#DO NOT!!!!!! ABANDON!!!!!!!!! YOUR GONS!!!!!!!!!!! >:(

[dragontamer05]

I love how Gon just wants to know about Ging/his dad. Wants him to meet his friends / his friends to meet him

Boy is confident his dad had to have his reasons for just leaving him with his Aunt and holds 0 resentment.

--

Then you have Ed who wants nothing to do with Hownhiem- who did have a very valid reason for leaving and clearly wasn't an easy choice to make.

(I mean I fully believe by the end a part of him no matter how angry and frustrated does care for his dad. Even if he never can bring himself to forgive him for leaving)

Ed has no desire to even try seeking out their dad, not even to find out if he's alive or dead.

[corvidcrossbow]

~•♡•~ I Like It Long

➳ Summary: While out on a run, you and Michonne start lightly teasing Daryl for having his hair grown out. But there's a hidden reason as to why he won't cut it. (Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Setting: Alexandria, post Savior war

➳ Word count: 1.4k

➳ C/W: Just smut n hair pulling

➳ A/N: This spawned from me writing the context plot of another fic and I was like… wait (And thank yall for the attention on that Mother's Day post??? Yall are so sweet 😭🫶)

My hair is really similar to Daryl's when it's partially or almost dry and it's actually my favorite thing about myself like xbsosjdjdneisnsiasjebeiisjabajissn

You loudly banged your forearm against the glass door of a long abandoned drug store, not hearing any noise inside. Vines and weeds had grown through cracks in the concrete, winding up the sides of the building.

“Sounds pretty clear,” You shrugged, holstering your bow and opting for hand-held blades as Michonne pulled open the handle. You, her, and Daryl were clearing through a nearby town while out on a supply run, opting to make quick work of the task in favor of getting home.

You three entered the building, keeping your guard up in case of any straggling walkers that weren't roused by the initial attempts to lure them towards you. The interior wasn't large, so you could comfortably split off from each other and still be close.

“Seems mostly ransacked. Not much left,” Michonne commented, katana lowered but out in front of her. This had begun to grow repetitive and boring, energy matching the grayness of the lighting.

She took a pair of hair cutting shears off the shelf in front of her, holding them up to your gaze a few isles over. “Think he could use these?” She asked as a smile played the edges of her mouth, nodding back towards Daryl, looking for mischief. His hair had grown quite long over the course of the last two years, the tawny blond darkening into a rich brown, accompanied by a shaggy cut.

“Oh definitely. Jus’ gotta determine which onna us can hold him down long enough to cut it,” You replied with a chuckle, eyes following hers to where the archer stood at the endcap of another lane.

“Shuddup, will ya?” Daryl scoffed, shaking his head with grunt. His gaze didn't break from the advertisement in front of him, trying to ignore your antics. “Ts'fine.”

“Gotta make use of whatever supplies we find, no?” You continued your teasing, trying to hide the grin on your face at his reaction. “You were sweatin’ like a pig all summer, hair tangled all over yer face ‘n what not. When was the last time you cut it?”

“Don’ kno’, don’ care,” He grumbled, and you eyed Michonne again. It's definitely been since the prison, at least. He moved on from the stand. “Plus, winter up ‘ere's gon be colder. Will keep me warm.”

“Daryl, you're ‘bout the only one who didn't freshen up since we got to Alexandria. Don't you at least want a trim?” Michonne pestered, raising her eyebrows at him and shifting her weight to one leg. “You remember Rick's whole hobo-beard.”

“Ain't got no ‘hobo-beard’.”

“But you do look like the only ‘scissors’ you know is the recently searched on your go to porn site,” Michonne chaffed, barely able to contain herself.

Daryl froze for just a second, face flushing as his head whipped to stare back at her. And you two burst out laughing, to which his expression soured.

“Give it up, alrigh’?! Ain't nothin’ wrong with mah hair!” He snapped, accent thick with embarrassment, bowing his head slightly in an effort to obscure it. He readjusted his hold on his crossbow. “Gon shoot tha botha ya.”

“Ay, ay! Jus’ sayin’. Rick scrapped the beard and… maybe you'll finally get some play too,” She winked, followed by a lighthearted snicker.

Daryl groaned again and rolled his eyes, beginning to walk off, but caught your gaze for just a second.

It's not that he didn't want to cut his hair - he didn't care about it – but he wasn't really allowed to either way. There was one major, sexy, moaning reason he didn't cut his hair.

❥-》》—————➣

“Oh, god, Daryl! Fuck! Don't stop… god don't stop,” You cried out, hands clutching his shoulders as your nails began to dig into his flesh. His grip on your hips was bruising, keeping you steady as he pounded up into you at a relentless pace. That grip was the sole thing grounding you in the reality of the present moment.

“Ain't gon stop,” He affirmed, voice gravelly. You moaned wildly, head weakly falling to his chest with exacerbated breaths, his own heaving against your temple. He leaned closer when he could, harshly sucking at your clavicle and boobs, leaving behind a litter of hickeys and little bites that colored you in reds and purples.

The springs of the bed beneath you sounded like they were gonna fold in on themselves, headboard sporadically banging against the wall as Daryl shifted down a little to hit into you at an angle, your clit brushing against him with each thrust. Your back arched overtop of him, shoving his dick into your belly.

“Baby, please… fhuuuckkkk.” You couldn't even think, every thought consumed by the feeling of him. The way he just destroyed you like it's an art he'd mastered, tip brushing against every sweet and sensitive spot inside you, walls desperately trying to cling on, balls hitting up against you, clit grinding on him, slickness coating his pelvis and your inner thighs, his clutch on you just so fucking strong.

You pulled yourself together, lifting your head to see him. His long hair was dark and dampened with sweat, matting up as it stuck to his forehead, obscuring part of his vision. But he was too focused on using you to fix it, didn't dare to remove his hands unless God willed him to.

You moved up, swiping it away, and his blue eyes instantly connected with yours, pupils blown with lust. He (somehow) sped up, starting to slam your hips up and down to meet him instead of just keeping them stationary, now just beating your cunt.

“Tha's it girl. Jus’ keep takin’ me good like tha’.”

His words made you shiver, and you partially fell forward again, nestling your face beside his and snaking an arm behind his head. Your fingers weaved through his messy hair, tangling at the scalp, then tugging harshly as another wave of pleasure ripped through you.

And he whined. There it is. His breathy gasps and grunts mingled with strained whines, and whimpers, as you pulled tighter and tighter at the roots of his locks. His face contorted, eyes nearly squeezing shut, that one vein bulging from his neck, directly on the verge of so much.

“Daryl… inside.., Dar-” You panted, cut off as everything went white and you hit your peak. Your whole body felt electrified, tensing, twitching, walls spasming, toes curling and claws clinging to his frame.

Daryl tipped over the edge almost immediately after, having just been waiting for you to cum first. He desperately pumped into you a few more times, before curving up once more and simultaneously ramming you down as he came deep in you, the warmth of his release spreading through your core, and he threw his head back with ragged breaths.

You were both left a sweaty mess, gasping for oxygen, feeling full and satisfied. Your muscles couldn't keep you up, and you collapsed onto him, loosening your hold at his scalp, his hold on your hips doing the same.

He recovered a bit quicker than you, bringing a hand up and brushing your own messy hair away the second he had the energy to do so.

“Ya alrigh’, sunshine?” He asked between hitches, hoping he hadn't been too rough. He soothingly rubbed his palm over the curve of your body where bruises were sure to form.

You nodded faintly, moving your head so you could breathe better, and you could feel him relax beneath you from the reassurance. He held you tenderly for a while, giving you time to regain your composure. Your eyes were closed in bliss. Few things beat the feeling of Daryl under you, rising and falling with his torso, hearing his low humming as he steadied himself – his softening cock still buried deep inside you, cum ever so surely beginning to dribble down.

You lazily remained in his arms, not wanting to deal with getting up, or the shower you two definitely needed. You took a strand of his hair, affectionately curling it around your finger like a tendril, then letting it go and repeating.

“Ya actually want me tah cut ma hair?” He eventually asked, thinking back to your light mocking from earlier, how you'd laughed as Michonne layered it on. It didn't matter much to him, he'd do whatever pleased you.

“Fuck no. Was just messin’ with you, Dixon,” You replied, kissing the skin of his collarbone right below you, and moving up to find his lips. “You know I like it long.”

The long hair suited him, he looked good with it. You loved to wash and play with it, brush and braid it while he laid in your lap. But mainly, it was easy to grab at, pull on – and close to nothing in existence sounded better than those whines and whimpers every time you did so.

©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.

[7s3ven]

Sex pollen w/ Simon Riley

Notes: MDNI, fem! reader, mature content, this is lowkey freaky (had this idea for a while), consensual, ghost x reader, tf 141 x reader, the rest of tf 141 are listening, y’all are in a warehouse but nobody’s there, sex pollen, reader isn’t part of tf 141 but working with them, reader has hair, make out, ghost and reader kinda switch who’s in charge, cussing

- You were starting to hate the unpredictable nature of the world. New plants were popping up everywhere, including a natural aphrodisiac that was apparently 10x stronger than those chocolates everybody raved about

- Jonny laughed at the thought of such a strong plant. “Ay, does that mean we gon’ a have ta fuck each other if we come in contact with it?” He laughs at his joke, not at all meaning it. You see Gaz’s face scrunch up in disgust

- You weren’t officially part of Task Force 141. You were merely asset, an extra pair of hands given to the unit to help with this specific mission

- “You think that sex pollen stuff is actually real?” You ask as you walk alongside Ghost, gun strapped to your back. The mission was a success. The harder part was regrouping with the rest of TF 141

- You and Ghost had been split from them and currently, the hints they were giving to you about their location were not helping in the slightest

- “Nah, load of bullshit.” Ghost replies. He wishes he could take his words back when he accidentally steps on an unknown plant, sending a puff of yellow pollen into the air

- Even through the masks, you both unintentionally inhale it. You cough, your nose stinging. Your body suddenly feels unusually heavy and… hot. There’s a pit in your stomach as you realise what Ghost stepped on. He seems to realize it too

- “Load of bullshit, you said?” You mock him. He sends you a glare, not appreciating your sarcasm.

- “L/N, Ghost, do you read?” You can hear Price’s voice as clear as day through your comm.

- “Yes, sir.” You reply since Ghost seems to be having a hard time maintaining his cool. “But we were exposed to the pollen. What are your orders, sir?”

- It takes Price half a beat to answer but that’s enough time for Ghost to grab your wrist and tug you into a nearby abandoned warehouse

- You squeak as he pushes you down. He’s trying his best to control his himself as he removes his vest from his sweating body. His actions have your mouth dry

- “Stay put, the both of ya. We’ll call a medic and find you.” Price says, oblivious to how you’re currently eyeing up his soldier.

- “Yes, sir.” You turn your comm off. “Ghost, you good?” He’s flushed but you aren’t in any better condition

- “Fucking hurts.” He mutters. He’s an inch away from you, his strong cologne washing over you. You press your thighs together, shuddering

- There’s a minute of silence as you curl yourself into a ball, almost trying to distance yourself from Ghost. He’s panting heavily, biting down on his gloved fingers to push away his thoughts

- And when you can’t handle it anymore, you pounce. You still have some dignity left as you hold his shoulders. “You sure?” You carefully ask. Ghost silently nods

- His hands rest heavily on your hips as he drags you back and forth, finally creating some friction that has you tilting your head back in relief

- But it’s not enough. You’re now lying face down, ass up, as Ghost ruts into you from behind, fingers sure to leave bruises on your soft skin. He’s hitting all the right spots and all you can do is quietly mewl

- Ghost grabs you by the hair, pulling you up until you’re pressed against him. Your knees ache from digging into the rough dirt below but you pay it no mind

- The pathetic noises the both of you, yours substantially louder, echo around the empty warehouse. You tilt your head back, unintentionally giving Ghost full access to your neck

- He leans his head down, nuzzling his masked face in the crook of your neck. His hands run down your body until they rest on your thighs, prying them open

- You’re grinding against the palm of his hand, small yet high-pitched huffs slipping past your lips

- And then your comm makes a noise. Ghost hears it too but he doesn’t slow down. “Do ya two know we can hear ya?” It’s Jonny speaking, his thick Scottish accent making it hard to understand his words

- As much as you want to actually turn off your comm this time, something prevents you from doing so. You tighten around Ghost at the mere thought of his teammates hearing what you’re doing

- “Think she likes it.” Ghost shamelessly tells his team

- “What position have yer got her in, Ghost?” You’re surprised Price isn’t yelling at the two of you. Instead, he plays along. Ghost shoves you back down and you narrowly avoid getting a mouthful of dirt

- “Put her back in doggy, Captain.” Ghost is speaking casually as if he’s not blowing your back out right now

- You whine, back arching at his hard thrusts. Beads of sweat run down your neck, a side effect of the pollen

- Ghost’s quiet grunts escalate in volume and the sound of such noises spurs you on

- You don’t have time to react until Ghost is turning you over, throwing your legs over his shoulders with ease. His large hands grip your shoulders as he lowers his head. You quickly slip his mask half up, eagerly pressing your lips against his

- It’s an intense kiss. There’s still a string of saliva that connects you when he pulls back. His hands trail down, stopping at your chest

- You almost forget the rest of Task Force 141 can hear you. Almost. “She come yet?” Jonny asks. Gaz is unusually silent but you can hear his heavy breathing as he listens

- “Not yet.” Ghost answers, “Probably almost there, though. Can feel it.”

- “Should make her ride you.” Gaz finally speaks up. He laughs, fully meaning it as a teasing comment but Ghost halts

- “Captain, your orders?” Ghost asks. You pout, bucking your hips up. Ghost stills you

- “What Gaz said.” Price answers, “Make her do the work.”

- You can only squeal as Ghost switches the position for the third or fourth time. You’re on top of him again but Ghost isn’t doing anything

- You crease your eyebrows in annoyance before rocking back and forth without his assistance. It’s an agonising slow pace but once you find your rhythm, you speed up

- You throw your head back, caught up in the moment. Ghost’s grunts are growing louder by the minute, which only fuels you. This time, you’re the one leaning down, tongue running over Ghost’s exposed neck

- It desperate and somewhat pathetic and… hot? The two of you are going at it like there’s no tomorrow. Like rabbits or animals in heat

- You pant, back arching even more. Your eyes are rolling back as Ghost finally helps you. You can’t help yourself from sinking your teeth into his shoulder, biting down hard. You think Ghost likes it when he loudly grunts, hips harshly bucking up

- You’re nearing your release, you can feel it. It’s so close. Your movements are sloppy as you grow more tired and Ghost decides to take over again

- You’re drooling, saliva leaking out of your mouth and landing on Ghost’s chest. He doesn’t complain, only picking up his pace. Your tongue is lolling around and you no longer have control over your limbs

- “Practically going cross-eyed.” He says, though you don’t know if he’s talking to you or his teammates

- You know it’s over when Ghost’s lips wrap around one of your nipples. You’re practically sobbing as the coil inside your stomach snaps, your fluids staining the dirt below

- Ghost keeps going and you gladly take it. Your hands rest on his chest for support as he closes his eyes in bliss. He finishes not too long after you but there’s a mutual understanding that you both need more

- “Fucking like rabbits in heat, ay?” Jonny speaks, chuckling

- It’s filthy as you and Ghost try to rid your senses of the pollen. You’re humping him as he tries to catch his breath. His lungs are telling him to rest but the rest of his body disagrees

- It takes three rounds until the both of you are back to normal. You’re lying on Ghost, panting. His arms are wrapped around your waist, keeping you grounded

- “You two done?” Price asks, but there’s a strain in his voice

- You and Ghost scramble to pick up your discarded clothes, quickly getting dressed

- You regroup with Price, Jonny, and Gaz with hot cheeks. And as you climb back into the car that Ghost is unfortunately driving, you don’t miss the way they all eye you

[strangerexee]

Okay so I was thinking about Bo Chow like usual but like just imagine if you’ve been trying to find husband for years now and nothing has changed, being dumped left and right and ultimately abandoned, because you grew up with the twins and so the few eligible men, don’t want much to do with you, but Bo does and he’s been pursing your forever, always making promises to marry you, but what if you take him serious one day?

ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀʀʀʏ ʏᴏᴜ | ʙᴏ ᴄʜᴏᴡ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝚂𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒, 1932 𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝙱𝚘 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚠 (𝙴𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 | 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 | 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 | 𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎 | 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚢 | 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗 | 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ : ᴀɴᴏɴ…ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋ ᴜᴘ ɴᴏᴡ!

ᴡᴄ : 1.6ᴋ

You’d been trying to find a husband for years now. It was embarrassing, honestly…

And not just trying. Not flirting here and there or batting your lashes at the Sunday socials. You’d prayed. You’d fasted. You’d begged God, begged the moon, begged your own reflection for someone who’d take you seriously. For someone who’d take you home.

But all you’d gotten was abandonment.

Not once. Not twice. But over and over.

Same story every time — they’d look at you, smile at first, then freeze when they remembered. Remembered that you were the girl who ran wild with The Moore twins. Smoke and Stack. The trouble boys with blood on their boots and hearts that didn’t work right. They’d say your name like it had something dirty attached to it. Like it was too close to theirs.

You didn’t sleep with both of them.

Not at the same time, not even back-to-back.

But what folks thought…was enough.

And so every man who took you out once, never came back for seconds.

Except Bo Chow.

Bo owned the only real grocer in town.

Right off Main, past the post office, across from Grace’s white grocer shop. His store was never quiet — he ran it like clockwork. He knew how much flour was on the shelf before he turned the key in the front door. He had a head for numbers, a body made for lifting sacks of rice and crates of apples, and a voice that made you forget what time it was.

He’d been in town almost his whole life now.

Long enough to earn a grudging respect from the older men and more than a few stares from women who never bought groceries until he was behind the counter. Long enough for everyone to know that when he said he was gonna do something — he did it.

Which made it all the more confusing that for years, Bo Chow had been telling people he was gonna marry you.

“Y’all hear Bo Chow said he gon’ wife that girl?”

“The one that was always at that Moore house?”

“Lord have mercy, he must be lonely.”

It started out as gossip.

Then a punchline.

Then a…rumor with weight.

He’d say it like it was nothing. Casually, while weighing out pecans. While handing you exact change. While handing you your groceries and brushing his thumb over your wrist longer than he needed to.

“Don’t let nobody waste your time,” he’d say with those dark eyes low on you. “Told you I’d marry you, didn’t I?” He’d brush his thumb over your bottom lip.

You’d roll your eyes. Smile like it was a joke.

But it never sounded like one.

One morning, after another man — a preacher’s son — dropped you with no warning, saying his mother “had concerns,” you found yourself standing outside Bo’s store, holding nothing but a paper list and the weight of your own shame.

You’d stayed up all night crying into a pillow you didn’t own. Borrowed sheets. Borrowed hope.

But there you were.

Again.

And when Bo saw you through the storefront window, he came out front like he always did — wiping his hands on his apron, already reaching for the list in your hand.

“Let me guess. Flour. Sugar. You want the good honey or the regular one?”

You just blinked at him.

He didn’t ask why your eyes were red.

Didn’t ask why you were trembling when he brushed your arm with his hand, careful, always careful.

He just took the list and nodded.

“I’ll bag it myself. Come inside, stay cool. Got fresh peaches today.”

You walked in like a ghost.

And then sat behind the counter. And watched him work.

And for some reason, that day…you saw him clearer than you ever had.

His rolled-up sleeves, arms veined and golden from sun.

The subtle way he smiled when an old man thanked him.

The careful way he handled a child’s nickel — didn’t take more than what he had to.

The way he moved. Steady. Strong. Full of intent.

You watched Bo Chow lean down to grab a jar from the bottom shelf, and it hit you mid-breath — he wasn’t playing with you.

He meant every word.

Every promise.

Every time he said you deserve better.

Maybe he’d been waiting.

Maybe you were the one who hadn’t believed him.

Later that afternoon, you didn’t say much when he drove you home with a brown bag on your lap, filled with peaches, ribbon candy, and flour you hadn’t paid for.

When he parked in front of your steps, you didn’t get out right away.

He didn’t rush you.

Bo just rested his arm over the steering wheel, turned to look at you, and said — soft, not shy —

“You ever gon’ take me serious?” He didn’t sound like he was tired of you.

So you didn’t answer right away.

Your heart was thudding like it was afraid to get the words out. Like it was remembering all the other men who’d walked away. All the times you’d been left holding hope with both hands, just for it to slip.

But when you looked at him — really looked —

You didn’t see someone waiting for you to be perfect.

You didn’t see someone measuring your past.

You saw a man who meant to stay.

And right there, in the heat of that car, hands trembling in your lap, you said:

“I might.”

His lips twitched. His hand found yours.

“That’s good enough for me.”

He didn’t press you after that.

Didn’t grin like he’d won. Didn’t lean over and steal a kiss like a man who knew the answer before you gave it. Bo Chow just squeezed your hand — once — and let it fall back into your lap like it was sacred. Like it had done enough.

“You sure you wanna go inside?” he asked, voice low.

You looked at your porch. Looked back at him.

And suddenly, the house you’d been trying to make into a home felt hollow. Not because of its emptiness — but because it wasn’t his.

“Not really.”

Bo reached for the key in the ignition, but didn’t turn it just yet.

He looked at you again — and there was something in his eyes you hadn’t let yourself see before. Not fully. Something slow and rich and full of patience. The kind of look a man gives when he’s already made up his mind about you, and he’s just waiting for you to catch up.

His house wasn’t far. Not that far from your place. Not that far from the store. Tidy. Warm.

The kind of place that had rice in every cabinet and a garden out back that didn’t need much tending. The bed was made. The floor swept. There was a jacket hung over the back of the only armchair. The scent of wood and salt and faint cigarette smoke clung to the walls like it belonged there.

He didn’t lead you in. He just unlocked the door and stepped aside.

“Ain’t fancy,” he muttered. “But you’re always welcome.”

You stepped over the threshold like you’d been there in a dream before.

The inside of Bo Chow’s home looked exactly how you thought it might. Like him. Like someone who doesn’t waste words. Someone who buys quality, not quantity. Someone who meant every damn thing he said when he looked you in the eye and promised you something better than what you’d been given.

And that night — without a single word — you helped him take off his shirt and folded it.

You brushed your hand down his chest like you had every right to.

And when he kissed you — cradling your face ever so gently, like you were fragile and made of glass — it didn’t feel like a beginning.

It felt like you’d arrived.

It wasn’t sex. Not really.

You didn’t even get that far. Just your lips and his hands and the heat of his breath on your neck when he pulled you into his lap like something breakable and precious and his mouth brushed against the hollow behind your ear like a confession.

You didn’t ask what it meant.

Didn’t have to.

It was in the way he held the back of your head when you shifted on top of him.

In the way he looked at your mouth like a holy thing.

In the way he kissed you between the eyes before he whispered—

“I told you I’d take care of you.”

And God help you, you believed him.

You woke up to the sound of him boiling water the next morning.

He was already dressed — a clean shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar slightly askew. He had a lighter in his hand and his back to you, standing in the kitchen with a cigarette on the sill and steam curling through the sunlight. His body filled the doorway.

And in that moment, something in you settled.

Like the ache that had been in your chest for years just quieted.

Because this — he — was not something you’d stumbled into. He had been there.

He had been choosing you longer than you’d been brave enough to notice.

You padded barefoot into the kitchen, pulled your arms around his waist, and pressed your cheek against the middle of his back.

Bo didn’t startle.

He just turned the stove down and reached for your hands.

“Been waiting so long for this,” he said. “Told you I was gon’ marry you.”

You buried your face into his shoulder and whispered—

“I know.” You said. “Sorry for making you wait so long…”

The man only shook his head.

But the way he smiled?

That was the moment you figured it out.

You didn’t need to find a husband.

You just needed to stop running from the man who’d already been one all along.

Mannnnnnn I wouldn’t had that man waiting for YEARS….thats crazy work — imagine making BO CHOW WAIT…nahhhh I would’ve said yes the first time he asked.

[brittle-doughie]

black forest cookie aint gon be so happy when she learns y/n cookie wants to get hitched with the wedding planner..

she’s going to crash the wedding and OBJECT so hard and just pour herself out for y/n like.. girl. 😭🙏🏻

You and Wedding Cake Cookie held hands, looking lovingly into each other’s eyes as the vows were made.

Cookie Priest: “And does Wedding Cake Cookie, the wonderful planner for this occasion, would take Y/N Cookie as her dearest partner?”

Wedding Cake Cookie: “I d-“

A loud crash from the doors being busted down was heard as everyone gasped, you and Wedding Cake Cookie included as you both held each other.

Amidst the fog of smoke, two large claws slowly grip the doorway as a low growl builds into an anguished, angry shriek as the culprit revealed herself.

Cake Bride: “BETRAYED! ABANDONED! I OBJECT!!”

You: “Who’s that!”

Wedding Cake Cookie: “Oh dear, come on Y/N Cookie!”

Cake Bride: “I WOULD’VE GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING! MY HEART AND SOUL SUNG FOR YOU! I WAS YOURS TO MEND AND MOLD AS YOU PLEASED!”

You: “Is that…Black Forest Cookie?”

Wedding Cake Cookie: “What happened to her?”

Cake Bride: “MY VERY DOUGH AND JAM WERE YOURS! IF IT’S YOU, I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU DO TO ME!”

You: “Okay, now it’s getting a little too much information-y.”

Cake Bride: “I’D BE THE PERFECT BRIDE, LIKE NO OTHER IN THIS KINGDOM! I WANT TO DROWN IN YOU-“

Wedding Cake Cookie: “She’s…passionate to say the least!”

Cake Bride: “I WANT YOU TO SAVOR EVERY LAST BIT OF ME, UNTIL THERE’S NOTHING TO LEFT-“

You: “Alright, alright! I got the gist of what you mean!”

[dreamivyisla]

Hello! Can you make a Smoke Headcannons? If you can add a NSFW section? Please and Thank you so much❤️

🀥 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 🀥

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ➤ Elijah “Smoke” Moore

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ➤ of course! here you go! enjoy!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➤ emotional withdrawal, avoidance, fear of abandonment, rough sex, spit play, oral sex (implied), praise kink, control kink, black reader (but anyone can imagine themselves), light bondage (implied), overstimulation (implied), dirty talk, mirror play, and possessiveness. 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈! 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐉𝐀𝐇 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐓𝐄, 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃. it ain’t even always about food, really. elijah be pickin up lil things like the way your energy drop when you ain’t had enough protein or how your skin get extra dry when you been skippin meals outta stress. he won’t nag, never does—just slide through your apartment while you at work and stack your fridge up, leave post-its on the door sayin “don’t be stupid, eat sum.” if he there when you cookin, he always sit at the counter, rollin up slow and watchin you with that lazy-ass smirk, callin you “chef girlie” under his breath even when all you makin is some boxed mac and a baked chicken. he love seein you nourish yourself, ’specially when it’s for you and not just for him.

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐉𝐀𝐇 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑, 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐍’𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘. he ain’t grew up knowin what to do with curls, coils, edges, none of it—but the first time he seen you sittin on the floor between your homegirl’s knees gettin your scalp oiled, he ain’t say nothin for a good five minutes. just stared. then after that, he got quiet every time you brought out your bonnet or your wide-tooth comb. not cause he ain’t care—nah, cause he was tryin to learn. eventually, he started offerin to grease your scalp himself, real slow with his fingers, thumb pressin right where it felt good at the base. “this what you like, huh?” he’d ask, voice low, lips on your neck. he always kept his hands warm for you, too.

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐉𝐀𝐇 𝐀𝐈𝐍’𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘, 𝐍𝐎𝐓 ��𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔. you could feel it in the way he moved when y’all fought—that sharp, clipped silence he slipped into, like he was already pullin away from you before you finished yellin. he ain’t say sorry unless he meant it, and sometimes he ain’t mean it, even when he hurt you. “i love you” ain’t stop his pride from showin up first, loud and reckless. but it was the way he looked at you after, like he ain’t know how to reach out but still wanted to. he always let you go if you needed to walk away, but he never moved from the spot you left him in.

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐉𝐀𝐇 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓. he’d press you into the mattress real slow, hand wrapped firm around your jaw, thumb draggin over your bottom lip while his eyes stayed locked on yours. “you gon be good f’me, huh?” always a question, never a demand. but you could feel the weight of his voice in your chest, the way his fingers slipped past your waistband like he already knew you was wet for him. he liked keepin you there, teeterin between a moan and a plea, legs wide open while he took his time. he was obsessed with makin you feel it everywhere—fingers, tongue, voice, all in sync like he practiced it. and maybe he did, in his head. said you was “his lil prize” like it was scripture, like the world ain’t deserve to see what you gave him.

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐉𝐀𝐇 𝐀𝐈𝐍’𝐓 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔. he’d back you up against the bathroom mirror, one hand between your thighs and the other pressed flat against your lower back, like he tryna fold you in half. “look at how messy you get f’me,” he’d growl in your ear, draggin his lips down your throat while his hips ground slow, deep. he loved seein you lose your words—watchin you stutter, eyes glazed, mouth open while he whispered filth in that heavy voice. praise, too, when you took him real good. “yeah… just like that, pretty. don’t run now.” spit play? that was his shit. had no shame spittin in your mouth while he fucked you slow, callin you “good girl” like a reward. rough hands, soft lips. and the smirk he gave when you couldn’t walk right the next morning? cocky as hell.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐕𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀.

[dixons-sunshine]

Hazelnut | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

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: 8.1k.

A/n: This was such a cute idea that @louifaith had! I tried my best with this, and I hope you like it! Also, definitely go check out @celtic-crossbow’s version! Pure perfection, honestly.

“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 silently been observing 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 socialize 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 tryna 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 dangerous weapon.

Daryl jerked the knife away and out of reach of the young girl. “Dun’ touch that,” 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!”

“What? No, that 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, wobbling more like a penguin than anything else. 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 had 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.

Well, the kid certainly knew how to follow orders. He had told her to go get her mama, and there you were.

“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’d 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 with a gruff tone of voice, 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 pronouncing some words and names. I’m working on helping her with that,” you explained, your body language exuding a challenging aura, as if daring him to insult your daughter for something as miniscule as not being able to pronounce a name.

Daryl noticed the defensive tone in your voice and noticed your defensive stature, making him raise 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 were forced to live 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 long and winded tale.

“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 reassured him. “Now c’mon, didn’t ya say somethin’ ‘bout havin’ a part for my bike?”

“Dar!”

As if materializing out of thin air, Hazel excitedly bounded down the porch steps of Aaron’s home and threw herself against Daryl, clinging to his leg in a hug. Caught off guard, Daryl stumbled a bit but quickly 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 his little Asskicker 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 koala bear.

Aaron chuckled. “I see you’ve met Hazel. She’s quite the character, huh?”

“What’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 the time being.

“She can’t say my name properly,” Aaron explained. “She has trouble with pronouncing things sometimes.”

“Yeah, her mama said somethin’ ‘bout that,” 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 quite decipher.

“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 complete and utter surprise, Daryl found himself leaning down to pick her up. The act hadn’t even fully 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 a sudden and unexpected fondness, completely taking him by surprise. It was the same type of fondness that filled his heart whenever he coaxed a laugh from little Judith, and yet it was completely different at the same time. He couldn’t quite put his finger on 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.”

“What do ya mean?” Daryl found himself questioning, 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 that way with everyone. What would make him special enough to the little girl, who had 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 horribly, 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 said you only met her yesterday?”

“Yeah. She approached me at that makeshift park the kids play at,” Daryl nodded, rubbing a hand over Hazel’s small back subconsciously, 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, taking a seat 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 occupied.

“They were with a group ‘fore this? How long have they been here?” Daryl questioned, interested in knowing more about you, although he didn’t know why.

“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. “That hurts,” he told her softly, surprising himself by the gentleness of his usually gruff voice.

“Sorry, Dar,” Hazel apologized half-heartedly. She yawned before laying her head down on his shoulder. She wrapped her small arms around his neck, nuzzling her head into the crook between his neck and shoulder.

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 correct 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 the small, innocent child.

Daryl looked at him, confused by the look the man was sending him. “Good at what?” he inquired, genuinely curious.

“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’a 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 for somethin’ that most likely won’t ever 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 evident 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 in 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 seemed to be 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 together 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 had 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 any sense whatsoever.

“Yeah! So fun!” Hazel laughed happily, waddling over to Daryl to seemingly hug his leg again.

Daryl, who had been hugged multiple times by the toddler that day, 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 full 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 figured 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 for 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 had broke through his barrier in one measly day, so he couldn’t allow her mom to do the same, too. More attachments definitely wasn’t something the archer needed.

“Well, Hazel seems happy. I think you’ve just became her best friend, whether you like it or not,” you told him playfully.

“I have a feeling that 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 for bein’ a dick yesterday.”

“It’s fine. We shouldn't have bothered you.”

“Ya weren’t botherin’ me. I jus’... Weren’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.

“What’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, making good of your promise by 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 realize 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, alright? 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. “That’s why ya gotta be careful, alright? 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 had 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 something as personal as 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 instead. At least it meant being able to both bond with the little girl and simultaneously have an excuse to see you.

“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 know what I just said, but I actually 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’alright, dun’ cry. Ya will see me again tomorrow, alright?” 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’ve come to pick her up. I usually bring her home. S’somethin’ wrong?” Daryl inquired, 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’a houses down.”

“Yeah, I know, but...” you trailed off, unsure if you should lay your problems onto him.

“But what?” 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 moms around the community who like to be judgy.”

“What 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 dumping 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. That 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 ‘em convince ya that yer a bad mom. I ain’t never seen a better mom than ya. How many moms here can say that they kept their kid alive out there in the real world? That, despite everythin’, their kid came first and that they would kill for them?”

“How did you know I wasn’t here from the start?”

“Aaron told me he that found ya and Hazel on yer own not too long before he found us. The fact that ya kept her alive on yer own for that long proves to me that 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 this time around. He just would’t be able to. 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.”

“Alright,” 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 that she was settled and wouldn’t fall out, 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 at that point.

“It smells fuckin’ good,” Daryl complimented you without really thinking about his choice of words, and he instantly regretted not thinking about them beforehand.

“Fuck,” Hazel repeated happily, completely oblivious to the horrified look that spread over Daryl’s face, or the amused one that spread over yours.

“Nah, Hazelnut, dun’ say that. Dun’ ever say that,” 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. “What’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 little slip up. If I had a penny for every time I accidentally slipped up since she was born, I would’ve had enough money to be able to buy a yacht in the old world. You’re good, don’t worry.

“Okay, but we can’t have her goin’ ‘round sayin’ that, though,” Daryl replied, taking a deep breath to calm himself. You weren’t mad. Everything was fine.

“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 it, 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 delicacy he never knew existed in him.

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, tender 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 would send in your direction. 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. It was both terrifying and thrilling to think about.

Your respective meals were soon finished. and Hazel’s eyes were beginning to droop. You noticed it and got up to take her out of her highchair. She instantly laid 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, looking at him through your eyelashes.

“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, but was now always there for both her and her mom. The man who undeniably had 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 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 to him, motioning towards the door.

“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 revealed, pursing your lips at the thought of the man you hated more than anything in the world.

“What 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, but I stayed. I was too scared to leave. 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. He had no right to get angry. That wasn’t something that happened to him.

“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 taunt and be mean to her. Hazel didn’t even do anything wrong, and I never even brought up the fact that she was his kid, but they all ganged up on her. Thankfully it never got physical, but I could tell that it 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 that ya went through all’a that and managed to keep Hazel alive and love her unconditionally proves that. Yer amazing and I hope ya know that.”

You were taken aback by the sudden confession, but a smile soon 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 didn’t even fully know why you did that. It was more than likely liquid courage, you figured.

“You’re amazing too. I don’t think you realize 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 to have you flush against his body. You gasped against his lips, allowing Daryl to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moaned into his mouth 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.

“What ‘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 nothin’.”

“Then what’s wrong?” you asked him, gently cupping his cheek in your hand. “Talk to me. I promise I won’t judge.”

Daryl inhaled sharply. “I didn’t have a good childhood,” was all he offered before slowly removing his shirt.

Your eyes hungrily trailed over his body, your hands reaching forward to press against his chest. Sure, a few scars littered his chest, but they didn’t repulse you. 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 raised, 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 ever associated 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 lowest 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 extinguish it, you and Daryl each handed her 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 thanked 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 Auntie Michonne and Uncle 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 for college 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.”

“For me?” he asked in confusion, frowning slightly. “Why? It ain’t my birthday for another couple’a months.”

“I know, but this can’t wait that long. Here,” you told him, 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 indeed 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 that lil’ peanut in yer belly.”

“Hazelnut and Peanut, huh?”

“Yeah. Our two babies. Our own lil’ family,” Daryl told you wistfully, 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 for 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.”

[astheforcewillsit]

In which the Kaminoans provide a miseducated version of what and who the Jedi are, and the clones realize that at their core, the Jedi are religious monks.

Cultural misunderstands are bound to ensue due to this.

(based of the scene where Obi-wan and Anakin bow to Echo and Fives after they join the 501st)

(original ao3 link)

The first time Obi-Wan bows to Cody, he does so low and Infront of the men. All of the men. It is not a simple incline of his head. It is a slow, low dip.

Ancient practiced movements, just as Qui-Gon had taught him.

They had had saved his life. Again And he is truly grateful. He is still unused to a war like this. His very essence as a Jedi protests his involvement in it.

But he moves only by the will of the Force, and it has brought him to such a moment like this.

Before he completes his gratitude, he is stunned by a collective gasp amongst the men and an arm on his shoulder. The Force tells him it is one of the younger men.

There's a sharp reprimand from Cody, and the arm is off, though the Force is still disturbed

(The touch had not bothered Obi-Wan, in between droids and separatist leaders, it has been the kindest touch he's had all week.

It doesn't bother him, the touch of the clones. He enjoys their presence. Though he can feel the fear palatable through the Force. He hopes that one day they'll be less terrified of him. That they will know him for the human he is. Force knows the damage the Kaminoans have done to the reputation of the Jedi Order.)

Cody steps up as Obi-Wan rises--clearly the action disturbed the peace.

"Sir, I-"

"Clearly I have done something to offend you." He straightens himself, "I apologize."

Cody looks scandalized. This is not going well.

He hesitates. His Commander is still a Labyrinth. He looks at the face of Jango Fett everyday, though he sees none of the darkness clouded in those eyes. With Cody, it's almost fear.

"Sir, there is no need to apologize to us. it's just..."

"it's a sign that we've done wrong and have to ask for forgiveness, usually done by subordinates--cadets to the Kaminoans or the bounty hunters that trained us. When you did that, well...it looked like you thought you did something wrong, that maybe you were asking for forgiveness or was ashamed," another clone (Boil, Obi-Wan reminds himself, the "shiny" who touched him) supplies with some distaste, "doesn't mean the same for you sir?"

Obi-Wan could confuse them, because technically Jedi do bow for forgiveness too. But not in shame, never. He decides to keep it beginner level friendly today.

"I am expressing gratitude. You saved my life," Obi-Wan responds as if it is the most obvious thing, "Though If I have done anything wrong, it has simply been confusing you all. I will not bow if it makes you all comfortable."

His culture is important to him. It his his blood and his soul, but these men are not here with him of their own accord. These men are making sacrifices just by being alive, Obi-Wan could stand to be more like them. Though his heart pulls at the thought of abandoning something so natural to him.

"No sir, that is not necessary," Cody seems to relax in front of him. His anxiety has dissolved into gentle waves in the Force, and instead Obi-Wan senses a small bit of curiosity.

It reverberates through the company.

"Should we..."

"Oh Force no, if bowing has been negative to you please do not do it on my account. And I will alter it," he makes an example, inclining his head just slightly and putting a hand to his chest, praying he doesn't offend, "I am grateful to you all, and I endeavor to show it."

"Only what you're comfortable with, your culture is sacred to you, I know this," he adds, "and if you never tell me anything, I will be okay with that."

"Can you...can we learn more. The kaminoans didn't tell us you did that, they didn't tell us you were...priest--"

"Monks," Obi-wan corrects and smiles at the clone who asked, Waxer the Force tells him, "And I will till you all you want to know about the Jedi, if you feel comfortable telling me about who you are."

There's reluctance in the Force. They may not be Mandalorians, but they carry the secrecy of their beliefs with them. He doesn't blame them. They have so little that belongs to them, the clones. Why give what scarcity they own away to the man who they were handed to on a silver platter.

The Force radiates skepticism, but also trust.

Good, the gap is slowly bridging.

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (5)

Summary: Terry and Patrice enjoy each other with the promise of bright future.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 4.9k

Part: 5 of 5

Warnings: Smut (18+), NSFW

A/N: Thanks so much for joining me on this ride. I hope the journey turns out to be worth it.

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four.

“Uh, my name is Terry, I’m from North Carolina, and I wanna dedicate this one to my lady over there in the orange dress. You look good, girl.” 

“Oh no.”

“Sing your song, baby!”

A mix of encouragement and admiration at Terry’s public display of affection rang out in a poorly lit karaoke bar in the French Quarter. Liquor, good food, and good people were the perfect mix for a good time with the vestiges of Summer break rapidly slipping away. Terry stood on stage with a goofy grin and low eyes, pointing everyone toward his favorite audience member. 

Patrice had never been so embarrassed in her life. When she’d dared him to do something crazy on the last night of their spontaneous vacation, she thought he’d finally get that tattoo of her name on his ribs like he promised way back when. Singing in front of a crowd of rowdy strangers wasn’t on her bingo card.

Her hands covered her mouth to muffle her near-uncontrollable laughter. 

Terry couldn’t sing. At least not well enough to give a tipsy rendition of Patrice’s favorite Usher record. She still remembered forcing Terry to listen to Raymond v. Raymond over and over again in her cramped bedroom, many times not getting past Track 3 without gushing over how she hoped to marry the R&B heartthrob one day. Terry secretly carried a deep disdain for Usher up until his mid-20s, but couldn’t dodge the memories any time “There Goes My Baby” would play and take him right back to that cramped bedroom with his dream girl. 

He started just as Patrice expected. Though he knew the words like the back of his hand, his pitchy tenor was a far cry from the vocals needed to properly serenade an audience. He didn’t care though. As long as he could pull a belly laugh from Patrice he’d make a fool of himself in public every time. 

Between the second verse and bridge, Terry decided to take his antics up a notch. He abandoned the stage to make a beeline for Patrice with the mic in hand for a personal show. She was sure to play into the bit with playful hoops and fake screams between giggles. When he was close enough to touch, she pretended to fangirl like she was front row at one of Usher’s Vegas shows. 

“Baby, lovin’ you feels better than everything, anything. Put it on my heart, you gon’ get a ring,” he sang, spontaneously remixing the lyrics so far off-key that, if not for the levity of the ordeal, he’d surely offend every music lover in a 50-mile radius. “And I promise, our time away didn’t change my love.” 

Completely enamored with the absurdity of the moment, Patrice ran her fingertips across Terry’s abdomen underneath his shirt like a crazed fan and winked. Terry acknowledged the dangerous line she was toeing by flashing her a flirtatious grin to match the seductive sparkle in his eyes. 

Their connection overrode Terry’s awful singing performance enough for the crowd to show support through an assortment of cheers and supportive hollers only a city full of spirited Black people could provide. 

Always the perfect gentleman, Terry bid Patrice farewell for a moment with a peck on the cheek before returning to the stage to cap a truly unexpected performance and receive thunderous applause. 

“Oooo-weee. That’s your man, love? I’m talking official official?” The middle-aged tourist’s question and her thick accent interrupted Patrice’s daydreaming while she watched Terry’s every move with part of her bottom lip caught by her top row of teeth. 

“Yeah,” she answered, finally tearing her gaze away to acknowledge the woman while fiddling with the opal necklace he’d gifted her at dinner. It was the necklace symbolizing their first real date and the end of their friends only arrangement. “That’s him. Ain’t he somethin’?” 

“Somethin’ ain’t the word. I might need to head on up to North Carolina and get me one of them. My God today!” 

“He’s got a cute little single friend out in Percyville if you down with our Asian brothers. Former Marine too.” 

“You got a picture?” 

The two women fell into conversation about Ken’s availability while Patrice waited for Terry to rejoin her side. He soon returned with two shots of tequila in hand and a smile fighting to be freed from behind his poker face. 

“What was that about,” he asked, nodding at the woman who’d begun to show her friends photos of her potential beau as he placed a shot in front of Patrice.

“Might’ve gotten Ken somebody to take him out of the streets. You know he like ‘em thick and fine.” 

“I taught my boy a few things.” He used the hand closest to Patrice to breach the split in her dress and grip her inner thigh. He maintained contact, waiting for her to get shy and shoo him away. 

But she didn’t. She met his show of dominance with one of her own and crossed her legs to keep him in place, keeping him close to the pulse at her center. Two could play the secret foreplay game.

“What’s that about,” she asked, pointing at his gift of top-shelf reposado and ignoring the flutter in her stomach once he began rubbing slow circles on the top of her thigh with his thumb.

He smirked. “A little something to toast with.” 

“Oooh. What’re we celebrating?” 

“Being free, being together, and…” He lifted his shot glass, prompting Patrice to follow suit. 

“And what, TJ! C’mon!” 

“And…I got the job.” He followed his surprise by taking his shot, finishing with a quiet laugh while watching Patrice sit in unblinking shock. He squeezed her thigh again. “Don’t let me drink alone now. Bottoms up.” 

Shock gave way to a soft squeal and tiny, animated hand claps before Patrice took her gulp of tequila. Excitement had her rushing to swallow so that she could pull Terry into a series of quick kisses across his face. 

“I’m proud of you,” she complimented against his lips. “Tell me about it.” 

She stole another kiss to taste the remnants of buffalo sauce and alcohol on Terry’s tongue. He let her explore uninhibited until she’d had enough. If she wanted to put on a show, he’d be a willing participant. Even more so in the privacy of the Airbnb that belonged them to until sunrise.

The sexual tension had reached a tipping point and the clock was ticking. Images of her body beneath his were starting to be the only thoughts Terry could concoct.

Terry’s face was completely flushed, usually even caramel skin now red from lust and one too many drinks. A slow, tipsy grin put all his teeth on display before he ran his tongue across his bottom lip. 

“We can talk about that later. Can we get out of here right now, though.” 

“Yeah? Why?” 

Patrice assumed they were having a good time with at least one more stop on their self-guided nightlife tour. His eagerness to abandon plans was uncharacteristic. 

Terry continued to smile then leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “I really wanna make you cum tonight. You been waiting too long.”

A shiver hit Patrice’s spine as she tried to maintain some level of composure in a room full of people. Terry easily pushed her thighs open to free his hand, being sure to brush against her lower lips with the tips of his fingers. 

Terry didn’t need to speak when he stood to pull her chair back from the table. Patrice allowed him to tug her to her feet and out of the bar, waving goodbye to her new friend who gave her a congratulatory thumbs up. 

However, any morsel of confidence she had while they made out like teenagers in the backseat of a taxi had waned once they reached their dwelling for the night and the reality of their situation set in. 

Their first time together was her first time. She was young with too many influences in her ear telling her that the only way to make a man love her was through her body. No matter how many times Terry assured her that they could spend that truly imporable hour of alone time in her hotel room catching up, she insisted that they test the boundaries of their affection. 

Now, with history repeating itself, she couldn’t help but feel a deep pit of nervousness and uncertainty growing in her belly. 

Patrice stood in the bathroom mirror, tussling with her hair that had gone from pressed roots to a mess of frizz and curled ends. She suddenly hated the way her cotton slip dress fit and how the lace bra and panty set seemed to bunch in all the wrong places. The only thing she wanted to do was look like the woman of his dreams, but her confidence was waning with every second she spent judging her appearance while Terry waited patiently in the bedroom. Frustration was building and bringing the sting of fresh tears to her eyes.

On the other side of the door, Terry spent his time adjusting and readjusting the pillows on the bed. His bare back and shoulders glistened under the soft, warm light emanating from the floor lamp across the room, partially from the heat, but mostly from sheer nervousness. 

“What the fuck are you doing,” he whispered to himself, suddenly embarrassed. 

Terry forced himself to take a seat at the edge of the bed to calm his nerves. The last time he’d been on the brink of having her in this way, he was a young man with no clue how to love a woman. Now, all he wanted to do was prove that he’d earn every morsel of her trust back if she let him. 

He never told Patrice that their first time was his first time. He was scared out of his mind, wanting to give in to his fantasies but afraid to send the wrong impression. The memory of that summer afternoon never left him. But, it was time to start anew with a title and the promise of a different result on the horizon.

Taking a deep breath, Terry wiped his sweaty palms against the soft fabric of his briefs and sighed. 

“You okay in there,” he called out, concerned as the minutes ticked by with no communication. “I don’t wanna rush you. Just checking in. Tell me to leave you alone if I’m doing too much.” 

“I’m okay. One second. I’m fixin’ my hair.”

“Take your time. I’m sure you look…”

The soft sound of the door opening stopped Terry mid-sentence. Patrice stepped out, one foot in front of the other, until she was past the threshold and under his doting gaze. 

“...gorgeous,” he finished, the word coming out in one breath. “You are absolutely gorgeous, Treece.” 

Patrice had decided on a bun on top of her head with tendrils in the front and back that couldn’t quite reach the rest of her hair. She’d traded her light makeup for a bare face still glowing from her nighttime skin routine. Her slip dress clung and dipped in all the right places without the lace from her lingerie interrupting the smooth fabric. She looked at him through long lashes, her expression reading as the same timid girl from all those years ago.

Terry stood to his full height in reverence of her breathtaking form. The most skilled artists and creators from around the world couldn’t have dreamt of a more captivating marvel in his opinion. She was the pinnacle of beauty. 

Patrice watched him draw closer, her head slowly tilting up as he began to dwarf her with his stature. He reached out to trace her jaw before lightly gripping her chin between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey, yourself.”

Goofy smiles and giggles followed their awkward introduction to ease the anxious energy in the room.

“Is Terrence James Richmond nervous behind little ol’ me,” she teased with a tickle to his sides. 

“I got a few butterflies, I’m not gon’ lie,” he laughed. “Just wanna make you happy, is all.” 

“I was gonna say the same to you.” 

“You have no idea how happy you make me.” 

His voice came in just above a whisper, nearly drowned out by the chirping of crickets outside. 

Their noses brushed against each other as Patrice stood on her tip-toes to rest her arms around his neck. Her fingers traced circles at his nape, making the hair all over his body stand at attention. 

A tentative peck connected their lips and gave way to more needy, hungry kisses that transformed them into eager teenagers making out for the thrill of physical contact. 

Euphoria wasn’t enough to explain Terry’s headspace. He was high off every kiss, lick, and bite Patrice allowed. He couldn’t get close enough. It wasn’t sufficient to pull her closer with a firm grasp on her ass. He needed to taste her, to be consumed by her, to consume her in every way possible. 

“Put me to work. Tell me what you need,” he whispered, breathless as blood began to rush south from the slight pain of Patrice’s fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. 

“You. Fold me, bend me, flip me, I don’t care. I just need you.” 

Patrice was far beyond playing coy. She’d drop to her knees and beg at his feet if he asked. Whatever she had to do to feel him from the inside was on the table. 

Terry didn’t make Patrice go to extremes for his affection. He preferred to acknowledge her request by carefully sliding the straps of her dress down her shoulders and arms. 

He watched her skin become more and more exposed with intense focus, taking note of the way her nipples seemed to salute him once they met the bedroom air. He acknowledged both of them with a soft caress that earned a whimper from Patrice as she watched him handle her with care.

Never in her life had been methodically unwrapped like a present on Christmas morning. Her heartbeat had gone below her waist, throbbing in an almost painful cry for her lover’s attention. Terry kept her yearning at bay with a slow kiss while he pushed her garment past her hips and to the floor. 

Patrice disrobed him with an equal measure of care, offering quick kisses across the expanse of his chest while she slid her hand past his Calvin Klein waistband. Round, doe eyes looked back up at him to catch the precise moment when Terry’s eyelids blinked closed from the sensation of her fingertips brushing past his sensitive tip. 

Her soft palms worked his shaft - up and down, up and down - until his member was proud and bobbing from the weight of itself without something keeping it at bay. 

Fearing what might happen if he let her continue, Terry pulled her back to his body for sensual openmouthed kisses on her full lips. The soft smack of their lips and tongues created perfect harmonies in the still room, communicating more desire than either of them could effectively vocalize. 

The intensity began to rise at exponential rates, sending them in a clumsy frenzy to the bed for somewhere stable to fully experience one another. Terry’s back hit the cool cotton sheets first with Patrice collapsing on top with a surprised yelp that made them both laugh.

“Don’t fight it,” Terry instructed, pushing a stray piece of hair from her face while he stared up at her lovingly. “Let go. I got you.”

His reassurance made her heart do a backflip on the way to its new home between her legs. She needed him in the worst way.

Terry leaned up to kiss her lips once, twice, and once more to linger. His fingertips traced a blazing path from her waist to the bottom of her ass to partially push her forward in a silent plea to kiss her where he missed her most. 

“Let me taste you. Is that okay?” 

Something about the way he asked for permission with eyes those stormy eyes robbed Patrice of her ability to respond with words. He prompted her to move forward again with a soft tap on her backside, finally convincing her to lift her hips and scoot toward his face. 

Cautiously, she hovered above his mouth with thick thighs flanking either side of his head. 

He moved slow with sweet kisses and lazy licks to mix spit with her wetness in a one-sided love song to his favorite girl. He was effortlessly sexy, combining broad strokes of his tongue between her lips with expertly timed sucks at her clit to elicit filthy words that fueled his best oral performance yet.

He ignored every plea for mercy and her cries for a break to compose herself. There was only one objective. Two if he were lucky to push her into a water show for the ages. 

Animalistic instinct had them trading moans in time with each other, fully in throws of passion. Every grind against his nose and call of his name made Terry want to show her the full extent of his skill. 

His face glistened beneath her with his eyes still low but open enough to get the full visual of her undoing.

“Terry, that is - oh…shit.” 

Full sentences became senseless babble as she clamped her eyes shut to brace for that familiar feeling pooling in the pit of her belly. Patrice struggled to maintain focus on herself while Terry enjoyed his new favorite meal. 

The velvety smoothness of his tongue took broad passes from her entrance to her clit, stopping every so often to chase wetness that had escaped to her thighs. He wanted every drop and then some. 

His moans and groans as he feasted vibrated against her most sensitive spots, turning her mind into television static. Seeing her unravel with every soft suckle at her clit and agonizingly slow, broad lick across her swollen lips drove him to near-obsessive levels of lust. 

Her chest heaved in a fight to keep her heart rate level as his efforts to make her cum for the first time became more targeted. 

“Fuck, baby” she moaned, finally taking a look down to watch the master in his element. “Look at you. You gon’ make me cum, huh?”

Terry seemed to smile at her admiration. If he could get her to talk back, her eventual undoing when all was said and done would be that much more satisfying. 

Taking her challenge, he began to push her to her limit. She was putty in his mouth as he brought her closer and closer to the edge, soft sucking turning into a talented tongue making moans devolve into nonsensical utterings until she was squirming for release while his arms kept her locked in place for a wild ride.

Almost there. Almost there. Then a brief pause to start from the top. More lazy passes and passionate kisses to rev her up to the point of delirium and practically screaming to finish. 

Just when she thought she may have to threaten him on the third revolution of his torture, he delivered on his promise from the bar. 

Colors emitted smells. Sounds became vivid pictures across her eyes. She could taste the stars as she erupted in a way she’d never done before. The prickle of his facial hair on sensitive skin felt like shockwaves on her skin. 

“Oh fuuuuck! Yesyesyes!” 

Her hips jerked without her permission, taking Terry’s face on the ride of his life. He kept up through it all with no objections. If death came from her thighs cutting him off from the oxygen needed to breathe he’d wear death like a badge of honor in the afterlife.

Another string of expletives fell from her lips in tandem with Terry’s muffled groan as she gripped the sheets below her for dear life. This was Heaven. She was sure of it. 

Terry took one last deep inhale with his nose pressed against her pussy before kissing along the warm skin of Patrice’s inner thigh while she came down. She caressed what she could reach of his head in appreciation and beckoned him to release his suction on her pussy. 

She rushed to get back to his lips to taste herself on his mouth and he welcomed her with open arms. 

Kissing. Grinding. Skin-to-skin friction. None of it was enough for Terry. He desperately needed to be inside her to satisfy the near-painful stiffness he was experiencing. 

His attempt to flip Patrice on her back was futile once she pressed her weight into his legs to keep him in place. He roughly nipped at her shoulder before trying again with the same result. 

“C’mon,” he pleaded, almost begging for the go-ahead to fill her to the hilt in one smooth motion.

Still, she denied him pleasure. Patrice shifted to straddle his waist, slowly dragging her hands up and down his torso while his stomach clenched from the warmth of her core on his body. 

“Lay back,” she breathed out, partially lifting her hips to reposition herself on top of his length. He hissed at the sensation of her gingerly dragging her wet, warm entrance against his shaft. “I’mma handle this one. Relax, baby.” 

If there was a thought to be had, Terry couldn’t piece it together to save his life once Patrice completely enveloped him inside her slick walls. His jaw tightened then fell slack once she began to work her magic. A slow bounce and grind combination in his lap kept her breast rolling in a lewd show with Terry as the lucky winner of a front row ticket. 

Patrice kept her head thrown back like a cowgirl, feeling perspiration gather on her forehead while he gave him all she had. His hands giving her firm smacks on the hip and ass acted as a round of applause each time she buried him deep and pulled back up with expert precision. 

Her right hand slid from its spot on his chest to his throat for a barely there squeeze just as a quiet gasp made her aware of another incoming orgasm. 

The feel of her thumb gripping his esophagus made Terry expel a sound that he wasn’t aware he could make, somewhere between a whimper and a growl awakening each of his senses. 

The sight brought him the beautiful visual of her eyes shut tightly in concentration while she glowed like a heavenly body from the lamp’s light. Her hair had slipped out of its bun, leaving a lion’s mane of coils to toss wildly in the wind. 

Smell brought with it the earthy scent of sweat and the lingering musk of her pussy. A smell that could awaken a deep longing in him in even the direst circumstances. If he could bottle it and wear it as fragrance, he’d do so proudly just to have her with him at all times.

Hearing pulled in the sound of their skin slapping together in time with the intermingling moans in the room. He’d never been so loud before, so unabashedly in the moment with another woman. He cursed, called her name, and praised her with equal ferocity. 

Touch was satisfied by the handful of ass he used to ease the stress on her thighs while she bucked wilder than ever before. 

Something akin to a growl erupted from his throat as he strained to hold back release. “You doing so good for me, baby. You know I love you right?” 

“Yes!” she cried out, hips starting to sputter out of control with Terry gently stretching her on every stroke. 

He wrapped his arms around her waist tighter as he fucked into her in search of their shared release. She sagged forward for the ride, her brain turning into mush while her mouth hung open with no sounds.

“Good.” His voice came through clenched teeth. “Because I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.” 

She put up no resistance as he paused his pounding to flip her onto her back with a dancer's grace. Having her laid out beneath him, body open, leaking, and waiting for him was as exciting as the first time. He was reinvigorated. Any onset of sore muscles and tired hips was gone the moment she keened for his attention. 

Terry’s eyes were blown wide with excitement while he decided where to put his mouth first. He quickly settled on one of her legs, slowly lifting it by the ankle to lick and kiss the birthmark by her Achilles. His tongue traced an invisible map past her heel, to her pedicured toes, and back to her calf before closing his lips to cap his display of affection. He propped the leg on his shoulder and then pressed forward to bring his chest down over hers. 

Patrice’s small mewls from the burning in her hamstrings became caught in Terry’s mouth as searched her mouth with sloppy enthusiasm. Her whining grew louder still once his tip pressed past her entrance.

“You can take it,” he affirmed, pushing deeper. “I know you can. I’m so proud of you.”

Affirmations and appreciative pecks across her face overrode aching muscles. She wanted, needed, to please him. 

They released content sighs in tandem once they were pelvis to pelvis. A snug fit made every long stroke intoxicating as Terry set an even pace. 

The repeated squeak of the bed added to their symphony of sounds growing more rabid by the second. They were off to the races on the way to an explosive finish line. 

Terry was relentless as he kept her in place for a proper and precise fuck that reached all the way to her heart. She’d begun thinking up baby names and nursery themes when he split his attention between earth-shattering penetration and the addition of his thoughtful stimulation of her clit to cover all bases. She was just along for the ride and hoping that she could keep her volume at a reasonable level when the inevitable took over. 

Patrice was the first to cum just as Terry intended. Her back arched off the bed in near levitation while she called his full name and the Lord’s to the ceiling.

“That’s what I like, beautiful. Give me everything.” 

He smiled down at his work, obsessed with the sight and sounds of her much-deserved orgasm. She couldn’t hold back if she wanted to. Wetness coated both of them as her hips circled to feel him fill her to the brim while a rush of endorphins flowed through her nervous system.

At the crest of her wave is where he came undone. 

The involuntary clinching sent Terry into a tailspin of frenetic strokes and broken sentences with his face tucked firmly into Patrice’s neck. She comforted him through it all, speaking directly into the shell of his ear and punctuating every few words with a soft kiss. 

“I wanna do this for the rest of our lives. Don’t you want that, baby?” Terry forwent a verbal answer in favor of a short grunt as his pace became erratic. “Fill me up. Let’s try for that son you used to tell me about.” 

“Fuck, Treece.” 

“Maybe we’ll name him after you. He’ll have my eyes and your smile, hm. Think you can do that for me tonight. I know you wanna cum. Do it for me, baby. Go ahead.” 

The magic words. He came with a gruff groan and a slew of profane words that would otherwise be offensive to any outside of the bubble they’d created in those walls. His toes cramped, eyelids clamped shut, and ears rang while every breath came out shaky and labored. Patrice joined him throughout the ride until he returned to the Earth’s atmosphere. 

Neither of them moved, preferring to hear the other’s steady in and out while their chests rose and fell together. 

“One year,” Terry started, keeping his attention focused on bringing Patrice’s ring finger to his lips as he lay on her chest. 

She paused the imaginary circles she was drawing on his shoulders and looked down at him. “One year what?” 

“Gimme a year and you’ll be coming down the aisle or standing in front of the judge, whichever one you want. Where you wanna honeymoon?” 

“Mmm, how about Puerto Rico?” 

“Done. Summer wedding?”

“Early fall.” 

“10-4.” 

“Yeah,” Patrice questioned, giggling. “And what else? What’s next?” 

 “Making our parents grandparents, hopefully. I’m trynna be an honest man. Take me out the streets, please!” 

Patrice’s cackle at Terry’s antic invited him to join at full volume. “An honest man, huh? I can do that for you. I’ll make an honest man out of Terrence Richmond, no problem. It’s the least I could do.” 

“Mhmm.” Regaining some strength in his body, Terry kissed his way from her chest to her mouth, only stopping when he had her arching into him for more contact. He spoke with his nose pressed to hers. “Patrice Nicole Richmond. Sounds good, right?” 

“Sounds perfect.” 

Terry hummed his approval, preferring to get back to the worship he had planned from the moment they set off to New Orleans.

Every second in their lives, together and apart, had brought them to a new beginning that neither of them could’ve imagined. If tonight was day one of forever, they vowed before each other and God to make it glorious one day at a time. 

Terry had lost a lot. Money, family, himself. But under the white glow of a full moon and the touch of the one he cherished most, he’d gained so much more. Something he’d been searching for without the word to call it by its name until he got back to her front step one afternoon.

Love.

----

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @hrlzy @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl

[triptuckers]

feelings that flicker - remy lebeau

Request: nope Pairing:  remy lebeau x mutant!reader (reader has the ability to manipulate and control electricity) Summary:  remy thinks you have trouble controling your powers, but there’s something else going on Warnings:  none! Word count:  1.6K A/N: to think this is the third fic I’m writing today and I also finished reading the darkness within us and read and finished what moves the dead… no wifi making me do crazy things lmao enjoy!

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as remy walks into the kitchen, he notices the lights briefly flicker and the coffee machine starts beeping furiously.

‘oh, fuck!’ you say, abandoning your breakfast as you bolt over to the coffee machine.

you put your hands on either side of it and concentrate, making sure the machine’s temperature goes back to normal. remy waits for you to step back before reaching for the coffee pot.

‘I’m not gonna burn my mouth now?’ he says.

‘nope, you’re all good.’ you say, briefly smiling at him before you go back to your breakfast. 

jubilee gives you a knowing smile as she nods her head towards remy. you elbow her in the side, shooting her a warning glare. you never should have confided in her about your feelings for remy. it’s bad enough you nearly lose control whenever he enters the room. you don’t need jubilee to start dropping hints around him.

remy doesn’t seem to notice any of it, as he’s rummaging through the kitchen in search for breakfast. you ignore jubilee’s not so subtle nudges as you continue to eat your breakfast.

for the remainder of the morning, no lights flicker and no coffee machines overheat.

as you go on about your day, teaching some of the kids, remy has been thinking hard.

those flickering lights haven’t gone completely unnoticed to him. every time he enters the room you’re in, the lights flicker and if there’s some sort of machine or electronic device, it also acts up. the same thing happens when you enter a room he’s already in.

the electric stove that suddenly turned on in the kitchen. the tv turning on while no one was holding the remote. beasts’ many monitors that all started beeping at the same time – and you apologising over and over, making sure there wasn’t any damage.

and always those flickering lights.

but he knows you regularly go to the danger room to train. mostly with jean, storm and jubilee. occasionally scott calls for the entire team to have a training session, and remy always watches you closely during those sessions.

you never seem to lose control during a simulation. and he has yet to see you lose control in the field. 

if anything, he’s impressed by your abilities. 

the things you could accomplish never fail to amaze him. in his opinion, you’re one of the best and most amazing x-men he’s ever seen. not that he would ever admit that out loud. the teasing would be endless. and he doesn’t want to embarrass you. 

still, it doesn’t sit right with him the way you sometimes slip up. 

is it something about him? does he bother you somehow?

he’s so lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice the conversation stops when he enters the kitchen again in the afternoon.

remy looks up to see jubilee, scott and jean. he raises a single eyebrow in question, but no one explains anything, and jubilee starts talking about the latest session in the danger room she did with roberto.

while getting a snack, remy can’t help but to think he was a topic of conversation before he walked in.

‘hey cyclops, you gon’ work with y/n on controlling her powers?’ he says.

scott frowns at his words. ‘why would I?’

‘she always loses control when I see her.’ remy points out. ‘just this morning she nearly made the coffee machine overheat and combust. jubilee, you were there.’

‘have you ever seen her lose control during a mission?’ says scott.

‘non, but it doesn’t make sense why she would lose control in the kitchen and not when there’s people actively trying to kill us.’ says remy.

at his words, jubilee chuckles.

‘you never noticed?’ she says.

‘noticed what?’ says remy, confused.

‘jubilee, he’s a man. they never do.’ says jean, before turning to remy. ‘she only ever slightly slips up when you enter the room. why do you think that is?’ she says gently

‘que? only when I enter the room? why? I thought she was just jumpy, maybe I move too quietly?’ says remy.

‘come on, gambit, use those brains of yours, you’ll figure it out.’ says jubilee.

remy starts thinking out loud. ‘she only slips up when I’m in the room. or when she walks in and I’m already there. she never loses control in the field. oh, merde, does she like me?’

‘there you go! took you long enough.’ says jubilee.

‘she likes me?’ mumbles remy, smiling to himself. 

‘she’s in her room.’ says jean pointedly.

‘oui, yeah, merci.’ says remy, a bit dazed as he leaves the kitchen.

he had never once considered you might like him, and that that’s why you lose control. it makes sense now that he knows. in the field, you’re too concentrated on staying alive to focus on where he is and if he’s near. 

and he did notice you seemed to blush a lot whenever the lights flickered. you thought it was just embarrassment that your control slipped, but what if it was about him?

of course he’d noticed you when you first arrived at the mansion. how could he not? you were beautiful and he’d seen you demonstrate your powers when logan asked about it. 

now that he knows all of it, he doesn’t get how he didn’t see it before. clearly everyone knew but him? but why hadn’t you said anything to him?

as he reaches the top of the stairs, he sees the door to your room ahead. 

what was he even going to say to you? maybe he’ll just start by asking you about your powers, maybe you were aware of why you lose control.

he knocks on the door.

‘coming!’ he hears you say.

‘it’s me.’ says remy.

the light spilling onto the hallway through the gap near the floor flickers slightly, and remy smiles to himself. 

you open the door and smile at him.

‘remy!’ you say. ‘what’s up?’

since that conversation earlier with jubilee and jean, it’s like he sees you in a different light. your hair is up, and the sleeves of your shirt are rolled up. when he looks closely, he sees a slight blush on your cheeks. 

‘just came to check up on you. and tell you the coffee machine is okay.’ he says.

‘oh ha ha.’ you say sarcastically. ‘thanks very much for that update.’

you step aside to let him in. he notices the workbench in the corner of the room, scattered with various pieces of machinery. a steaming mug shows that you were working on something.

‘did I disturb you?’ he says.

‘not at all, I was just messing around.’

‘you control electricity, right?’

you frown. everyone knows about everyone’s abilities. there aren’t any secrets about powers.

‘and create it, yes.’

‘and you’ve been training for a long time.’

‘yes? what are you getting at, remy?’

‘why do you lose control when I’m around?’ he says, not dancing around it any longer.

‘I don’t.’ you say, hoping he doesn’t see through the lie. 

there’s no way he knows, right? he can’t. unless, of course, he talked to jubilee. damn that girl and her traiterous mouth.

‘come on, chéri, don’t deny it.’ says remy. 

you briefly look at him before you reach out to toy with some of the machinery on your workbench. you mumble something remy can’t hear, so he steps closer to you.

‘what was that?’ he says.

you swallow and look at him. ‘I have issues controling my powers whenever I’m around someone I have very strong feelings for.’ you admit in a soft voice. ‘it’s how I knew I was a mutant in the first place. I nearly electrocuted my first boyfriend.’

‘strong feelings, hm?’ says remy, stepping even closer to you.

‘remy, I’m trying so hard not to burst every light in this room right now.’ you say. ‘you’re making it very difficult like this.’

‘like what?’

‘like this.’ you say, gesturing to the small amount of space between the two of you.

‘but you admit you have, in your words, strong feelings for me?’

‘yes…’

‘parfait. I have strong feelings for you too, chéri.’

your eyes snap up to his upon hearing his words.

‘please tell me you’re not messing with me.’ you say. ‘because if you are, it really isn’t funny.’

remy lightly shakes his head. ‘non, I would never.’ he says. 

you notice how close his face is to yours and take a tenative step back, but your back hits your workbench. 

‘nervous?’ he says.

‘no.’ you say.

the lights in your room briefly flicker.

remy smirks at you. ‘the lights say something different, chéri. would the lights explode if I kiss you now?’

you feel a blush on your cheeks. ‘I don’t know.’ you say softly.

‘want to find out?’ says remy, leaning closer.

‘yeah.’ you manage to say.

remy closes the remaining space between you, pressing his lips against yours. you’re glad the workbench is at your back, because you’re sure your knees have given up on you. 

you feel how his hands come to rest on your hips. through your closed eyelids, you can tell the lights are indeed flickering, and you can feel remy smile against your lips.

but you don’t give a damn about those lights. because remy lebeau is finally kissing you. you couldn’t care less if all the lights burst in the mansion. it’ll be worth it.

A/N: thanks for reading! everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. please do not copy, translate, plagiarise or repost my work! some of these are requested by other people and I spend a lot of time and effort on my works <3 much love, marit

[goldfades]

literally anything for melo 💔 please i’m starved

here's something just for you, queen!! 🤗🤗

The trip to the shelter wasn’t supposed to be anything serious.

It was just something to do on an off day, a casual, innocent little detour because you’d seen a TikTok about an adoption event, and, well—who doesn’t love looking at dogs?

That’s what you told Lamelo, anyway.

"We’re just looking," you’d said, fingers laced with his as you pulled him through the entrance, the scent of fresh kibble and clean floors filling the air.

Melo had squinted at you, already skeptical. "That’s what people say before they end up with a whole zoo in their house."

You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm. "Oh my God. Dramatic."

"Am I? ‘Cause I know how this goes. You gon’ see some tiny lil’ dog with big eyes and get all emotional, then—boom—we leaving with another pet."

You scoffed, refusing to dignify that with an answer.

Fast forward twenty minutes and you were sitting on the floor of one of the shelter’s play areas, cradling the tiniest, softest, sweetest elderly dog you’d ever seen in your life.

Lamelo stood over you, arms crossed, watching like he had already lost this battle.

You sat on the clean, tile floor of the shelter, cradling the frail, sleepy dog in your arms like it was the most precious thing in the world. Which, at this moment, it was.

She was tiny—probably no more than ten pounds, with wiry gray fur and cloudy brown eyes that made your heart ache. The shelter worker had told you she was somewhere around twelve years old, abandoned by her previous owners when she got “too old to take care of.” That alone had nearly sent you spiraling.

Lamelo stood a few feet away, hands on his hips, head tilted in that way he did when he was trying to figure out how to not get roped into something. His lips pressed together as he exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head as he looked between you and the dog like he was already doing the mental calculations of how this was about to go.

"…See," he started, voice slow, like he was trying to talk you down from something, "this is exactly what I was talkin’ about."

You didn’t even acknowledge him. Couldn’t. You were too busy brushing your fingers over the dog’s tiny head, watching the way she leaned into your touch, like she was grateful for even the smallest affection.

Oh, my God. I will die for you.

Melo sighed, rubbing his temples. "Baby."

You finally looked up at him, eyes wide, already pleading. "Melo."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "No."

Your jaw dropped. "You didn’t even let me say anything!"

"Didn’t have to," he muttered. "I see your face. You already tryna make this a thing."

Your grip on the tiny dog tightened instinctively. "She’s so small," you whispered, heart already aching. "And so old. And they said nobody’s even looked at her. Can you imagine? Just sitting here, waiting to be loved, and no one even—"

Lamelo held up a hand, like he was trying to physically stop your words from hitting him. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"That thing you do. Where you start gettin’ all sad and sentimental so I feel bad and—" He gestured at the dog. "—end up with a whole new responsibility I wasn’t even thinking about when I woke up today."

Your mouth snapped shut, feigning offense. "I do not do that."

Melo stared at you.

Your expression didn’t waver.

He squinted.

You stared back, the picture of innocence, while gently petting the tiny dog’s head in slow, deliberate strokes.

He exhaled sharply, already frustrated. "Baby."

You blinked up at him. "Melo."

He pressed his lips together, like he was trying so hard not to break. "We just got that other dog settled."

You nodded. "I know."

"Like—just started getting some peace in the house."

You nodded again. "I know."

He inhaled deeply, like he was trying to find the strength to keep arguing, but you chose that exact moment to adjust the little dog in your arms, cradling her closer to your chest, your lips pressing against the top of her tiny head.

Lamelo groaned.

"Baby—"

"Look at her."

"I am looking."

"Look harder," you insisted, voice dripping with emotion. "Really look. She’s been through so much, Melo. She just needs someone to love her. Someone to take care of her in her last years. Someone to give her a—"

"—don’t say it."

You paused dramatically. Then, softer than before—"a forever home."

Melo let out the most exasperated groan, running a hand down his face like he was physically in pain.

"Why do you do this to me?"

"Because you love me," you said sweetly, tilting your head.

He sighed. "I do."

You beamed.

"But I also know you," he continued, giving you a look. "And you swear you gon’ be the one takin’ care of her, but let’s be real—who wakes up at 7 AM to walk our other dog when you ‘accidentally’ sleep in?"

You bit your lip. "…You."

"And who ends up takin’ them to the vet when you get all squeamish about shots?"

"…You."

"And who—"

"Okay, okay," you huffed, rolling your eyes. "I get it. You do a lot."

He lifted his brows, waiting.

You groaned. "Most of it."

"Exactly."

You sighed, looking down at the little dog still curled up against your chest. She was already dozing off, comfortable, warm, safe. And your heart clenched at the thought of putting her back in that kennel, of walking away and pretending like she wasn’t made to be yours.

You looked up at him again, giving him the look. The one that had never failed you before. The one he always pretended to be immune to, but never actually was.

Eyes wide. A little pout. Just the right amount of vulnerability.

Lamelo exhaled sharply.

"Don’t—"

"Please," you whispered, pushing your luck. "Please, Melo?"

His head dropped back, eyes squeezed shut, like he was physically fighting a battle within himself.

"Baby," he groaned.

You blinked up at him, hopeful.

He clenched his jaw.

You tilted your head.

"Man," he muttered, shaking his head as he rubbed his face.

You gasped, knowing he was about to break. "Melo—"

He pointed at you, already regretting every decision that led to this moment. "If we get her—*"

"WHEN we get her—"

"IF," he repeated, voice firm. "If we get her, you better not be switching up on responsibilities."

You nodded so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. "I won’t! I swear!"

"You say that every time."

"I mean it this time!"

He groaned again, rubbing his hands down his face before finally looking at you—then the tiny, sleeping dog in your arms. And that was it. That was all it took. Because Melo Ball was many things—but he was never about to say no to you when you looked at him like that.

He sighed. Then, with one final shake of his head—

"Alright, man. Go fill out the papers."

You squealed, practically launching yourself at him in excitement. "I love you so much!"

"I know," he muttered, wrapping an arm around you despite himself.

"You’re the best boyfriend in the world."

"I know," he repeated, shaking his head as you kissed his cheek excitedly.

You turned to the shelter worker, grinning. "Where do I sign?"

Melo exhaled, already coming to terms with the fact that his life was never going to be peaceful again.

[zyart-jpg]

"Loved It So Much, Had to Film It"

shameless smut, twt porn links, reverse cowgirl, doggy, cowgirl, video recording, MDNI

>click the link if u want visual but it's not really relevant lol also no vinny cus he minor

Hyuk

he always jokes about starting a porn account—just so the whole world could see it’s only his dick you take. only his you beg for. only his that splits you open like that.

“shit—hold on,” he huffed, snickering as the camera wobbled in his hand, his other gripping your ass tight.

you were laughing too—breathless, high off the way he kept pulling you back onto him, cock hitting deep with every slap of skin. the sheets were a mess beneath you, your knees slipping just a little every time his hips snapped forward.

“god—this angle’s so fucked, Hyuk–” you choked out between moans, glancing back with a teasing grin. “if this ends up in your hidden folder, i want director credits.”

“shut up,” he grunted, twitching inside you, trying to keep focus but losing it fast.

“you’re not even filming right—” your voice broke into a whimper as he hit that spot just right, “—mmfuck—dropped it again?”

the camera sagged from his grip, landing uselessly in the sheets. he cursed under his breath, then fully abandoned it, both hands flying to your hips as he fucked up into you harder, sweat-slick and panting.

“i was gonna cum just holding the damn thing—what the fuck were you even saying—”

“you’re terrible at this,” you giggled, moaning halfway through as your head dipped into the pillows, “—ngh—no wonder the last one was all blurry—shit—”

“you’re literally laughing while i’m losing my fucking mind,” he growled, chest pressed to your back now, his thrusts growing ragged. “god—you feel so good—fuck—keep doing that—keep talking—”

you were whimpering and gasping and still somehow grinning, pushing back into every thrust like you wanted to break him.

“say cheese, baby,” you teased between broken moans, “’cause you’re about to ruin another sex tape.”

he groaned—loud and guttural—before snapping his hips up one last time, burying himself deep as he came with a choked, desperate sound.

Wooin

he loves filming you taking him—especially when you’re both high and lazy and tangled up on his couch, limbs draped over each other like you’ve got nowhere else to be. the camera’s perched on the coffee table just a few feet away, tilted up at the perfect angle—just enough to catch the way your ass bounces, the way his cock disappears into you with every slow grind down.

he’s slouched low into the cushions, shirt half-off, pants pushed down to his thighs. you’re straddling him, knees digging into the couch, arms wrapped around his neck for balance. the only light in the room is the tv’s flicker and the red record light blinking steady.

you’re already sinking down again, sloppy and slow, moaning like you don’t even realize you’re being filmed.

“feels so good… love you—ah…”

your voice is thick, a little breathless, a little ruined. his hands are on your hips now—one squeezing, the other sliding down to spread you wider, to watch himself slide in again, slow and messy.

“fuck—look at that,” he groans, eyes locked on the stretch, the slick noise of it echoing too loud in the quiet room. “you see what you’re doing to me, babe?”

you don’t answer—not with words. just roll your hips, slow and filthy, like you know exactly what you’re doing. like you’re showing off for the camera. your thighs are shaking, breath hitching every time he grinds up into you.

“shit—ride it, baby, yeah—just like that. fuckin’ love watchin’ you take it…”

he’s slurring now, voice low and wrecked, forehead pressed to your shoulder as you keep moving. your spine arches a little when he hits that spot, and your moan comes out cracked and wet against his ear.

“m-making a mess, baby,” you whisper, giggling through it, high off him, high off everything.

“that’s the fuckin’ point,” he breathes, bucking up into you once—sharp, needy. “gon’ fill you up again. want the camera to catch it all—how full you get for me. fuck.”

his hand slips up your back, other still gripping your ass like he’ll die if you stop. you keep riding—slow, syrupy rhythm, high and ruined and so damn gone.

the camera keeps recording. blinking red. catching every slick sound, every bounce, every moan you try and muffle into his neck.

Joker/Hajun

contrary to what anyone might think—he loves being taken care of. especially by you. with his cock buried deep inside your soaked, fucked-out cunt. the sheets are ruined, covered in cum—yours, his—he doesn’t care.

right now, the only thing he’s thinking about is how good you look bent over in front of him—ass covered in the first load he couldn’t hold back when you’d jerked him off earlier—before you climbed on top, took him in like you needed it. like your body was made to fuck him.

you’re folded over, cheek pressed to the sheets near his feet, knees spread wide, ass bouncing as you fuck yourself on his cock. he’s barely holding the camera steady, voice hoarse and low behind it, breathing heavy like an animal.

“fuck—look at you,” he groans, “just milking my dick—so fuckin’ good for me.”

you moan out, breath stuttering, back arching deeper when he thrusts up just right.

“shit—twitching again, hajun?” you tease, glancing over your shoulder, a wicked little smirk tugging at your lips. “gonna cum already?”

he groans again—louder this time, sharp and choked, like the pressure’s hitting all at once. the camera dips. he lets it fall.

“fuck, i wanna cum in your mouth this time,” he pants, grabbing your hips to still you. “get over here, love. wanna see you drool around it.”

you don’t even hesitate. you ease off of him, dragging his cock out of your soaked cunt with a wet, needy sound that makes you both moan. he’s flushed, hard and twitching, shiny with your mess. and you—dazed, lips parted, hair clinging to your cheeks—you crawl between his thighs like it’s instinct.

“whatever you want,” you whisper, licking your lips.

your hand wraps around the base, mouth sliding over him slow, tongue teasing before you sink down with a moan.

“fuck—just like that,” he breathes, head falling back as you bob your head, hollowing your cheeks, hands stroking what your throat can’t take. his fingers tangle in your hair, holding on, barely surviving.

“don’t stop—shit, i’m gonna cum—fuck, take it—”

he jerks once, twice—and breaks with a loud, desperate groan, spilling down your throat. you swallow everything, jaw aching, spit leaking as you pull off with a soft pop.

he slumps back, chest rising hard, breath wrecked.

“fuck,” he whispers, eyes blown and spent. “you’re gonna kill me one day.”

you grin, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“only if you beg.”

[virginsexgod69]

Hi!! I love ur work for Daryl. I was wondering if you could write a daryl dixon oneshot where maybe him and the reader find an abandoned tattoo parlor while out on a supply run and reader gives him a tattoo and eventually that leads to smut! 🩷

❝ Inked ❞

pairing Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

cw established relationship, smut, unprotected p in v, pet names, pussy eating, needles (for tattoos), idk how to do tattoos so i apologize in advance for any inaccuracies

note omg i had a jolly good time writing this! tysm for the request =] i did lowkey tweak it slightly, but nothing major, i pinky promise

2.1k words

“I don’t think there’s anything else we can get outta this place,” you commented as you placed the only can- a can of cranberry sauce from who knows how long ago- into your backpack. You looked around, only seeing more bare shelves and Daryl. You smiled, a natural reaction you had whenever you saw him. He wrapped his strong arm around your shoulder, pulling you close before placing a kiss to your hairline. 

“We should take a look a’ these other stores ‘fore we start headin’ back,” he suggested as he guided you out the store, arm still wrapped snugly around you. You nodded your head in silent agreement, following beside him. It was hard to tell what most of the other buildings were since they were all dirty with broken or boarded up windows, but one in particular caught your eye. 

“Hey, look! A tattoo shop,” you pointed at the building, “Let’s go check it out!” You hurried toward it, semi-dragging Daryl with you. 

“The hell we gonna find at a tattoo shop?” He asked, seeming genuinely confused at why the hell you’d wanna go. 

“Hopefully more than some nasty ass canned cranberry sauce.” He couldn’t disagree with you there, so he fell in line with your fast paced steps toward the shop. 

 You both entered the shop with knives drawn in case any walkers decided to stumble out of the shadows. Nothing came when the two of you made noise in an attempt to draw them out, so you sheathed your knife and went all the way inside, Daryl in tow. The shop was small, which allowed the sunlight shining through the window to fill it. The walls were covered in framed pictures of tattoo designs, although they were covered in dust. The shop itself was in fairly good shape, considering. You and Daryl split off in different directions in search of anything that could be brought back to the prison. You couldn’t find anything that wasn’t tattoo related, which wasn’t surprising since this was a tattoo shop. What you did find, though, was a lot more exciting. Everything that you would need to do a tattoo was all there, right in front of you. 

“Find anything?” Daryl asked once he found you again. 

“Yes and no?” 

“Wha’s that s’pose to mean?” He asked. 

“There’s still everything here to do tattoos with, isn’t that cool?” 

“We gon’ get matchin' tattoos or somethin’? He teased. 

"Not a bad idea, Dixon," you mused. You patted the seat and he sat down after setting aside his crossbow and got comfortable. You thought about what to put on him. You had so many ideas that you may as well have had none. 

"Wha's goin' on in there?" he asked. It was something that he'd say whenever he noticed you deep in thought. 

"I don't even know what to put on ya," you admitted as you traced lazy lines on his bare arm with your finger, "or where to put it."  Your face brightened when an idea finally passed through your head. You grabbed his arm and turned his hand to face upward before wiping a spot on his wrist clean with the alcohol wipe you got lucky enough to find. You unpackaged a needle before dipping it into the ink cap. Since there wasn't any power, you'd have to do a stick and poke. You were vaguely familiar with them from a time of experimentation during your teen years. With your non-dominant hand, you stretched his skin before getting to work on your design. You could feel Daryl trying to take a peek at what you were doing, but you purposely blocked his view with your head each time. You worked slowly and carefully, doing your best to make something cute despite not even being an amateur. 

“Okay, you can look now,” you muttered timidly as you handed him back his arm. You weren’t sure if he’d like it or not and were starting to regret not finding a pen and making a sketch to run by him for approval first. But, it was too late now and all you could do was hope for the best. He brought his wrist closer to his face to get a better look. It was simple, a small love heart with his first initial plus yours. It looked like something a girl would doodle in her notebook while daydreaming about her crush. 

“S’cute,” he said as he admired the tattoo with a small, but genuine, smile on his face. His bright blue eyes looked up at you, filled with all the love and adoration in the world. “I love it.” You couldn’t help but smile at him. “You wanna gimme a matching one?” You joked, referencing his earlier comment. He glanced out the window, the sun was setting and it was likely you and him would have to spend the night here if he and you stayed for one more tattoo. Some privacy with you, alone, away from everyone at the prison sounded like heaven, and matching tattoos were a bonus. 

“Sure.” He got out of the seat and you got in. 

“You wan’ it in the same place?” 

You thought about it for a second. “I want it somewhere special, in a place for only you to see.” The rosy tint that blossomed on his cheeks wasn’t missed by you. You found it endearing how he sometimes grew flustered at your flirtation, despite it being nothing new. 

“Yeah? Where’s that?” He asked. 

“I dunno, Daryl. You pick,” you insisted with a smug look upon your face. He made quick work of unbuttoning your jeans and you lifted your hips to assist him in pulling them down all the way to your ankles. He stepped away and grabbed a new needle and ink. With another alcohol wipe, he cleaned a spot on your inner thigh before comfortably situating himself on his knees between your legs. You felt the small, frequent pokes of the needle as he got to work on the tattoo. Seeing him on his knees between your thighs made your stomach flutter. You knew that was his favorite place to be and having the tattoo there seemed like he was marking it as his own. As he was working, his hand accidentally brushed against your clit, eliciting a whine from you. He paused his work and glanced up at you, struggling to hide the smirk that tugged at his lips. You avoided his eye and he got back to work, but his hand bumped your clit more often. Each time left you desperate for more. You so badly wanted to close your legs and rub your thighs together or reach down and get yourself off, but you had to stay still. His hand brushed against you once more, causing you to squirm a little. 

“Keep still.” 

You glared down at him. “I’m trying to, but you keep-” He did it again and this time you were one hundred percent sure it was on purpose. Grumbling under your breath, you leaned back against the seat and did your best to keep still as he finished up. Once he was done, he wiped off the excess ink. 

“We should probably secure the place since we’re gonna be spendin’ the night here,” he suggested. 

“But Daryl,” you whined, “you can’t just leave me like this. You knew what you were doing earlier!” 

"Wha? Givin' you a tattoo?" You huffed and rolled your eyes and reached down to pull your pants back up, but he stopped you. 

"I'm jus' playin' darlin'. Sit back." He gently pushed you back into the chair before getting back on his knees. Slowly, he pulled your panties down to your ankles with your formerly discarded pants and yanked them both off over your shoes. He firmly gripped your hips and pulled you to the edge of the seat and placed your legs over his shoulders. Feeling his hot tongue lick up and down your soaked slit had you gripping the arm rests for support. With his thumb, he rubbed slow, teasing circles on your hard clit. His tongue was a welcome intrusion in your soaked entrance. You gasped and moaned out his name and your hands flew to his hair, your fingers getting tangled in his soft locks. This motivated him to rub faster circles on your clit, earning more gasps and moans from you. His tongue thrusted in and out of your dripping cunt as he tasted all of your juices, refusing to let any go to waste. You tugged his hair as your thighs involuntarily clamped around his head and he moaned unexpectedly, the vibrations from it bringing you closer to the edge. Your walls clenched around the pink muscle as he focused it on that one spot that always did things to you. 

"Daryl, please! I'm so close," you whined, desperate for him to bring you to your orgasm. If he weren't trapped between your plush thighs, he would've talked you through it, but instead he moved his lips to your clit and started sucking on it while prodding the bud with his tongue. You squeezed your eyes shut as the white hot waves of pleasure overtook your body. Daryl worked faster once he felt you tense up and your thighs convulsing around his head. Your fingers tightened in his hair as your toes curled. You could the vibration of his pleasured grunts against your soft flesh. 

"I'm gonna-" your back arched and head fell back as he pushed you over the edge, immersing you in a world of pleasure. He continued to lap at your pussy as you rode out your orgasm. Once you came down from that high, you relaxed and slumped against the chair. Daryl reluctantly freed himself from between your thighs since he needed to catch his breath again. His dick was straining against his pants with how hard he was just from hearing your sounds of pleasure and tasting your pretty pussy. And now, just seeing your fucked out face made him want to cum in his pants. 

 In one quick swipe, he cleared a nearby table of all its supplies. He picked you up from the chair with ease, tossing you over his shoulder before gently laying you onto the table. He made quick work of freeing his erection from his pants and stroked it a few times, causing precum to bubble up on the angry red tip. He lined it up with your slit, rubbing it up and down your slick folds teasingly. 

"So wet fer me, baby," he groaned as he lined himself up with your needy hole. You wrapped your legs around his hips, desperate for him to fill you up. Your body welcomed him as he slid in easily. 

"Yer takin' me so good, sunshine." He leaned down and connected his lips with yours. You moaned as you tasted yourself on his tongue. His tongue danced with yours as you kissed each other passionately. Large, rough hands palmed at your clothed tits as he started thrusting into you. Frustrated with your shirt, he hurriedly pulled it over your head before attaching his lips to your neck, roughly sucking and biting your skin. His tongue slid over your carotid artery, feeling how fast your heart was beating. You clumsily tugged at his shirt and vest, a silent plea for him to take them off, which he did. When he was with you, his insecurities were non existent. You tightly gripped his shoulders, nails digging hollow indents into his skin as he increased the pace of his thrusts. 

"Feel so good," you slurred. He kissed open mouthed kisses down your body, occasionally leaving marks in his wake. You squirmed and moaned beneath him, your second orgasm approaching fast. He was close too, you could feel it in the way  his cock twitched inside you and his pace became slower snd less rhythmic. 

"I'm boutta cum, baby," he groaned. You wanted to tell him you were, too, but your mind was a jumbled mess that was drunk off his cock. When your second orgasm came, your walls tightly hugged his shaft, squeezing him closer to his own climax. He quickly pulled out and stroked himself the rest of the way. His mouth fell open and eyes rolled back as he shot white hot ropes of cum all over your naked body. 

 He collapsed into a nearby chair, panting for air. You slid off the table and joined him in the chair by sitting on his lap. Both your bodies were coated in the thin sheen of sweat as you held each other close as exhaustion took over your bodies. 

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[all444glo]

JADED

🎞️|| A post-game dinner with friends turns messy when Anthony’s jealousy flares. You say it’s not that deep — but he’s already spiraling.

⚠️|| jealousy, arguing, possessiveness, toxic love undertones,language, u and ant don’t need to be together chile

“Lord knows you still look amazin', that’s besides the point I'm makin' You're way too opinionated, I have to force it, to have to fake it”

“Anthony It’s not even that deep.”

The door hadn’t even clicked shut before you snapped, tossing your purse on the table like it did something too. You were pacing the moment your heels hit the floor.

Anthony trailed in behind you, already tight in the chest. “You really gon act like I’m tweaking’?”

“You are tweaking!” you whipped around. “All night, you had an attitude for no damn reason. I smiled at Jaden, and you turned into Lucious Lyon.”

“Nah,see, you tryna twist it,” he said, pointing a finger like you were a witness on the stand. “It wasn’t some lil ass smile Y/N. It was the lil’ laugh. That ‘I’m-so-fucking-cute-and-I-know-it’ giggle you only pull out when you want attention.”

“Oh, so now I’m flirting?” you barked. “I laughed at a joke, Ant. That’s it. I laughed at my friend—someone I’ve known longer than I’ve even tolerated your ass.”

Anthony’s jaw flexed so hard you could hear the tension click. “Oh shut that shit up.”

“Don’t do that.” You threw your hands up. “Don’t start talkin’ to me like I’m one of your hoes.”

“You don’t even act like my girl sometimes!” he exploded. “You act like you just waitin’ on me to fuck up so you can fall into the next tall nigga arms!”

“You always fuck up, Anthony! You made our whole ass dinner awkward 'cause your ego couldn’t handle me getting five seconds of attention from someone not you.”

His chest rose. “He was lookin’ at you like he wanted to take you home.”

“I’m already home!” you screamed. “I’m HERE! I sleep in your bed, I do your damn laundry, I fold your hoodies in color order, I ride for you harder than anybody else in this world— and you out here actin’ like I’m just waitin’ to be picked up by Jaden fuckin’ McDaniels?”

“It’s not even that—i’m sittin’ there tryna eat some damn steak after bustin’ my ass in Game 6, and you over there smiling in his face like y’all got a lil’ inside joke.” he grumbled, looking away.

“Nah I know what it really is,” You crossed your arms, voice dropping. “You don’t trust me. And I don’t even think it’s about me. I think it’s about you. You can’t handle the idea of someone else wanting what you neglect.”

“Oh now I’m neglectin’ you?” he snapped. “I ain’t just take you to dinner? I ain’t just get blasted on twitter last night and still smile for you? What the fuck do you want from me, Y/N? I’m not Jaden, I don’t got time to be all soft and whispery in your ear. I’m me. You knew who I was when you got here.”

“Well, I thought I was signing up for a man, not a boy with abandonment issues and an undeserved god complex!” you shot back.

That one hit. You saw it. His eyes shifted, fast— not hurt, but challenged.

He pointed again, but slower this time. “Don’t talk to me like I’m just not shit. You think cause you got a degree and a couple therapy sessions under your belt, you better than me?”

“Oh my God, here we go. Did you forget you also went to college or?—“

“No, go ahead. Say it. Say you’d rather be with someone quieter, sweeter, less fuckin’—what? Less of a real nigga?”

“I want to be with someone who doesn't treat me like their emotional punching bag every time they feel small next to another man.”

He laughed, loud and ugly. “Cool. Then go be with him. Go let Jaden cook you his lil’ vegan pasta or whatever the fuck he do. He’ll listen to your real housewives rants and make playlists with you. Y’all can go match beanies or whatever lame shit you like now”

You stared at him.

He stared right back.

A long silence. Then—

“Is that what this is really about?” you asked, voice deceptively calm. “You don’t think you’re enough for me?.”

“Girl i’m more than enough,” he said immediately. “That’s why I’m pissed. ‘Cause I shouldn’t have to compete with anybody when it comes to you. You mine.”

You took a step back. “Don’t say that like it’s romantic. I’m not some kind of posession.”

“You not. But you with me. And when you with me, I don’t expect to feel like a background character while some other nigga try to undress you with his eyes.”

“I didn’t even notice,” you said quietly.

“Well I did,” he growled.

Silence again.

He walked closer, breathing heavier now, eyes all over your face. “You got no idea what it feels like to watch another man look at you like that. Like you his or some shit.”

You swallowed. “I’m not.”

“I know. But it felt like it.”

You broke a little, right then. Just in the corner of your eyes. Your voice cracked. “That’s your insecurity talkin’. And I can’t keep arguing every time we walk into a room full of people who think I’m pretty.”

“I don’t care if they think you pretty,” he said, voice low, coming closer still. “I care when I think you believe ‘em more than you believe me.”

You looked up at him. He was way too close now. Close enough that his breath was brushing your lip.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“You embarrassed me.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“You got one more time to play in my face like I’m just some trophy wife you can run. I’m not one of your yes-women, Ant. I’m me. I’m the same “bad bitch”, you purposely went for and if you can’t handle that—“

“I can handle it,” he cut in. “I just hate the idea of losin’ you.”

“You’re gonna lose me faster if you keep actin’ like this,”

He didn’t say anything.

But his hand found your hip. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“You mad at me?”

You didn’t move.

“You done yelling?”

Still no answer.

You blinked.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, reaching for your waist. “For actin’ so jealous. For ruining your night over some shit I made up in my head. For forgettin’ how lucky I am.”

“…Don’t think saying that gets you back in my pants.”

“I wasn’t tryna be smooth,” he said, kissing your jaw. “I’m tryna be real.”

You didn’t stop him when his hands touched your hips again, just stared.

He lowered his voice. “You look too good like this, mama. I’m tryna behave but you makin’ it real hard.”

“I’m not in the mood…”

“I know. I’m just...remindin’ you how much I love you.”

You bit your lip. “Here we go, you tryna fix shit with dick again”

“I’m tryna fix it with love,” he said, cocky grin twitching at the corners. “But if you want the other part too...I mean, I’m down.”

Your eyes narrowed, but the tension was still strong.

“I hope you know you sleeping on the couch,” you whispered.

“I doubt that shit gon last long, you gon come to the living room by 3” he murmured against your neck.

You tried to suppress the way your thighs clenched.

“…You’re so lucky I love you.”

He kissed your jaw slow, deliberate. “That’s not even luck ma, this shit a blessing”

[slut4smokemoore09]

Mrs Annie's Kitchen chapter 1 "Mary"

(In a quiet Mississippi town in ''- 98-early 2000s, Smoke, his wife Annie, and his twin brother Stack share a small house held together by love, tension, and a dream they're all working toward. They split the rent three ways so Annie can save every dime from her bakery job to open the restaurant she's been dreaming about since she was a little girl. Soul food, real recipes, her name on the sign.

Smoke's her rock-steady, loyal, no-questions-asked. Stack? He's always been close. Maybe too close. He never says it, but there's something in the way he looks at Annie, the way his whole mood shifts when she walks in. And Smoke, he sees it. He don't speak on it yet, but it's there.

Still, they keep the peace. They move like a unit. They trust her. They always have.)

The morning sun slid in softly through the curtains, brushing golden across the worn sheets and warm skin. Annie stirred first, her thick legs tangled in the covers, her robe slipping halfway off one shoulder. She yawned, her voice still scratchy from sleep, as she blinked at the ceiling.

"Ain't no rest for the weary, I guess."

Smoke, half-awake and lying behind her like a shadow, kissed the back of her neck, his voice low and gravelly.

"How you sleep, baby?"

Annie twisted just enough to glare at him over her shoulder. "I coulda slept better if you wasn't kissin' and tryna fuck me all night long."

Smoke let out a quiet chuckle, not the least bit sorry, and dipped in to kiss her bare shoulder again. "Wasn't complainin' while it was happenin'."

"Don't mean I ain't tired now," she muttered, trying to sit up, but his arm slid tight across her waist, holding her down.

"You warm right here."

"Boy, I got work. Stack gon' be in my kitchen cryin' if I don't get breakfast started."

"I'll handle him."

"You ain't gon do nothin' but kiss on me again," she said, finally slipping free with a light laugh and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. "Now lemme up. I gotta feed y'all before y'all start actin' pitiful.

Downstairs, Stack was already makin' noise, tappin' rhythm on the kitchen table with a spoon, singin' some made-up blues tune just loud enough to be petty.

🎵 "Ain't had no grits in two damn days, Lord why she treat me this way..." 🎵

Annie rolled her eyes and shouted down the stairs, "Ain't nobody told you to starve! You know where the damn pantry at!"

Stack hollered back, "I'm tryna be served, Miss Annie! Y'all got me feelin' abandoned an' shit!"

Annie laughed all the way to the bathroom, calling over her shoulder, "Keep on hollerin', Stack, I'ma season yo eggs with dishwater."

That shut him up real quick, and Smoke, now leaning in the hallway with arms crossed and that slow smirk stretching across his face, shook his head.

"He sound like a damn fool."

Annie peeked out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. "He your damn twin."

Smoke shrugged. "We was born at the same time. Ain't say we the same type."

She brushed her teeth while Smoke stood behind her like always, leaning on the frame, eyes on her the whole time. He didn't talk much, didn't have to. She was used to the weight of his gaze—quiet, steady, soft even when he didn't say nothin'.

By the time she made it downstairs, Stack was already loungin' at the kitchen table, shirtless in some plaid pajama pants, grinnin' like a damn clown. He had a peach in one hand and a fork in the other like he was waiting for his mama to plate him up.

"Mornin', sunshine," he said with a grin. "You finally decidin' to feed the needy, huh?"

Annie side-eyed him while cracking eggs in the cast iron. "Keep runnin' your mouth, I'ma bust that lip."

Stack held up both hands like he was innocent. "Damn, I'm just sayin' thank you in advance."

Annie rolled her eyes. "You lucky I like y'all," she said, throwing bacon in the skillet. "Two grown-ass men actin' like hungry kids."

Smoke strolled in behind her, sliding his arms around her waist like he owned the spot, voice low and lazy in her ear. He ain't say nothin'—just kissed her neck once and watched her move.

Then Stack leaned back in his chair, real dramatic, and said, "Make my grits extra thick, please, Miss Annie."

Annie paused, turned her head halfway, and said, "The only thing that's thick is your damn head."

Stack pointed at her like he had something to prove. "An' them hips!"

Pop! The dish towel smacked him clean in the head before he could blink.

Annie whipped that towel at him again, making him duck with a laugh. "Keep talkin' slick, Stack. You gon' be eatin' dry toast and tap water."

Stack raised his hands again like she was the law. "Damn, alright! I'm just admirin' the cook, not disrespectin' her!"

Smoke kissed her temple, arms still wrapped around her middle as she stirred the pot, calm as ever. "He got a point, though."

Annie sighed, but she was smiling now, shaking her head. "Y'all ain't got no damn sense."

Breakfast had come and gone. Plates clinked in the sink as the morning sun crept higher through the window, light catchin’ on the rim of Annie’s coffee mug. Stack and Smoke had already dipped out, still jokin’ and full off her grits. Smoke had kissed her cheek and whispered a thank you with that low, sweet voice of his, makin’ her grin despite herself.

Now, Annie stood in the bedroom tugging on her bakery uniform—crisp white blouse, navy apron tied tight ‘round her thick waist, the fabric snug over her hips. She slid her feet into the black work shoes by the door, tamed her curls into a neat bun, and grabbed her tote with the same tired routine she did every day.

A quick check in the mirror, a swipe of gloss, and she was out the door.

The bell above Chow & Crumb Bakery jingled as she walked in. Heat from the ovens and the smell of fresh biscuits wrapped around her like a hug. Grace Chow stood behind the counter, her Southern drawl as thick as the honey butter she whipped every morning.

“Mornin’, Annie,” Grace smiled, already dustin’ her hands with flour. “You lookin’ cute today. Apron holdin’ on for dear life though.”

Annie laughed. “It’s tryin’ its best.”

Grace leaned in close. “Mary already back there tryna look busy but ain’t done nothin’ but check her lip gloss twice.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Lord, here we go.”

She headed to the prep area, startin’ up the ovens and arrangin’ dough for the second batch. Mary breezed out the back like she was glidin’ on air, blonde curls bouncin’ and lips smirkin’.

“Well, well,” Mary said, her tone syrupy sweet with razor edges. “Didn’t think you’d be in on time. Thought maybe Stack had you runnin’ late again.”

Annie didn’t even look up. “Mornin’ to you too, Mary.”

Mary leaned against the counter, arms folded. “Y’all sure seem close lately. Must be nice havin’ a man hangin’ on your every word. Even if he just flirtin’ for the food.”

Grace gave Annie a wide-eyed look, already sensing the storm brewin’.

Annie stayed calm, voice steady. “If you got somethin’ to say, go ahead and say it.”

Mary’s smile curled. “Oh, honey, I just think it’s real sweet how confident you are. I mean, most women would’ve taken the hint by now. Big girls like you? Y’all usually know y’all place.”

Grace muttered, “Mary, you better hush...”

Annie dropped the spatula slow, turnin’ around. “Say what you really wanna say.”

Mary stepped forward, voice low and venomous. “Fine. Maybe if you’d lost a few pounds, your body wouldn’t’ve failed you. Maybe your baby girl would still be here.”

Everything in the room stopped. Grace dropped a pan. Annie blinked slow, heart lurchin’, breath caught somewhere in her throat.

She didn’t say a word at first. Just stared at Mary like she was seein’ through her.

And then Annie moved.

She snatched a flour-covered rolling pin so fast Grace barely had time to shout.

“Annie, girl, don’t!”

Annie pointed it right at Mary’s chest, hand shakin’ with fury. “You ever speak on my child again, I will send you back to that white man of yours with powdered teeth and regret in your throat.”

Mary tried to act unfazed, but she was backpedalin’ already.

Annie stepped forward, voice cuttin’ like a blade. “You sittin’ up here judging me when you out here creepin’ with Stack behind your husband’s back. Yeah, I know all about them nights you claimed you was ‘workin’ late.’ Whole time you was laid up with Stack like he was yours to borrow.”

Grace gasped, damn near dropped the butter bowl.

“Annie—”

“Nah,” Annie barked. “Let’s tell the truth since Mary wanna run her mouth.”

Mary’s face was red now, her chin quiverin’ even though she tried to hold it up. But her silence said enough.

Annie took one last step forward, voice quieter now. “You don’t get to talk about my body. You don’t get to talk about my baby. And you sure as hell don’t get to walk in here actin’ righteous when you the dirtiest one in the damn room.”

Mary stormed off, eyes glassy, slammin’ through the back door without another word.

Grace blinked hard, holdin’ her chest like she’d just witnessed a shootin’.

Annie turned back to the dough like nothin’ happened, hand steady as ever.

Grace exhaled slow. “Lawd... remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Annie muttered, “Then don’t come at me sideways.”

[mercurysmaelstrom]

The Stench of Red

pairing: Remmick x POC Reader

summary: “No amount of tears you spill is gon’ wash away the shit you chose to do.” He reached for your wrist, bringing your hand to your face. “And that smell? It ain’t goin’ away either.”

or…

Grief-stricken, your guilt manifests a punishment that only you can smell. Eventually, you find that Remmick can smell it too.

or…

You sleep with Remmick to distract yourself from your guilt, and he lets you.

part 2/2 of Swan Song

contains: vamp!reader, southern gothic themes, child death, angst, murder, grief, loneliness, alcohol-abuse, blood, smut 18+ (AFAB reader, finger sucking, oral sex, cunnilingus, blow jobs, piv sex), not very dialogue heavy, modern au.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: You don’t need to have read part 1 of this series. You might miss some light context clues, emphasis on ‘light’, particularly in the beginning, but you wouldn’t be missing anything crazy.

The flame burned solemnly before you.

And beyond the fire escaped the rancid smell of burning flesh.

It had been nine months since the speakeasy-massacre. Nine months since you started journeying with Remmick, following where the music led you as if it were a trail of scent, marking the fingers and throats that produced each song you’d heard with red handprints. With every blood-splatter that tainted each instrument came rebirthed musicians, lively, yet hollow. And the fire that had raced around them as they played dissipated once you and Remmick sunk your teeth into their necks, siphoning the life that lived in the tunes they played.

It had been four months since the boy was turned.

The young boy whose voice sirened in you and your supposed band of vampires. The boy from a church that sat in the middle of nowhere whom you’d decided was best to keep away from. However, that didn’t stop the pink-faced fiddler out of Arizona from greedily snatching the child’s little body, stealing him away from everything he knew, ridding him of ever being able to sit on a porch with his wrinkled brown skin and gray hair, watching his grandchildren giggle as they ran around on the grass barefoot.

From then on you decided the child needed a guide while he was here; someone to trust; an adult to teach him how to discern between right and wrong. But he was a growing boy. A hungry one at that.

Eventually no one in the pack, not even you, could help satiate him, and no amount of hypocritical moral lessons were going to appease the endless pit of his appetite.

Thus, you made it your job to put him down.

Remmick didn’t intervene. As a result, no one else intervened in the boy’s rampant chase for food, no method to his undeserved madness. They didn’t intervene when you found a pistol from the front desk of an abandoned motel, and they didn’t intervene when you told them what you were going to do with it.

And so, the flame burned solemnly before you.

And beyond the fire escaped the rancid smell of burning flesh belonging to the boy who had often tugged at your sleeve, looking up at you with a youthful curiosity in his eyes.

The oboist from Utah placed a gentle hand on your shoulder from behind. “Don’t linger for too long,” she said.

Were those words of her own or Remmick’s?

Even after spending months on the road attempting to learn each unique personality of every individual you and the eldest had collected, distinguishing between who they were underneath his control never became easier.

Once she walked off, only you and Remmick remained outside on the desert floor, standing on opposite ends of the child-sized pyre a large distance away from the motel everyone else grouped in.

The translucent blood on your hands stunk, and in spite of how “clean” the boy’s murder was, gazing into the fire hadn’t tempered the rotten smell in any way. Yet you continued to watch, presently feeling the same ache you reminded yourself not to ignore.

From across the flame, Remmick’s eyes trained on you, occasionally glancing at the pulverizing body laid between yourselves.

You sensed it; it wasn’t new, being the subject of his stare. It felt like the heat of a spotlight radiating on your face when you performed on stage, and at times it made it difficult to see anyone beyond the ray.

But it didn’t feel that way now. The only spotlight that mattered was the one you casted on the burning child.

Eventually, four weeks had passed, and the stink remained. Then another four months had passed, and the stink still remained.

Making use of the hive’s eyes and ears when he wasn’t close enough to use his own, Remmick watched as you sunk into the misty smell of the boy’s flesh, the stink subsequently clotting into what resembled spoiled milk.

Through the eyes of the oboist from Utah, he noticed the empty spot beside you when everyone would crowd around the bonfire, singing and playing before the sun rose back up, your hand thoughtlessly tapping or reaching out for a vacant presence—your fingers curling in when the only thing you touched was the air; through the ears of the mandolinist from Tennessee, he heard you throw freshly emptied bottles of beer against the back of the motel, the glass shattering agonizingly as you yelled out profanities when you thought everyone was gone searching for more bodies to take; through the ears of the saxophonist from Missouri, he heard you from the motel room next door, drunkenly sobbing about a stink that would never go away, no matter how much you washed your hands; crying that you couldn’t dare touch your keyboard out of fear that the blood on your fingers would stain the plastic keys.

Perhaps that was what made it easy—letting Remmick crawl inside you. Perhaps it was why your arm eagerly wrapped behind his neck after he knocked on the door of your motel room, pulling him into your alcohol-reeked mouth before he could explain why he showed up in the first place.

Rapidly, you welcomed him in, the tepid darkness overtaking your bodies like a shadowed hand reaching out to grab the both of you, dragging you away from the red, flickering neon sign that aimlessly managed to illuminate the wasteland where the motel lonesomely lived on. When the door shut, the light outside narrowed into a red slit between the closed, white curtains, accompanying the one candle lit on your nightstand—the red and orange glowing together just enough to see the pieces of each of your anatomies that solely carried weight in this moment.

Remmick’s lips had served its purpose for now, trailing from your jaw, to your neck, to your breasts, then to your belly before opening up your legs, locking his arms around your thighs in order to pull you in close to his warm mouth, flattening his even warmer tongue, licking and sucking with the guidance of your voice.

Your pussy coated his mouth, your juices a temporary, but sufficient replacement for blood this particular night, the muffled moans from his throat easing you closer to ecstasy; a distraction you hadn’t given to yourself in too long.

Whimpering, you stared at the dark ceiling, the red light from outside softly permeating the flat surface above you. When you lowered your gaze, you found Remmick’s face between your legs, his eyes already laid thick on you; his eyes emulating the wicked glow of ember that haunted you for the past few months in the midst of the very darkness that you chose to bide in when the door—blue luminescence peaking through the slits of its four sides—was right in front of you, unlocked and ready to be opened.

You sighed, stretching a hand to Remmick’s head, tugging at his dark hair as he sucked your clit. “Shit,” you moaned as your head dropped back onto the pillow, the rhythm of your cunt grinding against his face, edging you closer to climax.

Once you did, you had no use for him anymore.

You wouldn’t even say his name as you came. Instead, you rolled off to the other side of the bed, gradually coming back down from your high, yanking the sheets back up your body to hide away what he had just seen seconds ago.

Nonetheless, he didn’t protest. He laid on your bed for half-an-hour, staring at the side of your face before shutting his eyes for a moment or two, opening them up again when he decided that he needed to leave.

In between the next time he stepped foot into your room, your inebriated frustration ensued. Again, the saxophonist next door heard you in the bathroom as you wailed about the rotten smell of your hands while you ran them under the tap water—the scarlet prints that only you could see sinisterly coagulating into gloves that were impossible to remove.

Soon you came to notice the odor alleviating when Remmick returned to your doorstep in his vest, stains of faded red seeped onto the white fabric that you tore off a minute later.

The elder’s presence didn’t make the smell disappear. The smell of rotting flesh always lingered, only now hiding under the thick aroma of sex.

His hands slithered along your body, the presumed wedding band worn on his left hand coolly dragging along the side of your thigh as you rode his cock, your hand wrapped around his neck and the other planted beside his face.

“Yeah…yeah…fuck…yeah…” he moaned, looking at you with the inner corners of his brows crinkled, his mouth hanging open at the feel of you around him. As you moved, selfishly only trying to guide yourself to an orgasm—his body simply a toy you bit your lip for—Remmick decided to grasp the sides of your hips, thrusting up into you at an angle that made him pound even deeper into your slick walls.

You yelped at the sudden action, but you welcomed it, promptly placing your hands on his knees.

As he moved in and out of you, you reached down for your nub before Remmick pushed you on your back, sweeping away your hand and replacing it with his own, rubbing your swollen clit.

“How’s that, darlin’?” He grunted, his eyes roaming all over your skin, the writhing of your body fueling his movement.

You mumbled incoherent sentences, letting out, “Shit, yeah, that…that feels good.”

Even after he came first, he continued to fuck you, his cum flooding your pussy while his hips stuttered from the overstimulation, though he enjoyed seeing you dazed below him, your spine arching and your breasts rising as you whimpered, “Fuck, I’m gonna…” as you came, your toes curling, your lips crying his name out for the first time.

The two of you laid breathless, tangled in the sheets of the bed you rarely made, Remmick’s head laid on your chest, his softened cock remaining inside of you. Your fingers lazily played in his hair, hovering down to the gold chain around his neck, fiddling with the jewelry until he raised his head.

Removing your hand from his neck, he brought it to his lips.

With your palm between your faces, the smell of sex began to wane, the wretched stink making its way up your nostrils. This time, Remmick could see the expression in your face firsthand—the look of disgust and shame that re-entered the depths of your being.

Softly, he planted kisses on your wrist, your palm, and your fingers, never averting his gaze from you.

Like that, the blood on your hands started to ink his mouth, covering his lips and tongue the way your slick did two weeks before. He proceeded keeping his mouth on your reeking hand, sucking the blood he seemed to notice from each of your fingers.

While the blood never actually left your hand, nor did the smell, there was an unusual comfort in seeing him take some of it for himself.

When he finished, he pressed his lips onto yours, his tongue entering your mouth, the bitter tang of red shared between the two of you until he pushed himself off of your body, pulling his dick out of you, cum oozing out after him.

Once you both cleaned up, Remmick left you alone again.

This time, however, you didn’t think you wanted that.

A week had passed, and even though the smell continued to cling onto you, you recognized the stink wasn’t as pungent. You wondered if the eldest returned, taking your fingers into the heat of his mouth just enough, that maybe you’d be rid of the smell.

When the sun set and the moon rose, the hive circled around another bonfire, singing and dancing until you saw your incorporeal families. To your expectations, they never appeared, even as the hive grew.

During the bonfire, the emptiness sitting on your right felt less apparent as you peered at the embers floating from the fire to the stars, your stare slowly traveling back down to the banjoist across from you who also happened to be gazing up at the night sky, his fingers plucking the strings of his instrument and his bloody mouth singing in an accent that had not matched the one he regularly spoke in—a phenomenon you never questioned.

When he hadn’t seen what he wanted, his head dropped to the fire, his eyes glossed with an emptiness that mirrored the vacant presence by your side. Beyond the flame, he was able to find you sitting across from him without an instrument, your fingers still reluctant to mark the piano.

The following night, Remmick found his way back in your bed, laying on his side with his head leaning on his hand, his other one tracing your clavicle.

“I can’t just forget what happened,” you told Remmick.

Just minutes before, you had his wrists above his head, fucking him until he came with your name leaving his mouth, desperate to feel your skin. But for once, he enjoyed being absolved of all control, allowing your hands to hold him down despite carrying an ancient strength in his body that effortlessly surpassed your own.

His calloused finger paused at your sternum. “So you’re…choosin’ to sit in your own guilt.”

You turned your head to the ceiling. “Someone has to.”

“And that makes you, what? Better than the rest of us?”

You blinked, your brows twitching. “That’s not what I’m saying,” you said, shifting to your side, the man’s hand falling off of you.

“No, what I’m hearin’ is that you think your guilt is gon’ purify you somehow,” the elder accused you. “You ain’t different from us.” From me.

“I’m not the one who used Arizona—” you hadn’t bothered to learn the fiddler’s name—“to bite the kid. You killed him the minute you got your teeth on him.”

Remmick scoffed. “Oh, ‘cause I was the one who held a gun to that baby’s head?”

Your mouth shut.

“I told you once, and I’mma tell you again: we’re the same,” he reminded you. “No amount of tears you spill is gon’ wash away the shit you chose to do.” He reached for your wrist, bringing your hand to your face. “And that smell? It ain’t goin’ away either.”

You furrowed your brows, failing to pull away from his grip.

“Hell, that stink was there way before I showed up,” Remmick continued. “Just…every now and then, you’ll get a reminder.”

There wasn’t room for denial anymore, but rather than kicking it out, you told Remmick to leave instead. You told him you were tired and hungry; that once he left, you’d go out to find something to eat. But you remained in your room, the red neon sneaking inside, the slit dragging across your chest as it rose and fell.

A fortnight passed by—Remmick hadn’t returned.

The stink also hadn’t dwindled, but this time around, you didn’t lament. You didn’t lick the salt that slid down to the corner of your lip either. You simply washed your hands, staring at the blood that poured down the sink, but never completely left your skin. Then you raised your head to the blemished mirror, finding only the graffitied tile wall behind you.

When you curled back into your bed, you lifted your fingers to your nose, sniffing the burning boy…sniffing the corpses of the folks at the speakeasy—your frenzied mind too far gone that most of those who died that night stayed dead, never hopping back up on their feet. With each inhale, you dug into each layer of people you’d killed or turned, remembering how they smelled and tasted, but never being able to recall their faces, or their names.

What mattered, you began to understand, was their flesh disembodied from their souls. Frankly, that’s what made your consumption easier.

You laid in your filth for another hour before gathering yourself, leaving to find Remmick’s room, craving the smell your glistening bodies mustered up together while the moon was out. Hesitantly, you knocked on his door, scrutinizing the faded teal paint that peeled off the aged wood.

Seconds later your ears perked at the sound of his footsteps reaching the portal, opening the barrier standing between the two of you.

Before you could say anything, he reached for your fingers, pulling you inside the darkness of his den.

When you stepped in, he cradled your face; up close, you could see the crusted blood on the sides of his mouth. He had just eaten. So closer you moved, finding his leftovers with your tongue, stealing some for yourself before taking his mouth completely.

With your lips attached to his, you walked forward until the back of his legs hit the bed enough for his bottom to land on the mattress. Standing above him, he gazed up at you; you could see the embers in his eyes again as he watched you ease down to your knees, undoing the trousers that trapped in his stiff cock. Once you slipped the waistband of his underwear down, it sprung out, and hungrily your hand molded around him, lightly, but firmly squeezing.

Remmick bit his lower lip when you found the tip of his member, rubbing your thumb around the slit where pre-cum leaked. Quickly, you spat on your hand, combining both fluids to jerk him off, dragging your hand up and down all the way to the base of his cock. Then as he watched you pump slowly then fast, interchanging between the two speeds, you used your other hand to push against his chest, leaning him back until he landed on his elbows. Soon his eyes rolled back, his head almost hitting the mattress when he felt your hot mouth close on the tip of his dick.

“Yeah,” he rasped out. “That feels nice, baby.”

When you took him in deeper, his cock pulsing, Remmick’s back finally hit the mattress as he hissed.

You enjoyed hearing him repeat your name. You liked the indecision of his hand, unsure whether to cup the side of your face or sit on top of your head, pushing you further into him despite being inside you.

Soon his pelvis trembled when he came, and as you drank him in, he groaned, “Fuck,” before letting out a salacious sigh that shot straight to your cunt.

Not long after, he was inside you again.

Your hands gripped the bed frame as you bounced on his cock, Remmick’s hand on your waist, his other squeezing your breast, and his lips clasped on the other, sucking thirstily. Eventually, he released your tit from his mouth, leaning his head back against the headboard, taking in the dim sight of you while continuing to cup your breast, flicking and twisting your nipple.

Dropping your gaze from the ceiling down to the utterly vulgar look on his face, you removed your grip from the mahogany wood, taking a hold of his stubbled chin, rubbing the tip of your thumb across his bottom lip. More than willing, he parted his mouth, letting your thumb slip inside.

As he sucked, he removed his hand from your breast, taking hold of your forearm to guide himself along your digits, enveloping not just one, but two or even three into his salivating mouth, never peering away from you.

The burning feeling beneath your belly only grew as you moved with him, your bodies finding a natural rhythm once both his hands found your ass, helping you maneuver yourself up and down his dick. Remembering the sight and feel of him slurping in your blood-coated fingers that only the two of you could see, smell, and taste, you inched closer to the edge.

Enjoying the feel of you moving up and down his cock and the repetitions of, “Rem…Remmick,” that slipped from your tongue, he inched closer to the edge too, encouraging you with his own moans, muttering, “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Yeah?” You huffed out.

“Yeah. Like seein’ you…on top of me.”

For the first time, you both came together, your bodies stuttering as you held each other close, his nose deep in the crook of your neck—your mouth close to his ear, your breathless whimpers making him thrust into you two, or three, or four more times, allowing your body to milk him until there was nothing left.

You remained where you were, getting a hold of his ear with your teeth, gently biting on the cartilage before trailing your lips to his cheekbone, then to his lips. Tenderly, you kissed him, feeling his hand snake to the nape of your neck, caressing his thumb behind your ear while his tongue explored your mouth, tasting the cum you had drunk earlier.

That night, no one left each other.

You didn’t gather your clothes and rush back to your room, which you would have done weeks ago. And Remmick never told you to leave. Instead, he brushed the back of his hand along on your cheek as you laid on your back and he laid on his side, chuckling at something funny you said.

Nevertheless, the stench lingered, trailing its way to your nose without fail. And Remmick couldn’t fight the smile on his face when he recognized that you had finally welcomed it.