite of your wetness. You don’t care to understand the how’s or the why’s necessarily – it doesn’t matter – what matters, is that you might be close already just from the way his cock relentlessly pulls at your g-spot with every motion, but you’re thankful when Chan seemingly begins to lose the will to be kind with his motions, and instead chooses to chase his own high with abandon – as thankfully for you, it’s precisely what you need to get there.
Chan brings a hand up, pushing you to lean back on your own elbows in an almost lying position now, hooking his hand under your shoulder for leverage to pull your body down and onto his cock harder. He’s losing himself in the moment, in your body, and it feels good watching him do it. Listening to, and now with the smallest amount of light in the room – watching him pant and grit his teeth at every throb and squeeze of your walls around him – nothing was sexier than a man fully lost in the moment of desiring you, and Chan was fully lost – the only thing bringing him back now, was the crash of his peak, which you are happy to accommodate, of course.
But as much as you were enjoying the show, his relentless fucking into you quickly brought you towards your own peak, where normally you were able to meet him with playful comments now the only sounds dropping from you pathetic whimpers and cusses – and his name, of course, which met you with a particular crash of his hips and a growl through gritted teeth.
“F-feel so good,” you whine, feeling the beginnings of your muscles tightening and knowing that he can feel the same with the way his eyebrows furrow tightly and his button lip pulls between teeth. Chan hisses at the feeling of your impending orgasm and the look on his face – beautiful brown eyes up through eyelashes and a weakened state, Chan is almost disappointed – knowing that your orgasm will inevitably be his own downfall, as well.
“Close?” he responds, knowing the answer, and you nod – allowing your head to drop back, only for Chan to pull you back to look towards him, pressing his forehead to your own as he continues his relentless pace into you. “Where do you want it?”
“In-insi—” you whimper again, unable to even finish the word. Chan takes the time to drag kisses down your lips, to your jaw, and it’s that moment that you truly break any sanity that he had maintained through the encounter.
“You w-wanted me, so have me.”
You know that he knows it’s in reference to his coming inside of you, that the distinction doesn’t have to be made in the moment, and it’s all in good fun, of course, driving him absolutely mad with only a few words. That’s the joy of it, after all.
The effect is immediate, as expected, as Chan pulls you tight into him and fucks into you at a relentless pace, chasing his orgasm without any other single thought occupying space in his mind. The only thing he can think about now is filling you with his cum, and that’s all by design, of course.
Luckily, the angle at which he has you immovable is one that works exquisitely well for you, rubbing at your g-spot and pulling at your clit in just the right ways that you’re babbling and on the brink of tears in orgasm well before even he is. A chant of asking you to come for him, come on him, and you’re gripping down and attempting not to cry out at the waves of release crashing over you – Chan fucking you all of the way through it before he finally reaches his own right after you – painting your walls with his cum and continuing to fuck his release into you, albeit gently, even well after he finishes and begins to soften inside of you.
It’s a long few minutes before he pulls away from you – out of you, gently tucking his overstimulated cock back into his clothing with a wince and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand before bending down and helping pull your panties back up your legs and into place.
Chan stays there, nestled between your legs and on his knees, arms crossed with elbows anchoring him on either side of your knee as he gazes up in awe at your beautifully fucked out state of being. For a moment, it’s hard to even imagine the same man being that animalistic, that primal, as he just was only a few minutes before.
But duality is sexy, after all.
“You’ll have to let me do a better job next time,” he smiles innocently from between your knees, head slightly cocked to the side.
There’s a lot of good things packed into that one, extremely short sentence, but figure you’ll address the most pressing of them first.
“A better job…?” you ask, intrigued.
“Yeah,” he replies, pulling his arms back and gently prying your legs apart again to make space for him to press kisses to the inside of your thigh, and you hate the way it’s already making you hot for him again.
“There’s so much more I’m going to do to you.”
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♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.
—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.
2K notes · View notes
jakexneytiri · 1 year
Note
hi! I noticed ur response to my request just now!
I was wondering if u could still do that request? I can be more specific tho!! something more angsty like y/n feels like a bad mom and she starts crying. also u can include the nighttime and the baby won’t sleep and they’re struggling a lot as new parents <3 so neteyam let’s y/n sleep in the next morning and talks to the baby super cutely? tysm I love ur stuff❤️❤️❤️
heck yeah! ofc i can :)
⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰
neteyam is cleaning up from dinner as you’re attempting to feed your son for the final time tonight. however, your son refuses to latch. he begins to grow fussy, arms and legs jolting around as he squirms in your arms. tears begin to prick your eyes, as your breasts grow uncomfortable, weighing down your chest from the excess of milk building up.
“come on, tsantu.” you coo, gently bouncing your newborn. “drink for mama.” you guide his lips to your nipple once more, hoping he’ll finally latch.
only he doesn’t. instead, he turns his head aside, and begins to wail.
“shh shhhh shhhh, don’t cry.” you hush him, rocking his small frame back and forth.
his cries grow louder as neteyam walks over, a cloth draped over his shoulder. holding his hands out towards you, he asks “want me to take him?”
your lower lip quivers as you look up at your mate. “he-he won’t eat, i don’t know what to do! i can’t not feed him, ‘teyam. but he won’t eat! w-why won’t he eat?” tears are streaming down your cheeks now, crying along with your son.
neteyam sighs. he feels awful, helpless even. he knows everything he’s feeling, you’re feeling twice as much, if not more. “let me take him. when he calms down, you can try again. okay?”
you blink more tears away as you hand your son off to your mate. “i’m s-sorry, ‘t-teyam. i’m an awful mother.” you bury your face in your hands, tears falling harder now as you break down.
neteyam is bouncing your newborn in his arms, gently patting his back.
“my love.” he kneels beside you, one hand reaching out to tuck your fallen braid behind your ear. “you are the most wonderful mother. you’re learning, no one gets everything right the first try. we’re learning, together. right? you and me? i’m right beside you, every step of the way. we will figure this out, together.”
you meet your mates gaze with tear-filled eyes. “together.” you agree, as he places a soft kiss to your lips.
you hadn’t noticed at first, but while neteyam was soothing you with his reassuring words, tsantu had stopped crying.
“ready to try again?” neteyam asks, waiting for your consent before handing your son back.
you take a deep breath in, as neteyam sits beside you. one of his hands cradles tsantu’s head, while the other wraps around you, rubbing your back gently.
“take your time.” he says softly, kissing the top of your head.
you give your mate a half smile before pulling tsantu close, leaving just enough room between him and your breast. you lean forward slightly, your nipple just grazing your son’s lips. he turns his head, opening his mouth to finally latch.
you turn to look at your mate, relief washing over you as you both watch him feed. neteyam continues to rub small circles in your back, kissing the top of your head every now and then. “you’re doing great, mama.”
once tsantu is finished feeding, neteyam carefully scoops him up in his arms. “i will put him to bed. lay back, relax, please. get some sleep, my love.” he plants a kiss to your forehead, thumb brushing your cheek as he helps you lay back.
your eyelids immediately droop, exhaustion setting in. you curl up on your mat for the night, taking only a few moments to fall asleep.
neteyam gives you a half smile, before turning his attention back to tsantu, who is also asleep now. he settles his small body in between the two of you, as he lays down for the night.
“goodnight, my loves…” he kisses both of your foreheads, before making himself comfortable.
⋆。 ゚ ☁︎。⋆。 ゚ ☾ ゚ 。⋆⋆。 ゚ ☁︎。⋆。 ゚ ☾ ゚ 。⋆⋆。 ゚ ☁︎。⋆。 ゚ ☾ ゚ 。⋆
after a few peaceful hours of uninterrupted sleep, tsantu wakes. it starts off as innocent babbles, but they grow louder. soon, the babbles turn into cries.
you sit up, yawning as your eyelids are half open. neteyam wakes too, rubbing his eyes. both of you are exhausted, having barely gotten any sleep. neteyam goes to pick up your son, cradling him in his arms before handing him off to you.
you shift the feathers that are draped over your chest, moving them aside to free your nipple. tsantu is quick to latch, his plump lips immediately drawn to your breast as he feeds.
when he finishes, his lips fall from your nipple, heavy lids drooping as he falls asleep within minutes. neteyam takes him from your grasp, cradling him in between your bodies. his thumb rubs your cheek gently, as he gazes over your sleepy form. “get some sleep, beautiful. i love you.”
your hand reaches up to cover his, as you close your eyes. “mmm…iloveyoumore…” you mumble, falling back asleep.
⋆。 ゚ ☁︎。⋆。 ゚ ☾ ゚ 。⋆⋆。 ゚ ☁︎。⋆。 ゚ ☾ ゚ 。⋆⋆。 ゚ ☁︎。⋆。 ゚ ☾ ゚ 。⋆
tsantu is first to wake, naturally. his babbles growing loud enough for neteyam to hear, rousing him from his sleep.
“what’s that, my little warrior? hm?” he gently picks tsantu up, planting a kiss to your forehead before walking him over to the front of your marui. neteyam grabs the sling you both use to hold tsantu to your chest. carefully, he slips tsantu’s tiny arms and legs through the sling.
tsantu kicks and pats his hands against neteyam’s chest, babbling happily.
“oh, is that so?” neteyam asks, like he understands exactly what tsantu is saying. tsantu giggles, squealing happily as his tiny hands hit neteyam’s chest.
“you love mama? i love mama too.” he glances over at you, sleeping soundly on your shared mat. “how about we cut some fruits for her to have when she wakes, hm?”
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yok00k · 3 months
Text
telepatía
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pairing: idol!jk x model!oc
genre: fluff!
“a kilómetros estamos conectando”
—synopsis: when you’re getting ready for a party and jungkook, who’s thousands kilometers away from you, wants to video call.
word count: 1,082
warning: ldr, they’re disguisingly so cute, the word “baby” was said for about 1 million times it’s sickening, different timezones, oc dress in front of jk, mention of insomnia, anxiety, stress, mention of an uncomfy situation of oc where other men were being men, protective jk (this jk is not a manipulator, trust), 1st person pov(im so sorry)
author’s note: my second drabble/fluff!!! this was shorter than I wanted it to be but there will be few (idk how many, it depends to the future me) series of idol!jk x model!oc. <the meaning of ‘mahal ko’ means ‘my love’ in filipino>
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Taking a cold shower after having an intense leg day plus cardio at the gym hits so different. I feel like a brand new person after getting out of my bathroom. I then settle down in front of my vanity table and begin doing my skin care + makeup. As I finished a smooth base of foundation, my phone vibrated.
2 messages received from
mahal ko🐰🤍
|| hey baby
|| can we facetime plz? wanna see u
[10:33 pm]
his text was unanticipated at this hour since it’s 5 am in Korea.
me
|| sure bb
[10:34 pm]
mahal ko wants to facetime
drop everything i have with my hands, i swiftly hit the green button, eagerly to see and hear his voice. we’re mostly texting these days because of having different time zones and working schedules to follow. Oftentimes when he’s free and wants to facetime me, I would be either at work or sleeping and vice versa.
“hi pretty!!” he cheerfully greeted me as my phone screen revealed his cute sleepy face. As usual, he’s wearing one of the eight Supreme beanies i got for him when I was in Tokyo. [side story: i was just strolling in the streets of Harajuku when i found this one clothing store that has a lot of stuffs i know jungkook would like and that’s when i bought those comfy beanies along with other nice things]^_^
“helloo, my ggukie can't sleep?” i asked while finding something i can lean my phone on so that i can continue doing my makeup
“응.. i'm trying to sleep but can’t.“ he simply explained as he placed his phone on the side of his bed, moving his naked body to a more comfortable lying position. His arm filled with cool, artistic tattoos is out and on sight, while his other arm were covered with the thick white comforter, so as his entire body.
“What's been going on in your mind?” I know that something is bothering him at times like this. i get that having the job and lifestyle he has, isn’t merely easy. the pressure, the media, the fans, everything. But although he deals with all these things, I never once heard him complain about them because he knows that that’s what he signed up for the day he chose to pursue being an idol.
“Just been stressed lately with rehearsals and I'm still jet lagged, maybe I have insomnia? ‘m not sure but it’s driving me crazy. now i get what u mean when u say ur body is tired and ready to sleep but ur mind isn’t.” he further describes how he feels. The worry and anxiety is written in his facial expression.
“my poor kookie you could’ve call me earlier and i would help you to fall asleep”
“but you were at the gym. i know you like blasting reggaeton music while working out.” he pouty responds. well, in his defense he’s right. I love that he remembers small details about me but nothing can top my love for him.
“i do that but I prefer listening to my boyfriend’s angelic voice while working out so that i’ll have motivation to do more reps.” replied to him right off the bat. realistically i meant what i said. I usually don’t like talking to people when doing workouts but he is an exception.
I received no words but a soft laugh. He must have thought I was kidding. I took a glance at him before I put lipgloss on[his favorite shade].
i can see him covering the blush he has all over his face. i'm very glad to see him having relief.
‘’Where is my pretty girl up to? hmm?” he curiously asks as i put highlights as my last step to finish up the look
“just going to the club for Sakura’s birthday party, i'm running out of social energy almost every day because of work and parties but I can't miss this event” I explained as I headed over to my walk-in closet.
“hmm ‘kay tell her i said happy birthday. what are you gonna wear?”
“well i'm debating on wearing a black leather mini skirt with this asymmetrical black top and for shoes i have this black knee high boots or i just go with this simple black mini backless dress with these red bottoms high heels” i say as i show him all the clothes. he and I almost have the same taste in fashion. if we were to combine all of our clothes, they are pretty much all black. whenever it’s shoes, jackets, tops, pants, etc. this is why buying clothes for one another isn’t difficult for us.
“What did I tell you about mini skirts bb?” oh. i forgot that he allows me to wear mini skirts unless i’m with him since an incident happened when i was in the club and random guys were making me so uncomfortable by giving disguising lust looks and nastily commenting on my skirts. Although he and I know that no matter what a girl wears, guys in the clubs will act like animals regardless. He told me to not wear it because he’s controlling me but rather because he won’t be there to protect me if something happens.
“ok then the second choice it is” i confirmed, putting the first outfit choice back to where they belong.
“how about you wear that mini skirt when we go on a date? how’s that sound?” he suggests.
“ok then ggukie”
“dress in front of me?” he boyishly asks, using his deep alluring voice. He definitely knows what he’s doing. How can I say no to him?
After dressing, I proceeded to put on the Cartier necklace with his initials in it that he gifted to me when he first came to visit my penthouse in Chicago.
“still have my oversized leather jacket with you?” he inquire before he yawned
“yupp, why?” I curiously asked
“bring it with you please. i don’t want you getting cold in there” he softly requested. him and his simple gestures make me fall in love with him deeper.
“i will baby thank you”
“i love you ___, don’t look at other men” jk murmur jokingly. Well, I hope he said that in a humorous way for the reason that I assure him with my sincere words almost every hour.
“ I love you more gguk i’ll update you ok?” he just hums, waving his hands leisurely to say goodbye.
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