#I've been watching Down To The Bone

[justalittlebluetiefling]

I've broken a toe. One time in my life. And even that is only a maybe. So hearing Aabria say, "in my head, everyone's had their nose rebroken" made my soul leave my body for a second.

[theinfinitedivides]

sickening how Yang Chun remembers when Jang Hyun and Ryang Eum first came to him, and how Ryang Eum would stick to Jang Hyun's side like everything he knew depended on it. sickening how he saw that, as the years went by, and knew, what Ryang Eum had grown to want. especially sickening how he looks him in the eye, when Ryang Eum has come to ask him to try and change Jang Hyun's mind so he will not get hurt, and tells him that the only way Jang Hyun sees him is as the friend and brother he swore to protect. so, he must not be greedy. he must not allow himself liberty to show his ache. he must be quiet, and swallow it all. medically unsafe how Ryang Eum looks back at him, like he has been stripped to the bone and laid bare, and he cannot speak. not at first. there is terror there, and then despite it he must prove, to Yang Chun, that he does not dare to be greedy. say that he cannot, even if the opportunity was given him, and that he told him about Gil Chae bc if anything happened to her worse would happen to Jang Hyun. audit/investigation worthy violation how we know, and Yang Chun knows, the rest of what he does not say, that if anything happened to Jang Hyun worse would happen to him, and yet we are forced to acknowledge that we cannot do anything. it is left to Jang Hyun, to hold the world of a heart in his hand while he offers up his own. i think i'll need three to six business days to process that

[the-force-awakens]

Someone else saw The Circle too 😭 I kid you not, I remember nothing about the film other than I came out of it going "what a massive waste of my time"

Oh, how I wish it was a better movie than what it was. The first time I heard about it was when my dad dragged me to see Kong: Skull Island with him and when the trailer started, I was immediately excited because Emma Watson was my fave actress as a kid and it also had Patton Oswalt and this was during my aos era, so I was already thrilled but then!!! it had Karen Gillan???? Who played my beloved blorbo Amy Pond? I was almost sold. And then, there was a voice over that just had me like "I know this voice I know this voice who the hell is this person talking I kNOW them - FINN?!?!?" and you know by the point I saw John Boyega, I was sold.

To this day, I think the trailer was a better film than the film itself. And I think a huge part of what made that movie such a let down was the trailer itself, because the trailer made it seem like so much more of a suspense/thriller and...what we got was decidedly not that.

(there's also the fact that the trailer made it seem like John was going to be properly in the movie and....not just in two scenes.)

Inexplicably, despite the fact that I think it's somehow the most boring film put together that painfully underutilizes its stellar cast (seriously can Karen and John do another movie together? I deserve that), my mom still loves it and thus I've seen it probably twice? More times, at least, than I wanted to. Either that, or that first time felt SO long that it seemed like two times.

[blizzardfluffykpop]

As a Kpop fan now, if you've been here since at least 2021/2022ish~ you've outlived 2 apps. V Live and Universe, congrats, you don't get anything, but you can say you've outlived them.

[non-un-topo]

The humour of me being in too much pain to concentrate on my reading about disability justice...

[verdant-avidya]

"Now what kind of crimes are we getting up to tonight."

[trifoliate-undergrowth]

enough about taylor swift already. reblog and tag the smallest, least known artist you listen to

[gophergal]

Very, very curious, you watch any new movies or shows that you want an excuse to talk about?

I wish, Bexxx. College is kicking my ass in a Very Specific Way. Ive been really selective about my free time, and I'll probably explode if I don't draw fanart, but I don't get anything out of movies and tv unless I pay full attention to them. So usually, I listen to podcasts and video essays while I draw/work on class projects. In fact, I think the most recent New Movie I watched was Emesis Blue last November (which I think is still really good even for folks not into the source material)

If you're curious about what sort of videos/podcasts I've been listening to, though, I'll list a few:

Draftsmen, hosted by Stan Prokopenko and Marshall Vandruff.

A very good art podcast that focuses less on technical skills and more on the sort of advice that artists of all levels might be looking for, but can't usually find in a book (Examples from episodes that would have interested me when I started getting serious about learning to draw: pros and cons of going to art school, should you study multiple artforms, ethics of tracing, building a portfolio, having separate professional identities, ect)

A Normal Creepypasta Retrospective, by hazel

I can't really say much about this without spoiling it, because the gimmick is SO fun. But it is unfiction (fiction presented as real for entertainment purposes)

No One Can Find This Creepy Dinosaur Game, by Sagan Hawkes

Pretty similar to the last one, but about a piece of lost media, rather than creepypasta

The Mysterious Rabbit Hole of Youtube's Strangest Anime, by CrunchyBagels

Technically about Nyan~ Neko Sugar Girls, the most infamous fanime still on youtube, but goes in depth on aspects of late 00's-early 10's Weeb Culture that I found particularly fascinating

Look Here: A Deep Dive On Eye Exam Landscapes, by Trey the Explainer

As it says on the tin. The video is just about the history of the various landscapes shown in Corneal Topography machines, but its incredibly fascinating!

[neverendingford]

.

[pseudowho]

Motherhood had altered your 'turn-ons'; not that you lusted after mankind as a whole-- Kento was enough.

His cologne, split with the smooth tang of sweat on work-ripened skin. His hands, alternately gentle and rough, peach-handling or blade-wielding. The authority only the world saw; the authority only you felt.

Dressed-up, dressed-down, undressed, dressing you down, undressing you. Breaking you only to reform you with gold, tied with red thread, whispering you to completion in the dark sacred night.

So (you corrected yourself, as you watched Kento jog after your daughter at the indoor play centre) motherhood had not altered your turn-ons; it had added to them. Stacking high now, you considered the tower of your adoration was just as likely to be stable, as unstable; its endurance or toppling entirely at Kento's mercy.

The arrival at soft-play was a sensory nightmare-- one of many you could tolerate as a mother when you wouldn't have, before.

Obnoxious children's music blared, cut by screams and shouts and cries and calls and whirls and swirls of kids darting and weaving, watched and unwatched, by helicopters or the disinterested. The cocktail was potent, spiked. Your headache started behind your left eye.

Kento saw you. He was unfairly loaded at his own insistence, with change-bag and snack-bag and car keys and your daughter, planking and chattering, a possessed surfboard beneath his arm.

"Sit down-- have a coffee." Kento rumbled, low and slow, unclipping his watch into your cupped hands as you began to argue. "You've had her all week. You need a break."

"You've been at work all week, Kento, you need a break--"

"Don't argue. You know it's not the same. Sit down. Have a coffee."

He lied to you for your benefit; you could feel the bone-deep weariness of him, surely needing a day of sofa-bound naps over a day of childrearing. Alas; parenthood. And he would continue to take bullets for you, even to his own detriment. You knew this. You had planned ahead for this.

As you peered down at your phone, smiling at an eagerly awaited reply, your daughter piped up, bouncing on little toes, her pigtails bouncing too.

"'lide, daddy. Let's go fast. Faster. Race you."

Kento hummed, smiling. "Slide, you mean?"

"I said it. 'lide." Your daughter moved to dart to the towering play area, a flash of lightning into a maelstrom, and you caught her. Kento was distracted, looking into the swarm of other peoples' children, oddly, as he looked at a swarm of Curses. You whispered into your daughters' ear as Kento slipped his boots off.

"Hey, missus, listen."

Your baby girl perked up, sweet and conspiratorial, goofy-teethed and dimple-cheeked, whispering back.

"What is it, mummy?"

"I've got a surprise for daddy. So don't tell him...come here, mummy needs to whisper."

Lips at an ear; tiny hands clasping over a mouth, fizzlepopping with excitement. A long finger against lips; a little finger against lips. A secret pact.

"Are you ready, young lady? I'll get you in three...two..."

Kento reached down for your daughter, his hands clawed, a wolfish grin on his lips. Your daughter knew what it meant; she shrieked with panicked laughter, bolting. The monster formerly known as 'Daddy' dashed after her.

The coffee was shit; you didn't mind, instead hyperfocused on how Kento and your daughter would dip out of sight into the rainbow maze, only to reappear minutes later, with Kento looking more ravaged each time.

On the first loop round, Kento looked unfazed, unruffled, still clipped in his t-shirt and jeans. You simply admired the sultry half-smile he offered you, and the cling of fabric to his thick biceps, before he swept after your daughter again.

On the fifth loop round, flicks of hair escaped over Kento's forehead, the veins on his arms prominent from throwing and tumbling and monstering. He panted, his muscle so much heavier to carry than your birdlike daughter's personal load. Kento's playful growl, running after your giggling daughter, was deeper; huskier. You squirmed, sipping your shit latte.

On the eleventh loop round, a fine sheen of sweat misted Kento's forehead, a flush dashed on high cheekbones. His broad chest heaved, and he stretched his arms back, cracking his neck from side-to-side, with a groan usually heard only when he exerted himself above you, for less wholesome pleasures.

With furrowed brows, Kento prowled the bottom of the slide, and your daughter shrieked, scrabbling to get away from him as he lunged. Your daughter was bicep-curled up to Kento's face, laughing uproariously at his ferocious tummy-raspberries, before being set free, once more, for the hunt. You could not cope, aching, desperately hoping you had the energy left to sweat for him at the end of the day.

By the twenty-first? twenty-third? twenty-fifth? loop round, Kento jogged to a heavy halt, his shoulder blades taut as he bent double, hands braced against his own knees. You heard him panting, cursing under his breath, one long rusty groan. It was all too much-- Kento needed a break. You were unhinged and unsupervised. Surely there had to be some relief--

"Yo, Mrs.Nanamin! Am I late?"

A vision in peach, Yuuji flopped into the chair opposite you, with hands in his pockets and man-spread with a square-jawed, boyish grin. He stood taller than Kento, now, a full-grown man...but still shrunk beneath Kento's chastisement and lectures.

"Right on time, Yuuji. Are you sure you don't mind? It's all a bit..." You looked into the raucous soft-play, searching for words, "...feral."

Yuuji beamed, ruffling his own hair and kicking his shoes off. "Nah. I was gonna go to the gym anyway, but this seems more fun as workouts go."

You called out to your daughter as she reached the bottom of the slide, and Kento looked up, sweating and exhausted. "Baby! Your big brother's here!"

A gasp of thrill from your daughter, and Kento was all but forgotten by her as she pelted towards Yuuji instead, leaping into his arms. She slapped his scrunched cheeks, aggressively overjoyed.

"Big brother-- big brother-- big brother--"

"Yeah yeah, little sister, little sister-- c'mon squirt, I'm gonna getcha! Hey-- Dad--- uh, Nanamin! Gotta go!"

Kento watched his children run away with dewy eyes, his body still thickened by exercise and heavy breaths. You bit your lip as Kento approached, eyes half-lidded as you drank him in. You watched his Adam's apple bob as he gulped back water and gasped, husky with relief.

"God, I love that boy." Kento rumbled.

You melted to see Yuuji reach the bottom of the slide with your daughter on his lap. "Yeah...me too."

"He's saved my life...three times, now."

You laughed, your eyes dipped, tugging Kento to you by the hem of his t-shirt and beckoning him down with one curled finger.

"Think you'll still have some energy later?" You whispered, your breaths mingling with promise.

Kento's eyes narrowed, glimmering, his nose kissing yours. "For that? Always."

[shouyuus]

mma!bakugo who just so happens to train at the gym that you part-time at on the weekends (front desk stuff, bookkeeping, etc) and has always been a bit scary from afar bc he's got this constant scowl as if he's got a bone to pick with just about anyone and anything who crosses his path, but his coach (also ur boss) assures you that he's a big softie once you get to know him. you tell him in no uncertain terms that you think you're good, thanks.

mma!bakugo who's always the first one in and the last one out on your shifts, who's got shit manners but always holds the door open for you and sometimes you swear you can catch him watching you as you go about cleaning some of the equipment but goes tomato red whenever you catch him in the act and immediately yeets off to work on drills for about half an hour before he'll glance at you again.

mma!bakugo who doesn't know how good he looks when he's wiping sweat from his chin or chugging water from his massive 2-liter water bottle, a trickle of cold water dripping down his chin to run down his neck, his adam's apple bobbing as he gulps down the water, smacking his lips as he wipes his mouth on the back of his bandaged hand; doesn't notice the way that every girl (and a lot of the guys tbh) are staring at him, but he'll glance towards where he saw you last, standing helping a new guy sign up for the gym membership, smiling and laughing, and he knows it's what you're supposed to do but it doesn't stop the way his gut twists or the way he goes way too hard at the punching bag, hard enough for his coach to hike an eyebrow and ask what's gotten into him today? it's not like him to "lose control" like this

mma!bakugo who never calls you by your name where other ppl can hear, always says like "hey sweetcheeks, can you hand me a water?" or "dollface, can you do me a favor?" and you'd always roll your eyes and remind him that "that's not my name, bakugou-kun," even as you're doing whatever thing he asked for anyway.

mma!bakugo who keeps quiet and watches when a guy tries to hit on you (unsuccessfully) bc he knows you can handle yourself, but the moment the guy reaches out to try and put hands on you, he's on his feet, stalking across the gym to shove his way between the pair of you like "oi. she ain't interested." and by now, everyone's gone quiet, their eyes trained on him and the guy and you; the guy sizes bakugou up, puffing out his chest for a second, but the next, he seems to notice the thick cords of muscles braiding down bakugou's arms, the expertly wrapped knuckles on both his hands, and he puts two and two together fast enough to know that this really isn't a fight he should be picking.

so he scoffs and makes as if he weren't ever really that interested anyway, turning around and muttering beneath his breath that you weren't even that pretty to begin with.

"thanks," you say, but bakugo just frowns and cocks his head.

"don't let anyone talk to you like that, got it?" and there's still that signature grit to his voice, the sharpness to his eyes, but something about it is different today -- it's ever so slightly softer than he usually is. he opens his mouth like he's about to say something more but pauses at the last second and turns around, shoulders a little hunched, and you could swear you can see the tips of his ears go red.

mma!bakugo who, after you get him an omamori from a shrine visit that says "certain victory", can only stare down at his, mouth open, a lil speechless, until he looks up to find you blushing just as hard as he is, purses his lips, clears his throat and glances off towards the side, tucking the charm into his training shorts like "thanks. now i've really got no excuse huh."

mma!bakugo who when he wins (as you knew he would), throws up his hand, the charm you gave him clutched in his palm, catches your eye in the crowd, smirks and jerks his head; when you squeeze your way up to the barrier, he boops your nose with a gloved hand before tugging it off with his teeth, letting it drop to the ground, bending down so his eyes are level with yours, his chest still heaving, his skin flushed from the recent fight, there's a cut on his lip and a bruise blossoming high on his right cheek but neither of you seem to care -- all he can see is you.

he tugs on a loose strand of hair, cocks his head, you smile and glance at the omamori clutched in his hand and say, "guess the lucky charm really worked."

mma!bakugo who hikes an eyebrow at your words before his eyes track down to your lips and he sighs, leaning against the soft barriers, not caring that there are just about seven different cameras trained on the pair of you right now, runs a finger down your jawline till he can tip your chin back --

"or..." his voice is just a little hoarse, his normally bright eyes dark, his pupils nearly completely blown out, a total eclipse of the usual ruby red of his gaze --

"maybe my lucky charm is just you."

[theetherealbloom]

You Got Me So In Love, I've Never Been This Possessive

Summary: While on a scenic boat trip along the coasts of Malta, you bask in the crystal-clear waters, and laughter with Pedro’s cast and crew. Despite his injured arm keeping him on the boat, Pedro can’t keep his eyes off you.

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Nudity, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Swimming, Bikini, Flirting, Teasing, Cast, Pedro Fell Down The Stairs, ER visit, Hurt-To-Comfort, Mild Spice, Banter, Idk Spanish so the terms might be wrong but I'm trying my best

Word Count: 5K

A/N: GOOD MORNING CHICKENS!!! Y’know how I said there would be a part two? Yup. Also, I know no one asked, but back in High School, I fell down the stairs… A LOT. Like every year for six years. No major bones were broken, only a sprained ankle every time I fell down the stairs, so in a way I guess I was lucky. PSA to always hold the hand railing, and like Pedro said, it can happen to anyone!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Te Quiero by KISS OF LIFE

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PASCAL RESIDENCE, CHILE — AFTERNOON  

The sun bathed the Pascal family home in a golden glow, the air filled with the scent of freshly baked empanadas and the gentle hum of conversation. You were seated on the patio, your legs tucked under you, watching as Pedro animatedly retold a story from his teenage years. His siblings—Javiera, Lux, and Nicolás—listened with rapt attention, their laughter bubbling over when Pedro’s dad chimed in with his version of events, insisting Pedro had exaggerated again.  

“Exaggerated?” Pedro placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “I would never! Everything I say is 100% true and scientifically proven.”  

“Scientifically proven to be full of nonsense,” Nicolás teased, earning a round of laughter.  

You couldn’t help but grin, soaking in the easy camaraderie of the family. Pedro’s hand found yours under the table, his fingers lacing with yours in a way that felt like second nature. He glanced at you, his dark eyes soft with a love so deep it made your chest tighten.  

“Tell them,” Pedro said, turning to you with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “Tell them I’m not lying.”  

You bit back a laugh, tilting your head in mock consideration. “Well… the story did sound a bit too good to be true.”  

“Et tu, mi amor?” he groaned, but the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile.  

Javiera, ever the ringleader, stood and declared, “Enough storytelling! Let’s put her to the test. If she’s going to be part of this family, she needs to learn brisca.”  

Pedro leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Fair warning: They’ll gang up on you.”  

“Good thing I’ve got you on my side,” you murmured, a soft blush rising to your cheeks.  

“I’ll always be on your side,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple that sent a shiver down your spine.  

A FEW HOURS LATER…  

The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the yard. Pedro had wandered inside to grab more drinks for everyone while you stayed on the patio with Lux, discussing her latest project.  

The sound of a crash shattered the peaceful air. You froze, the glass in Lux’s hand slipping and shattering on the ground.  

“Pedro!” you gasped, bolting toward the house.  

Inside, you found him crumpled at the base of the stairs, his face pale and contorted in pain. Nicolás was already at his side, his hands hovering uncertainly as if afraid to make things worse.  

“Call an ambulance!” you shouted, your voice shaking as you knelt beside Pedro.  

He looked up at you, his breaths shallow and uneven. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” he said through gritted teeth, but his wince betrayed him.  

“You’re not okay,” you said, your hands trembling as you gently brushed the hair from his forehead. “What happened?”  

“I missed the last step,” he muttered, trying to manage a weak smile. “Guess I’m not as graceful as I thought.”  

“Pedro, this isn’t funny,” you whispered, tears pricking your eyes.  

Javiera appeared with the phone pressed to her ear, speaking rapidly to the emergency dispatcher. Lux crouched beside you, her face pale as she reached for Pedro’s uninjured hand.  

“Help’s on the way,” Javiera assured you, her voice steady despite the panic in her eyes.  

Minutes felt like hours as you waited for the ambulance. You kept your focus on Pedro, your hand gripping his tightly. “Just breathe, okay? I’m right here. You’re going to be fine.”  

THE ER — EVENING

The antiseptic smell of the hospital hit you as you paced the waiting room, your heart pounding in your chest. Pedro had been whisked away for X-rays, and you felt helpless, the absence of his hand in yours leaving you cold.  

When the doctor finally emerged, you rushed to meet him, Javiera and Nicolás close behind.  

“Mr. Pascal has a broken arm,” the doctor explained. “It’s a clean break, but he’ll need surgery to set the bone properly. We’re scheduling it for late January.”  

Relief and worry collided in your chest. “Can I see him?” you asked, your voice small.  

The doctor nodded, and you followed the nurse to Pedro’s room. He was sitting up in bed, his arm in a temporary sling, his face pale but his smile still intact.  

“Hey, troublemaker,” he said, his voice softer than usual.  

You crossed the room in a few quick steps, perching on the edge of his bed. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” you said, your voice breaking as tears spilled over.  

Pedro reached for your hand with his good arm, his thumb brushing soothing circles over your knuckles. “I’m sorry, mi amor,” he murmured, his eyes glistening.  

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. “I thought… I thought something worse happened. I couldn’t breathe until I saw you.”  

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice steady despite the pain. “And I’ll be fine. Especially with you by my side.”  

You kissed him gently, pouring every ounce of love and relief into the touch. As his lips moved against yours, you felt the fear begin to fade, replaced by the overwhelming gratitude that he was still here with you.  

“I’ll take care of you,” you promised, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”  

Pedro smiled, his gaze tender. “I don’t deserve you.”  

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said, brushing a tear from your cheek. “You deserve the world.”  

And in that moment, surrounded by beeping monitors and the sterile walls of the hospital, it felt like nothing else mattered but the two of you.

FORT RICASOLI, MALTA — DAY  

The sun was high over Fort Ricasoli, the Mediterranean breeze carrying a salty tang as waves crashed against the nearby shore. The reconstructed Roman Colosseum loomed grandly in the fort, its grandeur a perfect backdrop for the epic Gladiator II production. You stepped out of the transport van, sunglasses shielding your eyes from the bright Maltese sun, a bag slung over your shoulder filled with Pedro’s essentials—medication, snacks, and a cold water bottle you knew he’d try to avoid drinking unless reminded.  

As you walked toward the set, Pedro spotted you first, his face lighting up in a way that made your heart ache with affection. He was seated in the shade near the makeup tent, his left arm encased in a royal blue cast that made him look both ridiculous and endearing.  

“Hi,” you called, setting your bag down beside him. “I’m here to be your nurse.”  

Pedro’s grin widened, his dark eyes softening. “You’re more than my nurse. You’re my lifesaver. And I love you so much.”  

You rolled your eyes playfully, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his forehead. “How’s the arm?”  

“It’s humiliating,” he muttered, holding up the cast as if it were a mark of disgrace. “Everyone keeps staring at it. Or laughing. Or both.”  

“There’s nothing humiliating about needing help once in a while, my love,” you said gently, brushing a curl from his forehead. “Besides, it’s a great conversation starter.”  

“Oh, yeah. Real smooth. ‘Hi, I’m Pedro Pascal, and I fell down a flight of stairs like a medieval jester.’”  

You smothered a laugh just as Joseph Quinn sauntered by, pausing dramatically to give Pedro an exaggerated salute. “How’s the mighty warrior today? Still battling gravity, I see.”  

“Go away,” Pedro groaned, waving his good arm dismissively.  

“You’re a walking PSA now,” Fred Hechinger added as he passed. “Don’t text and walk down stairs, kids!”  

Denzel Washington approached next, shaking his head with mock solemnity. “And here I thought I was the one who’d pull a stunt like that.”  

“Traitors,” Pedro muttered, pulling you closer as if you could shield him from the teasing.  

Coco, his ever-sassy hair stylist, smirked as she fixed his curls. “Just make sure she doesn’t trip over your ego next.”  

“Coco!” Pedro whined, but his cheeks flushed, his pout making him look boyish and undeniably adorable.  

Ridley Scott ambled over, his tone a mix of concern and exasperation. “Take it easy, Pedro. You’re not 25 anymore.”  

“Gee, thanks, Ridley,” Pedro huffed, pulling you against him as if seeking comfort.  

The day pressed on, the heat making Pedro’s clinginess somehow both unbearable and heart-meltingly sweet. Despite the steady teasing from the cast and crew, he stuck close to you like a second shadow whenever he wasn’t on set, his blue cast drawing as much attention as his ever-present pout.  

During a break, he tugged at your hand, a soft whine slipping from his lips. “Go with me?”  

You glanced up from the book you were pretending to read. “Go where?”  

“Craft services,” he said, gesturing toward the shaded area where snacks and cold drinks awaited. “I’m starving, and I need moral support.”  

“You literally just had a protein bar,” you teased, but stood anyway, slipping your hand into his.  

“As long as you hold my hand,” you added with a smirk, letting him lead the way.  

His good hand entwined with yours, his thumb brushing lazy circles over your skin as you walked. “You know I’m not letting go, right?”  

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”  

Reaching the craft services tent, Pedro made a beeline for the iced lemonade, his cast making the process comically awkward. You reached over to help him hold the cup steady as he poured, ignoring the amused glances from the crew around you.  

“I got it,” he insisted, though his pouty tone betrayed his frustration.  

“Sure you do, Mr. Dexterity,” you teased. “Here, let me.”  

As you steadied the cup, Paul Mescal appeared beside you, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. “What’s it like being Pedro’s personal assistant and cuddle therapist?”  

Pedro narrowed his eyes, his body shifting slightly as if to shield you from Paul’s teasing. “She’s an angel,” he declared, his tone defensive. “Unlike all of you degenerates.”  

Paul laughed, grabbing a handful of chips. “Touché.”  

Connie Nielsen joined the growing group, her warm smile softening the teasing atmosphere. “An angel with the patience of a saint,” she agreed. “He’s lucky to have you.”  

You squeezed Pedro’s hand, glancing up at him with a playful glint in your eye. “Oh, I know.”  

Pedro leaned down, his voice low and sweet in your ear. “Remind me to buy you something shiny and expensive later.”  

“I’ll hold you to that,” you whispered back, brushing a kiss to his cheek just as Coco walked by, her ever-present smirk firmly in place.  

“Are we making out by the lemonade now?” she quipped, adjusting Pedro’s wig as she passed. “Just don’t knock over the drink dispenser, Casanova.”  

Pedro groaned, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitching, betraying his amusement.  

When Pedro was shooting, you stayed nearby, perched under an umbrella with a bottle of water and a timer set for his next dose of medication. He’d been restless all morning, constantly checking in between takes to make sure you were still there.  

The moment the director called cut, Pedro scanned the area until his eyes landed on you. A small smile tugged at his lips as he made a beeline toward you, his costume slightly dusty from the action sequence.  

“Hydrate,” you ordered the moment he reached you, holding out the water bottle.  

He wrinkled his nose but took it, his good hand struggling to unscrew the cap. You wordlessly reached over to help, earning a sheepish look from him.  

“You know,” he said after a long sip, “you’re bossier than Ridley.”  

“You love it,” you countered, wiping the sweat from his brow with a small towel you’d tucked into your bag.  

Pedro’s lips curved into a soft smile, his gaze lingering on you. “I do,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “A little too much.”  

Your heart squeezed at the tenderness in his tone, and you reached up to brush a stray curl from his forehead. “Good. Now go back to work. Ridley’s glaring at us.”  

He glanced over his shoulder, spotting the director gesturing for him to return. “Fine,” he grumbled, but not before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.  

As he walked back toward the set, Ridley shook his head, a faint smile on his face. “That woman of yours has you wrapped around her little finger.”  

Pedro shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t I know it.”  

THE XARA PALACE RELAIS & CHÂTEAUX, MALTA — EVENING  

The day had taken its toll on both of you, but by the time you returned to the cozy luxury of the hotel suite, Pedro’s exhaustion only seemed to amplify his need for affection. As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, he flopped dramatically onto the small couch, casting a forlorn look your way.  

“Come here,” he said, his good arm extended toward you like a lifeline.  

You chuckled, slipping off your sandals. “I thought you were tired.”  

“I am,” he replied, his lips twitching into a pout. “But I’ll sleep better if you’re right here.”  

Shaking your head fondly, you joined him on the couch, only to be pulled down against his side the moment you were close enough.  

“It’s too hot for this,” you teased, trying—and failing—to push against his firm hold.  

“Don’t care,” Pedro murmured, nuzzling into the curve of your neck as if you were the only source of comfort in the world. “You make everything better.”  

You sighed softly, your resolve melting as your fingers found their way into his curls. They were still slightly damp from his post-shoot shower, and you gently combed through them, marveling at how they always seemed to spring back into place.  

“I think that’s the heatstroke talking,” you quipped, though your voice was warm with affection.  

“No,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin. “That’s the love of my life talking.”  

Your hand stilled for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you like a gentle wave. You pulled back slightly to look at him, but Pedro didn’t let you get far. His warm brown eyes met yours, brimming with sincerity that made your breath catch.  

“You’re insufferable,” you said, though the tremor in your voice betrayed how deeply his words had affected you.  

“And you’re perfect,” he countered, his tone so soft and certain it made your heart ache in the best way.  

Your cheeks warmed, and you leaned down to press a tender kiss to his temple. “You’re lucky I love you,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his skin.  

Pedro grinned, his good arm tightening around you as he pulled you even closer. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”  

For a while, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the air conditioning blending with the distant sounds of the Maltese evening outside. Pedro’s breathing began to slow, his head resting heavily against your shoulder as he drifted off. His cast was awkwardly propped up on his chest, and you carefully adjusted a pillow beneath it, not wanting him to wake up sore.  

As you gazed down at him, his face relaxed and peaceful in sleep, your heart swelled with a familiar ache—one born of overwhelming love. He might’ve been clingy and dramatic, prone to complaints about his cast and the heat, but he was also tender and selfless, with a way of making you feel like the most cherished person in the world.  

You traced the curve of his jaw with the tips of your fingers, marveling at how even in his sleep, his hold on you never loosened. He was steady and constant in a way that made you feel safe, loved, and utterly at home.  

He might’ve fallen down the stairs, but it felt like you were the one falling—deeper in love with him every single day.  

Later that night, as the two of you lay tangled together in the king-sized bed, Pedro stirred, his voice groggy but laced with warmth.  

“Are you still awake?”  

“Barely,” you murmured, your head resting against his uninjured shoulder. “Why?”  

He shifted slightly, his fingers grazing over your arm in lazy circles. “Just wanted to say… thank you.”  

“For what?”  

“For taking care of me. For putting up with me being clingy. For loving me even when I’m ridiculous,” he said, his voice soft but earnest.  

You smiled in the darkness, pressing a kiss to his chest. “It’s not putting up with you, Pedro. It’s just loving you. And it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”  

His breath hitched, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his words carrying the weight of unspoken emotion.  

“You deserve everything,” you replied, your voice firm despite the tears prickling at your eyes.  

Pedro’s arms tightened around you, and in that moment, the world outside the four walls of your suite seemed to fade away. There was only the two of you, tangled together in love and gratitude, the promise of another day together stretching out before you like a gift.  

And as you drifted off to sleep, cradled in his embrace, you couldn’t imagine a place you’d rather be. 

COASTS OF MALTA — MORNING  

The morning sun bathed the harbor in a soft, golden glow as you and Pedro stepped onto the pristine deck of the yacht, greeted by the lively chatter of his castmates and the crew. The day promised adventure—an exploration of Malta’s dazzling coastlines, including the famed Blue Lagoon, Crystal Lagoon, and the secretive caves on Comino. The air smelled of salt and freedom, and the water, impossibly blue and inviting, stretched out like a gem-laden carpet before you.  

Pedro lingered close to you, his blue cast slung in a casual sling, though it didn’t stop him from giving your hand a light squeeze. He leaned down, his voice low and teasing.  

"Don’t get too excited," he murmured with a grin, his dark eyes gleaming. "You’ll make me look bad."  

You bumped your shoulder into his, rolling your eyes. "I can’t help it if I’m more fun than you."  

"More fun? Or more distracting?" His gaze flicked briefly to the bikini peeking out from your cover-up, his expression bordering on predatory before he quickly masked it with a playful smirk.  

“Behave, Pascal,” you teased, your cheeks warming under his intense stare.  

As the boat cruised toward its first stop, the Blue Lagoon, the mood was light and cheerful. Connie and Fred lounged near the bow, animatedly swapping stories with the crew, their laughter carrying over the soft sound of the waves. Coco flitted around like a hummingbird with her camera, capturing candid shots of the lively group. Near the railing, Paul was attempting to teach Denzel a ridiculous dance move, the two of them tripping over their own feet and causing more chaos than rhythm.  

You stood near Pedro, feeling the sun’s warmth on your skin, the gentle breeze teasing at your cover-up. A playful grin spread across your face as you untied the knot at your waist, sliding the fabric off and tossing it onto a nearby lounge chair. The vibrant bikini beneath was perfectly chosen—bright and bold against your skin, hugging your curves in a way that made you feel confident and beautiful.  

Pedro, seated comfortably in the shade with his injured arm resting on a cushion, froze mid-sip of his drink. His gaze locked onto you, his eyes darkening as they traced every inch of your form. Appreciation was clear in his expression, but it was the simmering heat in his stare that sent a thrill down your spine.  

You stretched your arms over your head, feigning oblivion to his attention as you joined Coco and Paul in their antics. The movement made your waist curve just enough to draw a quiet groan from Pedro’s lips, which didn’t go unnoticed by Coco. She smirked, leaning down to whisper as she passed him.  

“Subtle,” she teased, her voice dripping with amusement.  

Pedro didn’t even attempt to hide his grin. His eyes stayed glued to you as he shrugged, unapologetic. “Can you blame me?”  

Coco snorted. “Not one bit. But maybe cool it unless you want everyone else to notice how thirsty  you are.”  

“Let them,” Pedro muttered, mostly to himself. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he watched you laugh with Paul, the way your body moved under the bright sun making it nearly impossible for him to look away.  

When you caught his eye and shot him a playful wink, his good hand flexed against the armrest of his chair, the urge to pull you back to him almost too strong to resist.  

Later, as you leaned over the edge of the boat, peering down at the water with Paul pointing out fish, Pedro’s voice rumbled low behind you.  

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”  

You turned to find him standing close, his cast resting awkwardly at his side. “I am. The water’s beautiful,” you said with a smile, but his eyes weren’t on the water.  

“They’re not the only thing,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist.  

Heat bloomed on your cheeks, but you couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips. “Pedro Pascal,” you teased, stepping closer. “Are you flirting with me on a boat in front of all your castmates?”  

“Flirting?” He scoffed, his voice rich with amusement. “I’m just admiring. Can’t a man admire his girlfriend?”  

“Girlfriend?” you repeated, arching a brow.  

He smirked, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost over your skin. “The girlfriend,” he corrected, his voice dropping into a tone that sent a shiver racing through you despite the heat.  

You bit your lip, glancing around at the others, who were too distracted to notice the charged moment. “Behave yourself,” you whispered, though your heart raced at the way his good hand brushed lightly against your hip.  

He grinned, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m trying, but you’re not making it easy, sweetheart.”  

The way he said it, rough and low, had your stomach doing flips. The teasing sparkle in his eyes told you he knew exactly the effect he was having on you—and he wasn’t the least bit sorry about it.

When the boat anchored near the Blue Lagoon, you practically bounced with excitement. “I’m going in!”  

Pedro chuckled as you grabbed your snorkeling gear, pausing to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Try not to miss me too much,” you teased before hopping off the boat with an elegant dive.  

“Not possible,” he called after you, his voice tinged with laughter.  

The water was cool and crystal clear, every ripple catching the sunlight like scattered diamonds. You swam alongside Coco and Paul, laughing as he tried to outswim everyone only to splash clumsily when Coco teased him about his lack of grace. Schools of fish darted around you, their silvery bodies glimmering in the lagoon’s shallows, and the thrill of the moment made you forget the world beyond the sparkling blue waters.  

Pedro watched from the deck, his good hand cradling a drink as his cast rested on his lap. He smiled softly, his heart swelling at the sight of you. You were so effortlessly kind, so radiant, laughing and splashing with his friends as if you’d known them your whole life.  

“She’s really something,” Ridley remarked as he joined Pedro at the shaded table.  

“Don’t I know it,” Pedro replied, his voice warm with pride.  

“She’s good for you,” Ridley said simply, his tone laced with a rare softness.  

Pedro glanced at the director, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. She’s my soulmate.”  

Later, you clambered back onto the boat, droplets of water clinging to your skin, sparkling in the sunlight as they traced lazy paths down your arms and legs. Your grin was infectious, the kind of radiant joy that could light up an entire room—or, in this case, the deck of the boat. Pedro’s eyes were glued to you, as though the rest of the world had faded into the background.  

“Having fun?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement but warm with affection.  

“The best,” you replied breathlessly, grabbing a towel and wringing out your hair. “You should’ve come in with us. The water is incredible.”  

He raised his cast dramatically, pulling a mock grimace. “In case you forgot, I’m a bit handicapped here.”  

“Oh, poor baby,” you teased, crouching beside him. You leaned in to press a playful kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering just long enough to make him sigh. “Next time, I’ll stay on the boat with you. We can sulk together.”  

Pedro’s good hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer before you could stand. “Don’t you dare,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Watching you have fun out there is the next best thing to being in the water myself.”  

You arched a brow, motioning to your bikini with a teasing grin. “You mean you like the view.”  

Pedro’s lips curved into a slow, devilish smirk. His mouth brushed your ear as he whispered, “I love the view.”  

The heat of his words sent a shiver down your spine, making your cheeks flush. You swatted at his chest playfully before standing and tossing the towel over your shoulder. “Careful, Pascal. You’re not supposed to overheat with that cast on.”  

The boat anchored near the caves on Comino, the turquoise water shimmering like liquid glass. Pedro waved you off with a mock sternness, insisting you go explore while he stayed behind.  

“I’ll hold down the fort,” he said, settling back into his chair with a small smirk. “Don’t get lost in there.”  

You rolled your eyes, blowing him a kiss before diving into the water with Paul and Fred. The group swam toward the darkened entrance of the caves, their laughter echoing off the limestone walls. Inside, the sunlight filtered through cracks, casting dancing patterns on the rocky surfaces.  

Pedro, stuck on the boat, didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. His gaze followed you like a shadow, lingering on the curve of your body as you moved effortlessly through the water. Every so often, you glanced back at the boat, catching him watching you. He didn’t even pretend to look away, his expression soft, adoring, and entirely unguarded.  

When you returned, dripping wet and exhilarated, you plopped down beside him with a dramatic sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder.  

“You’ve been staring at me all day,” you teased, your tone light but your heart pounding at the intensity of his attention.  

Pedro turned his head slightly, brushing his lips against your temple. “Can you blame me?” he murmured. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”  

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You tilted your head to meet his gaze, your hand finding his on the armrest. “You’re laying it on thick today,” you joked, though your voice wavered just slightly.  

“It’s the truth,” he countered simply, his thumb brushing across your knuckles.  

Your moment was interrupted by Paul’s exaggerated wolf whistle from across the deck. “Get a room, you two!”  

Fred chimed in with a loud groan. “Some of us are single and fragile!”  

You laughed, your head falling back briefly before you turned to Pedro, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “They’re just jealous.”  

“Damn right, they are,” Pedro said, leaning in close. “You’re all mine.”  

The possessiveness in his tone was playful but sent your pulse racing nonetheless.  

Later, as the boat rocked gently in the open waters, you sat on Pedro’s lap, his good arm wrapped securely around your waist. The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold.  

“Pedro,” you said softly, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his thigh. “Can we stay like this forever?”  

His eyes softened as he looked down at you, his smile tender. “I’d stay here with you forever if I could,” he replied, his voice filled with quiet certainty.  

The weight of his words settled over you, grounding you in the moment. You bit your lip, leaning in closer until your noses brushed. “Please just kiss me already.”  

Pedro didn’t need to be asked twice. His lips captured yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, full of unspoken promises and a depth of feeling that took your breath away. His hand splayed across your back, pulling you impossibly closer as the world around you seemed to disappear.  

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a soft laugh. “I think you might be my soulmate,” he said, his voice a mixture of awe and certainty.  

Your eyes searched his, and for a moment, the noise of the others and the gentle lapping of the waves faded entirely. “I think you might be mine too,” you whispered, sealing the moment with another kiss.  

Laughter and chatter echoed around you, the boat a hub of joy and togetherness, but for you and Pedro, time seemed to stand still. In his arms, surrounded by the beauty of Malta and the warmth of his love, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[nkogneatho]

SANTA'S CUMMING TO TOWN

—fushiguro toji x fem!reader

#TAPE NO 1 OF 'Tis the Season to be Naughty

—cw: breeding, santa kink (idk bruh i am all high and horny), mention on pregnancy, prone bone, raw sex, spanking, dirty talking, nick names. (art creds: yy6241 on ig)

—a/n: 1.2k words of everything that is wrong with me

Christmas wasn't particularly the most awaited time of the year for Toji. You on the other hand? You made sure that your place looked like the Christmas Spirit threw up garlands, trees and cute lights all over.

"Can you pass me those lights?" you ask Toji who was hanging the pinecones on the tree.

"Tell me why we're doin' this again?"

"Because it's Christmas. It's the season of joy. Oh, by the way," you gently step down from the table that helped you a gain a foot to put on the decorations, "gumi's friends are coming tomorrow so make sure to dress up as a santa."

"What?" He is stunned. It's not that he doesn't like kids but to have all their excited eyes on him would give him quite the stage fright.

"Please Please Toji. I know you don't like this kinda stuff but gumi was so excited the other day to see santa."

"What's in it for me?"

"You want a bribe for dressing up to make your son happy?" Your arms fold against your chest and you look at him with a poker face.

"Of course. That little brat gets spoiled way too much by you. When's my turn?"

"Toji. It's either the santa costume or the shark costume and dancing on baby shark for an hour"

*GASP*

"Hope ya know Santa doesn't like you, sweetheart." He walks away after giving you a nasty look. You know he doesn't mean it. He is cute when he is all pouty.

The party felt like forever. You send Megumi off to Shiu's place with his son and his mom. They were gonna have a sleepover. Megumi was a raging introvert just like his father so him having a best friend was a big deal for you.

"So the dishes are done. The extra party hats are in the cupboard, the floor is clean and y—" You stop your moving feet and look at the view in front of you. "And Santa hasn't left yet."

"Well...I still have one bad girl on my list. Thought I'd take care of that." He steps closer. The heat emitting from his body already reaching to hug your skin.

"But I've been your good girl, haven't I?" your doe eyes flutter at him, your fingers curling his white faux beard.

"Nah sweetheart. You've been so bad. You've barely paid any attention to me all month. Don'tcha think ya should get punished for that?" His grainy voice grazes against your neck. You try so hard to come up with a quick witty answer to turn this into a wholesome conversation but that was down the drain the moment he put that thing on. You were never into the whole santa thing until now. All blame goes to the man underneath the costume.

"P-punished?" You clear you throat. "Like?" You wait for an answer but you don't get one. Well, at least not in words.

Toji picks you up bridal style and walks to the cozy mattress next to the christmas tree and the gifts.

"Gonna give you a full experience, doll."

Everytime you fuck, Toji's always the one to get undressed first. He is too impatient to feel you against him. But tonight, you're the only one getting undressed. Your dress pools on your stomach as calloused hands hike it up.

"Toj—"

"tsk tsk. address me properly, naughty girl."

"Santa! Need you inside me.

"Heh. Not so soon, darling. Gotta punish you first." In a split second, you're turned on your belly, face pushed against the pillow. Toji inhales a sharp breath watching your exposed ass. A quick spank is landed on your them, making your husband hard as your plump skin bounces.

"Look at'cha. Such a slut. getting all wet with just a spank? what you gon' do when santa fills up your hole, doll?"

*spank*

"Ah! Fuck. I am so sorry, Santa. I promise I'll be a good girl f'you" you mewl.

"Promise? ight. Let's test that." You hear him shuffle. His fingers unbuckle the comically large belt and tugging down the pants just enough to expose his throbbing cock. He pumps it a few times before slapping the precum covered tip on your butt cheeks, the slight wet feeling on your skin turning you on even more. Toji grabs a cushion and settles it between the floor and your stomach so your pussy is easily visible. It's shameful. You know you're so wet that it's traveling down your thigh and drenching the cushion.

You feel his cockhead rub against your slick, opening the folds.

"Shit. She's dripping, sweetheart. Don't even need to stretch ya tonight. You ready for Santa's cock?"

He doesn't even give you a chance to answer before he is slowly forcing it in your pussy. Emerald eyes not even blinking for a second out of fear of missing even a single frame of the way you swallow him.

"Fuuuuuck!" you cry out at the stretch.

"Attagirl. Took it all in once. Keep it up and I might take you off my bad list, baby."

He starts off a few gentle strokes to get you used to it all before he puts his arms on your back, pushing you further against the mattress as he starts pounding into you like an animal.

"Fuckfuckfuck fucking god! I love your pussy. You feel so fucking good. Ughhh"

"Ah! Ah! Ah! Santa, pl—please. You're so big."

"I know, baby. But—ugh—you're takin' me sooo well. Fuck! Yeah, baby c'mon. Grind that ass on my cock. Yeaaaah just like that fuck!"

"G-gunna cum, anh anh ffu—ngh," you cry and your tears are soaked by the pillows. In another second, you're coming undone on his cock, screaming his name.

"Good girl. Good. Fucking. Girl." Each word enunciated with a deep plunge in your shivering pussy.

"You've been such a good girl. Santa's gonna give you a gift." Toji picks up his pace again, rolling his hips faster, the faux beard chafing your shoulders as he is putting all his weight on you, all his instincts telling him to breed you.

"Gunna give my sweet doll the greatest gift. You better take it all. 'm gonna make sure your pussy does. goddaaaamn nghh—" A few more deep thrusts and soon he is losing his composure, cumming and painting your insides with his thick leak.

"You better return the gift in nine months doll." You're too fucked in your brain to even register what he said.

The next morning you're not even making eye contact with Toji, too embarrassed to accept you were turned on by something so innocent. Good thing Megumi comes by the door running, helping you avoid the situation for a little longer.

"Aww come here, my boy. Did you have fun at Uncle Shiu's?" He nods. His little arms coming to hug you.

"So what gift ya got brat?" Toji asks the little sea urchin.

"I got a pink tiger with a red color bow. He is the best. I named him Yuuji." You chuckle, wiping the drool from corner of his lips. "And we ate fortune cookies."

"ohh! what did your cookie say?"

"It said Santa will bring a little sister next year." Blood rushes to your cheeks, your face heating up at the little boy's innocent comment, sounding completely sinful after scenes from last night play in your head. You bite the insides of your cheek.

"Mhm. Hope he does, babe." He kisses the top of the boy's head and then your temple. Yeah he is not the Christmas kinda guy. But this might be his new favorite holiday now.

[witchywithwhiskey]

this time of year

pairing: friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: you've kept your feelings for your friend, steve rogers, quiet for years—but when you're at the holiday market with your whole group of friends, some things come to light, and you don't think you can keep pretending you don't desperately want him anymore.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, light angst, smut, oral sex (m and f receiving), piv sex, protection, fingering (f receiving), nipple play, multiple orgasms, kissing, making out, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (sunshine), aftercare, happily ever after—this is probably the most vanilla sex i've written in a while but it's still porn with feelings.

word count: 11.9k

a/n: my first entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, and it's technically still december 1 where i live (just barely)!!! i used the prompt "Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?" and had an idea i really liked and just ran with it! i promise most of my december fics won't be 10k+ words—mainly because i don't think i'd survive it 😅 but i hope y'all enjoy this soft and sweet and smutty start to december!! ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

Teasing tingles of chill danced across your skin as the crisp December wind brushed against your cheeks, making you huddle deeper into the warmth of your winter coat. You pushed your hands deeper into your pockets, but it didn’t do much. You’d forgotten your mittens, and your fingers felt nearly frozen. 

It didn’t help that you and your friends had been meandering through one of the city’s holiday market for more than a few hours, the cold of the evening sinking deep into your bones. Unfortunately, there were only so many cups of hot chocolate one person could consume before they made themselves sick, and you’d reached that limit. 

Still, you were having fun—too much fun to complain about the cold or to try to beg off early. That was why you smiled as you watched your best friend, Yelena Belova, duck into one of the market stalls, her green eyes going wide as they raked over the vendor’s display of knives.

You trailed a little slowly behind the rest of your friends—Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers—beneath the pop-up tent, distracted by the chill in your fingers as you rubbed them against your body through the material of your coat, trying to get them warm.

The wintry wind cut through the market again and, despite the trembling of your body, you smiled as you breathed in the scent of it. Beneath the pine smell from the evergreen trees being sold at the big tent near the entrance and the swirling richness of buttery baked goods, there was a fresh scent that made you turn your face upward.

Gray clouds were rolling in overhead, blotting out the deep navy of the evening sky, and you knew, deep in your bones, that it was going to snow. A smile curled the edges of your lips and you let your eyes fall closed as you breathed in that fresh scent of oncoming snow. 

You loved this time of year because you loved the snow. 

Everything about it conjured up memories of sitting by a crackling fire, wrapped in a cozy blanket, watching the beautiful flakes fall from the sky and dust everything in a perfect wintry cloak. You could spend hours sitting by a window, watching the snow come down, and you were suddenly looking forward to doing just that once you got home that evening. 

When you finally opened your eyes and turned away from the sky, you found Steve lingering in the entrance of the tent where your friends were browsing, an intensity in his gaze as he looked at you. He didn’t look away when you caught him staring, simply held your gaze, letting you see the heat swirling in the depths of his bright blue eyes.

That heat had begun appearing in Steve’s eyes more and more when he looked at you, and you knew it had started after a certain night at the bar your friends frequented a few weeks prior. But you’d been determinedly ignoring that look in Steve’s eyes ever since that night—just like you’d been ignoring what exactly had happened between the two of you. 

As fast as the memory of that night sprang to mind, you shoved it aside, reminding yourself that there was no use in dredging it up. What you and Steve had done that night had the potential to ruin all of your relationships, and no matter how much you might’ve wanted reenact the night at the bar, your friend group was too important to you to risk it.

Even after years of knowing them, you still felt like your addition to the group was precarious because you’d joined so much later. Steve, Bucky, Nat and Yelena had all known each other since they were teenagers, and you’d only met them in your early twenties. You’d sat near Yelena at your first job after college, and it had been best friends at first sight—or, at first snarky comment, anyway. 

She’d adopted you as her best friend and introduced you to the others since you were new to the city and didn’t know anyone. You’d liked Steve from the moment you met him, but you’d kept a tight lid on your crush since you were more concerned about fitting into the group as seamlessly as possible, and you figured following your feelings would unnecessarily rock the boat. 

Still, despite your intention of taking your crush on Steve to your grave, you couldn’t ignore the way he’d grown into himself as you all had gotten older. 

Gone was the boy-next-door blond hair and clean-shaven face of the man you’d first met. Steve’s hair had darkened and he’d recently let it grow long enough that it was beginning to curl at the nape of his neck. He’d also grown out his beard, keeping it thick but neatly trimmed.

Steve had also, somewhere along the way, learned how to dress his tall form—and do it well. 

That night at the holiday market, he’d worn light gray slacks, a dark charcoal sweater that you desperately wanted to rub your cheek against to see if it was as soft as it looked, and a black wool overcoat. It was an outfit that had you nearly drooling when you’d met up with your friends, unable to tear your eyes away from how Steve’s broad shoulders and trim waist filled out the clothes.

Despite the chill of the evening, Steve hadn’t seemed the least bit cold, and you’d caught yourself thinking more than once how warm it would feel to be wrapped up in his strong arms. Your fingers would never have gotten so miserably frozen if you’d snuck them beneath Steve’s coat or in his pockets…

With a start, you realized you’d been staring back at Steve for a long, lingering moment, and heat bloomed in your cheeks. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea—though, at that moment, you were struggling to figure out what exactly the wrong idea was—so you ducked your head and pretended like you were bundling deeper into your coat as you made to move past him into the tent.

“Are you alright, sunshine?” Steve asked as you passed him, his hand landing gently on your arm. Even through your coat, you could feel the warmth of his touch; it made you pause and glance up at him.

You realized your mistake immediately. You were too close to Steve—far too close. So close you could smell the rich, masculine scent of his cologne and feel the heat radiating off his body. It made you want to bury your face in his neck and inhale deeply, to wrap yourself up in his warmth until your bones didn’t even remember what the cold felt like.

“I-I’m ok,” you said in a shaky voice, more rattled by Steve’s closeness than the December wind cutting through the city, and you dropped your gaze to the gold pendant around his neck. 

It glinted in the soft light of the market stall, and you remembered it had been a gift from his Irish Catholic mother. You used the memory of Steve telling you about the pendant to ground yourself and your voice came out stronger. 

“Just cold.”

“D’you want some more hot chocolate?” Steve asked, and there was a hopeful note in his tone, like he was offering to get it for you, but you were quick to shake your head.

“Any more and I think my body will be more hot chocolate than water,” you joked, trying to ignore the emotions swirling in your chest like snowflakes on a wintry gale.

When Steve chuckled, you couldn’t help but look back up at him, finding his blue eyes sparkling as he gazed down at you, affection clear in the lines of his face. 

Slowly, his smile eased into something else—something heavier, an expression that was almost yearning. It made the fluttering flakes in your chest swirl more frenziedly while a warmth bloomed somewhere lower, throbbing more to life the longer Steve looked at you with those darkened blue eyes. His expression spoke of things you’d never dare give voice to.

For another long moment, you and Steve just stared at each other, standing too close just inside the canopy of the vendor at the holiday market. A tension you refused to acknowledge crackled in the air around you.

Of their own volition, your eyes dropped to Steve’s mouth, his lower lip looking so soft and pink amid the dark brown of his beard. For what felt like the millionth time in the last few weeks, ever since that night at the bar, you imagined kissing him—how soft his mouth would be, how warm and inviting, and the feel of his rough beard rasping over your cheeks. 

“Hey Steve, c’mere!”

Natasha’s call finally broke the spell that had fallen over you and Steve, and you jumped back, only in that moment realizing how close you’d been. Close enough that when you ducked your head and turned away from him, making your way over to Yelena and Bucky, that you missed Steve’s warmth almost immediately. 

You let out a shaky breath, trying to ease the tension and whirling emotions in your chest, and slid between your friends, who were still looking at the knives on sale. Looping one arm through Yelena’s, you rested your head against Bucky’s shoulder, taking comfort in your friends’ warmth, even if it wasn’t as soothing as Steve’s had been.

“Both of you already have too many knives,” you said by way of a greeting. Your comment made both of them snort derisively, which made you smirk since it had been your intention to get a reaction out of them. 

“There’s no such thing,” Yelena scoffed, tearing her eyes away from a double-edged dagger with an engraved handle to glance sideways at you. Her gaze met yours and then slid over your shoulder.

You followed it to where Natasha and Steve’s heads were ducked together. They were standing near a display of jewelry and you figured Nat was helping Steve pick out a Christmas present for someone, though you couldn’t think of who. You frowned.

“When are you going to put him out of his misery?”

Bucky’s gruff question drew you out of your thoughts of trying to remember someone in Steve’s life who he might be buying jewelry for, and you looked at your friend. Without even seeing your reflection, you knew confusion was written plainly across your face.

“What?” you asked, a little sharper than you’d intended, but you didn’t appreciate the implication that you were making Steve miserable.

Bucky cut his eyes to you, then slid them to Yelena, giving your best friend a pointed look. You spun your head around to your other side in time to watch Yelena’s mouth flatten into a reproachful frown. 

Suddenly, you got the distinct impression that your friends were having an argument about you, though you couldn’t even begin to wonder what it could be about, except that it had something to do with Steve.

It took a moment of silent arguing before Yelena and Bucky seemed to come to an agreement. Yelena looked at you, a gentle expression on her face that made your stomach drop with anxiety—which only worsened when she put her free hand on your arm that was still looped through hers. 

However, before she could voice whatever bad news she clearly had to tell you, Bucky cut in.

“You know no one would be upset if you and Steve dated, right?” he asked bluntly, his eyes intense and searching when you turned to look at him. “We all know you like each other.”

If you’d been drinking hot chocolate at that moment, you would’ve spit it out all over Bucky and the display of pretty decorative knives. 

Thankfully, you weren’t. But you still managed to sputter and open your mouth repeatedly while you searched for the words to address the preposterousness of Bucky’s statement.

“I do not—”

Whatever weak protest you were going to utter was cut short when Yelena blurted, “We know you kissed.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, the snowflakes that had been fluttering in your chest when you’d been standing with Steve sharpened into icy daggers of unease. You whirled on your best friend. “Pardon?”

“I saw you guys at the bar that night—I went back to get my scarf…” Yelena explained quickly, having the good grace to look apologetic, both for what she’d seen and for bringing it up. “I know you’ve liked Steve for ages, even if you haven’t said anything,” she rushed on, as if she thought if she spoke fast enough, it would make it easier to hear. “I was so excited it was finally happening that I blurted it out to Nat and she told Bucky—we were just so happy for you both.”

You floundered again, your mouth opening and closing as you processed your best friend’s words. It was almost too much to take in. Not only did everyone know what had happened between you and Steve that night at the bar, but it hadn’t changed anything. You’d told yourself for years that nothing could happen between you and Steve because it would throw off the whole balance of the group, but something had happened and it hadn’t done anything. 

“I—”

Again, you were cut off, though it was seemingly Bucky’s turn, and your head swiveled back to him on your other side, feeling a bit like a broken bobblehead. 

“He’s liked you too, for what it’s worth,” Bucky said. Your face must’ve conveyed disbelief because he went on. “He’s been talking about you since Yelena first introduced you to everyone, but he didn’t know how you felt,” he said, cutting his eyes to Yelena with the barest hint of a glare, “and didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Hearing that Steve liked you was officially too much for you to bear. The dawning realization that you could’ve been with Steve without risking your friendships with Yelena, Bucky and Nat was like a yawning, desolate chasm waiting to swallow you whole. You’d lost so much time because you were so afraid of losing them all, and it hurt—it hurt enough that it took you a moment to realize Yelena was talking again.

“We thought someone had finally made a move, but then you guys were pretending like nothing happened,” she was saying, and you turned back to her, your mind so overwhelmed that you no longer felt cold, only numb. “None of us wanted to bring it up because, y’know, I wasn’t supposed to have seen it.” She shot you an apologetic grimace before plowing on, her expression turning gentle again. “You know we’d never stop being your friends, even if something happened with you and Steve, right?”

Your heart was racing, the fear of change quickly eclipsing the fear of losing any more time with Steve. You’d been friends with Yelena, Bucky, Nat and Steve for so long that you couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if the two of you started dating—let alone what might happen if you broke up. Shaking your head, you refused to acknowledge Yelena’s assurance. Even if they’d still be friends with you, nothing would be the same. 

“Nothing happened,” you said vehemently, even as you choked on the words, the lie tasting like ash on your tongue. But you couldn’t seem to stop. “We were drunk, it meant nothing.” 

But then Bucky—blunt, too-perceptive Bucky—broke into your thoughts and pulled you up short with another simple question.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, his tone not unkind.

You opened your mouth to snap a quick answer, but the ‘yes’ died in your throat. Because of course something had happened, and of course it meant everything.

For the first time in weeks, you gave yourself permission to remember that night. 

You’d tried to forget it—forget the softness of Steve’s lips on yours, forget the heat of his tongue as it slipped into your mouth, forget the pleasant scrape of his beard against your skin and the gentle way he’d held your face as he deepened the kiss. 

Your first kiss with Steve Rogers had been glorious and messy and too short and too perfect—and it had meant everything to you.

But then you remembered what had happened after, the way you’d pulled away, even though you’d been the one to initiate the kiss in the first place, and panicked as soon as your mind had caught up with what you’d done. 

The rest of the memory was a blur, the anxiety of the moment softening the edges, but you distinctly remembered extricating yourself from Steve—which had felt a little like cutting off a limb—before telling him it was a mistake and it couldn’t happen again.

Back at the market, you buried your face in your hands, and almost sobbed at the memory. “I’ve already ruined things,” you mumbled miserably into your frozen fingers, squeezing your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

Bucky made a humming noise, as if he was considering your words. “Whatever happened between you two, it hasn’t changed Steve’s feelings for you,” he said, squeezing your wrist gently until you looked at him. He stared at you for a long moment, making sure you heard him. “So my question stands: When are you going to put him—and yourself—out of this misery?” 

Your friends let you sit with that question for a silent moment, then Yelena selected one of the knives, claiming it was an early Christmas present for herself and made her way over to the checkout. 

Steve was also apparently buying something, accepting a small wrapped package from the cashier that he slipped into his pocket. You were too overwhelmed by your thoughts to be curious about it anymore though.

You stood with Bucky near the entrance to the tent, waiting for your friends to finish their transactions while your mind swirled. You were grateful to your friend for leaving you alone with your thoughts, though you knew it was only because Bucky was confident he’d made his point.

And he had. Oh how he had.

Your mind and heart were a mess. You’d spent so many years telling yourself that you could never let anyone catch on about your feelings for Steve, because if they did, it would lead to the end of the friend group. But they’d all known for weeks, and nothing had changed. 

Well, nothing except apparently Bucky and Yelena had taken it upon themselves to play matchmaker. And you wouldn’t have been surprised if Natasha had been in on the ploy as well, distracting Steve purposefully so Yelena and Bucky could ambush you.

Still, you couldn’t fully silence the tiny voice of fear deep in your heart that insisted that if you and Steve got together, and things ended badly, you’d lose all your friends. 

The rest of the group had known each other for so long and it had been more than a little daunting to figure out where you fit. Adding a romantic relationship into the mix seemed like a recipe for disaster—and if it ended so badly that everyone was forced to choose sides, you couldn’t imagine them choosing yours when they’d known Steve so much longer. 

But as you watched Yelena finish paying for the knife, her words about always being your friend came back to you. She was your best friend—and you were hers. As if proving the point, she caught your eye and smiled impishly as she caught up with you, linking her arm through yours and tugging you back out into the market. 

In that moment, something settled in you. Without fully realizing it, you’d always been a little insecure in your group of friends, always worried they would kick you out at the smallest infraction. But Yelena had said it plainly—they’d always be your friends, and you owed it to them to believe her, to trust her, because that was what friendship was. 

That was what you had to do to have any kind of meaningful relationship.

As your group of friends wandered further down the row of stalls at the holiday market, you couldn’t help the way your eyes kept straying to Steve. Each time, you found him either looking at you already, or glancing your way within seconds, like he could feel your gaze. 

When you looked at him, really looked at him, you noticed a little bit of hurt in his eyes. There was only a hint of it, like he was trying to hide it from you and everyone elese, but you could see it. 

You wondered, briefly, how you’d missed it, but a part of you knew you’d been seeing it since that night at the bar. You’d just been ignoring it along with everything else swirling in his gaze. 

“When are you going to put him out of his misery?” 

You’d known you were making yourself miserable—of course you had. But the realization that you were making Steve miserable, even as he made a valiant effort to hide it, was what finally made your decision for you about what to do with everything Bucky and Yelena had told you.

No matter how scared you were that things might end badly, and you’d end up getting your heart broken and lose all your friends, you had to trust them when they said they’d always be there for you. You had to trust that Steve knew what he wanted—and that what he wanted was you.

The group came to another stop when Bucky spotted a specialty chocolate vendor and he ducked inside. Nat and Yelena followed him in—the latter giving you a meaningful look as you trailed behind before cutting her eyes to Steve. The message was clear and you nodded, giving her a playful shove that made your best friend cackle as she followed Bucky and Nat.

You stepped toward Steve where he hovered just outside the tent, and he shot you a knowing smile when he caught your eye.

“Still feeling like you’ve had enough chocolate?” he asked in a friendly tone, referencing your earlier joke. His beard twitched like he was trying to hold back a smile and it warmed your heart that he not only remembered the joke, but still found it funny.

The side of your mouth curved up in a lopsided grin, and you inched a tiny bit closer, just barely stepping into Steve’s personal space as you looked up at him.

“Yeah, I’ve had my fill,” you said, keeping your tone light. You took on a considering expression, tipping your head to the side and tapping a finger to your chin as if you were thinking. “For tonight, at least.” 

Both of you laughed, but the December wind cut through the holiday market just then, and it reminded you of how cold your fingers were, especially out in the open. You quickly shoved your hand deep into the pocket of your coat, and Steve didn’t miss the movement, drifting even closer to you.

“Do you have any gloves, sunshine?” he asked in a low, rumbly voice that had warm tingles of delight dancing down your spine, all the way to your toes. 

“No,” you said, shaking your head. Steve had moved close enough that you had to tip your head back to keep looking up at him, and you could feel the heat radiating off his larger body.

His blue eyes were sparkling in the warm, golden light of the market, and you could see the swirl of emotion in their depths that was only there when he looked at you. But there was a crease of concern between his brows, too, and you knew he was seconds away from offering to find you some gloves—or something else that would be chivalrous and perfectly friendly. 

You realized, very suddenly, that if anything was going to happen between you and Steve, anything like what had happened at the bar, you needed to make the first move. Bucky had said Steve had been worried about making you uncomfortable before that night, and you were certain it had only worsened after the kiss you’d shared. 

So, before he could say anything, you blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?”

Steve’s brows lifted in surprise, and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from trying to take the words back as soon as they’d slipped out of your mouth. And you were glad you did, because as the moment stretched on, and Steve realized you were serious, his brows lowered and his blue eyes darkened with interest.

“Ya sure about that, sunshine?” he asked, his voice low enough that you knew it was meant for only you. He ducked his head slightly, so he was nearly at your eye level, and held your gaze. “I wouldn’t want you doing anything you might regret.”

The words stung a little, but you knew you deserved them, especially after you’d told Steve that kissing him had been a mistake. So you held his gaze and stepped even closer to him, until there was barely any space left between your bodies.

“I’m sure,” you said firmly, letting Steve see the honesty in your open expression. “I know what I’m doing and I—this is what I want.” You were proud of yourself for only stumbling once, and held your breath as you waited for Steve’s response.

The corners of Steve’s mouth flickered in an eager grin, but he wiped the expression away, like he was worried that if he appeared too excited, he’d scare you away. You felt a pang of regret, and it doubled your determination to show Steve that you weren’t going to panic and run away again. 

Pulling your hands from your pockets, you brushed your fingertips against Steve’s stomach in a silent reminder of your question. 

“Can I?” you asked, your voice breathless with anticipation. 

“Yeah,” he rasped, his eyes molten with heat as he stared down at you. “Go ‘head, sunshine.”

You were cold enough that you didn’t waste any more time, slipping your fingers beneath the hem of Steve’s soft sweater and pressing your frigid fingertips to the warm, smooth skin you found. 

“Fuck, your fingers are freezing,” Steve rumbled, the muscles of his abs contracting beneath your touch like they were trying flee. But before you could apologize and pull away, Steve’s hands flattened over yours outside his sweater, pressing your palms against the hard-packed plane of his abs. “Good thing ya got me to keep you warm, sunshine,” he teased, his voice so full of charm that you melted into him. 

“Yeah, good thing,” you echoed in a whisper, the edges of your mouth curling up into a pleased smile. You shimmied closer to Steve, watching the way his blue eyes sparkled with affection as he held your gaze captive.

He wrapped you up against him, holding you in the loose cage of his warms while your fingertips stroked idly against his smooth skin. You wanted to let them wander further beneath his sweater and explore the wonders of Steve’s bare chest, but you managed to keep the urge in check since you were in public—though it was a near thing.

“You know what I like to do most in the winter?” you asked Steve, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over the two of you. The sounds of the market all around you were a distant soundtrack.

“What?” he asked indulgently, squeezing you slightly in his arms.

“Curl up in bed and snuggle on a snowy day,” you said with a sly smile. And then, as if a thought had just occurred to you, you tilted your head to the side. “Hey, is your bed comfy? Do you have a lot of nice warm blankets and good pillows?”

A grin pulled across Steve’s face even though he was fighting it, trying to look like he was taking your questions under serious consideration.

“Y’know, I think it’s very comfy,” he said, giving you a knowing look. He’d obviously picked up on the not-so-subtle cue that you might want him to take you back to his place, and you appreciated that he was sticking to the bit. “But it sounds like you’re an expert, so I think you should come over and be the judge of that.”

An answering grin curved your mouth and you murmured, “I’d like that.” 

Then, before you could let your fear get the best of you again, you pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes, your lips brushing against Steve’s beard as you moved to whisper in his ear. 

You shivered at the physical reminder of the coarse hair rasping deliciously against your cheeks when he’d kissed you and it took a moment to remember what you’d been about to say. When you did, you couldn’t hold in your smirk.

“Did I mention I do my best snuggling naked?” 

“Sunshine.”

The nickname was uttered in a gruff, rumbling rasp, like the sound of a plow on snowy streets. It was so deep and delicious, your toes curled in delight and your mouth pulled into a full-blown grin. 

You barely had time to pull away before Steve was wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and towing you in for a kiss.

Steve’s mouth was wonderfully soft and exquisitely warm and achingly familiar against yours. He wasted no time licking along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance that you happily gave him. 

Your fingers curled around Steve’s sides beneath his sweater, digging greedily into the soft skin at his waist while you kissed him back feverishly, trying to close every gap between your bodies.

“Fuck, how does this feel so much better than I remember?” Steve growled against your lips, his hand on the back of your neck tilting your head just the way he wanted so he could lick even deeper into your mouth. 

Your breathy, delirious laugh was swallowed by his all-consuming kiss, the sound turning into a helpless moan. 

God, he was right, it did feel so much better than you remembered to have Steve’s mouth on yours, and you couldn’t fathom how you’d run away from him before because, in that moment, the last thing you wanted to do was stop. You wanted to kiss Steve for the rest of your life.

“I don’t know, but Steve, please, don’t stop,” you murmured when he finally let you up for air. You tried to catch your breath while he was busy pressing insatiable kisses to your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, anywhere he could reach without straying too far from your lips. 

Pulling your hands from beneath his sweater, your no longer freezing fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, pulling him closer while at the same time pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes again. Your bodies slotted together even more perfectly, and you moaned softly into his mouth as you tugged him in for another kiss.

Steve kissed you harder, holding you tight to his chest like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear on the wintry wind. In turn, you held him just as fiercely, your nails raking through the beard on the underside of his jaw and tugging lightly to bring him closer until he was rumbling a pleased sound deep in his chest.

“Get a room!”

The perfect bubble that had formed around and Steve abruptly popped, the sounds of the bustling holiday market rushing in along with the December chill and you pulled away, your first instinct to worry about what your friends would think. But then you caught the look on Steve’s face. 

He was staring at you with such a blissed out expression, his blue eyes dark and hazy, a pleased smile on his kiss-swollen lips, that you couldn’t help but relax and melt back into him. You took your time to press a sweet kiss to his lips before turning to your friends.

Natasha, Yelena and Bucky all wore matching smug grins. Nat was even popping little chocolate candies into her mouth like she was enjoying the show. 

“Oh no, please don’t stop on our account,” she called to you and Steve, gesturing with her hand for you both to continue. The whole group burst into raucous laughter. 

Cracking up and shaking your head, you buried your face in Steve’s rumbling chest, feeling a little shy about being caught making out so heatedly by your friends. But you felt relief, too, that no one was upset—that all your friends were happy for you and Steve.  

When you’d finally gotten ahold of yourself, you tipped your face up and caught Steve’s eye, giving him a sly smile that had his expression instantly darkening with a hunger that made you pulse with desire. 

“So about that comfy bed of yours…” you murmured, just for him to hear. When he nodded once, quickly, to acknowledge he remembered it, you went on. “I’d love to see it if you’re ready to go?”

The implication of your question was clear and Steve clutched you tighter to his chest, capturing your lips for a brief, hot kiss that did more to warm you from the inside out than any of the hot chocolate you’d consumed that evening. 

“Sunshine, I’ve been ready to take you home for years,” he rasped against your mouth, the honesty in his voice making you smile. 

When Steve pulled away, he tugged you over to your group of friends and told them you were heading home—yes, together, he confirmed. All three of them murmured encouraging words in your ear as you hugged them goodbye, and you could tell by the pink tinging Steve’s cheeks that they were doing the same to him.

Once farewells were said, Steve snagged your hand and laced your fingers together. As you walked to the subway, he tucked your clasped hands into the pocket of his overcoat, and then your other into the crook of his elbow, where he covered it with his palm to keep you warm. 

Steve held you tucked into his side the whole way back to his place while he made idle conversation, asking about the latest books you’d read and movies you’d watched. He only let go when it came time to pull out his keys and unlock his door.

There was a giddy, electric energy between the two of you as Steve helped you out of your coat and hung it up. Your gaze kept drifting back to him while you took off your boots and he hung up his overcoat. Once done, he stepped close, toeing out of his shoes next to where you’d dropped your boots.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Steve asked, his voice rough and a little uneven, like he was nervous. It made you smile, settling your own nerves to know he was right there with you.

You stepped further into Steve’s space, your fingers sneaking beneath the hem of his sweater and giggling when he sucked in a sharp breath. He’d made an excellent effort to keep your fingers warm on the way home, but the December cold had still snuck in. 

It was a good thing Steve was there to warm you up again.

“I think I’d just like to see this comfy bed of yours,” you murmured, pushing up onto your tiptoes and kissing Steve. 

The two of you lingered in the entryway of Steve’s apartment for long minutes, kissing and learning what made each other gasp and moan. His teeth nipped at your lower lip, sinking in hard enough to make you whimper before relenting and soothing the sting away with his tongue.

Meanwhile, you let your hands wander further beneath Steve’s sweater, finding a light trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his slacks. You raked  your nails through it, and relished the pleased sound that rumbled in his chest. 

Warm, wet desire was gathering between your thighs, and it wasn’t long before you squirmed impatiently against Steve, needing more.

By the time Steve broke the kiss and spun you around, his heavy hands dropping to your hips to guide you through his apartment, your panties were damp and you were aching for something only Steve could give you. 

Both of you moved quickly as you let Steve lead you to his bedroom, pausing just inside the darkened room while he flicked on a light.

A soft, golden glow emanated from two lamps set on low wooden tables on either side of the massive bed. Curiously, your gaze roved over the room, taking in the earthy colors and tasteful design.

It seemed Steve hadn’t only gotten his wardrobe and appearance together—he’d also made his home a place that was warm and welcoming and entirely him. 

The king-size bed was swathed in a thick, forest green comforter with dark charcoal sheets, a veritable pile of pillows at the head that looked far too enticing. The rest of the room was furnished with a dark wooden bookcase and dresser that matched the bed frame and side tables. There were even some vintage photographs of Brooklyn decorating the wall, along with some framed pictures on dresser.

Wandering over, you picked up one of the photographs. It was from the first autumn after you’d met Yelena and the others. The group had rented a car and gone to a farm upstate to go apple picking and enjoy all the other autumnal delights the state had to offer. 

In the photo, you were tucked into Steve’s side on a bale of hay, ready for the hayride the group had decided to go on, with Yelena on your other side. There was a blanket draped over your laps, and Steve’s arm was wrapped around your shoulders. The three of you were beaming at the camera. 

“Do you remember that trip?” Steve asked, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder while he peered at the photograph.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. Then you winced as you remembered something about the trip. “Wasn’t this the time I fell asleep on your shoulder on the way home and drooled all over your jacket?”

Steve laughed huskily in your ear.

“It is,” he confirmed, brushing a kiss to your cheek before murmuring. “I didn’t wash it for a month.”

It was your turn to laugh, though the sound was more of a surprised exhalation as you twisted your upper body so you could see his face better.

“What?”

Steve grimaced, wrinkling his nose and scuffing a hand against the back of his neck sheepishly, like he regretted admitting that to you.

“It was more because it smelled like you than because of the, y’know, drool,” he explained, his tone a tiny bit defensive. But then he looked at you, finding your face still frozen in surprise and his expression softened. “I’ve liked you since I met you, sunshine.”

It wasn’t anything Bucky hadn’t already told you, but it still felt like an entirely new revelation coming straight from Steve, and all you could think to say was, “Oh.” 

You turned back to the photo, still held in your hand, and all you could think about was the fact that you had the same one tacked up on the corkboard over your desk. You wondered if Steve liked it for the same reason you did—because it made the two of you look like a happy couple, even with Yelena sitting next to you.

“I liked you too,” you confessed in a small voice.

Steve was quiet for a moment, his hold on you loosening slightly as you stepped forward to put the photograph back on his dresser. But when that was done, he towed you back in until your back was pressed to his chest. 

“Liked?” he asked, enunciating the ‘d’ at the end of the word. 

Your mouth flickered in a smile and you turned around in his arms. Your hands smoothed over his broad shoulders while you leaned into him, your soft curves pressing into the hard planes of his body.

“I liked you then, and I like you now, Steve,” you said, holding your breath as you stared up at him. Even knowing he felt the same way about you, it was still scary to lay your heart bare for the first time, and you waited eagerly for his response.

An exhale gusted from Steve and you couldn’t help but note the relief in his expression, even as he grinned wide.

“That’s good to hear, sunshine, because I like you, too.”

“Good,” you said with a grin, dragging Steve down for a too-brief kiss. “Now, will you take me to bed already?”

Steve’s laughter was muffled as he kissed you again, guiding you around and walking you backward until the backs of your legs hit the bed. He didn’t break the kiss as he lowered you to the soft mattress and helped you slide up the bed until your shoulders settled into the pile of pillows at the head.

Your arms wrapped around Steve and you pulled him down on top of you while he braced himself so he didn’t crush you. One of his legs slid between your thighs and he lowered himself down on top of you until his bulge pressed into your stomach. Your belly swooped with excitement and your pulse thrummed with desire.

Hiking one of your legs up around his waist, you writhed beneath Steve, grinding your hot core against his thigh through your jeans. 

You couldn’t seem to stop touching him, your hands sketching the exact measure of his body, and he seemed to be doing the same. Steve’s hands couldn’t stay still, sliding up and down your sides before finally pushing beneath your sweater.

His warm, calloused fingers stroked covetously over your skin, and you felt extra sensitive wherever he touched you, his every caress sending shivers of pleasure racing through your body. 

“Steve,” you whined, wrenching your mouth from his to drag in a much-needed breath. Even still, you craved more and your body rocked up into his, grinding against his thigh while his bulge pressed insistently into your belly. 

“You feel so good, sunshine,” he rasped as he kissed a trail along your jaw and down to your neck. The scratch of his beard against your skin had you shuddering beneath his big body. “Can I…?” he asked, his fingertips teasing along the edge of your bra beneath your sweater.

“Yes—please,” you gasped. Your own fingers curled into the soft fabric of Steve’s sweater between his shoulder blades and you tugged on it, trying to pull it over his head.

Steve chuckled into your neck before he sat up and yanked his sweater off for you, baring the broad expanse of his chest. You caught glimpses of soft brown hair dusted across his pecs and endless swaths of golden skin before he was helping you out of your sweater. 

You grumbled disgruntledly when your view of Steve was cut off as he tugged your sweater over your head, then as he leaned close to unclasp your bra and toss it somewhere in the room. You only dragged your eyes away from Steve’s perfect chest when he made a low, almost anguished sound.

He looked a little dazed, his eyes staring down at your bare breasts. Your chest was heaving slightly, making them bounce gently, and Steve looked almost hypnotized by the sight. 

Snorting to yourself, you curled your fingers around his firm biceps and tugged him back down on top of you, whimpering when your nipples brushed against the hair on his chest. They pebbled as pleasure spiked through your body, settling heavily between your thighs and making even more wetness soak into your panties.

The movement had broken Steve from his trance and he began kissing from your neck down your chest. The rasp of his beard over your clavicle sent a delicious shiver down your spine, making you keen and tremble beneath him.

“Fuck, you’re so soft,” he rumbled gruffly into your skin. He buried his face in the valley between your breasts, groping your supple flesh in his big hands while pressing teasing kisses and gentle bites to your skin. “You’re so perfect, sunshine.”

You whined a needy sound, reacting to his touch as much as his awe-filled words, and threaded your fingers through Steve’s soft hair. You held him tightly to your chest, wordlessly pleading for more, and he enthusiastically indulged the request.

Steve wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked deeply, drawing so much of you into his hot mouth, it felt like he was doing his damndest to devour you. You were already so sensitive for him that it felt like there was a direct line connecting your sensitive peak to your clit, and you cried out in pleasure, your spine arching up off the bed and pushing your chest further in Steve’s face.

He grinned, doing a poor job of hiding his self-satisfied expression in your soft tits, but you didn’t begrudge him the smugness—not when he nibbled at your hardened nipple so good, it made your hips buck up from the bed. A whine slipped from your lips when you realized you no longer had his thigh to grind against, your legs kicking restlessly at the sheets.

After giving the same torturous treatment to your other nipple, wringing even more whimpering whines and desperate keening sounds from your mouth, Steve began kissing his way further down your body. He nipped playfully at your belly before lifting his head to catch your eye. 

It took you a moment to blink them into focus enough to see him clearly.

“I’ve been dreaming about your taste for years, sunshine,” he rumbled, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your jeans and tugging just enough that you knew he was asking if he could take them off. “Please, can I…?”

You were already nodding, your fingers fumbling over the button of your jeans. Steve seemed just as eager as you, gently pushing your hand aside and taking over as he thumbed it through the hole in the denim and pulled your zipper down. Then he was peeling your jeans down over you hips and thighs, taking your panties off at the same time.

In only a few seconds, you were stripped bare for the first time in front of Steve Rogers, and if it wasn’t for the shuddered exhale that gusted past his lips and the sizable bulge twitching in the front of his slacks, it might’ve occurred to you to feel a little insecure. 

But before those thoughts could even begin to creep in, Steve was dragging his hands up your thighs and spreading your legs with a reverent look on his face, giving an appreciative rumble deep in his chest as he raked his eyes up the naked length of your body. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, sunshine,” he rasped, pressing his face between your thighs and taking a deep breath. 

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you didn’t have time to wonder at how you smelled because Steve was licking his tongue into the seam of your pussy, groaning like he’d eaten something delicious. 

“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” he growled before diving in deeper, burying his face against your cunt and eating you out like he was a dying man and you were his last meal. 

In no time at all, he had you crying out, your hips bucking up off the bed as pleasure swirled through your body. It was all you could do to try to stop yourself from humping against his handsome face.

Steve’s thick biceps banded around your thighs and he held you spread open while he feasted on you, his eyes staring up past your quivering belly and heaving chest to watch your reactions. He sucked and nibbled and flicked his tongue over your sensitive clit, paying attention to what had you writhing and moaning your pleasure beneath him.

He licked into your pussy, fucking you with his tongue until you were squirming and panting on the bed, your thighs tensing and trembling with your building release. 

Needing something to hold on to, you threaded your fingers into Steve’s hair, holding his head against your greedy pussy and rocking your hips into him. You moaned loudly, unabashedly, grinding against his mouth and beard as you neared the edge.

“Oh god, Steve, ‘m so close, please—please, don’t stop, ‘m gonna come,” you babbled, your spine arching up off the bed as you threw your head back into the pile of soft pillows. “Fuck, please, please, please!”

It was clear that Steve was a quick study when it came to your body, and he put what he’d learned to good use, sucking hard on your clit and flicking his tongue over it, steadily driving your pleasure higher until, finally, it crested. And then he pushed you right over the edge.

Your fingers fisted in Steve’s hair and you humped shamelessly against his face as you came with a cry of his name—“Steve!” Your body tightened, and then loosened as wave after wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, making you shiver intensely while Steve’s mouth worked you through your release. 

When the pleasure began to ebb, you melted back into the soft blankets on Steve’s bed, a dazed smile curving your mouth. Steve eased you down with gentle sweeps of his tongue and soft kisses to your inner thighs, murmuring sweet words to you about how good you tasted on his tongue.

It wasn’t until you whimpered from overstimulation that Steve stopped. He pressed one last kiss to the top of your mound before pushing himself up. His happy grin when he saw the sated, content expression on your face made your heart skip a beat in your chest. He was just so damn handsome. 

“Good?” Steve asked, though you knew from the self-satisfied look in his eye that he already knew the answer to his question.

Still, you nodded. “So good,” you purred, stretching and reaching for him. Your fingers curled into coarse hair on the underside of his jaw and you tugged him up your body for a kiss.

You could taste yourself on his lips, and his beard was so drenched in your juices, it made your own cheeks damp. A groan worked its way up your throat at the filthiness of the kiss, and you pulled Steve closer, letting him muffle the sound as his tongue slipped into your mouth. 

Even though Steve had just made you come harder than anyone else in your entire life, renewed desire was beginning to bloom in your core, the heat of your arousal already building again. Distractedly, you recognized that you’d never felt the way you did for anyone but Steve—insatiable, unwilling to let the night end just yet. 

When Steve’s hard bulge knocked against your hip, a devious smirk curled your lips and you wasted no time trailing your fingers down his bare, golden chest to grope his cock through his slacks. He was hard and heavy in your hand, and an excited thrill raced down your spine at the thought of taking him in your mouth. 

Steve groaned against your lips, his big body shuddering when you squeezed and stroked him through the thick material of his pants. So you did it again, rubbing him with your palm until you felt his hard length jump against your fingers, like his body was just as eager for your touch as the rest of him.

“We don’t have to do more,” Steve said, his voice a little breathless. “I-I mean, you don’t have to return the favor or anything. I’m good to just go to sleep if that’s what you want.”

Steve’s words were honorable, but you didn’t want to sleep. 

You pushed at his larger body until he flipped onto his back. Following after him, you kissed down his chest, taking a moment to nuzzle in the soft hair scattered across his pecs before you lifted your head and caught his eye, letting him see the desire in yours. 

“I bet I’ve dreamed about sucking your cock just as much as you dreamed about eating my pussy,” you whispered huskily, holding his gaze determinedly while you shifted down his body until your face was level with his bulge. You mouthed at his hard length through his slacks. “Please, Steve, can I…?” 

“Yeah—yes—fuck, sunshine, you can do whatever you want,” he rasped, helping you undo his button and fly, his fingers trembling. Then he lifted his hips so you could pull his pants down.

You felt like you were unwrapping the most perfect Christmas present as you tugged his slacks and boxer briefs down his thick, toned thighs. You even let out a little gasp of delight when Steve’s cock bounced free, marveling at the sheer masculine beauty of it.

Impatiently, you pulled his clothes the rest of the way off, pausing only to kiss his thighs, enjoying the softness of his leg hair against your lips and cheeks, before returning to his cock. 

Taking him in hand, you circled your fingers around the thick shaft and gave him a loose pump, watching how he bucked his hips into your fist from just that little bit of touching. Steve’s hands were fisted in the blankets on the bed, like he was holding himself back from touching you, and you decided you want to make the man—your man—lose himself in pleasure, just like he’d done to you. 

You ducked down and licked the tip of Steve’s cock, humming in delight as the salty, musky taste of his precum burst on your tongue. The vibrations made Steve groan and you hid a self-satisfied smirk against his cock, before refocusing on your task.

You pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses up and down Steve’s shaft, staring up his hard, firm body while he watched you worship his cock. His cheeks were tinged pink, a light sheen of sweat dotting his brow and his eyes were so dark, his pupils blown so wide, they looked like the navy blue night sky on a winter evening. 

When you ducked down further, taking his balls into your mouth and suckling greedily, Steve’s gaze widened and his cock twitched in your hand. 

“Sunshine,” he rasped, the nickname sounding like a plea for mercy as he groaned loudly. “Ya keep sucking my balls and I’m gonna come way too soon.”

With a smirk, you gave his sensitive sac one last little suckle before letting it fall from your lips, then you licked up the length of his cock.

“Can’t have that,” you quipped, shooting him a smug grin. You pressed a kiss to the tip and wrapped your lips around the head, taking him into your mouth and sucking hard enough to make his hips buck up off the bed. 

Another anguished sound wrenched free from Steve’s lips. 

“Oh fuck,” he moaned as he settled back down, one of his hands coming to rest on the crown of your head—not pushing you down or pulling you away, just holding you like he couldn’t help but touch you. 

For a moment, you focused on Steve’s cock, pulling back before taking him deeper into your mouth, using your tongue to swirl around the head and trace the veins decorating his shaft while your fist stroked him. But when you flicked your gaze up to Steve, you found him watching you with adoration in his eyes.

“You’re amazing, sunshine,” he rumbled when he noticed he had your attention, one side of his mouth pulling up in a lopsided grin. “You’re gorgeous—and you look so fucking hot with my cock in your mouth.” 

The corners of your mouth flickered in a pleased smile as his praise washed over you, and you closed your eyes, soaking it in. When you opened them again, you redoubled your efforts on Steve, bobbing up and down on his length at a steady pace while you pumped him in your fist. 

You lost yourself in the pleasure of sucking Steve’s cock, and before long, you could feel yourself growing wet all over again. Your inner walls clenched pathetically around nothing while your mouth was filled with his big dick, but you didn’t want to stop. 

However, before you could make Steve come down your throat, his hands gently gripped your head and he pulled you up off his cock. With his considerable strength, Steve hauled you back up the bed and rolled you over onto your back beneath him, bracing himself on one hand while the other slide between your thighs. He bit off a curse when he felt how wet you were.

“Christ, sunshine, ya got this wet from sucking my cock?” he asked, a note of teasing in his tone that had heat coursing through your body. Before you could respond, though, his mouth found yours for a kiss. 

You were certain he must’ve been able to taste himself on your tongue, but he didn’t seem to care. He was too determined to devour your lips and swallow your moan while he speared you open with two fingers, capturing your cry of pleasure.

“Oh god, Steve,” you mumbled against his mouth, your hips rocking into his hand and fucking his fingers. “Please, I need you—I need you to fuck me.” Your hand was fisted in Steve’s soft hair and you clung to him, your entire being straining to get closer while still taking all the pleasure his fingers offered.

“Thank fuck—I need you so goddamned bad, sunshine,” he groaned, easing his fingers from your dripping hole and rolling onto his back so he could reach for something. 

A moment later, you heard the sound of a wooden drawer snap closed and he rolled back on top of you, the square foil packet of a condom held in his fingers.

“Ya wanna do the honors?” he asked, his grin so charming and so like the Steve you’d known for so many years that it took your breath away. 

But there was a comfort and an ease to the moment because you were there with Steve—your Steve—and you laughed at his silly offer. You were shaking your head even as you took the packet and tore it open, tossing the foil aside and making quick work of rolling the condom onto his cock. 

When you were done, you gave the base of his shaft an affectionate squeeze and Steve chuckled, capturing your lips in a kiss while he shifted on top of you, pressing his knees between your legs and spreading your thighs to make room for his big, broad body. 

You opened happily for him, kissing him back while your legs hooked around the backs of his thighs. Together, you lined your bodies up until Steve’s cock lay heavily against your mound, kissing lazily all the while.

After a moment, Steve broke the kiss, pushing himself up with one hand while the other fisted his hard length and held himself away from the place where you ached for him to fill. He stared deep into your eyes and gave you a serious look, a little bit of anxiety swirling in his gaze.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his eyes roving over your face like he was searching for any hidden remnant of hesitance on your part—any sign that you might run, you realized. “Because I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you for so long, that if you tell me tomorrow this was a mistake…” Steve paused, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed, “it’ll break my fucking heart, sunshine.”

Steve’s voice cracked a little on the pet name and it made your heart split open in your chest. You didn’t know if you’d ever forgive yourself for hurting Steve the way you did, for saying those things you didn’t mean and trying to push him away when all you’d wanted was to pull him closer. 

You decided then and there to make it up to him—and that began with being honest with him. Always. 

So you threaded your fingers into Steve’s beard until you were cupping his face and you stared him directly in the eye as you answered his question. 

“I’m sure, Steve,” you said firmly, certainty resonating in your tone. “I was scared before—I’ve wanted you for so long that the thought of finally having you was terrifying.” You gave him a tremulous, apologetic smile, and his expression softened. “But I’m sure about this,” you said again, your voice stronger. “I’m sure about you, and I’m sure about us.”

When you finished your confession, Steve’s eyes closed and he exhaled a long, relieved breath. You pulled him down for a kiss, and it was a gentle thing—tentative as you both savored the vulnerability you shared, physically and emotionally, thanking one another for the trust that took. 

It was only when the kiss ended and Steve pressed his forehead to yours that he pushed inside you for the first time, his thick cock sinking deep into your pussy with one determined, inexorable thrust. 

Your arms and legs were wrapped around him already and you clung to Steve as you cried out, tears of emotion pricking at the backs of your eyes even as pleasure radiated through your body.

“You ok?” Steve asked softly and the question—so gentle and genuine—had a tear spilling onto your cheek. He brushed it away. 

“This is the happiest I’ve ever been,” you admitted in a thick voice, tugging Steve’s mouth back to yours, kissing him deeply. 

Together, you gave yourselves over to your instincts. Steve pulled his hips back until only half of him remained inside, and your heels dug into the backs of his thighs, urging him to plunge deep into you again. He slid home, and both of you moaned. 

Steve rocked into you with slow, thorough thrusts, but when you moaned for more, he drew back more each time and thrust harder. It wasn’t long before he was fucking you in hard, deep strokes that hit all the most perfect spots inside you, his mouth kissing your cheeks and neck and anywhere he could reach while he held you pinned to his chest, his hips working his cock deep into your cunt. 

With every hard thrust, you clung more tightly to Steve, holding him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers buried in his hair, thankful he’d grown it long enough that you could grip it tight in your fists. Your body writhed beneath his bigger form, using your legs draped around his thighs to meet his thrusts. 

For what seemed like forever, you and Steve were nothing more than two writhing bodies trying to get closer, deeper, tighter together, like your hearts were straining to become one. And you were so consumed with pleasure that it wasn’t until you were right on the precipice of your release that you realized you were close.

“Steve,” you gasped, trying to tell him you were going to come, and just then he changed the angle of his hips, stealing the words from your lips. 

He was driving his cock so deep into your cunt and grinding against your clit so exquistiely that you saw stars. Your body shook under a deluge of pleasure and the coil of tension twisted tighter in your core.

“Come for me, sunshine,” Steve rumbled, fucking you hard and deep and so perfectly you knew you were forever ruined for any other man. “Be a good girl and come on my cock before I fucking explode.”

His filthy words were your undoing. 

You shattered apart, sharp, sparkling pleasure devastating your body and mind while you screamed Steve’s name as you came. Your whole body clenched tight, clamping down on Steve’s cock hard enough that he grunted into your neck, then you succumbed to the pleasure as it dragged you under its thrall, whimpers and moans spilling from your lips mindlessly.

Steve’s hands gripped your hips tightly, and he rutted into your clenching pussy with wild thrusts as he chased his own release. He found it only a moment after yours, groaning your name against your cheek while his hips stuttered and shunted forward, burying himself balls-deep in your fluttering pussy while he came, his cock throbbing deep in your cunt. 

You held each other close as you came down from your releases. Your fingers stroked through Steve’s soft hair, the strands damp with sweat, and twirled around the gently curling ends. Meanwhile, his hands were petting up and down your sides, his face buried in the pillow beside your head while he rumbled muffled words of praise in your ear. 

Eventually, Steve sat up, pulling his softening cock as gently from your body as he could manage, watching your face closely for any hint of pain. You were a little sore, but when he pulled free, your body mourned the loss of him more than anything else. 

He quickly disposed of the condom and wrapper in his bathroom, then came back with a warm wet washcloth. He cleaned you up with gentle caresses, pressing a kiss to your hip and nipping playfully at your belly until you were giggling and pushing him away, your body too tired and sated and oversensitive for such treatment—but you were grinning all the same.

When he was done, you rose from the bed and went to the bathroom while he padded to his dresser. After you were done, you found Steve relaxing on his bed in only a pair of lounge pants, his chiseled chest deliciously bare and biceps bulging with his hands tucked behind his head. 

You paused, raking your eyes over his gorgeous chest, only catching his gaze when he made a deep, rumbling sound of good-natured warning. 

“You better put on some pajamas, sunshine,” Steve started, his blue eyes heated and a playful smile flickering at the edges of his mouth, almost hidden by his beard. “Unless you want me to fuck you again.” 

The threat in his tone was flirtatious and you almost took him up on the offer. But you knew that if Steve fucked you again, you’d be sore the next day, and you didn’t want that. Huffing a petulant sigh, you moved to the pile of folded clothes Steve had left on the corner of the bed.

The heat in Steve’s eyes didn’t abate as he watched you pull one of his shirts over your head, tugging the hem down until it covered your ass and part of your thigh. You didn’t have any clean panties, so you crawled into bed like that, your eyes finding Steve and watching as the heat of desire softened into the warmth of affection.

The two of you slid beneath the blankets and you curled up at Steve’s side, your head on his chest. You fell asleep quickly and easily to the sound of his gentle breathing, and the steady drumming of his heart beating beneath your cheek. 

The next morning, you woke to snow flurries drifting past the windows of Steve’s bedroom, the flakes having covered his neighborhood in a blanket of white while you slept. You pressed a happy smile against Steve’s sternum, the expression deepening when you felt his heart skip a beat at your closeness.

“So, is my bed comfy enough for you, sunshine?” he asked in the deep rasp of a man who’d just woken up. Using his arms looped around your waist, he pulled you on top of him, his mouth finding yours for a decadent good morning kiss before he let you answer.

“Hmm,” you hummed playfully in thought, smiling against his mouth while you pulled him closer with your fingers curled into the scruffy, coarse hair of his beard. “It could use a few more pillows—and maybe a nice throw blanket.”

“Consider it done,” he murmured, rolling you beneath his broad body and sliding his hips between your thighs. His morning wood brushed against your bare core and you moaned into his mouth. “Anything you want, you just tell me, sunshine,” he rumbled in between slow, drugging kisses, his hips rolling leisurely against you. “I want my girlfriend to feel comfortable here.”

“Girlfriend?” you gasped breathlessly, your heart beating harder with excitement while he pulled away to kiss down your neck. You could feel Steve’s grin against the side of your throat before he pressed a kiss against your thrumming pulse. 

“You wanna be my girlfriend, don’t ya, sunshine?” he asked. 

It was only because you’d known Steve for so long, and were so determined never to hurt him again, that you heard the tiny thread of anxiety in his tone. You squeezed him tightly in your arms and rushed to answer, eager to put his worry to rest.

“Yes!” you cried happily. “Yes, I want to be your girlfriend, Steve.” You twisted your fingers in his soft hair and tugged his mouth up from your neck. “Now kiss me, boyfriend,” you murmured and Steve, obligingly, crushed his mouth to yours in a blissful kiss. 

You and Steve reveled in your new relationship, spending a long time in bed just kissing and exploring each other and making up for lost time before your growling stomachs finally made you get up.

After breakfast, Steve seemed to remember something and he padded to the entryway, coming back with the box he’d acquired at the holiday market the evening before. He handed it to you, saying there was no way he’d be able to wait until Christmas to give it to you.

You opened the present, finding a simple silver chain and a stunningly engraved sun pendant within. You were so overwhelmed with happiness that tears sprang to your eyes and you had to hastily wipe them away.

“A little bit of sunshine for my sunshine,” Steve murmured against your temple before pressing a kiss to your skin. 

At your insistence, he helped you put the necklace on and you thanked him graciously—with words and kisses. Then you towed Steve back to bed, and the two of you gave in to the pleasure of your bodies until you collapsed, sated once again.

All day, you couldn’t stop smiling. You were doing one of your favorite things, snuggling on a snowy day, with one of your favorite people in the world—your boyfriend. And you were making plans for the future, talking about what you were going to get your other friends for Christmas and arguing about how to best decorate Steve’s apartment for the holiday. 

The whole time, you couldn’t help but think about how Christmas would always be extra special for you from that year on. It was a wonderful holiday but, more importantly to you, it was when you and Steve Rogers finally admitted your feelings for one another and took the first step toward a forever together. 

So, this time of year would always be your favorite time of year.

december daze challenge masterlist

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

first fall of snow

how spencer guesses you're pregnant before you actually tell him

fluff word count: 1390 warnings & tags & stuff: pregnant reader, slight issues with mother mentioned?, non-graphic vomiting, mentions/allusions to winter holidays being celebrated, kinda spencer's pov but still 2nd pov, reader is scared spencer will leave her lol, anxious!reader in general, mentions of death?, probably medical inaccuracies ive never been pregnant author's note: hiiii i'm forcing myself to post this because if i don't then i'll never post and i'm being BRAVE. i hope it can be a little comforting maybe. i've realllyyyy been struggling with my take on spencer's characterization lately soo this was kinda like a bootcamp/exercise situation into his mind and less an expression of my writing skills, iykwim. let me know your thoughts if u have any! i love you & have a splendid day!!

Spencer is walking—speed walking—toward his car, away from the case he just finished, away from serial killers and guns and geographical profiling and death.

He places his feet carefully on the snow-covered sidewalk with each step, the cold air biting at his face. He barely notices it, absorbed in the path ahead, as the snow provides a satisfying crunch underfoot—a nice background to his perpetually racing mind.

He doesn’t like the winter. It’s always too harsh outdoors, and too stuffy indoors, and he’s trapped in a suffocating haze no matter where he goes. 

His phone starts to vibrate gently in his pocket, interrupting his racing thoughts for a split second. His pace falters as he pulls it free, a quick smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he sees it’s your name on the screen.

“Hi. How are you?” he asks after picking up, watching his breath come out in puffs of vapor in the cold air.

Winters, however, have gotten progressively better each year he spends with you.

“...I’m okay,” you say, though the crack in your voice reveals the all-consuming ache in your bones and mind.

“No. You’re overwhelmed,” he guesses in his matter-of-fact way, voice gentle. You huff out a soft laugh at his ability to read you, never getting old.

“Yeah, I guess. A little. The holiday season, you know. Are you on your way home?” you ask, voice softer now. You’re sitting on the couch of yours and Spencer’s cozy apartment, wrestling with a blanket to cover your lap, and bouncing your leg relentlessly.

“I’m walking to the car now. Hey, have you done the crossword today?” Spencer asks, words a familiar, tender remedy for your nerves. You told him a long time ago that hearing his voice makes you feel better, and there are times, like these, where he just knows it’s what you need. You rest our head on the arm of the couch, curling up.

“No, I didn’t have the time. Why?”

“There was an interesting question about causes of death in Shakespeare plays, but they completely messed up the part of speech. It read, ‘Popular ways to die by the hands of England’s national poet’. I thought it was ‘poisons’ at first, but it was actually ‘stabbed’, even though the correct answer grammatically should’ve been ‘stabs’ or ‘stabbings’,” he says, his car now in sight through the steady sprinkle of snow coming down. “Do you think I should send an email to let them know? I guess stabbing does make more sense, though, versus poison, because throughout his works, thirty characters out of his 74 that died were stabbed compared to only four that were poisoned. Three were stabbed and poisoned. Did you know that two were actually baked into pies, which is a-”

“Oh my god, the pie,” you groan, cutting him off mid-sentence, sitting up hastily, the blanket falling to the floor.

“Pie?”

“Yeah. My mom coerced me into making it to bring tomorrow.” You pad over to the kitchen and crouch down to peek through the hazy glass of the oven, inspecting it. “Oh,” you murmur. “It’s…not pretty.”

He sandwiches the phone in between his ear and shoulder, gently opening the door to his car to sit down as he listens to you. He turns the heat on, exhaling in an exhausted relief, hovering his hand over where the air comes out. 

“Can you tell me what it looks like? Maybe I can help,” he suggests, leaning back against the headrest and letting his eyes close for a second. You put the phone on speaker, setting it on the counter as you bend down to take it out. “Don’t burn yourself,” he adds, hearing what you’re doing.

“I’m not going to burn my-” you cut yourself off with a huff. “Whatever. It’s just really messy. There’s like… liquid overflowing where the lattice should be.”

He hums. “How long has it been cooking for?”

“45 minutes. My mom sent me this one ancient recipe that I had to use written on parchment paper from like 70 years ago, and it does not have a bake time listed, so I’m just eyeballing it.”

“Okay. You could either put it back in the oven in hopes that more of the liquid will evaporate, or you can leave it out to cool down and hopefully thicken,” he says.

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think you sound exhausted and need your sleep.” 

You sigh, staring at your mess of a pie, hopes that you’ll appease your mother this year slipping further and further away, soon to be completely buried by the snow.

“Hey. I’m sure it’ll taste really good. Besides, people still liked Shakespeare, and he wrote about much worse pies than you could ever make.” 

A smile pulls at your lips.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll just leave it out to cool and head to bed. Will you stay on the phone a little longer?” you ask, padding over to your shared bedroom.

“Of course.”

He doesn’t start driving as you talk, not when nearly 2000 people die per year due to driving on icy roads, and two thirds of them were people who were reported to not be paying close enough attention.

And especially not when 54 hours ago on your last phone call, he noticed a drastic shift in your behavior, and was quickly able to tell that you were pregnant. 

He had too much waiting for him at home to be spinning out on black ice because he was talking to you and not watching the road.

He chooses instead to look outside at the falling snow, blanketing the city, his city, the very first for D.C. to have this winter out of the septillion snowflakes planet earth receives each year.

…

Spencer gets home a little later that night, holding another pint of cherries in his hands. Not for the pie—which he turns to see resting on the stove and winces slightly at—but for you. 

Cherries, with their 342 mg of potassium per cup, help replenish lost electrolytes and can soothe nausea.

He’s expecting it to start any day now.

He quietly steps into the bedroom, setting his bag by the door to be dealt with tomorrow. The soft glow of the lamp that was left on, presumably for him by your endlessly considerate heart, provides just enough light so he can get changed. He then finally clambers into bed next to you, one hand reaching out to lace in your hair, moving his fingers to gently scratch by the nape of your neck. He lifts the other to rest, like you're made of a delicate china, on your lower stomach, sighing in pure relief the second it makes contact.

You turn sleepily, humming when you’re met with the sight of him. “Spence,” you murmur, contented.

“Hi. I really didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m sorry,” he says, so quietly.

“I'm glad you did. I like it when you wake me.” You tuck yourself closer to him. “I love you.” His hand comes to trace gentle patterns all over your back and arm, and he gives you a little kiss, adoringly.

“Go back to sleep. I love you.”

You let your eyes shut once again, this time much easier now that he’s with you. You inhale his scent, which you swear could repair anything broken or lost in this world. You exhale, wondering if he’d still hold you the same way after learning that you’re carrying his child. 

It’s a scary thought, but you’re comforted by his warm touch, pushing you farther out into the deep sea of sleep.

Once your breaths get steady and your mouth parts slightly, he adds, in a whisper, “Both.”

…

The next morning, when you’re hunched over the toilet bowl, Spencer is there with you, rubbing your back and wiping your teary eyes. You look up to him after brushing your teeth, and no words are exchanged. He tugs you into his arms, silently quelling any of the countless anxieties swarming your mind, at least in this moment.

His hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He lets it rest there, cupping your jaw.

“Let’s go shopping after breakfast today, okay? You need prenatal vitamins.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“And a new pie.”

[dollfacefantasy]

CRY IF I WANT TO ♡

pairing: negan x fem!reader

summary: life has been different since you've been taken to the sanctuary. you're not sure how you fit in here. some may call you one of the wives, but you don't think that's accurate. maybe his pet? his doll? as the days pass, you're not sure it really matters. the distinction doesn't get you any closer to escape.

cw: nsfw (18+), dark fic, smut, dubcon, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), kidnapping/captivity, stockholm syndrome, coercion, forced ddlg/daddy kink, humiliation kink, dacryphilia, violence (from negan, simon, and reader), hurt/comfort sorta

wc: 10.9k (oops lol)

a/n: ermmm... hehe yeah. i've been wanting to write this so i hope someone likes it. reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated <3

kinktober slot: day 13 - mindbreak (i think)

"Rise and shine, little lady. We got a lot of things to do today."

Your eyes flutter open, the bright light from the window in front of you broken up by the silhouette of the man at your bedside. The sight of him, even just the outline of his body, sends a nauseating crackle of dread through your bones. It's a feeling you can't verbalize of course - not if you want this day to resemble any sort of pleasant.

"There she is," Negan says, speaking with his signature cadence that made you want to rip out your hair, "How'd you sleep, babydoll?"

"Fine," you rasp as you slowly sit up. The mornings were the only time you could get away with dull answers like that. Any small bit of attitude could be blamed on you being 'cranky' rather than feelings of hatred that hadn't been broken down by this point.

He smiles at you, his rough hand cupping your jaw.

"You're so pretty in the mornings," he mumbles, sweeping a thumb over your pouty bottom lip.

You pause for a second, but so does he. Like he expects a reply. Unfortunately, you know the words he wants to hear. Swallowing the last sliver of dignity you have, you force out the response you'd been trained to say over the last however-long.

"Thank you, daddy."

He grins even wider if that's possible and pats your head. "You're welcome. Now let's get you dressed. Like I said, daddy's got a lot to do today."

You get out of bed and follow him over to the dresser that held your outfit for the day. The chill of cold air bites at your legs as the lack of blankets leaves them exposed. The generator had been out for the past day or so, leaving the Sanctuary victim to the harsh Winter raging outside. You were hoping he'd take that into account when picking your clothes, but you didn't hold out too much hope.

The two of you shuffle around the gray furniture of Negan's room. Even though you'd been in here more times than you could count now, you still marveled at the quality of the chairs and sofa. Items like these seemed luxurious with how the world was outside these walls.

When you reach the dresser, you follow the routine you'd become used to. You peel the small shirt you're permitted to sleep in off and drop it in the basket nearby. Your panties are next to go. You pull the dainty garment down and toss it to the same place as your top.

You can feel his eyes on you with every move you make. They watch how your breasts bounce when freed from their confines. They admire the curve of your ass when you bend over. They glimmer with smug satisfaction as you stand there nude before him.

"I'll tell you what. I never get sick of seeing this," he teases.

You offer a weak smile in return. The lack of energy almost seems to please him more.

He walks around to stand behind you, giving you a light pat on the ass as he does. His hands land on your hips first and then slide up to cup your breasts. He pulls you back, positioning you flush against his chest.

"You know I'd keep you like this all the time if I could," he murmurs in your ear, "Sweet and ready for me. Ripe for the pickin' whenever I felt the need."

The deep, gravelly rumble of it seems to trigger a flicker of heat in your lower belly on instinct, and you despise yourself for it. Shame burns so hot in your heart, it threatens to take the nausea you felt earlier into a full on dry heave. You're glad there's not a mirror in front of you. It's easier to keep a docile look plastered on your face when you don't have to stare yourself in the eyes.

The rough pads of his fingertips pinch and tweak your nipples, causing you to squirm a bit where you're standing, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a noise. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your neck.

You choose not to say anything to his last statement. There's no guarantee that he hasn't actually considered that, and you don't want to find out. Displaying you in that way in front of everyone doesn't seem like his style, but back when he had you lined up on your knees with the rest of your group, you wouldn't have imagined yourself ever calling him daddy either.

As you'd quickly learned in regards to most things around here, the risk just isn't worth it.

"I'd never do that to you though. Don't think anyone could keep their hands off if they saw all of you, and I just can't have that," he whispers, calming your fears for you. He pulls his hands away from your breasts and steps back to grab the pieces he'd be putting you in today.

He starts with panties. This pair is pink and ruffly just like the last. You step into it with rehearsed timing. One foot then the next. He slides them up to your hips and lets the elastic snap into place against your skin.

You had no clue where he got this shit. You didn't want to believe that his hold on his men was so strong that they'd waste an entire supply run raiding a Victoria's Secret, especially for women they never even got to touch.

It wasn't worth thinking about though. It's not like discovering the origins would spare you from wearing the damn things every day.

Next, Negan shakes the wrinkles out of your dress. You step into that too, just like you did with the underwear. Looking down, you catch a glimpse of the garment.

It's just as humiliating as all the rest he makes you wear. The fabric is bright white and baby pink. Like everything else, you have no idea how it was kept so pristine. The waist is accentuated with a pretty pink ribbon wrapped around it, tied into a large bow at the front. It's extra tight up top and melts into a puffy skirt down below.

He shimmies it over your body and yanks the zipper up in back. The dress conforms to the shape of your figure, leaving little to the imagination in terms of how much the neckline shows and how high the hem of the skirt sits.

Spinning you around, he whistles when he gets the full picture.

"Good God Almighty. Pretty as a picture," he praises, reaching out to pinch your cheek.

Again, you force yourself to smile.

He'd already dressed himself for the day before getting you up, so the rest of the time before you leave the room is spent working through the remnants of your morning routine. He takes you into the bathroom connected to his room to brush your teeth and do your hair.

"Say ah, sweetheart," he smirks before jamming the brush into your mouth.

He's not careful or attentive. He only does it long enough to let the weight of humiliation settle in your stomach. It's always obvious when it kicks in. You get this look on your face like that of an abandoned puppy. Only then does he let you spit and move on to the next task.

He styles your hair into something cute, though you hate it anyway. Like the dress, it's only intended to make you stick out. To draw attention to your status as his possession.

The last thing he does is put your socks and shoes on. Your feet get covered in a pair of frilly ankle socks before he slips a pair of chunky sneakers on you. At least if this place got overrun and you had to bolt, you wouldn't be totally fucked.

"You ready to go, honey?" he asks you when the first part of your torture has finally come to a conclusion.

Again, you nod while looking up at him.

He grins at you. "You're quiet today," he says.

"Sorry, daddy," you respond. The way he said it sounded like teasing, but you could never be too careful.

"Don't be. I like it," he says.

You don't know how he does it, how he deflates you so easily without even trying.

He turns and grabs that stupid bat he carries everywhere, swinging it to his side before facing you again and sticking out his hand.

"Got my two favorite girls, now we're really ready to go," he says. He gestures with his fingers. A small impatient reminder. "You know the rules."

Of course you know what he's referring to. Always hold daddy's hand when you leave the bedroom. One of the rules he'd prattled off to you when he first brought you here.

You reach out and take his outstretched hand, earning a kiss to your head.

The way he'd been holding his arm caused the leather sleeve of his jacket to ride up a bit. Beneath the stiff fabric, you could see the fading scar you'd given him around the same time you'd been informed of the rules. Two crescent shaped marks in the pattern of your teeth.

You can barely stand to look at it now. All it does is bring back memories of when you still held hope for escape or rescue. Back then, you'd thought it'd only be a matter of days until Rick or Michonne burst into the small bedroom they were keeping you in.

The day you'd sunk your teeth into him, he'd just finished giving you one of his speeches about your new life at the Sanctuary. According to him, you'd be so much happier here. Sure you couldn't see your family, but now you had someone better than them. You had him. And he would spoil and take care of a pretty thing like you in the way you deserved. Show off to the rest of your old group how generous he could be.

He'd reached forward to pinch your cheek just like he'd done earlier today. You wanted to smack him away, but he had your hands bound. So you did the next thing you could think of and bit him. Hard.

His eyes burned with fury you hadn't seen since. You can still hear in your mind the way he yelled, shouting "Goddamn it" so loud that the walkers out at the fence probably heard.

After that was a bit hazy. He'd snatched that limb away from you before bringing it back and striking you hard across the cheek. You'd nearly fallen off the bed from the force.

"You little bitch, you try some shit like that again, and I'll knock your fucking jaw loose," he growled before yanking you up right and forcing you to look at him.

Involuntary tears leaked from your eyes as you glared up at his face. Blood oozed from the stinging wound you could feel inside your mouth.

That cut had healed by now though.

You squeeze his hand harder while walking down the hall out of his room. Even though it was the hand that struck you, it was the only thing you had to hold onto now. 

Your brain tries to compartmentalize him nowadays. There's Negan, and there's daddy. Negan is the one who gets mean. Negan is the one who yells. Negan is the one who killed your friends. Daddy is the one who cares for you. He keeps you safe and healthy. He'd never hurt you like that. You didn't think you'd survive with a shred of sanity without that distinction.

He feels your little grip and squeezes your hand in return. That's what daddy does.

You stay close to his side as he guides you on the walkway that looks down on the commotion of the main room. Even after what you guessed had been a couple months, if not more, you still didn't like this place. Everything was so transactional. No one cared about each other. It was all about what everyone had to offer. That was by design of course, but it didn't make you any less critical of it.

Your eyes scan the clusters of people below. Although you weren't allowed to socialize on your own, you were starting to get a grasp on the cliques here. Negan's closest advisors all seemed to amalgamate in one area, spare the guy with the burnt face. The table closest to the window was where most of the soldiers ate while the one by the door seated the workers.

You weren't completely sure what class you fit into here.

The most obvious guess would be the group you're about to encounter, Negan's wives. But there are stark differences between you and them that prevent you from feeling camaraderie.

The two of you approach the room where he keeps this group of women. He maintains a tight grip on your hand as you slip through the doors. The disparities between you and the others become obvious as soon as you're within a few feet of them.

All of these women get to dress in black. They stand tall in heels, have earrings dangling next to their faces, and for some, a red tint painting their lips. All of them get to openly glare at him. They don't have to hide their hatred behind a feigned smile or soft laugh.

You know it isn't right to be jealous of them. They're suffering too. This isn't a happy situation for them either. But god, you can't help it. Envy nearly sears a hole through your heart every time you come into this room. What you wouldn't give to be one of them. To be allowed to drink and talk with other people. To not be under the constant threat of punishment.

Despite all these thoughts swirling through your head, you manage to keep your mask on. A simple, thoughtless look on your features as you stand next to him like an oversized accessory.

He looks down at you before dropping your hand.

"Stay right here for me, sweet thing. Daddy's only gonna take a minute," he says.

He stalks off to the back corner of the room with a woman you'd come to learn is named Sherry. They speak in hushed tones, so you can't make out what they're saying. You figure it's about one of the girls sneaking around with some other guy. That's what it's usually about when he makes a stop here with you in tow. Even with their status elevated above yours, they don't get to escape the wrath of his possessiveness.

You stand there awkwardly, arms crossed over your midsection while your weight shifts between your feet. No one tries to talk to you. You can feel their eyes on your pastel form, but their gazes don't hold curiosity or interest. It's pity.

In the beginning, you thought they were looking at you with jealousy. After all, you got your own cell and then graduated to Negan's bedroom while they had to share amenities.

But they weren't naive like you had been. None of them wanted Negan's attention. They didn't want to be his pet or his dolly or whatever the fuck he would classify you as. They had each other, and they got to share the load between all of them.

You sigh quietly and look down at the sparkly trim of your white sneakers.

He finishes his conversation with Sherry and then migrates across the room towards a blonde, crying girl. They speak at the same volume as him and Sherry. It's not worth trying to eavesdrop on.

Instead, you patiently wait the couple minutes it takes for them to finish up and for him to return to you. When he walks back over, you can tell the discussion hadn't been a positive one. His shoulders seem weighed down by whatever information he'd gathered from them.

But the dark cloud above him fades away as his hand slips back into yours. He leads you out of the room just as you'd come in and continues walking with you.

You hesitate but decide to try. "Are you ok?" you ask softly.

His head turns slightly to cast you a look. For a moment, it seems the daddy act has fallen away. He looks at you like he would any other woman who asked him that. Cold. Analytical. But the persona makes its reappearance seconds later as he pulls on a smirk for you.

"Just fine, honey. You don't gotta worry about me," he answers.

You know you should just nod and shut up, but it drives you crazy being led around like a child expected to be seen and not heard. So you decide to try again.

"Did they do something bad?" you ask. You hate how weak your voice comes out. There's no spark to it, no bite or sharp edge. All of that, he'd extinguished in you.

He drops your hand and drapes his arm over your shoulders, pulling you to his side.

"What are you so curious for, huh? You know something about it?" he responds.

You shake your head. Your arm rises and wraps around his torso.

"No. I just don't like when you're upset," you say. You lean your head into his chest to really sell it.

"Oh-ho, look at you. Turning on the charm," he chuckles, "I am just fine, sugar. I swear it. Sometimes those girls give me trouble, but it's nothing I can't handle."

You decide to just take it and nod this time. 

He looks at you with satisfaction. "They can't all be like you, y'know? So well-behaved," he praises.

The compliment makes your blood curdle. You couldn't stand that he would act like obedience was your defining trait.

When you were with your group - your family more like -  you would never have been described as obedient. Whether at the prison or Alexandria, it felt like every other day you were sneaking off to try something. You were always quick to spring into action, never the type to let someone belittle you. Rick got on your ass about deviating from plans in spurs of emotion more than anyone else. Maybe that's how you wound up here.

You had tried to stop them from taking Daryl. On that dark night in the woods, surrounded by the ring of headlights, you had tried. You didn't rush at Negan like your friend. Not wanting someone else to get their head bashed in, you were more subtle than that. But you attempted to get in the way of the guys carting him off. That's what landed you here. Tucked under his arm, the very weapon that took away two people you love swinging a foot away from you.

But you swallow down all of this rage and nod again. You nuzzle into his chest, a way to conceal the tightening sensation in your throat and the sting of tears at your waterline.

This is the worst part about Negan, you decide. The way he makes you act like you want it.

From your first day here, he made sure to tell you over and over how he's staunchly against rape. He's not a monster. He's not that kind of guy. No, no. You are a prisoner, so yes, technically here against your will, but never in a million years would he violate you in that way.

And he'd stuck true to that. Whenever you screamed or cried or yelled "no" on a loop until he shook you around like a bobble head, he always backed off of his advances. He never copped a feel or slid a wandering hand in your panties while you slept, never held you down or physically forced himself on you.

Instead, he broke you down until saying yes seemed like the only sane option.

You didn't want his affection? That meant you must not want to talk to anyone at all. For days. You didn't want to sit in his lap? Maybe you'd prefer kneeling by his feet for a week, in private and around everyone else. You didn't want to sleep in his bed? Fine. You could sleep on the concrete floor without a pillow or blanket while the heat was out.

You reflect on all of this as the two of you trot through the boxy halls. He takes you around on all his errands for the day. You stop by the doctor's office, inventory, and Dwight's room. All over the place. You stay quiet the whole time. busying yourself with your thoughts as you stay attached to him.

Everyday the line between survival and free will becomes blurrier. You tell yourself that you have to be like this with him. You'll be worse off if you don't act the part of the sweet, adoring girl he wants. But then sometimes you wonder if you truly are becoming obedient. Like a wildcat tamed into a lazy house pet. You almost never resist his touch anymore. You even go to him for comfort sometimes.

The idea kills you, so you deem it best not to think about for now.

Rather, you focus on guessing what the rest of the day would hold. It's already the afternoon by now. The sun hangs low by the tree line, shimmering into the Sanctuary through the rectangular windows across the walls. He wouldn't have a meeting with the lieutenants today. Those were almost always around lunch time. You didn't think he'd spend it with one of his wives either. If that was the case, he usually gave you a heads up in the morning.

The most likely possibility you come up with is the dilemma from earlier. You had never been invited to see the culmination of those though. Normally, he kept you safe and sound in his room while he tended to matters like that, ready to provide him some stress relief when he finished.

But things can always change, and now it seems like that's the case.

He guides you back into the main room. A crowd has gathered down below. You can't see the center point of their conglomeration. All you can sense are the nerves vibrating between everyone.

Their feet shuffle around on the hard concrete flooring. They look between each other with anxious eyes. Hushed chatter clouds the area until you and Negan begin to descend the stairs. That's when they all go quiet. Mouths close and pupils snap to the position of their leader.

You look down to lessen the ache of humiliation that came with accompanying the center of attention. The few times you had scanned the crowd for others' reactions, seeing if you could find a sympathetic gaze or outraged expression, all you found was animosity. The male workers and soldiers leered at you. They smiled and smirked, visibly amused by your girly outfits and docile disposition. On the other side of the aisle, the women glared, taking in the details of your appearance with disgust, like somehow it was your fault you got toted around like this.

His voice booms out to his audience as he takes step after step towards them.

"You all know what we're here for today," he starts, "We got simple rules 'round here, but some people still seem to have trouble following 'em."

Your hand stays linked with his as the two of you reach the landing.

"Watch your step, babydoll," he murmurs to you before continuing his speech. Your cheeks burn with shame.

"It feels like I'm doing this every other month. It's getting ridiculous," he lectures, "I don't like having to be so harsh. Truly, I don't. But rules are rules, and I don't know how I can make myself any clearer. They are not optional."

He walks further into the room with you. Being level with everyone else, you can see more of what's happening. They're gathered around a furnace. Dwight stands near the opening to the flames, clearly preparing something. Another man sits a few feet away. Over in the corner, the woman from earlier is looking at him and crying.

Looks like your guess was correct.

"So we're gonna do this again. Hopefully it's the last time," he concludes.

The crowd parts as you and him head towards the center of the room. He leads you over to an empty spot near the wall. Dropping your hand, he cups your jaw and makes you look him in the eyes.

"Stay right here for me. Daddy'll be right back," he says.

You nod and then watch as he turns away, waltzing over to where Dwight stands.

While your eyes are up, they can't help but catch on somebody familiar standing at the front of the crowd.

Daryl.

Your heart stutters, and you can see on his face that his does too. He looks worn down. Eyes dimmed and face hollowed. His clothes, dirty and ill-fitting. You start to feel tears pricking at your waterline from the sight. You weren't the only one they'd broken down.

In him, you find the compassion you'd been searching for. The look that told you at least one person here didn't take enjoyment from your suffering. But it comes from someone who truly can't help you. Who's in a situation as bad as your own.

You sniffle and try to wipe away any beginning tears before Negan or someone who would tell him notices.

The loud creak of a metal door opening drags your attention to the furnace though. You watch as Dwight pulls out the item he'd been preparing. A burning, metal iron becomes the new focus of everyone in the room.

Upon seeing the small object, so many things connect in your head. You know what's going to happen. You realize why Dwight's face is scarred. You understand why that woman is crying. And you know no one is going to stop any of this now or in the future.

Your heart pounds harder, and your breaths become shaky. Tears blur your vision further. You dig your nails into your palm to try and ground yourself, but it doesn't help. The scene in front of you has whipped your mind into a frenzy. You haven't felt this bad since the early weeks of being in this place.

This stupid fucking place. You hate it. You hate how cruel it is here. How disconnected and lifeless everything feels. You hate him for being the only one allowed to really live. You hate everyone else here for letting him get this powerful.

It's a complete spiral whirlpooling in your mind, only made worse by the fact that you have to keep it contained. You try to tell yourself you just have to wait it out. This couldn't take more than five minutes and then you could go back to the bedroom. You'd be ok. You could take off this itchy dress and put your hair back to how you like it. You could kick off these shoes and hide yourself beneath the warm blankets. None of these people would be around, all you'd have is the quiet between those walls where daddy could make it all better.

As you're in the process of mentally talking yourself down, Negan takes hold of the iron. To free up his hands, he offers Lucille off to someone nearby. Your eyes follow his leather-clad limb to the neck of the bat and then up to its new handler. You see Simon.

You have to look down now. If you don't, everyone here will see the look of pure terror on your face. You close your eyes and rein in whimpers that threaten to spill from your lips. Everything feels fuzzy around you, intangible and like your hands would drift right through them. Your head heats up, the sensation making you dizzy. You try to steady yourself by leaning back against the wall, but the cool, flat surface does little to ease your nerves.

It does even less when you hear his voice closing in on you.

"Hey there, princess," he starts, voice laced with mockery, "You feeling alright?"

You're not looking at him, but the image of his stupid face projects with HD clarity in your mind. You swallow hard and nod.

Laughing lowly, he comes to stand beside you. "You sure about that? You're looking kind of lightheaded," he taunts.

"I'm fine," you choke out.

His hand darts up and grabs your jaw. He doesn't gently guide your eyes where he wants them to look. He yanks your face in his direction like an unruly child with a doll.

"I don't know about that. You're looking kind of rough," he says while glaring down at you with those ruthless eyes, "Maybe I should take you over to the doctor's. We both know Negan wants his favorite toy kept in good condition."

Your entire body vibrates with hatred for this creature. Every breath you take acts as an effort of restraint, a way to lull yourself into not ripping out what hair he has left.

You didn't just despise Simon because he's an asshole or because he was the person harassing your group leading up to that horrible night you were taken. Your aversion for him stems from experiences entirely your own.

A few days after the biting incident, you had tried getting physical with Negan one more time. You'd managed to worm one of your wrists out of your restraints, and instead of aiming for escape, you decided revenge held a higher priority. You waited for him to come check on you, keeping your arm tucked to your body as if it was still bound.

When he finally came in, you sat there and took the speech, took the condescension, and took the promises that you would conform. And then he leaned a bit closer. That's when you backhanded him as hard as he had you the few days prior.

After the hit landed, you lunged forward and tried to wrap the rope connected to you around his neck. You pulled as hard as you could, and for a moment, you thought you had won.

But wrangling you off was easier than you anticipated. They hadn't been allowing you much food or sleep, so the strike took most of your energy. It only took him a handful of seconds to snake his hand under the rope and then pry your arms away.

He stood up and slammed you into the wall with his hand around your throat. In that moment, he didn't look at you with the same fury he had before. This time around, frustration dominated his gaze.

"Was that fun for you?" he asked.

You didn't answer. Your chest puffed with exertion while your eyes stared daggers into him.

"What did I tell you last time? What did I fucking tell you?" he asked. Despite the look in his eye being less volatile, his tone of voice was dangerous as ever. "I told you I would knock that jaw of yours loose. That's what I said, and I meant it. I don't want you thinking I didn't. But I'm not gonna do that right now because I don't think it would work, and I'm not one to waste my own time."

Internally, pride swelled in your chest, thinking you had called his bluff. But then he kept speaking.

"I have a bad feeling that if I struck some sense into you that you'd just try to strike it into me right back, and I can't have that. That's just not gonna fly around here," he said, "So I'll tell you what: I have a better idea. You don't wanna play with daddy? Then you can spend a weekend with your Uncle Simon. See how much fun he can be."

Back then, you didn't know Simon as the right hand man. You didn't have his name and face connected yet. Now, you wished you could go back to that state of mind.

You were with him for three days while Negan did a tour of the outposts and subjugated communities. Only 72 hours. But an hour of him would have been enough to scare you for a lifetime.

When he first came into the room, you didn't get the feeling that him and Negan would handle you so differently. You could tell from the way he looked at you that, like his boss, he looked at you as something to toy with. A source of amusement. The difference, you soon found out, was how they played with their toys.

Unlike daddy, Simon didn't talk just to talk. He didn't warn you of future spankings or timeouts. He hit. And he kicked. And he shoved you down and tossed you around. He didn't offer the same condolences daddy did, there was no "this hurts me more than it hurts you." Nothing he did even bothered Simon. He watched you hurt, and he enjoyed it.

You didn't even get a reward once you'd settled down. Your attitude had disappeared almost instantly. Having the wind knocked out of you once was enough for you to become more amicable, but your change in demeanor didn't phase him. It wasn't his goal.

The only rules Negan left him with were the basic ones for the Sanctuary along with no killing you or causing permanent damage. But that didn't mean he couldn't threaten you with breaking them. He went on and on during the down periods where you cowered in the corner or huddled against the wall of your bedroom cell, telling you stories of how he went rogue before. Any horrible thing he could think of, he dangled in front of you as a potential fate.

When Negan finally came back, you eagerly awaited him. Despite your sleep deprived and bruised condition, your eyes stayed locked on the door like a puppy expecting their master. For the next week, you latched onto him. Didn't want to leave his side. He had made his point. You could hate him as much as you wanted but leave you alone with Simon for a little while, and you'd beg for him back.

That's how you feel right now, staring up into Simon's eyes while he holds your jaw. The pressure his fingers put on your cheeks serve as a reminder of the pain he can inflict while his other hand holding the bat twirls the weapon near your calf. As much as you had been internally preaching your hatred for everything to do with Negan minutes ago, all you want to do now is run into his arms.

You feel more tears wanting to slip down your cheeks, but you try your best to hold them in. The more you cry, the more I like it. That's what he'd told you more than once over those three days.

"Just leave me alone," you tell him. You try to sound as firm as possible, but even your own ears catch the way your voice quivers. "Negan wouldn't like you talking over him."

Your attempt at taking a stand falls flat. He doesn't back off any, rather, he leans in closer.

"Negan, huh? Are you even allowed to call him that?" he mocks and feigns a pout. 

"Just shut up!" you say. You mean it as a threat; though, it hits his ears like a plea. More hot panic rushes down your spine from the stress of having to remain quiet while also trying to be assertive.

His lips flatten into a line before he continues speaking. "Your head's getting too big for those shoulders, little girl. You better watch your attitude, or I might have to suggest you're due for some more correction," he mutters.

A loud scream rips the two of you from your conversation. He drops his hand from your face, and you both straighten up against the wall. Negan stands in the center of the room, pressing the blazing iron to the side of the man's face.

He wails until he passes out, and that's when his leader peels away the device of torture. Sticky skin goes with it before snapping back against his face like a rubber band. You grimace, your stomach twisting at the sight. You'd seen so much blood and guts over the years of living out on the road and fighting with other groups, but melted skin was a new one.

Negan turns to Dwight and gives him the iron back. You breathe an involuntary sigh of relief, subconsciously soothed by the thought of him returning to your side.

The reprieve ends suddenly though when a small, sharp pain slices along the meat of your calf. You whimper and lift your leg away on instinct. Looking for the source, you see the bat twirling from the motion of Simon's wrist. One of the barbs had caught your skin. Your eyes flit up to him.

"Watch out!" you say. The old you would have been seething. She would have pulled out her pocket knife and given him a little receipt for the cut. But now, you watch him with fearful eyes, trying to gauge whether or not you would get in trouble for calling him an asshole.

"Remember what I said," he tells you quietly as a trickle of red runs down to the lacy frills of your sock.

Before you can respond, a warm hand lands on the small of your back. Your head turns to find Negan smiling down at you.

"What's with the long face, sugar? Simon bothering you?" he asks, clearly not meaning it seriously even though to you it is exactly that.

You part your lips to answer, but Simon beats you to it.

"Bothering her? C'mon. I'm just checking up on her. She looked a little dizzy, so I offered to take her to the doctor's," he says, light as ever, "I'm just watching out for her, y'know? Sweet thing like her will get eaten alive here if she's not careful."

Negan raises his eyebrows, and for a second, you think he's about to take your side. But then he just chuckles and shakes his head. 

"She's doing just fine. That was her first time seeing one of those, so she's probably a little shaken up," he says, rubbing your arm.

"Hm... Sounds about right," Simon replies, "I know that's not how her little group did things."

"Yeah. So I'll get her back to the room. Think you can handle shit down here?" he says, gesturing around to the dispersing crowd.

"Always," Simon says with a mock salute. He then hands Lucille back.

Finally, you find some relief, some true sanctuary as Simon walks away. Your body physically relaxes. Negan feels it underneath his arm and spares you a glance as the two of you walk back up the stairs.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

You want to just take the easy route and say no, to play along with this sadistic charade and not cause any trouble. But you can't get the single syllable out. It feels impossible to even shake your head. Even though Simon's gone, the weight of everything that happened still remains along with the stinging in your leg.

Your throat feels tight, and your eyes feel like they're two seconds from overflowing. The lights suddenly seem too bright, and everyone here is too loud. You can't show him that though. You don't want more correction. You don't want someone to like it when you cry. But you can't ignore him either. That would be the worst thing to do.

All you manage in response is a shaky shrug. You let out a broken sigh with it and lean into his chest. The tension in your shoulders returns as you fight to keep the tears from leaking out against the worn leather.

At first, he doesn't say anything, and the two of you keep walking. Your steps remain in time with his as you traverse the walkway and around the corner. Then the two of you come to a stop when you're out of sight. He turns you by your shoulders, holding you in front of him so that you can't shy away.

"I got one more thing to attend to out by the fence. Think you can handle that?" he asks.

Your heart pulses to an uneven rhythm, trying to decide what to do without devolving into pure panic. You bite your lip as you mull your options over. Say yes and go with him. Then inevitably fail to contain yourself and get in trouble. Or, say no now and risk punishment for being defiant. You're not sure which one will end up worse.

"Can... can we just go back to the room?" you ask. Your voice comes out weak as if every word siphons a drop of energy from you.

He eyes you with uncertainty of his own; though, there's no fear in his look. His gaze is careful, an attempt to decipher if this is some kind of deception. You'd been pretty well-behaved as of late, but one bad day could take even the most obedient pet to a rabid dog, jaws primed to gnash.

But you didn't really have a reason to lie. The bedroom with him would provide the least likely chance at escape, and in the condition you were in now, you didn't seem to be planning an attack.

Slowly, he nods. "Sure, honey. I'll have Arat handle the other shit," he tells you before leading you in the direction of his bedroom.

The words he mumbles through his radio sound distant to you. You watch your legs switch between one and the other as you walk. On your right, you see the small red splotch staining the pristine cloth of your sock.

Before you know it, he's pushing open the bedroom door and bringing you inside. It then closes behind you, creating a barrier between you and everything else out there. It gets a little easier to breathe.

He guides you the few steps over to the edge of the bed and sits down, pulling you onto his lap. You feel his eyes scanning over you in an attempt to figure out the problem without asking. His hand rubs up and down your back over the crinkly fabric of your dress. His other palm focuses on your legs, coasting over your knees and the area of your thighs the skirt doesn't cover.

The code is harder for him to crack than usual. Normally when you got upset, it resulted from something he said. And he knows that because, usually, that's his intention. It was always either that or you'd just generally be feeling down, missing your home. But that doesn't seem to be the case right now. You seem more antsy than your normal bouts of sadness. He doesn't think it was from watching the spectacle downstairs. He knows you hate the saviors indiscriminately. Watching some random guy's face melt off wouldn't have you this upset. Finally, he relents.

"What's wrong?" he asks. He actually makes an effort not to sound like he'll make fun of whatever your answer may be.

"I just don't feel good," you choke out and bite your lip.

He feels you shudder on his lap, and he knows it's not the full truth. Pulling you a little closer on his thighs, he continues to look down at you.

"C'mon, baby. Tell daddy what hurts," he coaxes.

Your face tenses, but you know he won't drop this. "Just... just... I don't know. A lotta stuff," you say. You couldn't decide on a lie to commit to.

He sighs and bounces his leg with you on it a few times. "Did someone say something to you? Was someone bothering you?" he asks as his scope of potential causes narrow.

You're in the middle of trying to think of a cover story when his hand glides down to remove your shoes. He knocks one off. Then the other. The foamy white sneakers clatter to the ground next to his foot.

He goes to bring his hand back up, dragging it over the fine threading of your socks, but his eyes catch on the bloody splotches near the edge. Grabbing your ankle, he tugs your limb upward. It puts you at an awkward angle and nearly knocks you from your perch on his thigh. He stares the small wound down, assessing every detail of the tiny scrape.

"How'd you get this?" he asks. He looks over to you.

In reality, it may have been the most standard question in the world. But it hits your ears like an accusation and brings a fresh wave of tears that you can't control. Your lip quivers as your lids blink a few droplets over your water line.

"Simon did it," you weep.

You're scared he won't believe you, but after a few seconds, he drops your foot and pulls you close. His arms wrap around you tight and keep you flush against his chest. The warmth of the embrace encompasses you. You let the dam burst and cry into him, pouring all your sadness out against his body.

His hand sweeps up and down your back in comforting strokes. "Shh, shh, shh, sweetheart. Daddy's got you," he murmurs.

You feel him shrug off his jacket and push it aside, leaving the plain material of his t-shirt to soak up your anguish. He keeps you as close as possible. One of his hands cradles the back of your head to ensure you don't pull away.

"Does Simon bother you a lot?" he asks.

You nod. "Whenever I'm not with you," you choke out.

He hums in acknowledgement. "I'll talk to him. He's not supposed to hurt you when you're being such a good girl for daddy."

"I was trying really hard," you sob, your voice cracking, "I've been trying to be good. But he just hates me anyway. He's so mean to me."

Your arms snake around him as tight as a pair of snakes aiming to kill. You cling to him with everything you have, as if he's your one true savior from this living hell and not the cause of it.

In your head, you feel like you're annoying him. He's probably waiting for you to calm down, so he can nip this blossom of resentment in the bud. Good girls don't have tantrums or meltdowns, right? And all he cares about is that you act the part of a good girl.

But you only think all of that because you can't see the smile on his face right now.

He's grinning more than any of the times he got you to say something humiliating or cooperate with a punishment. The look he displays now reaches a new level of smugness, higher than the night he killed two of your people and traumatized the rest of them. His satisfaction runs deeper this time because right now, you're truly broken.

This isn't something you agreed to because the other option was worse. It's not something he had to coach you into or manipulate a situation into becoming. You did this all on your own. You came to him. Sure, he had to coax it out of you a little bit, but once he got his foot in the door, you let him right in. You're clinging to him for comfort, looking to him for a solution. He couldn't be more pleased. This is exactly what he wanted - to break you down. Now he just had to reel you back in the slightest bit, get you in that perfect middle ground between too independent and non-functioning.

"You have been doing really good for me, y'know? I'm proud of you, baby," he tells you in the most earnest tone he can manage, "Don't worry about Simon for right now, ok? Daddy's gonna set him straight. He won't bother you again."

You nod, but the reassurance doesn't stop the flow of tears from your eyes. Your fingers stay clenched around the fabric of his shirt.

"No more tears, honey, c'mon," he coos. He pries your limbs from around him and boosts you to your feet, standing you between his thighs. "I'll take care of it just like I take care of you. Let's just worry about what my little baby needs to feel better right now."

You take a few seconds to think about it, but the answer comes with relative ease. The most agitating thing about this situation right now is wrapped all around you, scratching at your sides and digging in under your arms.

"Can you take my dress off?" you sniffle.

His eyes fall from your face over your body. "What? You don't like this pretty little number?" he teases.

For once, you don't feel like you're two seconds away from punishment. You feel like it's a joke, and you don't have to awkwardly straddle the line between playing along with the humor and submitting to the literal interpretation.

"It's ok... it's just kinda scratchy," you say and wipe away your tears with the back of your hand.

"Spin around for me then. We'll get it off you. Can't have it irritatin' that soft skin while you're tryin' to relax."

You take the few steps to turn around. His fingers grasp the zipper and undo the baby pink prison you'd been trapped in for the day. Feeling the chafing fabric pulled away from you lets you take a real breath for the first time in hours. Already a small bit of relief. It only compounds when the garment hits the floor and pools at your feet.

He tugs you back by the waist and lays you across the bed, body on full display for him. Right now, you don't mind his gaze tracking your curves. He leans over you, his hands coasting from the sides of your breasts down to your hips.

"You're prettier like this anyways, princess," he praises.

"Thank you, daddy." It spills out as naturally as water from a faucet.

He rewards you with his lips on your stomach instead of words. Kissing the smooth, warm skin, his lips travel from just above your navel to the divot between your breasts. Your nipples rise to attention automatically.

His hands slide up to cup your mounds of flesh. He fondles and gropes them as his lips migrate up the curves to the hardening little peaks. They don't latch on just yet. He teases them with kisses instead, letting the anticipation of blissful suction build.

You take your lip between your teeth as you watch him. Chills break out across the rest of your body. You know you should be fighting. You know you should kick and scream and cry. You should try to take advantage of his closeness and get towards your revenge. But in your hellish life, are you not allowed one moment of pleasure? You haven't let those plans of escape and vengeance go, but you want this right now. You want to feel good, and he gives you that. 

This isn't Negan. This is daddy. And you don't wanna hurt daddy.

His tongue peeks out from between his lips to trace wet circles around your nipple. The sensation draws a whine from you. Your body squirms beneath him with an eagerness to feel more.

"I think I know how to make you feel better. Take your mind off all that stuff from before," he whispers.

He takes one of your nipples between his lips, flicking the bud with the tip of his tongue and scraping his teeth against the sensitive area. You reward the choice with a mewl and squirm your legs. He chuckles and then switches to the other one.

"That feel good?" he asks.

You nod, your head tilting back and your eyes fluttering.

Grinning, he continues his work on your chest. You whine and squirm for him, giving him all the reactions he craves. Soon, his hand ghosts up your inner thigh. His fingertips drag over the flesh and land on your clothed center. Through the thin pink cloth, he rubs at your clit. That garners a breathy moan and a full body shudder.

"Goddamn, you are so cute," he chuckles, "Just a few little touches and you squirm around like a virgin for me."

Heat floods your cheeks, but you don't bother disputing the claim. It was the truth. You weren't sure what it was about him that got you so amped up and needy.

The pad of his middle finger swirls around the little nub in your panties. He can already feel the fabric getting sticky from the wetness between your thighs.

"Poor baby. You're so easy to play with," he says.

His mouth leaves your breasts now and begins to retrace its path down your stomach. It glides over your skin with open-mouthed kisses all the way down to the hem of your underwear. His fingers fall away from your center to your dismay.

Your disappointment is short lived though. You feel him position your thighs on his shoulders. When you look down, his eyes are staring right back up at you, gleaming like that of a panther ready to pounce.

"You want daddy's mouth on you? Will that help you feel better?" he rasps.

You nod quickly. "Please, daddy," you whimper.

"So polite. You didn't even need me to remind you of your manners," he smirks.

You don't even care about that remark. It washes right over you. All your mind is concerned with right now is getting more of his touch.

He brings his index finger back between your legs. He hooks it beneath the soaked seat of your panties, pulling it to the side and revealing your slick folds to him. The thumb on his opposite hand comes up to rub over the length of your slit up to your clit. Back and forth, nice and slow, just to tease you.

Your hips writhe the slightest bit, and he nips the skin of your inner thigh.

"Tsk. You know good girls are patient. They don't wriggle around. I've taught you better than that," he chides.

"Sorry," you say, backing down quickly.

"It's alright. I know you're having a rough day, so I'll let it slide this time," he says. He then leans in to lay some kisses on your clit.

Your eyes roll back and your toes curl. He never let things slide. This must have been a miracle. The same man who always toted that the rules weren't optional, letting you bypass one? Maybe you were his favorite. That's what you took it as anyways.

He makes out with your cunt like it's the prettiest thing he's ever seen. His lips engulf it, spreading his affection from your little bundle of nerves all the way down, nearly reaching your puckered entrance below. You whine and clutch at the bedsheets. You were still too scared to grab his hair. You weren't sure if he'd like it and groan or glare at you in a way that said you'd pay for it later.

It doesn't matter to you right now though. What you hold isn't important when you feel this good. It feels like a firework show is erupting in your belly, bright bursts of all different colors. Your heels dig into his back, subconsciously keeping him buried between your thighs.

He's tempted to tear your panties off and fling them aside. He would if not for the limited number in his possession. If this was normal life, he'd rip a pair to shreds on a weekly basis. These things were so cute when he put them on, but when he wanted at you, he despised them. If this was normal life, he'd just buy you new ones whenever a tattered one had to be tossed. But then again, if this was normal life, he wouldn't have you at all, so it isn't really worth thinking about.

Refocusing his mind on your pleasure, he dives further into your cunt. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue fucks into you. He pushes it in a few times before pulling back and just lapping at your pussy in broad strokes, getting every drop of you he can. Two of his fingers prod at your entrance before slipping in. They fuck deeper than his tongue, but don't stretch you out like his cock. A happy medium to walk the steps of preparation.

He maneuvers his digits with expert precision, scissoring and curling them at the perfect intervals. You can't help the way your hips buck in response. He doesn't get on you about it though. He just wraps your arms around his hips and holds you in place.

Your thighs squeeze around his head too. Luckily, that wasn't against the rules. He loved feeling the heat of your plush legs wrapped around his skull, keeping him close.

He pumps his fingers faster, curling them right against that spot that got you to squeal and cry out his name.

"Cum for me, babydoll. All over my face. I wanna feel it," he rasps.

It's a fortunate coincidence he gives you that command because you were about two swipes of his tongue away from doing it on your own. You melt against the bed, eyes fluttering and body jerking and quivering as rushes of pleasure sweep through you.

Your fingers grip the blankets so tight they threaten to tear into them, but then they loosen completely and go lax next to your hips. He licks your cunt through the entire thing, not letting you come down until the euphoria has thoroughly washed through you.

While you're lying there, dazed and blissed out, he untangles himself from your legs and stands at the edge of the bed. He wipes your nectar from his facial hair before pulling his shirt over his head and unzipping his pants.

"I think daddy deserves a little reward for making you feel so good, pretty girl. What do you say?" he asks.

Of course, you nod. There was no way you would reject him while still so close to the high of your last release. He grins at your hazy movement and shoves down his pants, jerking his cock a few times and crawling on the bed to hover over you.

"You're such a good girl for me. Better than I ever thought you'd be," he says while looking down at your face.

"Wanna be good for you, daddy," you say softly, blinking at him with your misty doe eyes.

His grin spreads even wider. In your sane mind, you probably would have thought it looked like some creature out of hell. But right now, the look just makes you giggle and squirm.

Down below, he lines up at your entrance. He slides his tip through your arousal a few times, getting it nice and wet before he sinks in. A smile of your own rises on your face, and he groans at the deep satisfaction of having your cunt embrace him so readily.

"Perfect little pussy, fuck," he grunts, "Think it's the best I've ever had."

You preen at that compliment. He balances his forearms on each side of your head as he begins to thrust. Your legs rise up and lazily wrap around his waist, which he loves. He can't get enough of the fact that you want him, that you're pushing him deeper and not letting him pull out too much.

His head falls beside yours, letting you hear every pant and grunt that falls from his lips. Your walls squeeze around him every so often. The noises make your tummy flutter for him. It drives you wild to know you brought him to such a state of lust.

"Christ, you're so fucking tight," he mumbles.

You giggle again and drape your arms around his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. You just get lost in the feeling of him inside you, his cock battering all your sweet spots just right. He leans in and kisses at your neck. His hips pump deeper, ramming his shaft further into the warm depth of you.

In this moment, everything feels so good and pure. You can't even imagine any of the pain he inflicted on you before. It all feels like a distant dream. Memories that belonged to someone else, not you. At this second, it feels as though this bliss will last forever. Just you and him tangled in the throes of passion without a concern for anything else happening beyond the privacy of his room.

When you open your eyes, they're a little watery from all the stimulation and how good it feels mixed with your saccharine thoughts. You arch off the bed a few inches, pushing your pert breasts against the warmth of his chest. He pushes you back down with ease, keeping you angled exactly where he wants you.

Pulling back a little to look at your face, he smiles when he sees the water gathering in your eyes.

"Oh, those are the tears I like to see," he croons.

You moan, a little shiver coursing through you. It only encourages him to pound his hips harder against you, in and out, in and out, until you're both approaching the edge.

"You gonna cum again for me, sweetheart? Show daddy how good he's making you feel?" he murmurs.

"Yeah, mhm, ah-" you whimper, "I wanna cum daddy, wanna cum for you."

"I know you do," he chuckles, "I can feel it."

Your cunt contracts and releases around him with increased frequency now. He knows you're moments away from reaching the peak. Swiveling his hips, he tries to strike that chord and bring you crashing down.

You whimper, the pitch getting higher as the glass gets closer to shattering. Finally, with one good jerk of his pelvis, you tense up and cry out. A couple tears trickle from your eyes. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

Your body trembles and rolls with the feeling. He fucks you through it, savoring every delicious squeeze of your cunt around him. A few breathless groans rumble out of him. He gets every last second in your hole he can before he has to pull out.

He snaps his hips back, replacing the tightness of your pussy with his hand. It's not the same, but it will do. He gives it a few quick strokes before he explodes and spills on your belly. You lift your head and watch as the ropes of hot, sticky cum land on your skin.

His hips jerk with each surge of release firing from him. When he finishes, his head hangs, and he takes a moment to catch his breath. He scoots off of you and cools down beside your body on the bed. It's quiet for a few moments; though, he's never one to be vulnerable, so he doesn't let the silence linger for too long.

"You feeling better?" he asks and rotates his head to look at you.

You nod, visibly more relaxed than before.

"Thank you, daddy," you say, sweet as can be, before leaning in and pecking his lips.

He stares at you for a few moments in fond satisfaction. Then he gets up, and pulls you to your feet with him.

"C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up," he says.

You follow obediently to the bathroom where he wipes you off with a damp rag and makes sure you're all set to get some rest after. Both of you make your way to the dresser next. He pulls another set of those panties out and slips you into them. They don't feel so horrible this time around, but in the back of your mind, you're sure that won't be the case tomorrow morning. A soft, thin shirt covers your upper body next. It's the same baby pink color as the dress, but you don't mind since it's much more comfortable.

On your own, you tuck yourself to his side for the short walk back to the bed. He climbs in first and then tugs you into your spot next to him.

"I want you to try and get some rest," he tells you, stroking down the side of your face, "When you wake up, I'll get you something to eat, but for now, I want you to take a nap, ok?"

You aren't particularly tired, but while living here, sleep has become your greatest method of escape. You never reject a chance at it. The only thing is, right now, you don't really want to escape. You don't feel a horrible gnawing sensation from being so close to him.

However, you agree anyways because daddy knows best for you, and you don't want to make him upset.

You lie your head on his chest and snuggle up to him. He holds you close, rewarding the compliance by rubbing your back.

"Sweet dreams, babydoll," he murmurs.

You shut your eyes, allowing your mind to recede into visions of the life and people you had before this. The life you still hoped one day you would get back, even as it became more and more like a fantasy rather than a realistic future.