#YEAH GIMME A LEG UP AND A STICK THING

[elodieunderglass]

had dreams involving your boys. woke just enough to consider sending you very out of context asks as if the dreams were your posts but decided to go back to sleep again instead

one ask was gonna be about Killie making pies for a fair, and the other about Golf But on Horseback. Charlie was there. something about the golf was a pretense but he was also good at it for reals

(The Horse Boys)

Bestie did your subconscious put Charlie in a polo game? That is GALAXY brained of you?

Here are some facts about polo (I don’t really know anything about polo)

Polo is one of the oldest team sports in recorded history!

The first recorded game of polo was 600 BC between the Turkomans and the Persians; the Persians won.

Polo sources claim that horse polo is the ancestor of both golf and (all forms of) hockey, as its recorded history is older than those - and rather than being innovative, they are simply what happens when you remove the horsies. Golf and hockey sources do not acknowledge this. Horseless behavior.

Polo horses are correctly called “polo ponies” but they’re mostly technically horses. This is a horse person linguistic nonsense thing.

The field for playing polo is the largest of all field sports.

Calvary-type nations around Europe, Asia and the Middle East would play polo as a training exercise. The demise of cavalry units in warfare made polo less interesting.

The idea of “polo originating using the severed heads of enemies” is possibly apocryphal, since balls are fairly old technology and a ball is literally just better for sports.

I love how there are a lot of Chinese representations of female polo players, they’re sooo expressive 😭 yes girls!!! It IS like that!!! female Tang Dynasty polo players, source 1 and source 2

Since I know you nerds will ask

according to Tolkien, the hobbit Bandobras Took, who stood 4’5” and could ride a horse, was credited with “inventing the game of golf” after charging goblin ranks and using a club to whack the head off the leader.

Given the visuals and pragmatic realities, etc, he was probably mounted on a horse and struck downwards. Think about it.

so yes, what he probably actually invented was polo.

But you’d have to remove the horses anyway, if nobody else in the area could manage one, which instantly results in golf or hockey.

ANYWAY

A very pretty sport, although I don’t follow it myself. Currently practiced in its “modern” form mostly in Argentina I think?

Only REALLY obscenely wealthy, posh British people play it in the UK, which Charlie isn’t, so you can have fun Inventing a Convoluted Premise

Maybe that’s the Pretense. Charlie can’t actually play polo and is actually a massive imposter, pretending to be a 6-foot Tory English baron, and everyone knows he fucking well isn’t, but he’s doing it anyway

I don’t know why but I agree wholeheartedly with your subconscious that Charlie is running around doing MOUNTED WARFARE while Killie is stressing to death in the tea tent.

AAaaaaAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaah

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 6,924 Daryl Dixon x Reader reader pronouns: she/her Era: the prison Summary: Daryl realizes how touch-starved he’s been and exactly who he wants to satisfy that with. Really just sweet, vulnerable Daryl.[he is baby in this fic 100%] Warnings: none really? Language? Fluff?

Daryl startled awake, shooting straight up on his bed.

“Wow! Sorry! I was trying to wake you up gently!”

He looked up at her with a steely glare. Then he let out a sigh and his shoulders slumped, the frantic alarmed feeling passing quickly as he realized it was just Carol. “The hell ya wakin’ me up for at all? I didn’t fall asleep until the sun was nearly up,” he growled, swinging his legs down over the edge of the bed and planting his feet on the floor. He still had his boots on.

She gave him a sympathetic look. “Sorry… but I really could use a hand. The water line is clogged up with mud again. The others are going to keep the herd on the fence occupied and thin the numbers down while I try to clear it. I could use you to watch my back.”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, alrigh’. Just gimme a few minutes. I’ll meet ya out in the yard.”

“Okay, Pookie” she teased him, smiling. She reached to affectionately smooth a hand over his tousled hair but he deflected it hurriedly and shot her another look that made her laugh. “I’ll see you in a minute,” she chuckled.

“Yeah, go on and get outta here… Pain in my ass,” he grumbled, climbing to his feet.

As Carol’s footsteps retreated outside his cell, he glanced at his reflection in the cracked mirror hanging on the cell wall. His hair was a mess and he did what he could to hastily smooth it with his hands before abandoning the effort with a grunt. He hurriedly grabbed his crossbow and fixed his knife in its sheath at his hip. Relacing his boots to make sure they were tight, he called it good and made his way through the prison.

As he stepped outside into the sunlight, he could already see that things were busy despite the early morning hour. Rick and Carl were in the garden plots with Hershel and everyone else seemed to either be chopping and stacking firewood or working down on the fence. It was rare for Daryl not to be the first one awake and it left him feeling off-balance. He hadn’t been sleeping hardly at all and it must have finally added up to pure exhaustion since he’d actually caught a few hours until Carol woke him.

His blue eyes, squinted against the light, searched for you out of subconscious habit. He spotted you alongside Glenn and Maggie on the fence. He felt his heart skipping a beat.

The gravel crunched under his boots as he headed to meet Carol who was waiting at the gate that led to the alleyway between the fences. She greeted him with a tight smile. “Ready?”

“Yep. Good to go,” he replied.

Carol opened the gate and Daryl followed her in. Soon they were passing by you, Glenn, and Maggie putting down walkers through the chainlink.

“Are you alright, Daryl?” Maggie called out, shading her eyes with a gloved hand. “I thought maybe you were sick or somethin’,” she said.

“Yeah, unusual for any of us to be up before you,” Glenn agreed, leaning on the metal rod in his hand.

“Christ, ev’rybody’s got somethin’ to say about it,” Daryl retorted. “Can’t a man get a couple hours of sleep for once?”

You turned after putting down a particularly large and loud walker, gore dripping off the end of the sharpened makeshift spear in your hand and you wiped at the stray strands of your hair that were sticking to your face with your arm. You skin was already glistening with sweat despite it being far from the hottest part of the day. You smiled at Daryl, squinting against the sun. “I didn’t say anything,” you laughed.

“Yeah, well thanks for that,” Daryl said, meeting your eyes. “Yer the only damn one…” He gulped, always a little nervous when your full attention was on him.

“Alright, alright,” Carol said, laughing. “I think we’ve teased poor Daryl enough for actually sleeping. Just keep the herd down this end, away from the water line, okay? We’re heading out to clear it now.”

You all nodded and returned to the task at hand. Daryl couldn’t help glancing back at you over his shoulder a few times, until he slipped out of the hole to the outside behind Carol and closed it back up behind him, lacing the sturdy wire back through the fencing and pulling it tight.

Carol pulled the water line up out of the creek and began twisting apart sections of it to clear out the mud and muck. “Yuck… no wonder we were hardly pulling any water in,” she said, shaking a particularly large chunk of red Georgia clay out of the nozzle.

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed, chewing on his bottom lip. His eyes scanned the surrounding tall grass and trees for any approaching stray walkers, but he found that they continually seemed to return to you on the fence almost on their own.

“Hey. Hey!” Carol was suddenly laughing. “Did you hear me?”

“Huh?” Daryl’s eyes snapped back to her. “Sorry.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him and a small, perhaps slightly knowing, smile curved her lips. “Distracted?” she asked.

He shifted. “Are ya done?”

Carol laughed to herself again and dusted off her hands. “Yeah, I think so.” She walked back to the stream with the end of the hose and dropped it back into the creek. “So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?” she asked as the two of them started back up the slope toward the fence.

Daryl shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe work on my bike. Probably due for a tune-up,” he drawled, slinging his crossbow back over his shoulder.

She nodded. “Sorry I woke you up. I was shocked you were still sleeping to be honest. I waited around a bit but—"

“Nah, s’alrigh’. I probably needed to get up anyway,” he replied, glancing ahead toward the fence again. The herd of walkers was dwindling with the efficient work of you and the others but the bodies were piling up on the outside now. Clean-up duty would be needed.

“Well, you should head inside and eat something,” Carol said. “I know you haven’t had anything yet today.”

He ran a hand back through his hair and nodded. “Yeah… maybe in a bit. I think ‘m gonna start pilin’ up those carcasses. We’ll need to burn ‘em later and it ain’t no good havin’ ‘em up against the fence, attractin’ new walkers.”

Carol stopped. “Oh. Yeah, true. I’ll help. Looks like they’re about done anyway,” she said.

He nodded and they strode over, dew down in the longer tufts of grass wetting their boots and hems. There were maybe six walkers left clawing at the fence and they were quickly cut down to three as he and Carol approached on the outside. Daryl pulled his gloves from his back pocket and tugged them on as Carol walked over, watching the last upright body fall onto the pile a moment later.

“How’s the water line?” you asked, gripping the fence, the tips of your fingers poking through.

“Should be all cleared out now,” Carol said. “Nice work,” she said, referring to the pile of bodies at her feet. “Daryl and I will start pulling these away from the fence and piling them to be burned.”

“Alright. I’ll come help,” you said, setting down the metal rod you’d been wielding and briefly wiping at the sweat glistening on your forehead with your forearm again.

“You sure? You’ve done more than your fair share of hard labor today,” Carol said. “Looks like Maggie and Glenn are already heading back up to rest.”

“Yeah, it’s alright. I don’t mind,” you said. “It’ll go faster with three of us.”

“Alright. Come on out! Thanks,” Carol said, giving you a grateful smile.

You nodded and hurried to let yourself out the makeshift opening to the outside. Daryl had already dragged away four bodies in the time it took for you to make your way over. You offered him a wide smile that had his heart jumping and he paused before he grabbed another walker, lacing the fingers of his gloves together in a nervous gesture. “Ya alrigh’?” he drawled. “Ya ain’t gotta help with this. Ya did a lot of work on them from the other side,” he said. Your cheeks and chest were flushed red with heat and effort and the cotton of your t-shirt was clinging to your damp skin.

You shrugged. “I’m all good. It’ll get done sooner this way,” you said. He watched your eyes flickering up over his face a couple times and he became suddenly self-conscious.

He cleared his throat. “What?”

You laughed lightly. “Oh—it’s just—you’ve got this one piece of hair sticking up—it’s been defying gravity since you first came out here. I’m just a little surprised it’s still hanging in there,” you joked. You pulled your gloves off and stepped up to him. “It’s just sticking straight up,” you laughed again, attempting to smooth it gently.

An electric shiver ran up Daryl’s back as your fingers combed through his hair. “What’s it matter?” he drawled, attempting to sound gruff and not what he was actually feeling… which was completely jittery. “Ain’t like ‘m tryin’ to win a beauty contest out here.”

“Oh, so you want to be a unicorn? Got it,” you teased him, redoubling your efforts and using both hands and your fingernails to try to combat the stray strand, but it only sprung right back up. You laughed again, your eyes crinkling at the corners. A fluttery feeling burst between Daryl’s lungs. You sighed and shook your head, stepping back and crossing your arms, surveying him. “Nope. Won’t cooperate. I guess you are stuck as a wild unicorn today,” you said. “At least until it comes in contact with a wet comb.”

“Comb? I dunno if I’ve even got one of those,” he joked. “Thanks for tryin’,” Daryl said, half-sarcastically. You only flashed him another grin. You pulled your gloves back on and headed back to the fence to grab a walker. Carol stopped beside Daryl and he grabbed the body she was dragging by the ankles and helped her swing it onto the newly-formed pile. She gave him an appraising look when she stood up, her eyebrows lifting slightly. “What?” he asked.

“No, nothing,” she said, smiling vaguely. But it certainly wasn’t lost on her that when she had attempted to ruffle his hair, her hand had been pushed away brusquely.

Daryl ducked his head and went back to work. You were still at the fence when he walked up beside you. You were attempting to untangle a disgusting mass of limbs to pull a single walker out. Your nose wrinkled and you let out a noise of disgust. “I don’t think I will ever get used to the smell of them,” you mused aloud.

Daryl looked up, about to respond, but suddenly your feet went out from under you and you were landing hard on your back, all the breath pushed out of your body. “Y/N!”

There was a surprisingly strong hand that had emerged from the pile of bodies gripping your ankle and low, muffled growls emanated from a walker beneath the heap that was not quite dead.

Daryl jumped into action immediately, stomping his boot down onto the grasping arm until it released you and then quickly tugging you away by gripping you under the arms. He collapsed down on the ground behind you and you came to rest partially against him, still gasping for air as your lungs had not yet returned to normal, still seized up from the fall. You found yourself completely unaware that you were laying back against his chest as you just focused on trying to breathe. Daryl didn’t dare move.

Carol came running over at full speed. “Oh my God! Are you okay?!”

All you could do was nod urgently, unable to talk still. You pressed a hand to your chest and willed your lungs to start drawing in air again. Your heart was pounding.

“Fucker didn’t scratch ya ,did he? Please, tell me he didn’t…” Daryl gasped. “Carol, check her ankles quick!”

Carol quickly bent over you and looked, sighing with relief. “No, she’s clean.”

It was about that time that your lungs started working again and you realized you were sort of on top of Daryl. “Oh, shit,” you breathed, sitting up and turning. “I’m sorry. I—I’m leaning on you,” you said hurriedly.

Daryl shook his head, his brow still furrowed deeply. “S’alrigh’. Are ya okay? Ya sure?”

You nodded, trying hard to slow your breathing and heart rate. “I’m okay. Just startled me more than anything.”

Daryl climbed to his feet and offered you his hand. He pulled you up. You both watched as Carol kicked a body aside and plunged her knife into the head of the walker that had grabbed you and was still moving. “Got him,” she said, straightening up, her knife dripping blood onto the grass.

It was then that you realized your hand was still in Daryl’s. He hadn’t let go. You could feel the calluses on his palms from digging with the shovels the week before and the calluses on his fingertips from drawing back his crossbow. His thumb was closed gently over the back of your hand. He seemed to have realized then that the moment had passed when he should have relinquished his gentle hold on you and he suddenly drew back, wiping his hand on his pants as if that would rid it of the electric tingle on his palm. “Are ya sure yer okay?” he asked again.

“Fine. I’m fine… just knocked the wind out of me for a minute,” you said.

“How was that one not dead?” he growled, moving to peer down at the body.

“Here,” Carol said, pointing at the neck. “Looks like whoever was trying to put it down just missed the back of head.”

Daryl straightened up, looking worried still. “We’ll have to remind ev’rybody to be more careful on the fence. What if somebody had gotten bit ‘cuz that fucker wasn’t quite dead?”

“It could’ve been my fault,” you said quickly. “I was working the fence too.”

“Well, I doubt ya need the reminder now,” Daryl said seriously, giving you a concerned look. You only nodded. “Look, why dun ya just head back up to the prison for a bit. Get outta the sun and get some water.”

You cocked your head as you looked at him. “What? No,” you laughed. “You think that’s enough to scare me off? Hell no, Dixon,” you said, already smiling at him again. “Let’s get this shit done.”

Carol smiled and shrugged. “You heard her, Dixon,” she teased, leaning down to grab another corpse by the wrists and pull it away.

The pile moved away from the fence and ready to be burned, you and Carol were about to start back to the prison when there was a rustling in the brush nearby. A scraggly looking walker wandered out and started toward the group of you, reaching up with hands that were missing several fingers.

Daryl unsheathed his knife with a well-practiced movement. “I got it,” he said, jogging over to put it down with a skillful stab to the head. He paced back, wiping his knife on his pants. “I’ll ask Rick where he put the gas/oil mixture for burnin’ this later. Ain’t no reason we gotta do it in this sun. Let’s head back up,” he drawled.

You nodded in agreement and pulled your gloves off, glancing at him with a half-smile. “Hey, do you have your bandana on you?” you asked.

“Mhm,” he said pulling it out from his back pocket and offering it to you. “Why?”

You took it, stepped in close to him, and dabbed at a spray of blood on the side of his neck from the walker he’d just put down, wiping it away. “You didn’t feel it?” you laughed. “Apparently it was a juicy one.” You held his bandana out to him again.

“Thanks,” he said, feeling his face flush a little with heat. He noticed Carol watching the interaction with that same vague smile on her face. He ducked his head and cleared his throat. “Alrigh’. Let’s head back inside them fences… One close call is more than enough for today.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

When Daryl saw you again in a few hours, he could tell you’d cleaned up after your morning shift on the fence. Your hair was down, framing your face and was shining in the sun. There was no more sweat or grime clinging to your skin anymore. You waved as you caught his eyes already on you and he gulped as you made your way over.

Daryl, on the other hand, was still just as filthy as he had been when you all left the pile of walkers outside the fence behind, perhaps moreso. His hands were covered in oil and grime from working on his bike. He felt suddenly self-conscious as you stopped beside him in your fresh clothes.

“I was looking for you,” you said.

“Me?” Daryl straightened up next to his bike.

“Yeah. Carol said you haven’t eaten anything all day,” you said pointedly, your eyebrows lifting.

He shrugged. “Just ain’t gotten around to it yet, I guess,” he drawled, fiddling with the tool in his hands.

“I see. You’re just entirely too busy to take care of yourself?” you retorted. As you talked, you reached out and wiped away a smudge of oil on his forearm casually.

Daryl, however, couldn’t be casual about the spark he’d just felt from that little touch of your fingertip. It jumped up to his arm and seemed to have made its way to his heart, because it was now racing. He gulped.

“Well, what if I fix you a bowl of something and bring it out? You worked hard this morning. You should eat,” you said, cocking your head at him. “We can’t have you suddenly passing out out here and faceplanting onto the cement,” you teased him.

He fixed his blue eyes on you for a long moment. “Ya ain’t gotta do that. ‘M almost done out here. I can come in and—”

You grabbed his arm again and Daryl almost stepped backwards from the way his body seemed to react to your touch again. It was nearly overwhelming. “Daryl, what I asked was if you would eat it if I brought it out. It’s a simple question,” you said, shooting him a playful look. “So?” Your hand was still on his arm. It was light and gentle, but he could feel the softness of your skin. He stared at it for a long second and then managed to clear his throat enough to respond. “Y—yeah, I’d eat it, I guess.”

“Good,” you said, nodding. “I’ll be right back then.” You disappeared back inside.

Rick happened to wander by carrying the gas can for burning the pile of walkers just a minute later. Daryl was bent over his bike, muttering expletives under his breath. “Ho—watch out!” Rick said suddenly, and Daryl shot up as he felt Rick’s hand brush his back.

Daryl jumped, spun around, and shook him off. “What the hell, man?” Daryl growled.

Rick laughed and held his hand up, palm out. “Sorry! You had a huge horsefly on your back! You’re welcome.” He shook his head. “With that reaction next time I might just let you get bit,” Rick joked.

Daryl shook his head. “Sorry. Ya just startled me is all.”

“It’s alright,” Rick replied. “I’ll go take care of those bodies.” He gestured with the gas can.

Daryl nodded. “Alrigh’. Be careful out there. Fire will probably bring more of ‘em in.”

“I’ll take Glenn out with me,” Rick said, and then he was off.

A moment later you were back with a bowl of food for him. It was some kind of noodles with some venison and a few fresh tomatoes from the garden. “Alright. Break time, Daryl,” you demanded. “I need to make sure you actually eat, since apparently you won’t.”

Daryl tugged his bandana from his back pocket and mopped at the oil on his skin the best he could.

You set the bowl in his hands and your fingertips brushed his skin. You didn’t seem to notice. For Daryl it was impossible not to. “Thanks,” he murmured, grabbing a seat on a nearby concrete block.

“No problem.” You came and sat down next to him, sighing good-naturedly and looking out over the green grass of the yard. Rick was just lighting up the pile of walkers outside the fence. A breeze was blowing the tops of the trees around, sending the leaves fluttering and changing their hues. Fluffy clouds drifted by lazily.

Daryl dragged a hand across his mouth. “Mmm. S’good. Thanks,” he murmured, hurriedly taking another bite. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he’d started eating.

You smiled at his voracious eating habits and leaned your chin on your hand, your elbow propped on your knee. You reached over again with your free hand and attempted to smooth that same stubborn strand of his hair that had been sticking up all day. Goosebumps rose up Daryl’s back.

“Thought ya gave that up as a lost cause,” Daryl said through a mouthful, holding absolutely still while your fingers were in his hair.

“I did. Was just… I don’t know,” you shrugged, smiling. “I kind of like it.”

He shot you a look like you were crazy.

“What?” you laughed. “It’s endearing!”

“Yer nuts,” he joked, ducking his head again and turning back to his food. He didn’t see you biting your bottom lip as you looked at him, a fond and soft light in your eyes.

_ _ _ _ _ _

That evening, most of the group was gathered around a bonfire out in the yard. You’d all roasted scraps of venison from a deer Daryl had shot the day before, supplemented with vegetables from the garden and everyone was full and happy. Carol was rocking Judith and cooing over her. Maggie, Glenn, and Beth were playing a rowdy game of cards. Rick and Carl seemed content to watch the people they loved enjoying themselves and you and Hershel were off to one side talking about plans for fall crops when cool season time rolled around again.

Daryl was the only one who had wandered away by himself and seemed to be standing watch on one of the guard platforms. You noticed his broad-shouldered silhouette against the sky and excused yourself.

He turned at the sound of steps on the rattling metal stairs and straightened up when he saw you come around the corner.

You looked up and smiled at him and his heart jumped. “Hey,” you greeted him.

“Hey. Everythin’ alrigh’?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. You came to stand beside him at the railing and leaned forward on your forearms. “You okay? Were we all too rowdy down there?” you asked.

“‘M good. Just thought somebody should be on watch, ya know?”

“Mmm,” you hummed, nodding.

“It doesn’t always have to be you though,” you said. “You take on a lot. You’re allowed to relax too. Your worth as a person isn’t tied to what you can do for the group.”

He looked at you with a semi-startled expression on his handsome face.

“And I see now that you needed to hear that,” you said your eyebrows lifting. “It’s true.”

You turned and looked back out over the shadows settling into the yard and the warm orange glow illuminating your found family.

Daryl was chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. He lifted a hand to rub at his right shoulder, wincing a little as he rotated it.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nah, s’nothin’. I must’a tweaked it when I was movin’ my bike this afternoon. Tha’s all. S’fine.”

“Hmm. Alright. Turn around,” you said, straightening up.

“What?” Daryl asked, one of his eyebrows quirked up with the question.

“I said turn around,” you said again.

“Why?”

“Just turn around!” you laughed. “What, are you scared of me?”

“Maybe a little,” Daryl replied, a half-smile turning up one corner of your mouth.

Your hands landed on your hips and you cocked your head at him with attitude. He surrendered and turned so his back was to you.

Your hands landed gently on his shoulders and you worked your fingers into his stiff muscles. They seemed to melt beneath your touch. “You are tense,” you said. You moved to massage his sore shoulder and you could feel that one specific spot seemed particularly tight and inflamed. Your touch became gentler and Daryl’s eyes shut. He was almost leaning into the light workings of your hands. “How’s that feel?” you asked him.

All he could get out was a satisfied hum which made you smile.

“You definitely pulled something over here. You’ll have to go easy on it for a bit.”

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Maybe ya can just keep doin’ that ‘til it’s all better,” he drawled.

You laughed lightly. “I take it this feels okay then,” you said.

“Mhm,” he hummed again.

You smiled to yourself. The man deserved a little TLC. After all, you had scared the shit out of him when that walker grabbed you. You’d never forget the sound of his panicked voice yelling your name.

Just then, there was more clattering on the stairs and your hands left Daryl’s shoulders as you both turned to look. Carol came around the corner and stopped short. “Oh—sorry. I hope I’m not interrupting, um, anything,” she said, smiling.

You felt your cheeks flush and Daryl was feeling the same thing in his chest and face. “No. Not at all,” you said, leaning back against the railing.

“I was just looking for Daryl,” she explained.

“You found him,” you said. “I should head back down and see if Rick needs help getting Judith down for bed anyway.” You glanced back over at Daryl and gave him a small smile. “Night. See you in the morning. Night, Carol.”

Daryl watched you go until you disappeared into the deepening darkness. Then he felt Carol’s eyes on him. He turned at looked at her and her expression and postured, crossed arms and all, could only be described as smug. “What?” he asked, nestling the edge of his thumbnail in between his teeth and biting down.

“I’m really sorry if I did interrupt something,” she said pointedly.

“Interrupt what?” he drawled, a little irritated.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head at him. “Let me just ask you something. How come eight out of ten times if I go to ruffle your hair or wipe a smudge of something gross off you, I get my hand smacked away, but Y/N always seems able to make contact, hmm?”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. He simply stared back at her. Internally though, his mind and his heart were working in overdrive.

Carol laughed. “You don’t have to answer. I think we both know why,” she said with a satisfied smile.

Daryl sighed and ruffled a hand back through his wavy hair before resuming his position leaning on the railing next to Carol.

“You do like her though, don’t you?” Carol asked.

Daryl only continued to stare out over the dark yard, chewing on his bottom lip in that signature way of his. Carol’s smile widened and she nodded.

“I thought so.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Well, you beat all of us awake again today. I guess everything is back to normal,” Glenn said, kindly reaching out to give Daryl a friendly pat on the shoulder as he passed him. The archer flinched and Glenn gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he said quickly.

“Oh—nah, s’alrigh’,” Daryl drawled. “Just startled me… And yeah. Hope ya slackers had a good snooze. Some of us gotta get shit done around here,” he joked, shouldering his crossbow and heading toward the door to leave.

You happened to be coming back in with Judith in your arms and Daryl nearly ran into you, stopping short to avoid the collision. You laughed and greeted him, one of your hands reflexively landing flush in the center of his chest and staying there until the two of you had side-stepped around each other.

Glenn came to sit beside Maggie again, handing her the cup of tea he’d just gotten for her. “Did you see that? How he flinched?” he asked, a little sadly, his head indicating Daryl before the archer slipped out the door.

“Mhm,” Maggie nodded. “But did ya see that?” she asked, a faint smile tugging on her lips now. She nodded toward you across the room where you were sitting with Judith.

Glenn shook his head. “No. What? I was at the stove.”

Maggie’s smile widened. “Daryl nearly ran into her. She put her hand out and it landed right in the middle of his chest and it stayed there until they made their way around each other. And it almost seemed like Daryl didn’t want to step away from her. He didn’t flinch. He may have even moved in closer. He couldn’t stop lookin’ at her,” Maggie said.

Glenn nodded slowly, his eyebrows lifting as realization dawned on him. “Well, last night… the two of them disappeared from the bonfire... You don’t think—?”

“I don’t know,” Maggie laughed jovially. “But if they aren’t, they should. Daryl needs that. And he’d be good for her too. He’s always been so protective of her and you can just tell there’s somethin’ there.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

It was late afternoon when you spotted Daryl taking a break out in the yard. He was sitting on the stump used to chop wood, the axe leaning up against the wood pile nearby. Having just finished sorting some of the newly discovered supplies with Carol, you were ready for a break yourself.

“Hey,” you greeted him, tugging another round of wood over next to him.

“Hey,” he returned, watching you take a seat beside him. He found himself wringing his hands a little nervously.

As you settled in next to him, your arm floated behind him for a moment, your palm gently rubbing across his shoulder blades, almost giving his back a gentle scratch, and then tapering off down his spine in an affectionate gesture. Daryl froze, fluttering bursting to life in his chest again. Electric tingles ran up his back. He swallowed hard. “Why d’ya do that?” he asked suddenly.

You turned and gaze him a questioning look, the small smile dying on your lips. “Do what?”

“Ya know, ya rub my back or—or try to smooth down my hair—”

Your eyes went a bit round and then your brow furrowed, casting shadows over the rich color of your irises. “Oh. Does it bother you? I’m—I’m sorry, Daryl. I probably should have asked you if you were okay with me breaking the touch barrier like that with you. I’m really sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. I won’t—”

“What? No. No, it doesn’t—I, uhh—I just mean—” Fuck. How could he explain this without having to confess all his deeply held feelings for you on the spot? “It’s—it’s nice… is all,” he finished lamely.

Your expression relaxed. “Yeah?”

He nodded, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth. “I just—I ain’t ever really had anybody that—that did that kinda stuff with me, ya know? I mean—” he broke off. He didn’t want to go there. He’d had sex. He wasn’t completely inexperienced, but it had never felt anywhere near as intimate as your fingertips brushing his arm did.

Your lips formed a soft pout and the worry lines in your forehead reappeared. “You mean, touched you… affectionately?”

He nodded a little, keeping his eyes fixed toward the horizon, unable to look at you in that exact moment. “Yeah.”

Your heart ached. You nodded. “I see…” you breathed. You paused thoughtfully for a moment. You thought of all the people in your past who had touched you with love of all kinds—your parents, your best friend, hugs from extended relatives and friends, playfully holding hands as a child, touches with past partners… To think Daryl had never really had any of that broke your heart. You turned toward him and your fingers landed lightly along his jaw, gently turning his face toward you so you could see his bright blue eyes. You clasped his face for a moment and his eyes closed for just a split second. He actually leaned into the touch of your palm and you felt another pang in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you said softly, your fingertips trailing off his skin. “You should have had people your whole life touching you with love and friendship and care. And I’m so sorry you didn’t. We all need touch. It’s something fundamental to us as humans.”

You were close together, your knees almost bumping together.

Daryl’s eyes flickered between yours. “Yeah… I dun think I realized that until—pretty recently,” he said. “But ya don’t, uhh—I mean, I’ve noticed ya don’t… do the same thing with ev’rybody. I mean—not—not exactly the same,” he ventured.

“You noticed?” A small smile came back to your face. “No. You’re right. I don’t,” you agreed. You gave him a significant look and his heart began absolutely pounding in his chest, like he was running for his life, hard and fast.

“Oh…” he drawled, his eyes going suddenly unfocused.

“Yeah,” you said with a laugh, your cheeks heating with a blush. “Um, listen—come find me after dinner tonight. I’ve got first watch in the guard tower. Alright?” You stood and Daryl found himself looking up at you, wishing you wouldn’t go.

He could ask you to stay… but he just nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Alright. Tonight.”

“Great,” you said, flashing him a smile that made him glad he was sitting down already. You would have nearly knocked his knees out. How was he going to make it through the rest of the day? The waiting would be excruciating…

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl looked up at the guard tower and could see your silhouette out on the platform against the warm splash of color from the setting sun. Inside the tower, a lantern glowed softly, illuminating the windows. He made his way up the winding stairs, trying to swallow his nerves to the best of his ability, but he found it wasn’t much use. He wiped his hands on his pants, suddenly aware that his palms were sweaty.

He pushed into the tower and found the door out onto the platform standing open. You looked over your shoulder at the sound of his boots and smiled at him, before returning to leaning on the railing, staring at the hues of salmon and orange and deep reds blazing across the sky as the sun sunk behind the trees at the horizon.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” you asked, meaning the sunset.

Daryl licked his lips nervously, but he was looking at you. “Yeah,” he drawled.

“I like how the sky is never the exact same. No two skies are alike. Something is always different with the colors or the clouds or the particular shade of blue. It makes me feel like even though the world has gone to complete shit… it hasn’t really. You know?”

Daryl leaned onto the railing beside you on his forearms and drank in the scene, humming his agreement. “Mhm.” He nervously shifted. “Um… why’d—why’d ya ask me up here?” He couldn’t stand the strenuous anticipation and wondering any longer.

You turned giving him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry. You’ve probably been wondering all day. Well… I was wondering if I could kiss you and this seemed like a nice place to do it—private, nice view, stars will be out soon, unlikely to be interrupted…”

Daryl thought he must have heard you wrong. “Wait—what?”

You smiled at him, your eyes sparking with light. “I’d like to kiss you, if that’s alright?”

He stared at you. “Ya wanna kiss me?”

“Yes,” you nodded.

“Huh… well—what if I wanna kiss you first?”

You gave him an amused look, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Then, I’d say this works out for both of us?” you laughed.

He ducked his head for a moment. “Cuz I’ve wanted to kiss ya for—for a long time now. Prob’ly longer than you’ve wanted to kiss me,” he admitted. He shot a cautious look at your expression but you still just had that serene smile on your face.

“Daryl—” you said, stepping in toward him and gently taking hold of the front of his vest, “I don’t care who initiates it, but I’d like it to happen n—”

You didn’t get the last word out, because Daryl’s lips landed flush on yours and his hand was tangling into your hair, the other landing lightly on your waist. He seemed a little tense at first, nerves maybe, but quickly you melted into each other, your knees weakening, and he tugged you against him as your arms looped around his neck.

Your hearts were racing in time together and you were both breathless when you broke apart, pulling back only enough to breathe. Daryl’s fingers drummed anxiously on your lower back.

“Was… that alrigh’?” he asked.

“Alright?” you repeated. “It was perfect,” you said.

He looked relieved. “Good. ‘Cuz… it was for me too,” he said softly. “And I’d like to do it again, if tha’s alrigh’?”

You grinned and arched into him, crashing your lips against his. This kiss was fiery and hungry and you didn’t break apart for a long time. Daryl held your body firmly against his and the two of you moved without any clumsiness or reticence, reading each other easily and sinking into it.

The sun was now nearly completely gone and the first stars were appearing in the inky sky. The moon was rising. You bit your bottom lip, looking up at Daryl. “I was hoping you’d stay until my shift is over.”

“Mmm,” Daryl nodded, his hands still on your waist. “Alrigh’. But s’gonna be hard to keep watch with ya distractin’ me.”

“Well, there are two of us… only one of us really needs to be watching at a time,” you joked, laughing lightly. You stroked your fingers through his wavy hair, brushing it away from his face, and his eyes closed at your touch. “I brought a blanket up to sit on. Come on.”

Daryl settled down on it first and then nudged his head in a way as to request that you sink down against him. His arm draped behind you and landed on your hip. His fingers moved a little absently, feeling your softness and angles. “Thanks,” he said suddenly.

“Hmm? For what?” you asked, looking over at him and catching his eyes for a moment before he ducked his head and shrugged.

“For bein’ you and… bein’ the way ya are with me,” he drawled. He didn’t know how to voice that as long as he’d known you, every little touch you gave him, innocent or maybe more, felt like nothing he’d ever felt before, and he found himself craving it, craving you. But he’d never known for sure, beyond the doubt instilled in him, if it was one-sided or not. Now, he knew.

You smiled at him and then tucked yourself against him, your head resting under his chin, your hand moving softly on his bare arm, leaving tingles in its wake. The last light of the sun disappeared and was replaced with the cool glow of the moon and endless stars, and the two of you soaked in each other. Daryl seemed more confident as the minutes passed and drank you in, slowly touch-starved no longer and hoping he would never be again.

[luvnanako]

Helping Jinx ✮⋆˙

Jinx x F! Reader (wlw, fluff)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁---─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─---. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

"Okay, toots, now… gimme that little thingy with the blue stripes on the bottom." Jinx's voice rings out with her usual playful energy as she points vaguely toward a cluttered pile of tools and parts. It’s that time of the week again—helping your girlfriend build her chaotic little gadgets. And by "helping," she mostly means handing her whatever she needs while she dives headfirst into her creative frenzy.

From crafting monkey bombs, guns, and grenades to making ridiculously impractical things like tiny glowing lights, weird belts, and other odd tripnkets, her workshop is always buzzing with activity. Of course, in typical Jinx fashion, she always manages to find time to whip up something just for you, too.

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

You carefully pick up the item she asked for and place it on her crafting table with a soft thud. "Yeaah, that one!" she exclaims, tossing off her oversized goggles to give you a wide, mischievous grin. "Keep this up, and you might just earn some more kisses later," she adds, her tone dripping with her usual teasing charm.

You cross your arms, leaning casually against the table as you smirk at her. "What can I say? I'm a crafty one. At this rate, you might as well call me your most loyal servant," you reply, letting out a soft laugh and playfully winking at her.

Jinx picks up a pink marker from the side of her table, glancing at you with a mock serious expression. "Oh my god, what did you eat today? I think you might be sick, toots," she teases, sticking her tongue out as she starts doodling a little face on one of her monkey bombs.

"Yeah, well, I guess you’re just a bad influence on me," you quip back, laughing softly as you bump her shoulder.

Jinx gasps dramatically, placing a hand on her chest. "Who, me? Nuh-uh, I don’t know who you take me for, but I have nothing but an *amazing* influence on you." She finishes her drawing with a flourish, spinning the bomb around to show you. "What do you think? Pretty sweet, right?"

You lean in closer, pretending to examine her work critically. "Looks good, but maybe add a little heart on it," you suggest with a grin.

Without hesitation, Jinx grabs a blue marker and draws a small heart on the bomb, then scribbles both your initials inside it. "Voilà! Perfect now!" she declares, beaming with pride.

You can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm as you step behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist and resting your chin on her shoulder. "I wouldn’t actually mind getting bombed by this one," you say, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek and giggling.

Jinx chuckles, tilting her head back to look at you. "Be careful what you wish for," she says with a smirk, puckering her lips dramatically.

You roll your eyes but lean down to give her a quick peck. "Awhh, come on, toots, you can do better than that," she pouts, her lips curling into a playful little frown as she looks up at you with wide, cat-like eyes.

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. "You’re such a brat, you know that?"

"And you *love* it," she shoots back, grinning as she spins her chair around to face you, grabbing your hand to pull you closer.

Jinx pulls you closer until your knees bump into hers, her wild grin softening into something almost tender. "Admit it," she whispers, her voice dropping to a teasing murmur, "you'd be bored out of your mind without me."

You arch an eyebrow, smirking as you look down at her. "Oh, absolutely. My life would be so dull without the constant threat of explosions and chaos."

Jinx lets out a loud laugh, leaning back in her chair as she spins in a slow circle, arms out dramatically. "Exactly! I'm your spark, toots. Your chaos. Your muse!"

You shake your head, trying not to laugh as she grabs your hand mid-spin to stop herself. The motion pulls you closer until you’re standing between her legs. For a moment, the energy in the room shifts, the buzz of her gadgets and tools fading into the background.

Jinx looks up at you with a crooked smile, her fingers still loosely wrapped around yours. "You know," she says softly, "I don’t let just anyone into my workshop. You're kinda special."

Your chest tightens at her sudden sincerity, but you don’t let her get away with it too easily. "Special enough for you to put our initials on a bomb?" you tease, gesturing to the monkey bomb she decorated.

"Exactly," she replies with a wink. "That’s how you know it’s true love."

You laugh, shaking your head as you lean down to press your forehead against hers. "You’re impossible," you murmur, smiling.

"And you’re stuck with me," she counters, her voice light but filled with meaning.

"Yeah," you whisper, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "And I wouldn’t have it any other way."

Jinx's smirk grows, and before you can say anything else, she grabs the monkey bomb from the table, holding it up proudly. "Now let’s go see if this baby works!"

You groan, stepping back as she hops to her feet, her excitement practically vibrating off her. "I’m starting to rethink this whole 'helping you' thing," you say, but your smile betrays you.

"Too late, toots!" she calls over her shoulder, already bounding toward the door. "You’re in this with me now!"

And just like that, you find yourself chasing after her, laughing as she drags you into another whirlwind of chaos and invention—because that’s what life with Jinx is all about.

૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა

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A/N heyyyy I'm currently making Caitlyn vampire au 2nd part so I made this one as a little filler! I hope you enjoyed reading this and I'm so so sooo grateful for all the feedback!

[moremaybank]

dad jj being so respectful about his baby’s space. he’ll be like “can dada have a kiss” and puckers his lips and his baby in their cutie little voice like “no dada” and he’s like “that’s okay baby” but knows in like five minutes the baby will run to him asking for a kiss or hug

oh, dad!jj, please gimme all your babies

when jj comes home from work, muscles exhausted and covered in grease, the greatest gift is knowing that your family will smother him with all the love you have.

"daddy's home, my babies!" he calls, his voice echoing throughout your home.

your kids come running down the stairs, each hugging his legs before running off to play again. your eldest daughter sticks around, though, having missed her father just a smidge more than the others.

he scoops her up, looking down at her with a smile. "hi, princess. how was your day?"

your daughter's hands frame her father's face. "it was good, dada. mama made us waffles for breakfast, and we made ice cream sundaes after lunch! with sprinkles!"

"yeah? that sounds amazin'. think you could help me make one after dinner?"

"yeah!"

you come down the stairs next, beaming at your gorgeous husband.

"hey, pretty mama. thanks for takin' such good care of our kids."

you grin even wider, approaching your husband so you could kiss him. you hum into it when your lips touch, and he smiles.

"how was work?" you question, one of your hands threading through his blonde locks. "y'look tired."

jj shakes his head, "'m good now. jus' needed to see my babies." his head turns toward your daughter again. "you feel like giving daddy a kiss?"

"c’i have a kiss in five minutes, daddy?"

he nods in understanding, "‘course y’can, sweet thing. my princess gets kisses whenever she wants." he sets her down, watching as she runs over to her siblings. then, he opens his arms for you, and you nestle yourself between them more than willingly.

"you're so good with them," you tell him. "makes me wanna give you another baby."

he smirks, pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck. "you call the shots, mama."

concepts ; concepts (ii)

[jjsbaby]

been thinking about rafe x crybaby!reader with an oral fixation who just loves having his fingers or thumb in her mouth whenever they fuck :( !!

would be lovely if u could write something ab this hehe i rlly love ur blog !! <3

ur so sweet mwah hope you like it <3

“whaddya want?” rafe asks gruffly, not even looking up from where he’s busy filling some sort of paperwork out on the computer. you pull on his arm, moving it so you can sit on his lap. “miss you.” you respond softly, trying to stay still so he doesn’t make you get up. he pulls your back into him so he can continue working while looking over your shoulder. “gimme like ten minutes baby.” he speaks without even sparing you a glance, focusing on some email he had pulled up. you stare at him for a moment, completely dumbfounded. you pout at him, turning your place your head in the crook of his neck. “but i need you now.” you whine, placing a kiss on his jaw to try and convince him.

he looks at you for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. “yeah ‘course you do. needy fucking thing.” he grumbles, moving you so you’re straddling his thigh. “i’m working. take care of yourself.” you sit there for a minute, contemplating if it’s worth it or not when you feel his hands on your hips. “fuck did i say? get to it.” rafe begins to grind your hips along his thigh, setting a pace for you before continuing to work. your hips stutter for a moment, taking a second to remind yourself to move the same way he was. you can feel the roughness of his jeans through your underwear, catching on your clit in the best way. you let out soft whines, gaining speed as you chase after your release. you feel rafe begin bouncing his leg beneath you, the vibration adding to your pleasure.

“god. i n-need more please.” you whine, tears pricking your eyes as you need something else to put you over the edge. he scoffs before using his free hand and tapping at your lips, signaling for you to open up. “shut up. this is exactly what you asked for kid.” he places two fingers onto your tongue and you automatically begin sucking on them. you gag slightly as he thrusts them towards the back of your throat. you grind down harder, brain going fuzzy at the feeling of pure pleasure running through you. he fucks into your mouth with his fingers, letting your spit drip down your chin as he makes a mess of your mouth. “thas all you needed baby. just needed to shut up and trust me.” he teases, sending a final email before reaching in between your legs. he finds your clit and immediately starts circling it aggressively.

you moan around his fingers, tears threatening to fall as you feel your stomach getting tense. you grip rafes arms to steady yourself, trying to keep him close. you feel it wash over you, spasming in his arms as he continues touching you. he stops once you’ve completely finished, pulling his fingers out of your mouth. he wipes your spit off your chin, cleaning your face off a little before pulling you in for a kiss. “all better now? gonna sit still while i get shit done?” he asks softly, holding your face inches from his. you nod as you cuddle into him. “remind me that next time i want you to be quiet, all i gotta do is stick something in your mouth.” he points out, lightly pinching your thigh.

[chrissv4mp]

i need like messy floor sex with billie

౨ make a mess for me ৎ

billie master & taglist // main masterlist

★ from the moment billie stepped into the room, you could tell that tonight she wasn't gonna be soft or even a bit nice. the first thing she did when she got into your shared bedroom and laid eyes on you, she commanded you to strip yourself of all your clothes and get on all fours in front of the full body mirror that resided in the corner of the room. so you did just that. your pussy was already soaked from the dominance in her tone and the disheveled look of her appearance.

your eyes stayed on the mirror the entire time she was gone, looking at the bathroom door through it. when the doorknob turned and billie stepped out, your arms almost gave out underneath you. all she wore was an indigo strap attached to her waist, and you gripped the carpet underneath your hands as you bit your lip. now her hands were on your waist, the silicone strap slapping your inner thigh softly, "'m'gonna fuck you s'hard, mamas. gonna ruin that pretty pussy of yours. 'js be good f'me, mhm?"

your only response was a nod, and by your girlfriends reaction, it didn't satisfy her. ringed-fingers tangled themselves in your hair, tugging on your strands harshly as she watched your back arch, "don't gimme that bullshit, baby. c'mon, you gonna be good for me?" a whimper left your lips, your scalp already burning at the tight grip she held on you. your eyes stared into hers through the mirror, "yeah, 'm'gonna be your good girl."

billie just chuckled quietly, eliciting a gasp from your throat when she teased your entrance with the tip of her cock. you saw her lips tug into a smile as she stared at you with a certain hunger, she was gonna be rough, messy. hard, "please, bils, i—" billie thrusted her hips forward, and you almost fell forward as you felt your arms falter in just the slightest. her hands were tight on your hips, pulling your ass back against her front so that her strap would sink deeper into your needy pussy.

your eyelids fluttered, and your girlfriend landed a harsh smack on your ass that made your body jolt forward, "look at yourself, ma. see how good 'm'fucking you?" she mumbles, leaning over your body to press wet kisses all along your shoulder and your neck, "such a slut f'me, already so wet and i only said a few words to you." your legs trembled at her dirty words, your walls fluttering around her strap as you pawed at the carpet beneath you. pornographic moans escaped your dry throat as billie continued to fuck you relentlessly, your arousal dripping down your thighs and seeping into the carpet.

her hand came up to tug at your hair again, grinning at the way your eyes rolled back as she watched you through the mirror. your tits bounced in time with her thrusts, your hair sticking to the sweat on your forehead and parts of your neck. it was a beautiful sight, encouraging your girlfriend to just fuck you harder and faster, "take it, slut. shit, you're so dirty, baby, do you enjoy getting fucked like this?" she taunted, nipping at your neck teasingly. she didn't expect an answer, her grip on your hair tightening at the dumb babbles that left your mouth.

authors note: okay chat i think the obsession has gone a little further than i anticipated💔

word count: 561

@mseilishmwah @livialifesblog @mxqdii @devynscomet

@sophloveswomen @her-favorite

[wildflowervol6]

jjk fanfic recs - Gojo Satoru Acting as Fushiguro Megumi's Parental Figure

(AKA one of my favourite tags EVERRRR)

I will ALWAYS eat this up. The father-son relationship. YES. spectacular, gimme 14 of them right now. THEY ARE MY ROMAN EMPIRE, MY LORD.

blue surrendering to gray by Insomniac_with_dreams

“Yo, Satoru,” Nobara calls suddenly. Satoru’s eyes shift from Yuji to focus on her and he grins.

“What’s up?”

“What’s going on with your eyes?”

Eyes? Megumi turns to look at Satoru, squinting at his face.

“Ah,” Satoru says quietly, smiling as he reaches up to touch the tips of his fingers right under his left eye.

“They’re turning gray,” Nobara says. She puts her beer down, and so does Megumi, vaguely concerned. Yuji makes a little choked off sound.

“Holy shit, are you going blind?” Yuji barks, never one for subtlety. Megumi flinches, and Satoru laughs. He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest, pulling the soft white cardigan he’s wearing down over his wrists.

“That might happen. Doctors say there’s like a forty percent chance.”

Megumi stares at him, “Dad, what the fuck?”

or, time goes on and Satoru begins to age.

(i will never not cry when i read this)

houses like tombs by Insomniac_with_dreams

“Hello, is this Megumi Fushiguro?”

It’s a man’s voice.

“Yes,” Megumi says. “Who is this?”

“Ah, forgive the multiple calls, but I have some very important business to discuss with you. I’m Kenji Tajiro, Satoru Gojo’s lawyer.”

A week later Megumi is sitting in a clinically white and sleekly modern office building in the heart of Tokyo. Jennifer is at his feet, alert, her leash held loosely in Megumi’s grasp. Yuji is sitting on his right, leg bouncing and clad in his “nicest pair of joggers”. He has Megumi’s other hand nearly crushed in his grip. The dog is alert, Yuji is a ball of nerves.

Megumi feels nothing.

I'm Learning About the Meanings of Words I Don't Know by HotCocoaaa

If he’s asked, Fushiguro Megumi will say he doesn’t have parents. 

“He was always this real grumpy guy, yeah?” Yuuji had said a week ago, a corner of his mouth ticking up. “Like, total geezer. I’d go to visit him all the time, and I’d bring flowers and nice stuff to cheer him up, and he’d just yell at me to, ‘get gone, boy! Quit bringing me shit and go and do something worthwhile!’”

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he admits, small, timid, and knows Satoru doesn’t believe him one bit by the way his face does something complicated. A smile, a grimace, a wince.

“Of course not,” he says, and it sounds just as unsteady as Megumi feels.

Sometimes, he hates himself.

"To Chase" by diggingupthegrave

Megumi has never thanked the man who raised him.

Strawberry Avalanche by Insomniac_with_dreams

Satoru came into Megumi’s life smelling like synthetic strawberry. It’s his gum, snapping between his teeth as he grins down at Megumi over the dark rims of his glasses. He’s never without the fruity candy. Has a pack of it tucked into his back pocket that he pulls out every few hours to refresh the light pink wad he pulls out of his mouth and sticks in inappropriate places. Megumi wrinkles his nose, leaning back dramatically, kicking out at his shin. Satoru steps back fluidly, laughing, reaching down to rub his hand into the top of Megumi’s head.

A Father That Stepped Up by fallen_leaves

For a second, he wonders what he'd actually call him. A guardian? Or perhaps just a caretaker?

To anyone else they might look like a family but he knows that can't be it because Megumi doesn't know what the word family means. What he does know is that people lie and people leave. And it's only a matter of time before Gojo leaves too, right? So he knows not to get too attached and he knows not to expect him to stay forever. And though Megumi might know a lot of things, he doesn't know Gojo Satoru yet.

-

Little snippets of Megumi's childhood.

The Man Who Knew Infinity by fallen_leaves

He was sixteen when a spear shoved through his throat and seventeen when his best friend's words pierced through his heart. At eighteen, Gojo Satoru vowed to never let anyone in again.

Or; Satoru doesn't let his infinity down. Little Megumi wonders why. He'll gladly take on the challenge to get Satoru to turn off his infinity, even for once, within a week.

Head-strong and stubborn? Wonder whom he takes after.

Mirror by Ellafaye

In which Megumi is just like his father.

OR...

Three times someone else told Megumi about how similar he and Gojo are, and the one time Gojo saw it for himself.

Of migraines and space adventures by TimeExperiencer

Gojo is sick and little Megumi - still trying to figure out what it means having Gojo in his life - does not know how to handle this situation.

...least of all when the guy tries to pull him into a conversation. But Megumi's trying his best.

Fluffy moments, unprompted life advice, and a discussion about space octopuses ensue.

another day, another breath by yumex0010

It takes a bit more soft coaxing, until Megumi finally peeks over the covers. His eyes are red-rimmed, and the tip of his nose glows pink in the moonlight.

Gojo’s heart stammers. Megumi had been crying. The emotionless, bratty kid that had stubbornly squeezed past the iron defences of Gojo’s heart, has been in pain and is crying.

“Megumi,” Gojo says softly, at a loss for words.

At this time of the night, in this mood, with sleep dragging the vowels of his words into something quiet and raspy, Gojo can’t find the energy to joke. Instead, he leans in, hands ready to scoop the little boy up and hide him from the rest of the world. Then, he stops. Megumi probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

The first words that come out of Megumi’s mouth are unexpected. “I’m a bad person.”

--

or: Megumi is hurt, and Gojo does his best to take care of him. Cue a night of trembling hands, dinosaur bandaids, and glow-in-the-dark stars.

could it shine down here with you? by nothingsnew

“Dad.”

He whispers, the word slipping out from his lips so naturally that it hurts him.

or..

the five times megumi 'accidentally' called gojo 'dad' (or didn't mean it) and the one time he did it on purpose

Pottery with Gilded Cracks (Or the Dust it Becomes) by Crescent_River

“Oh.” It clicks. Well, that explained a lot. “I didn’t know Gojo Sensei had a son.”

Megumi looks at him, stunned as silence hangs heavily in the air, hand falling away from his face at last.

“Wait a second,” he raises his hands. “I think there has been some sort of mistake-”

...

Five times Megumi is mistaken for being Gojo's son (despite the 'truth') and one time he accepts that he is

this is all i have for now, hope you like it

xoxo

[thicc-ray-of-sunshine]

Does Your Mother Know?

Posting this on here since it's already up on AO3. I'll update this once I have the smut also but for now it's PG.

Summary:

Stan's first time back in Boston in more than 30 years. While trying to make his own fun some young wild thing approaches him at a bar, good thing he knows better. Right?

It was really weird being back in the city. Hell, he hadn't been in Boston for more than 40 years. Obviously he didn't really have much of an opportunity to travel after his second falling out with Ford, but before the portal he had been banned from the state entirely. For what he couldn't really remember, time sort of just slipped together after all these years. Plus some of his memories were still a jumbled mess knocking around in his skull even more than a year after the whole Weirdmaggedon escapade. Regardless, it didn't matter anymore since Ford had made a nice little arrangement with the Feds after the fact to wipe both their records clean from any and all of the criminal activity.

He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself now. They were making a pit stop here so that Ford could meet up with an associate, a doctor of some kind, someone he knew from his years in college. Didn't matter and it wasn't his business.

He needed a break from spending every waking second with Ford anyway and in all honesty he really didn't have the patience in him to wait out all the nerd talk that was bound to happen between the two. So here he was, wandering around the streets of downtown Boston aimlessly. He briefly considered going to a bar but a cursory glance around himself told him that most, if not all of the surrounding dives were college spots. He already felt out of place enough in the young crowd in his meandering outside, he'd stick out like a sore thumb actually in one of these places. A sour look crossed his face as he imagined himself sitting at a bartop, a room thrumming much too loudly with some pop song he'd never even heard of, shoulder to shoulder with kids just barely old enough to drink. No thanks, he'd pass on that. Maybe one of the Irish pubs? He cast a look at one of them, peering through the over the top banded windowpanes. Yeah, not interested.

Turning on his heel he started the trek back to the boat, it wasn't too far from where he was. Ford's doctor friend had directed them to berth her right past the aquarium where all them fancy yachts and houseboats were. He tried hard not to think about how lonely he was inevitably going to feel when he got there and Ford was still gone. Maybe he'd make the most out of it and grab a couple beers on his way back, make his own fun so to speak. While contemplating what kind of beer he should grab and from what cornerstore something caught his eye.

It was a woman. She looked completely out of place, possibly more than he did. Actually to be more accurate she looked out of time as she stood next to him. She looked like she had walked straight out of the late seventies. Wearing a wispy little dress that didn't go anywhere near her knees with long flouncy sleeves that fluttered as she walked and paired with a set of off white platform gogo-boots that accentuated her legs in a way that made his knees weak. He watched as she snapped her head right and then left; checking the street. Her hair bounced with the movement, swishing in the wind as she crossed. He was still watching as she met up with another similarly dressed woman outside of what appeared to be a nightclub or some adjacent venue, bouncing giddly as she brought the other woman into a tight hug before turning to the bouncer. Stan was in far too much of a trance to really feel creepy about the whole situation.

Looking up he could see the sign above the place, below the colorful lettering that labeled the building there was one of those old movie theater signs that told you what show was playing. In big black letters it read “Gimme Gimme Disco. Disco Night Tonite, $20.” He laughed to himself. Casting his gaze back downward he found that this somewhat-less-mystery-woman had gone inside, leaving him to consider his options. Without too much thought past ‘ah what the hell’, he crossed the street and reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet.

He was at least dressed for the occasion he thought as he crossed the threshold. He had on a pair of camel colored slacks with a matching suede jacket, brown leather shoes and a burgundy dress shirt. He had felt the need to be well dressed among Stanford's colleagues, wanting to seem more dignified than he actually was. He shook the nasty thoughts of his self worth out of his head as he walked towards the bar, unbuttoning the top three buttons of his dress shirt and adjusting the gold medallion around his neck.

Observing the scenery he could see that this was typically a music venue for small shows. There was a small stage area with a pit surrounded by a more elevated surface that wrapped around up to the stage where there was a full bar against both walls. Correct in his earlier assumption, the majority of the crowd was young, probably college age. Among them were some people his age, possibly a bit younger. There was no real congregation of the older folks in any particular place, which he had somewhat hoped for but oh well. He wasn't really planning on talking to many people anyway, just here for something interesting to do and a couple overpriced drinks. To soak up the feelings of nostalgia for a bygone era and wash away the lingering feelings of inadequacy with some most likely watered down liquor.

There weren't too many people actually sitting at the bar, most just taking their drink straight to the dance floor. So it was pretty easy for him to just sit and observe while he nursed a twelve dollar whiskey sour. The music was loud, enough to feel it in his bones as it rattled up his body from where his feet touched the floor but not enough to make his eardrums pop. Currently they were playing ‘Hot Stuff’ by Donna Summers which the women in particular seemed to enjoy.

It was a sea of glitter, bell-bottoms, boots and blazers. Every shirt was low cut, every skirt and pant flared. It was truly amazing how people could accurately recreate the discotheque look, hell even the smell of cheap cologne and hairspray was period-accurate. He had a feeling that this was a regular thing for some of the people here. He could see some clearly vintage pieces, all tassels and suede amongst a fair amount of cheesy Halloween costumes that just screamed tacky. As long as people were having fun he mused

He'd been there for a good bit into an hour before he saw you again. You hair was tousled and your face was flushed with exertion, clearly you had been dancing and perhaps a little tipsy. He watched you as you waited in line for a drink. You were still swaying a little bit to the music, the skirt of your dress fluttering hypnotizingly around your thighs. Stan shook his head, he shouldn't be looking at you like that, he didn't want to come off as some creepy old geezer. He really couldn't help it though, something about you was just mesmerizing to him.

You had made it to the front of the line, chunky earrings clacking loudly as your head snapped towards the direction of the person manning the bar. You said something to them that he couldn't make out, a compliment maybe, as you fished out cash from your small purse. He turned back to his drink sitting on the bar next to his arm, taking a lingering sip before going back to people watching. His breath caught in his throat when he looked up.

You were looking at him. Your pretty eyes sparkled, refracting the various colored lights that bounced across the room, as you flashed a coy little simper his way before making your way back out into the crowd with two drinks in your hand. For some reason seeing you with that second drink left a bad taste in his mouth. The idea that you had already found somebody to spend your night with came with a certain displeasure that he had no right to feel. Not for someone so young. You looked young at least, no more than late twenties he'd wager. Not being able to help himself; his eyes found you again.

You were leaning against the far wall near the stage area, talking rather animatedly to an equally young man. Your hand was on his shoulder as you leaned up to practically yell something into his ear, the music to loud to communicate in any other way. Stan's grip tightened on the cup in his hand, watching you give the man a cheeky look as he laughed at whatever you said. He didn't know why he felt jealous, he truly had no reason to be and he felt gross in doing so. He chalked it up to him feeling lonely and being surrounded by the echos of his youth, making him feel a tad emotional. One thing he couldn't blame it on was the alcohol, having only just started his second drink of the night. Feeling that much more sober when your eyes met his again through the throng of people.

This time however you did not pivot in your heels and sink into the crowd. His eyes followed you as you clapped the man on the shoulder, telling him something before settling your gaze back to where he sat at the bar. Stan felt panicked and feverish as you strode gracefully across the club floor towards him. He feared briefly that you were coming over to tell him off, yell at him maybe for being some perverted old creep. However, these thoughts were dashed as you threw him that look again, that same little smile from before. You were interested, he realized. He felt a nervous sweat bearing at the back of his neck at the thought as you hopped up onto the barstool next to him, placing an arm on the counter to balance your chin in your hand flawlessly.

“Well hey there stranger. Don't think I've ever seen your face in here before “

You batted long black eyelashes at him, the glitter on your eyelids shining bright in the club lighting. He swallowed back his nervousness as he remembered how to be suave.

"Just passin through.”

Deciding to play along, he turned up the charm. What harm could some casual flirting do? He took another long sip of his drink, lilting a brow at you as his lips turned into a smirk.

“Now tell me, what's got some hot young thing like yourself comin and talkin to an old man?”

He looked at you from over his drink, eyebrow still raised playfully as you smiled dazzlingly and put your index finger on your chin thoughtfully; pretending to think about it.

“I just thought you looked like a good time.”

The look you pegged him with had his throat feeling extremely dry despite the alcohol still on his tongue. He must've made a face because you laughed and patted the space on the bartop next to his hand

“It's alright sweetheart I don't bite.”

You waved your hand dismissively, clearing the air. The comment didn't make him any less nervous but he could feel the adrenaline zipping up his spine and mixing with the alcohol in his system; dispelling any real anxiety. He could play this game.

“Ya got a name Sugar? Or ya gunna leave me in suspense?”

He grinned as you cocked your head at him and let out an airy little laugh. Straightening your posture and shot out your hand to him, offering your name. He gave you his name in return, shaking your outstretched hand in his own larger one. Your hands were soft against his, long painted nails scratching gently against his palm as you withdrew.

“So Stan, what brings you to my part of town?”

His name sounded good in your mouth, sticky sweet as your free hand drew circles aimlessly onto the countertop with your nails. You listened intently as he told you about his twin brother, his big wig doctor friend and his afternoon in the city. You both chatted for a little while longer, joking and laughing together with ease. His nervousness had completely dissipated and was replaced by flirty banter.

Unfortunately this couldn't last. He was far too old for you. He had tried to sneak a peek at your ID when you had flashed it to the bartender when he bought you another drink but his cataracts wouldn't allow him to read the nearly miniscule text there. Even without that information he knew you were still far too young for him to be chasing, even if you were interested in him. That on its own was hard to believe, even with your hand placed atop his own on the bar. He was just too old.

His train of thought came to a grinding halt as a hand appeared on your shoulder; it was the man from before. He could feel his right eye twitch behind the frames of his glasses as the guy leaned down and closer to your ear to whisper something to you. His gut twisted as he watched you laugh and hit his lithe shoulder, the hand that was touching his own moving from its place as you stood up and brushed the wrinkles out of your dress. He forced a smile onto his face and schooled his expression when you put a hand on his shoulder, winking at him.

“You've been a real peach Stan. I'll try to catch you in a bit, I've still gotta make my rounds. It would seem I'm a very popular lady tonight.”

You gave him a little wave as you turned, hand in hand with the smooth young man to your left before disappearing into the thicket of dancing bodies on the main floor. He couldn't help but feel disappointed, the sudden lack of company opening up a hole in his chest that stung.

He felt foolish, some like some old man trying desperately to reclaim some part of his youth. Deciding to be an adult for once, he sighed and leaned heavily against the wall behind him.

It had been probably about thirty minutes since he had last seen you, popping in and out of conversations with probably about a dozen different people. It made him feel a little better knowing that you were actually a hot commodity and not just trying to find an out from talking to him. It wasn't hard to imagine that that's what you were. You were beautiful after all; and from what he could tell, witty and extremely amicable. It was rather enjoyable seeing you find friends wherever you found yourself within the space, even if it made him feel a little less special.

Out of the corner of his eye, through the mist of sequence and bell sleeves he caught a glimpse of that fluttery little dress again; finding you in the middle of the dancefloor. He was surprised to see you by yourself there after he had seen you chat up so many people. He watched as you swayed your arms and hips to the rhythm of the song, dancing gracefully under the light of the disco ball above you; shimmering almost angelically as the sleeves of your dress twirled around you.

The track switched again. From the first few notes and the peppy instrumentals he could tell it was another ABBA song.

"You're so hot, teasing me

So, you're blue, but I can't take a chance on a chick like you

That's something I couldn 't do"

The irony of his current predicament paired with the song choice was not lost on him; though he was left little time to think about it. His breath caught in his throat again as your head snapped back to the bar almost viciously, looking directly at the spot where you two had been chatting earlier. He observed with rapt attention as your eyes surveyed the surrounding area; landing square on him.

"There's that look in your eyes

I can read in your face that your feelings are driving you wild

Ah, but girl, you're only a child"

Your face breaks into a wide grin when you spot him, clearly very amused that he was looking at you already. You tossed a rather saucy look his way and started walking towards him. He just barely contained the lunch in his stomach that told him to run as you reached where he had perched himself. Wasting no time, you grabbed his arm and leaned in so your voice would reach his ears.

“Come dance with me!”

He very nearly gaped at you, just barely managing to keep a cool exterior as you hung off his arm. Not quite being able to grasp that you still wanted to spend time with him. He couldn't. More accurately, he shouldn't. He should walk away right now and leave you and your perfect self behind and go straight back to his boat. That's what he should do, but alas he was never a man known for his restraint. He knew he was a goner when you batted those big (Y/E/C) at him and fluttered your lashes exaggeratedly, feeling his restraint wash off of him like rain.

“Sure thing Sugar.”

He let you lead him to the dancefloor, eyes glittering with excitement. He couldn't help but match your giddiness as he slid next to you.

“Alright Stan, show me what you got!”

You were beaming at him as you started swaying your hips to the beat. This was something he could do, something to impress you. With a flash of teeth and a wink he found his rhythm.

"Well, I can dance with you, honey, if you think it's funny

Does your mother know that you're out?

And I can chat with you, baby, flirt a little maybe

Does your mother know that you're out?"

He was still painfully aware of the song choice and the situation he had let himself get into as he widened his stance. Moving with a surprising amount of grace as he put his limbs to work at a very impressive rendition of the hustle, bumping his hips in time with the music. You clapped wildly when he did a little spin, ending tastefully with his right arm pointing towards the ceiling above.

“Wow Stan! You've been holding out on me! If I knew you were this good I would have dragged you down here earlier.”

Stan felt his chest puff out with pride, your praise going straight to his head; among other places. Now he felt in his element, feeling like the smooth young man he once was; being transported back into a time where such an interaction was not particularly uncommon for him. It was exhilarating to say the least, he really was having a great time.

"Take it easy (take it easy)

Better slow down, girl

That's no way to go

Does your mother know?"

Your bodies were nearly touching now. He could see the shimmer of the lipgloss you were wearing as you mouthed the lyrics. Lights bounced off of the glitter of your now hooded eyelids, further attracting his attention the sultry look you held there. Said look pinned him in place for a moment before you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into you. While doing so you faltered a bit on your feet, so, dutifully he placed his hand on the small of your back to keep you afloat.

“Dance with me.”

He tried to keep it polite, he really did. Even in the haze of the alcohol the words of the song rang loudly through his skull as he tried to remember. It was difficult, his brain sending him a million signals when you stared almost hungrily back at him.

"I can see what you want

But you seem pretty young to be searching for that kind of fun

So maybe I'm not the one"

Briefly, he feared his heart would stop beating in his chest when you brought your bottom lip between your teeth and batted those gorgeous eyes up at him again when he dipped you low. Again he tried to remember himself, the lyrics in the song a clear reflection of the thoughts he should be having. He twirled you around again so he didn't have to face the intense look you were giving him, and to stop himself from thinking about how soft your lips would be against his own.

"Now you're so cute, I like your style

And I know what you mean when you give me a flash of that smile (smile)

But girl, you're only a child"

When you were facing him again your eyes were closed, a soft laugh leaving your parted lips as you let him guide your movements, clearly reveling in his attentions. You cracked your eyes open at him, winking as you let your hand slither up to the lapels of his jacket, grasping the smooth fabric between your fingers.

“I really like this song. It's my favorite one of theirs.”

Your lips just barely touched his earlobe when you spoke, he could barely hear you above the music and the thumping of his irrational heart. His pulse thudded loud in his head as your hand slipped down to trace around the medallion sitting on his sternum.

"You know what else I like?"

"Well, I can dance with you, honey, if you think it's funny

Does your mother know that you're out?

And I can chat with you, baby, flirt a little maybe

Does your mother know that you're out?"

Your lips finally brushed the shell of his ear, sending a shudder zinging down his spine and raising alarm bells inside his puddle of a brain.

“You.”

One word. One word was all it took to rip the very last vestiges of his restraint as he finally gave into his desires to take you up on your very clear interest.

"Take it easy (take it easy)

Better slow down, girl

That's no way to go

Does your mother know?"

“I think this song fits us pretty well don't you?”

Instead of responding, he decided to beat you at your own game. Catching the hand you had on his chest he brought it to his lips, barely brushing the skin of your knuckles as he watched you blush. Instead of placing a kiss there; he kept you on your toes, quite literally, as he spun you around by the hand he had stolen. Stan took full advantage of it, using the momentum to twirl you right into his arms, completely flush to his chest. You stared wide eyed at him before narrowing them, a somewhat smug smile fighting it's way onto your face.

“You sly old dog I knew you had it in you!”

You lips had tilted up into a small smirk as you regarded him with a mildly sardonic expression, giggling a bit. He laughed with you, tension oozing out of his body along with his inhibitions and any common sense as your other hand found his waist.

"Take it easy (take it easy)

Try to cool it, girl

Take it nice and slow

Does your mother know?"

“Yeah this dog knows a few tricks, s’pecially for a sweet thing like you.”

His hand smoothed slowly down your waist, faintly playing with the pleats in your dress as they moved lower to skim the hemline teasingly. Your throat went dry and you felt a little off kilter, feeling the control you had on the situation slip between dainty fingers. You wouldn't let go that easily though.

“Like what?”

You leaned back a bit, peering up at him through you lashes and watching intently as his adams apple bobbed in his throat. After a moment he matched you flawlessly.

“Ain't nothin I can do here Dollface.”

The hand on your dress flexed, emphasizing his not at all innocuous statement. Clearly a switch has been flipped somewhere and you had every intention of seeing just how far you could take it.

“Come with me.”

You weren't listening to the song anymore, you knew how it ended. It didn't matter that it was your favorite; what mattered was the hand you were pulling and the man attached to it following you through the horde of people crowding the dance floor. Pushing your way through the masses with a singular focus and holding tightly onto the hand in your grasp.

The cool night air was a welcome change from the stuffiness of the air inside the club. The breeze was pleasant on your flushed skin and a balm to your inebriated state. Stan seemed to have similar thoughts as he found his place beside you, closing his eyes and sucking in a breath.

“Ya sure ya wanna do this?”

He ran a hand through his hair in an exasperated gesture. You could see the trepidation in his face, clearly a part of him still on the fence about the whole thing. Delicately you took a hold of both of his hands, squeezing gently while looking into his eyes.

“Very, but I'm not gonna hold it against you if you're uncomfortable Stan. We don't have to do anything you don't want to.”

He shook his head at you. You were really too sweet, he really didn't deserve it. He let you reach out to him, to take his face in your hands as he leaned down to close the distance. The kiss was just as sweet as you were although extremely chaste. Just testing out the waters and nothing more. His brown eyes burned into yours from where they loomed above you, just inches away behind the thick frames of his glasses. One of your hands slipped forwards to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, rubbing the skin there, watching as his lips split into a grin briefly before his mouth was on yours again. The second kiss was even better; Stan seemed more confident and sure against you. Lips sliding over and between your own leisurely as your mouths molded together into new and interesting shapes. You found that you had zero qualms when Stan's tongue pressed against the seam of your lips, humming contentedly as you let him pass.

Tongues danced languidly together, his hands finding their place; his right on your waist and then his left snaking into your hair to pull you infinitesimally closer. Both your cheeks were rosy when you pulled away, lips slightly puffy from kissing as you both caught your breath. When you opened your eyes Stan was already looking at you, his gaze smoldering and accompanied by a rather sultry smirk.

“So, yer place or mine? I ain't got a problem with makin the boat rock with ya.”

Stan let out a breezy chuckle, his new self assured countenance unruffled by his scandalous comment that had your blush intensifying tenfold. His hand on your waist slipped downward to sit teasingly just above your ass while his other played with the ends of your hair.

“Mine. It's less walking and I don't actively live in the same room as my twin brother.”

You laughed and poked his chest chidingly, forefinger lingering to trail through his exposed chest hair.

“I'll even pay your train fare, think of that.”

That pulled another laugh from him, his barreled chest jostling slightly under your hand to release it.

‘Y’wanna get me in yer bed that badly huh Sugar?”

He raised an eyebrow at you in a playful manner, voice dropping an octave into a sexy little rasp that put a pulse between your legs.

“Among other places Mr.Pines.”

Your voice was a honeyed purr, eyes twinkling with mischief as you hooked your index finger through the gold chain around his neck, pulling him that much closer. Calling him that did more for him than he was willing to acknowledge, feeling his cock twitch in his pants at the honorific.

“Careful now Sweetheart or we ain't gonna make it that far.”

The hand in your hair moved to skim your jaw with his knuckles lightly, you nipped at his thumb when it brushed against your lips.

"Promises, promises. Saddle up then cowboy, we got a rodeo to get to. C'mon follow me."

Your tone was light, chastising, as you pulled yourself from his grasp, cheekily squeezing the hand above your ass.

"Lead the way Toots."

His grin was wide, gesturing ahead of himself to urge you to direct him to your dwelling. Snatching his hand in yours, you pulled him along.

[spiralinghours]

“Personal Assistant”

Fandom: Saw franchise

Characters/Pairings: Mark Hoffman x reader (fem/afab)

Rating: R (18+ only!)

Tags: finger fucking, thigh grinding, daddy kink, older man x younger woman, inappropriate boss x secretary dynamics, mild cum tasting, dadbod/chubby physique appreciation

Summary: Typical afternoon being Detective Hoffman’s tarty little secretary

Author’s notes: Written purely for self-indulgent reasons. Idk.

“Sweetheart, if you’re gonna stay there you gotta gimme a little more room to move around. I don’t wanna elbow you.” The “very broad and thick” (as you mockingly but sincerely titled him) Detective Hoffman shifted you around on his lap, pulling you by the hips like a doll. You noted how much his legs spread out on his meager rolling chair, not only to accommodate for your snug presence, but to allow for comfort for the girth of his thighs and torso.

“As if you’re not the one who sat me here in the first place. What if I just got up? Wouldn’t you just hate that?” you tutted, making the slightest motion to get up.

He yanked you back down by the waist. “No, no, I didn’t fucking mean like that. Sit down, pretty thing.”

You smirked at the term of endearment. Soft pet names seemed foreign in his stern and quiet voice, but you liked how almost begrudgingly it tapered off his full lips. He was exhausted by how sweetly teasing you could be—how distracting it all was—but would sooner stick his hand in hot coals than to let it cease.

You wiggled your tight-skirted behind against one thigh. “Oh no, but what if someone walks in? What if they don’t see me at my desk?”

This song and dance had been done before. So much so that Hoffman furrowed his brows at what a joke you were making by asking such questions.

“They gotta knock first, don’t they, darlin’? Besides, they probably already know what you’re doin’ in here.”

He continued to look down at his papers, which you guessed he was really only half-reading. Wasn’t reading files to him your job?

You feigned a gasp at his implication, trying so hard to hold back a giggle. “Oh, detective, you think the precinct thinks I’m some kind of floozy? Some kind of slut?”

“No. They think I am, which is why none of this would be a surprise, would it now, babydoll?”

Another little name that, from any other man, would sound goofy, cheap, forced. But from him? With his languid Jersey accent? It was precious.

Hoffman froze up, making a show of stopping his reading and thumbing through leaves of paper. He turned his head quite deliberately towards you, tired blue eyes meeting your gaze. “If you’re gonna keep grinding around on me like that, I might as well take a break.”

His wide, bearish palms retracted from his desk and down over your thighs, ending at the thick elastic of your stockings. He tucked his index fingers under each band and gave a little snap. “Think these are work appropriate?” His lips began slipping into that rare, lopsided smile.

“You’re the boss, and you haven’t said anything yet.” As you smirked back, you turned your body just enough to reach one hand to his side, grabbing a love handle and squeezing. He jolted from the tickle.

“You just love doing that, huh?” he grumbled, still sort of smiling but with a slight eye roll.

“It’s a weakness, I’m sorry boss.” You wrinkled your nose into a joking expression.

“You got a weakness for fat, old fucks like me? Old enough to be your dad?” He gently stilled your wandering hand with his much bigger one.

“Mmmm, maybe.” You tilted your head with a little playful frown. “I dunno, you’re looking a little thin lately. Why don’t we go to dinner? Find a way to put it on the precinct’s dollar. Call it a work dinner.”

“Yeah, they won’t bat an eye at that, I’m sure.”

You tugged at his black tie, locking your doe eyes in on his. “Well, what if I—what if we—”

He brought a free hand to your face, thumb pressing delicately on your chin. “You’re just trying to make me fatter, babydoll. I see you.” He grinned sarcastically, eyes squinting tight.

“I like having a lot to hold onto,” you pout. “You look so good, so comfy.”

He exhaled in defeat. “Fine. I’ll take us to dinner wherever you like. But what do you say?”

“Thank you.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Thank you Daddy.”

“There it is. Thank you for being a good girl for me.”

“Of course, sir.”

You had since twisted your body completely, now straddling Hoffman’s lap in your dark-shaded stockings and black heels. You began rubbing circles on the sides of his thick belly with your fingertips, playing around with the suspenders that were in the way.

As you unclasped one suspender clip, quickly moving towards his fly, he stopped you.

“What do you think you’re doin’, baby?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged, “just thought…”

“You’d make a mess of that pretty face? Try sucking me off under the desk or something? No, let me take care of all this.” He smoothed his right paw down your thigh and under your tight skirt, brushing past your small, silky panties and into your folds.

Immediately you felt the teasing pressure from his chubby finger.

“Use me however you want, sweetheart,” he practically purred with his low tone, never once breaking his stare into your eyes. “I’m your toy. Your big ol’ teddy bear, yeah?”

You let yourself move a little more wildly, messily, skirt hiking up past your ass. The callusing on his fingers gave you just the right friction, just the right edge.

“There you go, doll,” he prodded you. “Gonna finish for Daddy?” The way the sentence twisted out of his lips was more than a snide tease. It was like he was trying to challenge you in return for being such a bratty distraction to him on the regular.

It was embarrassing how quickly you felt yourself get there—how quickly you felt your wetness trickle down between your thighs, between Hoffman’s fingers. You collected your exhaustion into one satisfied, blushing grin.

Hoffman slid his hand out from under you, immediately sliding a finger between his lips, tongue darting out slightly to curl around.

“I want this for dessert when we go out, yeah darlin’?”

“Yes sir,” you comply, feeling yourself blush a little harder.

[visceravalentines]

sugar stuck in your teeth

They're grimy and tired and Benson's neck is sore. Randy gives him a shoulder rub and thinks hard about the allure of being a biological organism.

2.5k words. canon divergence, boys on the run. established relationship. implied sexual content, nothing explicit. sweat and oil and general nasty. sharing of a toothbrush. so fluffy i'm spinning it up and putting it on a stick and selling it at a carnival. read on ao3 here if that's more your speed.

They spend a full day on the road. Seven hours across Texas through scrub and sand. Nothing to see. No end in sight. Randy falls asleep in the dead-eyed sun of mid-afternoon and wakes up in the dark, dry air whipping through the car from Benson's window rolled all the way down. 

"Hey." Randy sits up, disoriented, mouth gummy and tasting of bygone Mountain Dew, bladder fit to burst. "Why didn't you wake me up? You've been driving for hours."

"Didn't want to stop." Benson's voice is rough. Randy can read the exhaustion in his posture, the way he grips the wheel with both hands. "Besides, you looked like you could use it."

Randy shifts in his seat. He hasn't slept well all week. "Well…it's my turn now. Let me take over."

"Nah." Benson rolls his neck slowly. "Town's up here in like ten minutes. Figure we stop for the night."

Randy peers through the bug-splattered windshield and sees lights in the near distance. "You wanna find a motel?"

"I'd fucking love a motel. Gimme that lukewarm shower and a box spring mattress. Fucking luxury."

As it turns out, they get none of that. The only place in town has a sign that says Closed and no lights on in the lobby. Doors all locked, despite Benson's best efforts to rattle them open. 

He doesn't say a word, doesn't even curse, just slumps defeated back to the car with Randy in tow. "You want the backseat or the front?"

"Benson, I slept for hours, I can–"

"There's not another town for forty miles and if I spend one more second on that fucking highway I'm gonna peel the skin off my face."

Randy doesn't argue. "I'll take the front."

"You sure?" Benson tosses a weary look at him over his shoulder. He squeezes the back of his neck and winces. 

Randy nods. "Yeah, I'm sure." 

The front sucks. You either have to fold your legs to fit around the steering wheel, or risk nailing the thing with your arm or your head. One time he hit the horn with his knee and scared them both so bad they ended up packing up and driving through the night because neither one could fall back asleep. 

He's had plenty of rest. Benson should get the back. 

They leave the car parked in the rear lot of the motel and pick their way through the scrub in the dark to take a piss, elbow-to-elbow. Randy barely feels self-conscious anymore. At the start he used to walk ten paces away and make Benson turn around. But that seems silly now. Benson's seen and touched every inch of him. This is nothing.

Benson zips up and takes off down the sidewalk with a haphazard sense of purpose. Randy has to jog a little to catch up. Benson holds out his arm and he ducks beneath it, the weight comfortable across his shoulders. By now Randy feels like he belongs there, pinned against his side. 

He reeks. They both do. It's been three, almost four days since they last had a shower, been making do with baby wipes and clean underwear since they left Tennessee. Randy almost can't stand it. Back home, he showered every day, sometimes twice a day if work was rough. Right now, he could scrape the grime off himself with a fingernail. 

He's adjusting to this level of awareness of his own body, like he's just now cognizant of the way his skin fits. It makes him sort of anxious. But he's coping. He doesn't really have a choice. 

And it's funny–Randy doesn't mind Benson's stench at all. He's uncomfortable with his own stink, but he actually thinks Benson smells kind of…good, maybe. In a gross kind of way. It's such a foreign concept that he keeps inhaling a little too deep at this distance just to prove it to himself. 

"What're you doing later?" Benson asks, oblivious. 

Randy clears his throat. "Um…not much." 

"Oh. Huh." Benson squints down the road towards the distant light of a gas station, the only thing in town that looks alive besides the two of them. "Well, how about I take you to dinner?" 

A smile steals its way onto Randy's lips. He hooks his pinkie into Benson's pocket. "That might be nice." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

Benson takes a deep, thoughtful breath. "There's this place…Seven-Eleven?" He casts a dramatic sidelong glance in Randy's direction. "You heard of it?" 

"Yeah, I…I think so." 

"It's just fantastic. The beer list? Unbelievable. And the atmosphere, well…there's really nothing like it." He's talking with his hands, throwing them off balance. Randy stumbles happily along with him. 

"I don't know, um…I've heard they don't have Pringles. Like, the big can. Just the little ones." 

Benson scoffs. "Well, now, don't you worry your pretty little head about that. You can get two of the little ones if you want. It's on me." 

"Wow." 

"I know." 

"That's–that's really generous." 

"Well, you're gonna have to put out." 

Randy coughs out a laugh, looks at his shoes to hide the heat in his face. "Sounds, um…sounds fair." 

"Randy, come on." Benson laughs, gives his shoulder a shake. "You're giving it up for two cans of Pringles? You gotta know your worth, man." 

He'd give it up for less, but that's beside the point. "Maybe toss in some peach rings and we have a deal." 

Benson gives him a squeeze. "Fuck yeah, alright. Now we're talkin'." 

They pick their way through the snack aisles of the gas station, select a few staples they aren't sick of yet. Benson salutes the clerk behind the counter like he's an American hero. They make their way back down the road to the motel in silence save for the crunching of chips and cellophane. 

It's a beautiful night, still warm from the sun, everything orange beneath the sodium streetlights. Not a soul in sight save for them. This town looks like every other one and Randy likes that, likes that it's starting to feel like coming home when they stop for the night in a new place with a single stoplight. 

They lean against the trunk of the Chrysler and pass the Big Gulp back and forth. It's too late for caffeine so they got root beer, extra ice, because Benson likes to fish it out and chew on it. There's too many streetlights to really see the stars, but that doesn't stop Randy from trying. He sucks the sour off a peach ring and feels a little bit nauseous and a lot filthy and an overall, bone-deep sense of contentment. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Benson twist his head, trying to roll out his neck again. It's not the sharp jerk of his familiar tic, not quite, but it makes Randy nervous. He's been doing it all night. He wonders if it was something he said, something he did. He still doesn't know what exactly he's trying to shrug off every time, but he knows enough to tread that ground lightly.

"You okay?" he asks, tries to make it casual. He swallows the peach ring whole and has to fight it all the way down his esophagus. 

"Yeah." Benson nods, winces slightly. "Yeah. Just sore." He grips the back of his neck and stretches, lips hitched in a grimace. 

Randy can imagine. Slumped in a car days on end, cracking the damn thing all the time. He sets the Big Gulp on the trunk, thinks, hesitates. Commits. 

"Would you, um…would you want me to rub it out for you?" 

Benson looks at him warily as he considers the offer. He's slow to answer, but Randy is patient. Doesn't push it. Lets him think about it. 

Finally he nods. "Sure. Why not." 

Randy clambers up on the trunk and sits behind him. Benson leans back between his legs, rests his elbows on Randy's knees, hangs his head forward. The space between them is awkward all of the sudden. Too close, not close enough. Too many clothes on. Too much skin exposed. 

Randy is nervous and he's not sure why. He thinks fleetingly of their first time, his first time, and the way Benson's hands hovered an inch over his skin and shook a little bit. This isn't that, but it feels kind of the same. "You can…tell me to stop if you want. Whatever you want. It's okay." 

"How about you start and then we'll see." 

Randy brushes the curls at the base of Benson's neck hesitantly with his thumb before he wraps his hand around the muscle of his shoulder, gives an experimental squeeze. "Right…there?" 

"Higher." 

He moves his hand up and tries again. "There?" 

Benson hisses through his teeth, cringes. "Yeah. Fuck." 

Randy sets his hands on either side of his neck and squeezes gently. 

"Yeah. Right there."

Benson's all tension beneath the skin, stiff and warm under his cold fingers. Randy thinks about the color of his muscles, the white of bone underneath them. He's pretty sure he's never touched anyone like this before, not even Benson, not like this. Not friendly or sexual, just…intimate. 

"If you want me to stop, just–just say so, okay?" 

Benson grunts an affirmative. His skin is oily and his muscles are taut as bowstrings, so riddled with knots it feels like buckshot lodged in his flesh. Randy presses his thumbs in deep and pushes up along his spine, again and again, feels a flush of satisfaction as Benson melts back against the car. 

"Fuck," he moans. 

"Hurts?" 

"Yeah. Don't stop." 

Randy's nothing if not good at taking orders. He falls into a rhythm, slow and steady, works over his neck and shoulders and back again. Benson swears up a storm and lets out a low whimper whenever he hits a sore spot. 

"Sorry," Randy murmurs every time. 

Benson never replies, but that's okay. He doesn't tell him to stop either.

At first his hands are balled into fists against Randy's knees, but after a while they go slack. He relaxes, finally, allows Randy and the car to support his weight. It's a selfish thought, but Randy hopes he's the first person to do this for him, or at least the first in a long, long time. Benson doesn't have a lot of firsts left. He wants this one. 

Before long, his hands are cramping and he worries he's going to rub his neck raw but doesn't want to stop touching him, doesn't want to forfeit this new familiarity with his body. So he eases up, cheats a little bit, combs his fingers through his greasy hair and scratches at his scalp. It makes his chest feel tight, the way Benson leans into his touch with his eyes closed and groans under his breath. 

When he finally pulls away, Randy tries to subdue his disappointment, until he turns around and reaches up to hook a hand behind Randy's head. 

"C'mere," Benson mumbles, tugging him close and meeting him halfway for a kiss that tastes like peach rings and root beer. Randy grips his forearm and for a second, in his mind's eye, everything drops out and disappears into the void, save for them and the car and the stars. 

When he breaks the kiss Benson doesn't let him go, holds him in place with their foreheads pressed together. Neither of them speak. Randy focuses so hard on Benson's breathing he forgets to breathe himself. There are words, but they creep by in silence like animals in the dark. 

"We still got water in the back?" Benson says at last. 

"Mmhm." 

"I'm gonna brush my teeth. Change into my jammies." His jammies are a pair of basketball shorts made of more holes than fabric. 

"Okay," Randy says. 

Neither one of them moves. The crickets chat amongst themselves in the brush. 

"You still want the front?" Benson asks. 

"Sure." 

"Thanks." 

"No problem." 

Benson sighs softly through his nose. He lets go of him and steps back, shuffles from one foot to the other and stares at Randy for a long time, hair sticking up in all directions. Finally he goes to dig through the backseat for the water jug. 

"Looks like a bunch of fuckin' raccoons live in here," he mutters. 

Randy chuckles, looks at his hands palm-up on his lap. He's got Benson's skin beneath his nails, his sweat and oil worked into the whorls of his fingerprints. He's never been so close to another person. Spent his whole life maintaining a safe distance from everyone around him, treating his body like a blast zone. Now the idea of distance is laughable. They share everything but toothbrushes. Hell, he's been inside him. Randy always figured he would never reach that level of connection with anybody. 

He brings his hand to his face and hesitates for just a second before he sticks his thumb in his mouth. The salt of Benson's sweat is familiar on his tongue. He tastes his skin on his skin. He knows him. He knows him. And Benson knows him right back. 

He's craved this sort of intimacy his whole life. Laid awake alone countless nights and ached for it, mourned bitterly for what he never had and assumed he never would. But now he lies awake with Benson beside him and basks in how wrong he was. In how real he feels in his arms, wearing a second skin of grit and spit and whatever else. 

He doesn't want to sleep in the front. 

Randy twists to call over his shoulder. "Hey…um, Benson?" 

"Yeah?" he says around his toothbrush. 

"You think we could…both fit in the back?" 

Benson spits on the asphalt. "No." 

"Well…could we try?" 

Benson snorts. "Fuckin' clingy, huh?" he says, but he sounds amused. Randy feels those dark eyes appraising him like a pair of hands fumbling at his clothes. He tugs absentmindedly at the collar of his shirt. Well, Benson's shirt. "Yeah. We can try." 

Randy hops off the trunk and joins him in the evening routine, bumping shoulders, bumping elbows, their voices small and close in the night. 

"Gonna sweat to death together back there," Benson says. 

"That's okay." 

"If you say so. Think I might skip the jammies. That cool?" 

"That's–that's fine, yeah. That's good. Hey…is that my toothbrush?" 

"No, yours is green."

"That is green." 

"No it's not." 

"Yes it is, the light makes it look weird." 

Benson looks at the thing again. "Oh. Whoops. Does it really matter?"

Randy gives this serious consideration, thinks about his mouth and everywhere it's been. Thinks about the state of the rest of him. Thinks about pressing his body to Benson's in the backseat, sticky with sweat, breath on his neck. 

He wants to say yes, it matters, but he doesn't feel it. He tastes salt on his tongue instead.

"I guess not," he shrugs.

Benson hands it to him. 

"Your turn, then." 

[mcondance]

the way u write stu is so accurate like YES he is a little freak !!!! he’s so weird and gross and mean enough to make u cry a lil bit but not mean enough to make u hate him. loves to play with ur hair and then tug on a curl just to piss u off, or he’ll pretend to go in for a sweet kiss then bite ur lip so hard that his two front teeth are imprinted on your bottom lip. he’s the type of boyfriend to keep his hand in ur back pocket whenever ur walking around together and will unabashedly whisper dirty things in ur ear when ur hanging out with ur mutual friends and doesn’t give a fuuuuuuck if anyone else hears. i feel like he’s also obsessed with hickies and marks u leave during sex. he will straight up beg u to scratch his back hard enough for it to bleed a bit and leave angry red streaks that don’t go away for at least a week. he def leaves the biggest hickies that are a pain in the ass to cover up and he gets so pouty when u put makeup over them but it just fuels him to make them bigger and darker >:( he’s just a little sicko but he’s my little sicko so it’s fine <3

(also can i be 🧋 anon plz :p)

loved this msg. (reader is Black coded so if some of this doesn’t apply to y’all erm its in the rules so just… make do)

“he’s so weird and gross and mean enough to make u cry a lil bit but not mean enough to make u hate him”

yeah fucking definitely. he’s mean!! you hate him!! but then he shows his affection for you in his own freaky little way and it’s all alright…. until the next time.

“he’ll pretend to go in for a sweet kiss then bite ur lip so hard that his two front teeth are imprinted on your bottom lip.”

“gimme kiss,” he demands childishly, leaning in before he even gets the words out all the way. you never know what to expect, it’s a tie between him sticking his tongue down your throat, biting the hell out of your lip, or a simple peck.

you get your answer when you brave the unknown and lean in toward him.

“fuck!” you spit, hand flying up to your lip and eyes narrowing at the (unfortunately) beautiful psycho who’s smiling at you with that stupid, familiar glint in his eyes.

“and will unabashedly whisper dirty things in ur ear when ur hanging out with ur mutual friends and doesn’t give a fuuuuuuck if anyone else hears.”

he doesn’t even make any excuses. he doesn’t tell you that he can’t help it or you’re too pretty to resist. he lets you know that he’s doing this because you’re fucking enticing, he doesn’t care about what anyone else may happen to hear, and because he can.

with your head in his lap, he whispers “i really wanna fuck you right now.” you haven’t done anything particularly erotic, maybe it’s your face, maybe your legs look pretty in the little shorts you have on, whatever.

“you haven’t got more grace than that, stu?” billy questions.

“no. i don’t.” stu deadpans. you giggle, looking over at billy and sidney before bringing your eyes back to your boyfriend, and he’s already smiling down at you. “so?”

“maybe.”

“i feel like he’s also obsessed with hickies and marks u leave during sex. he will straight up beg u to scratch his back hard enough for it to bleed a bit and leave angry red streaks that don’t go away for at least a week.”

he is! he’s a switch through and through but even aside from that, love and affection shown in physical and altering ways is something he needs. he needs to be able to spend minutes in front of his mirror eating up the marks and dark blue hickies you left on his neck in one of your needy little fits when he had you grinding crazy on his dick. he needs to see the bruises you left with your fingers cause he’s good with his dick and you could only take it cause it was too good, and you had his arm to release your pleasure on.

he also needs to spot hickies and marks on you when you show him a polaroid you took with sidney earlier. he needs to see you around campus and find the dark mark on your neck that he’d sucked into your skin just last night. the fucker works extra hard to make sure the marks show against your skin, thorough and crazed with his obsession with the visual reminders.

[mpixx]

boxer!oliver part 2

"Hey." Ollie's hand slaps down on the bartop where Felix is standing. He hasn't waited for him - he just got a drink and ended up standing here alone a moment too long.

Ollie is leaning with his whole upper body onto the bar and into Felix's personal space. He's changed into a big black hoodie and sweatpants and is flipping a beer coaster between his fingers.

"So you like me, yeah?" Ollie says.

"What makes you think that?" Felix replies haughtily. What an insane line to open a conversation with.

"Had the whole fight to leg it if you wanted to."

"Why would I leave during the fight, we came here to watch it."

"Mh," Ollie says.

He leans over the bar towards the bar keeper, his hand dangling in the air. "Oi! Cal! Gimme a pint, will ya?"

He turns back to Felix. His chin is now resting on his hand, elbow resting on the bar, as he looks up at Felix from his light blue eyes. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Enjoy what?"

"The fight."

Felix shrugs one shoulder. "I just came along cause my mate wanted to go."

"Got it," Ollie nods, accepting a pint he doesn't pay for. He takes a generous sip.

"So you stayed for me, did ya?"

Felix laughs, mainly from the audacity. Ollie cracks a grin.

"There's that smile," he says, his finger pointing in Felix's direction. "And those dimples, too."

"Ollie!" someone calls from the corner. Ollie drops his hand, looking annoyed. He turns, and sees the announcer guy gesticulating at him.

Ollie turns back to Felix. "Don't leave, yeah? I wanna have a proper chat with ya." He turns to the bartender. "Cal!" He yells. "Give him anything he wants, yeah?" he says, pointing at Felix while he starts crossing the room.

"So?", the bartender asks. Felix orders a vodka lemon.

He watches as Ollie fistbumps the announcer and the guy pulls out a wad of cash. He starts counting it out to Ollie. Ollie checks over his shoulder in Felix's direction like he is afraid he's actually gonna leave. As he gets handed a wad of creased bills, he grins, claps the guy on the back and sticks the money in his pocket.

Then, he quickly jogs back to Felix.

"Prize money," he explains.

"Sure," Felix says dryly.

Ollie bends his elbow to flex his bicep - although hidden by his hoodie - and gives it a kiss. "Thanks to these babies."

"Jesus Christ," Felix says, and takes a drink.

Ollie leans on the bar again, his head resting on his arms. He looks up at Felix.

"Damn..." he says. "I wanna talk to you, Gorgeous, but after a fight, my mind only goes one place..."

He reaches out his hand, his finger brushing Felix's side, but only for a second. He smiles. "D'you know wha' I mean?"

***

Felix lets Ollie pull him by his hand down a hall and into a room with a blue door.

"Gonna need some privacy, Lee," Ollie announces as they enter a locker room. The older guy looks at them, amused.

"Sorry," Ollie adds, his hand wrapped around Felix's wrist.

"Careful," the guy says to Felix as he passes. "This one has a thing for posh boys." The door closes behind him.

"He's right," Ollie admits, his hands landing on Felix's waist, pulling him close. "Can't help myself."

Felix snorts, looking down. He easily towers over Ollie.

"Sounds like a terrible condition you have there," Felix says.

Ollie nods. "It's bad." He pushes Felix's shirt up slightly, his palm sliding over Felix's naked hip. "NHS won't cover it."

Ollie is looking up, his face now very close to Felix's.

Felix smiles, then slowly pushes Ollie away, bringing space between them as he takes a few steps back. "Maybe you should try private insurance."

"Ow," Ollie says, holding a hand up to his chest and grimacing like he just got stabbed. "Really?"

Felix shrugs. "You're not my type," he says but keeps intense eye contact with Ollie, who is now squaring his chest like he just received a serious blow but he's about to stand up again.

"Oh okay," he says. He moves his weight to his other foot. "You're one of those."

Felix folds his arms, raising his eyebrows. Expecting some sort of dig, getting called some sort of name.

But Ollie just watches him carefully, like he is figuring him out.

A moment passes like this.

"You want me to beg?"

Felix shudders.

Fuck, okay. Where did that come from?

Ollie for his part, seems to have found a string on which to pull now, because he is approaching again.

Felix steps a few steps back - and hits a wall. Ollie steps close, his palms landing on the wall, both sides of Felix's torso, caging him in.

"I don't mind, Gorgeous. I'll beg."

Ollie's body is very close now, touching here and there, heat radiating off his small, compact frame.

Felix's chest is rising and falling, pulse picking up as Ollie leans even closer. His nose brushes Felix's neck. "I'll beg you for it."

His thigh is touching Felix's now.

"I don't need much," he continues. His hand is sliding up Felix's side, over his clothing. "You already got me all keyed up."

Felix releases his bottom lip that he had been biting between his teeth.

Oliver takes one of Felix's hands and slowly moves it down, to the front of his sweatpants, splaying it over his clothed erection, his own calloused hand keeping Felix's larger one in place.

They stay like this for a moment, the sounds of their breaths suddenly loud in the quiet locker room.

Then, Ollie gently takes his hand and pulls it under his big hoodie. Felix's palm brushes over his stomach, the line of coarse hair there, before it gets pushed under the elastic waistband. More coarse, slightly damp hair before Ollie plucks his fingers to wrap around a very sizable dick.

Damn. He splays his fingers to measure the length.

"That's it," Ollie says and leans his forehead against Felix's chest. One of his palms is there on the wall, keeping him upright, the other keeping Felix's hand on his cock. It's dry, so it's more of a squeeze and release than anything else, his head pressing into Felix's chest, pinning him to the wall.

He shouldn't be this turned on from basically holding someone's dick - even if it is very big and very hard. He squeezes, moving the skin back and forth, Oliver's head pressing into him almost painfully now.

"Fuck," he breathes, letting go of Felix's hand like he is confident that Felix knows how to do it himself now. The hand slides up Felix's body now, over his shoulder and to the back of his neck, gripping it.

A few more small tugs and squeezes and he is spilling hotly over Felix's hand with a low grunt.

Felix pulls his hand out and wipes it on Ollie sweat pants. He steps aside as Ollie sags against the wall.

One of Ollie's hands is holding onto Felix's forearm as he tries to step back. He looks at Felix through a post-orgasm haze.

"I gotta go," Felix says.

"Come ooon," Ollie says. He's leaning against the wall and looks like he is about to collapse but he is still holding onto Felix. "I give pretty good head."

"I gotta go," Felix says, pulling his arm free.

Ollie sighs loudly.

Felix opens the door.

"At least come to my next fight!"

"I don't know. I lost 100 quid tonight cause I bet that you would lose."

Oliver snorts. "Well, Gorgeous. That's just reckless."

[bewitchingbooktours]

Marked Under the Midnight Sun by Susanna Strom #PNR #Shifter #FatedMates

Marked Under the Midnight Sun

Black Rock Guardians 

Book Three

Susanna Strom

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Cougar Creek Publishing, LLC

Date of Publication: May 21, 2024

ISBN: 9781960382092

ASIN: B0CKKXFYFC

Cover Artist: Lori Jackson 

Tagline: He was loaded for bear. And he still wasn’t ready for her… 

Book Description:

Viggo

I do jobs no one else in my pack can do. Dirty jobs.

Like kidnapping Liv Hagen.

I didn’t want to do it. I was just following my alpha’s orders.

I never thought my bear would think she’s ours.

But there’s no way I can keep her. The consequences are too dire.

So, when the time comes, I’ll have no choice but to surrender her to fate.

Even if it kills me…

Liv

Kidnapped, held captive, and used as a bargaining chip against the Black Rock Guardians.

Yeah. Seems about right for my luck.

But if the big, bad bear shifter thinks I’m going to submit to his—or anyone’s—will, he’s got another thing coming.

Which is why I’ll just have to ignore my attraction to the sexy jerk. It’s probably Stockholm syndrome, anyway.

I mean, it’s not like he’s my fated mate or anything… right?

Marked Under the Midnight Sun, Book 3 in the Black Rock Guardians Series, is a lightly angsty, enemies to lovers paranormal romance with plenty of spice and tense moments, and just the right amount of suspense, action, and adventure. Download today and get ready for the supernatural romance you didn’t know you needed.

Amazon     Kobo     Apple     BN     Books2Read      

Excerpt:

Liv huddled next to the campfire, a flimsy Mylar sleeping bag wrapped around her shoulders. Soaking wet, her cheeks flushed scarlet from the frigid air, the human was in trouble. The sun had dipped below the horizon and the temperature was plummeting.

I glanced at my shivering captive. “Gimme your coat, dress, and boots.”

“What?” she sputtered. “Dude, I’m not stripping in front of you.”

My lip quirked. Nobody but this feisty, gotta-be-freezing-her-ass-off woman would dare call me dude. Most pack mates cringed in my presence, and referred to me as Mr. Creed, or sir. Not Liv.

“You’ll never warm up if you spend the night in wet clothes.” I pointed at the sticks wedged into the ground next to the campfire. “I’ll put your things close to the flames to dry out.”

“Forget it.” She yanked the emergency sleeping bag up to her ears.

I bit the inside of my cheek. I never got a good look at her body underneath the sodden down parka, but her legs were shapely and I bet her figure matched.

What the hell am I doing?

Was there any thing more pointless, more self-destructive than being attracted to the woman I’m turning over to my heartless alpha?

Time to shut this shit down.

I stepped toward her and deliberately shaped my features into an intimidating scowl.

“You telling me you’d rather freeze to death than take off your wet clothes?”

She didn’t answer, probably realizing how foolish she’d sound if she said yes.

“My orders are to bring you safe and sound to Medved. I can’t let you get hypothermia.”

“And a flunky like you doesn’t dare disappoint his alpha, right?” Scorn dripped from her voice.

“That’s right.” No point in taking offense when she spoke the truth. I lowered my chin and put command into my voice. “So either you strip or I’ll do it for you.”

Color returned to her cheeks in an angry flush. “Try it, buddy, and you’ll lose a hand.” I could easily overpower the mouthy woman and peel her clothes off. Grizzly shifter versus human? Hell, no contest. Liv wasn’t stupid. She had to realize how powerless and vulnerable she was. Still, she jutted out her chin, and her pretty brown eyes shot sparks.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I debated how to handle the insolent human. I’d ripped her away from everybody and everything she knew. Her next few days were bound to be rough, especially if she shot off her mouth in front of Medved. Why not cut her some slack? If she saw me as a reasonable man, she might be more willing to listen when I warned her to mind her manners in front of my alpha.

“How about I turn around and look the other way while you undress?” I proposed.

The fingers clutching the top of the sleeping bag had turned bone white, and she trembled from the cold. “Fine,” she said reluctantly. “Do it.”

I put my back to her. “Just don’t get any crazy ideas about picking up a branch and clobbering me.”

She snorted. “We’re in the middle of godforsaken nowhere.” I heard rustling as she dropped the sleeping bag and shed her wet clothes. My imagination filled in the details as I imagined her naked behind me. “Even if I managed to knock you out, where would I go?”

About the Author:

Susanna loves to read―and write―stories full of complex characters who find love, hope, and connection while navigating through an exciting and dangerous world. Susanna lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her husband and two very spoiled cats.

Website: https://susannastrom.com/

Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/h6WRRb

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/susannastrom.author/

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/susanna-strom

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/susannastromauthor

Susanna’s Stormers, Facebook Readers Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1572291033136914 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20463245.Susanna_Strom

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

Okay, all jokes aside, you don't wear a toga with armor. It doesn't make sense. You don't twist and wrap 12-20 feet of cloth all over your body and then put a breastplate over it, nor do you wrap all that cloth around your body after you put all the armor on. You'd fuck up the toga and completely ruin your ability to move. Togas were formal wear in Roman society. You don't wear a three-piece business suit to war.

So yeah, Ultramarines don't wear togas with their armor because that would be stupid. The real question is, are there any parallels between Roman and Ultramarine armor/uniform design?

Here's some depictions of soldiers that the Romans made:

(These all come from Wikipedia, btw)

Now, let's look at Ultramarine minis. I'm going to exclude the basic units because GW deliberately keeps those models as generic as possible so customers can use the same model for different chapters. The only ones that are going to have Roman bling are going to be the specialized models designed specifically for Ultramarine armies.

Like all Astartes, official Ultramarine designs are severely limited by the iconic Space Marine armor. Anything Roman can only be accessories and decorations to that classic image. With that in mind, there's several things that stick out to me:

Dangling leather skirt thingies. I swear every Ultramarine-specific model has them. And if you scroll back up to the Roman reliefs, you notice that a lot of those legionnaires have them, too. It's how they protected the upper legs and pelvis.

Helmet crests. That's straight up pop culture Roman helmet, but it's a stereotype for a reason. The crests are most notable in the first Roman picture, the Praetorian Relief, but if you study the battle reliefs you'll pick out guys with crests in each one. It's worth noting here that the Romans also wear plumes. But we associate plumes more with knights, so the Ultramarines don't get any. :(

Laurels. This one's a gimme, of course the Space Romans gotta have their space laurels, but it's still worth noting for the ensemble.

Gladiuses. This is a setting known for its chainswords, but all the Ultramarines are waving around fucking gladiuses. Check it:

Shields. Space Marines don't really use shields, they usually wield two weapons at the same time (or gesture angrily at the filthy xenos/heretics/mutants, idek). The only other guys I saw carrying shields on GW's website were the Fists, which fits with their theme of FORTIFY. Ultramarines do not have a FORTIFY theme, but they still carry shields. Why? Well,

You can't have Roman legionnaires without shields. You just can't. They get mopey if they can't do their tortoise formation.

So yeah, given the limitations imposed by the power armor design, I'd say they're pretty Roman. For all of its many, many faults, GW is very solid when it comes to designing their little plastic dudes. There's a pretty interesting video where a medieval armor expert reviews Fantasy and 40k designs, I highly recommend it:

u know what, i am still pissed that fulgrim and his kids were wearing togas and shit in Fulgrim. that's my boys' shit! "oh yeah well the imperium is all kinda rome-coded so it's legit" well FUCK YOU mister phoenix boy and find your own ancient civilization to loot! rome is OUR shit, konor guilliman didn't get stabbed 53 times on the senate floor just for you to go full trazyn on our drip. your the phoenician right?? fucking dress like it!!

[ragingbookdragon]

She stared at them like they’d lost their minds. “What is this? A TV show? You seriously want me to dress up and go into this guy’s hideout all alone and flirt the information out of him? Are you fucking kidding me?”

The group shared a look, then Soap shrugged. “I mean, yeah, that’s the gist of the plan.”

With a sigh, she asked, “Do you at least have any dresses for me?”

“Already prepared,” Soap replied, lifting a bag.

“Gimme.” She took the bag from him and dropped it by her feet, toeing off her boots as she unbuttoned her pants and shoved them down her thighs; their eyes hit the ceiling to give her privacy.

“Uh…we have a bathroom.”

“And I have no shame,” she answered, yanking off her jacket, shirt, and tank top underneath. “Literally. I had a guy watch me shit when I was in basic. Had a full-on conversation with that man because he didn’t understand personal space in the head.” She picked out one of the dresses. “Didn’t even look away when I wiped. So, I, from that day forward, have never felt any sense of shame whatsoever. Because if you can have a conversation, with the opposite gender, while you’re shitting, you have no reason to ever be ashamed again.”

“I seriously wonder about your time at boot camp,” Price muttered, and she snorted.

“Pretty sure my entire group was nicotine depraved and crackheads.”

Soap had long lowered his eyes from the ceiling as he commented, “You know your underwear doesn’t match your bra, right?”

“Stellar observation there, Soap. No wonder you’re such a great shot.” She gestured to the red and plaid holiday bra and the neon green hi-briefs. “Forgot to pack before this mission and the underwear to the bra was dirty.”

“Why don’t you just stick with mil-issued?”

Her face pinched. “I’d rather use my hands as a cover for my tits and vag than use shit undergarments I can rip with my bare hands. And I have, in fact, ripped them with my bare hands before. And no, Soap,” she cut off, “you don’t get to ask why.”

She pulled the dress up her legs and slipped her arms through the sleeves, adjusting it to her body, then she frowned. “What am I going to church?”

“It has a slit in the side,” Soap offered, and she started walking around.

“My dudes, I can’t walk in this thing, let alone fight if things go bad.” Ghost, who’d been silent up until that point, walked towards her and she looked at him. “What?” he said nothing, and she backed up. “Ghost, what?”

He stood before her, reached down, and bunched the dress up in his hands, yanking it up her hips until everyone saw neon green. His fingers dug into the meat of her ass, keeping her in place even as she tried to recoil. Her eyes flashed with anger, and she let a knee fly up towards his groin—he caught it of course, also dodging the elbow she sent his way. Ghost gave a ‘hmpf’ and said, “Seems to me like you can fight just fine, love.” Letting her go, he smoothed the dress back down her legs and walked off, leaving her flustered in anger, embarrassment, and if she were being totally honest, arousal.

“Not. One. Word.” She hissed, pointing at the men who suddenly found the floor, the ceiling, and each other much more interesting than her.

As she stalked off in Ghost’s direction, Soap crossed his arms over his chest and muttered, “I’m not paying you money. They didn’t confess.”

Gaz smirked. “Yeah, but they’re gonna bone so it still counts.”

Price scowled at them. “You’re dogs…how much are we betting?”

[stinkkyy]

the creator falls (out of a tree) for diluc

Now why the hell was Diluc back here.

There wasn’t a real reason other than he had taken a walk that had ended up with him at this big ass tree again.

As he stands at the base of the statue to Barbatos, he feels a tug at his heart. It had been happening a lot more lately, this pulling. The tug at his heart as if somebody was at the other end of the string, gently urging him to go somewhere or do something.

So here he was at a statue for a God he admired and a tree dedicated to a woman who now protects all of Mondstadt silently.

He crosses his arms and glares up at the tree. “Well? I’m here now, what do you want from me?”

Diluc stands there for just a moment longer, secretly expecting a response but of course nothing comes from it.

He sighs, looking away from the tree feeling rather embarrassed for having such a wish.

With nothing left to do but try and enjoy his day out, he goes to sit at the base of the tree. He slumps against it, one leg folded up and the other splayed out before him. Diluc rests his head along the tree as he watches the clouds in the sky.

He felt like a fool.

For the past month or so he had been.. Strangely content. Happier than usual. That in itself would normally be cause for celebration but with such happiness came an unease.

Jean chalked it up to allergies, his immune system never favored the summer weather.

Lisa suggested that perhaps he was in love. That was the last time he’d ever come to her for advice.

Kaeya had a certain look in his eye. It told him that his past brother likely knew the ailed him but chose not to answer truthfully, only giving a rather cryptic response.

Venti was the only one who had given something halfway decent but even then it was bullshit upon more bullshit.

“Follow whatever is pulling your heart along and go talk to it! That will solve everything and who knows, maybe love will consume you and everything will be answered!”

Diluc snorts haughtily at himself as he remembers the bards words. Sure he was a god but he didn’t have to sound so annoying about it, former crush or no.

Before he could have anymore time to think about it there was a voice calling out to him from above.

“Hey! Hey hey, you there, D-! D..... Theee stranger in red!”

“… Excuse me?”

“Yeah you! Hey uh, I’m in a bit of pickle right now so you think you can help?”

Diluc looked up to where the voice was located and felt his heart freeze. The tugging had become stronger than it ever had before, so sharp and pointed like it was going to rip apart any second now.

The owner of the voice was covered by the leaves and branches of the tree but if he focused he could make out the outline of their body but even that was hard.

Whoever they were just might be the answer he had been searching for.

More leaves and twigs fell down onto his lap and he grunts in annoyance when he flicks them away. “How can I help you, stranger.”

A pause. “How confident are you in catching a person?”

“Depends on how high up said person is and considering we’re practicing yelling at one another, I’d say you’re rather high up.”

Another pause followed by quiet, nervous laughter. Another sigh. “Yeah.. Right on the mon- On the mora. Yeah.”

Diluc resigns himself to his fate and slips off his jacket, letting it fall into the floor as he tries to coordinate himself to wherever they must be hanging out at.

“Let’s get this over with then.”

“Wh- You’ll help me? Seriously??”

He glares up at them, a bit offended. “You assumed I wouldn’t?”

“W-Well…”

“Get down already before I leave you stuck up there.”

“Okay okay! Gimme a second, okay? This is a really high fall!!”

“You’ll be fine.”

Diluc huffs as he listens to the rustling of the branches, gauging how soon this stranger would jump down from the tree. Really, he had better things to be doing other than attempting to catch somebody from a tree like-

“Huh..” The more he tries to think of what he could be doing with his time he realizes he can’t come up with anything. For some reason, all he wants to do is stick by this stranger and see this through to the end.

He places a hand at his heart, jaw clenching slightly as he thinks it over. And then there was that whole thing where the longing at his heart was pulling him closer to whoever this person was. 

Were the two connected somehow?

He doesn’t have time to think about it for much longer until he hears the strangers voice yell out something that has him on his guard.

“Wait-!”

“Aaand three!! AH-“

Diluc widens his stance and holds his arms out wide for them, grunting when they land in his arms at last, though he does falter back just a bit. That is the last time he will ever catch somebody from a tree ever again.

He growls lowly in his annoyance, a glare locked and loaded on his face as he looks to the person but whatever scolding he had ready to dish out die in the back of his throat when he lays eyes on them.

They’re smiling. It’s a big toothy grin with their eyes filled with stars, their entire being glowing the world up in a way he could never properly put into words.

“You’re Diluc,” the say with a giddy laugh. “The Diluc Ragnivinder!”

And yet he’s still just staring at them like a fish out of water

He comes to his senses and clears his throat, easing them into their feet as he fights a wicked flush off of his cheeks.

“It’s Ragnvindr, actually.” He finally says, not really caring for their incorrect pronunciation, eyes never leaving their form.

The tugging at his heart was pulled taut and it was headed straight towards them. This had to be why he had decided to come here. For them. Diluc swears he can recognize their face from somewhere but he can’t place it. 

All he knows is that he feels so unbelievably loved and cherished.

“Got a staring problem, Master Diluc? C’mon, lemme thank you for saving my tail somehow!”

Diluc snaps out of his daydream as a ghost of a smile breaks onto his lips, nodding. “You wear clothes not of his nation, dirty ones at that. I will have lunch prepared for us at my home..”

“Wh- Man.. You’re a lot more stern than I had expected…” They grumble but dutifully follow by his side.

His heart pounds wildly in his chest as the pieces begin to connect themselves and while Diluc was not the most devoted follower to the gods anymore, you would have to be a fool to not eventually realize that you are standing besides The Creator.

A god who had been absent for thousands of years and only now resurfaced.

A god that will cause a stir in the world if left unchecked.

A god that has his heart pounding, face flushed, and palms sweaty.

“The Dawn Winery?” They squeak out. “Really?? Aaah man Diluc, you’re amazing! I can’t wait!”

Yes, to keep them to himself for a little while longer wouldn't hurt. He’s doing this to protect them, nothing else.