#Shakin The Blues Away

[imaginedisish]

See You Again (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: This took so long, and it's because it is ABSOLUTELY FILTHY. This one is inspired by "See You Again" by Tyler, The Creator and Kali Uchis. This isn't a request...just a *thot* I had. Heavy on enemies to lovers and forced proximity. And cocky Logan...Enjoy :)

Summary: You're convinced Logan hates you. But when you're forced to run a drill in the danger room, alone, everything changes.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI!!!! Oral (f!receiving), fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), afab!reader/f!reader, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, cursing, some angst, cocky!Logan/teasing!Logan, praise kink, softdom!Logan, mutant!reader, canon typical violence, probably grammatical errors, I think that's it!

Word Count: 5,325 I am disgusting

You could not believe your eyes. It had to be a glitch—your names together on the touch screen built into the wall. You tap the glass firmly with your index finger, but the words don’t budge. This is it. This is the last straw. 

There is no way you are going into the training room—the danger room—with Logan Howlett. 

“Oh, absolutely not!” You shout, turning to face Charles and Storm. “I am not going in there with him!”

Storm shakes her head. “That is the assignment we are giving you.”

Charles nods in agreement, pointing between you and Logan. “You two need to learn to work together.”

“This is insane,” you stammer. “Does nobody see how crazy this is? I’m not doing this.”

“Why?” Logan asks, arms tucked into his chest, back against the wall. He smiles, cocky and self-assured. “You afraid you might like it?” You try not to think about the deepness of his voice or the way his smile makes your breath catch in your throat. 

“N-no!” You stutter, stumbling over your words as you finally process just what Logan meant. “You hate me! I’m afraid you might kill me in there!” 

Logan’s smile falls from his lips. He looks almost shocked, but you ignore the sudden change in his expression. You’ve only been a member of the team for a few months now, but you know Logan well enough. You know he doesn’t really care. He’s always short with you. He teases you; he calls you princesscondescendingly. He’s overly protective, incessantly running to your side on missions as if you can’t handle yourself. It is so incredibly annoying. And yet…

You can’t help but harbor a small—maybe massive—crush on him.  

And so, being in the simulated danger room, alone, with Logan, is quite possibly your biggest fear. 

“Mr. Howlett certainly does not hate you,” Charles assures. “And he will not be killing you, either.” 

You roll your eyes, and Charles smiles softly. Storm walks over to the screen, pressing a few buttons. Suddenly the doors to the room open, and she extends her hand, inviting you and Logan inside. 

Logan pushes himself off the wall, side-eying you as he steps inside with no hesitation. You look to Storm, exasperation and stress painted across your face. You swallow nervously. “Don’t make me do this,” you plead, pressing your palms together as if praying to Storm. 

She tuts, pushing your shoulders softly, but strongly enough to make you fall past the doors and into the room. “Good luck!” She says, smiling widely and pressing a button. The doors quickly slide shut. 

“No!” You shout, banging your fists into the doors once before letting your forehead fall against the cold metal. You groan, turning around so that your back is pressed against the doors instead. 

“Simulation, starting,” a robotic, automated voice calls out. A blue grid scans the room, and a battle scene appears. You’re in a winter forest, snow covering the ground and falling from the white clouds above. The room even grows a bit colder, a slight chill hanging in the air. It’s surprisingly peaceful. 

Too peaceful. 

There’s a crash somewhere nearby in the forest, and then an explosion. You jump, turning around. Logan is at your side in a heartbeat, claws extending out. A few feet away, a massive metal sentinel stomps, shaking the ground. 

“Die, mutant scum!” The robot’s voice echoes against the trees as if the forest were real. It points its arm at you and Logan, loading its laser gun and shooting. Before you can react, Logan is shoving you to the ground and rolling on top of you to shield you. 

There’s a scorching sear—a patch of melted snow and burnt grass where you and Logan had just been standing. The simulation is fake, but it suddenly feels incredibly real. Logan is still on top of you, wide eyes searching yours. Your chests press together. He’s so close that it’s distracting, dizzying, overwhelming. You need him off you. Now. 

“I can handle myself,” you spit, but he doesn’t move. 

He smirks. “Sure looks like you can, princess.” 

You groan, shoving him off and standing up. You dig your heels into the ground, looking up as the sentinel approaches. It aims again, and shoots. This time, you’re prepared, controlling the laser with your mind. The beam stutters in the air as you concentrate on changing its trajectory. It takes so much strength—so much power—but it works. You let go of the beam and it slings back into the sentinel’s face, the metal melting in a fiery explosion. 

You turn your head to Logan, the corner of your mouth twitching up. “See! Told you I can—” 

Another blast echoes across the forest, and Logan’s arms are around you again, pulling you back down to the ground with him. “You can what? Risk your life unnecessarily to prove yourself to me?” 

“Oh, you are so full of shit!” You shout, punching at his chest, but he doesn’t flinch. “You think I’m weak!” 

He furrows his brows. “Who the hell said that?” He pushes himself up, jumping onto the sentinel in front of you. His claws slice at the robot’s head, swiping it clean off. 

“It’s just the way you treat me!” You call out as you extend your hand and push another sentinel into a tree. You concentrate, bending its arm towards itself. With the flick of your wrist, you pull its trigger, forcing the robot to shoot itself. 

You don’t see the sentinel that’s behind you, but Logan does. He grabs your hand, yanking you behind a nearby tree. “And how do I treat you?” He asks, caging you in, his hands pressed firmly on either side of your head. 

His eyes are trained on yours, watching your every move. You look away, unable to keep his stare. “L-like you hate me,” you stutter, looking down at the ground and then back up at him. 

He tilts his head to the side. There’s that shocked expression again—the same one he had made outside the danger room. He shakes his head, smirking. “I don’t hate you,” he starts. You can see the shift in his face, the softness in his eyes, the playfulness in his smile. He’s close again. So fucking close. “I don’t think I could ever hate you.” 

“But you always—”

You’re abruptly interrupted as a sentinel blasts the top of the tree you and Logan are leaning against. The trunk cracks, and you look up, watching as the branches begin to fall. 

“Let’s move!” Logan shouts, grabbing your hand again, and leading you to the other side of the forest. “How many of these fuckers are there?”

You can see three coming in, surrounding you and Logan. You instinctively stand back-to-back, readying yourselves for the fight. When you had started this training session, you didn’t think you’d be here, pressed against Logan, guarding his back as he guards yours. You’re working as a team, a unit, equals, partners. 

You can hear Logan’s claws shing against the metal of the sentinel he’s fighting. You take on the one straight ahead, while the other stalks close behind. You shut your eyes, listening to its steps as it approaches. You breathe deeply, opening your eyes and extending your hand out. You swallow, concentrating hard as the metal of the sentinel’s head begins to bend. Slowly but surely, you crush it like it’s an aluminum can in the palm of your hand. It caves in on itself, crashing down to the ground. 

“Atta girl,” Logan praises over your shoulder, his lips inches away from your ear. He finishes off his sentinel, too, his claws swiping cleanly as the robot crashes to the ground. You try to ignore the way your stomach somersaults, the way your heart beats out of your chest. You’re sure Logan can hear it given his heightened senses.  

You’re so distracted by him that you’ve forgotten about the other sentinel. It’s suddenly closing in quickly. Too quickly. It aims, and you shut your eyes, trying to muster up enough energy to stop it before it shoots. But you can’t. You’ve used so much of your energy already, bending metal and stopping the sentinels’ beams. You’re tired, out of breath. 

“L-Logan,” you stutter, your head piercing with pain as you try to concentrate, pushing yourself harder than you should. “C-can’t…” You trail off, unable to finish your sentence as the pain worsens, your head throbbing. 

Logan steps out in front of you, sweeping his claws at the sentinel’s guns, disarming it. He slashes its legs next, and the robot comes crashing down. But he miscalculates ever so slightly, the sentinel tipping over, threatening to fall on the two of you. 

“Fuck!” He shouts, pushing you down to the ground. You don’t fight him this time, allowing his arms to wrap around you as he shields you, his body warm against yours. 

The sentinel’s head smashes into a nearby tree, slowing its fall. It scratches against the bark, the sound of screeching metal rattling in the air. You wince, and Logan quickly moves to cover your ears, protecting you from the noise. You’ve long forgotten this is just a drill, a simple training session. The panic has set in, and you squeeze your eyes shut. It all feels too real.

Logan’s hands lift from your ears. His full weight is still on you. He lifts himself up slightly so that he’s hunched over you instead. “Hey,” he soothes, his fingers gently brushing up and down your arms. His touch is electric against your skin. “I think it’s over.” 

You finally open your eyes. Logan is still hovering over you. The sentinel precariously leans against the tree, frozen just above the two of you. You’re trembling, shaken, unconvinced that this is all just a simulation.

“A-are you sure?” You stammer, frantically looking around the forest. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. He can see the fear on your face, the single tear that runs down your cheek. You’re in shock—literally. He slips his hands under your back, hoisting you up so that he’s holding you in his arms. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, pulling you to his chest. “I’ve got you. None of that was real.” He strokes up and down your back. “It wasn’t real,” he repeats, his voice steady and reassuring. 

“I forgot,” you confess, letting your head fall into the crook of his neck. It dawns on you how soft he’s being, how kind he truly is. “I couldn’t use my powers. I was so drained, and I was so worried that you’d…” You trail off, too nervous to finish your sentence. 

“That I’d what?” Logan presses, holding you tighter. 

You’re trembling for an entirely different reason, now. You take a deep breath, and the words fall from your lips. “That you’d get hurt, or worse, and I wouldn’t be able to save you.”

He pulls away from you for a moment, looking down at you. Tender—that’s how he looks. Soft, gentle—so much different from the beast he normally is. A chuckle rumbles through Logan’s chest. “Sounds like you don’t mind me so much after all, princess.” 

“I never said I didn’t like you,” you say back, a small smile playing on your lips. You poke your index finger into his chest. “You’re the one who hates me.” 

Logan shakes his head, his expression turning somewhat serious. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again: nothing could ever make me hate you.”

You look into his eyes, searching for something—you’re not quite sure what. The truth? He just gave it to you. He laid it bare. “So, w-what do you think about me?” You ask, tentative, anxious. 

He’s smirking again. “You really don’t know, do you?” He brings his face closer to yours, his lips just centimeters away. Your breaths meld together. He pulls you in again, tighter this time. Your throat bobs and your heart beats out of your chest. Your noses brush, the proximity driving you wild. He slips his hands down your back and under your shirt—bare skin on bare skin. 

Your lips are practically touching—the ghost of a kiss. Logan breathes you in, swallowing harshly as he parts his lips and—

The room suddenly changes, the forest disappearing and the doors opening with a swoosh. The walls are metal and gray; the ground is hard and cold. You and Logan quickly separate, standing up, shoulders awkwardly bumping as you regain your bearings. 

“That was…” Charles trails off, entering the room with Storm at his side. “A very excellent execution of that simulation,” he summarizes, perhaps intentionally leaving out the more embarrassing details. 

“You two certainly learned how to work as a team,” Storm says, her arms crossing tight against her chest. She raises her eyebrows and smirks knowingly.  

“Yeah, well, she’s strong,” Logan says, looking over at you. “And talented.” The compliment makes your chest feel hot and tight. You can see the look in his eyes, the one that screams: We aren’t finished yet. 

Charles nods toward the doors, motioning for you to walk with him, and so you do. Logan moves to follow you, but Storm stops him. She’s keeping him busy, telling him where he could have improved during the simulation. You turn around, your eyes trained on him, not paying attention to a word that Charles says. 

Later. Logan mouths. Your breath hitches in your throat. You nod once, smiling widely. His eyes don’t leave yours as you walk through the doors of the room and into the hallway. 

“Are you listening, my dear?” Charles’s question snaps you back to reality. 

“To be honest, Professor, no,” you say, embarrassed. 

But Charles smiles. “That’s just fine. I was simply saying that you must be careful. You’re incredibly strong, as Logan said, but you faltered,” he pauses. You’re still barely listening, your mind racing with thoughts of Logan. “When you exert yourself too much too soon you…”

Charles continues talking, but you can’t hear him. You’re thinking about how close Logan was to you, his hands under your shirt, his lips ghosting yours. So close, but not quite close enough. 

He made you a promise. Later. 

Later later later—it’s a perfect word. 

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

Later comes, and Logan is nowhere to be seen. The grandfather clock in the study reads 9:55 PM. You’ve been keeping an eye out for him, searching for him all day. But it’s like he disappeared. 

You’re at the old oak desk in the study, reading a book, scribbling notes in the margins. You’re writing nonsense, really. You haven’t been able to think straight all day, not with Logan on your mind. You close your eyes, dropping your head to the center of the book. You feel like a child, impatiently waiting for the thing they were promised if they behaved well enough. 

You groan audibly, bumping your head against the book once, twice, three times. 

“Well, somebody’s happy to see me.” You shoot up straight at the familiar, bassy voice. Across the room—leaning in the doorway—is Logan. He’s still in his beater and his jeans, still wearing that shit-eating grin, too. His arms are crossed against his chest.

“H-hi,” you stutter, suddenly nervous. He pushes himself from the doorway with his hip, shutting the door behind him. His thumb brushes over the lock and it clicks into place. He stalks over to the desk. You can already feel the fire building between your legs. 

“Didn’t think I forgot about you, did you?” He leans over the desk, his hands covering yours. He’s hovering over you, holding you in place. “Thought I wanted to be away from you that long?”

You can’t think of what to say—can’t think of anything except him. You’re frazzled, caught off guard, wrapped up in Logan. 

“You like when I tease you, pretty girl?” His voice is honeyed and dark. He lets go of your hands and slips behind the desk. You turn around to face him. 

“Y-yes,” you confess, leaning against the desk as Logan towers over you. 

He hums, his hands finding your hips, holding you tightly. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” you protest, but it’s no use. You can feel the heat rising to your chest, the way your clothes uncomfortably scratch against your skin. His words are tripping you up and driving you wild. 

“Yeah?” Logan asks, taking a step closer, his hips pressing into yours, his hands tugging at the hem of your shirt. He slips inside, his nails trailing gently up your stomach. You shiver underneath his touch, goosebumps rising in its wake. He smirks, knowing full well what he’s doing to you. “Then tell me how I’m making you feel.” 

Fuck, you think to yourself. You swallow harshly, racking your brain for the words. “G-good…” you trail off as Logan’s fingers travel up to your ribs, hiking your shirt up in the process. 

“Just good?” He murmurs, massaging your breasts over your bra. He squeezes, thumbs brushing your nipples. 

“B-better than good,” you force out, leaning into his touch, searching for more of him. “Wanna touch you too.” Your hand falls to his lower half, riding up his inner thigh until you find his erection. He’s so much bigger than you expected him to be.

He can’t help but lean into your hand as you slide up and down his shaft. He grunts, losing his composure, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. You can feel him straining against his jeans, the denim tight and uncomfortable. You trail up to his belt, but Logan suddenly grabs your hands and pins them to the desk below. 

All you can think about is how he isn’t touching you anymore, how his lips are centimeters away from yours, how he’s holding you down as his erection pushes against your leg. He shakes his head. “Wanna make you come first, pretty girl,” he husks, closing in on you. His forehead presses to yours. “Lay back for me, sweetheart.” You listen as he guides you down to the desk, hurriedly shoving papers and books away and onto the floor. 

You sit up on your forearms, watching as he strips his beater away. He’s beautiful—every dip and every curve beyond perfect. He steps toward you again—one hand on the desk for support while the other explores your body. He’s quick, his hand slipping under your shirt and tugging it up and over your head.

He’s squeezing your breasts again, playing with the hem of your bra, fingers sliding underneath teasingly. You arch your back into his touch. “Please,” you whine. 

Logan smirks, his nails brushing the underside of your breasts before traveling to your back—to your bra clasp. In the blink of an eye, the clasp is undone, and Logan is sliding the straps down your arms, throwing the bra to the floor. 

He drinks you in, his eyes slowly trailing up and down your body. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, shaking his head. He settles in between your legs as he lowers over you again—one hand pins your wrists above your head, keeping you from reaching out and touching him, while he traces and strokes your stomach with the other. 

He’s so close—so impossibly close—but he hasn’t kissed you yet. You want to feel the warmth of his lips, the curve of his smile against you. “How could you ever think I hated you?” His hand slides up your body, finally cupping your right breast and brushing over your nipple. You shudder underneath him. 

You curse under your breath. “I-I just thought you did. N-never seemed like you liked me,” you say, smiling at how different things are now. 

Logan shakes his head, pinching your nipple before moving to the other breast. His forehead rests against yours as he toys with you. “I wanted you this whole time, darlin’.” His confession washes over you, and he finally presses his lips to yours. 

It’s all-consuming, the way he moves against you, the way he fits into you perfectly. His lips are smooth and addicting, like a drug you can’t get enough of. The kiss is slow and hard, but you can feel the need behind it—the intention. 

“Want you,” you say against his lips, squirming underneath him, trying to break your hands free from his pin. But he doesn’t budge—he simply smiles against you—his mouth still on yours. You try again, more honest this time. “N-need you.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he breathes, kissing your pulse point, and then the hollow of your throat. “But I’m gonna take my time with you.” 

He nips at your collarbone, his lips trailing down the center of your chest. He licks a long stripe across your breast, his mouth latching on to your nipple, sucking softly. You moan his name as he travels to the other side, repeating his actions, his tongue teasing you. He continues his course down your body, taking in every inch of you, savoring you. 

Logan kisses your belly button and stops at the hem of your shorts. He looks up at you, his eyes dark and filled with lust. He slowly yanks at the waistband, pulling your shorts down your legs, revealing the lacey lavender panties you’re wearing underneath. 

“Pretty,” he murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss right above your clit. You want him to rip the lace from your legs, but he doesn’t. He sits there, staring as his fingers climb up your inner thigh. It’s achingly slow, but his fingers finally brush over your folds, your arousal soaking through your panties. “Been hiding this the whole time?” He asks, his head cocking to the side, stroking your clit through the fabric. 

“I-I...” You can’t find the words, his touch numbing your mind, stopping all coherent thoughts. 

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. “So fucking wet,” he grunts, pulling them down your legs. “No more hiding, princess.”

You’re laid bare for him, your legs hanging over the edge of the desk. He kneels before you like he’s at an altar, praying to you, worshiping you. You swallow at the sight of him as he brings his face closer to your heat. You can feel his breath fan against your folds, your clit. 

“Logan, please. Need you so—” 

And then his face is buried in your cunt, his tongue licking a long stripe through your folds and up to your clit. His hands slip under your legs, grabbing your thighs tightly, pulling you closer to him, and forcing you in place.  “Tastes so good,” he mumbles against you, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking roughly. One of his hands slips out from under your thigh, finding your folds and sweeping through them gently. 

Logan’s beard scratches deliciously against you as his tongue laps relentlessly. His fingers prod your entrance, spreading your slick. You’re ready to beg again, to whimper and whine, but he’s shoving two of his long fingers deep inside—down to the knuckles—before you can complain. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he huffs between laps, his fingers still inside you. He slides out and thrusts back in—deeper this time. 

“Logan,” you whimper, as he hits that sweet spot inside you. “Feels so good.” He smiles against you, his tongue circling around your clit. “You f-feel so good.”

“Oh yeah?” His teeth graze your core ever so slightly, and you jolt at the sudden feeling. Your walls tighten around him, squeezing him. He notices immediately. “You like that?” He chides, pumping his fingers in and out, quickening his pace. 

“Y-yes,” you choke out. Logan’s working you through it, gentle praises flowing from his lips as he laps at you. You can feel yourself getting closer—the pleasure reaching its peak. He adds more pressure with his tongue, sucking harder. “Logan I—”

“I know,” he mumbles, plunging deep inside you, his tongue lapping at you like he hasn’t eaten in months. “Can feel the way you’re squeezing my fingers.” 

His thumb strokes your thigh comfortingly—his grip still strong, holding you in place. His eyes are locked on yours, watching your every move, like a predator watching its prey. You know he loves the way you’re squirming under his touch, the way you throw your head back when his teeth graze over your clit.

There’s lust in his eyes, and desire too. But you can see the adoration, the need to have you close, to bury himself inside you. If he could climb under your skin, he would. If he could worship at your throne, he would. You can feel it in the way he pushes into you, the way he swallows you like he’ll never get to eat again—never get to have you again. 

And that’s when the tension breaks—snaps in half so easily. Your muscles contract, walls fluttering around him, taking him deeper. “Logan I’m…” 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he husks, “Let go for me. Wanna taste you on my tongue.” His words, his smell, his touch—he’s everywhere—filling your senses. He rides out your orgasm, pumping in and out as you come undone underneath him. It’s pure bliss, perfect release—more perfect than anything you’ve ever felt before. 

And it’s because it’s Logan. It has always been Logan. 

His fingers rub against your walls, his pace slowing. He laps gently at your clit as he carefully pulls out. He lifts his face from your cunt, your arousal dripping down his chin. Logan stands, taking the two fingers that were plunged deep inside you and bringing them to his lips. His mouth wraps around the digits and he sucks softly. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him savoring the taste of you. His fingers slip out with a pop, and he smiles.

That fucking smile. So goddamn cocky.

Logan grabs his belt, undoing his buckle and slipping the belt away. He’s unbuttoning his jeans, pulling down the zipper, hooking his thumbs into his waistband, and slipping off the denim and his boxers in one quick move. His cock springs up to his stomach, and your jaw drops at the sight of him. 

You sit up as Logan steps in between your legs, his erection pressing against your stomach as he slots into you. He brings his hands to your hips, gripping tightly, and you wrap your legs around his waist. 

He lays you down on the desk, hovering over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand guides his cock to your entrance. He captures your lips in a kiss as he slides through your folds, notching against your clit. 

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispers between kisses, his tip slipping in your entrance teasingly, and then slipping back out. “You’re so perfect.” He slips in again just a bit but doesn’t move. “Can’t believe you thought I hated you…”  

And then he’s plunging into you, sinking down to the hilt. “…When I wanted you this entire fucking time, pretty girl.”

His hand leaves his cock and finds your clit, stroking lightly. You’re already close, still overstimulated from your first orgasm. Logan hasn’t moved, his cock still deep inside from his first thrust. “Logan,” you mumble, helpless underneath him. He finally pulls out and pushes back in again—somehow deeper this time—bottoming out. You moan at the feeling. 

“That what you needed?” He growls, building his pace, his hips rutting into yours. “Needed me to fuck you?” His words alone could make you come. 

“Fuck, yes,” you answer as he pounds into you, his fingers drawing rough circles into your core. Logan isn’t restrained anymore—he isn’t taking his time like he said he would. He’s letting go, slamming into you, flicking your clit, taking what he wants. 

And fuck does it feel good. 

“You feel so fucking perfect,” Logan praises, biting your lower lip and kissing away the pain. “Doing so good for me, beautiful.” You can feel him rubbing against your walls, stretching you out, fitting inside you like he was always meant to be there. He’s right: it is perfect. 

Nothing will ever compare to this. 

Logan’s hips snap into yours, his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with every single thrust. He’s still working your clit, chasing your orgasm, making you feel good. That adoration is still vibrant in his eyes, still rocking you to your core. 

You clench down around him, squeezing him, taking him in deeper. “Fuck,” he mutters, his pace faltering. He’s close, and so are you. He’s letting go, pumping harder, faster. “So tight, so warm,” he groans. “Such a good girl, letting me fuck you into this desk.” 

Your chests heave together—skin against skin. He’s so warm, so solid, so constant. You can feel yourself melting, sinking, slipping. “Lo…” You trail off, wrapping your legs tighter around him. 

He moans into your mouth. “Love it when you call me that, sweetheart.” He pinches your clit, lighting your skin ablaze. 

“I’m s-so close,” you stutter, stumbling over your words. 

Logan’s throat bobs as he fucks into you, fingers swirling your clit. “Gonna get you there, princess,” he pants. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.” You curse under your breath and Logan swallows the words with a kiss. You’re squeezing him tighter now—inches from the edge, and he knows. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he coos, stroking harder, pounding into you. “Come for me. Know you can do it.” 

You listen, your orgasm crashing into you. It’s uncontrollable—wave after wave of pleasure surging through your body. You’re a mess underneath him, arching your back as you let go. You’re seeing stars, heat flooding your vision. There aren’t words to describe the way you feel—the way that only Logan can make you feel. 

He’s close behind, rocking into you. His hand reaches under your back, lifting you so that he’s standing and you’re sitting up on the desk. The angle is brutal—giving him more room, more depth to fuck up and into you. It’s too much, but it’s just what he needs. 

“Wanna…” you trail off, struggling to get the words out. “Wanna f-feel you come too.”

“Fuck,” Logan curses, pressing his forehead to yours. “Gonna give you what you want. Always gonna give it to you.” And then he’s coming deep inside you. You can feel him filling you up, painting your walls. 

His thrusts slow as he finishes. He pumps in and out a few more times before slipping out of you, but he doesn’t pull away. He wraps his arms around you, keeping you pressed tightly to his chest. The contact is comforting—stabilizing—as you come down from your high. 

Silence fills the room as you melt into him. All those months spent thinking Logan hated you…how could you be such a fool? He was yours the whole time. 

He presses a chaste kiss to your temple. “I meant what I said, you know. About wanting you.” 

You smile softly, your head falling into the crook of his neck. “I never knew.” 

He shakes his head. “Still want you now.” 

“You have me,” you say, lifting your head to look up at him. He’s got that look—that glimmer—in his eyes again. It dawns on you that it isn’t just adoration.  It’s love. You know it’s love. Your breath hitches in your throat at the thought. 

“Good,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours again. “Because I’m not done with you yet.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he teases, his voice raspy and deep. “When can I see you again?” 

You laugh. “What are you doing after this?” 

He pauses, as if thinking through his mental calendar. And then he smirks that shit-eating, cocksure smirk. “You.” 

Well fuck. 

[tteokdoroki]

⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡. — SATORU GOJO. a woman in uniform.

about. satoru let’s you try his uniform on in the bedroom and loses his fucking mind. not even the strongest sorcerer can resist a woman in uniform.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, smut, power play, pussy jobs, oral sex ( m!receiving ), clothed sex, blind folds, some slight sub/dom dynamics, fem!reader. i wrote this with my clit tbh.

i think that gojo goes feral for you wearing his uniform. the whole get up, the blind fold and the jujutsu tech jacket. he’ll try to fight it, the feeling of power slipping away, as you crawl up the bed and between his thighs — your tongue dragging over your lips.

“oh, you shakin’ satoru?” he can see the excitement dancing around in your eyes even through the fabric covering them. he can sense the flare in your energy as you loom over him, ranking your nails down creamy washboard abs while his infinity fizzles away. “poor you. it’s not fun to be on the receiving end, is it?”

if satoru really wanted to, he would flip the situation in an instant — have you pinned to the bed with your clothes askew and your mouth hanging open in breathy whines as you beg for him to touch you. but he doesn’t. he can’t. you have so much power over him when you’re dressed like that and you act like you’re the strongest one in the room. you both know that he has the power to end your free rein over his body.

he is the strongest after all.

your mouth is quick to follow your nails, teeth and tongue trailing a wet path from gojo’s prominent collar bones, between his firm pecs and down his tense stomach. you suck hickies into the bone of his slender hips, shades of mauve and navy-ish blue blooming against pale skin like adding water colours to a blank canvas. satoru inhales sharply, losing control of his invisible barrier just so he can savour the feeling of you ravishing his body with nips and sucks and kisses.

you haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.

“lift your hips, satoru, let me see what you’ve got under all this,” you coo sweetly and it’s as if you’re drizzling honey in his ears. the white haired man follows your command like it’s the law, instinctively bucking up and away from the bed so you can pull down his boxers. “how sweet, you’re so hard.” satoru’s cock springs free from its restraints, sticky and bright red at the tip, pulsing and thick at the shaft. when you touch him and take hold of his length in your tiny hand, kitten licking the entirety of him while you look up at him hungrily through your blindfold… the man is sure he might die. you could kill him like this, with his infinity down…and you’re fully aware of it.

teasingly, you ease his cockhead past the seam of your kiss swollen lips and let it nudge the soft epithelium on the inside of your cheek — lubing him up, getting him ready for more of your torture. “should i suck you off? or should i ride you?” you manage, even though your mouth is full of dick…the next, your nose is buried in a trail of soft white pubic hair.

“don’t do that… please…” satoru whines, chest flushed and heaving, brilliant blue eyes boring deep into your soul. his fists form balls at the sides of his shaky legs, he could reach out and touch you — coax you into giving him more. it’s not like he has any restraints on…except for the metaphorical ones of your will and your control. you let go of him with a lewd pop, a trail of your saliva mixed with milky precum tying you to his sensitive erection. “f-fuck…”

cocking your head to the side, you use a soiled thumb and forefinger to lift the black hand over one of your dangerously pretty and mirth-filled eyes. “do what?” you respond with an inquisitive purr, licking your lips and moaning at the taste of the six eyes on them.

“s-shit,” satoru curses, blood curdling and boiling hot lust spreading through all four of his limbs at the sight. “don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing to me…don’t act like you don’t know how feral i am for you…” saliva pools on the pallets of his tongue, slipping in between the sorcerer’s words as you move like a vixen in the woods above him — sliding yourself into gojo’s lap to position yourself perfectly above his aching cock. “don’t—“

gojo chokes on a moan as you begin circling your hips, plush and puffy pussy lips sucking in the length of his cock whilst it lays flat against his tummy. if he focuses his mind enough, pushes through the dark veil of lust you’ve pulled over his mind that works in overdrive, he can just about see his bulbous, leaky tip peeking out from underneath the folds of his dark uniform — the uniform that’s draped so perfectly over the curve of your mouth-watering body. a deep groan anchors itself in gojo’s chest like the roots of a sturdy oak tree and his hands leap up from the bedsheets to grip your peachy ass barely hidden by his clothes.

“don’t this, don’t that,” you hum condescendingly, as you alternate the movement of your hips — dragging them back and forth, back and forth over your lover’s pathetically wet dick. you make sure to clench your slick hole every time it meets his tip, glazing him in a small stream of your arousal. “don’t you know how to shut up ‘n take it, satoru?”

the dominance in your voice has the white haired man in shambles, twitching beneath the weight of your body on his. for christs sake, he’s the strongest, he brings curses and sorcerer alike to their knees just by mention of his name. so why is he so weakened by the sight of you above him? by the sight of you in his clothes, grinding sloppily on his wet cock? gojo doesn’t want infinity projecting him, not when he occasionally slips inside of your welcoming, tight cunt when you thrust yourself down on him.

“g-god…baby, please!” he hiccups, fighting the urge to force you down onto him fully — bully his way into your squishy insides. satoru could do anything he wanted to you, in a single moment he could have you sniffling against the sheets and crying as much as your cunt does…but the way you rein him in just by wearing his clothes stops him.

“what’s the matter, handsome? you cryin’?”

at your teasing, the cream that oozes from his sensitive tip paints your clit adds to your gathering arousal as it soaks through satoru’s uniform. nastily, he doesn’t think he’ll wash it, he wants the memories of tonight to stay with him forever. he wants to remember how you took over him and took his every capability in using his power — reducing the satoru gojo to a pussy drunk fool.

the scent of your sex is the only way he can think to immortalise this moment.

“i can… i can take it. give it t’me, want everythin’ you’ve got,” satoru simpers eagerly over the lewd, sticky pap, pap, pap of your sexes meeting in a salacious bump and grind. he has no idea where to look — intimidated by the control that oozes off of you, the control that he gives you. if he stares at your bouncing breasts beneath his jujutsu tech jacket or your clenching cunt for too long, he might just bust all over you and his inform before he even has the chance to be inside of you.

light laughter escapes you at gojo’s babyish bleats and whimpers — so you lift the blindfold once more, lips spreading into a slow and sexy smirk, much like the kind he would tease you with. “i don’t think you can handle my everything, baby.”

and you’d be right. not even the strongest sorcerer in japan could handle his woman in his uniform.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[rhettabbotts]

practice makes perfect - pornstar!rhett abbott x reader

pairing: pornstar!rhett abbott x inexperienced!fem!reader

summary: rhett wants to prepare you before your first day on set.

warnings: 18+ only. age gap. fingering. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. oral (f). squirting. rhett’s hairy chest.

a/n: i just wanted to give everyone a little taste of the man that is pornstar rhett! i’m so excited to world build and share more of this story! i hope you enjoy! <3

“You’re gonna have to relax, doll,” Rhett cooed as he spread your thighs apart. “You can’t be this stiff in front of the camera.”

“I’m just nervous,” you muttered timidly. “What if they don’t like me?”

“You’re gonna be a star, honey. We just gotta loosen you up. Here, sit up.”

Rhett’s strong arms pulled you into a sitting position, his large hands massaged your biceps gently. His cobalt blue eyes looked into yours and you fought the urge to look away. He was intimidating, but not in a scary way. He was larger than life in your eyes. And you were just a girl from a small town who barely had anything figured out.

“I’m not going to hurt you, doll. Promise. C’mon, shake it out,” he held you by the shoulders and shook you lightly, causing a soft giggle to escape your lips. “There it is, there’s that smile.”

He laid you back and started to place tender kisses against your neck, his lips burning a trail down your body in their descent. The day old stubble scratched across your sensitive skin. The soft glow coming from the lamp on the bedside table created a calming environment. At least it wasn’t hot, bright studio lights.

“You taste so sweet. Can’t wait to get my mouth on that beautiful pussy. Gonna taste like a damn peach,” Rhett spoke with a slight growl.

Your breath stuttered as he mouthed the edge of your panties. They weren’t special. A pale pink pair with frilly lining. His tongue ran along your folds through the cotton, flicking against your clit before doing the same motion a few more times. You could feel the cool air hitting against the wet spot and it sent shivers over your body.

Rhett didn’t waste much time pulling the panties to the side and dove right in. Expert tongue pointedly thrusting into your dripping hole. The lewd noises of his ministrations filled the large room. A sheen of sweat covered your bodies and you couldn’t stop your hips from bucking against his face.

“Goddamn… fuck, I can’t get enough of you,” Rhett mumbled before wrapping his lips around your swollen bud. The suction caused a scream to erupt from you and your juices covered his mouth and chin as your release hit you forcefully.

He slowed his movements but he didn’t pull back, instead he just slid two thick fingers into your fluttering hole. It didn’t take him long to find that special spot inside, curling his fingers and making a ‘come hither’ motion.

Your thighs trembled and your whimpers were loud and wanton. Rhett pulled away from you long enough to start running his mouth.

“Look at you, shakin’ like a damn leaf. You’re so damn sensitive. I bet I could make you come again if I just told you to. So eager to please. Such a good little girl. They’re gonna love you, sugar. Now, c’mon. Come for me, little girl.”

You came once more, this time harder than the first and you couldn’t hide the way you felt a little embarrassed at the sound of your wetness. You nearly soaked his hand. He hadn’t even pulled his fingers out before he was attaching his mouth to your cunt once more. Your third orgasm came quickly after the second and you drenched his face once more.

Rhett pulled away with a satisfied grin on his face, your release trailing down his chin and into his chest hair.

“Just as delicious as I thought. You whine like that in the movies and you’ll have every guy blowing their load in their pants,” he joked as he wiped your juices off with the back of his hand. You didn’t want to tell him but you were even more nervous. Because if Rhett wasn’t your scene partner, then how the hell would anyone ever make you come the way he just did?

[mrm0rgansw0man]

Hii can I please have a scene with Arthur Morgan and his fem s/o in an alternate universe where Arthur never got TB and he is happily married living with his wife on a cosy farm similar to the marstons. They have just had a newborn daughter and she is only a few days old and Arthur sees his wife picking up their newborn, still in shock from giving birth just days prior. She is cuddling and sweet talking her baby, gently kissing her head and loving her. She coos and gently but sweetly whispers good morning to her baby girl. I just want Arthur’s reaction to this and how he reacts to all the fluff plus him being a new father. Can you please end it with fem reader putting their child back in the crib and making their way to the living room, relaxing on the sofa together and talking about how they should visit the marstons soon. Thank you 💞💞💞💞💞💞

The Life a Good Man Deserves

Has it really been only a week since I watched her walk along the tree line of the forest near our home, soaking in the sun, glowing like a god damn angel? She was pregnant as could be, but she wanted to take one last walk before we took our first walk with our baby girl.

And a few days later, she was here. God was it hard, watchin' my wife hurt like that. Her screams and all the blood... it left me shakin' like a leaf. I've never felt so scared in my life I don't think. We didn't have a doctor or a nurse or anythin', but we had Charles and a forest only a few yards away. Thank whatever lord there was above that he had stopped by that morning, and right as he was about to leave I heard my wife screamin' for me from our bedroom. We both came running, and that was the start of the longest night of my life.

Charles made a million different remedies on the stove of our kitchen. For pain, for infection, any complications my wife or our little girl could have after birth. All the while I was holding my wife's hand as she brought our baby-girl into the world, how crazy life is sometimes.

We named her 'Briar-Rose.' Right after she was born, my wife looked out the window and saw the ones we had planted had finally bloomed. We'd have horrible luck with them before, so it seemed perfect.

I ought to go find them now, instead of just sittin' her day dreaming about the family that I finally have. God, I love them so much.

• • • • • • •

Arthur set his leather journal down on his bedside table, the matching ones he made for the two of you for your first anniversary you spent together in your home. The one he had built for you, with the help of Charles and John. Oh and little Jack of course, he did so much!

Arthur got up and slipped on a pair of worn old jeans and his favorite blue button up shirt. How it had survived all these years, he didn't know.

How he had survived all these years, he didn't know either.

Arthur quietly made his way to the nursery. It was right next to the bedroom the two of you shared, and the door was cracked open. There was no other place you could be. Arthur was about to walk in, but he stopped when he heard you talking to your daughter. He watched through the crack of the door, completely mesmerized.

Your hair was in a messy braid down your back, and you wore a long flowing white nightgown. It was long sleeved, and the strings around your bosom area were tied into a pretty bow. The sleeves, which had forever been too long for your arms but you refused to mend time, rested around your whole hand, only leaving your fingers sticking out. Arthur could see them sticking out under your coat and laughed to himself. He loved these little things about you, and he had them all written down in his journal.

Your coat, which was actually the brown plaid one that belonged to Abigail, also hung loosely around you with your nightgown. He smiled as he remembered both you and Abigail trading your favorite coats. John and Arthur had both been talking and they decided it was time to leave the gang, it wasn't an easy decision but a necessary one. You and Abigail were two peas in a pod, like sisters almost. You had both decided you needed to do something to always stay together now that you wouldn't be able to see each other everyday.

A small cry from your daughter pulled him from his thoughts.

"Oh my sweet girl, shh shh." You cooed softly, you picked up your daughter from her crib and cradled her in your arms. Holding her close and tight. You pressed a gentle kiss on your daughters head, and she calmed. You rocked her back and fourth and started talking to her.

"How'd my baby sleep? Did you sleep well?" You asked, your tone so gentle and full of love Arthur thought he could cry. You were the perfect mother. "I love you, so much my sweet girl. Your so beautiful. You've got your daddy in you, those stunning blue eyes and that hair of yours. I can't wait to watch you grow up."

Arthur couldn't take it, tears fell freely from his eyes and he opened the door of his daughters room and actually ran to you. He held you close to him, careful to not hurt your stomach.

"Oh Arthur, are you alright?" You said with a light laugh, though your voice was laced with concern.

"Honey, I have never been more alright in my life." He said shakily. His quiet voice held so much emotion it broke your heart.

When Arthur first found out you were pregnant, he was angry. Not at you, and certainly not at your unborn child. He was angry at himself, how could he be so stupid? Getting another woman pregnant, while still being in the gang? Which was definitely going to shit, by the way. Arthur could feel it happening. His heart actually hurt when he thought about Eliza and Issac, how his stupidity had gotten them killed. His little boy, and the woman he never married but god damn he should've, both dead over 10 dollars. 10. Fucking. Dollars. If he had been there, those bastards would've been dead in a second! He was a gunslinger for fucks sake! He could've saved them if he had just done right. But he was so scared to be a father, especially to a son. He didn't want to turn into his own father. He wouldn't wish that on anyone. But once a certain Karen Jones dragged him by the ear to the hiding spot you had found to cry in telling him to "fix it" he knew what he had to do. And it wasn't easy.

He held you in his arms, and apologized for every second he made you think or feel like he didn't want you or the child growing inside you. He said he had a plan, and it was the first time since joining the gang that you were relieved to hear those words.

"Arthur?"

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts. Arthur pulled away from you so he could get a better look

"Would you like to hold your daughter Mr. Morgan?" You asked with a smile just as sweet as your southern drawl.

"Yes I would, Mrs. Morgan." He said with a smile, quickly wiping the tears from his eyes. He ever so carefully took his daughter into his arms. She fussed for a moment, before quickly settling back down again.

"I can't believe I'm a daddy..." Arthur said softly. "Look at my sweet girl... Both of my sweet girls."

You stood on your tip toes and kissed Arthur on the cheek, and you bent back down to kiss your daughter. You winced straightening back up.

"Sit down, please honey." Arthur said gently. "You just had a baby after all."

"'M fine sweetheart." You dismissed. "I need to get the best view possible of this.."

A sudden sharp cry erupted from your daughter, causing both you and Arthur to laugh.

"Still a view I want to see." You said with a smile. Arthur passed Briar off to you, and she quieted down a bit.

"Ain't nothin' like the touch of a mother." Arthur said softly, gently wrapping his arms around your stomach. With your body flush against his, he rested his chin on top of your head. You chuckled.

"You should sing her a lullaby. Arthur suggested. You chuckled, knowing he'd use any excuse to hear you sing. You took a breathe, and began a gentle lullaby:

Down in the valley, valley so low Hang your head over, hear the wind blow Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

Roses love sunshine, violets love dew Angels in heaven know I love you Know I love you, dear, know I love you Angels in heaven, know I love you.

Writing this letter, containing three lines Answer my question, "Will you be mine?" "Will you be mine, dear, will you be mine?" Answer my question, "Will you be mine?"

Down in the valley, valley so low Hang your head over, hear the wind blow Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

You finished the song, and were now left with a sleeping daughter and a husband who was weeping. The sight of it brought tears to your own eyes.

"I just watched my wife sing my daughter to sleep for the first time.." Arthur wept. "Look at me, I'm a god damn mess. God I love you so much, I love her so much- (Name), this is real. This is our life."

"I can't belive it either!" You said with a sniffle. "Let me put her in her cradle before we wake her up."

Arthur nodded, sneaking a quick kiss to your forehead before heading to the door. Arthur was about to leave, but something told him to stay a moment longer. He turned just in time to see you tenderly set your daughter down in her crib and cover her up with her blanket which you had sewn by hand for her. You kissed your daughter one last time before joining Arthur.

As soon as you were in arms reach, Arthur scooped you up and carried you bridal style right into the living room. You giggled like some lovesick schoolgirl, causing Arthur to giggle too.

"Nothin but laughter and tears of joy in this house." You said happily. "That's exactly how I wanna be livin'!"

"Me too darlin!" Arthur said, gently setting you down on the sofa. He sat down right next to you and opened his arms, which you gladly crawled into. With your head resting in the crook of his neck and your legs curled up in his lap, you felt so safe. And so loved, you swore Arthur Morgan was sent from the lord above just for you.

"When do you think you'll be up for a trip to go see Abigail?" Arthur said, a sly smile on his face.

You gasped in excitment. "Oh goodness, is the house done already!? Did John invite you?"

"Yes ma'am! And guess what else darlin'?" Arthur said with a laugh. Your excitement was contagious, anyone could agree to that. "They made us a nursery for Briar-Rose."

Your eyes welled up with tears and you covered your mouth with your hand.

"Your kiddin' me..." You said softly, a smile slowly forming on your face.

"They really did honey." Arthur said and smiled softly at you. "Abigail wrote to me. I got the letter the night I went to town right before you had Briar. Said the house is done and we need to come visit as soon as you feel up to it after you have the baby."

"I don't know how soon, but I can't wait to go! Oh Arthur I miss her so much.." You said sadly. "I'm gonna write her back! We'll plan a visit next month...." You said, but your words trailed off into a yawn.

"Sounds good t'me baby." Arthur said, his hand natrually finding your hair to begin running his fingers through it. It put you to sleep faster then you'd like to admit.

Arthur let out a content sigh. He had never dared even daydream of a life like this for too long, yet here he was. Actually living the life of his dreams. With his wife, daughter, and even his 'brother'.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

authors note: I HOPE YOU ENJOYED CAUSE I LITERALLY HAD THE BEST TIME WRITING THISSS Xx

[sincerelyrki]

such pretty boy excuses

what better way to get back at your ex and “best friend” on prom night then by going after the man said “best friend” had been obsessed with for years?

pairing : heeseung x fem!reader + ex!sungchan x fem!reader

warnings + genre : suggestive. mentions of sex. jealousy. heeseung really doesn’t like sungchan at all. all characters are said to be in highschool, but they’re all 18.

wc : 1.5k

a/n : i just finished euphoria and im literally obsessed so this was inspired by nate and maddy at prom (maddy n fez are the best characters btw).

perm written taglist : @vousty

“No matter how hard Minjeong tries, she’ll never be you.” 

The fluorescent lights did nothing to hide the obvious emotion in your eyes, pupils dilated as you burned holes into the two familiar people dancing under the chandelier. 

“Besides, he doesn’t care about her at all. He can’t keep his eyes away from you.”

Your nails tore holes into the tablecloth as your hands formed fists, teeth clenching as you watched his hands push further up her thighs, his eyes staring directly at you.

“Yn, don’t.” One of your best friends, Yerim, pleaded from her spot across the table. She shared a look with your other friend, Sieun, their looks mirroring each other.

“I’m going to kill Minjeong.” You stood up from the table, chair flying back as you stormed into the crowd. Your hair bounced along your back, your dress swaying along with it.

You could feel Sungchan’s eyes on you, his heated look burning along your exposed shoulders. Your gaze never met his, your eyes zeroed in on one of the men leaning against the wall beside the buffet table.

The group of men all looked up as soon as they heard the sound of your heels clicking towards them, jaws dropping at the sight of you. All men except one began adjusting their hair, hands running through the strands in an attempt to tame their flyaways. 

You stopped in front of the one you’d been watching, his smirk seeming brighter under the blue lights. “Dance with me?” You stuck out your perfectly manicured hands, your seductive eyes matching his.

“Of course, Princess.” He responded in seconds, his much bigger hands enveloping yours. He stood from his spot, his eyes never leaving yours as he pulled you tight against him. 

He bent at the waist, his nose touching yours as he whispered above your lips, “I can treat you so much better, just give me a chance.”

You quirked an eyebrow in response, a playful smile on your lips as you pushed your faces closer together. “Can you?” He gave a single nod, his hands tightening around you, “but he made me feel so good.”

You noticed the way his eyes narrowed at you, a challenging tone coming out in response, “Oh really?”

He let go of your hand to press his index finger against the bottom of your chin, tilting your head up higher, “What did he do to make you feel so good?” He teased the last two words, holding their syllables longer than the others. 

You turned your back to him, hair hitting against his face as you rejoined your hands. You pulled him along with you, a purposely sway in your hips as you led him towards a spot near your ex-boyfriend. 

You tilted your head back towards the man behind you, his gaze locked on your exposed thighs. “He’d press me against the wall,” you tugged Heeseung into you, his chest against your back.

He leaned his head down beside yours, his lips settling near your cheek and he gestured for you to continue. “He’d slot his leg between mine, wrap his hands around my waist as he pulled me against him.”

Your head fell back against his chest, eyes closing as he copied your words, his hands wrapping around your waist as he pushed his hips into you.

“Then he’d kiss my neck, whispering against my skin about how good I felt against him.” Heeseung guided your hips against him.

“Would he whisper about how much he loved you?” You turned your eyes towards Heeseung, an unknown look on your face as you shook your head.

“No, not once.” Heeseung clicked his tongue, shaking his head in amazement, “If you were mine, I’d tell you every day.”

He used his hold on you to turn your body, your chests pressing against each other, “I'd always put you first, your pleasure would be my top priority.” 

You gave him an untrustful smile, head tilting to the side as you observed the way his eyes shone with sincerity, “I don’t believe you, no man would ever put me first.”

Heeseung responded with a head shake right away, hands gripping against the back of your thighs as he pulled your body into a tippy-toe, “You’re wrong, a real man would make you come undone five times before allowing himself to reach the same high.” 

You laughed in response, eyeliner enhancing the way your eyes narrowed at him. “Five times? You’re crazy.”

Heeseung never laughed in return, his face completely serious as he watched the way you giggled at him, “I’m serious.”

Even though you still found his words ridiculous, you decided to muse him, “I’d be way too tired to continue on.” 

“That’s fine, I can wait.”

“For sure, I’ll hold you to it.” You pressed your cheek against his lower chest, eyes fluttering up at him with a sweet smile on your lips.

“You don’t believe me?” Heeseung raised your arms to wrap around his neck, pressing his head against the top of your hair. 

“No, Sungchan always told me that he was too tired after one time.”

“Such pretty boy excuses.” Heeseung tutted out loud, his hatred for your ex only intensifying the longer he heard about the shitty he treated you. The hook.

“Well I’m not Sungchan, am I?” The line.

“No, you’re not.”

“Will you let me prove to you that I’m telling the truth?” And finally, the sinker.

“Depends on how good of a dancer you are, this happens to be my favourite song.” 

Heeseung tilted his head back with a smile, shaking his head at your words. He stepped back a little bit, his hand stretched out towards you as he bent into a bow.

“I’m not the captain of the dance team for no reason.” You grabbed his hand in yours, allowing him to pull you back into him.

“Prove it to me.”

“I will.”

The second the song ended you, once again, turned your back to the taller man. No words were shared as you began pulling him behind you, his body close to yours as he kept up with your pace.

The two of you were stopped when a loud shout of your name came from behind you, your feet pausing as your ex-boyfriend advanced towards you. 

You squeezed Heeseung’s hand once before you turned to face the angry man, Heeseung following your initiative as he circled his arm around your shoulder.  

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going with-“ Sungchan paused as he recognized the man against you.

“Heeseung? Are you fucking kidding me, Yn?” He laughed in disbelief, hands throwing up by his sides as he stared at the two of you in disbelief.

“Real classy, going after the man your best friend was in love with for years.” You turned your head while pretending to think, tongue pressing against the side of your cheek as you stared at Minjeong standing frozen behind Sungchan.

“Best friend? We’re nothing more than strangers.”

“She means nothing to me.” Minjeongs jaw dropped in shock at your tragic words, tears filling her eyes as she tried stepping closer to you.

“Best friends don’t fuck each other's boyfriends.” 

It wasn’t as big of a secret as Minjeong thought it was, it barely took you a week to notice her sneaking behind your back. Even though you and Sungchan had been broken up for a month, she’d been seeing him for two. 

“You two really deserve each other.” Heeseung pouted at them, his arm tightening around your shoulder as he leaned down to press his lips against your cheek.

“But don’t worry, Yn is better with me anyway.”

“You know nothing about her.”

It was obvious what Sungchan was hinting at, his eyes tracing your body up and down. Heeseung stepped in front of you, blocking you from his vision.

“Are you sure?” He didn’t have to say much for Sungchan to make his own connections, his eyebrows furrowing.

“She doesn’t have to worry about me passing out on her, I can go all night.” The same way he did before, he stressed the last two words. His mockery was evident, the diss hitting Sungchan in the perfect way.

“Too bad we can’t continue this little… talk,” Heeseung looked over Sungchan’s shoulder to look at Minjeong, winking at her once before he shot the two of them a smile, “We have plans, I’m sure you’ll understand.”

Heeseung ignored their looks and led you towards the door, his comforting hand rubbing shapes against yours. 

“You did so good.” He cooed the second the door closed from behind you, his body pressing you against the wall adjacent to it. 

“My baby was so brave.” He pressed a small kiss against your earlobe, his teeth nipping at your skin. “Let me reward you, yeah?”

You nodded your head, eyes barely focused as you breathed him in. “Please,” You tilted your head to the side as his lips connected with your neck, his hands squeezing at the skin around your hips.

“I love you” Heeseung knew you thought he was just saying that because of your conversation from before, he knew that you wouldn’t think twice about what he was saying against you.

It seemed that Heeseung had more than one thing to prove to you, and he was ready to spend the entire night showing you.  

[starlightsreigns]

that's my girl | t. tonga

summary: malia just needs a breather, and the MFT is here to give her just that.

warnings: smut! mdni!

word count: 937

author's note: it's exam week for me, but here's something short & sweet while i get those done xo

I love watchin’ you take it

To trust a man is to put your pride aside. To trust Jimmy Uso is to watch his every move because he plays too fucking much. Malia loves him, and that’s why she knows him all too well and knows that this dinner tonight could all go to hell if he didn’t let up on the tiny black remote that he had in his position. what would possess her to wear the vibrating thong under her dress tonight and then give him the remote to control it? She must’ve been drunk when it happened because now, she was sitting between Jimmy and Tama, pressing her legs together to keep from exploding. 

malia swallows some water, squirming in her seat as the speed goes up. The conversation was lost on her as she shot Jimmy a quick glare. He smiles innocently, turning to talk to his brother from across the table. 

“you good, lia?” tama studies her for a moment. “I can feel your leg shakin’ against mine.” 

that is embarrassing and Malia just gives him a curt nod, “Yeah, just a lot in my head.” 

That is enough for now for him, and Malia bits her lip. She crosses her leg to try and find some relief, but that has the opposite effect. she grips the table and quickly uncrosses her leg. Jimmy smirks in her direction, then looks past her at Tama who eyes them suspiciously but full of interest. 

Malia rests her head against the table, but that makes Jimmy increase the speed. fuck, she wants to kill him in the middle of this restaurant but all she can do is straighten out and look at him. 

“Baby, please.” she whispers, punching his thigh from underneath the table. “I can't do this.”

But that’s not enough as Jimmy shakes his head. malia takes a deep breath and skins further into her seat. tama, who smirks knowingly, scoots closer to Malia. He whispers into her ears. 

“you know, he’s gonna make you cum right here on this seat.” his voice was like honey in her ear. 

it takes a moment for her to meet his eyes. She nods slowly. Jimmy's not the sharing type, but for some reason, he bent the rules when it came to Tama - not that Malia completely understands or opposes. It was a conversation out of the blue one day about how she felt about Tama joining them one night because of a simple comment she made once. The man is attractive, she’s not one to shy away from saying so. It was only once, months ago, but right there in his living room and in the middle of the dinner, she could see there was a plan involved. 

“I'll be right back,” malia murmurs as she stands from the table. 

Her walk upstairs to the bathroom felt like a million years but she needed to get out of sight of everyone. As she reaches for the bathroom door, a hand grabs her and pulls her into the bedroom. malia lets out a soft moan as the volume increases again. She can’t take it anymore and when her eyes meet Tama’s, she collapses into his chest, gripping his shirt as the euphoria washes over her. 

“How was that?” Tama smirks, showing her the remote. “When Jimmy passed me this earlier, I knew I had to get you alone.” 

Malia gawks at him, “you two are pieces of shit,” 

Tama chuckles as he moves her to the bed. She watches as he hikes her dress up and slips the panties off and tosses them behind him. He stands up between her legs and drinks in every curve of her body while she lays back on her elbows. Malia motions him over. There was nothing else to wait for and her horniness had taken over. Malia knew exactly what the men planned, and she wants it now. 

“Are you gonna take whatever you and Jimmy agreed on?” She flicks her hair off of one of her shoulders.

It takes no time for Tama to be over her, deep in her guts without a care for his guests who were downstairs. Malia holds onto him as he pounds into her, hiding her moans in his neck. His fast pace made it to where the only sounds in his massive bedroom were from their skin as it slapped together. Tama continues driving into her, balls deep, as she squeezes her eyes shut. 

“This what you wanted? You ain’t gone beg me, Malia?” He grunts in her ear, as she moans in response. Tama slams into her, causing all thought to leave her brain. “C’mon, say my name while i’m in it.”

Malia can't think straight let alone form a coherent sentence, but she finds herself moaning his name as he speeds up. Her fingernails were deep in his back, leaving scratches that she knew he’d have to hide at work. Her back arches off the bed and her toes curl, lost in the rush of everything happening - she felt like she wasn’t in her body anymore. His dick slams against her g-spot like it was its home. And as her eyes flutter shut, Malia has to find all the power in her weak body not to scream at the top of her lungs. 

“That’s my girl, let it go.” He coaxes in a soft voice.

“Fuck, Tama, fuck!” She moans, feeling her body go limp. Tama bites her shoulder before quickly pulling out between rugged thrusts to cum on her stomach. They go quiet to catch their breaths. “This what you wanted, Tama?”

“More than anything, Malia.”

xx i love tama so much, help me. until next time x

[d-apperc-adaver]

PART I

warnings: n/a, no there will be no smut, but spicy things will HEAVILY will be hinted at. sorta

plot: this chapter is more of a buildup. frustrated hopelessly in love gn reader :)

Thinking about Beetlejuice’s love life made you filled to the brim with rage. This havoc created by Delores and thinking about his past with her…lit your fuse.

It was quite obvious. You were tapping your finger obnoxiously on the table thinking about it.

And now he also has the nerve to say that Lydia was the love of his life?!! Damn that man! Damn him! Eternally!

Superficial deals for his own benefit. Or so at least you tried to convince yourself.

He was outright ridiculous at this point. The Beetlejuice you knew would’ve moved on already. And you know Beetlejuice.

You saw the man have an Elvis phase, get a fixation on speology, teach you medieval languages, lie that his middle name was Pete because he lost his shit when he heard Louis Armstrong sing Cuban Pete.

You always stayed. Just to be seemingly made out of cellophane when you tried to talk to him about anything relationship related thing. Didn’t matter whose problems were. If it weren’t about something he did in the past, a rendezvous, he would avoid it like a devil running away from holy water.

Everything made you internally explode.

He drove you crazy.

And you kept tap tapping at the surface of your table, the poor thing might just get a dent.

But the thing is, why did you even care about his poor “love choices”. Why did you put up with this then organise a mental pity party, “it should’ve been me! ME!” for yourself?

Fair enough he talked a good chunk about them and about how what a catch he is, but still. You accepted his way of being when you took the commitment of being his friend. A gross, perverted, ridiculous in every capacity and disgustingly charming ghost.

And you loved it. You were in absolute awe with his way of being.

You don’t quite remember when you started to fancy him. But in moments like this you sure do wonder why the feelings remained.

You really wished he would have seen more in you but unfortunately you seem to not have bewitchingly cursed enough eyes or some other bullshit.

But with the sound of your thoughts growing louder and louder and getting thrown off by your own feelings that you wanted gone and substantial amount of jealousy, you got back to work.

I mean. Doing him a favour. Sorting leftover business flyers..yeahhhh.

Ironically enough this was the fuel to all of your fire.

If you could say so.

“Looking for a…

LOVE CONNECTION?”

“DEAD-ICATED TO FINDING YOUR MATCH?”

It’s as if you could smell the cheap candles, satin robes and rose petals right in your face.

Makes sense to get angry at a lovey dovey flyer he planned on sending to any woman, VERY MUCH preferably a breather he would have to “woo” to do that weird wedding ritual, in his close proximity. I mean he already went ahead and conjured one for Lydia. But the worst part of this is that he seemed to have more of a romantic obsession with her now rather than his just do it for his own freedom. Ew.

So while doing that. You tried your best to keep your mind quiet from the suppressed feelings for Beetlejuice out of all ghosts, and moved to the normal classic good ol “TROUBLE WITH THE LIVING” flyers. You packed them up neatly in boxes, hell even put labels on them.

You got up from the table with a loud sigh of relief of finally getting away from things that reminded you of your adoration for the demon (oh how you’d love to just staareee all day into those big blue eyes) and rising your head up you were met with a horrifying:

“What’s got your panties in a twist hun?”

———————————————————

Hope u enjoyed the fanfic ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ thx for reading through

I’m cooking up a part two…

EDIT: THE TAGS!! How could I forget the tags… gee. I’m stuid :P

[alchemistc]

(dys)functional | bucktommy bonus chapter

an: Everyone else seemed just as enamored of Evelyn Carrini as I was when I made her up, so I thought I'd piece together all the random notes app thoughts I had about her an Tommy in high school into something that wasn't a disorganized half bullet list/half snippet-fest.

read on ao3

He’s halfway through homeroom when he notices it. The whispers, the side-eyes, the covert little looks shot in his direction when they think he’s not looking. The problem is that Thomas Kinard has spent the first seventeen years of his life hyperaware any time he is the focus of someone’s attention, and now he feels like ants are crawling under his skin.

He spends the next three periods convinced he’s still got toilet paper stuck to his face where he’d nicked himself shaving, but no matter how many times he wipes a too-big hand across his face, under his chin, he’s still being stared at. It’s a weird feeling. He’s been as close to invisible as he can manage since middle school, since the first time a boy had smiled at him and Tom had wanted. Sure, he plays the sports his dad had demanded he play, and sure, he’s — moderately friendly with a few different groups, but he isn’t — he doesn’t —

Evelyn Carrini sidles up to him at the start of lunch with a keyring curling around her middle finger, perfectly manicured French tips and a plethora of plastic bands wrapped around her wrists, eyes assessing, keys jangling in the loose circle of her palm. “Buy me lunch, Kinard,” she says, and Tom — Tom follows her out to her car so she can take them through the nearby Wendy’s drive through.

His dad is ecstatic. Good grades haven’t impressed him, making the right teams hasn’t impressed him — even shedding the weight over the summer that had clung to him for years despite being active as hell hadn’t impressed him — but the first time he catches Evelyn “studying” in Tom’s room, he smacks Tom so hard on the back that he has to scramble on suddenly gangly limbs to keep his balance.

Evelyn is a cheerleader. A firecracker, according to every adult who’s ever met her, an absolute darling of Cliffside Park High, and generally well known as the nicest girl who could possibly gossip about you behind your back. Tom’s a little obsessed with her. Enough to give it a try, enough to roll around with her in the bed of her dads pickup, making out until they’re blue in the face, enough to want to spend every spare fucking moment with her.

They go to movies, and hang out at the mall with all her friends, and drink beer in the carpark behind the Sears that’d gone out of business a year and a half earlier. They hold hands in the hallways at school, and pass notes in the classes they share, and Tom meets her parents at a quiet family dinner where no one asks a single question about his novelist grandfather and his fuckup kids, or his dead mom, or the sister being raised by his aunt a township over.

Tom adores Evelyn. He does. He doesn’t even mind it that much that her nails dig into his skin when she’s got her tongue in his mouth, or that her perfume is always just a little overpowering. Evelyn is great.

Evelyn... has an excellent rack. Top notch, really — round perky breasts with rose colored nipples that are perfectly symmetrical and...right up in his face.

Evelyn squirms in his lap, and Tom knows the game is up.

He’s — maybe at half chub (He’s a teenager, sue him. Sometimes a well aimed breeze gets him hard.) Nothing to write home about, anyway, and Tom can usually explain this away, shift his hips and slow the kissing and suck at Evelyn’s neck until she gets impatient enough to shove his hand down her Spanx and let him get to work.

Tom is aware that no amount of testing the weight of Evie’s tits in his hands or sucking one of those dusky nipples between his teeth is gonna get him there.

“Are you —?” Evelyn asks, and Tom stares at her chest and tries to imagine a scenario where his dad doesn’t find out about this. His — his hands are shaking. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t drawn a breath in about forty-five seconds. “Jesus Christ, Kinard, do you want me to put my shirt back on?”

Evelyn Carrini is just another dumb teenager who has no fucking idea how badly things are about to turn for him.

And then she isn’t.

“Oh my god,” she says, delight in her voice, and Tom cringes, hands curling into fists in Evie’s purple duvet as she swings off of him and scrambles for the shirt she’d tossed over the side of the bed a good twenty minutes before he’d worked up the courage to pop the clasp on her bra. “Oh my god,” she repeats as she stuffs her really very nice breasts back underneath the croptop. “Tom, can you stop having a panic attack for five fucking seconds, I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

Tom blinks, dazed, but it has the intended effect of forcing him to pull in three sharp breaths, drawing him right the fuck out of his swirling thoughts. He can see his own expression in the mirror over her shoulder, and is suddenly incredibly grateful they hadn’t managed to get any further. “You’re the biggest gossip I know,” Tommy snarks back, which is a terrible fucking idea when she’s just discovered the exact weapon she needs to completely obliterate him.

She cocks a hip, rolls her eyes, blows a crinkled lock of hair out of her eyes. “Yeah, dumbass, do you think the biggest gossip you know doesn’t know how to keep a secret?”

Which is a fair point, actually. In between makeouts and actual studying and bland stories about their day, she’s told him a litany of secrets that have never seen the light of day beyond their little bubble of privacy. Jerri Danvers secret abortion. The DUI Travis Evans dad had called in favors to have swept under the rug. Cheryl G cheating on her boyfriend with Cheryl K. Chris Harper selling ritalin and coke out of the mens room in D Hall.

(”What’s the difference?” he’d asked, like Evie had all the answers, and she’d rolled her eyes. Lethal, that eyeroll. “The price, idiot. Snow’s a lot easier to source.”)

It still takes him a while to really believe she won’t tell.

But she doesn’t. Week after week, game after game, party after party. He asks her to Homecoming half convinced there’s a secret plan to Carrie him in the middle of the gym, but instead she drags him into a bathroom stall in the girls room, fucks up the hair he’d spend twenty minutes slicking just right, unbuttons three buttons of his dress shirt and slips the loop of his tie around her own neck while she makes obscene noises and rattles the rickety stall wall. She kisses her bright red lipstick onto his lips and only drags him out once they have a crowd.

He carries her bookbag out to her car from her locker at the end of the day, and listens to her bitch about her older sister in med school, and lets her experiment with perming on his hair, gives the JT ramen noodle look a total of three hours before he attempts to wash it out and, failing that, brings a pair of clippers back to her place she that she can buzz all his hair off.

The make it through the holidays, and Valentines, and Tommy sends her an extravagant bouquet of flowers on her birthday, right in the middle of a pep rally, the delivery guy flummoxed as hell as every upperclassman packed on the bleachers hoots and hollers about it, and it’s not what he wants, not really, not quite, but he’d buy her flowers every day just for existing and allowing him to exist as himself for the few hours of privacy they carve out away from everyone else.

Somewhere in the early hours of dawn, three months before graduation, she finally gets him to admit that basketball star Jason Ledecky with his stupid long legs and his thick heavy Boston drawl is Tom’s exact brand of smokin’.

“You could do so much better than Jason Ledecky,” she tells him, and Tom laughs as he presses his nose into the give of her stomach.

“Also he’d beat the shit out of me for trying,” Tom says, and Evie gets the sad kind of quiet, like she does every time he skids away from talking about his dad, like she does every time he talks about his mother, quiet and soft.

“Someday it’ll be different,” Evie says, carding fingers through the hair that had grown back in time for the class picture, and Tom nods like he believes her. “Some day some guy with legs for days, with the biggest heart and the brightest smile you’ve ever seen is gonna sweep you off your feet and I’m gonna shake his fucking hand.”

Tom hums.

“And maybe show him my tits just to make sure,” she says with a gentle tug on his hair, and Tom laughs until he can’t breathe.

Tom can’t say why he doesn’t tell her The Plan. Prom comes and goes, and as graduation approaches Tom attends all the parties, sneaks up the lattice to curl up next to Evie on her bed on nights that his dad comes home smelling like he bathed in hops, settles the last of his business, packs a bag he hides far enough under his bed that even snoopy Evie wont notice.

His dad’s drunk on the day he graduates, and at the end of the ceremony, after they’ve all made a plan for a bonfire at the quarry, Tom presses a lingering kiss to the crown of Evie’s head, and while her friends all roll their eyes at Evie’s perfect boyfriend, Tom slips away, grabs the bag he’d left in his old gym locker, and he leaves.

_____

“Okay so at eighteen I’m not sure I knew there was even such a thing as bisexuality,” Evie says, sipping at her glass of wine and eyeing the half of Evan’s cheesecake he still hasn’t eaten. “And my tits aren’t what they used to be, anyway.”

Tommy and Evan both shoot her incredulous looks.

“Yeah, they’re still pretty good,” she admits around a laugh, and beneath the table, Evan’s knee knocks into Tommy’s. “You gotta admit, though, Tommy — I fucking nailed your type years before you ever did.”

Evan’s grin goes ear to ear, absolutely proving her point when he shifts to reach for the hand Tommy’s been resting on his knee for the last few minutes.

“That’s what the steak dinner was for,” Tommy tells her, and they share a look Tommy hasn’t shared with anyone in twenty years.

Evan slides the rest of his cheesecake across the table without having to be asked, and tucks himself neatly against Tommy’s side as Evie’s eyes go wide and happy.

[jungle-angel]

"Skin-to-skin with the baby either before bed or in the shower"

With Rhett... i would die🥹

Ya know what honey??? Imma do both, you don't know how badly I've been waiting for this one!!!! (lol).

Rhett smiled softly down at the tiny little form snuggled against his bare chest, one of the two perfect little boys you and him had both made together. Tatum looked so tiny despite being only a few days old, his twin brother, Tanner, downstairs with you, while Rhett kept a close hold on the first.

Rhett wished that Tatum could open his eyes and see that deep, gorgeous blue that the Abbotts were known for, yet the little one remained half asleep and half awake. Rhett gently stroked the soft tufts of dark blonde hair on Tatum's head, the baby barely stirring underneath his blue and white crocheted blanket that Cecelia had made until he started to fully wake up.

"M'boy why'd ya'll have to wake up?" Rhett chuckled. "Daddy was enjoyin the peace and quiet."

Tatum wriggled a little under his blanket, his tiny fingers curling just inches from Rhett's bull-rider tattoo. "Now don't you go shakin your little butt at me mister," Rhett chuckled again. "I already had to deal with you and your brother moonin your momma and I in those sonogram photos of the both of you."

Rhett very carefully sat himself up with Tatum cradled protectively against him, wandering into your shared bathroom to run a warm shower. As soon as he could, Rhett had stripped off and stepped in with Tatum, gently rocking his little son and nuzzling his soft little cheeks. He remembered when he had first done it with Amy, terrified that he would somehow accidentally hurt her, but with Cecelia's guidance and assurance, those fears quickly went away. Rhett hadn't disclosed those fears to Royal very often, but even his own father admitted to having those same fears when he had first held Rhett when he was a baby.

Rhett very carefully dried Tatum off and wrapped him loosely in his warm blanket before bringing him back to bed and once again, laying Tatum on his bare chest. He smiled broadly seeing Tatum yawn sleepily, the baby finally being lulled to sleep at the sound of Rhett's gentle heartbeat.

"Goodnight m'boy," Rhett whispered. "I know your momma and your brother will be in soon."

Almost as if his words had summoned you, you came back in with Tanner, laying him down in the crib at the foot of your shared bed before you went to kiss your husband.

"Hi handsome," you purred.

"Hi darlin," Rhett whispered before kissing you back.

"Is he asleep?"

"I think so."

"You wanna give him to me?"

Rhett feigned a pouty look, sticking his bottom lip out. "Do I have to?"

You laughed a little before Rhett finally handed Tatum off to you, the little one whimpering a little at the sudden change before he relaxed again. You put him in his warm little blue pjs before gently placing him beside his twin, tucking them both in before crawling in beside your husband.

"Hope they sleep through the night," Rhett mumbled as he curled his arm around your waist.

"Not a chance in hell Rhett," you chuckled. "They're still new to this world."

You felt his lips curl into a smile as he pressed them against the back of your neck. "I love you," he whispered.

"Love you too Rhett," you yawned, taking hold of the hand that came to rest on your stomach.

[the-ravenist]

That's my wife

Steve Binder x Fem!Black!Reader

Reader and Steve are married, they share both of their last names, reader is somewhat tall, reader is a boss ass bitch, reader is implied/mentioned to be infertile, reader is female(sorry), Steve is a simp for reader, suggestive dialogue(no smut), reader wears pants, reader and Steve match accessories, and protective!Steve(I think)

The smell of cigarette smoke fills the sound room, multiple eyes focusing on Elvis on the stage below, the young man's voice blasting through the speakers. The abrupt sound of the door slamming gains the attention of people in the room, yet a pair of blue eyes stay focused on the act below. Those pairs of blue eyes belong to the amazing Steve Binder-(L/N), a great man, producer, friend, partner, and husband, yes husband.

Steve had the opportunity to work with the infamous Elvis the Pelvis Presley, to produce his Comeback film. At first, he was hesitant to accept the offer, but he could see that Elvis's career wasn't doing...well. But Bones had convinced him, there could be a possibility that old Elvis might come back.

Steve can feel a headache beginning to form, a dull pounding at the back of his head and the slight twitch in his left eyebrow gave it away. If the Conole didn't shut his yapper soon, Steve was gut him like the fat fish he was.

"Kennedys' been shot!"

That definitely broke him from his thought. The backtrack of Elvis's song continued playing through the pen-drop silence throughout the studio.

Dancers, makeup artists, hairdressers, singers, and others alike were piled in the small dressing room, the dialogue of the news lady sounding like white noise besides a couple words Kennedy, shot, and dead stick in the brains of the listeners. The decrease in volume catches the attention of the grieving, Steve stands in front of the TV eyes slightly red and glistening with tears.

"Listen I, uh, I just want to say that," a sad chuckle breaks through his lips. "This nation is hurting, it's lost you know."

A couple of nods and sniffles ring throughout the group.

"It needs a vioce right now, to help heal it," he nods towards Elvis. "You, you have to a statement EP," said man's eyes lighting up.

"Mr. Presely doesn't makes statements." Eyes snap to the colonel.

"He sings here comes Santa Claus", he walks towards Steve menacingly. "And wishes everyone merry Christmas and good night", he continues with a sharp glare on his face.

A beat of somber silence passes by, anger and frustration build up in Steve and Elvis. Steve knows that the Colonel could care less about the president's death and Elvis, he was The Snowman, after all, he was cold in all ways.

"This tragedy, a tragedy yes," fake sympathy is plastered on his face. "But it has nothing to do with us."

At that Steve had calmly stormed out of the room, Bones and Jerry following. Everyone else had walked out of the room slowly after, all going their separate ways to dressing rooms mostly or back to the stage. Steve had walked, well stomped into the sound booth, lighter lighting the cigarette in his hand.

He takes a deep inhale of the toxic smoke, holding it for a beat. He knew that he had a show to run he knew it but during this time, nobody was really in the best mental state to work. As he exhaled the smoke the phone on the best corner rang, he let it ring for two more rings before his shaky hands picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey sweets, you okay?"

At the sound of your voice, his body instantly slacked. He was glad you called, but that's not what he's worried about at the moment.

"I'm fine puff," he had called you that due to your afro, rather than a halo of curls on top of your head reminds him of a puff of smoke. I know weird comparison.

"'M just a little tired, how about you?"

" 'M not gonna lie to ya sweets," your voice shakes a little. "I'm a lil shakin' up."

Steve puts out his cigarette as he exhales the last bit of smoke. He can feel the dull pounding get a bit louder, now trust me dear reader it's not because of you I promise.

"Yeah, this...event has everyone shakin' up," a small sigh. "I wouldn't be surprised if the damn whole country stopped functioning." A small laugh was heard through the speaker.

"Honestly, I'd believe it," A huff escaped your lips. "Damn near got into a fuckin' car accident when I heard it."

"What?"

"It's nothing though, I'm fine the cars fine," you murmur softly. "And so is my fro." Steve couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

The line is silent for a moment, it's somewhat comforting in a way. "Even though neither of you is facing the other in the comfort of your shared bed, it seems as if you were standing next to one another.

"Hey, puff?"

"...yeah?"

"How do you feel about getting creative again?"

"I'm on my way."

Elvis, Bones, and Jerry are watching Steve pace in the small room. Elvis laying on the floor by the piano, Jerry lounging on the black couch on the wall, and Bones leaning on the crisp black piano watching his friend stress out.

"What's he stressin' about," questions Elvis.

"I don't know E," Jerry says eyes narrowing on the nervous man.

"He's nervous about his dames," Bones speaks up from his spot.

"Wait his girl," Elvis questions. "Why is she comin'?"

"I guess-"

Steven turns around quickly startling the men in the room. He seems calm, yet his eyes give him away; they're wider than normal.

"I'm sorry boys," a hand runs through his hair. "This might seem completely out of character of myself," and was it ever.

"Yeah, we can tell," Jerry mutters. "Why does your girl make you nervous?"

"Huh?"

"Bones had said that your girl was coming," Elvis had said from his spot on the floor.

"And we want to know why you're actin' a nervous mess," Bones continued.

"Well if I'm being honest boys," Steve reluctantly starts. "I'm worried how she would think of y'all, minus Bones."

Well, it's not like you were a judgmental person or anything like that. It's just that you're kind of intimidating in a way.

"What," Elvis says through a small laugh. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Now listen EP," Steve's is laced with seriousness. "This woman is very important to me, she's the best out there for this operation."

"So please behave," he slightly begs.

"But still be yourself, and don't say anything stupid," Bone adds.

"Don't worry my mama taught me better than to disrespect a woman," Elvis says as he sits in a crisscross position.

"Good, 'cause she'll," he takes a glance at his watch. "She'll be here any minute now."

Just as he says that the door is pushed open, with a dark brown heeled boot. And those boots are paired with brown high-waisted pants, a white turtle neck, and a pearl necklace.

"Sorry that I'm late, sweets," the woman closed the door with her heel.

"I had to speed back home to get the stuff that I thought we could use, but then I realized that I had no fuckin' scissors," she dropped the bags full of supplies on the couch next to Jerry.

"So, I had to drive to the store to get scissors, and I realized that we'd might be here a while so I bought myself a silk scarf cause why the hell not, and-"

Steve grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you a bit, to stop her rambling. She had stopped talking as she looked at Steve with wide (e/c) eyes.

"Puff, I'm glad you're here but we have company," his eyes dart to the people behind her.

"Shit," she looked at the men behind her. "Right, my bad y'all." She coughs to clear her throat. "Hello, my name is (Y/N) (L/N)-Binder, and I'll be helping y'all 'cause y'all desperately need it."

"Now excus-"

"And you, white and sideburns," you point to the boy on the floor. "You must be the big Elvis the Pelvis Presly," the boy smirks a bit. "Now I'm not a big fan of yours but I have to admit you have some hip swingn' songs." The woman demonstrates as she moves her hips a bit.

"Well thank you," Elvis trails off, not sure if what the woman had said was a compliment or not.

"It's no problem," she dismisses, she puts her attention on the entire group.

"Now what have we gotten so far hmm?"

Silence

"Have y'all at least started on a song?"

"I mean," Jerry bravely speaks up. "We sort of do," (Y/N)'s sharp (e/c) eyes are basically pinning him to the couch.

"All right let's hear it."

And then the construction begins.

"Alright, the song is done," she sighs in exhaust. " And let me tell you, y'all are by far the hardest people I've worked with."

Jerry and Elvis gawk at the confidence of the women in front of them.

"Now E," the switch from sarcasm to seriousness throws off the boys. "It's quiet obvious to anyone with an IQ of a basic human being, that your career has been nothing but a pile of flaming shit lately."

Steve chokes on a bit on the smoke of his cigarette.

"But with this song and a killer outfit by my design," you can see a child-like excitement spark in Elvis's blue eyes. "You'll bounce back in no time."

"Now," you snap loudly. "How does everyone feel about leather?"

.

.

.

"Good night boys, I'll see your show tomorrow m'kay," you say as you watch the guys leave. Leaving you and Steve in the small room.

You plop your body down on the dark green couch, body slacking once it hits the cushion. A sigh leaves your mouth and your eyes begin to close.

"God, I'm getting old. I've never been that tired in a hot minute," you mutter as you grab your head scarf from your purse.

Steve nonchalantly kneels before you, hands reaching for your boots.

"You're not getting old, you need to stop saying that," he mutters as he unzips your left boot and gently slides it off your foot, hands moving to unzip the right one.

"Oh right, I'm not getting old. I'm aging," your speech is sarcastic. Yet Steve ignores it and places your boots next to the piano.

Steve plops himself on the couch next to you as you wrap your hair with the scarf. The scarf in which looks similar to the ascot that you're husband is wearing around his neck. Once finished you wrap your leg around his waist and your arms around his neck. As if automatically, he wraps an arm around your waist and slides a hand into your back pocket.

"You know what else ages," Steve croons teasingly as he locks eyes with you. You hummed in a curious tone.

"Wine, wine ages," he leans his head forward, lips grazing yours.

"'nd you my darling puff, are some very fine wine~" His lips finally touched yours. Once your lips touch you fight back a smile as his comment registers.

"Oh, Mr. Binder you are the devil in disguise I swear," you're able to say through the onslaught of kisses you're receiving.

"If I'm the devil, you're my angel in disguise," he purrs as he continues his trek of kisses to your neck.

"Okay, now you ruined the mood," you snort as you push his head back slightly.

"Aw whaddya mean," he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"... he's so young sweets, too young."

"I know."

"He looks like a young man but has the eyes of a man who works at an office 9-5. Tired, stressed, yet yearning."

You begin to play with Steve's fingers as you begin to ramble.

"He misses his mama Stevie, he stuck to me like glue. Kept looking at me, as if he was looking for affirmation. Like a child would."

"God Stevie, why do I want someone to look at me like that again?"

Your eyes begin to water as you subconsciously rub your stomach.

Steve frowned at your sadness, he knew you wanted kids. The both of you did. The thought of having a little bundle of y'all's creation running around the house made him smile. Of course y'all have tried but when you went to a doctor the worse news has erased that dream. As an interracial couple adopting a child was harder than it looked, so in the end it was replaced with two fur babies you have at home.

Oh, Harley and June, two energy filled great danes. They're probably sleeping in your shared bed, drooling all over the sheets. The thought of them brings a small to your face.

You look at Steve's blue eyes. Oh, how you love those blue eyes. You cup his cheek, he leans into it, it makes you snort. You peck his lips, once, twice.

"Let's go home Stevie," you hop off his lap. You bend over to grab your boots and bags. Steve of course can't help but take a glance at your ass. Those pants accentuated everything. You pop right back up and turn to Steve, who still sits on the couch looking up at you. "I have to go home and sew a leather suit for a 6'2 man."

Your husband groans as he reluctantly gets up from the couch, standing in front of you.

"Do you ever rest?" His hands grip your hips as he sways them a bit.

"Yes, but only during a full moon," you tease with a smile.

"That tracks," you let out a squeak of a shock. He turns you around and carries you bridal style.

"I'll have you know that I'm working because I want to," your arms automatically curl around his neck. Steve takes the bags from your hands and puts them as far up on his arms as possible.

"Mhmm, puff y'know Harley and June don't need set after set of pajamas, he remarks as you begin to walk out of the office.

"But they're cute~."

[eptodaytommorowforever]

Events In The History And Of The Life Of Elvis Presley Today On The 11th Of September 1970.

Elvis Presley Plays In Detriot The City Of Motown In Michigan At The Olympia Arena On The 11th Of September In 1970.

Elvis Presley performed at the Olympia Arena, Detroit, Michigan. The whole gang had their own things to attend: Charlie Hodge remained stage manager and general assistant to Elvis Presley providing him with water and scarves. Lamar Fike was taking care of the lighting. Sonny West responsible for the security and Richard Davis controlled the wardrobe. Dr. Nichopoulos was tour doctor and Joe Esposito remained in overall command. The Fat Controller The Colonel Parker always arrived before Elvis Presley and the Band in each city.

That's All Right(Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup cover)

I've Got a Woman(Ray Charles cover)

Amen

I Walk the Line(Johnny Cash cover)

Love Me Tender

I've Lost You(Matthews’ Southern Comfort cover)

You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'(Barry Mann cover)

Polk Salad Annie(Tony Joe White cover)

Release Me (And Let Me Love Again)(Eddie Miller and His Oklahomans cover)

Polk Salad Annie(Tony Joe White cover)

Johnny B. Goode(Chuck Berry cover)

The Wonder of You(Ray Peterson cover)

Detroit City(Mel Tillis cover) Elvis Presley briefly mentions its a honor Playing in the city of Motown and does a fantastic version of Detriot City.

Heartbreak HotelPlay

Blue Suede Shoes(Carl Perkins cover)

Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On(Big Maybelle cover)

All Shook Up

Blue Suede Shoes(Carl Perkins cover)

Hound Dog(Big Mama Thornton cover)

Bridge Over Troubled Water(Simon & Garfunkel cover)

Funny How Time Slips Away(Willie Nelson cover)

Suspicious Minds(Mark James cover)

Can't Help Falling in Love

Above Set Song List For This Sold Out Awesome! Show.

Rare Candid Fans Unseen Till Now! Photos Of Elvis Presley Arriving At Detroit Airport In Michigan. Also Performing At The Olympia Arena Wearing The White Chain Jumpsuit Red Silk Scarf And Red Macrame Belt Also Rare Olympia Arena Concert Poster From 1970.

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

Hush ft. Gojo (part one)

A/N: Got a bit long so split it in 2 parts. Both out now!

"Shhh, y/n. They're gonna hear you.. Quiet." Satoru whispers at your ear, actually expecting you to comply with his ridiculous request. Sure you could vaguely make out faint voices through the thin walls.. But no way you could ever keep silent, not with him seated so very deep inside of your soaking wet, distressed lil puss. Can feel ever inch of his big dick, feel it jerk as your cunt unintentionally attempts to milk him. "Fuck, haven't even stroked you once.. Fuckin pussy's huggin me so tight. What's wrong, y/n? Don't want me to pull out? How can I fuck this perfect pussy if you won't let me go?" You're sittin on the edge of his desk, legs wrapped round his slim hips, hanging on to your boyfriend for dear life as he makes the slow firm circles round your clit. Satoru looks so devastatingly handsome, fully dressed with his big dick stickin out through the slit of his dark jeans. He's got your pleated skirt flipped up, his free hand bunching it on your waist with a tight grip. "Tryin. Uhnn.. Toru.. Fuuuck me- ahhh!" "Baby, shhh! Everyones in the room next door. Mmm... Know it feels good y/n, can barely take how you shakin on my dick. Relax.. Just lemme make you feel good." Despite Satoru's words, he's the one teasin by refusing to fuck you, edging you for the past thirty-five minutes instead. He just can't take his gaze away from how cute you are when you bite your bottom lip as he speeds his fingers, tryin so hard to accept what he gives without makin noise. Beautiful light blue eyes stray from yours, starin intently at your plump brown pussy lips drippin all over him. "Saturo, pleeeease. Feelssogood! Lemme cum this time.." Your failing, high pitched whimpers and pleas slippin out anyway. "Y/n, shhhh! God, woman. Must want every one to hear. That it- Aahhh, so weeet.. Want your best buddy Yuuji to hear you warming my cock while he waits for you next door? No? Haaahfuck.. Then be fuckin quiet. So damn noisy, baby.." But Satoru's feelin it too; moans through his chastising, pressing against your slippery pulsing nub harder. Makes you scratch down his toned chest, pullin him to you as your pussy flutters around his cock frantically. "Ohfuck! Haaaah.. feelsogoood.. ah, ah, ah!" His thick girth cant help but answer with a twitch. "Ohhh.. Shi- chokin my dick, y/n/n.. You gonna cum?" Hell yeah, you're gonna cum and it's gonna be- "Toru nooooo. Don't stop! So fuckin close. Please!" Asshole smirks, stilling his finger against your clit but keeping the pressure. "Shhh.. Too worked up, pretty baby- shit! Holdin on to my cock t-too tight. Need you to calm down first. Gonna be loud as fuck if I let you cum right now." He pulls your legs from around his waist, setting the bottom of your shoes flat on the desk. Openly admires how your pretty brown legs look in those white knee high socks. Satoru takes a deep breath before lookin back at your cock drunk face, smiling softly at the feeling of you humping your clit against him. "Startin to think you're real selfish, know that? Pretty y/e/c eyes cryin on my shirt while your desperate lil puss cries all over my cock. Only care if I make you cum, huh? Mmmm.. But what about me, y/n?"

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Above: the sheet music for Shakin' the Blues Away. Photo: ebay

The Ziegfeld Follies of 1927 was the first Follies to feature a star performer--Eddie Cantor--and the first to have all its songs written by a single composer--Irving Berlin. Although it received tepid reviews ("His formula has never failed," wrote Time magazine. "But as nothing subscribes more unreservedly to the law of diminishing returns than [a] succession of splendors, this last superbly heralded Follies achieves only another anticlimax."), it was a hit, running for 167 performances from 1927-28.

In addition to Cantor (who appeared in nearly half the numbers), the show featured Claire Luce, Cliff Edwards (aka Ukelele Ike; 13 years later he was the voice of Jiminy Cricket in Disney's Pinocchio), Ruth Etting, and the Brox Sisters.

"Shakin' the Blues Away" was the show's big number, and Etting made her breakout appearance leading it.

Above: Shakin' the Blues Away, led by Ruth Etting. Photo: Songbook

There was also a jungle scene with live animals, in which Luce entered riding an ostrich. One night the bird left the stage in a flurry and, instead of depositing Luce in the wings, kept on walking, out the stage door and onto West 43rd St.

Below is the first page of the program for the October 17, 1927 performance. Note the sententious legend, "He who glorifies beauty glorifies truth." Would Keats have approved?

Above: the first page of the program for Oct. 17, 1927. Photo: Playbill

The 1927 Follies was the last of 21 annual shows. It was revived briefly in 1931, but didn't continue. The Follies were essentially vaudeville, only much more sumptuous. Later in 1927, Ziegfeld produced Show Boat at his own theater, and it heralded a change in Broadway musicals.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 7,588 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: S10/S11, The Reapers Warnings: violence, gore, minor injuries, blood, sexuality A/N: All gifs made by me. :) This is Part 7 of a series! Find all the parts on my pinned post, the Master List! Summary: The group scavenges for supplies at the base and Daryl and Y/N find themselves with another evening alone.

Previous Chapter - Part 6

It was in the early hours of the morning that you sat suddenly upright in the dark in a cold sweat, chest heaving, trying to get your bearings. After a moment they came back to you. It was still dark outside, but turning from inky black toward deep blue, hinting that the sun would be breaking over the horizon soon.

“Y/N?” Daryl’s voice came gently from his bedroll nearby. “S’goin’ on? Are ya alrigh’?” You heard the soft rustling of fabric and then a small lantern clicked on dimly beside him. You squinted a little in the sudden glow. Daryl was leaned up on his palm, peering at you with concern, his black poncho still partially draped over his shoulder.

You tried to pull in a steadying breath and pressed a hand to your chest. Your heart was still racing, thumping hard under your fingers. “I’m fine. It’s okay.” He looked skeptical and his eyes flickered over you.

“Yer shakin’,” he drawled, the shadow over his eyes deepening with his concern. “What is it?”

You let out a wry laugh and shook your head. “Nothing. It’s nothing… just—bad memories,” you said.

It struck Daryl at that moment that in the same way he’d been through so much trauma and horror since the last time you’d seen each other, you must have experienced just as much, perhaps more with having DJ to worry about and fear for. He wished that he’d already read your whole journal, absorbed it, knew it, so he’d know better what words to say to comfort you, what evils your mind was recalling, so he’d know your whole history, keep it close to his own, heal it as best he could. He could see beads of sweat near your hairline and the tremble in your fingertips as you pushed sweaty strands of your hair away from your face. “That ain’t nothin’,” he said softly. He considered you for a moment and then swallowed down his nervousness. He nudged his head up in a nod as if to beckon you over. “C’mon over here… if ya want to, I mean.”

You paused just a moment in slight surprise before pulling your bedroll over next to his. He laid down again, facing you, his body close enough you swore you could nearly feel the heat of him when you laid down too. To your surprise he moved even closer, all the way to the edge of his bedroll, and he hesitantly draped an arm over your waist, his fingers barely tickling the draping of your shirt. The weight of it was grounding. You blinked up at him and let out a deep breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in along with your tension.

“S’this… uhh—this alrigh’?” he asked quietly. You nodded. Your eyes looked a little wide, doe-eyed and bright, shining by the light of the lantern, and he saw that he still knew the flecks of color in them by perfect memory. “S’okay,” he drawled. “Ya can go back to sleep if ya want.”

He watched you pull your bottom lip in between your teeth for a moment thoughtfully. “Are you going to?” you asked. He could see every individual eyelash rimming your eyes.

He nodded, despite knowing there was no fucking way he’d be able to fall asleep again, not with the way his stomach was fluttering and his heart was pounding having you so close.

“Okay,” you said softly. You leaned up for a moment to turn the lantern back off and Daryl’s hand suddenly found your hip for a brief moment, his fingers curling gently around the flared curve, before his arm quickly return to your waist as you laid down again. In the dark, you moved closer him and nearly curled in against his chest. He gulped, electricity shooting through his body as he shut his eyes and tried to slow down his heart with pure willpower, terrified that you would hear how it was pounding, but in a few short minutes he could tell you were asleep again from the slow steadiness of your breathing.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl watched as you double-checked all of your gear and he nervously worried his bottom lip with his teeth before wandering over. The group was hushed, anxious, as they waited on the roof. You looked up as he came near and stood up.

“I can’t talk ya outta this? Ya could just stay up top here with your bow and—”

You shook your head. “No. We found this place and if other people are going in, I should be one of them. This was our plan.” You gave him a half-smile that made his heart jump. “Don’t worry about me,” you said. “I’ve got somebody I trust watching my back.”

Daryl’s heart skipped a beat at the look you were giving him, but his nod was still resigned and you could tell he was uneasy.

You reached out and touched him on the sleeve so he’d look at you. “It’s gonna be fine.”

He nodded again, but avoided your eyes nervously. “Alrigh’… C’mon. I think it’s time.”

The plan was slightly insane, but you couldn’t find any way around it. There were hundreds of walkers in there, and the entry and extraction of the supplies had to be silent. Those of you who would be lowered in lined up at the skylight and clipped into the ropes with your harnesses. You went down in waves, lowered by your group members stationed on the roof who strained to keep things steady, slow, and silent. You and Carol were the last to touch down, landing lightly on the toes of your boots. You unclipped and headed straight for some crates in the next room once it was open, starting to fill your canvas bag as quickly and quietly as possible.

Everything was going smoothly, completely perfectly to plan—until it wasn’t. It all happened in an instant. One of the ropes must have had a flaw because suddenly it was fraying and then snapped. Daryl lunged and amazingly managed to catch it before the heavy, supply-laden bag fell to floor and woke every one of the dead in there. His chest was pressed across the metal lip of the skylight as he strained to hold on and he could feel it cutting into him even through his clothing. He realized, too late, that his arm had also been cut, and a long rivulet of crimson ran down his forearm and dripped, falling and landing on the cheek of one of the dead. That was it. That was all it took. The bag was hauled up onto the roof, but the damage was done.

What happened next was utter chaos as walkers stirred and rose. Kelly and Magna rushed to get the rest of the supplies out as Rosita, Lydia, Maggie, You, and Carol tried to hold back the tide of walkers so they could get the bags and get out. It wasn’t long before all your arrows were spent. Bolts and arrows rained down from above. You could recall seeing the bright flash of Daryl’s bolts dropping walkers beside you. You put your knife to work as Carol and Maggie frantically grasped for the guns scattered on the floor among the bodies. Finally, Maggie thrust an automatic rifle into your hands and you opened fire on the marching regiment of undead, taking aim at their heads and cutting down their numbers efficiently enough to give the others what they needed—time.

Kelly, Magna, and Lydia were out—hauled to safety with their bags of supplies. Maggie and Rosita were up next, safe on the roof. Your gun clicked—no more ammo. “Fuck!” you yelled, tossing it down and scanning the floor for another weapon. A walker lunged at you, fingers grasping toward your neck, but you ducked it and put it down with your knife a moment later. You spotted a sidearm on a corpse near one of the helicopters and rushed to grab it. “Carol! We have to go!” you shouted over your shoulder. You checked the chamber. “Yes,” you gasped. The slide worked and you took aim at another walker that was getting too close for comfort. Its head exploded with the shot in a cloud of gore. “Carol, get to the rope!” You fired at another, dropping it to the ground. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted something in the helicopter behind you. You did a double take and laid eyes on a large medical kit, still sealed and packaged up. Backing up, firing at the closest walker and taking it out, you then scrambled partially into the helicopter and groped for the case, stretching your arm out to grip the handle. Just as your hand closed on it, you gasped as growls grew to a savage crescendo loudly behind you, nearly on top of you, but there was a sharp shing sound and one of Daryl’s large knives buried itself in the walker’s skull. You glanced up and saw him peering down at you, his expression taught and nearly frantic. You gripped the hilt of the knife and pulled it out of the walker’s skull in a swift and fluid movement as you scrambled down out of the helicopter. Some jagged piece of metal caught your forearm as you rushed out and you were vaguely aware of a warmth and wetness there. You rushed back to the waiting ropes.

You were clipping your bag in as Carol secured herself to the line via her harness. You were about to do the same, when she suddenly spotted another crate of MREs in the far corner. “Carol—” She hurriedly unclipped herself and you followed her gaze to the supplies across the room. “Carol, wait—shit,” you swore under your breath. She’d already taken off after them and a swarm of walkers was following. You shot a glance up and caught Daryl’s eyes. He looked panicked as he leaned down and grabbed hold of the edge of the skylight. One more second, and you took off after Carol, stabbing walkers as you went to clear a path, your own knife in one hand and Daryl’s in the other. You felt the sickening spray of thick, warm blood across your neck as you withdrew your knife from a particularly large walker. Carol was packing the MREs into the canvas bag and you shoved another of the undead away and sent it into two more, knocking them down and delaying them for a brief moment so you could clear another.

Carol shot a frantic look over her shoulder and watched as you kicked another walker in the chest to create more space around you. The crowd of them was gathering, closing in. One rose just behind her on her right, groping for her shoulder. You were busy fighting others off on her other side. There was another metallic sound and rush of air and Daryl’s other knife lodged into its head. It fell to the floor with a weighty thud. Carol slung the bag on her shoulder, firmly tugged Daryl’s knife free, and started to make for the ropes again. “I’ve got it! Let’s go!” she called to you.

“Right behind you!” you yelled back. You took a few hurried steps after her and then felt a surprisingly strong hand on your ankle. You struggled against it for a moment when another hit your knees from behind, knocking your legs completely out from under you.

“Y/N!” Daryl’s voice was piercing through the growls.

The wind was knocked out of your lungs and your head collided hard with the cement floor. Your ears were ringing and your vision was black for a split second and then came back blurred and foggy. Carol was frozen in horror for a moment when she realized you weren’t behind her. She looked back to see you on the ground and about to be buried beneath the rotting bodies of too many walkers to count. Leaving her rope line once again she rushed back toward you and began stabbing and slashing with Daryl’s knife to clear a path. You landed a kick to the face of the walker gripping your ankle and rolled away from more grappling fingers, struggling to your feet. You took aim with your knife at anything that moved, shaking your head as if that would sharpen your vision again. You came toward Carol, staggering a bit, but still fighting through the dead.

She gripped you by the upper arms when you met and took in the slightly stunned look on your face and the splatters and splashes of walker blood on you. There was no time for her to search you for injury. She gripped your hand tightly and tugged you back to the waiting rope lines. Your shaky fingers grasped the carabiner and finally you were clipped in with your last bag of supplies. Carol secured herself and Daryl’s voice came from above as the dead began to close in around you again.

“Go, go, go! C’mon!”

You shut your eyes and felt your feet leave the floor.

Jerry tugged Carol out of the air with her bag of supplies. Daryl was waiting to pull you to safety, panicked as he set you firmly on your feet, supporting you as you hunched over slightly, out of breath and with your head pounding. Your lungs still seemed to refuse to pull in full breaths, your diaphragm stunned from having the breath knocked from your body. “Y/N—they didn’t—are ya?—Tell me ya ain’t—” he stammered, searching every bit of you he could see for signs of bleeding, but it was damn near impossible to tell with how much walker blood was splattered all over you.

You sank down to sit on the roof, feeling near passing out, but still shaking your head. Daryl crumpled down with you, refusing to part from you completely, gripping your upper arms gently. “No. No, I’m not bit or anything,” you gasped. “You can check me.” You pressed a hand to the back of your head and felt a swollen bump already forming where it had collided with the floor. “Fuck—my head and back hurt though. And my arm—I cut it on the helicopter somehow,” you said with a wry laugh. “Here.” You squinted up at Daryl and held out his knife. He took it and stared at you intensely.

Maggie bent and checked your ankles for scratches, just in case. “Not a mark on you from the walkers,” she said with relief, hanging her head and trying to catch her breath now too. Many of the group had stopped breathing as they watched the terrifying drama playing below them as if on some nightmare of a stage. Daryl cut a strip of fabric and bound it around the gash in your arm.

He stood abruptly and rounded on Carol. She held his knife out to him and avoided his narrowed, sharp stare. “What the hell were ya thinkin’?” he growled. “Ya almost got both of ya killed.”

“Daryl, don’t. She didn’t make me go. And to be honest—” You allowed Maggie to help you to your feet again. “—I would have done the same thing she did. That last crate probably had 48 more meals in it.”

Daryl gave her one last look and sighed, turning away, shaking his head, deep lines in his forehead. His expression softened as he looked at you rubbing a hand over the back of your head. “Let’s just get everybody home…”

The mood was tense all the way back to Alexandria from the base. You sat in the front passenger seat beside Daryl in one of the trucks and you could feel him glancing over at you the whole drive. The fogginess in your head had worn off now and was replaced with a pounding and the uncomfortable sensation of your heartbeat through your entire skull that was even less pleasant. The gash in your arm felt like it was on fire. The fabric Daryl had tied around it was soaked crimson. Your back ached and you suspected would be rather bruised the next day, but you were alive and at least everyone would have something to eat back home.

You looked over as Daryl adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles showing white in the dark of the cab, and he sighed heavily.

“Hmm?” you hummed.

He shook his head, still staring out through the windshield. “Carol—goin’ after that last box like that with the two of ya alone down there, all those walkers, nobody up top with ammo… I thought she was over this damn death wish she had but now I ain’t so sure.”

“Death wish?” you asked urgently, your stomach dropping to the floor. “What? Why would she—?”

Daryl shook his head. “She’s lost too much. Too many kids,” he said quietly. “And the last one—” His voice came out strained through the sudden tightness in his throat. “It was—‘member those Whisperers we told ya ‘bout?” You nodded. “Yeah. Well, the leader, she killed Carol and Ezekiel’s son and—” he broke off, not sure how to even voice the horror of what Alpha had done and what Carol had had to see.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “That’s enough for me to understand.”

Daryl gulped. “She ain’t been the same since. I stopped her from runnin’,” he drawled. “Got her to come back home. Maybe I shouldn’ta…”

You saw the depth of his concern and your heart ached. Carol had already lost too many kids when you had known her… the idea that she’d lost another? If you lost DJ, you’d probably lose your mind completely. You’d nearly lost it losing Daryl… “She’ll be okay. Carol has always been strong. It’s better that she’s home with everyone. She needs the support, even if she doesn’t realize it. But don’t be angry with her for tonight. She didn’t make me go after her. I chose to.”

Daryl looked over at you and you saw a flash of fear pass over his face again. “It was too close,” he said. “Too close... And ya got hurt.” He stared back out through the windshield.

“I’m okay,” you reassured him softly. “Just need a little patching up.”

You fell back into silence again and allowed yourself to lean against the passenger window and shut your eyes, focusing on the vibration from the road beneath you instead of the throbbing and pounding in your body. It seemed like no time before you felt the truck slowing to a stop and you looked up and realized you were pulling into Alexandria. Daryl stopped behind the vehicle in front of you. Maggie climbed out and came up to his window as he rolled it down. “Why don’t you two head home and get Y/N taken care of. I’m sure all the kids are already in bed. It’s late. No sense wakin’ them all up to move them now. I can bring them by in the mornin’ when I get Hershel,” she said. “We’ll go through the supplies and ration everything out first thing tomorrow, yeah?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good. See you up at the meetin’ house?” Maggie nodded.

“Yeah. See you. Get some rest. Night,” she said, managing a tight smile. Daryl threw the truck back into gear and drove it down to his place, parking it right outside the garage. You already had the door open when his voice sounded again. “Whoa—hey, take it easy, alrigh’? Just—be careful.”

You shot him an amused look, your hand still on the door handle. “I can step out of the truck,” you laughed.

He looked genuinely worried. “Well, ya might have a concussion. Just wait ‘til I get over there.”

You waved him off. “I’m fine.”

“Y/N—I watched yer head bounce off that concrete. Did your vision go out? Even for a sec?”

“Uhh…” You thought back to the momentary blackness and the fog when your sight returned.

“Yeah, dun move,” he growled, hurriedly opening his door and slamming it behind him, rushing around the front of the truck to your door.

You gave him a half-smile. “Can I—can I step out now? Is that allowed?”

He rolled his eyes. “C’mon…” He stood ready to support you if you wavered, but you were steady on your feet. Your head did swim a little as you stood, but you didn’t tell him that. “Gimme that,” he said, taking your pack, your quiver, and your bow. He led the way through the gate and around the side and held the door open for you to enter the house. “Can ya handle the step?” He still looked genuinely worried that you were about to keel over at any moment, and if you hadn’t felt bad about his very obvious and genuine anxiety you might have laughed.

“I’m good,” you said, navigating it just fine.

Daryl moved farther in and set your stuff down along with his crossbow. You closed the door behind you and bent forward to unlace your boots, and then you ate your words. You started to suddenly pitch forward, the room spinning and the floor tilting. “Shit!”

But Daryl caught you and practically lifted to you to stand you up back on your feet, his hands gentle but firm on your upper arms. You were looking up at him with wide eyes and he gulped. “What was that ya just said?” he drawled. “Yer good?”

“Guess you were right. Not like I could see my own head bounce off the concrete.” You touched the tender spot on the back of your head. “I could just feel it. I mean, it didn’t feel great of course,” you said with a dry laugh. Your equilibrium seemed a little off still, but you were having a hard time telling if it was from the head injury or Daryl. “Why don’t you just sit down on the couch, alrigh’? I’ll go get ya some water and some shit to fix ya up.” He watched your eyes lower to his chest and your brow furrowed. “What?” he asked, glancing down. There was a dark line across his shirt, almost at the bottom of his ribs.

“You’re bleeding,” you said. His hands were still gentle on your upper arms.

“Oh. Yeah, s’nothin’,” he said dismissively. “Just from the edge of the window when I caught that bag.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “You mean when you ninja snatched it out of mid-air?”

He let out a gruff laugh and shook his head. “Alrigh’. You. Couch. Now,” he drawled, finally relinquishing his hold on you. “I’ll be right back.” He started heading down the hall to the bathroom to grab some first aid supplies.

“Fine! But after me, I’m taking a look at you!” you called after him, moving around the coffee table to sink down on the couch. You were suddenly conscious of how much walker blood was on you as you held your arms out in front of yourself, fingers spread, palms down. “Ugh…” you groaned, wrinkling your nose.

Daryl was already on top of it, coming back with a bowl of warm water and a cloth along with the first aid kit. He set both down on the end of the coffee table and sank down on it in the middle, struggling a little to get his tall frame in the space between your knees and the table. “Figured ya might wanna clean up a bit,” he drawled, his eyes flickering over you. He still had that slight furrow in his brow; soft worry. “Must’a gotten the solar panels back up, hmm?” he says, referencing the glow of the lamps and the warmness of the water as you dunk the cloth into it.

“Yeah, Carol and I worked on them when you took DJ out,” you said. You wiped your hands clean and then rubbed in the general area on your neck where you’d been sprayed with that sickening spurt of blood. Daryl’s eyes kept drifting over your face and then flickering down toward your neck and collarbone. “What?” you asked, stopping with the dripping cloth still clutched in your hand. He scratched absently at his head and then licked his lips before nodding at you.

“Yer not, uhh—yer not doin’ so good with that,” he said, amusement in his voice. “You wanna go—? Mirror?” he asked, jutting his thumb over his shoulder toward the hallway.

“Jesus,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. “You just do it.” You thrust the cloth at him and he nodded, letting out another gravelly laugh. He dunked it into the water and swished it around, rinsing out what you had managed to clean off your skin.

Daryl wrung the water out and hesitated, looking at you for a long moment. You gave him a small smile. “I won’t bite,” you said softly. “Promise.”

He bit his bottom lip as he pressed the cloth to the side of your neck and wiped away the deep rusty splatter. He chased the stains down to your collarbone and gulped thickly as he nudged your shirt collar aside. He rinsed the cloth again and wiped away a smudge on your cheek and a few splatters near your chin. Sitting back, he gave you a nod. “Better,” he said, setting it aside. “Alrigh’. Lemme see your arm.” He set out some alcohol pads, gauze, bandaging, and ointment. When you finished rolling up your tattered sleeve, he watched your teeth dimple into your bottom lip a little anxiously. His fingers found the fabric he’d bound the wound with and it soon fell away. “This ain’t gonna feel good,” he said, opening several of the alcohol pads.

“I’ve had worse,” you said without hesitation, not taking your eyes off the wound.

He felt a pang in the middle of his chest, but quickly resumed his care. You watched the gentle working of his fingers. “Do you think it needs stitching?” you asked.

“Mmm,” Daryl hummed thoughtfully, tossing down the used pads. “Nah. I don’t think it’s that deep.” He grabbed some ointment and applied it generously over the gash and then fixed a gauze pad in place with the bandaging. “Done.” He shifted and his knee accidentally bumped yours. He felt his face flush with head. Fuck. He was like a goddamned giddy schoolboy around you. We’ve already got a fuckin’ kid together. How do I still feel like this? “How’s the head? And your back?”

You touched the lump on the back of your head. “Not great. But nothing too serious, I don’t think,” you mused. “Nothing bleeding or broken,” you shrugged. “I’m sure tomorrow I’ll be bruised up, but it could be worse.”

A flash of those walkers almost all descending on you flickered in his mind and his heart did a full stop. He nodded and grabbed some Advil and the glass of water he’d brought for you. “Take a few of these. At least then maybe you’ll be able to get some sleep.”

You accepted them and downed the pills with the rest of the water, discarding the empty glass on the side table and sitting forward on the edge of the couch. Your knees fell in between his. “My turn,” you said. “Roll up your sleeve and let me see your arm first.”

He ducked his head and tried to wave you off. “S’nothin’. Ain’t as bad as yours.” You frowned at him softly, your bottom lip curving in a pout.

“This is a two-way street, Daryl,” you said, reaching for his sleeve before he could argue and folding it up carefully. He was right—it didn’t look as bad as yours, but you cleaned it and bandaged it up for him and then sat back. “Alright. Shirt. Off,” you said.

He gulped. “W—what?”

“Your chest,” you said, nodding.

His heart was pounding. “S’fine. It can hardly have—”

“Haven’t you learned not to argue with me yet? Let me see,” you said, reaching for more alcohol wipes and giving him an impatient look. “I can’t trust you to take as good of care of yourself as you did of me. And I’m not above undressing you myself,” you said, a half-smile on your face that had him flushing again.

He swore under his breath and gave in, ducking his head so his curtain of dark hair hopefully hid the worst of his blush. He pushed off his vest and jacket and then his fingers found the buttons of his black shirt. You busied yourself with the supplies to give him at least the illusion of privacy, but finally he shrugged his shirt off and you looked up again at his strong, bare chest. Your breath caught in your throat.

Daryl seemed to be avoiding your eyes, you thought perhaps insecure and he was seemingly paralyzed. The sharp edge of the metal had scraped or cut into his chest just below his breastbone, across his ribs where it had contacted the lip of the skylight. The surrounding skin was red and inflamed, the precursor of a bruise, but that wasn’t what you were staring at.

In the center of his chest, right on his sternum, was a tattoo he hadn’t had when you were last together, and it was unmistakably your initials—a simple script, just the initials of your name. Your eyes were wide and stunned. The supplies you’d been holding slipped from your fingers and fluttered to the floor, and Daryl finally hazarded a glance up at your expression, and then he couldn’t look away. Glassy tears pooled in your eyes and you managed to pull in a shaky breath.

Daryl cleared his throat. “I, uhh—wasn’t sure ya’d ever see it or… I—Shit… maybe I shoulda told ya that I—”

He couldn’t stumble through anymore words because suddenly you were kissing him, eyes closed, arms around his neck, your lips crashing into his. It took him hardly a fraction of a second to gently loop his arms around your back and then another to tighten them and pull you into him. You kissed him heatedly as if you needed him to breathe, urgently, hungrily. Your hand clasped his face and your fingers trailed along his strong jaw as he deepened the kiss and you yielded to the near desperation with which he was kissing you back. Your other hand slid down to his bare chest, moving gently over his scars as lovingly as he always remembered you touching him. No one ever touched him like you did—no one. You were setting him ablaze. Every nerve, every cell was burning and crackling with electricity and his desperate need for you. Your palm landed flush in the middle of his chest, right over the tattoo, and you felt the expansion of his lungs and the running of his heart. The kiss softened and slowed, but felt no less deep or intense. His hands wandered to your lower back and then settled on your hips. You were out of breath when you finally parted just enough to look at him, staring searchingly into his eyes. He was staring right back, a little frozen in disbelief, his blue eyes flitting down to your lips and back up to your eyes.

“I never stopped being in love with you,” you said. Your voice was breathy and soft and goosebumps rose on his skin.

He shook his head, still awash in disbelief that it was this easy holding you, kissing you, having you in his arms after all that time, after all his self-doubt, after ten fucking years. You still wanted him? You still wanted him as badly as he wanted you… He brushed his fingers through your hair and they gently landed on the nape of your neck. “Me neither,” he drawled. “Never. And I won’t ever.” You felt the deep resonance of his voice under your fingers. You glanced back at the tattoo in the center of his chest, right under your fingertips, and then you gave him a teary smile.

“Let me take care of you, and then kiss me again,” you whispered. Daryl nodded, in a daze, and sat frozen as you cleaned the scrape across his broad rib cage, your free hand resting lightly on his thigh and causing more waves of heat to crest over him. He gulped as he watched you wipe your hands and sit back to look at him, moving a strand of his wavy hair away from his face. “There.”

Daryl couldn’t wait a moment longer and he clasped your face delicately between both his hands and kissed you again with the same fire, his fingertips tangling into your hair and drifting down the graceful curve of your neck. The heat between the two of you was building. Your hand was drifting up and down his thigh, driving him insane. He deepened the kiss and you happily gave way beneath his lips, beneath his hands, melting under his touch.

You separated from him, your fingers landing lightly in the center of his chest again, skin to skin, your eyes flickering over his face. “Take me to bed,” you said. Your voice was low and silky and Daryl’s heart jumped in his chest.

“Are ya sure?” he asked in a low voice. “If this is too fast—”

“Is it for you?” you asked with sudden concern.

He shook his head, his eyes drinking you in. “Fuck no. But it’s been a long day—and yer hurt and—”

You leaned in and kissed him heatedly again and then your lips left his and kissed his neck, and then tickled at the soft spot just below his ear. He felt electric tingles rising all over his skin. “Take me to bed,” you said again.

A chesty growl of an exhale left him and then he was on his feet, tugging you gently along behind him, down the hall, and into his bedroom. He glanced around and realized his knives and his bow were still in the other room—something unacceptable to him in this world, especially with you to protect. He kissed you again, struggling to pull his lips from yours one more time, and then he walked you back and lifted you onto the edge of the bed with his hands on your hips. “Wait righ’ here,” he drawled, fire in his eyes. “Dun go anywhere.”

You smiled at him and then bit your bottom lip. “I promise I won’t…”

You watched the strong muscles in his shoulders and back ripple as he left and you felt more heat growing in your core until your eyes landed on a new scar on his lower back, a thick deep “X” and you nearly flinched at the sight of it. So many stories you didn’t know of each other’s lives yet… so much history to cover of the desperate in-between time. Daryl was back in an instant and you felt another wave of admiration as you realized he’d left to get his weapons—Daryl the Protector, always. He set them beside the bed and then stood a little awkwardly in front of you again, wringing his hands as if he was suddenly unsure about this. His broad shoulders and the tapering of his body to the narrowness of his hips had you biting your lip again subconsciously. You toed off your boots and slipped back down onto your feet, moving in against him and looping your fingers just into his front pockets, looking up at him with warm desire in your eyes.

He gulped and his hands found your waist.

You reached for the hem of your shirt and started to pull it over your head but the muscles in your back were tight and painful from your fall and you winced before letting out a few dry laughs. “Help me out with this,” you said, catching his eyes again.

“Are ya sure?” he asked you again, his fingers finding the soft cotton of your hem.

You answered in part by finding the button and zipper of your own fly hastily and undoing them. “I’m fucking sure,” you said, nodding. That was the last permission Daryl needed. He swept your shirt off and over your head, and his hands returned to your hips, pulling you in against him to feel the silk of you against his skin, his eyes wandering over every inch of you now bared before him. They caught on a deep scar on your side, just above your hip, and then on a small sharp one near your shoulder, but he was quickly distracted as your fingers landed on the button of his fly and you gave him an almost pleading look. He swallowed thickly and walked you backwards to the edge of the bed. He lifted you onto it again and leaned over you as you laid down beneath him, caged under his body. He captured your lips in a heated kiss, almost bruising, but a small noise of pleasure escaped you in a hum that had Daryl’s grip on your hip tightening. Your fingernails raked gently down his back and he swore electricity was crackling in their wake. His kisses moved to your neck and you looped your arms around him again, sighing at the chills and alternate flashes of heat he was sending through your body. His teeth grazed the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

Soon he was tugging off your pants and pushing down his own, stepping out of his boots and socks as fast as he fucking could, tossing them carelessly behind him. He leaned over you again, brushing your hair away from your face, admiring how beautiful you looked in that moment beneath him, different from the passing years and yet the same—comfortable, familiar, safe, and stunning. He was nearly overwhelmed. This was happening? This was really happening? You were going to be together again with him in ways he’d only dreamed of, fantasized about late at night when he couldn’t stop himself… He kissed the stretch marks on your stomach and thighs and the new scars he’d never seen. He wandered the shape of you. His lips returned to your skin and you gasped at the sensations he was able to pull from you with them and his hands, palms rough, fingers applying just the right amount of coarse pressure here and light touch there. His hands remembered your body perfectly. He still knew exactly what to do to make you gasp and make your toes curl. Pleasure rippled through you and soon had you begging him for more, your hands fisting the sheets. Daryl could hardly stand it, hearing you gasp out his name, dragging moans of pleasure and bliss from your full lips. He was about done right there… You begged him for more in the prettiest, breathy voice and looked up at him through your lashes, your chest heaving.

He lifted you and moved you up onto the pillows, pausing for a moment to drink you in, your flushed cheeks and chest, your kiss swollen lips. You ran your fingers gently down his chest. “What’s the matter?” you asked, still out of breath, taking his hesitation for something it wasn’t.

He shook his head. “Nothin’. Not a thing.” His eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile and one grew on your face to match before you pulled his lips back down against yours. He gripped your hip and laced his fingers with yours, your arm above your head, and the two of you became one again after so much time with stuttered gasps and sinful sounds. Your back arched as you moved in sync together and the coil tightened in your core. Daryl buried his face against your neck, breathing in your scent and kissing your soft skin all the way down to your collarbone. The two of you crashed through your highs together, the coil finally snapping, and you felt the edge of Daryl’s teeth nipping at your shoulder. He stilled, gasping, and then collapsed beside you, his chest heaving, but he refused to break contact with you completely, pulling you over onto your side so you were faced into one another and draping his arm over the dip of your waist. His fingers tickled at your back. You beamed at him in blissed out happiness through half-lidded eyes.

“Oh my God,” you said, still breathing through the residual effects of your high.

He nodded, moving a sweaty strand of hair away from your face. “I—I dun even know what to say,” he drawled, his eyes searching your face. “God, I missed ya so much I thought it would kill me.” He leaned in and kissed you, clasping your face so gently it was as if you were some precious, delicate thing he was afraid of leaving fingerprints on. He pulled the blankets over both of you and sighed contentedly, pulling you in more closely, tucking you against him, the corners of his eyes smiling.

You pressed a hand flush to his chest again to feel the strong and reassuring beating of his heart, your palm landing coincidentally over the initials of your name.

“Are ya okay?” he asked suddenly, remembering your injuries. He took your hand in his and pressed it to his lips, kissing the back of your fingers.

You nodded, still smiling. “Fine. My head doesn’t even hurt at all anymore. Maybe you’re my medicine.” He cocked an eyebrow up at you, drawing a laugh.

He shifted, his fingers drawing absent circles on the flare of your hip, wandering down to the sensitive skin above your thigh and back. “Better give ya another dose soon then,” he said. “Make sure ya stay pain free.”

You bit your bottom lip. “I’m good with that.” He responded by burying his face in the crook of your neck. You shut your eyes, laughing, and sighed. After leaving a kiss on the sensitive spot just below your ear he pulled back to look at you again. He moved some of your hair aside and you knew what he was looking at; a jagged scar near your hairline, usually concealed by the wispy strands around your face. “It’s from a glass bottle. This psycho attacked me while I was scavenging,” you said, your expression less starry instantly as the bad memory floated to the surface. Daryl’s brow furrowed heavily. “DJ was barely a toddler.” He traced the scar gently with a finger. “It’s okay,” you said. “You should see the other guy.”

“This one?” he asked, gesturing to the round, deep scar above your hip on your side.

You looked at him for a long moment. “I got shot.” The shadow on his face deepened and you pressed your body into his again. “Let’s not ruin this with ‘a thousand ways to die in a zombie apocalypse’,” you said with a dry laugh. “We have plenty of time now to catch up about old wounds. What I really could use at this exact moment, since the solar panels are up and running again, is a hot shower. Are you interested?”

“Are ya kiddin’? Ain’t even a question.”

You kissed him again, passionately and heatedly and desire bloomed in you all over again. His hand pressed firmly into your lower back, holding you into him.

His blue eyes were soft when you pulled back and he chewed on his bottom lip anxiously for a moment. “I love you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Like I ain’t ever loved anybody else.”

You felt like your heart was fit to burst. “I love you too.” You grinned at him and his heart leapt, surely skipping several beats. “Now, how would you feel about escorting me to a hot shower, pushing me against the wall and having your way with me?” you asked, a blush warming your cheeks.

He blinked back at you, stunned for a moment at your boldness. “Fuck yeah. Hell yeah. Uhh—but, like… respectfully,” he drawled.

You laughed and he loved the way your eyes smiled and your nose scrunched ever so slightly as you gave into it. “You don’t have to be that respectful actually,” you said, grazing the shell of his ear with your teeth, your voice flirtatious and low.

Daryl let out a breath that was almost a growl and the look he gave you was almost predatory, drawing another laugh from you. “What the hell are we waitin’ for? C'mon.” And in no time the two of you were cloaked in the cascade of hot water, thoroughly losing yourselves in each other again.

[bylrlve]

the heart and the light

You Are in Love - one night, he wakes, strange look on his face, pauses then says: “you’re my best friend”… you understand now why they’ve lost their mind and fought the wars, and why i’ve spent my whole life trying to put it into words

Don’t Blame Me - something happened for the first time in the darkest little paradise, shakin’, pacin’, i just need you

Francesca - though i know my heart would break, i’d tell them “put me back in it”… i could find you, darling, in any life

The Great War - and maybe it was egos swinging, maybe it was her… my hand was the one you reached for

To Be Alone - honey, when you kill the light and kiss my eyes, i feel like a person for a moment of my life, “maybe, we should run away”, not a trace of me would argue

Everything has Changed - all my walls stood tall painted blue, but i’ll tear ‘em down, tear ‘em down, and open up the door for you, and all i feel in my stomach is butterflies (the beautiful kind, making up for lost time)

evermore - it was real enough to get me through (i swear you were there)

Hello - i’m in california dreaming about who we used to be when we were younger and free… i must have called a thousand times to tell you i’m sorry for everything that i’ve done

All of Me - i can’t stop singing, it’s ringing in my head for you… cards on the table showing hearts, risking it all though it’s hard…. you’re crazy and i’m out of my mind

As It Was - tell me if somehow, some of it remains, how long that you would wait for me, how long i’ve been away

High Infidelity - do you really wanna know where i was april 29th? do i really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?

Are ‘Friends’ Electric? - so i open the door, it’s the friend that i left in the hallway… you know, i hate to ask, but are ‘friends’ electric?

Separate Ways (Worlds Apart) - someday, love will find you, break those chains that bind you

Breakdown - i’m not afraid of you running away, honey, i get the feelin’ you won’t

Cosmic Love - i heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness, too, so i stayed in the darkness with you

Boys Don’t Cry - i would break down at your feet and beg forgiveness, plead with you

Smalltown Boy - the love that you need will never be found at home

You Spin Me ‘Round (Like a Record) - i got to be your friend now, baby, and i would like to move in just a little bit closer

seven - your dad is always mad and that must be why… we’ll move to India forever; passed down like folk songs, the love lasts so long

Achilles Come Down - remember the pact of our youth: where you go i’m going, so jump and i’m jumping, since there is no me without you

Everybody Wants to Rule the World - holding hands while the walls come tumbling down, when they do i’ll be right behind you

Kettering - i wish that i had known in that first minute we met, the unpayable debt that i owed you… but something kept me standing by that hospital bed (should’ve quit but instead i took care of you)

It Will Come Back - i know who i am when i’m alone, i’m something else when i see you… it can’t be unlearned, i’ve known the warmth of your doorways; through the cold i’ll find my way back to you

My Love Will Never Die - you’ve done me wrong for a long, long time, but after all you’ve done i never changed my mind (my love will never die)… pick a blossom and hold it, hold it, to your breast, and you’ll know that’s my love bursting loud from inside (my love will never die)

First Light - and i can scarce believe what i’m believing in, can this be how every day begins?… and after this i’m never gonna be the same, and i am never going back again… like i’ve lived my whole life before the first light

Work Song (Live) - i was burning up a fever, didn’t care much how long i lived, but i swear i thought I dreamed her (never asked me once about the wrong i did)… if the lord don’t forgive me, i’ll still have my baby and my babe will have me… in the low lamp light i was free, heaven and hell were words to me

Take Me To Church (Live From London) - should’ve worshipped her sooner… we were born sick, you heard them say it, i was born sick, but i love it, command me to be well…. my lover’s the sunlight… in the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene, only then i am human, only then i am clean

Sunlight - i had been lost to you, sunlight, flew like a moth to you, sunlight… a soul that’s born in cold and rain knows sunlight… at last can grant a name to a buried and a burning flame as love and it’s decisive pain… strap the wing to me, death-trap-clad happily, with wax melted, i’d meet the sea under sunlight

Heroes - and we kiss, as though nothing could fall, and the shame, the shame was on the other side, and we can beat them forever and ever, and we can be heroes just for one day

I cannot fix on the hour or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation.. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew I had begun - Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more - Emma, Jane Austen.

The first night they allowed me above decks on the voyage to Villa Nueva del Grao there was a full moon. Do you remember—of course you do—how we all used to sleep on the roof at Caprarola, and you would creep under my blanket and ask me all the questions that were racing around your head and stopping you falling asleep? How could bats see in the dark? … Could you marry me when we grew up?… One night, when the moon was full, I explained to you about how the moon controls the tides, and you said I was like the moon and you were the sea, always following me about. And I said nothing, because I knew it was truly the other way around.“ — Sins of the House of Borgia, Sarah Bower

[sharedramblings]

Don't Blame Me (Alternative Version)

Summary: Larissa finally went home and stumbled upon your performance.

Author's note: Here's the other version, @redheadcompanionnumber1 @friskyfisher! I took the liberty of mentioning you both but please do tell me if you'd rather not be tagged. Thank you for showing interest! Also, if anyone's curious about the first one, it's here.

Additional note: Does anyone know where I can access scene compilation or character information about Miranda? I'm trying to work on something but the ending of Top of the Lake erased everything in my mind.

—-—-

You knew Larissa will soon come back to your shared quarters, seeing as the last rays of the sunset protrude the sky to conclude the day. You've finished cooking dinner for the two of you, and you're currently engrossed in your makeshift concert while you wait for her.

The instrumental of the current song occupied the area, signaling its end. It gave you the time to take a breath for a moment, preparing yourself for the next one that would come up. Your playlist was on a shuffle so you don't really have any idea what song will come next, which only amplifies your excitement.

The moment Taylor Swift's voice reached your ears, you perked up again, ready to give it everything you've got.

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right

Lord, save me, my drug is my baby

I'll be usin' for the rest of my life

Your mind immediately went to the updo styled icy blonde-haired, blue-eyed, tall, exquisite woman who claimed your heart as hers the moment you laid your eyes on her. The lyrics suit the feelings you harbor for the head of the academy, so it's common sense that you decided that this song will be about her.

I've been breakin' hearts a long time,

And toyin' with them older guys

Just playthings for me to use

You haven't. Breaking hearts and toying with older guys, that is. But you still owned it like the song was narrating your own experience, otherwise how would you truly feel the song if you won't embody it?

Something happened for the first time,

In the darkest little paradise

Shakin, pacin', I just need you

You accentuate the words, imitating to the best of your abilities how it was sung by the singer.

For you, I would cross the line

I would waste my time

I would lose my mind

They say, "She's gone too far this time"

You would. Entirely. Truthfully. Without hesitation. For Larissa. Always.

You feel the thrum of the instrumentals invigorate you more when the song reaches the chorus, singing along with a big smile on your lips. You always get so alive even though you're just thinking of her. The grip that the woman has on you is unbelievable but you aren't complaining. You love it completely. It gives life a better, more beautiful purpose.

The sound of the door opening caught your attention. The smile on your lips grew wider, if that's even possible, knowing it's your Larissa on the other side of the door.

You were greeted by her questioning and surprised expression, her lips curved in a lopsided smile while her eyebrow quirked up her forehead. She closed the door without breaking away from your gaze, observing you just a few feet away from her.

"What are you doing?"

My name is whatever you decide

And I'm just gonna call you mine

I'm insane, but I'm your baby

Your steps were slow but purposeful, pulling her further inside while you continue singing along. Larissa followed, her hands clasped with yours. She gingerly rid herself of her coat when you urged her to sit on the couch.

Echoes of your name inside my mind

Halo, hiding my obsession

I once was poison ivy, but now I'm your daisy

She relaxed as soon as she sat comfortably, her eyes still fixed on you. A small chuckle escapes her once she takes you in more. The remote you're holding serves as your microphone.

You told her a hurried, almost indecipherable "Stay back and watch" and she just nodded at your instruction. You didn't have to tell her twice. She will enjoy whatever this is you've got going on.

And baby, for you, I would fall from grace

Just to touch your face

If you walk away

I'd beg you on my knees to stay

You held her hand in yours again, eyes staring at her deeply when you actually did mimic that last part, dropping yourself on your knees in front of her.

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right

Lord, save me, my drug is my baby

I'll be usin' for the rest of my life (yeah, ooh)

You wiggle your eyebrows at her, smile still apparent in your lips while you sing.

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right

Oh, Lord, save me, my drug is my baby

I'll be usin' for the rest of my life

Her cheeks were hot to the touch at your ministrations. No matter how long you two have been together, your boldness never fails to make her blush. You always were proud of everything you're doing for her, wearing your love for her like it's your most treasured possession. You're loud in showing your love. Transparent. Purposeful. You make her feel liberated. Empowered. Like she's invincible. Your love consumes her in the best way possible, and she's addicted to the feeling.

I get so high, oh

Every time you're, every time you're lovin' me

You're lovin' me

Your knees hurt the moment you stood up, but you didn't let it show. Your attention focuses on her, just like hers on you. Nothing matters outside this moment. It's just the two of you, with you singing your heart out in front of her, exaggerating some parts of your performance.

Trip of my life, oh

Every time you're, every time you're touchin' me

You're touchin' me

You hold out your hand to her, inviting her to stand up. Larissa gladly took it, never letting go of your hand. She stopped short from walking when there was merely an inch between the two of you, gazing down to look at your eyes.

Every time you're, every time you're lovin' me

You tiptoed to give her a short and quick kiss, smirking just for a bit when she tried to deepen it. You pulled back, preparing yourself for the next lines.

Oh Lord, save me, my drug is my baby

I'll be usin' for the rest of my life

Usin' for the rest of my life, ohh-oh

Instead of singing to the remote you've used as your mic, you sang your heart out on your clasped hands. Larissa can't help the breathy laugh she lets out, giddy with the display.

Wait, when did you get rid of the remote? Where is it? That's a question she ought to ask you when you wrap up your singing.

After those lyrics, you were spent. You knew you could no longer sing adequately with the roughness you can feel in your throat, so you let Taylor's voice finish the remainder of the song.

"How did I do?" You grin at her, expectant of her answer.

"Incredible, darling. That was your best performance yet." You chuckle at her biased and certainly-affirming-you evaluation before you wrap your arms around the back of her neck. Her arms instantly snaked their way in your waist, making it their home. Your lips meet in a sweet, languid kiss as the song concludes.

The next song filled the room as you rest your head in her chest for a while. After a few minutes of listening to her heartbeat and letting your heart return to it's normal rhythm, you pull your head up from its resting place.

"You know I'm serious about it, right?"

"About what, darling?" She guides you both on the couch, a bit clueless about what you were saying.

"About the whole song. That 'my drug is my baby I'll be using for the rest of my life'" you quoted the song in an attempt to explain.

Larissa snorts, opting to tease you. "Drugs can damage your life."

"You're more than welcome to destroy mine" That was terrible, you know. But you can't help it.

"Unbelievable" she playfully rolled her eyes at your remark.

"What? It's true!"

"Whatever you say darling" She kissed you in the center of your forehead, knowing you won't stop if she wouldn't let it go first.

Neither of you said anything else for a while, just basking in each other's embrace, your phone still going through your playlist.

"You stay here. I'll change into comfortable clothes quickly"

Before she can walk off, you tugged at her hand. "I want to come with you"

She shakes her head, pressing a peck on your lips. "Then we'll take longer. Stay here."

You pouted but still complied. "Fine" you groan out. "I'll set dinner up"

You watch her walk away before standing up to head towards the kitchen. You can't wait to hear about her day.