#and the pit of ya stomach is burning with desire

[boywonderasnf]

yall please help my autism is getting Too Strong the Desire is burning So Strongly inside of my core im vibrating

no amount of stimming will help at this point, im in too deep.

i now have to unstimulate myself by watching food videos :(

i hate it when the autism gets too strong :((

[occamstfs]

Man-Candle

Under the guise of a gag-gift Chad gives his bookish friend a candle based on his own b.o. Little does Stephen know, as soon as he lights the wick he sets off to join the jock in sweaty abandon.

Very musk forward Jock TF! Hope you enjoy this story of Stephen's scent-based (new)self-discovery, Best! -Occam

His ears ring with tinnitus as he opens the gift. It’s as if an explosion has gone off as he tries to process the pancake in his hands. Everything in him says to laugh, it’s clearly a gag gift, a Man-Candle? His mouth is dry and all the blood in his head rushes to its other epicenter as Stephen looks up, eyes wide, to the man who by all appearances has given him a candle of his own musk, Chad.

His cocky grin is a perfect likeness of the one on the candle’s label staring up from Stephen’s lap. Chad’s expression grows even smarmier as he winks and raises an arm to smell his pit. Stephen’s face burns red as he sees the clear patch of grey that must have been fermenting all morning, his cock bumps against the package.

Chad’s eyes shoot immediately to the sound and his smirk shifts and an eyebrow’s raised in curiosity, excited that his friend must quite like the gift. Stephen speaks up quickly, lest the two brain cells bouncing around the jock’s skull stumble across any ideas, “What the fuck?” The first volley, bounces off Chad’s steel confidence. The second “what the fuck,” causes an eye narrow as the idea that this may be a misstep finally occurs to him, the third repetition of Stephen’s new mantra apparent gets through through Chad’s thick skull.

The jock’s arm remains raised to scratch his back and Stephen’s cock is more than happy to see the grey patch return and his mind must remain focused on not staring directly at the few pit hairs sneaking above his sleeve. Chad clears his throat awkwardly, “I mean bro… Chicks are always talking about how they love, huh- y’know,” he gestures to the air around him, “my aura. Just thought, you know, uhhh- a dude like you might too?”

The jock braces as he sees Stephen’s eyes narrow as he clearly winds up to somehow lash out. Unfortunately for the twink he takes a deep breath to start and is hit with the full force of the man’s ‘aura,’ it catches him off guard and underneath the package his cock pushes again. Stephen grits his teeth and averts his eyes as he tries to hide his desire, “Chad! Those are people you’re sleeping with! I’m just- This is-” Stephen does everything in his power to quiet his lust as he finishes, “Why would I want this?” 

Chad tongues his cheek and juts his stubbled jaw. Scratching his meaty stomach in thought, Stephen can hear the hairs dragged underneath the jock’s tight shirt. Making up his mind Chad decides to speak on the elephant, or moreover the trunk, in the room. Nodding to the gift poorly hiding Stpehen’s erection, Chad shrugs “I mean bro, seems like you’re enjoying it just fine.” 

“Jesus Christ, fucking straight men!” As unfortunately turned on as Stephen is from the gift and the hunk he has long tried to not be attracted to, at the highlighting of his out of control cock he finds the will to defend his paltry dignity. Though instead of speaking up as his mind is not running on all cylinders, his hands instead reach for anything not breakable to hurl at the man still smirking.

Pillows fly at the man as he continues to try and explain his thoughts, “Yo bro! Watch it-” he grabs one to use as a shield against the continued volley, “I mean I can take it back if you want!” Stephen’s dreams of salvaging dignity perhaps fall to the wayside as this remark causes the hardest throw yet. Chad smirks behind the pillow and finally gets to the door, “Whatever dude! I’ll see ya later! Once you’ve cooled off a bit-” 

Chad stands behind the closed door with a shit-eating grin on his face, straight men huh. Awfully dismissive of the bi jock’s identity but whatever. He listens to Stephen huff and unbox the candle through the wall, unaware that the real gift is to come when he finally lights that bad boy up. Whenever the pair get drunk enough it always devolves into Stephen wishing he’d hit the gym more and Chad begging for his friend to join him. He’d love nothing more than a gym bro he can fuck, and soon enough, unless Stephen has the strength to nip his blue balls in the bud, both wishes are to be granted.

It does not take long for already riled-up Stephen to give in to his curious urges. As soon as the scent of Chad in the air dissipates and he hears the front door of his apartment close, the countdown begins. Stephen stares at the obnoxiously smug photo of Chad on the candle and narrows his eyes, “I mean surely it’s a bit? It can’t actually smell like him specifically? Seems hm, expensive to do.” 

He bites his lip as he shakily goes to remove the lid, driven by a mind less than conscious and more than hungry. Mouth on the precipice of watering, as soon as the seal is cracked the scent washes over him like a tidal wave. Somehow more powerful, more alluring than the real thing. Rich and grimy, and indisputably the essence of Chad distilled into waxen form.

His eyes are glazed over and his mouth is now pooling with drool. It's anyone’s guess as to how the candle gets lit, but so it does. Stephen falls back onto the couch as his hands struggle to free his cock quick enough from pants that force it down at an awkward angle. It finally bounces free, flinging more pre than he’s ever produced upward. Droplets land just shy of his own face as his mouth falls wantonly open and his hands begin their gleeful work.

The creation of Eau De Chad was not light work, the boiling down of man into a single candle is quite the ask. Perhaps even more so than the transformative magic that it is to instill in Stephen. Within the candle are notes from every musky epicenter of Chad’s being, more than powerful enough to distract Stephen as he begins his journey into a musky jock’s shoes himself.

Foremost of the mind-numbing notes that the lost man is bathing himself in is perhaps the one he’s smelled the least. As strong as in his jock after a workout, sweaty pubes and dripping pre. The medley of scents from Chad’s crotch is so powerful that even without clearly even knowing the source it’s on the tip of Stephen’s tongue, much like he would dream to have on his tongue in reality.

Each breath pulling him deeper than the last, Stephen continues to paw at his cock now free to the open, musky air. With each kneading thrust his hands struggle to encompass his dick as it begins to change. Years of pushing down primal desires for his friend, the Adonis, evaporate into the air as he pictures himself working Chad’s cock. Breathing and licking the heady swear straight from the source.

He imagines working the larger man’s spit-covered cock and with each new image in his mind his own beast begins to reform. Dripping more pre than he’s produced in his life up to this point, his hips thrust into wanting hands as his dick thickens and spears high into the air. Lengthening to press against his sternum, veins bulge and criss-cross across its length as its head regrows a foreskin he never had the chance to enjoy.

When his smaller hands, unable to truly satisfy or encompass his new rod, shift down to try and cup balls bulging larger and pumping him full of masculinity, he hears them scratch against the new jungle of growing pubes. Though the jock tries to keep his chest relatively hairless, under the belt hair growth is wild enough to more than make up for it, and as Stephen begins changing into his new musky lover, he seems to be of the same persuasion.

The candle wick flickers as a new scent begins to rise in prominence. This one Stephen recognizes all too well, though usually poorly masked under cheap deodorant, the scent of Chad’s pits could never be truly hidden. His mouth waters as the scent washes through him and his whole body contorts in pleasure. When his own pits begin to itch he gasps and for the first time opens his eyes to find an impossibly large cock hanging over his thin thighs. His mouth quivers into a smile as the line between dream and reality shifts muddy.

For now though, for the pit fiend there is only one thing to do. He raises his arm and gasps as he sees his few pit hairs lengthening, while in between each one a few darker curls make themselves at home. Stephen forces his head into the sweaty spot and hungrily sniffs. Nose tickled by the growing jungle he moans as he encounters his own changing scent, currently overcoming his own, usually superfluous, deodorant it is but a pale imitation of Chad’s. Though it races to be something equivalent, no, greater. 

He continues taking deep breaths, switching between the candle burning strong and his own pit as his musk continues to heighten and shift. With each needy sniff it becomes clear that his odor is not the only part of him shifting. Previously undeveloped arms cramp as muscle begins to pile on. Veins pulse down their center as biceps that have scarcely known strain burn as muscle fibers break and reform to create an impressive peak.

Stephven’s face suddenly contracts into a smirk that he never quite understood before now as his arms force themselves into a pose. Flexing and exposing his newly hairy pits in what he now knows as a front lat spread, he almost laughs as his heady powerful musk begins to overpower the scent burning off the candle. 

Having not actually left the apartment, Chad puts an ear to the door as Stephven’s laughter and moans rise in volume and deepen in tone. He creaks open the door and is almost physically hit with the wave of musk as it pours out like a fog from Steven’s bedroom. His own brand mixing with the steam of sweat seeping from his new bros pits is almost more than he can handle. With every step his mind strains to not just give into his own hunger to pounce on his half-formed bro sitting in the chair. 

Hearing Steven’s socks fray and tear as a subtle note of foot funk rises to the top of the candle. Seeing his new partner’s legs fill his young-professional pants to their limit, bulging thighs pushing at and swiftly bursting the strained seams. Chad bites his lip almost to the point of drawing blood as he feels his own thighs cramp. He doesn’t know if he’s somehow growing as his new gym bro continues to edge larger or if he’s simply overwhelmed, if his own mind is too clouded from the hunger and musk.

Chad shambles towards Steven, mouth falling open as he sees the shimmering sweaty traps that have torn his shirt open. His eyes can’t look away from the newly heavy pecs that hang over his defined abs, he fights the urge to lean down and lap at the muscle as Steven delights in bouncing them. Sending cascading shadows across his sweaty core, and gaining more mass with every dancing flex.

 Instead, Chad leans in close to Steven’s delirium painted face. “Looks like ya liked my gift after all, huh Steve?” His breath mists across Steve’s face. Its heavy humidity barely overcomes the sweaty atmosphere but the sharp mint and undercurrent of musty breath underneath call to his nose like smelling salts. 

His jaw cracks and widens as the changes that have overtaken him finally begin their work on the final frontier. Unable to control himself Chad licks the man’s face as it prickles with stubble. Steve’s nose breaks then reforms, his brows thicken and cast a shadow over his eyes as they lose both their color and clarity. Deepening to brown as their default state becomes glazed and thoughtless.

Feeling Chad’s sticky tongue drag on his cheek, it’s like he was struck by lightning. Every new bulging muscle in Steve’s body flexes at once and he stands to his new height, able to make direct eye contact with the man staring at him, just inches away.

Steve tackles him onto the bed, knocking over the candle and sending wax flying through the air. The pair are sparingly coated in the Chad scented candle as they begin heavily exploring Steve’s new form. As their mouths that have always been left wanting find new delight, whatever shreds of the old Stephen that are left begin to vacate.

The anxieties and priorities of a small meek man who never let his id loose disappear as he positions himself over Chad. He bites his bro’s lip and thrusts downward as he pins the massive man’s hands above his head. Masked by the pleasure of true release, he doesn’t care as his old self washes away. Memories evaporate like the sweat pouring off his form. He delights in maneuvering across Chad’s form and enjoying his musk from the source.

His tongue dances across sweaty pecs that match his own as his collection of classics on a bookshelf disappear to be replaced by free weights. Steve’s nose finally shoves its way into Chad’s pits as his extensive collection of hygiene and beauty products down the hall clatter to the floor and disappear as they’re replaced by a single bar of clinical deodorant only used for special occasions. Sleeves fall off his wardrobe of cardigans and button ups as sweat stains yellow every garment. The tops throw themselves from hangers while musty shorts and jockstraps heap into a pile on the floor.

Sweat drips from his brow as with each thrust into Chad his mind gives up the ghost. Each impossible wave of pleasure erodes his old self, each drop of sweat an idea gone, each rivulet of pre dripping down his veiny cock a sign of his intelligence drained to increase the muscle mass of his new form. After all besides pleasure nothing matters to him nearly as much as his fucking hot bod.

He feels his balls pulse as every remaining aspect of Stephen’s self shoots down and is quickly converted. His eyes roll back as he cums the few specks of self remaining in a massive load onto Chad’s sweaty abs. After a few moments of total mindlessness from the jubilee of release, Steve awakens to find himself atop his bro and simply laughs, “Huhuh woah dude that’s a fuckin’ fat load huh?” He scratches at his hairy chest and grimaces as he imagines how that’s going to hide his gains.

Seeing the thoughts on his face as the two are evermore on the same wavelength Chad pauses rubbing Steve’s cum onto his abs and offers, “Lookin’ a little rough there bro, wanna go top up and then hit the gym?” Steve smirks as his bro basically reads his mind, “Yoooo totally let’s hit it!” He punches down into his bro as he stands, smirking as he watches Chad’s cock bounce before sprinting into the restroom and prepping to get pumped.

The gym starts to clear out as the pair arrive, judging by the musk already following in their wake no one dares risk having to smell what it’s like once they actually start going. Stopping in the locker room the pair stop publicly groping and sniffing each other long enough to take a pre-workout photo, tongues out as ever. When they see some poor soul who didn’t escape the gym quick enough covering his nose they eye each other up.

“Yo dude, looks like lil’ bro over there’s gotta problem with your stink.” Steve performatively sniffs his pit and shakes his head, “Nahnah bro. It’s definitely yours, check it.” They continue to talk up eachothers musk while the young man can’t help but sit there, stunned into silence. With each new statement the pair swagger closer until their sweat may as well be dripping on the man.

Gasping as he regains awareness just as the pair are almost standing over him, the sharp intake fills his lungs with their musk as a smile creeps over his face. “Looks like lil bro’s likin’ it after all Chad.” Throwing a sweaty arm over his bro, the man who can scarcely recall that his bro hasn’t always been like this laughs, “Huhuh, well obviously bro, no shot anyone’ll be able to resist us soon.” The pair help the hazy man up and begin ushering him through the ropes, eager to have another musky jock in their image and excited to see how far their little group will grow.

[shaisuki]

📌 day thirteen: hand kink + trafalgar law

law's hands are god's work.

his long digits are thick with the reasonable amount of calluses. rough to touch but there's the smoothness of it despite the sword he wields and the medical apparatus tiny to his hold, even a needle is a stray of hair. it amazes you how skilled those fingers are and you can't seem to tear your gaze away from them. the tattoos also added to the appeal of his sculpted hands.

the thought of the things his hands can do runs through your head. similar to a clock running after a cog is placed and if only.....

“(y/n)-ya.” the former shichibukai snaps at you. breaking your trance that were not so innocent and there's his hands again. so inviting and you can only bite your lip in wanting those fingers to be inside you. you didn't even hide your attraction towards his hands.

the surgeon of death chuckles at your action, amused at how you find his hands distracting — attractive. blatantly following every movement that even in the smallest of ministration like how he holds his books leaves you bothered.

“you like my hands this much, (y/n)-ya.” his tone low and gravelly sending shivers down your spine. he cups your soft jaw with his hand and a familiar heat settling in the pit of your stomach engulfs you. it doesn't sound a question when he asks you that, more like it's confirming this unnatural attraction towards a certain body part of his.

your face burns in embarrassment from how he casually said that. swallowing, you slowly nod. confirming your attraction towards his hands and he's smirking. you might be as well attracted to his smile but screw that, you like all of him. you like your captain that much that you were getting bold from the attention he was giving you.

he leans down to face you, his breath hot. tickling your face and then his pointer finger brushes to your lips before holding your chin with his thumb and index finger. “why don't you sit down, (y/n)-ya. as a doctor we need to check up on you.” his tone suggestive and his smirk grew wider.

he might as well be damned at this. your expression leaves nothing to his imagination. your round face was devoid of anything that suggests that you're uncomfortable, you were at ease. might as well be hazy while soft moans leaves your mouth while he traces your voluptuous body with his hands. making sure it grazes, a featherlight touch that sends you in pure ecstacy.

“i thought you were one of the good ones, (y/n)-ya. spending time with me did revealed your desires, eh.” he comments. caressing your round cheeks with the back of his finger. marvelling at the softness and bounciness of it in his touch and it brushes to your lower lip. his thumb pressing gently to watch your lips flatten against his touch.

“suck.” he orders and you did it without hesitation. opening your mouth before engulfing his finger with your lips. softly moaning as your tongue swirls around his thick digit. law sharply inhales. he slowly take out his finger. a wet pop can be heard from how your lips pursed into an o manner.

his hands slowly descends cupping your chest and then to your round belly before it stops to your fat mound. his grin teasing and you buck your hips in anticipation.

“patience, (y/n)-ya, i'm not done with you.”

[kenuis]

He’s So Mean!

mean dom! Toji x fem reader.

600 Words of toji being a dick.

Cw: use of a fleshlight in an unconventional way, mean dom!toji, edging (honestly this whole drabble is edging), mention of being bound, pussy smacks, uhhh, unedited and not beta’d

Literally got this idea off of @rinitxshi ‘s toji though. Ily babe enjoy 🫠

Affiliated with @bitchcraftinc @enchantedforest-network @angelshub

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry!”

Torture. This is pure torture.

Its’s your own fault really. You shouldn’t have made him mad. You’ve just been so bratty lately and today was just the tipping point. You’re too far gone at this point, not even sure what you’re apologizing for as you tug at the binds that secure your wrists above your head.

“Poor baby.”

His voice is rough with arousal, dripping like sinful shadows from his scarred mouth. Something in you clenches and you nod, squirming under his gaze. He’s only indulged you in soft touches, barely there brushes of his fingers over your dripping folds.

They’re swollen, puffy with want and desire. It’s sick and sadistic how he takes pleasure in the way it looks painful, your clit peeking out. It’s twitching, desperate for attention.

Desperate for his attention.

“Bad girls don’t deserve to get rewarded do they?”

You shake your head, another hiccup leaving your chest. What makes it even worse is he’s stroking his cock right in front of you, and you’re unable to do anything about it. You can’t reach out and touch, you can’t take him in your mouth. You’re stuck at his mercy, hips bucking and seeking his attention that he refuses to give you.

“You gonna be good for me from now on?”

You nod, trying not to whine as he circles your clit lightly with the tip of his finger. “Yes! I promise! Toji please! Please!”

“I don’t believe you.” His tone is harsh, words sharp as he lands a hard smack to your cunt. The sound is jarring, clear and loud with a wet squelch as your slick sticks to his hand. Tears race down your cheeks, a choked sob leaving your lips. He leans down, nose barely brushing yours.

Something hard makes its way between your legs, plastic running through your folds. It’s cold against your wet heat, and your lashes flutter, because it’s more relief than he’s given you in hours. Your teeth dig into your swollen lips, already raw and sensitive from how many times you’ve dug your teeth into them.

The stretch of something entering you burns, considering the only touch you’ve had today were teasing ones. Ones that make you buck your hips and search for friction. He’s just so mean.

“Now that… that is a sight pretty enough to maybe convince me to forgive you.”

Looking down you choke on air. He’s inserted a flashlight inside of you, plastic sheathing around it and all. A strange sense of panic floods your veins as he rubs the tip of his leaking cock against it. A chuckle rumbles up his chest at the horror in your eyes.

“Bad girls don't deserve my cock.”

He thrusts so brutally into the flesh light that you scream, feeling the thrust up into your lungs. Your chest cracks open with conflicting emotions and you sob, hiccuping and kicking your legs.

You can’t cum like this. It’s not fair. You can’t feel the ridges of his cock, the way the prominent vein on the underside rubs against your insides. You can’t feel any of it and it shatters you as much as it turns you on. Guilt and lust swirl in the pit of your stomach and your pussy clenches around hard plastic. It’s not enough, you need to feel him inside of you, raw like every time before.

“Ohh poor baby. Miss my cock don’t ya?”

Unable to speak outside of a small hiccup you nod.

“Too bad. Now take what I give ya, and if you’re lucky maybe I’ll let you cum.”

[hey-august]

A Favor for the Captain - Chapter 2 | NSFW (Buggy x afab!reader)

→ Chapter 1

Description: The day after helping your captain with a favor, you end up stuck on night duty again. As much as Buggy wanted to avoid you and his feelings, he still has something he needs your help with. Word count: ~2.3k A/N: This is the last chapter for this story. Sorry it took so long, perfectionism and imposter syndrome fight dirty, lol. I hope you enjoy this! Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, buggy x afab!reader, no use of Y/N, dry humping, heavy petting, buggy is still bad at feelings and communicating. All parties are consenting adults. Tags: @angeli-fucking-cat

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You woke up the next day as restless as the sea. Waves swayed the ship as you slept, rocking your body through memories of the night before, cloaked in dreams. A party of stars laughed and danced around you, each one burning brighter than the next, until they all exploded into darkness leaving you behind. Whispers of loneliness and confusion slipped away like sand as the mid-morning sun carried you to consciousness.

A big yawn and stretching didn’t shake the sleep from your body as efficiently as sharp knocks at the door, followed by words that flipped your stomach with an icy chill. 

“Hey, you ‘wake? I need a favor.” 

With the weight of an iceberg in your body, you cracked the door and were greeted by a face of desperation and hope worn by one of your crewmates. You slumped against the doorframe as relief melted the tension in your body. The pirate frantically explained that he was scheduled for night duty and needed to switch, but everyone he asked so far had refused. The reasoning was difficult to follow. There was something about a friend of their cousin, dancing, a dinner party, and not wanting to let down family. Once the pieces were cobbled together, you were able to see the whole puzzle.

“So, you don’t want to miss a date with a townie?” you asked bluntly.

“I mean- well- that’s a part of it. Ya’ see, I told him that…”

You cut off the rerun by agreeing to swap duties - one overnight shift for two bathroom cleaning shifts. After an appreciative handshake with both of his hands wrapped around one of yours, he bounced off to prepare for the date. His jubilant exit left you wondering if you should have bargained for a better deal. At least this gave you a reason to look for the meteor shower again. You ignored the pit in your stomach, choosing to believe it was from the last-minute changes and not related to anything else that might involve stars or favors.

With only a half-day left before your shift, you headed to town for food and freedom. Elsewhere, someone breathed easier knowing that you were no longer on the ship. It was only a coincidence that the captain was watching the dock when you departed. He’s responsible for his crew and should monitor who comes and goes - that’s what Buggy told himself. Truthfully, he kept finding reasons to stay near portholes so that he could look for you without the risk of getting too close. 

Buggy felt dirty. Shame had him in a vice grip - stuck between remorse about what happened and guilt because he enjoyed it. Commitment to the crew had you willingly follow your captain’s filthy, degrading orders. Every lecherous detail - the way you felt, how you sounded, your sinful expressions - was etched into his memory. Yet, he still wanted more. For that reason, he also wanted to avoid you. 

The second desire was bypassed when Buggy went to check on the night guard. Unaware of the shift change, he didn’t expect to see you lounging against the railing, back to the sea. Most of the crew opted to stay on shore when they weren’t working, and the rare few who did come back only returned to sleep. Unfortunately for Buggy, you were awake, alone, and alert. Despite darkness flooding the deck, the captain was in clear view. What fucking luck. He considered a wordless exit, but before he could retreat, you called out to him.

“Good evening, Captain.”

A simple greeting. One that tugged at his achy heart and added to the guilty pressure he felt. He knew that walking away would only add to the restlessness. Pulling courage from the part of him that was glad to have an excuse to be near you, Buggy walked over to return the greeting. He joined you in leaning along the railing, foolishly hoping that your presence might actually pacify the turmoil in his body.

The tension radiating from your captain mirrored the nervousness you felt. It was obvious you startled him and you didn’t know why. Not exactly. Did he want to see someone else? Was he trying to avoid you? Both questions were similar and neither offered comfort. You stared at the illuminated town, hoping to find clarity in your tangled thoughts. The ambient sound of waves from the sandy shore and trickles of music emphasized the silence on the ship.

“On guard duty, again?” Buggy repeated his questioning from last night, feeling stuck in the stillness between you two.

You wondered if that was the answer you were looking for. The captain of the ship wasn’t aware of who was protecting the ship and expected to see someone else. That sounded reasonable and the thought made your heart lighter.

“Yeah, I was asked to swap shifts. Something about going on a date,” you explained while waving a hand towards town.

“You- going on a date?” The question cannonballed out of the pirate’s mouth faster than he thought it, along with an uncontrolled glare. Both were met with a confused look. 

“Not me… I just swapped shifts,” you responded with a softness that disarmed him.

Buggy nodded silently, his jealousy collapsing into humiliation. Unlike yesterday, being near you was anything but peaceful. Each piece of him was screaming to get closer and he could hardly control himself. Everything he did or said added to the rubble of guilt he was trapped under.

“It gives me another chance to look for shooting stars, though.” You continued talking, desperate to move past the awkward miscommunication by clinging to one topic that felt safe.

“I guess you haven’t seen any yet. If I knew you were here, I woulda came prepared.” Buggy picked up on your unspoken cue. Following the script, he aimed a finger towards the sky above the town and cocked his hand back as he let loose an imaginary shot.

“Well, there’s always next time.” And with that, the space between you two shrank.

Buggy marveled at how you handled his clumsy conversational skills with ease. Each step he took with uncertainty or pushed by feelings he couldn’t handle, you redirected until he was on the path he really wanted. One that he could pretend he was walking with you, hand in hand.

“You don’t mind being stuck on the ship while the island is all freaked out?” Buggy chuckled when you groaned at his choice of words. 

“Not at all, actually. I like it here…I like the ocean.” You turned your back to the town and spoke to the water’s horizon. “I also don’t mind helping out when I can. I’m just glad to be part of your crew.” 

His crew. You watched Buggy in the corner of your eyesight, hoping he understood what you were telling him. Nerves had you dancing around the subject, afraid to get too close to the fire burning in your chest. But the light and the heat were too much to ignore or keep inside.

The spark you sent his way ignited thoughts that were far too flammable. Fragile ideas that housed his insecurities. Buggy heard that you liked to help the crew. That must be why you indulged him yesterday - you simply wanted to help the captain of the crew you belong to. Anything beyond that was a shadow puppet cast by his desire and used to chase away loneliness. Something inside the pirate clung to that puppet, begging Buggy to say the words that would let the errant fire consume him entirely. He listened to that small voice and chose to believe the ache in his body was just physical desire.

“In that case, I need you to help me with something,” Buggy said before stepping behind you.

The familiar tone in his voice had your heart pounding wildly. A similar sensation was mirrored down lower as Buggy pressed his body against yours. With gloved hands holding the railing on each side, you were surrounded. Buggy rested his head on the back of yours as he fitted his body around your form, only softening when you eased into his touch. 

You weren’t surprised by his hardness this time. Actually, you may have surprised Buggy with how you accepted his request. His grip on the railing tightened as you pressed your ass against his erection to make sure it was nestled and snug.

“Is this what you need help with, Captain?” You hoped the shake in your voice was unnoticeable. A nod against the back of your head confirmed both hopes, so you began to grind against him.

Buggy’s face was buried in your hair and the roll of your ass against his cock took away what little breath he had left. In need of fresh air, he moved his head until his cheek was resting on your shoulder. Now he could clearly hear the quiet huffs you let out as you rolled your hips. The sweet sounds enticed his body to buck against yours, making the soft sounds crescendo into throaty moans that you tried to hold back. Craving more, Buggy pressed his lips against your neck. Your skin was hot and smelled delicious. He needed a taste.

The feel of his tongue and heavy breath on your neck sent electricity through your body. Every nerve was lit up, lighting the way for instinct to come and overtake your mind and body. The slide of Buggy’s cock against your ass did nothing for how your body desperately craved more. Your underwear was soaked and you could feel the slickness as you angled your hips to grind against his entire length. The slippery feeling filled your head with images of his thick cock sliding deep into your dripping cunt before fucking you like an animal.

“C-captain, can I-” Your words were cut off as a hand flew up and squeezed your cheeks, silencing you like the night before. Frustrated, you snatched Buggy’s hand off your face and shoved it between your legs. 

“I wanna come,” you whined as you pressed his fingers against your clothed folds until there was contact with your needy clit. You guided his movements, making his digits circle and massage exactly where you needed them. 

Buggy’s hips stuttered, before moving to a rhythm that your unrestrained sounds orchestrated. His thrusts were hard, wedging his aching cock in your ass and helping him imagine he was fucking your pussy. Imagining how it would hold and squeeze him, as if it didn’t want his cock to leave. As if it belonged there. As if he belonged with you. Giving in to those feelings, Buggy smothered your neck and shoulder with sloppy kisses in between mindless moans that tickled your skin. 

His impassioned attention was fierce and intense, overwhelming you until your body gave in with a loud cry. Trembling against your captain, ecstasy took over. Your blissed-out sounds and movements carried Buggy with you. His hand continued rubbing your clit under your shaky grasp as you both rode through your climaxes.

Eventually, his movements stilled and your sounds quieted down. Buggy’s chest pressed against your back with each heavy breath. His hand returned to the railing, taking its warmth away. He felt weak, both physically and mentally. Seeing, hearing, feeling your orgasm against his body was more than he ever hoped for, but it only happened because you were following your captain’s orders. Because you’re a nice person.

“That felt good…I’m glad you needed my help.” Your breathless voice cut through the noise in Buggy’s head, but didn’t bring comfort. 

“Don’t say that,” he snapped with a little more bite than he meant. He didn’t really need your help, he just took advantage of your willingness to help.

“Why?” you asked as you turned to face him, despite being caged by his arms.

Buggy avoided your gaze, wishing that his body would finish recovering so he could leave. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have. He would rather have his perverted memory tainted by self-pity, not by vulnerability or because he hurt your feelings.

Cautiously, you placed a hand on one of his before picking it up. You removed his glove and repeated the question, breaking through the wall he hid behind. Green eyes finally met your gaze as he succumbed to your request for sincerity.

“You were just following orders. Doing something nice for the captain of your crew,” he spat. “Saying that kind of shit might make me think that I could be more than just your ‘captain.’” 

The words hardly left his mouth before they were replaced by your lips. You pressed into the kiss, ignoring how his mouth twitched with words that died under the contact. Pulling back, you were greeted with eyes opened wide in shock and you had to hold in a giggle.

“You can think that. I would like it if you were more than that…if this was something more.”

Buggy studied your face, looking for any hint of a joke. Deep inside, he knew you wouldn’t tease him like this. You refused to waver under his scrutinizing stare, holding fast until he accepted your unabashed confession.

“Me?” he finally croaked out. You nodded in response so quickly that Buggy felt butterflies fill his chest with the same eagerness.

You watched patiently as he leaned in, hesitated, and then closed the space for another kiss. This one was messy and full of nervous excitement. Buggy started talking against your lips long before he pulled away.

“M’gonna extend the stay.” He planted kisses on your cheeks. “You’re also off guard duty - there are more important things that you should be doing than this.”

“Like you?” He set you up for the response and you couldn’t resist sending it back with a grin.

Buggy could have sworn he fell into the sea and died. Even if that had happened, his oxygen-deprived mind couldn’t have concocted a story like this.

Before he could say another word, something caught his attention. Buggy twirled you around and tilted your head up towards a shooting star. Your shout of joy seemed to encourage more stars to begin their journeys and soon the sky was full of dazzling light - a beautiful show for two.

[xylianasblog]

Love games

Pairings: Recom Quaritch x FemSully Reader

Summary: It was always just a game to him, he was never really going to let you go. A game so simple so fun, there was room for much at stake even just this once.

Warnings: MDNI, predator/prey, fingering, p in v, mutual pining, dirty talk, I think that is it

A/n: I feel like this wasn’t my best at all, I wanted to try something a little different but I still hope you guys enjoy it!

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦ ❀✿❀꒦꒷❀꒷꒦MDNI ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦❀✿❀ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

It was like a game to him, a game of cat and mouse. The never-ending battle of fun. Maybe lust? Who knows you were never one to question it, ponder the thoughts as you ran, ran as fast as your legs could carry you.

He always found you, you never got away, but maybe you liked this sort of game.

It was a game of trust, or maybe it wasn’t? Maybe it was the level of lust. Nonetheless you ran, sweet words of the man you were running from playing in your mind.

“If you can run and hide, only if you can survive will I let you go free, sweetheart.” Your ears perked up, back straight in attention. The easiest thing to be offered, he must be out of his mind, “But, if I catch you, if I find you. Say goodbye to your family, cuz I’ll be keeping ya.”

Those words were so heavy so enticing, you found yourself contemplating. You’d surely win, you knew this forest like the back of your hand. You’d make it out alive because truly you had no reason to not survive. At least that’s what you told yourself, two weeks since he captured you, have you been playing this game, yet he’s never touched you.

You weren’t dumb and you definitely weren’t naive you saw the way he eyed you with such carnal need. You felt it, the tension, it made your skin crawl. Such a desperate look, he only wanted a taste. Maybe more than that, maybe he wanted you as his mate. The thought made you shiver, the slightest flicker of desire settled in the pit of your stomach. Each step felt heavier and heavier as you ran.

You were determined to win this time; you were determined to survive. Your running came to a stop as you rested back against the tree, chest heaving. Your ears perked up trying to listen for every sound, it was quiet, the type of silent that had your body on high alert.

Eerily quiet, it felt so bad, bad enough you felt the dread seep into your bones. Taking a mall step away from the tree, the unsettling feeling you wanted it to go away. Your step was quiet, you were as silent as a mouse, so focused on the task at hand you didn’t have time to process the hand.

Not just any hand no, his hand wrapped tightly around the front of your neck as he brought your back to his chest. “Found ya.” Was all you heard.

Your stomach did a flip, the desire deep inside burned to life. Your body was well aware of the male, too aware of him. This time was different, this time you felt it. His grip on your neck as his other hand traced the inside of your thigh, your body froze. “You thought you could run? Thought you could hide? Babygirl..” he whispered as he kissed the back of your neck. “I’d find you every time.” That was no threat, not even close. It was a promise, one so deep you felt it in your soul.

Your body shuddered as you felt his fingers rub over your loincloth, your slick barely leaking through. The chase always made you horny, but this was the first time he’s touched you. His grip on your neck never loosened yet it also never tightened, his free hand now using his fingers to push your bottom side. Long slender fingers slipping between your folds, teasing your clit. Your brain couldn’t process anything other than the feel of his fingers teasing your sensitive nub.

Your legs nearly buckled once you felt his push into your entrance with his slick-covered fingers, your walls instantly tightened around his fingers as his thumb teased your sensitive nub. “Look at ya, you’ve been waiting for this huh? Ya pussy been begging for me.”

You opened your mouth to disagree, denying every word but you couldn’t, your body wouldn’t let you. You wanted this, craved this. Wanting to know what it’d be like to be fucked dumb by this gorgeous man.

Your hands grabbed at his forearms as he continued to fuck into you with his fingers, your soft moans and cries filled his ears. His body was on fire, wanting nothing more than to be buried deep inside you. His cock throbbed in his bottoms, the tightness making him growl in frustration.

Without moving you to push he undid your loincloth, watching it fall to the ground before his hand moved to undo his cargo pants. A loud groan slipped past his lips as he freed himself from his restraints, your body burned in anticipation at the feeling of his cock pressed against the curvature of your ass.

Your body couldn’t protest, the words wouldn’t leave your lips. Your body begged for his touch, overall to be fucked.

He pressed your body up against the tree, his hands moving down to grab at your ass, watching the way his length pressed against your folds before disappearing inside you.

You moaned loudly as a deep growl rumbled from his chest, he pressed into you more as he wrapped his hand back around your neck. “Looks like I finally caught you, you’re mine now sweetheart.”

Taglist: @pandoraslxna @neteyamsoare @criticallybella @sunfyresrider @neteyamsyawntu @tiredmamaissy @headsincloud9 @etherialblackrose @blue-slxt @justcaptiannoodles @neteyamyawne @oakbuggy @hotdsworld @plooto @itchaboi-itchyboy @eywaite @quicktosimp @luvv4j4ybe11 @cardi-bre91

[asterkiss]

Keykeeper Chp 24: Extended Makeout Scene

Have an extended scene of Bill/Mabel kissing and getting a bit more hot and heavy than they did in the original fic.

Bill drew closer, and she found herself getting lost in his eyes as the demon's lips stopped inches from her own. He waited.

She frowned. ‘Do I really have to say it every time?’

‘I just want to make it crystal clear this is mutual.’

‘I think you’re just being a bully.’

‘Of course I am, I’m Bill Cipher,’ he whispered, nudging closer still as he looked at her through half lidded eyes.

She swallowed, distantly musing how crazy this entire thing was as she parted her lips. There was a flame igniting in the pit of her stomach from his intense gaze and close proximity, and she wanted to see how hotter it could get.

‘Kiss me.’

Bill’s eyes dilated and then his mouth was pressing fiercely against hers where she could feel every ounce of desire and wanting. She leaned against him as his hands slid down the length of her body and over her hips in such a way that made Mabel want to wrap her legs around him. 

So she did. 

The brunet released a low, satisfied noise in the back of his throat as he deepened their kiss. It ran all the way down her spine, invoking a tightening between her legs that only grew in intensity when she became aware of something hard pressing against her.

‘Hello there,’ she teased, unable to resist because this whole situation was ridiculous. She was straddling and kissing Bill Cipher, and now he had a hard-on. Because of her. 

Life was really, really weird. 

His hands were also venturing into some interesting places, with rough fingertips sneaking beneath her sweater and skimming along her side. Her head pressed against the floor as Mabel suddenly found herself being pushed onto her back, the demon’s lips tracing over her jaw and collarbone. As his hand reached the underside of her bra, she suddenly became aware just how experienced the demon appeared to be. He’d alluded to having sexual encounters before with humans for nefarious purposes, and clearly he knew what he was doing. 

But so did she. 

She reached for the rather obvious bulge in his pants as he pressed rough kisses down her throat, but instead found her wrist snatched aside in a tight grip and a pair of glowing eyes glaring down.

Mabel's chest heaved as the pair both exchanged heavy pants. Her eyebrows knitted together. ‘What?’ she asked, voice breathless. The flame was still burning hot in her stomach.

His gaze flickered over her features, and she could see a fire of his own burning away inside them. ‘Ya don’t wanna do that.’

She arched an eyebrow, trying not to pout. ‘Why not?’ It’s not like she hadn’t touched one before. It’s not like he had some weird demon dick either given he was trapped in a human vessel. 

He leaned closer with a growl, and she could feel the vibrations from his bare chest pressed against her own. The tightening sensation between her legs coiled together more. ‘Because,’ he replied in a low tone. ‘If ya do, I’m gonna ravage you right here and now, Shooting Star.’

Her eyes widened, and the fire within roared violently as the flames soared higher. Oh wow. ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing,’ she whispered, heart racing so wildly he must hear it.

Bill's grip on her wrist tightened and it was almost painful. The demon leaned closer, and her eyes fluttered shut as their lips brushed together. His lips were soft and his body hard, and she could have lost herself in the sensations it invoked if not for his next words acting like a bucket of ice water down her body.

‘Do you really wanna do the dirty in Shortstack’s mind?’ 

Mabel’s eyes snapped open, and the roaring flame was snuffed out in a second. Her gaze met his, and she couldn’t tell if he looked annoyed or amused by her response. Perhaps both? Had he been hoping she would be okay with it and give him the go ahead?

‘...No,’ she replied, quietly.

He chuckled, offering a wry smile. ‘I figured.’ His eyes glittered in the dim light. 'Let's keep it family friendly for now.'

'You say that but you're about to grab my boob.'

'Should I not?'

'Well, I didn't say that.'

They exchanged affectionate smiles, and the hand around her wrist relaxed as he instead grasped her hand, their fingers linking together. But as they leaned towards one another once again, their moment was interrupted.

‘Ahem.’

They froze.

Slowly, the couple turned their heads in tandem to find a familiar figure stood watching with disapproval from ten feet away.

‘Now then, if you two are done actin’ like animals, maybe we can get on with things, hm?’ Bud Gleeful asked.

[sweetestgrethan]

Underbelly

Tags: Boypussy, somnophilia, dubcon bc of the somno, Ethan has a pussy

Part 2 of this drabble

Don’t mind me just dropping some more bp smut for ya ❤️‍🔥

WC: 1577

———

Ethan has a problem.

He could admit that he was often impatient, insatiable, hard to please only because he wanted so much.

Ethan had never had a problem getting what he wanted; it was easy enough to bend Grayson to his will. Maybe Ethan took advantage of that sometimes, sue him!

Ethan’s problem wasn’t Grayson and his pliant nature towards him, it was their first time together that had brought on this crisis.

Ethan at least had self-control before Grayson fucked him into oblivion, he had once possessed morals and knew right from wrong. Now, after experiencing the intensity and pleasure that came from getting opened up by your own twin, Ethan hadn’t been able to fulfill his need for Grayson since. It was deeper than just surface level desire, something bred into him, into his DNA and the molecules that made him up. The way he needed Grayson was carnal, primal, deep-seated inside of him.

It’s not like they weren’t messing around— Grayson was balls deep inside of him on more days than not, or at least with his head between his thighs if either of them was too tired.

Ethan found himself in a precarious position, standing over Grayson and watching him as he slept peacefully. He’d had one of those dreams, the ones full of hot touches and desperate moans for more. Ethan had woken up drenched in his own sweat beside Grayson, and with a sizable wet spot in his panties. After Ethan had gotten up, wiped his face of sweat, and drank some water, he could still feel the burning need in the pit of his stomach and the wet glide between his legs. Grayson still wasn’t awake, though, somehow.

Now, Ethan stood before him, contemplating whether to wake him up or just let it be, ask him to fuck him in the morning when they were both well rested and sane. Ethan simply couldn’t survive that long without Grayson inside of him, though.

Ethan’s guilt and shame was nearly nonexistent as he reached down to grab the edge of Grayson’s duvet, slowly peeling it off of him so he could see what he was working with. He was rationalizing it by insisting to himself that Grayson would’ve said yes anyway. Asking for it was merely a formality. His twin always slept in just his boxers, a fact that Ethan was praising God for at the moment. Even better, Grayson had moved onto his back at some point, making this just a tad bit easier. Ethan knew what he was doing was very bad. He should’ve just woken Grayson up and begged for it like always, but Grayson looked so peaceful, so beautiful and warm and soft as he slept. Ethan was convinced Grayson wouldn’t mind getting woken up by this.

Grayson stirred slightly as the cold air hit his skin, though the change in temperature didn’t wake him fully, the younger twin simply settling back into his pillows.

Ethan only started moving again when Grayson’s breathing deepened, signaling he was at least back to sleep. He wanted to take his time like always, trace every groove of muscle on Grayson’s chest and praise him for how beautiful he was. He knew he couldn’t exactly be thorough, though. Ethan’s next move was to slip out of his own panties, glad all he’d worn to bed was an oversized shirt and the now-soiled underwear that laid forgotten on the floor. He climbed on top of Grayson at an agonizingly slow pace, straddling his thick thighs and freezing when he moved at all. Ethan was amazed at what his brother could withstand while he was asleep, still breathing evenly and even snoring occasionally.

Ethan felt insane as he eyed Grayson in the darkness of his room, eyes landing on the soft cock hidden in his boxers. His touches were cautious, ginger swipes of his fingers at first, tracing the outline of it to test whether Grayson would move or not. Grayson was still sound asleep, and it made Ethan want him even more. It wasn’t until Ethan cupped the length that Grayson began to harden against him, growing in his boxers and looking like he’d burst out of them. Ethan could feel himself clench at the thought of it inside of him, knowing he wouldn’t need any prep with how needy he was.

Ethan found it a little harder to pull the waistband down and slip him out, adrenaline pulsing through him. Grayson did finally move, made a quiet, low groan in response to Ethan wrapping his hand around his dick, which made Ethan freeze. Grayson mumbled something in his sleep, almost sounding like Ethan’s name. The older twin would have to tease him about his dreams later.

“Grayson,” Ethan said in a whispery, sing-songy way, relying on his touch as he slowly stroked Grayson to full mast, watching Grayson furrow his brows in his sleep. Ethan let go of him just for a second, just so he could reach down and scoop some of his fluids from between his legs, using it to make his stroking a little easier. Grayson groaned again, louder than the first time, fidgeting under Ethan.

Ethan didn’t stop even as Grayson started to properly wake up, leaning one of his hands behind him on Grayson’s thigh and using the other to guide his cock toward his entrance, unable to help the relieved whine that escaped his lips at the feeling of being spread apart. Ethan was very aware of the importance of foreplay, and that he shouldn’t just be sitting on Grayson’s dick without it, but he was obsessed with the sting, the way it felt to be split open in just a few seconds.

Ethan spread his knees just so he’d go deeper, biting harshly on his bottom lip to keep himself from practically screaming. He rolled his hips slowly, watching Grayson’s face intently and trying not to lose it before his brother even woke up.

Grayson had been having some pleasant dream with Ethan in it, blurry glimpses of his brother’s face while they did the most domestic things possible, something Grayson dreamed about often. When his dream turned into Ethan shoving his hand down his pants and bursts of pleasure coursing through him, he almost didn’t want to wake up. It was hard not to, though, especially with Ethan on top of him, increasing his pace and being so selfish, fucking himself with his brother’s cock, completely lost in the feeling.

Grayson’s hands immediately went to grip at Ethan’s thighs in surprise, eyes wide and still sandy with sleep, moaning at the shock of what was occurring on top of him. “Ethan-“ he said shakily, closing his eyes again when all Ethan did was move faster, his noises sweet and loud. “What are you doing?” Grayson got out, reaching down to grab the hem of Ethan’s oversized shirt and pulling it up, watching the absolute mess of arousal between them, loving the way he looked sliding in and out of his twin.

Ethan couldn’t possibly speak right now, or even try to defend himself. Grayson pushing his shirt up gave him a clear view of them moving together too, letting out one last groan before he came on top of Grayson, fluttering and clenching around him.

“Pervert,” Grayson breathed, grabbing Ethan’s hips and starting to guide his movements. The older twin was pliant in his hands, moving exactly as he wanted and not letting his own oversensitivity stop Grayson from using him to come, too. “Couldn’t even wait for me to wake up?”

Ethan shook his head and cried out as Grayson fucked up into him, scrambling to take his shirt off so he wouldn’t feel so hot, though it really did nothing to regulate his temperature. “Fuck me, fuck me,” he rambled, trying to move with him and keep up.

Grayson obeyed without question and thrusted up into Ethan’s body with firm, long thrusts, gripping him so firmly that he knew there’d be hand-shaped marks there for him to kiss and soothe away. Grayson, still overwhelmed from being woken up like this, took only a few moments longer before he was forcing Ethan all the way down into his lap, filling him up to the brim.

Ethan happily took the load, squeezing around him to try and milk everything out of him, so desperate for the warm feeling to never end. “Good boy,” he praised, breathing harshly. “I knew you’d let me, you love me that much,” Ethan attempted to explain himself, slowly lifting his hips up to let him slip out. It was like a show for Grayson, his cock slapping down onto his stomach heavy and wet, Ethan angling his hips so Grayson could see his own come dripping out of him.

Grayson couldn’t possibly try to dispute that, feeling hypnotized by how slutty Ethan could be, making sure he could see him at the perfect angle. “I do. I do love you that much,” Grayson agreed without question, already feeling his cock twitch with interest, especially at the feeling of his come dripping back onto him.

Ethan smirked and leaned forward, grabbing Grayson’s chin to keep him still as he planted a kiss to his lips, tongue immediately tangling with Grayson’s hotly. Ethan only pulled away when it was absolutely necessary, panting close to his face.

“Please don’t go back to sleep,” Ethan begged softly.

“I won’t, E, I’m all yours.”

————

Part 1 / Part 3 / Part 4

[frogtanii]

℗ me and my husband

atsumu x fem!reader (poker face ending)

series masterlist

♡´･ᴗ･`♡

wc. 3.2k (holy shit)

warnings. NOT PROOFREAD, v v soft domestic, marriage :00, smut!! (is marked off!!), soft dom!tsumu, hair pulling (giving), unprotected sex, slight praise kink, pretty vanilla ngl

an. can be read as a one shot but u might be confused lmfao also this took SO LONG OMFG also also heavily unedited, take things w a grain of salt lmfao anyways don’t forget to feed me ahaha m rlly proud of this so i hope y’all like it <33

it was moving day and atsumu was about to lose his mind.

today was the official day of the hyper house disbandment and while most of the members were still figuring out new living arrangements and thus remaining past the deadline, you were one of the few trying to get out as soon as possible.

makki and mattsun were so excited to have you move in, they showed up early that morning to help you pack. now, it was around 1p and it was almost time for you to go. you still had a few more boxes to go but things were speeding right along.

normally, atsumu would be right by your best friends helping you out but he was currently in the middle of a breakdown.

you were leaving. leaving. he had no idea when he’d see you again (even though you promised to meet up weekly to catch up), if he would ever see you again. for all he knew, makki and mattsun would just hide you away forever, never to be seen again.

okay, so he was panicking.

it was just... atsumu was in love with you. he’d known for a while (way longer than he’d like to admit) and he selfishly thought he’d have more time with you so that he could work up the courage to confess. but now? you were like three boxes away from a distance that he didn’t know if he or your relationship could recover from.

it wasn’t that he was bad at long distance but the tragic events that the house brought, brought the two of you closer together and he didn’t want to lose that.

atsumu let out a groan and dropped his head against the wall, his mind running with scenario after scenario, all ending in failure and utter embarrassment.

“hey, you okay?” you called out, a large box cradled delicately in your arms. as atsumu turned from the plaster in front of him, he allowed himself a moment to take you in.

you were wearing short athletic shorts, worn converses, and his t shirt. a thin sheen of sweat covered your skin, the lights above reflecting off of it, giving you a warm glow.

of course you looked hot moving boxes.

you called his name again in concern and he immediately felt his heart clench in guilt. you’d already been through so so much and here he was fantasizing about you instead of being there for you like a good friend would.

atsumu let out a sigh and shot you a wide, albeit empty, smile before walking over to you and taking the box out of your hands. the furrow in your brows told him you saw through his expression but he ignored it and made a show of lifting your box above his head and carrying it to mattsun’s car.

“see, what would ya do without these guns angel?” he joked, placing the cardboard into the trunk. you rolled your eyes and poked him in the side playfully. “die, probably.”

the butterflies in his stomach kicked up at the underlying sincerity in your voice but he tried his best to overlook it. it was much harder than it seemed, especially when you looked at him with such fondness in your gaze that made him want to kiss you senseless.

gulping hard, he quickly turned away from you, busying himself with fitting your things in the truck like a game of tetris.

“atsumu.” your voice was firm but pleading and he didn’t dare look at you for fear of spilling everything right then and there. “wow, ya sure got a lot of stuff, huh? wonder how much of this was bought with ushijima’s money,” he started to ramble but thankfully he was interrupted by makki whooping as he walked out of the house.

“last box bitches!” you shot atsumu one final worried look before running over to makki and mattsun, yelling the whole way there.

atsumu was grateful your back was to him because he couldn’t hide the affectionate look that overtook his face, a soft smile spreading across his lips as he watched you hip bump your friends while cackling wildly.

god, he was so in love with you.

what was he going to do when you moved out and away? what if you found someone, someone how loved you as much as he did (not possible)? he would wish for your happiness even at the expense of his own but... what if you both could be happy?

caught up in his thoughts, atsumu didn’t register you saying your goodbyes to the remaining members until you were finally in front of him.

“i’m gonna miss living with you tsum.” you unceremoniously launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. his heart leapt violently at the contact and he prayed to every deity above that you didn’t hear it underneath your head.

he barely managed to hug you back before you pulled away, your eyes slightly teary and red. “um, well, makki and mattsun are waiting for me so uh,” you trailed off looking back at the van and your friends who were so (im)patiently waiting for you to join them.

atsumu’s breath quickened as you scooted a bit away from him, truly getting ready to leave. no, no, it couldn’t end like this, awkward and distant. no, he wasn’t going to let it.

“atsumu?” you asked worriedly, reaching out a hand to touch him when he didn’t respond but he couldn’t hear you. he felt hot all over, like he was going to explode or magically combust if he didn’t get the words out into the air.

“tsum, are you oka-“ “i’m in love with ya.”

you paused, shock written clearly all over your face. the fear of rejection slammed into atsumu like a brick, the feeling settling in the pit of his stomach like a rock but he still didn’t stop.

“i’m in love with ya and i have been for forever. yn, yer beautiful but yer face and body aren’t even the best part of ya, even though they’re pretty damn great. yer just-“

“tsum-“

“-yer so kind, especially when ya don’t need ta be. yer badass but ya care fer others so deeply and ya make me wanna be a better person. ya make me a better person. i know ya-“

“tsumu please-“

“-ya probably don’t feel the same and that’s alright but i needed ta tell ya, before ya leave and fall in love with some other scrub, just in case we can be happy together and-“

all of a sudden, your hands were buried in his shirt and you were pulling him close to meet your lips with his, your mouths meshing together in a soft and passionate kiss.

bliss. atsumu was in sheer bliss. your lips were as soft as he thought they would be as they moved with his, his hands coming up to grip your waist and pull you even closer to him.

sooner than he would have liked, his lungs started burning for air so he pulled back but not very far, instead resting his forehead against yours.

“i was trying to tell you i liked you too, idiot,” you muttered, your eyes still closed as you spoke. he chuckled, a wide grin overtaking his entire face as he really took in what you were saying.

you liked him back. you liked him. holy shit.

but instead of saying any of that, he decided to tease you a bit. “just like? if i recall, i just confessed my undying love for ya.”

you pulled back with a faux scoff, hitting him in the arm with a huff. “shut up you ass. of course i love you too.” you couldn’t keep your real smile off your cheeks while you confessed, your soft expression bringing another wave of desire over atsumu’s body.

“can, can i take ya inside angel?” he allowed his true intentions to be heard in his words, your eyes widening when you figured out what he meant. you nodded vigorously before shooting a look to makki and mattsun. mattsun just waved you off and got into his truck while makki yelled, “get that dick!”

you heated up horribly, grabbing atsumu’s hand and pulling him towards the house and to his room. he allowed himself to be dragged along, sending winks to the other boys as he went until the two of you were standing right in front of his door.

“i love ya,” he whispered, lifting your hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss there. you grinned. “love you too tsum.”

that must have been the final straw because the minute the words left your mouth, he was on you.

••• smut begin•••

pressing you up against the door, atsumu ravaged your mouth, his tongue tangling with yours as he walked you backwards into his room, laying you down on the bed so that he was hovering over you, his hips pressing hard against yours.

instinctively, you ground up into him, rewarding you with a loud groan and a gasp of your name. “fuck angel, yer killing me here,” he laughed breathlessly, rolling his hardness against your thigh. you let out a breathy moan and tangled your hands in his hair to bring him back down to your lips.

as you continued to kiss him, his hands scrambled at your waist, pushing his hands under it to grope at your chest. you giggled at the cold of his fingers but he didn’t pay it any mind, moving down from your mouth to your neck, sucking dark marks into the sensitive skin there.

“ah, shit tsumu,” you tilted your head to the side to give him more access, just as he reached under your bra to tease your nipples. a startled gasp left you, your back arching into his careful touch. “that feel good angel?” atsumu asked, voice low and gravelly as he pinched the delicate bud, drawing another noise from your throat.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. you bit your bottom lip while he pulled your shirt and bra off, tossing them somewhere in the room. as he scanned your half naked body, he noticed you quieting yourself and he lightly shook his head. his thumb found its way to your lip, carefully pulling it from between your teeth.

“wanna hear ya angel, let me hear yer pretty noises, yeah?” without letting you respond, atsumu dove back into your chest, suckling one of your nipples into his mouth while toying with the other, a sigh of his name sending a bolt of arousal straight to his loins.

he grinded against you absentmindedly, losing himself in you, eventually switching sides to give the same treatment to your neglected bud.

while atsumu seemed to be having the time of his life attached to your tit, you were getting impatient, your arousal completely soaking through your underwear. you needed more.

tangling your fingers in his blond locks, you attempted to tug him away from your chest but his reaction was unlike anything you could’ve expected. “aahh!” he let out a strangled whine, his hips bucking against your side.

“please, tsumu, need more,” you breathed, his needy reaction not lost on you as pulled his hair a bit harder. you were not disappointed as his eyes rolled back and his mouth opened in a silent moan before dropping his head to your shoulder.

“fuck, fuck, okay angel, i got ya, i got ya.” atsumu swiftly disposed of both yours and his bottoms and underwear before lifting your leg and positioning himself at your entrance.

“tell me if i hurt ya, alright? i love ya,” he smiled down on you, your heart swelling two times at his carefulness. “i love you too,” you replied, watching as his pupils grew and a low groan broke free from his chest.

“oh angel, ‘m gonna ruin ya.” that was the last thing he said before he pushed into you, both of you letting out whimpers as he stretched you open, the blunt head of his cock just a few centimeters shy of your cervix.

your back arched in pleasure, both of your hands scrambling until they found purchase on his back, your nails digging in just when he started to thrust shallowly into you.

“f-fuck, how’re ya s-so fuckin’ tight?” atsumu growled through gritted teeth, every word punctuated with a roll of his hips. you couldn’t respond as you were too overwhelmed with pleasure, his cock rubbing against your g-spot with every slow movement.

speaking of slow, he was moving way too leisurely for your tastes. you needed him to move faster and you knew exactly how to do it.

sliding your hand up from his back, you grabbed a good chunk of hair from the back of his head and pulled. his reaction was immediate and oh-so gratifying.

an honest to god whimper poured from his lips and he instantly thrusted all the way into you, his length driving into your g-spot perfectly. you both let out twin moans as he started rocking into consistently, every movement bringing you closer and closer to your peak.

“i love ya, i love ya so fuckin’ much, angel—shit—yer so amazing, i love ya,” atsumu rambled while pounding into you, deep curses and whines of your name interspersed with his declarations of love. if you could speak, you would reciprocate but you were too busy holding on for dear life as he fucked you into oblivion.

desperate for some kind of anchor to reality, you grasped onto his locks again, gripping tightly as drawn-out cries of his name slipped from your open lips. you were close, so close and he knew it too.

“feel ya clenchin’ around me like a good girl, ya gonna cum fer me? gonna cum fer me angel?” atsumu’s hand snaked down between your bodies to rub fast circles on your clit, a shaky sob finding its way out into the open air.

“oh shit, yeah, ‘m g-gonna cum for you tsum, ‘s all for you,” you moaned, clamping down on him sporadically as you started to cum, your vision whiting out and your thighs trembling while you gushed around him.

your mind was floating off when you felt him cum with a shout, his warmth flooding you and spilling out as he collapsed onto your chest.

••• smut over •••

the two of you lied there for a while, attempting to regain your brain and feeling in your legs. you vaguely made note of the wet rag cleaning between your thighs and the following weight falling down beside you but it was only after a few more minutes that you really came back to yourself, rolling over to lay on atsumu’s bare chest.

“holy shit, tsumu,” you said in awe, your boyfriend (!!) laughing at your reaction. “i’m just that good angel, what can i say?”

you groaned and hit him in the chest but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face if you tried. “you are such a menace!”

“only fittin’ that i picked a gremlin ta be with then,” atsumu teased while playing with a piece of your hair. mock offense filled your chest as you sat up, fixing him with your ‘angriest’ glare.

“is that the kind of language you’ll be using in your vows, mister?” you were only joking but when atsumu’s eyes widened and a blush spread across his cheeks, you realized your mistake.

you opened your mouth to apologize or to make some kind of excuse but he beat you to the punch. “ya wanna marry me angel?” he asked, looking so vulnerable with hope shining in his brown irises. you couldn’t bear to lie.

“of course tsum, you’re it for me,” you reached out a hand to caress his cheek and he leaned into it, his own coming up to cup yours and hold it against his face.

“good.” and that was the end of that, that evening’s... extraneous activities having thoroughly tired to the point that you fell completely asleep with your face against one of his pecs.

if you had stayed awake a little longer, you would’ve seen atsumu pull out his phone and start a new note titled, “my angel.”

if i just said i loved you, it would be an understatement. it would be like saying the sun’s surface is just a bit warm or that the arctic is just a little chilly. it would be an injustice to you and to how i truly feel about you. love—

“-is a word that is much too soft and used far too often ta ever describe the fierce, infinite and blazing passion that i have in my heart for ya angel. ya acknowledge my strengths and ya accept my faults. ya make me wanna be a better person every day. so, today i vow ta laugh with ya and comfort ya during times of joy and times of sorrow. i promise ta always pursue ya, ta fight for ya, and love ya unconditionally and wholeheartedly for the rest of my life. ya are my best friend and i’m the luckiest person on earth ta call ya mine- wait are ya crying?"

the audience burst into laughter as you frantically tried to wipe away your tears, punching atsumu softly on the arm. “of course i am, you ass.”

the officiant cleared his throat, grabbing both of your attentions. “it is the bride’s turn to give her vows. if you may?”

you nodded and atsumu already felt like crying. again. he’d cried that morning while getting dressed and then again when you walked down the aisle in the most beautiful dress he had ever seen. now, as he watched you pull a folded piece of paper out of your bra, he knew he’d made the right decision in confessing to you, all those years ago.

he also knew he was definitely going to cry again.

“atsumu, falling for you wasn’t falling at all—it was walking into a house and knowing that you’re home. today, i want to make you promises that i will always keep. i promise to never stop holding your hand or accepting your kisses. i promise to not hit you too hard when you insult me or call me a gremlin. i promise to share my food with you, to never go to bed angry, and to try and understand your obsession with professional men’s volleyball. i promise to love, respect, protect and trust you, and give you the best of myself, for i know that together we will build a life far better than either of us could imagine alone. i choose you. i’ll choose you over and over and over, without pause, without doubt, i’ll keep choosing you.

i used to never truly enjoy moments because i was always waiting for what's next. the next thing horrible thing to happen. now that i have you, i enjoy the moment. every moment.

today seems like it's the start of a new journey, but i already belong to you. falling for you wasn't falling at all—it was walking into a house and knowing you're home. i love you.”

and at least in this lifetime

we’re sticking together

me and my husband

we’re sticking together

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[tteokdoroki]

assistance please! | e.kirishima.

♡ pairing: eijirou kirishima x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 6.6K

♡ rating: mature, 18+, mdni.

♡ genre: workplace!au, internship!au, fluff + smut.

♡ summary: eijirou kirishima loved being an intern, he had great co-workers, had a shot at his dream job, his boss had taken quite liking to him and of course, being the favourite intern had many, many perks.

♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy smut,  ( kirishima is in his twenties ), power dynamics, sub top!kirishima + power bottom!reader,   heavy!praise kink, heavy!miss + mommy kink, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, kids ), oral ( female receiving ), squirting, tummy bulges, cumplay, creampie.

♡ author’s note(s): hihi everyone!! today i present to you my contribution to the bnharem on the job collab! i had a lot of fun playing with different dyanimics in this fic, i hope you enjoy it nonetheless!! make sure you chek out the other works from the other amazing creators!! <3

♡ masterlist | requests | kofi

“oi! ��shima! you’re needed in the boss’ office right away, she’s got important business for ya!, wants t’have a word. now.”

eijirou ducks his head politely in a sign of gratitude, thanking his co-worker and superior, keigo— for the heads up. keigo, or better known as hawks around the office ( for his fast speeds in completing work and luring lonely interns into his bed ), was a nice guy— second to the lady in charge and way too chatty. he was a bit of an air head, got the job done when it needed to be but that’s what kirishima was for, the replacement while keigo took his vacation time in the middle of the year like an idiot.

he wasn’t too sure why you kept the blonde around, he supposed it was because he was pretty but eijirou wouldn’t dare question you— he needed this internship if he was going to make it big in the sports news reporting scene. he’d been majoring in sports and healthcare at college, two years away from graduating when the opportunity to work for yn ln, one of the biggest sports journalists in japan had landed right in his lap. of course he was going to take it, of course he was going to do everything he could not to fuck it up.

in the cubicles beside him, the other interns try to muffle their giggles and titters of curious laughter as the red head gathers himself for the meeting.

“oooo, i wonder what you did this time,” kaminari teases from the right, leaning over his side of the cubicle to fiddle with the odd bits on kirishima’s desk. denki kaminari was another person kirishima wondered how the hell he got into the programme, but then again he was pretty to look at and brought a lighter air to boring office days.

“nothing! i’m innocent!” eijirou defends, hands releasing his files to fly up in defence.

the other interns, going by the names of mina ashido, kyouka jirou and hanta sero snicker amongst themselves at the interaction.

“don’t believe it, s’obviously more than nothin’ if you’re always getting called down’ta the boss lady’s office.” bakugou, another intern, grunts out with his nose deep buried in files for upcoming reports. he was a little too rough for the journalism lifestyle but got the job done. his attitude wasn’t for everyone. “they’re probably fuckin’.”

mina giggles and kirishima steps out into the paths between desks. “don’t be such a sourpuss ‘suki, just ‘cause you’re not her favourite.”

a lose ‘shut up’ is huffed, before katsuki turns to face his taller, buffer companion. “just don’t be late, bunch of us are goin’ for lunch later.” he adds and turns back to his paperwork.

“affirmative, catch ya later!”

the group waves the red head off as he heads to the elevator directing him to the main floor— this is where all the higher ups worked. the journey wasn’t unfamiliar to the intern, he wasn’t like the others and had the steps to your office memorised by heart. sometimes it was like walking home, to his comfort and sanctuary away from the stressors of work and the outside world— he knew that was bad, but you were so kind, such a sweet and understanding boss he couldn’t help but develop some level of comfort towards you.

to most, it seemed like eijirou kirishima was just unbelievably close to his boss, that you’d taken him under your wing.

he however, knew what you had, meant more.

a fluttering warmth spreads across the intern’s chest as he approaches the door to your main office and he knocks. behind it lay mountains of secrets upon secrets, things that kirishima knows about you that no one else does. the walls have hidden words, written across them in fonts of passion and admiration and it’s all that he can think about. you’re all that he can think about, and it’s still wrong. there’s a shuffling deep in the room and some flitters of paper here and there before your soft, velveteen voice breaks through the barrier between you. the one thing keeping you apart.

“come in,” you call smoothly and kirishima follows your orders swiftly, if not eagerly, entering the four walls of your office. ruby eyes dart across the room to locate your position and his heart skips a beat when he finds you, body leaning over your dark oak desk, papers scattered across it while you frantically sift through numbers and stocks and nonsense way above the level of a journalism intern. but even amongst the chaos, you’re beautiful— eyes sparkling with productivity, lined in little flecks across the colour of your orbs. the way you dress never fails to steal away eijirou’s breath— a tight fitting leather skirt that hugs your mature curves and a white blouse with the bottoms popped open— just enough for him to get a peek at your cleavage.

the poor intern has to hold himself back from blurring the lines of work and pleasure to shove himself deep into your chest, suck and lick at your plush breasts until he was high off the taste of your skin. but he wouldn’t do that, yet. not without your permission. “oh eiji baby, there you are!” you coo to the red head, bright smile stretching across blood diamond painted lips. you cross the room in three short strides, tall black heels clacking against the smooth white marble until you’re standing in front of and looking up at kirishima. “was starting to think keigo had ditzed like a pretty boy and had forgotten to send you my way, darling.”

eijirou’s cheeks flame at the smoothness in your syrupy voice, like sweet honey to his hears, the pet name striking a familiar heat deep within him. you always had a way with your words— enticing, almost like a siren calling out to him despite the taboo aura that surrounded what you had. whatever it was— he just knew it was more than your typical boss-intern relationship.

“even if he had, ‘m more than happy to be of service to you ma’am,” he responds almost a little too quickly, large hand rubbing the back of his neck and tugging at his baby hairs to ground himself.

you cock your head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “always such a helpful, good boy eijirou,” you hum, lips pulling into a devilish red smile and the praise causing a new spark of lustful electricity to crackle through the air. “i could use a little assistance, please, i have this awful meeting with the board today, spent all night preparing and couldn’t go home, i could use some stress relief,”

kirishima’s gaze becomes hooded as he looks down at you, a familiar and bright desire burning in the pits of his stomach. “oh yeah? sucks that the paperwork kept you up all night ma’am…” he trails off, choosing to let his fingers dance up and down your sides— snaking an arm around your waist to pull you into him. you couldn’t or you wouldn’t go home. he’s not sure if he cares about the answer right now— not when you tremble in his grip, itching for something, anything from him. “how long do you reckon we have ms. ln?”

“ten to fifteen minutes sweetheart, give or take,”

you grin widens, taking an impossibly closer step to your intern— pressing the swell of your breasts against his hard chest. he can feel your nipples pebbling through your blouse, almost visible behind the white fabric and god the way you look up at him— he can no longer wait, he needs you. right here and right now.

“will you be needing my assistance throughout, ma’am?” kirishima asks, voice dropping a few octaves until it falls into a low growl.

“i expect it. you are my intern after all.”

the words laced with deep huskiness, the proximity of your bodies and the rising heat in the room is what leads you both to tumble into the next series of events. before he can’t register it, your mouths are slotted together in a fast paced and sloppy kiss, kirishima’s body manoeuvres you around the office, marking out a familiar pathway to your desk—his tongue remains sliding over yours in rapid movements as he commits your taste to memory, refreshing those from the last time he had you like this. yet every time you kiss and his tongue glides over yours, you taste sweeter than before; like peaches and morning coffee— you feel softer in his grip, every dip and curve to your body like it was built for him.

eijirou can't stop thinking of that last time, tucked away in your office after dark when your dainty hands pawed desperately at his hips to bring him closer or scratched at his back from sheer pleasure— kirishima wants to see you like that against, using his own hands to tear through your shirt and send buttons flying across the room. something in him just wants to do good for you, have you ache for him and earn himself some of your sweet praise. even as you step and stumble towards your work desk, the red-head lets his lips break away from yours, connected by a string of your own saliva before he drops to your neck, lapping tracks over your skin with the temptation to bite down and paint it shades of deep purple and blue.

but there are rules that you both have in place; ways to keep what you have a secret and hidden away from the public eye so that you don’t lose all that you’ve worked for and so kirishima can keep being your precious little intern.

“jump for me, please ma’am,” he whispers heavily into the junction between your neck and your shoulders, breath laboured and warm against your skin that begins to shine with light perspiration. mindlessly, you follow his orders, jumping up while your fingers curl into the mass of red on kirishima’s head and ankles lock around his waist—his hands meet the backs of your doughy thighs, squeezing the flesh between calloused digits while you toe off your heels.

“eiji, you’re so good,” you manage between feather light breaths as they clatter to the floor as the pair of you somehow make your way to the desk chair, pushing and tearing the clothes from one another’s bodies— including your crisp shirt. now seated and left in nothing but your bra, you tug harshly at your intern’s locks and bring his mouth down to yours, allowing them to move together in a dirty, messy kiss. there’s barely any time for you both to mess around, for him to tease you until your limit and you’re crying out for any type of touch from him, so eijirou quickly

flips down your bra, exposing your chest to cool, air conditioned air—not even bothering to unclip the material as his fingers descend on your nipple, pulling and twisting them until your back arches from the stimulation. “hurry, please eijirou,”

obedient as ever, your favourite boy drops to his knees in front of the chair you stay slumped in and with his height, he still manages to tower over you, practically at eye level with hunger framing the ruby of his own. large hands knead at your plush thighs, hiking your skirt up and up to give you room to spread your thighs, cunt growing sticky from anticipation— all from a few measly touches in familiar places. but this is kirishima, and he knows how your body works from countless hours spent after the office closes up— using one another to blow off extra steam. he knows just what makes you tick and moan his name.

logically, eijirou knows that your meeting could start at any minute and even though you’re both in a stickler for time, he still wants to get a taste at your skin before devouring your most intimate parts. he’ll make time to explore every part of you, to assist you in your stress relief. “‘m sorry miss, yn,” he whines needily, watching your chest rise and fall with want, feeling your body heat up and twitch from the ghost of his fingertips across your blemished skin. “gotta have a taste of you before the real deal, hope’ya don’t mind…”

latching onto the left mound of flesh at your exposed chest, kirishima sinks the point of his teeth into the area around your nipple— just enough to graze your skin and pull a sweet mewl from your mouth. you’re both lucky for the soundproof walls, your head thrown back in a lewd moan he lets his pink tongue roll over your bud in vicious circles. heavy, fat globs of saliva pool over the pink muscle, pouring down kirishima’s chin and painting your skin with a slick shine. “h-how...how could i mind angel, not when you treat me s’good,” you heave, vision fading in and out due to the overwhelming amount of pleasure flashing through your body in waves of hotness. “always doin’ so well for me eiji, aren’t you such a good boy?”

“yes ma’am,” the intern confirms with a erogenous slur, pacified and content on his knees for you— sucking, licking and biting at your chest to his heart’s content. “‘m your good boy,” he corrects you, however. eijirou feels most happy when grazing his tongue over the swell of your breasts, watching your face carefully for any twitches of delirium, it lets him know how hot aroused he makes you feel— that knowledge shoots straight to his cock, rock hard in his slacks while the redhead watches his boss writhe in her seat all for his eyes only.

such a dazzling view, and it’s all for fucking him.

your perfectly manicured nails run through red hair, scratching deliciously at his scalp until you’re forcing his head back and pulling kirishima off of your breast with a pop. “as much as i love seeing a pretty boy suck on my tits like a baby, we’re pressed for time angel, gonna need you to speed it up a little,” despite the softness to your face and the sudden evenness to the tone of your voice, the words that you speak to eijirou are vulgar, nasty, and turn him on to his wits end. “want you to eat me out eiji, can you do that for me?”

shaking his head, yes, beautiful claret eyes shining with acquiescence, kirishima wipes the spit from his chin with the back of his hand— like the tainted, dirty intern he is. you sigh down at him salaciously, ready to tear his innocence apart all over again. eijirou was always so willing to please, both in his work and behind closed doors— you would be a fool to not take advantage of that. with brute force, your intern forces your legs apart, eyes rolling back in his skull from the scent of your sex, dripping with your juices right through your underwear and stockings. overexcited, he rips through the flimsy material at your cunt, exposing your panties for him to see.

“you’re so...so wet ms.ln,” kirishima comments observantly, not even bothering to pull your stockings the rest of the way down your legs, instead opting to pull on the whole until it’s wide enough for his mouth to fit. “smell s’good, bet you taste even better,” there’s a patch on the crotch of your panties, darker than the rest of the material from where you leak and without a second thought, the red head instantly surges forward to lick a stripe over it, letting out a choked gripe as the taste of your cream from over the fabric invades his tongue.

you let out a shrill cry, hips jumping up at the first brush of his tongue against your untouched, clothed pussy. you wriggle even as kirishima holds you down, needing the heat of his mouth against you before your meeting starts. but he’s so good, so well trained, reaching up to your hips to yank your panties down in one fluid motion. leaning forward, kirishima savagely buries his face between your doughy thighs, hiking them over his shoulders from beneath the desk. his nose bumps against your clit, swollen from the lack of touch as he greedily inhales your scent once more— without warning, the intern kicks a stripe up the length of your pussy, sucking your juices into his mouth and smiling against your heat.

“d-don’t tease baby, be good for me,” you remind kirishima, your body trembles with anticipation, craving an orgasm to expel the stress of your work days out. the boy between your legs only hums, the sound running straight though cunt and vibrating against it, causing you to gush and spill your arousal out onto the leather seat beneath your cheeks. eijirou feasts on the slick that seeps from your fluttering hole, gliding his tongue up and down your sex, allowing the occasional pressure from his nose to stimulate your bundle of nerves.

the pads of his thighs burn marks into your legs, using them as leverage to pull your heated core further into his mouth, “can’t help it ma’am, y’got such a pretty pussy...s’only right that i worship you…” eijirou breaths right against your puffy folds, eyes trained on the way your hole clenches around nothing. a primal urge flares in his chest, a desire— no, a need— to see you filled with something, any part of him that can make you see stars and fuck you dumb. “‘m sorry, ‘m sorry you jus look s’fucking pretty miss…”

attaching his lips to your clit, the redhead pushes the spit gathered on his tongue right over your sloppy sit, hazy ruby stare watching as his saliva mixes with your juices and slides over your empty hole. he follows the oozing trail with his tongue, lapping it up and spewing it back into your sex until the pink muscle slips past your entrance— slipping inside of you with no prior warnings. your knuckles that grasp the arms of the chair as you’re spoiled between your legs by your top intern, his hands snaking their way around the tops of your thighs to spread your sticky pussy lips apart in order to bring more of you to the cool air of the office.

“you like this don’cha? dirty little boy,” you tease the poor boy, watching as his cheeks flame with embarrassment. “being a naughty little intern between your boss’ thighs all to keep on pleasing  her, keep your position at her company, huh? fuck eiji, you just love miss riding your naughty tongue—ohmygod—“

the way you sound, voice smooth like chocolate over the obscene slurping that fills the thats air heavy with the scent of sex and, makes eijirou’s cock jump up, precum oozing from his tip as he begins to rut against the hard floor beneath your desk. he makes an attempt to respond, but your thighs lock his head in place and his words come out muffled against your core. “mph, luh it, you’re s’sexy, please ma’am—“ he mumbles sordidly against you, practically humping the ground at your feet as you pick on him.

for a brief moment, kirishima pulls away to watch you roll your hips into nothing, hot tears beginning to brew into our hooded eyes from the satisfaction he brings you with every flick and flit of his tongue against where you need him most. written in your eyes is the command to keep going, your hands twistingly sharply in red roots to bring the intern back to your sluice, spasming cunt. so he does as he’s told, shoving his tongue deep inside your ribbed, iron hot walls and dragging tip along them to collect and taste strings of your viscous juices.

biting your lip, you do your best to hold back a voracious howl, bucking your hips feverishly into your intern’s face and staining his cheeks with everything that you have— he thrusts his tongue into you to the pace of your own hips, moaning against your slippery slit until your eyes are rolling. “gonna cum from this eiji, from you eatin’ me out like this...jus need a little more— need your fingers pretty boy,” you can feel the twist of the knot in your lower tummy starting to unravel, signifying your oncoming high, and the room starts to spin while kirishima eats you out with new vigour.

“yeah? miss? you’re gonna cum for me?” the intern practically whines and pulls his tongue from your hear, almost crying as his hips thump against the floor desperate for friction. “wanna see you come undone s’bad, please cum for me, please, please—“ eijirou chants, replacing his tongue with two of his thick digits, watching as your slick cunt stretches around them accommodatingly. he jackhammers them inside of you, grunting lowly underneath the slaps of his palm against the meat of your ass, as he returns to your clit to suckle on it hungrily. his fingers curl instantly in search for the spongy spot inside of you— bearing down hard against it once it’s located.

“oh—hah, right there baby— right fuckin’ there—!” you squeal, only egging him on as white starts to cloud your vision, everything sounds so nasty and wet, while eijirou stimulates both of your pleasure spots. it becomes hard to breath, legs wobbling around his broad shoulders, but your intern doesn’t let up, determined to bring you to cloud nine.

“that’s it ma’am, right there—you’re almost there, can feel you clenching around my fingers...please cum, fuck i want your cum, wanna taste you so bad, cum. cum. cum!” and that’s all it takes, eijirou’s pleading voice between your thick thighs to make the coil inside you snap and for your orgasm to wash over you. you convulse in your chair, nectar gushing freely from your raw and overstimulated cunt, spewing all over the redheads face as he continued to lap at your clit to ride out your high.

but he doesn’t stop there, scissoring his fingers deep within your velvet walls as you continue to cum, making you shake your head and wail from the high levels of ecstasy.

“please eiji—n’more, can’t, no—“

“you can miss, i know you can—fuck you look so pretty when you’re about to squirt for me, please…”

as quickly as your first high ended, another one comes crashing over you in harsh waves— rocking your world as clear liquid floods from your pussy— the sheer force of you squirting, pushing kirishima’s fingers out from your tight, sappy hole. your release hits the floor with a crude slap, both of you moaning loudly almost for the whole world to hear. he doesn’t stop sucking, clearing up your pretty cunt even as you fade in and out of consciousness from pleasure— he stays lapping at you with burning, languid strokes of his tongue between your folds even as you weakly attempt to answer the phone now ringing from your desk.

clearing your throat, you muster up the strength to sound professional over the line before picking up the phone and bringing it towards your ear. “good afternoon, this is yn ln of shinku sports reports, bringing you the latest sporting news, how may i help you?”

‘this is the board, we need to discuss this month's stocks and reports.’

from the corner of your eye, you can see kirishima rise from his place underneath your desk— standing tall over you once more while you converse with the directors on the other end of the phone. as quietly as he can, the redhead tears through the buttons on his shirt in a similar way to you, prior to you fucking and unbuckles his slacks. he pulls down his boxers and pants in one go, revealing his thick, hard girth that stands tall and slaps against his stomach— tip an angry shade of red as precum smears across his lower belly.

you nod into the phone, forgetting that the board can’t see you as kirishima lifts you from the chair and lays you on your back across the desk littered with unread papers. “ah yes, i’ve been expecting a call from you…” you whisper so quietly instead, not caring if they’ve missed what you said. you’re hardly paying attention, choosing to wrap a fist around eijirou’s cock, slickly pumping him to prepare him to take you— he parts your thighs, eyes closing and body shuddering above you while you continue to converse with the board.

spreading the droplets of precum across his slit and iron hot tip, kirishima takes his cock from your grasp— heavily slapping it against your sensitive and swollen clit to see you jolt up the desk. “gonna fuck you so good miss, jus’ be good ‘n stay quiet for me okay?” he says, a whimper catching in the tail end of his words. you nod to him, rushed and way too eager, laying your head back on the hard wood your swimming gaze settles on kirishima as he taps the head of his cock against your hole, teasingly pushing it just past your entrance before withdrawing again.

‘ms. ln, are you still there? we really are pressed for time so we would love to start by discussing interviews for the next issue—‘

you forget that you’re still connected on the line, settling for wriggling impatiently underneath your intern, who’s caramel tinted skin glistens with sweat and his cheeks begin to flush with unadulterated desire— all from watching the way your puffy folds lube up his shaft with every push through them. you can see him losing his resolve, just as sensitive as you since he’s been holding back an orgasm and without the hint of a warning, eijirou’s hips jump forward and drive his cock into the deepest parts of your sex— brushing against your cervix. you gasp out in surprise, finally losing focus and barely manage a more comprehensive response to the board you have waiting on the line. “y-yes!— yes, yes, i’m still here… you may proceed with the meeting.”

he’s big, bigger than anyone you’ve ever had— and you’d seen a lot being a woman of your caliber this high up in the industry...but no one could compare to the way your sweet, doe eyed gentlemanly little intern filled you up, fat cock stretching your walls even with the shallow thrusts into your cunt he gives you to adjust. the weight of his girth sits heavily inside you, twitching as kirishima slides into you easily due to the stickiness lining your gummy walls, breath shaky and uneven as he holds out for you during this time. you can tell the poor boy isn’t going to last long, fingers sinking into your thighs with a harsh grip while he tries to hold himself back.

such a good boy, always waiting for your every command.

‘so we’d like to talk about the main feature for next month’s issue, do you have anyone in mind?’

the monotone voice of the board member is drowned about by kirishima’s shaky breaths above you, his pleading puppy dog eyes while he stills himself inside your spasming, puckered hole— he waits for permission, following orders like a trained pet even though he can hardly stand it, overwhelmed by the flutter of your sex around him and heat from your body despite thrown over the desk. “y-you’re s’warm...god ma’am...need to—need to move,” the redhead huffs weakly in order to keep himself quiet, a line of sweat dotting his brow. “please,”

you sit up on the desk, legs locking around his slender waist to draw him closer, sheathing more of the poor boy inside of you until he’s completely bottomed out and balls deep inside your pretty cunt. he drops his neck to your shoulder, tongue lolling over your salt licked skin before biting down to pacify himself, sharp teeth almost drawing blood while you adjust the cord of the phone. “i was thinking…thinking that we got the hockey player— the oylmpic champion…” your eyes drift to kirishima’s complacent face, giving him a nod to start moving while he sucks another bruise further down his onto your collarbone. “t-touya...touya todoroki—!”

you hiccup but play it off with a cough when kirishima pulls back his hips, so far that his girth completely leaves you, before he drives himself forward with one powerful thrust and fills you right up again. looking down, you see him bulge in your tummy, the line of his girth prominent against your body— slightly dwarfed in kirishima’s arms. you rock your hips, coaxing your intern into your warmth to help him build up a momentum of thrusts.

‘sounds like a good choice, do we have anyone who could interview him? i believe we can have PR set up an interview this week.’

the desk creaks below you, hard wood groaning along with the red head who hides himself in your neck, squeaking pathetically as he moves inside of you— precum smearing along your gummy walls that welcome his hardened shaft. your pussy opens up for eijirou like it’s welcoming him home, still growing used to the pleasure-filled burn and stretch of him pushing in and out of you. the nerves on his head catch amongst your inner ridges, making his toned body shake in ecstasy.

“m-ma’am, feel s’fucking good, so fucking good...” your intern hums against your salty skin mawkishly, large palms dropping to the flesh of your ass— kneading it to bring you closer to his body— cock barely leaving you due to your proximity. with slow strokes, eijirou fills you up, painting you with what leaks from his tip— prodding at your cervix and brushing up against your sweet spot in ways that make sweet nectar dribble from your hole.

your digits curl in his hair once more, the phone slipping from between your neck and creating rustling on your end. “eijirou,” you sigh breathily, humping back his cock while you squeeze around him selfishly, keeping your intern inside of you. “i-i mean eijirou kirishima, he’s an intern— such a… a good one at that…”

a immodest whimper brews in the base of eijirou’s throat, bubbling against his bruised lips  while you shower him with praise, indirect to him, hand snaking up to the back of your neck— tangling in your baby hairs as he pulls you up to a sloppy kiss, slotting your mouths together and running his tongue over yours. “f-fuck mommy, ‘m i your good boy? please tell me yes, fuck, yn— ma’am,”

kirishima’s voice rises in octave as it does devoir and pathos, vulnerability stays written across his handsome features as he succumbs to the mind break the heat of your damp, creamy core as he fucks into you. you throb at his use of mommy, shakily pulling the phone away from your ear to reach up to his own, nipping the earlobe and tugging on it gently. “you’re my good boy baby, keep being good eiji, be quiet...you gotta stay quiet if you want to keep fucking mommy okay? you wanna cum inside me right?” you say, words aberrant and low toned  on your tongue, your intern hisses and whines in response— nodding his head again and letting out a barely coherent ‘yes’. “then shh, baby, let mommy talk yeah?”

“hm’kay,” he babbles, dropping his ruby framed gaze to where your bodies meet, hiking your skirt further up your thighs to get a better view of your cunt staining his heavy balls with a layer of your slick.

‘ms. ln, are you sure that you want an intern to cover this case—’ the board begins to ask you, muffled from the distance away from you both.

picking up the phone again, you pull the line towards you again— mindful of capturing eijirou’s weak little mewls over the device as he languidly pumps himself in and out of you. “i know what i—fuck, what i want. eijirou, will be—oh— on the case. that's final.” you huff, watching your intern fall into a pussyhaze, his precious mind fogging with thoughts of only painting you white inside and out as a reward for helping relieve you of stress. the slow roll of his hips into yours are accompanied by the soft slaps of his skin against your own, wet and sticky— determination to make you feel good crackling across his mind.

‘there’s no need to curse, ma’am, do you need a moment to recollect yourself before we proceed with discussing the other features.’

“i’m fucking fine,” you growl, in anger or need you don’t know. but kirishima frowns, you can feel it as he start nosing up your cheek— swiping his tongue over areas of skin he hasn’t touched just yet— he grunts possessively , unhappy with the use of your title coming from anyone other than him. to prove his point, he pushes your thighs wider apart, letting you drip all over the documents sitting below your ass and ruining the ink— important or not he starts a brutal pace into your cunt and presses down on your tummy so you can feel exactly where eijirou is inside you and know that only he can make you feel this way.

‘ms.ln—‘

“i’m fine. keep going.” you grit your teeth, biting your lip to hold down your panting— again you don’t know who you’re speaking to. your intern who slows the movement of his hips, postponing in and out of your tightened hole, clamping down on him eagerly or the stupid board member giving you grief on the phone.

they proceed to talk, barking out suggestions to your sports magazine, that you hate— even considering bringing in good for nothing athletes who’d treated you like shit in the past, and you’d sworn to never work for them again.

but it’s almost silly, how kirishima lets out small moans of mommy and ma’am, trying to keep your attention on him like you would give up grinding down on your intern’s dick for some prissy member of the board over the phone— but you love the slight possession eijirou has over you, moulding your iron hot walls into the shape of his fat dick that presses up against your pleasure spots, makes you convulse and drawl and become addicted to everything that is him. eijirou kirishima.

“takin’ me so good, so well ma’am...don’t think i can hold on anymore…please,” eijirou warns you, losing control of his body as he takes you for his own like he’s done many times before after hours— your gazes lock, you can see his desperation to ruin you, moan for you despite the people on the phone and the people outside your office.

if he grows too loud, he could give you away— they could be listening in to your poor needy little intern humping you like a feral dog and whining your name. and as much as that thought makes your hole spasm around his fat cock, make his thrusts stutter and eyes screw shut while you moan in sweet, almost silent harmony, you love your job and so weakly, you take two of your fingers, shoving them deep into eijirou’s mouth as it hangs open in heavy pants of warm air. you press down on his wet tongue, fucking into his mouth in tune with the pace of his hips plunging deep within your walls, churning up your syrupy and sticky insides.

“keep quiet, baby,”  you hiss to the redhead, who’s eyes start to brim with fresh hot tears from the overwhelming pleasure. “let mommy take care of this, yeah? finish up so you can let it all out on me.”

he sucks on your fingers to calm himself down, shallow breathing while he paws at the flesh on your sides and circles his hips into yours— letting his leaky tip bare down on your sweet spot and forcing the air out of your body. white hot pleasure flashes through your bloodstream, replacing any air of professionalism flooding through them. you can’t, you physically cannot hold back either of your orgasms— you can’t concentrate as your mind starts to fall away with the world and your gaze hones in on the way kirishima takes your fingers in his hot mouth so deep in an attempt to hush himself.

the coil in your tummy begins to unwind and the room swims once more. ‘ms.ln is everything okay over there— we need to progress with his meeting if we’re—‘ the annoying board member sounds underneath kirishima’s sloppy groans, saliva dribbling down the sides of his mouth. your dirty, good boy.

“i’m going to need to take a rain—hah— a rain check on this meeting. you’ll hear from me when my interns and i are ready—“ you huff, cutting the staff off and quickly throwing the phone onto the hook, you’ll have keigo deal with the consequences later but for now you focus on kirishima who picks you up by the ass, lifting you up and down on his cock in frantic movements as he finally loses all connections to his control. “ohmygod—eiji baby, slow—fuck, down—“

he shakes his head, latching onto your collar bone as he revels in the way you leak down his shaft and drip between his balls, lewd squelching sounds fluttering through the air hot, sex scented air at full volume. “‘m sorry ma’am— i can’t… i’m really close, i really need’ta cum...please ma’am...mommy, i’ve been good—please let me cum...“ eijirou groans heartily, from deep in his chest as if he’s finally releasing what he’s been holding back— arms flexing and the sweat from his body slicking up your own.

limbs shaking you wrap your arms around his shoulders and press your foreheads against one another, while you nod. he worked so hard to make you feel good, all day long to do the best job that he can— pressing small kisses to his lips encouragingly. “you can do it baby, one last thing for me— fill me up eiji, cum for me.” you whisper between bites and sucks on his lower lip, lined with a vibrant shade of red.

“cummin’, cummin’...miss yn, mommy—!” and then his hips come to a halt, his dick pulsing as waves of his cream line your insides with an opaque white, thick and seeping down your thighs. his fingers drop to your sensitive cunt, slipping quick circles over your swollen clit to bring you to your high. his cock never stops pumping in and out of you, pushing his seed further into your sex while you writhe and fall over the edge into your orgasm— gushing so hard you force him out of plugged and full hole.

losing his strength, kirishima collapses on top of you, pressing out both to the hard wood seat which you’re surprised  is still standing, his lips pressing fleeting kisses across your face and neck while you both come back down to earth.

and then he looks up at you with a weak smile, “did i do good?” he asks you lazily and almost sleepily— refusing to budge from laying atop you and almost crushing you with his weight.

pushing back his hair to soothe him. “always eiji, you’re not my favourite intern for nothing,” you coo at him, pulling him up to press your lips to him in a soft kiss.

“i sure hope you don’t have any other favourites, i want to be the only one who assists you like this,” kirishima says, remaining tangled with you for a moment more in your office, content with snuggling into your exposed and bruised side.

you share a sleepy giggle, intending to clean up later— eijirou completely forgetting about the lunch he’d promised the other interns after your meeting.

oh well, assisting you was a much better treat than spending time with any one else.

[inkykeiji]

bright light city gonna set my soul on fire

ace anon said: wanna suggest dabi taking you to a poker game as a good luck charm then betting you on a game and losing...or winning and bragging about it by fucking you on the table

genre: smut + implied crooked secret agent/spy AU set in the late 1950s???

notes: AH ace i loved this idea SO MUCH it ended up sparking an entire fic!! heavily inspired by ian fleming’s 1953 novel casino royale + martin campbell’s 2006 film casino royale. it is set in clari’s version of the 1950s and in no way historically accurate!! think of it as an AU of the 1950s, if that makes sense ehehe | title credit: viva las vegas by elvis | songs mentioned in the fic itself: don’t and i beg of you by elvis, rockin’ robin by bobby day

warnings: 18+, period typical use of the word Daddy (not with dabi), inappropriate use of the word Mister, slight degradation, mentioned somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, minimal prep, night terrors, blood, murder, generally toxic codependant relationship, one implied mention of drug use (morphine), mentions of tense family dynamics

words: 8.5k

synopsis:

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Sticky pink candy, translucent and gleaming with saliva, clacks against teeth as you roll the heart-shaped lollipop around in your mouth, twirling the stick between your index finger and your thumb.

Legs kick idly as you lean back on your other hand, seated on the edge of Tomura’s massive, pristine mahogany desk, watching as his personal tailor helps Dabi shrug on a navy tuxedo jacket, stitched and sown perfectly to his measurements.

“I dunno,” he’s saying as he pivots his body a little, making a face at himself in the mirror. “I still think the black looks better,”

Ruby eyes roll up towards the ceiling, a frustrated groan spilling from between Tomura’s lips.

“You always think the black looks better. We’re going with the navy, it brings out your eyes,” he gives the back of Dabi’s head a sharp look before strolling towards you, features softening as he observes—the perfect picture of innocence, legs swinging slowly in cute little motions, strawberry lollipop sucked against the roof of your mouth, sparkling eyes floating from your boyfriend’s broad shoulders to his—your—boss’s face as he advances.

“Gimme some,” he demands, large hands finding your knees and halting your movement, using his hipbones to push them wider, making a space for himself between them and sticking his tongue out. With a giggle, you place the now misshapen candy on his tongue, gasping loudly as he snatches the candy from you, movements too quick for you to catch, and jumps away with the grace of a cat.

“Daddy!”

Tomura snickers around the lollipop in his mouth, sucking it into his cheek as he speaks around it. “Aw, come now, don’t pout,” his bottom lip pushes out to mimic your expression, tilting his head in false sympathy. “I’m sure your Mister will buy you another,”

“He better,” you mumble through your pout, eyebrows knitting together as arms cross tightly over your chest, eyes flitting to Dabi.

“I will, dollface, I will,” he vows distractedly, gaze not straying from his fingers reflected in the mirror as they fiddle with his bowtie.

“Promise, Mister?”

“Promise, baby, promise,”

Dabi’s already been briefed on the specifics of this mission—something to do with playing a poker game with a bunch of other crooked hotshots at the Sahara hotel in Las Vegas, but that’s all you know. That’s all you’re authorized to know.

Despite being Dabi’s accomplice and working for Tomura’s underground organization, you’re rarely allowed to be in Tomura’s office while the briefing happens. It’s sensitive information, dollface, and the less you know the better, and don’t misbehave now, sit pretty and quiet like a good little girl until the big boys are finished, and then Daddy and Mister will give you a pretty reward.

But! you had protested with a bottom lip involuntarily jutted out. But maybe, if I know more, I can be of better help—

But Tomura had shut that idea down before it had even finished leaving your lips.

No. Absolutely not. It’s for your own good—your own safety, you little brat—why can’t you understand that? 

You do understand that, you’ve been told a thousand times—your specialty is distractions, used to keep enemies occupied before Dabi splatters their brains on marble floors, or to pry information out of men weak to the smile of a pretty girl.

And, to be fair, Tomura does reward you pretty generously, with glittering evening gowns and designer pumps and all the handbags a gal could ever want.

You turn back to face him, red lips spread into a cunning, mischievous smile, a smile he knows all too well, a smile Dabi loves—because he taught it to you—and Tomura hates—because it means you’re about to get what you want. “So. How much money are you giving me to play with this time, Daddy?”

Tomura’s face screws up, nose scrunching. “None,” he spits, removing the lollipop from his mouth. Tiny hands grab at the air, reaching for it like a child, Tomura swiping it just out of grasp as he continues his scolding. “Last time, you nearly bought the entire shopping complex,”

“Ah, c’mon, boss,” Dabi says around a cigar, still standing in front of the full-length mirror and smoothing down his clothing. “Give the lil lady a lil somethin’, will ya?”

“Yeah, boss, c’mon,” you plead, mimicking your boyfriend, adorning your face with your signature pout and award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern as he speaks, facial features hard in finality and resolution, but his eyes—irises a crimson so brilliant, so beautiful it’s terrifying, almost looks as if it’s glowing—are beginning to waver.

“You know, if you don’t, then I’m sure I’ll get bored in that big city all by myself while Dabi’s working,” you begin in a singsong voice, eyebrows raising. “And you know what happens when I get bored, Daddy,”

“She gets int’a trouble,” Dabi grumbles, eyes catching yours through the mirror, though there’s a smirk forming around the cigar, held between sharp gleaming ivory teeth.

“S’true,” you nod simply, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze at Tomura. “Please, Daddy? Pretty please? I swear I won’t spend too much this time,”

“Jus’ give ‘er your credit card r’somethin’,” Dabi waves a hand in nonchalance before patting down his pockets. “I’ll keep a’eye on ‘er, promise,”

“Take that damn cigar out of your mouth and speak properly,” Tomura spits, and you and Dabi share another look, another smirk, through the mirror. “Fine, alright? Fine,” nimble fingers pull out a sleek leather wallet, flipping it open and searching through the card slots, grumbling to himself. “Christ, the two of you are insufferable, I swear to God,”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you giggle, soft and gentle and innocent, all of the things you weren’t mere moments ago. Platinum plastic gleams in your fingers as you tilt the card in the light, gaze captivated by the way it sparkles and glitters as you speak again. “Promise I’ll bring you back something neat,”

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s been a few years now since the two of you met, since the two of you became partners, and Dabi swears to high heaven and back that he had tried his hardest not to fall in love with you, cross his heart, hope to die.

At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. In actuality, he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you—it’s as cliché and cheesy as one of those Jimmy Dean flicks, but goddamn it, it’s true all the same.

Doesn’t help that that’s one of the first things you said to him, though.

You look like Jimmy Dean, Mister, you had giggled dainty behind your hand, batting those long, thick eyelashes as you gazed up at him, gracious and polite and all the things a good little girl like you should be. Is supposed to be.

It made him want to fucking ruin you. It sparked a white-hot fire deep in the pit of his stomach, a blaze that grew, and grew, and grew with each of your cute mannerisms. It procured an inferno full of pure desire, heady and intoxicating, that nearly engulfed him in an instant.

“Oh, yeah?” he had asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, tongue running along his front teeth as he steadily held your eyes. “‘N why’s that, little miss?”

Those eyes, the sparkling ones that had been so bold only a moment ago, bashfully flitted down to the teal typewriter sitting in front of you on a large oak desk, fiddling a little with your nails against the worn keys.

Baby pink. Cute.

“Oh I—I—” your gaze flashed up to his for a moment, intense cobalt burning into your very skull, before you averted your stare again. “Well, I-I don’t mean to be rude, Mister, it’s just that—your hair,”

Sapphire eyes flicked up, as if to gaze at his forehead, as if he were able to see his own hair from just that motion, eyebrows raising with the action.

“S’all messy like the way he wears his. You know, when he’s not doing a picture and all that,”

And you noticed your mistake immediately, eyes widening, tongue tripping over your words in your haste to correct yourself, to speak properly, like a lady. “I-It’s all messy, s-sorry, excuse me, it’s all messy like the way he wears his,”

A smirk, slow and dangerous, spread across his face as he observed you, tilting his head a little as his eyes travelled down your neck, to your shoulders and the sweetheart neckline of that pretty, pretty dress, and then back up again, narrowing slightly as they did so. It’s in that moment that Dabi first wondered what you’d sound like underneath him while sharp hipbones bruise his name into the tender flesh of your inner thighs, how you’d slur your words together then.

His voice was a touch huskier when he spoke again. “You like Jimmy, miss?”

“I sure do,” you nodded, painted lips morphing into a little melancholic smile as you looked down at the typewriter again. “It’s a real shame he passed,”

“Sure is,” Dabi mimicked your movement, giving a simple nod in agreement. “But thank you for the compliment, doll, I’ll take it,”

Your head snapped back up. “Oh, c’mon, m’not stupid y’know,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes and a light laugh.

“No?”

The traces of amusement that played in his azure eyes had your own narrowing a little in response, sitting up straighter as you rolled your shoulders back.

“No,” you shook your head. “I know who you are,”

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“Touya.”

And it’s the way you said his birthname, the way your lips curled into a devious little smile around the word, the way one of your perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question, in challenge, that had confirmed it for him, right then and there, in that stupidly luxurious office.  

“Touya Todoroki.”

He was sure he had to have you. He was positive he had to make you his—forever.

“You’ve been compared to Jimmy since he debuted—”

“And you know this because—”

“—because I read Time and Vogue and all those other stupid magazines, just like all the other women in this country. And I’ve seen you,” you paused to point a manicured nail at him. “On or in every single one,”

Oh, and he was sure you had, sure you knew that he was notorious for stealing several of his father’s girlfriends when he was in his early twenties, infamous for fucking them and then selling the Polaroid’s and information to vying tabloids and the like. He always did like to spice up those stories a little, to fluff them and make them a hint more scandalous, glamorous—those ones always sold for more.

Not that he needed the money.

“It’s rude to point, baby,” he winked before he straightened up, pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards your desk, stopping in front of it as large hands splayed out on the wood, and leaned close to your face.

“And I don’t go by that name anymore, sweetheart,” he had told you, voice smooth as scotch over ice, though something dangerous glinted in his eyes as they carefully searched your face, something omnious etched into the sharp smile on his face

A shiver crawled up your spine, frosty and slow, fingers tiptoeing up each vertebra as you nodded your understanding. “Y-Yes, sir,”

The door to your boss’s office had swung open then, Dabi straightening up and spreading his arms out in a grand sweeping movement.

“David!” he greeted as if the two were old friends, large smile stretched too tight across his face as he walked forward and clapped a large hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

He murdered your boss that day. You didn’t know, of course, didn’t have a goddamn clue until over a month later, Dabi had made sure of that. But by the time you found out, you were already in too deep; too enamoured by him, wholly captivated by him in every sense of the word, too dependant on him, to care at all.

He had made it quick—quiet and painless and looking as if it was an accident, strolling out of the office only a few moments later and asking you out on a date like nothing had happened, words flowing smoothly from his lips in that drawl that is so distinctly him, almost lazy in a way, glittering lidded sapphire scalding your skin with its intensity.

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Nothing, that’s what.

Honestly, he did you a favour—he swears he could see it in your eyes, sparkling as they gazed at him like he sculpted the moon himself, pleading for someone—for him—to come along and take care of you, to put you in your place, to keep you in line, absolutely desperate for someone to mold you, shape you, construct and arrange you into his most perfect creation.

Perfect, perfect, perfect, that’s what you are; so good for him, so obedient and compliant, always hanging on his every word and eagerly awaiting his next command, enthusiastic to submit to him, to please him, to receive the praise you crave so badly.

And Tomura had agreed, too, after only fifteen minutes of meeting you, of observing you, of assessing you, that you’d be a flawless addition to their operation.

So Dabi did what he does best.

He started slow, of course, enchanted you with strings of pearls and gorgeous dresses and expensive dinners, fed you tidbits about his mysterious lifestyle, about his family and his job and his past, just enough to keep you coming back for more, until you were practically begging him to let you in, to permit you to join his vocation, to accompany him on the wild ride that is his life.

And that was the best part of all—you didn’t care, you wanted it just as badly as he did; wanted to help him, to serve him, to be his, without ever requiring the full story. You readily gave everything up for him, accepted his orders, his wants and his needs without as much as a single question, never faltering in your honesty, in your pure devotion to your creator.

It’s love in its truest form, you’re both sure of it—possessed by one another, infatuated with one another, dedicated to one another—both consumed by the most potent drug, this love, a force to be reckoned with, the strongest pull either of you have ever felt before.

And, really, what more could you ask for?

     ✰          ✰          ✰

He took you under his wing, crafted you into a master of manipulation, pairing it perfectly with that innocent kitten demeanour you wear so well, and taught you everything he knew: all of the infiltration techniques and self-defence he had learned before he was ostracized from his father’s company—a privatized intelligence agency that works closely with the federal government—the very organization he’s been working so tirelessly to burn to the ground.

You still don’t exactly know what happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it, about where those scars decorating his body came from, about why he’s thrown away his old identity and constructed a new one, trading ivory hair and a high-fashion wardrobe for inky black and weathered Levi jeans with big black motorcycle boots.

But you do know a little.

He had been the favourite son, the chosen son, the one set to inherit the empire his father had built. That was, until he got himself into an accident—one that he still isn’t ready to disclose the full details of, and you never push. But you know it had involved a twelve year old Touya—always devious, crafty, and ever-so intelligent, even as a child—sneaking along on a mission he absolutely shouldn’t have. The silvery burns that adorn his skin, puckered and soft and shimmering like moonlight when they catch in the sun, scars tinged with the slightest hint of baby pink, are from this incident. Whatever had happened after had scarred his soul forever.

Because you’ve never encountered such intense hatred, burning bright blue flames that rage and roar inside of him, the words that are spit from between clenched teeth when he talks about his father, about his baby brother, positively scalding.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the full story, that you aren’t entirely aware of why this vendetta against his family exists. It doesn’t matter that his one goal in life, his only true desire aside from you, is to take down his father. It doesn’t matter that he’s willing to do anything and use everyone to achieve his objective.

Because he is letting you in; slowly, bit by bit and piece by piece, the most fascinating and tragically beautiful jigsaw you’ve ever put together. He may never be ready to tell the full story, and that’s alright with you, because as you’ve reassured him countless times in the dead of night, you’ll always love him anyway—you’ll always be by his side.

That’s when he’s most vulnerable, it seems—in the middle of the night, at two and three and four in the morning, when he wakes trembling and whimpering and soaked with his own sweat.

He never tells you what they’re about, the nightmares. Sometimes, they’re so violent that they wake you first. He doesn’t fuck you immediately on those days, doesn’t say a word as he finds solace in your warm bosom, little fingers pushing back sweaty strands of inky hair from his temples as your other arm wraps around him, holding him close to you as his shaky breathing calms, as his muscles stop quivering. On those nights, he says nothing as he spreads your legs and climbs on top of you, railing you into the mattress like it’s his last day on this earth.

That’s how he likes to be comforted; that’s what calms him down best. It’s standard procedure at this point—not that you mind waking up to his soft sniffles and him shoving himself into your barely prepped cunt, or rousing to feel the tip of his naked cock rubbing against your clit through thin cotton undies as he tells you in that wavering voice to stay sleeping and let your Mister take what he needs. You’re there to serve him—and you do, so perfectly. You just want to help, after all. You’ve always ever just wanted to help. You never know which nights he’ll gift you another little piece of himself, of his soul, for you to try and fit in somewhere in the puzzle that is DABI. You don’t know the triggers—as far as you’re concerned, they don’t seem to exist anywhere outside of the padlocked barricade of his own head, no rhyme or reason to them, more random than anything else. But you’ll readily accept anything and everything he’s willing to give, the very instant he’s willing to give it.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

Sprawled out on the hotel bed with his white t-shirt riding up and exposing your lacy panties, you watch, in an almost trancelike state, as Dabi does his hair in preparation for the game set to begin in an hour or so. He leaves it messy and ungreased when he isn’t working, all tousled and fluffy, a sea of half formed curls that flow into each other, akin to tremulous waves hours before a storm like an inky ocean atop his head. But he cleans up well, when it comes time to get down to business.

“Every little swallow, every chickadee, every little bird in the tall oak tree,”

Standing in front of the mirror clad in a white undershirt and his suit pants, he sings along to Bobby Day’s staticky voice as it flows through the small radio set on the bathroom counter, nimble fingers dipping into a tin of greasy pomade and gathering a generous glob, a responding giggle bubbling up in your chest.

“The wise old owl, the big black crow,” he catches your eye through the mirror, a devilish smile materializing on his face as he continues, lathering his hands together. “Flap-a their wings singin’ ‘go bird go’,”

“Should’a been a singer, I’m telling ya,” you say as you roll onto your stomach, chin resting in your palms and head propped up, eyes glittering. “Could’a rivalled Elvis,”

Huffing out a laugh accompanied by a roll of his eyes, his hands begin to rake through his hair, slathering it with the substance and slicking most of it back from his face, sure to leave a few curls at the start of his hairline untouched. “So sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth, baby,”

“M’serious!” you insist, blinking at him as your eyebrows raise, watching the teeth of the black comb run through the slicked-up strands, his palm following close behind as he smooths it over; crisscross, crisscross, crisscross, fluff, pat, crisscross.

 “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he shakes his head in disbelief, though there’s the faintest pink tinting his stubbled cheeks. “I think I’m better at this job,”

What? Playing poker with a bunch of criminals and making deals with mafiosos and murdering those who wrong you? you swallow the words, letters stinging and scraping your throat as you force them back down, schooling your face into a neutral expression. “I respectfully disagree,”

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles to himself distractedly, leaning closer to the mirror to complete the look. “Elvis, you say?”

He begins belting out lyrics in an exaggerated deep voice as he adds the finishing touch—your favourite part—slender fingers shining with residual pomade as they twirl and coat the few stray curls left neglected, allowing them to hang artfully in the middle of his forehead. 

“When I feel like this and I want to kiss youuu,” pivoting on his heel, he gazes at you with that shit-eating grin and continues. “Baby, don’t say doooon’t,”

“Oh, God, no, not Don’t!” you groan, flopping onto your back dramatically, face screwed up as if you had just tasted something sour.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s chuckling as he advances towards you, a small towel in his hands as he cleans them. “How ‘bout…” trailing off, he hums a little as he thinks.

“Hold my hand and promise,” he begins in a low voice, smooth and sweet like the finest melted chocolate, depositing of the towel and crawling onto the bed.

“That you’ll always love me too,”

Large hands gently pry your legs part, signature crooked smirk spreading across his face when he’s met with zero resistance, rough palms caressing silky skin as they slide up, fingers gripping and grabbing and kneading.

“Make me know you love me,”

The words taper off into a whine, beginning to sound more like begging than singing, as his body settles between your thighs, hipbones digging into the soft flesh while he hovers above you, supporting his weight on his forearms.

“The same way I love you, little girl,”

Lips trail along your jaw, leaving tender kisses in their wake—unhurried, careful, and full of purpose—as he mumbles against your skin.

“You got me at your mercy, now that I'm in love with you,”

Calloused hands begin to ruck up his t-shirt, digits dipping into the lacy waistband of your panties, his voice starting to tremble ever so slightly.

“So please don't take advantage, cause you know my love is true,”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, sapphire eyes gleaming in the golden sunlight and he pauses, blistering gaze searching your face for something, muscles relaxing and head dipping a moment later to finally press his lips against yours, whispering into the kiss. “Darling please, please love me too, I beg of you,”

And despite all the glitz and glamour, all the extravagance and exhilaration, that comes with each mission, this will always be your favourite part—when it’s only you and him, lounging around in some luxurious five star hotel or some dingy roadside motel, exchanging lazy, messy kisses full of stringy shining saliva, goofing around and whispering stupid Elvis lyrics to each other, words that hold more weight than either of you care to admit.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation—minimal violence, Tomura had instructed. No guns or casualties, if it can be avoided, if Dabi can keep his temper in check. It was supposed to be easy, straightforward, safe.

It was supposed to be. But Dabi gets bored easily, likes a little spike of adrenaline with his missions, rolling his broad shoulders and cracking his neck as he joins the rest of the men around the poker table, a sly smirk on his face as they name the bets and the prizes.

“And my little doll,”

It’s hard to resist rolling your eyes as those four words slip from between his lips, slow and smooth in that deep, lazy drawl, trademark smirk painted across his lips as his lidded eyes scan the faces sitting around the table, an eyebrow raised, daring any of them to protest. Several hungry eyes dart towards you for a moment, standing like the reward you are a few feet behind Dabi and leaning on a railing, a shy little smile briefly gracing your lips in greeting, elegant evening gown shimmering under the crystal lights.

This isn’t new—Dabi usually bets you when he plays. Keeps him sharp, he claims. Keeps him on his toes, keeps it fun when there’s something important at stake, something valuable to lose, he says. He plays better that way, he promises.

Except he’s always craved that thrill of danger, has always liked to push further and further simply to see how far he can go before he topples over the edge. It’s a rush, a blast, a high akin to the morphine that so often flows through his veins, and he fucking lives for it.

It’s been over an hour now, since those words were murmured in that velvet voice, floating across the table and cloaking the thoughts of the other men like a lethal haze, most of whom can’t seem to keep their eyes from wandering back to you every so often, leering gazes coating your skin with grime you itch to scrub off.

But that’s the point—or it’s supposed to be, anyway. That’s the whole reason you’re here in the first place. To act as a distraction, Tomura’s words drift through your mind, just whisps of his voice that tickle the walls of your skull.

And what a perfect distraction you are, in a Dior dress that looks like it was made only for you, tapered perfectly to every curve and edge of your body, silk flowing gracefully with every miniscule movement, with every rise and fall of your chest.

But it bores you to tears, this poker game, eyes dry and sticky, sick of staring at the back of your boyfriend’s immaculate, intricate hair as his nimble fingers play with the mountain of chips accumulating in front of him, plastic clacking together as he shuffles through them.

You had begged him to let you go shopping—just for the first half of the game, you swear!—but he refused. I need my good luck charm there with me the entire time, babydoll, he told you, brushing calloused fingers down your cheek then tracing along the line of your jaw, gazing at you with brilliant sapphire that glitters in the late afternoon sun, streaming in through the hotel’s floor-length windows. We can go shopping after the game is finished, he promised.

You regarded him with skepticism.

“And dancing?”

“Of course,” he responded with a playful scoff. “We can dance until our feet are bleeding, pinky promise,”

Keigo comes to join you just before the game passes the two-hour mark, large hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling you back against his chest as his head dips down, soft full lips against your skin.

“Lovely dress you’ve got on,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, tickling the shell. “You look stunning—breathtaking—I mean, gosh, look at me, I can barely breathe,” he gasps dramatically, chest heaving against your back as he does so, chuckling when you roll your eyes and giggle at him to shut up, Kei, the vibrations from his laugh a comforting sensation, a familiar sensation, a welcomed sensation, sending warmth spreading through your body. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you whine, leaning further into him and head tilting against his collarbone to gaze up at him. “I’m so bored,”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, something unusual—unreadable—settling in his topaz eyes as he glances up at the table. “You aren’t used to games lasting this long, are you, baby,”

A little pout settles on your lips and you nod, playing right into his condescending cooing as you snuggle into him, eyes following his stare. Truthfully, you haven’t a clue what’s going on, and, really, you couldn’t care less. You aren’t entirely sure what the significance of this poker game is, or who most of these men are, and you aren’t allowed to. Just sit pretty and perfect like you always do; it’s the thing you do best.

Except tonight—tonight something is different, unsettling, off. It’s no big deal, though, of course—you can almost hear that deep, dark voice drawling the words out in your mind, phantom breath tickling your skin.

Because Dabi’s always been startlingly good at what he does. Because Dabi’s always been able to worm his way out of a difficult situation. Because there’s never really been a reason to worry about it before, anyway. But tonight—well, tonight you’re watching as his Balenciaga clad shoulders are getting tenser, and tenser, as his jaw is clenching tighter, and tighter, as his grip on that singular sparkly chip resting in his palm is becoming stronger, and stronger, thin skin stretching painfully over sharp bony knuckles.

Keigo’s breath is bated, his fingers digging into your hips as he observes the game unfolding in front of the both of you, pulling you closer to him, hushed curses falling from his lips every so often. And Keigo knows what’s happening, of course, but he refuses to tell you, promising you that you wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it. Creases form on your forehead as your eyebrows knit, eyes drifting back to the table. Whatever it is, it’s clear that it isn’t good, Keigo’s body tensing against yours as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment before blowing it out from his mouth, exasperated.   “Well, I’m positive it’s fine,” you say, trying to wave it off lightly, to whisk away the acrimonious dread that roots deep in the pit of your stomach and begins to spread, thick and dense as it slithers into your surrounding organs, to brush off the impending sense of foreboding that seems to lurk over you, getting heavier and heavier, darker and darker with each second that ticks by—though your voice sounds high to your ears, tinny and false. “Dabi’s never lost a game before, that’s why they send him to these things,” But Keigo doesn’t sound so sure, responding with a nervous breath of a laugh, lithe fingers flexing on your hips, rubbing little lopsided circles into the flesh. “First time for everything, songbird,”

The words send ice piercing through your veins, but you persevere, rolling your shoulders and standing up a little straighter, swallowing past the painful lump that’s lodged itself in your throat. It’s fine. It’s always fine. He’s always found a way to get out of messy, tight situations before. Why should tonight be any different?

It won’t be, it isn’t—you can already see Dabi collapsing on the cream sofa upstairs in your luxurious hotel room, tugging at his bowtie with a sigh as his head falls back, nimble fingers popping the first few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt, and had you scared for a moment there, didn’t I, kitten?

And you’ll playfully slap his shoulder as you crawl into his lap, roll your eyes as you straddle his hips and allow him to tilt the champagne flute to your lips, laugh it off as his hands begin to wander, rucking up your dress and kneading your ass, cock tenting his expensive trousers. Like always. You’re sure of it

It’s just past the three-hour mark when Keigo speaks again, all traces of teasing, of that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, gone from his voice. Golden locks stand in all directions, his hair having fallen out of its usual ducktail style, a curtesy of fingers raking through it nervously. His smile is tight as he looks down at you, front teeth nibbling at his cuticles as he speaks, muffled a little by his fingers. “Maybe we should get you out of here, sweetheart—”

“No,” you respond instantly with a firm shake of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,”

“Sunshine, listen—”

“I said, no, Kei,” you pull back a little to look at him, resolution sown into your voice, chest puffing out just a touch. “I won’t leave him,”

Honey eyes hold yours for a moment, and you can almost hear Keigo’s molars as they grind together. He exhales a deep sigh a moment later, shaking his head and tugging his fingers through golden strands again. “Alright, alright,” It finally comes to an end, a few minutes past the four-hour mark. Heavy lids start to lift as commotion begins to stir—soft murmurs among the men and chairs scraping against the floor, plastic chips clacking together and the sharp whisp that travels through the air as cards are shuffled—whining a little as you lean further into Keigo, who is now supporting most of your weight.

“Kei, feet hurt,”

“Shh, I know, songbird,” he hushes you, a large palm stroking your head. “But I need you to wake up, sweetheart,”

Rough, unfamiliar hands are wrapping around your arms only a moment later, yanking you from the warm sanctuary that is Keigo and hauling you against stiff muscle.

“I believe you’re mine now, darling,”

The words are gravelly, uttered in a low voice against the crown of your head. A vicious shiver crawls along your skin, whole body trembling with the force of it, as your lids snap open.

“Wait, what?” frantic eyes search the gaudy room for familiar cobalt, breath beginning to accelerate as you struggle a little in the grasp of a burly man with one eye. His grip tightens in retaliation and a pained yelp hitches in your throat, Dabi’s eye twitching at the sound. “Dabi? D-Dabi!”

Sapphire blazes into your skull, steadily holding your watery gaze as his jaw clenches, swallowing thickly at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers of his name, at the way you squirm and wiggle in your abductor's grasp, desperate to escape, to get back to him.

“H-Hold on, now,” Keigo begins, holding his hands up in surrender, a motion meant to signify peace, to signify that he isn’t a threat—even though you know he’s got the cold metal of his favourite pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pressed against his warm skin. “Let’s talk this through, yeah? Just wait a minute—”

“Nope,” the man cuts Keigo off mid-sentence with a loud, harsh laugh, and you wince at the sound. “No way, a deal’s a deal, friend. I won her fair and square—she’s mine,”

A light chuckle, laced with irritation and dubiety, escapes Keigo’s lips as he shakes his head a little. “Come on, Dabi jokes around like that all the time,” and while his voice seems amicable on the surface, its ridden with cold undertones, phantom threats that are felt, not said. “And this little lady—as pretty as she is—is a person, not a prize. Taking her against her will is, in fact, kidnapping, and I’ll be forced to—”

“Let him go,”

“What?” the word falls from your lips and Keigo’s simultaneously—one incredulous and pitched high with distress, the other breathed out in disbelief, both equally as concerned—gazes snapping to Dabi, who sits quiet and brooding, dim lights casting shadows on the sharp planes of his face.

Azure drifts between your faces, features ridden with terror and alarm—furrowed brows and deep frowns tugging at the corners of lips, one pair of eyes wide with scepticism, the other pair glistening with tears. Dabi’s silent for another moment before he pushes on his knees and stands, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, voice ringing out loud and clear, dripping with admonition. “Let him go. He’s right; he won her, fair and square,”

He speaks slowly, annunciating each word with careful precision, sapphire glinting in the dim light has he holds the muscular man’s gaze. It holds something threatening, something menacing, something terrifying deep within the depths of his eyes, and you feel your captor pause for a second, tense, and then shiver.

“Uh, r-right,” he says, voice wavering a little as he nods to himself. “Fair and square,”

Dabi stalks towards you, shiny oxfords echoing against the pristine, freshly waxed marble floor, tutting his tongue and shaking his head, casual and relaxed as ever.

“Don’t struggle, you hear me?” he says, voice softer, gentler, as a calloused thumb swipes across your cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “Be a good girl for him,”

And I’ll see you soon.

The promise doesn’t need to be vocalized—you can see it, shining bright and true in his sapphire eyes, can sense it, in the air surrounding him, can feel it, at the very core of your soul.

A sudden sense of relief floods your body, pathetic little sobs getting caught in your chest as you exhale shakily and deflate in the burly man’s arms, tears finally spilling over your lashline and streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

Dabi gives you a simple nod, lips quirking up into a ghost of his signature lopsided smirk. Okay.

And just like that, all of the fear and trepidation and panic vanishes from your body, a serene calm chased by a sense of giddiness replacing it, scorching through your veins.

Because before the door to the man’s hotel room has even swung fully shut, Dabi’s barreling through, crystal handle smashing against the wall and cracking as skilled fingers tangle in short hair, yanking the man’s head back with a sickening crack and dragging the razor-sharp edge of his favourite switchblade across the man’s exposed throat.

He moves like a flash of light, a spark igniting a fire, so fast he’s merely a blur of black and navy and blazing sapphire. Thick crimson begins pouring from the wound immediately, a large splice spanning from one earlobe all the way to the other.

The man hits the shiny hardwood floor with a distinct thump, but you aren’t paying attention to him or the way he’s writhing as he tries to claw at his neck, coughing and gagging as he begins to choke on his own blood.

No, you’re captivated by sapphire, bright and burning as it surges towards you, calloused hands seizing your face roughly as chapped lips find yours, unforgiving and ferocious, bloody knife still in one hand, cool metal pressed against your cheek, smearing streaks of scarlet across your skin as you try to get closer to him, to get more, the stench of copper stinging your nose.

It’s eradicated in an instant though, Dabi’s heady scent—campfire and hickory wood and expensive cologne—filling your lungs, your mind, your entire being as it curls around you in the most intoxicating embrace, familiar and comforting and him, him, him. Stumbling backwards, you just about trip over your own feet as Dabi shoves forward, strong hands wrapped around your biceps keeping you steady. The sharp edge of the small rosewood dining table digs into your lower back, Dabi swallowing your resounding yelp as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, large hands finding your waist and squeezing before he hoists you onto its surface, using his hipbones to force your thighs open.

You nearly topple over from the power, from the urgency, hands flying out behind you and grappling against the table’s surface to keep you sitting upright as he heaves and pushes and leans against you, motions knocking sparkling crystal glasses and fine porcelain plates off the top.

The sound of shattering glass and cracking china mingles with the gurgling and garbling of the man who lay a few feet away on the floor, suffocating on his own blood. It creates such a beautiful symphony, intertwined with Dabi’s ragged breaths and your broken moans, with the ruffling of clothing and the screech of the table legs against the gleaming hardwood floor. And it’s desperate, and needy, and messy, teeth clashing and clacking together violently, saliva dripping down chins as tongues rub and glide and lick, hands pawing and gripping and tugging and ripping, the delicate material of your silk Dior dress practically turning to ash as his fingers materialize through it, tearing it to shreds.

“Off, off, off, I need this off,” he’s growling against your lips as his hands work, a low whine getting caught in your throat as you nod frenetically.

Yes, yes, yes, you’re whimpering, your own little fingers helping him destroy the silvery fabric, eager and anxious to rid your body of the bothersome garment.

A guttural groan, deep and dark and inducing a fluttering in your tummy rumbles in his chest as his eyes roam over your body, clad in the daintiest white lace.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, y’know that,” he’s mumbling between sharp bites to the flesh of your neck, fingers snapping the clasp of your bra, breaking it in one simple motion. “A fuckin’ angel, that’s what you are, baby. My very own angel,”

Rough palms slide down your torso, slow and purposeful as they trace, feel, knead the dips and curves, planes and contours of your body, slender fingers pausing to play with the elastic of the garter belt adorning your waist, holding up your lace-trimmed thigh-highs which have begun to tear, then hooking in the waistband of your thong.

His cock grinds against your inner thigh, hot and hard and throbbing as it strains against his trousers, digits toying with the lacy elastic, twirling it between his fingers before he lets it snap back against your skin, the harsh slap! echoing throughout the hotel room. 

“Oh, Mister, I want it,” the plead falls from your lips in a shameless moan, high and whiny as your hips press forward in an attempt to grind against him. Slender fingers untangle themselves from the lacy fabric in an instant, gripping your hips to still them, fingertips digging into your flesh. “I need it,”

“Need what, dollface?” his lips brush against your skin as he speaks, teeth sinking into your collarbone a moment later, hard enough to break the skin, a loud cry getting caught in your chest. He sucks on the wound, hard, tongue laving over it in soothing little circles, slowly dragging over the bite.

And it’s a compulsion, a sickness, a fucking disease surging through your veins, infecting your mind with thoughts of him and only him, entire body buzzing with the desperate, pathetic, urgent need for him, for his cock, for his cum.

“Need you, need you,” you’re whimpering out, squirming and struggling a little in his grasp, a warning hiss spit through his teeth as blunt nails nip your skin. “Please, Dabi, please, lemme have it,”

“Have what, baby?” lips curling up into a coy smirk, he pulls back just enough to look at you, finally pushing his hips into yours, a patronizing laugh spilling from his throat as you instantly grind against his cock, impatient and impetuous. “Use your words, Mister wants to hear you say it,”

Scalding heat seeps into your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, a broken whine of complaint sounding in the back of your throat as you shake your head. “Y-You know,” you mumble. “You know,”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he tuts with a disappointed shake of his head, voice overflowing with condescension. “You act like such a little slut, but as soon as I want you to say what you apparently need oh-so-badly, you can’t? You get all shy and bashful like you’re innocent, or something?”

An arrogant chuckle bubbles up in his chest, a rough palm colliding with the flesh of your ass a moment later. Scarred lips graze your ear as he leans back in, speaking low and smooth, words leaving his mouth in a huff of warm, sweet breath. “You’re being bad, y’know that?”

The huskiness in his tone sends chills pebbling across your skin, a delicate shiver dancing up your spine.

“Please,” you whisper, bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Please, Mister, please,”

“Tell me,” he rasps, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth and sucking, bruising his name into the sensitive skin. “I know you can do it, doll. What is it that you want? Tell me,”

And, God, it’s so embarrassing, vision blurring with the sting of tears, entire body beginning to tremble from the combined humiliation and lust surging through your veins, his clothed cock still rutting against your core, poking and prodding and so close, you’re so close, two tiny words, just say them. “Your—Your cock,” you almost yelp, blinking back the tears in your eyes as you try to gaze levelly at him, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell its pathetic quivering. “W-Want your cock, please, Mister, I-I need it,”

“Yeah?” he breathes while he rests his forehead against yours, butting forward a little as his glazed eyes rapidly search your face, pupils blown to hell and lips bitten red, shining with spit. “Where, huh? Down here?”

A finger tugs the flimsy soaked lace to the side, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips as he drags a knuckle up your dripping slit.

“Here?” it presses into your cute little hole, your hips eagerly bucking forward in response.

“Yes, yes, there, Mister, there, please,” you keen, head nodding in almost frantic movements, skull knocking against his. “Please, n-no fingers, want your cock, need your cock, stretch me out, fill me up, I need it,”

And it’s your senseless babbling that does it, bratty and needy and incessant in high broken whines, that snaps the final thread of patience holding him back, and a growl rips from his chest, so violent it vibrates through your own.

The heavy buckle of his belt clinks as hasty fingers fiddle with it, shoving his trousers down his thighs just enough to free his cock.

You can’t help the mortifying moan that escapes your throat the moment you see it, velvety and pink and oh-so-pretty, flushed tip glistening with precum and two thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Christ,” he groans as he pushes into your cunt, burying himself inside of you in one swift thrust, your nails biting into the hard muscles of his shoulder through the thin material of his shirt as your hole stretches around him, both of you exhaling simultaneous sighs of relief.

It burns and it stings and God, you need more, eyes rolling back in your skull as the sharp heels of your stilettos dig into his lower back, little fingers tangling in white cotton as you try to pull him closer, closer, closer.

“Greedy little brat,” he snarls out as his hips begin snapping, the movement sudden, unexpected, welcomed, a choked cry of his name catching in your throat.

And it’s brutal and relentless, primal and desperate, lacking most of his usual finesse as he pounds into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips, hard enough to move the entire table itself, legs scraping against the floor a little more with each pump.

Inky curls cling to his forehead and temples, the white cotton of his dress shirt becoming translucent as it sticks to his damp skin, highlighting the hard planes of defined muscle that flex with each ragged inhale.

Surging forward, his tongue runs along the inside of your teeth before it drags against yours, slow and heavy, depositing his taste and staining it with the flavour of him, fiery cinnamon gum and smoky Marlboros. Gorgeous, needy little whines break in his throat in time with each strong piston of his hips, muffled by your mouth, and you greedily swallow whatever he’ll afford you.

It’s total sensory overload—he’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can taste, touch, breathe, hijacking all of your receptors and overwhelming you with him.

It’s building inside of you, deep in the pit of your stomach, scorching flames that glow as blue as his eyes as they rage, climbing higher and higher, licking at your insides and expanding further and further until they finally engulf you, consume you, with their blaze, and everything shatters, body convulsing almost violently around his cock as you cum with a strained cry of his name.

“Fill me, Mister,” you’re babbling, begging, swearing you’ll die if he doesn’t, the flames will burn you to ash if you don’t get his cum soon, voice absolutely wrecked. “Fill me, fill me,”

And he obeys, filling your cute little cunt to the brim with thick, hot cum as his cock pulses, a cracked whimper of f-fuck, slipping past his lips.

His chest heaves as he collapses against you, the two of you falling back against the table’s surface with a thump, his cock still buried inside of you. A soft whine sounds in the back of your throat as you carefully unlock your legs from around him, wincing a little at the stiffness in your thighs.

I love you.

The three words are murmured into your shoulder, so soft you barely hear them, so quiet you’re sure you’d have imagined them had you not felt his lips move against your flesh, not felt his hot breath on your skin, not felt the gentle vibrations in his chest as he spoke.

“I love you,” you respond, voice tender as tiny fingers comb through his dishevelled hair. “I love you,”

He’s silent for a moment, your combined pants the only sounds ringing out among the hotel room, and then he nods—once at first; just a quick, sharp motion, and then again a moment later, with more vigour, more purpose, more acceptance.

Little hands smooth down the damp cotton hugging his back and your head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. A certain type of giddiness—a type that’s sick, that’s twisted, that’s stuffed full of love—floods your body as your eyes connect with those of a dead man, laying in a pool sticky crimson, and God, yes, you love him, you love him, you love him—more than anyone else ever could, more than you could ever love anything else.  

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 8,912 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, sexuality, anxiety, fear, nudity, violence, gore, death of a character, typical TWD A/N: Here we are! The very final part of this series and it's a long one. It's definitely bittersweet. 257 page document and almost 130,00 words. Thanks for sticking with Y/N and Daryl this whole time. Hope you like it. A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N and Daryl head to the meeting place to try and put an end to Negan and The saviors.

Your name: submit What is this?

Daryl was staring over at you beside him in the bed. The sheet was swirled around your hips, allowing him to memorize the delicate angles of your shoulders blades and to trace the shadow of your spine down to the dimple in your lower back. You were sleeping soundly beside him somehow, probably just out of exhaustion. The two of you had practically torn the house apart last night tearing into one another feverishly with desire and scenes from it played on a loop in his head; your legs wrapped around his hips as he pressed your back into the wall, sweat beading up on both of you, your head thrown back and your eyes closed as you gasped in pleasure, completely letting go and surrounded only by sensations of him.

Daryl had pressed kisses and nipped at practically every inch of your soft skin, knowing some would leave faint bruises and reveling in the surprised noises his lips and teeth were eliciting from you. He could practically still feel your fingernails down his back, your lips crashing into his, your fingers in his hair. He could hear your laughter and see the fire in your eyes and blush in your cheeks when you’d both clattered into the nightstand as you tore each other’s clothes off and sent the lamp shattering on the floor. It had been a whirlwind of desire and passion and was borne of both of your fears and anxiety about what was coming. It was needy and full of love. It was heated and wild. Daryl had never experienced anything like it and neither had you... The feelings and sensations had been all-consuming and almost overwhelming. Unstoppable.

But afterwards, once you’d laid spent on the bed for a time, tangled with each other, you kissed him so softly and tenderly and with so much love he’d melted into warmth, and he’d returned it and told you how you were everything to him, how much he loved you, how he needed you to breathe, to live. And you’d returned every word. He was bewildered and still in disbelief that you felt the way you did about him. Your eyes drank him in and then you’d pulled him gently under a warm cascade of water and showered together, washing each other’s hair, caring for the bumps and bruises you’d inflicted on one another earlier in the lustful crescendo and physical venting of your frustration and worries, smoothing the rich lather over one another, refusing to part for a second. And this was delicate and tender. Your hands were light on each other. Your kisses were soft but still full of heat.

You’d collapsed against him in bed, completely content with his arms around you, but Daryl hadn’t been able to sleep a moment. Now it was almost time for him to wake you. It was nearly 3 am, and the plan was to meet Rosita at the gate at 3:30. You’d travel under cover of darkness to the place where Negan was to meet you that afternoon, allowing them both to conceal themselves in the trees on opposite sides of the field. And then you’d wait.

Daryl adjusted the sheet over himself as he rolled closer to you, needing to feel your skin against his. Both of his hands smoothed over your back and you felt so small and delicate beneath them. You stirred a little beneath his touch and he kissed your shoulder and swept your hair aside to kiss your neck. You let out a soft sigh and sleepy moan and Daryl wanted so much to stay hidden with you in his arms forever. Why the fuck did this goddamn world have to be the way it was? How was it that he’d only found something this good when everything else was utter shit? The constant shit coefficient, he thought to himself. Something Merle used to say.

“Do we have to wake up?” you breathed quietly, turning and curling into him, your fingers finding his bare chest and moving down his side to hold gently to him.

“Yeah. S’time,” he drawled. Your eyes flitted open and for a moment Daryl thought he saw a flash of fear in them, but the next moment it was gone.

“Okay,” you said.

The archer reached out and smoothed his fingers through your hair. Your hand covered his and you laced your fingers in between his.

“It’s almost done,” you said. But Daryl didn’t find that reassuring. You saw that he looked careworn and worried and pressed his hand over your heart so he could feel it beating. “Hey. Everything is going to be fine,” you said. “I love you.”

Daryl felt a swell of emotions, everything all mixed together at once. It was dizzying. “I love ya, too.” You leaned in and kissed him softly. The next moment you both rose and dressed and soon you were outside the gate with Rosita, on your way to the meeting place.

It was still almost pitch black when you arrived, except for the faintest glow of a lighter blue on the eastern horizon. The three of you walked the area in silence, shoulder to shoulder. There were a few walkers and you put them down like a well-oiled machine. You all picked the spots where Rosita and Daryl would post up with their scoped rifles. Daryl gave Rosita a boost so she could climb up into a large oak tree. She settled into the crook of two diverging branches and nodded, glancing down at you. “It’s good. I have a good view.” Her camouflage clothing made her nearly impossible to see against the leaves and bark.

You walked with Daryl across the open clearing and into the small copse of trees on the other side. After you’d found a suitable spot, he gave you a long look, frozen with his hand on the strap of his rifle.

“There’s still time,” he drawled. “Ya ain’t gotta do this. We can find some other way.”

You stepped close to him and rested your hand on his strong chest, feeling the beating of his heart beneath your fingers and the expansion of his lungs with each breath. “I do have to do this,” you said. You stared up into his blue eyes. “Everything is going to be okay,” you reassured him.

His eyes flickered between yours but your reassurance didn’t relieve the pit in his stomach. He cupped your face and kissed you, pouring everything into that kiss and soaking you up, breathing you in. “Alright. Let’s get this done.” He knew there was no talking you out of it.

You pulled your pistol and handed it over to him. “Just hold this for me for a little while,” you said. But you kept your knife in its sheath for now in case a stray walker wandered by. “Daryl Dixon. I love you. More than you know,” you said, taking one last long look at him.

His forehead was deeply lined with worry, but his voice was steady. “I love ya too.” And then he watched as you headed into the darkness to wait in the clearing while he took his place. _ _ _ _ _ _

The wait was agonizing. You were practically sick with strenuous anticipation but finally, after what had felt like an eternity, you heard a vehicle in the distance. You rose from your seat on the ground and stood in the small circle of depressed grass left where you’d waited. Your jeans felt damp with moisture from the morning dew that hadn’t yet evaporated and you squinted in the direction of the road. Eventually a tall, lean figure, immediately recognizable as Negan came into view. Despite the heat of the sun, he was wearing his characteristic leather jacket. You were surprised but relieved to see he was without Lucille. You began approaching him cautiously, aiming to meet him halfway, knowing that would be a good spot for both Daryl and Rosita’s fields of view.

You were about a third of the way there when he suddenly froze and spoke. “Y/N, is that a goddamn knife I see on your hip? What in the fucking hell did you think unarmed meant?” he growled. His voice was deepened in anger and booming across the open space to you.

You pulled it from the sheath and tossed it out away from you over your shoulder. “I needed something in case of walkers,” you said. You eyed him suspiciously but he seemed to relax. You noted that he had a pistol in a holster at his side.

You both resumed your approach but something over his shoulder caught your eye and every muscle in your body tensed. “I said come alone!” you spat at him. “I said no one else!” You started to back away but far from looking concerned, Negan simply laughed.

He whistled and Dwight came into view, but he was entirely different than when you’d last seen him in Alexandria, when he’d come to pledge to help you fight against The Saviors. He was now clothed in a filthy sweatshirt and sweatpants that looked like they could have been the very same ones Daryl had worn, and his face was covered in bruises. “This? Oh, this isn’t someone, Y/N. This is my new dog, Dwight.”

You gulped and your heart started to race. Oh, fuck. He knew. “What did—"

“Can we not lie to each other, Y/N?” he growled, interrupting you. “I fucking know that you know what he did. I FUCKING KNOW!” he roared at you, his usually handsome features distorting and his face burning red with anger. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t FUCKING figure out what sneaky little rat cunt was feeding information to Alexandria? How goddamn fucking stupid do you think I am?”

You were paralyzed and were praying that Rosita or Daryl would pull the goddamn trigger. They had to know something was wrong. Was Negan far enough into the field now that he wasn’t blocked by other trees?

“Get the FUCK DOWN and get the FUCK over here, dog!” Negan growled at Dwight. Dwight fell to his hands and knees, his head down, and he crawled the rest of the way to Negan. When Dwight reached his side, Negan glared down at him. “Now stand the fuck up right here, right next to me and keep your eyes on the goddamn ground.” His voice was dripping with contempt. Negan looked back up at you. You realized that Dwight standing next to him was, in all likelihood, blocking Daryl from taking a shot at Negan. “Are we doing this or what?” Negan said. “Come over here so I don’t have to fucking yell and you can tell me why in the hell I shouldn’t just wipe all three communities off the goddamn map.”

Somehow you steadied your nerves after seeing Dwight so changed and you walked the rest of the way toward him cautiously. Negan seemed to calm as you came closer and you caught him looking you up and down. “Lift your shirt up, Y/N,” he said.

“Fuck you,” you spat back at him.

He rolled his eyes. “I said lift it up, not take it off. There’ll be plenty of time for that later if you’re interested,” he said with a grin. “I want to see your waistband. Make sure you’re not hiding some cute little peashooter.”

You begrudgingly lifted your t-shirt up enough so Negan could see the waistband of your jeans. “Turn,” he said, moving his forefinger in a circle. You scoffed, but complied and turned around so he could see you weren’t hiding anything.

“Good,” he said as you came to rest back in your original position.

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask to frisk me,” you snarked at him. He let out a chuckle and that wide goddamn smile grew on his face as he looked at you.

“Holy shit. I do miss you, Y/N,” he said. “And not just for the great ass.” You were taking a breath about to open your mouth to say something snarky back when suddenly Negan pulled his pistol and shot Dwight right in the fucking head. You watched the blowback of blood splotch Negan’s face like it was in slow motion. The cloud of gunpowder drifted lazily on the heat of the afternoon air. Dwight’s body crumpled to the grass in a heap like a wet towel and you stood paralyzed, in shock, staring at the place where that living man had just been standing. Your hesitation from the shock of what the fuck you had just watched only lasted for a split second but it was long enough for Negan. Dwight’s body hadn’t even finished falling when Negan lunged forward and grabbed you, spinning you roughly and pulling you back against his body, one arm looped around your neck.

There was nothing you could do. He had you.

“Fool me once, shame on you,” he hissed into your ear. “Fool me twice…” His arm around you was tight. You could feel his tensed muscles straining as he pulled you back against him. But there was a sharp biting to the muzzle of his gun pressed into your back. “Now what did I fucking tell you, Y/N? I said no goddamn Daryl, didn’t I? And you just can’t obey me, can you? I know he’s here. There’s no way he’d let his little lovebug come out here on her own.” Negan suddenly roared and his deep voice was so soaked with bone-chilling anger it completely paralyzed you. “Get the FUCK out here now, Daryl! Or I’ll shoot her in the fucking heart!”

Sweat was dripping into Rosita’s eyes as she peered through her scope. “Shit. Fucking shit!” The only thing she could see was you in the crosshairs. There was no way she could take the shot without risking hitting you instead.

And Daryl’s view was no better. His stomach had plummeted into the fucking depths of hell. When Negan roared for him to come out, the archer tried to think fast. What the fuck were his options? None. He had none. Maybe he could bargain for you. He’d go with Negan as his prisoner if he just let you go. He had to try. He had to try something. He was nearly hyperventilating. Calm. He needed to be calm for you if he was going to get you out of this.

“I’m not fucking playing games, Daryl!” As he roared angrily, his arm tensed and tightened around your windpipe.

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and drew in as deep a breath as the paralysis in his diaphragm would allow. Then he shouldered his rifle and grabbed your pistol instead, stepping out from the copse of trees with it aimed in Negan’s direction.

Negan laughed into your ear and then you felt his teeth on it, biting. You tried to recoil from him but his arm held you tightly in place. It was terrifying how the man could go from roaring in anger to chuckling like he was having the time of his life with the flip of a switch. Daryl was still a way off, approaching with your pistol aimed. “Who’s your other friend?” Negan hissed into your ear. “The one over in the trees to the right.”

How the fuck could he know? How the fuck could he possibly know?

“I asked you a goddamn question, Y/N, and I fucking expect an answer.” Another squeeze on your windpipe.

“Why does it matter?” you wheezed out.

“Hmm. Good point. I’ve got everything I need right here,” Negan said. He pressed the gun into your back, eliciting a painful hiss of air through your teeth.

“How’d you know?” you asked, your hands gripping his strong arm in an attempt to lessen the pressure on your neck.

“Because I fucking know everything. You should have learned that by now.”

You were up on your tiptoes and the way he was pulling you back arched you into him, pressing your body against his. You were repulsed by the feeling of him against you. He laughed again, seeming to sense that you were raking your brain trying to figure out how he knew Daryl and Rosita were there. “That boy Eugene can build just about anything when given the proper motivation,” Negan said. His voice was silky and low. “When you said you wanted to meet, I tasked him with coming up with a way to make sure you really came alone. And you know what that son of a bitch came up with? Modified a camera to read thermal heat signatures. Now, I’m not even gonna pretend to understand how the fuck that works, but he did it. So, all I had to do was pull up, turn that shit on, and survey the meeting place. And with little Dwighty-boy under my thumb there was no rat to run off and warn you! And wouldn’t you know, when I fired that baby up there were three human-shaped heat signatures instead of just one. You must really think I’ve lost my touch if you thought I was going to take you on your word…” Your whirling mind was interrupted by soft footsteps in the grass nearby.

“Let her go,” Daryl growled. He was close enough now that Negan could talk to him without raising his voice. Your pistol was still aimed at Negan in Daryl’s hand but with the way Negan was holding you, you couldn’t imagine that Daryl could actually get a clean shot.

Negan laughed heartily. “That’s cute. You do know I have a gun pressed into your dearheart’s spine, right?” You felt the muzzle of the gun leave you for a moment as he showed it to Daryl, but a second later the bite of the steel was back. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a little Mexican stand-off!” Negan said. “But there is one thing I have that you sure-as-fucking-shit don’t. Leverage.” Negan leaned down and you felt his face in your hair. He drew in a deep breath and let it out dramatically. “Mmm-mm-mm! Smells sweeter than I remembered.”

The muscles in Daryl’s jaw flinched as his teeth clenched. “If ya let her go, ya can take me instead. Hell, ya can kill me right now,” Daryl said.

“Daryl! No!” Your eyes went wide and round with fear. “Daryl—” But Negan’s arm tightened against your throat and you fell silent.

“I’ll put this gun down and ya can kill me right now,” Daryl said again. “Just let her go.”

Negan was smiling a self-satisfied smirk and chuckled again. “Oh, how I love having you both by the short and curlies,” he laughed. “Now, why the fuck would I want to make a trade like that? I can get out of here with Y/N and fucking kill you later. Besides, the idea of me having little Y/N here,” he pressed the gun to your head and his arm unwrapped from around your throat and you felt his hand running down your side to grip your hip. “Me having her would torture you in ways I can’t even imagine. That’s so much better than just, pfft, shooting you in the fucking face.”

“Fuck you,” you spat at Negan. Angry tears were burning in your eyes but you were determined not to let them spill out. “You can take me but I won’t give myself to you ever again. And I know that’s the one rule you’ll keep. Willing ass only, right?”

The gun bit into your back again and Negan’s fingers swept the hair off your neck and then gripped around your throat. His hand almost reached all the way around your neck. “Oh, give it time, doll… The things I have in mind for you, you’ll be begging to be my wife again in no time, just to have some light, some sound, some warmth, something to eat besides tinned cat food. There’s something called learned helplessness. You ever heard of it, Daryl?” Negan’s voice was casual now, like he was having a friendly conversation over a beer. “These psychology researchers would deliver a tone before shocking rats in a cage. At first, when the rats learned that the shock came after the tone they’d try to escape as soon as the sound played. They’d scramble and run, looking for a way out.” Negan’s fingers drifted down from your throat and swept to your collarbone. “But eventually, when they realized they couldn’t escape, when the tone came, the rats would just freeze. They’d just wait for what was coming. They’d learned they couldn’t escape and they accepted it.”

Daryl’s hand started to shake a little with rage. If looks could kill Negan would have been dead ten times over. “I ain’t lettin’ ya take her. And ya won’t hurt her,” he growled.

“Now, why the fuck would you think that?”

“Because you’re obsessed,” Daryl growled.

“Ever heard the phrase ‘If I can’t have her, no one can?’” Negan’s tone was dark and for the first time you truly realized he might kill you. Your stomach turned. This was so fucking stupid. How had you been so fucking stupid? You were blinded by your desire to save lives, to protect the people you cared about, and to just get this whole fucking mess over with. “This is me. I’m Negan. If it ever comes down to me or someone else, even Y/N here, I will be the one to fucking walk away.”

“Daryl—Daryl, look at me,” you said. The archer’s narrowed blue eyes met yours. “Just shoot. Just shoot. You have to end this. It’s okay... Just shoot,” you said. “You can—you can shoot him through me,” your voice broke as you urged the words to fall from your tongue.

“Wow,” Negan exclaimed. “Holy fucking shit! That is some goddamn insane shit you just said, Y/N! Fuck me! No wonder I like you so much. That takes some massive gonads! Can you feel my cock getting hard?” he asked, pressing his pelvis into you. “Goddamn…” He let out a low whistle and looked up at Daryl, still laughing. “Oh, you can’t do that though… Can you, Daryl? Kill the love of your fucking sad, pathetic, little hillbilly life just to get the Big Bad Wolf?” Negan laughed into your ear again and you squeezed your eyes closed as you felt his breath on your neck. He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin just below your earlobe, knowing this must be killing Daryl to watch, and the stubble on his face was rough against your skin. “He can’t do that to you, baby. What the hell were you thinking spouting out that—”

But Negan never finished his sentence.

Daryl couldn’t explain it but despite the rolling boil of rage in his chest, or maybe because of it, time seemed to slow down in front of him and his hand suddenly had never felt steadier. He saw Negan as a target on the other end of the sight on the barrel of the gun and knew in his core that if he pulled the trigger at that exact moment that the bullet would find the intended target. And he squeezed off a round and watched through the hazy cloud of powder smoke as the bullet buried into Negan’s head.

What he hadn’t expected was the sound of a second shot.

It took him a moment to understand just what had happened. Had Rosita fired too? But as Negan’s now lifeless body crumpled beside Dwight’s, you fell too. Daryl expected you to bounce back up, to rush away toward him, but when you fell you just were lying there still on the soft grass.

Then he was a blur of movement and was beside you instantly on his knees. “Y/N? Y/N!” Your eyes were shut. Daryl’s hands immediately lifted you to cradle you against him, trying to rouse you, and that’s when his hand came away warm and wet and crimson from your back. He stared at it in a cruel realization. When he’d shot Negan, perhaps as some reflex on dying, Negan had squeezed the trigger of his gun and a shot had gone into your back.

Rosita was tearing across the field as fast as she could, her lungs on fire, and when she arrived beside Daryl on the ground she looked down in horror at your still body. “Oh my God. Oh my God,” she gasped. “Daryl—”

But her presence and voice seemed to snap him back to action. “Go get Negan’s vehicle. It’s closer. Go!” he roared. She pushed Negan’s corpse over and found the keys in his pocket before running as fast as she could to the waiting Jeep.

Daryl was still trying to rouse you. “Y/N! Y/N, open your eyes! Y/N, open your eyes dammit!” he roared. “Look at me! Y/N!” But your head simply lolled a little as he jostled you. He hesitated only one more second before pressing his fingers to your neck. Pulse. You had a pulse. He let out a rush of air, or maybe it was ripped from his lungs. “I’m not lettin’ ya die, dammit! Ya ain’t—ya ain’t dyin’ on me! I need ya!” He tore his shirt off. He lifted you enough to see the blood soaking the back of your shirt and dripping onto the grass beneath you and he pressed the bundled fabric of his clothing as hard as he could to the spot that seemed to be the origin of the crimson river.

The roar of an engine behind him pulled his eyes from your paling face and Rosita came roaring into view in the Jeep, which slid on the grass a little as she stomped on the brake pedal. Daryl stood, lifting you in his arms like you weighed nothing and Rosita hopped out to pull the back door open. The archer slid inside. Rosita rushed to grab the guns from near Dwight and Negan’s bodies and threw herself back into the Jeep, slamming it into gear and turning in the direction of Hilltop, her foot to the floor.

Daryl could feel your blood soaking through his shirt. Every passing moment his terror grew and you showed no signs of stirring. He cupped your face with his free hand, wincing as his fingers left smears of your own blood wherever he touched you. He huddled forward and pressed his forehead lightly to yours and Rosita could tell he was talking to you, whispering, but she couldn’t make out the words. Her stomach lurched every time she glanced in the rearview mirror.

She pressed her foot to the floor and the Jeep leaped over the pavement, but still she willed it to go faster…

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl sat slumped over, his head in his hands, frozen. He vaguely registered a door opening somewhere behind him and he straightened up enough that he caught sight of his hands and saw the dried blood all over them. In some spots it was thick and flaking off while in other places it filled all the lines of his palms like someone had purposely painted it there, a red wash over his skin. He stared down at his hands, his vision going in and out, blurring and then sharpening, blurring and then sharpening…

The door opening had been Rosita entering the medical trailer. She hesitantly made her way over to Daryl and lightly touched his shoulder. He flinched, startled, and turned to look up at her with a dazed and desperate expression. She gulped and gave him a sympathetic look, her brow drawing downward over her eyes, but he didn’t seem to really be registering anything. He looked completely unlike himself. She pressed a damp cloth into his hands and he mechanically began rubbing away the dried blood on his skin, moving simply because she’d prodded him.

Her eyes drifted over to the bed Daryl was slumped beside and her throat constricted. It didn’t even look like you. Your skin was so ashen. Her stomach twisted. She should have stopped this—should have pushed back about the plan, but she’d been so blinded by her own hunger for revenge and this was where it had led. “Daryl—you should let the doctor give you something… some fluids, some medication—”

“No,” he croaked. The towel in his hands, now smeared with rusty red, fell to the floor carelessly.

Rosita gulped and rested her hand over the wrapping around the crook of her elbow absently. As if on cue, Dr. Carson appeared around the curtain divider. His eyes fell on you lying on the bed first and then drifted over to Rosita again.

“She probably is going to need another transfusion soon,” he said softly.

Rosita nodded. She, luckily, was blood type O negative, the universal donor. “Anything she needs,” she agreed.

Daryl’s eyes lifted and fixed on the doctor. “Why ain’t she awake yet?”

“Her body went through a lot of trauma with the gunshot and then the surgery… that with the medication, the painkillers, anesthesia still wearing off it could take a while.”

Daryl slumped again and rubbed his hands over his face.

Rosita glanced at Dr. Carson. “Can I talk to you?” she tilted her head away from the curtain divider and he followed her around it to the other side. “Tell me,” she said. “How is she? Really?”

“She lost a lot of blood. The bullet hit her right scapula and shattered it but that also stopped it from going clear through. If that had happened, she probably wouldn’t have even made it here. I was able to get the biggest bullet fragments out and I had to put in some plates to stabilize the area. My best guess is that everything will be fine. She’ll wake up, and except for some residual pain in that shoulder and maybe a little reduced mobility, in all likelihood, she’ll be just fine after she’s completely healed.”

Rosita wanted to heave a sigh of relief but she knew there was a qualifier. “But you’re saying there’s a chance she won’t wake up, that she lost too much blood,” she said.

“Yes. There’s a chance,” he said. “You should prepare him for that if you can.”

She shook her head. “There’s no preparing anyone for that,” Rosita said. “How long until we know?”

“If she doesn’t wake up in the next day or so I’ll start getting concerned,” he said quietly. “But all her vitals are trending in the right direction.”

“A day. Alright. Thanks,” she said. Dr. Carson breezed away and Rosita stepped around the curtain again. This time Daryl was right at the side of the bed and he had your left hand pressed between his, his eyes closed. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was praying.

Rosita pulled up a chair and set it slightly back from the bed you were in, feeling like she needed to be there but also needed to give Daryl some space with you. After everything their family had been through, all the people they’d lost, she’d never seen him like this. She was never a religious person, especially after the apocalypse, but at that moment, looking at how Daryl was with you, she sent a prayer into the ether.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl had finally collapsed on the edge of your bed out of pure exhaustion. His will had been strong to stay awake, to sit a vigil beside you, but his body eventually had other ideas and finally gave up.

But the slightest movement of your hand in his and he was sitting up stock straight, staring down at it and wondering if he was imagining things. His heart was hammering with renewed hope. There was a soft noise that fell from your lips and he knew he wasn’t imagining that. Daryl was instantly on his feet. “Doc!” he roared, and Dr. Carson was there in an instant. Daryl watched as a grin widened on the doctor’s face and he finally felt his body relax some.

Dr. Carson pulled a small penlight from his shirt pocket and clicked it on. You were moving your head a little on the pillow, but more than that, your left hand was squeezing onto Daryl’s and your grip was strong. “Y/N? Can you open your eyes?”

It seemed to take some effort but they fluttered open and Daryl gripped your hand in both of his and let out a gasp of relief.

Dr. Carson flicked the light over each eye and straightened up with a smile. “Normal pupillary response,” he said, grinning at Daryl. “How are you feeling?” the doctor prodded you.

You gulped and seemed to take stock of the moment. “Like hammered dog shit,” you rasped.

Dr. Carson and Rosita chuckled while Daryl let out a gruff laugh and squeezed your hand in his. He smoothed his fingers through your hair and you turned to look at him, your eyes meeting his.

“There you are. You’re here,” you said softly. Dr. Carson and Rosita, who was still hanging back, both stepped around the curtain divider to give you and Daryl a moment.

“Course ‘m here,” he drawled, still stroking your hair gently. “And so are you.”

Your eyes closed for a moment and you drew in a few deliberate breaths. “What—what happened? Negan—did he get away and—”

“He’s dead,” Daryl said. Your eyes snapped back over to his face. They were a bit round and unsure.

“What did you just say?” Your brain was a bit foggy. You wanted to be sure you had heard correctly.

“He’s gone. Dead. I—I shot him,” Daryl said. “With your gun.”

“You shot him,” you repeated.

“Mhm,” Daryl said, nudging his nose up in a nod at you.

You finally glanced over at your right side, the apparent source of the pain that seemed to be radiating in waves. Your arm was in a sling and fixed close to your body. “You shot him,” you said again. “What—what happened to me?” you asked. “Is my arm broken?”

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip anxiously for a moment. “When I—I shot Negan he squeezed off a round from that pistol he had. It went into your shoulder. Shattered your shoulder blade. Ya had to have surgery. Dr. Carson fixed ya up. Put some hardware in.”

You stared at him with your brow drawn slightly down but eventually nodded to show you understood. “So, I’m bionic now, is what you’re telling me.” There was a somewhat playful look in your eyes, but Daryl didn’t smile.

“Y/N—‘M sorry. S’my fault ya got shot,” Daryl said and you could hear the tension, the anguish in his voice. “Ya almost died. Ya coulda died…” Now his blue eyes turned downward and he couldn’t or wouldn’t look at you.

“How could you think this was your fault? If it was anyone’s fault besides Negan’s, it’s mine,” you said. You squeezed his hand as tightly as you could but you were feeling weaker by the second. “The whole plan was mine. And it was shaky at best but I—I didn’t care. I just thought I could end it. It’s not your fault. I told you to shoot him through me, remember?” Your voice failed and you leaned back into your pillow and closed your eyes. “I feel really tired…”

Daryl looked up at you again, guilt still swirling in his stomach. “You lost a lot of blood,” he drawled, his stomach twisting with fear again as he remembered how his shirt had soaked through with your blood and then it was running all over him and the back seat of the Jeep. “Just rest now, alright?”

But you forced your eyes open again and looked over at him. “What happened? With the rest of The Saviors?” Daryl could easily read the anxiety on your face but he shook his head.

“Rick and Michonne came back. With the scavengers. It’ll be over soon. Ya ain’t gotta worry,” he said, hoping to soothe your fears. “Everyone is safe back home. Some of The Saviors tried to get to Alexandria but those bombs you and Rosita wired up? Blew a bunch of ‘em to hell. Don’t worry about anything. Just rest.”

But you gulped and started to shift in your bed, grimacing with every movement but apparently determined. At first Daryl’s heart sank. It looked like you were moving away from him. But when there was as much space as you could create on the bed your eyes found his again before glancing at the created spot next to you, and he understood. “Come up here. Please,” you whispered. Your voice was a little raspy again. “I need you.” There were tears glistening in your eyes. It was settling in how narrow of an escape this was.

“I don’t wanna hurt ya,” Daryl said, worried about bumping your arm. The bed was narrow.

“Then get up here,” you said again. “Please.”

How could he deny you that? Daryl toed off his boots and very carefully settled in next to you on his side, facing you as you pressed back into your pillow. He rested his hand on your uninjured arm and studied your face in profile. Your eyelids were growing heavy again and each blink lasted longer and longer. “Daryl…”

God, his name leaving your lips was still the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard in his life. “Hmm?” he hummed, his finger drawing idle circles on your soft skin.

“I love you.”

Daryl’s breath caught in his throat and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get the words out without his voice breaking. He leaned up on his elbow and kissed you when you turned to look at him, gentle but yearning. “I love you,” he said quietly when he pulled back. “Now rest.”

And now, having heard those words and with the weight and warmth of him beside you, the familiar smell of leather and the outside air and smoke, you did.

_ _ _ _ _ _

A few days later You were sitting up in your bed with Rosita on one side and Daryl on the other. You fingered the cards on your lap and gave Daryl a long look. There was a pile of poker chips on the table beside you and you pushed them onto your bed and looked at Daryl again. “I think you’re bluffing,” you said. “All in.” You gave him a satisfied smirk. His blue eyes narrowed and stared back at you.

Rosita let out a scoff and threw her cards down. “I’m out. I fold,” she said, leaning back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Well?” you prompted Daryl. “Show ‘em.” You flipped your hand. “Two pair.”

Daryl let out a low growl and turned his over. “I got nothin’.” You laughed and grinned at him.

“I knew it!” You started to gather the chips up with your uninjured hand, piling them on the side table again, adding many more of Daryl’s to your stash.

“Considering how well she can apparently read you, it’s amazing it took the two of you so long to figure out you were crazy about each other,” Rosita pointed out.

Daryl shot a glare at her. “Ain’t quite the same,” he said.

The game was interrupted when Enid came around the curtain divider with a huge bouquet of tulips in her hands. “From Ms. Thompson,” she said, shuffling some things aside to make room for them.

You let out a small, uncomfortable groan. “Can you tell them to stop?” you asked Enid. “It’s getting embarrassing…” You trailed off glancing around at all the flowers and cards and other gifts covering every available surface.

The next second, as if on cue, Jesus stepped in with a loaf of some sort of bread in his hands eliciting another groan from you. “What the heck…” you trailed off. He laughed heartily.

“This one is from Mr. and Mrs. Devon. I think she said beet bread, but honestly I’m not really sure,” he said, setting it down and eyeing it uneasily.

The two of them, Enid and Jesus, were staring at you expectantly.

“…what?”

Enid grinned. “Are you in the mood for more visitors?” she asked. You gave her a questioning look.

“Uhh… I guess… as long as they aren’t bringing more strange vegetable loaves…”

“What about a lot more visitors?” Jesus prompted.

“What is—?” But you didn’t even finish your sentence before Aaron rounded the curtain, with Gracie in his arms. Your breath caught in your throat and your eyes immediately welled up with tears to see your dear friend. And he was actually smiling. “Aaron.” It was all you could get out. Daryl was looking at you fondly and got up from his place beside you to make room.

“I can’t even tell you, again, how mad I am at you for doing something so insane, but also how glad I am that you’re alive. And I wish I could hug you, just one giant bear hug, but I won’t,” he said, nodding at the sling on your arm. He adjusted Gracie in his arms and beamed at you, nodding. “It’s over,” he said.

You wiped away a tear that managed to leak onto your cheek. “It’s over.”

Aaron grabbed your hand in his and gave it a brief squeeze before moving down the side of your bed to stand by Daryl, who he did grab into a one-armed hug that made you laugh. The next thing you knew, the small area of the medical trailer you’d been occupying, already adorned with gifts and notes from the Hilltop residents who remembered you from your time there, was filling with… everyone. Daryl’s family, now your family, was filing in. Michonne, Sasha, Carl, Rick and Judith… all of them were there and whole, looking extremely relieved to see you awake and alert, but obviously also still worried about your condition. Maggie came in too. You glanced around at them, a little overwhelmed, and your eyes landed back on Daryl, who was standing at the end of your bed and had one corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile. He turned to look at Rick.

“Hey—Didya get it?” Daryl drawled.

“Oh, right. Carl, take Judith for a minute,” he said, handing off the bouncy little girl to her older brother. You watched, puzzled, as Rick disappeared around the curtain for a moment and then reappeared with a bag in his hands.

“Normally, we would have wrapped it better for you,” Michonne said, “but, you know, the apocalypse and all,” she joked.

���I wish we could honestly say it’s from all of us, but it’s mainly from Daryl,” Aaron said.

Rick set the bag down on the bed and you gave Daryl a questioning look as you managed to use your one good hand to unfurl the scrunched brown paper top and reach inside. You froze when your hand closed on a familiar feeling bundle. Your eyes zipped back up to Daryl’s face and the little smile he’d been wearing grew into a knowing smile at the look on your face.

“Are you shitting me?” you asked. Aaron let out a hearty laugh and it warmed you to hear it. You hadn’t heard him laugh since Erik’s death. You pulled out a sealed bag of coffee beans and stared at it, before glancing back at Daryl. “Where in the hell—” You upended the bag and poured out about seven more bags of coffee beans. “I don’t—what—” You shook your head in disbelief and grinned at the archer. “I mentioned this to you once… like… I don’t even know how long ago…”

Daryl shrugged and hummed a noise of acknowledgment.

“Where in the hell did you find these?”

“Figured that asshole probably had a stash of ‘em in The Sanctuary,” he drawled. “Asked Rick to go look. I was right,” he drawled.

You shook your head as you stared at him, your heart brimming, completely full. “I feel a little bad about rubbing how bad you are at poker in your face now,” you joked, eliciting laughter all around.

Rosita stepped forward and gave you a look. “No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe I don’t…” you said. “I don’t—thank you,” you said, glancing around at everyone. “This is—I mean, it’s just coffee but… thank you. And I’m just glad to see all of you.”

Dr. Carson poked his head in. “Alright. That’s enough excitement for one day. Y/N still needs to rest. Everybody out.”

Aaron gave your good shoulder a gentle squeeze as he passed. “We’re staying a bit. So, we’ll see you tomorrow. Oh, and Carol is on her way from The Kingdom.” You leaned back against your pillow and nodded, suddenly tired.

“Good. Tomorrow then.”

Everyone filed out except Daryl, who helped you repack the unexpected gift and clear away the remnants of your poker game. You sighed as he sank down in the chair at your bedside. “When can I get out of here?” you asked. “I want to sleep in a real bed with you.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up again and he nudged his nose up in a nod. “Couple more days.”

“I can’t believe you found that coffee,” you said.

“Should last ya a bit, right?”

“Yeah, probably, like, a whole week maybe,” you joked. Daryl let out an amused huff and smiled at you. He grabbed your hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your fingers.

“I wanna sleep in a real bed with ya too.”

“You can go sleep in a real bed without me,” you said. He’d been sleeping in the chair beside you since you’d arrived and you couldn’t imagine that it was at all comfortable.

“Nah. I couldn’t.” He leaned up and pressed his lips to yours. You kissed him back eagerly.

Epilogue

“Shoulder sore?” Daryl’s voice behind you followed by the feeling of his arms around you and then his body pressing into yours. He’d caught you out on the porch, watching the rain, rubbing your shoulder absently with the other hand.

You nodded. “Little bit. Probably from the storm.” You had a mug in your hand and there were curls of steam drifting up from the surface. Daryl peered over your shoulder into it. It was coffee, and he smiled. “But check this out,” you said, moving your injured arm so your elbow lifted slightly above the level of your shoulder.

“Progress,” he said. You were still working on getting full range of motion back. Dr. Carson said you may never be back 100%, he’d had to reconstruct so much after the destruction by the bullet, but you were determined. Daryl swept your hair aside and pressed his face into the crook of your neck and left a kiss on your skin, breathing in your smell. You were wearing one of his old flannel shirts and he pulled it down to reveal your bare shoulder, leaving a kiss there, too. You leaned back against him, content. He could see the very end of the surgical scar and his fingertip traced it before his lips found that too.

“You know what I just realized?”

“Hmm?”

“We both got shot in the right side. Dwight shot you, Negan shot Dwight, you shot Negan, Negan shot me. It’s like some fucked up connected cube of shooting.”

Daryl let out a huff and shook his head. “But we’re the only ones left standin’.”

You set your mug on the railing and turned into him, facing him now, your expression pensive, matching his. “What are you thinking?” you asked him.

He shook his head. “Honestly? Nothin’.” His hands went gently to your lower back. “You?”

“I’d like to go back to bed with you,” you said. “It’s storming. We don’t need to hunt in this.”

Daryl nudged his nose up in a nod. “Ain’t gotta tell me twice,” he said. The next second he scooped you up in his strong arms and you laughed as he carried you back into the house and up the stairs, your mug forgotten outside. He set you gently down in bed, minding your shoulder, and then collapsed beside you, moving into you needily. His hands immediately slipped under your shirt and smoothed over your soft skin and you met his lips urgently with yours, tangling your legs with his.

Life since The Saviors was largely peaceful. There were still struggles. People needed things, the communities needed supplies… The walkers were still out there. But without the threat of Negan lurking somewhere in the shadows of your mind it felt like an entirely new world. It felt the way you had always felt when you were only with Daryl, but now it felt like it all the time. There was nothing else you could ask for. The two of you would have been content with each other and nothing else.

You knew there was likely to be another fight someday, but you also knew that the worst of your life was behind you. And Daryl had realized the same thing too. Neither of you could understand how in the middle of the fucking shitstorm of a zombie apocalypse, with the insanity of Negan, you had found each other and managed to make it through. It was something you talked with Maggie about a lot, and your heart ached that Glenn had been taken from her so cruelly, now knowing what they had because you had it yourself.

You were coming home after one such visit. Maggie and Jesus had made the trip and you all had gathered at Aaron’s, watching with delight as Gracie and baby Hershel cooed at each other. You found Daryl in the living room and gave him a curious look. He had an expectant expression on his face and you laughed and cocked an eyebrow at him. He pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and ducked his head for a moment. “C’mon in here,” he said, his eyes flickering up to meet yours again.

“Okaaaay… you’re kind of freaking me out,” you said. You wandered over to him and his hands went to your hips reflexively. He seemed nervous but you couldn’t understand why. “What is going on?”

Daryl cleared his throat and then shoved a hand into his pocket. He opened his palm flat and you stared at what was sitting there. A delicate, silver ring. Your eyes shot back up to meet his. “I ain’t gonna get down on one knee or anything stupid,” he said, rubbing his free hand a little nervously over the back of his neck, “but, uhh, I want ya to be mine. Will ya?” He braved a glance back up at your face and caught the stunned expression melting away into a brilliantly happy smile that immediately sent his heart fluttering.

“Is that even a question? Daryl, I’m already yours,” you said.

“Well, I just… want to make it official,” he drawled. “If ya’ll have me.”

You gave him a somewhat teary smile and offered him your ring finger. He slipped it on. It was a perfect fit. “It’s official,” you said, grabbing him and sinking into a kiss. When you pulled back, you glanced down at the ring on your finger. “How’d you know what size? And where the hell did you find this?”

“I made it. Melted some shit down. Aaron helped me actually.”

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You’re telling me Aaron knew about this and managed not to give it away? Wow… That’s actually shocking.”

“Anyway, the size… I measured your finger with a bit of string while ya were sleepin’,” he admitted. “Ya know, s’funny, ya sleep much deeper now.” You gave him a look. You hadn’t had a single nightmare since the end of the war.

“Yeah, I wonder why that might be,” you said sarcastically. No Negan, and Daryl always next to you? A recipe for a perfect night’s sleep.

The End.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XVI

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), pain/wounds, mild violence.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Barnes lashes out in his grief.

Note: So, it’s not over but most of you guessed that :)

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The sun cast a sardonic light on the cold winter morning. The first flakes of snow fell the night before but glistened as they melted away with the unexpected bloom of light on the horizon. The men began digging at dawn for the interment, a pit to be unmarked and unseen. The woman would be buried as any servant was; without any formality or fanfare.

Lord Barnes dressed in black, the sole attendee of the service. He had dragged a priest from the castle chapel to say some ordained words. The men climbed out of the six-foot hole as the cart was led over by two others, the wooden box atop it.

They lifted it, lifted her, and maneuvered it down into the grave with ropes. The holy man recited his verse but the duke did not hear them. He was only torn from his own grief as he heard footsteps on the crisp grass. He looked over as the foreign baron came to stand beside him, his dark eyes ahead of him as the men began to shovel dirt onto the wood. The sound was harsh in the early hour.

“Go,” Barnes growled, “you aren’t welcome here.”

“Well,” Zemo said, “how is that? After all Werner did for you; for her. I should like a proper farewell.”

“You didn’t know her,” Barnes hissed.

“Oh, I didn’t, but are you so sure that you knew her so well?” Zemo challenged, “you knew what you wanted from her--”

“Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Barnes lifted his chin and turned to face his foe, “I will not tell you to leave again.”

“I owe you no obedience, my lord,” he said flaty, “I think you’ve misunderstood that entirely. The ground we stand on is even. I am beholden to you for nothing. Given that it was my physician who saw to her comfort in her last hours, I’d say you--”

His voice was cut off by the hand at his throat. The duke throttled the Baron with his only hand and backed him away from the grave as the dirty continued to rain down. He marched him across the grass as his blue eyes burned with a selfish sort of hurt.

“I am not stupid. I know you came to rile me and you’ve done just that so go! Go before I put you down beside her,” Barnes shoved him away so that he stumbled.

Zemo stood and touched his throat as a rare glimmer of anger flashed across his features. He raised his chin and fixed the fur collar of his cloak. He nodded as he set his jaw and peered past the furious duke.

“She is free now,” Zemo said, “from you most of all.”

The baron turned away and strode from the green. The duke turned and watched the diggers as they kept at their work. A lump lodged in his throat and he lowered his head. He could not deny Zemo’s words, in fact, they sank so deep his heart ached. He knew as all did that her death was bloody on his hands.

🏰

Lord Barnes watched from the window as the line of carriages rolled through the castle gates. He was smug at the Baron’s premature departure but he didn’t truly feel any better than he had the day before. He expected the knock at the door and he was not surprised by who drew him away from the window.

The door opened before he reached it and his sister blustered into the chamber. Rebecca snarled as she came to face him, of the few who could match his own temper. Her nostrils flared and hardened her soft features as she glared at him.

“You’ve ruined it!” she spat, “you’ve ruined it all! He’s gone and it’s all your fault, you dunce!”

“I ruined it? You really think you could have trusted him? I merely saved you time and gold,” Bucky scoffed as he shrugged her off.

“You are so conceited. Don’t you realise we need this alliance? It’s much bigger than your little maid!” She barked, “oh, all this just to fu--”

“No, no! Shut up!” he spun and pointed at her face, “you don’t speak of her. Your or anyone else.”

She reeled and chortled. She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. She licked her lips sourly and shook her head, “Better yet, I will not speak to you again. You have until the end of the day to leave the capital.”

“Are you mad?”

“I’m serious,” her brows arched, “Samuel agrees with me. You will go and you will not return. Go back to your castle and be alone and bitter as you always wished.”

Barnes huffed and mirrored her own fury, “fine. I told you, I never wanted to come here.”

“So it is my fault now?” she snipped.

“No, your majesty,” he said dryly, “how could anything ever be your fault?”

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Oh, queen’s are so powerless,” he rebuffed, “how every woman in the realm must pity you.”

“You’re a bastard,” she sneered.

“We both share the same blood, the same flaws,” he slowly walked back to the window, “you will see in the end that I did you a favour. That man cannot be trusted.”

“Oh, do get over yourself, brother,” Rebecca snapped and the slam of the door marked her exit.

Lord Barnes stared down at the wintery grounds then up at the grey sky. It was due time he went home. To be alone. For good this time.

🏰

Flickers of light skimmed beneath your eyelids. Distant memories, dwindling dreams, and unheard words. 

The pain came first. The agony down your left arm and hip, the way it rippled through you like a crashing ocean against the shore. The ragged breaths grew to groans as the ground moved beneath you, rattling like your bones and your head. The noise of horses and wooden wheels in the dirt. The smell of leaves and oak. The feeling of life come back to you.

You could not move your left arm, it was bound and even if it was not, you couldn’t have lifted it. Your left leg was in similar shape and your entire body was bound in pain. The confusion laced your mind and kept you from thinking too deeply as you realised you were in a box, the darkness broken only by the thin wisps of light between the hammered boards.

“Hello?” you called, your throat dry and sore. It hurt to speak and your lungs squeezed terribly.

You bent your right arm, your shoulder straining as you did, and hit the lid. It did not budge and you hit it harder. Your uncertain strikes turned to a steady and frantic pounding as the blackness began to suffocate you. You had to get out. You would die in there. Or were you already dead. You realised what you lay in; a coffin, and your stomach dropped like a boulder.

The wheels stopped and the ground stilled. You were on a cart of some sort and footsteps tramped into the dirt and murmurs stirred outside. There was a thump on the lid and suddenly it lurched upward as it was pried off. 

Swathes of light flowed in and blinded you. You stilled and stared up as a figure stood above you and another appeared at the other side of the casket.

“Ah, finally,” the accented tone slithered, “I feared the dose was mistaken.”

You blinked until Baron Zemo came clear to you and shielded your eyes as they watered. You gasped as another shattering pain overtook you and gasped at the sheer torment. The other man, thin and tall with lines around his eyes and across his forehead peered down and reached to check the bandages around your left arm.

“She cannot sit in the carriage but we can arrange for her to recline in there, yes, my lord?” he asked as he felt your forehead, “there is no fever. She is past the worst of it.”

“We can arrange it,” Zemo nodded, “do get her a blanket. We really should have done so before we nailed the top on.”

“Yes, my lord,” the tall man hopped down from the cart and returned with a thick fur coverlet. Zemo tucked it gently around you and as he brushed your arm, you cried out.

“I… I should be dead,” you rasped, “how--”

“A trick. On the gods, on fate… on your Lord Barnes,” Zemo smirked, “oh, do not fear, he hasn’t any idea of your miraculous perseverance. Let me assure you he is most miserable to believe you dead.”

“Why?” you asked as the lid of the coffin was moved away and you heard others moving around. The stench of the horses made you shudder and brack back the scene; the clopping hooves, the roaring crowd, the pulsing of your heart, your maddened laughter.

“You know, I never desired anything more from Lord Barnes. What happened between us was an act of war. We were soldiers but he could not see it that way. I am an understanding man but I am not without reason. If he cannot be civil, why then should I?” He said smoothly, “I came to your kingdom to serve my own and I cannot do that with him snapping at my throat, so I will go home.”

“But why--”

“Patience,” he bid as he lifted a gloved hand, “I could not have factored you in if I tried. You are the most unexpected creature. What you did… well, that sent a very clear message to me, one that I heard.” He looked around and clasped his hands together as he leaned his elbows on his knees, ”I will not claim it to be entirely selfless in my deed, in fact the idea of the deceit does more for me than it could ever do for you. To think of Lord Barnes in his misery, that pompous man.”

“What--Where are we going?” you asked weakly as the wariness crept up on you once more.

“The Tower Zemo,” he said plainly, “in my homeland. You should recover there and then we will decide what to do with you.”

“What to--”

“Nothing too nefarious, I assure you. I should like to avoid the depths of Barnes…” he sniffed, “I don’t expect you to trust me, lady, you would be a fool to and you do not seem one to me. Foolishly brave and perhaps obstinate but not a fool.”

“I--how am I to thank you?” you croaked.

“Don’t do that just yet,” Zemo rose as men approached and suddenly the coffin was slid off the cart.

You were carried around the side of a carriage and set down again. The men worked carefully to remove you from inside the casket and you screamed as they did. Zemo spurred them on and apologised for your discomfort as they transferred you to the lid of the coffin placed to stretch between the seats of the carriage.

The tall man draped the fur over you again and checked your splints and the layers of bandage hidden beneath the loose wool gown. He called for some water and helped you drink. Then he was handed a chest and stirred around for a vial.

“This is Werner,” Zemo said as he sat on the empty part of the bench and the carriage door shut, “he did see that you survived and that you died in the eyes of your master.”

“Oh… thank you,” you looked to Werner as he urged you to drink from the vial.

“Just a sip, miss, for the pain,” he bid.

You did as he told you and reclined again with a grumble. He sat opposite Zemo who watched you with a cryptic expression.

“It will be a long journey,” he said, “and likely longer for you. It would be best if you kept calm and did not stress yourself. You are still… fragile.”

“I feel it,” you closed your eyes as fatigue shrouded you.

“You would,” Zemo said, “sleep is best for it, isn’t that so, Werner?”

“Sleep numbs the pain,” Werner assured, “sleep lets the body heal itself.”

“And sees the time through,” Zemo yawned, “besides, what else is there to do?”

Your breath eased along with the pain and slowly you sank back into the void. You let it embrace you as you forgot about the Baron and his odd physician, about the Duke and the life before. You welcomed sleep as you had death and yet, you were relieved to be alive.

[remsmoonlight]

— title : sweeter than candy

— word count : 3k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : daryl is good at keeping things buried, but when the thought of words left unsaid do you both realise you have both been thinking the same thing about the other. 

— warnings : mentions injuries, mentions of death

“ hi!! OMGG I came across your account and I’m obsessed with your writing!! I was wondering if you could write a Daryl Dixon x Reader following candy coated promises. Where Daryl has developed feelings for reader and following an errand run she gets injured and has to stay in bed. And Daryl find out! If that makes sense! Thank you!!! “

           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open ! / requested by anon *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A deep desperation of yearning to be useful has led you to forget the risks involved in the interminable list of things that wish to cause you harm and are able to on such an intense scale. Luck had been on your side for so long, the illusion of life’s greatest ally refusing eluding your group for this long has proved itself to be just that — nothing more than an illusion. Once the burning of fear had dulled to nothing more than a dim ache, all you now feel is the one wound that does not run red yet pours into your veins as if it does. Stupidity. You’d volunteered yourself to go on a run with a small group, you’d spent enough time before the barbed wire fences, that you felt yourself becoming trapped.

A deep regret that would follow you even in death would be if any of your group would, too, meet their chapter’s end too soon by an immense error made on your part.

One thing that lays dormant in your mind, yet unable to completely fade is the fear of becoming too settled in safety. Spending too much time wrapped in a blanket of comfort that provides refuge from the grit the outside world revels in only hands you a vulnerability unsuitable for a reality submerged in death that roams freely. You don’t want to forget how to survive, you’ve come too far for that.

Part of that is how you have ended up being put to bedrest.

Your brain is yet to sort through and file the fleeting images that blend together into one disorientating image instead of a folder of what had occurred picture by picture. In one instance the group and yourself had been rummaging through the shelves that still contained some stock and the next, you’re rushing Maggie out of the way and pushing over shelves onto a growing horde of walkers. Though in the next second, your heart fell a thousand feet below as you lost your balance from the liquid coating the floor from where they’d tumbled and smashed to the floor, with the shards of glass forming a bewitching hazard.

“ your ankle still givin’ you trouble? “

The voice pulls you out of your thoughts, your sight settling on Maggie.

“ I don’t know if that hurts more or if these scratches do. “ You complain, your fingers lightly tug at the bandages that cover the fresh wounds that coat both of your palms, you take note of a number of loose fibres from the material.

“ Glass’ll do that to ‘ya. “ She chuckles, slowly moving into the room. She grabs a chair from the metal desk on the side and moves it next to your bed. “ I never got a chance to say thanks. “

“ You don’t have to worry about it. “ you refuse, shaking your head in turn.

“ I feel it’s my fault you’re like this. “

“ If we’re going to blame anyone, let’s blame my eyesight. I should have seen that wet patch. I should have been more careful. “ Frustration that burns bright in your reply as you turn away from her. Perhaps you’d spent too much time concealed from the harsh reality that constantly claws at you all as it takes refuge in a thick coat of a hauntingly isolating fog as it waits to drag you down with it further into the depths.

Mistakes are synonymous with fatalities now, one moment you’re on top of the world and in the next you can be in a free fall clutching the thin air as if it should be your saviour. Never have moments been promised, and this fact has never shone clearer than when the dead claimed the Earth for itself in an effort to void it of life wholly.

“ Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. “ Maggie brings a hand forward to squeeze your shoulder momentarily, a comforting smile packaged with it easing some of the self loathing you could feel weaving itself into your being.

“ I don’t have much to do in here by myself, I have to keep myself entertained somehow. “

“ Well, I got an idea.. “ She trails off, a mischievous grin lifting her lips.

“ Maggie.. “ You utter a strict warning, already knowing where the conversation is about to lead.

She pauses for a second, laughter bouncing from grimy wall to grimy wall as she reacts to your cautionary tone, the light in her eyes bursting with the power of a thousand stars as it illuminates her features. Gratitude for the fleeting moments of rare normalcy that reflects a past occurrence in the old world runs deep, for a fraction of a second you can pretend you’re simply two friends joking about something goofy and foolish. For a minute, you’re not sheltering in a decrepit prison as you run from walkers, it’s a perfectly average afternoon.

“ You can’t tell me you don’t realise the way he looks your way now? I know you’ve been lookin’.. “

“ Okay, I think I'm tired now. “ You huff, shifting your body as to your ability with your injured ankle to face the wall that has an array of stains permanently painted into its surface.

Maggie only laughs in response, the sounds of steps dulling into nothing more than a ghost of an echo that informs you of her departure. Her words have pulled a string you’d not wished to pay attention to until it would be absolutely necessary. Needless to say that as much as you’d tried to bury the budding seeds of affection into the dirt, they’d only bloomed in force into a sea of colour with the evidence left to coat your fingertips for everyone to see.

Never had it been your intention to entertain this idea, when anything positive you’ve managed to seize with both hands can be ripped away so unexpectedly that you are left to nurse the empty space left behind of what once had been, grieving the idea of what could have been. However, there’s a dim curiosity that softly grows in size that envelopes around you, compelling a desire to reacquaint yourself with a human intimacy that fell to the back of the queue as the instinct to survive overwhelmed it. You don’t want to fear living, you don’t want to fear connecting to others on a deeper level, but you can’t help but simply.. be afraid.

Had you been in a different reality where the world continued on as normal, you would have probably fallen under his spell sooner.

Only after that one night you’d spent on watch together after he’d gone out of his way to bring you such a simple gift illuminated him in a way that your sight would often lean towards him. Many times you would find yourself analysing his actions on a deeper level, a coy warmth burying itself in the pit of your stomach when realising he’d included you in his thought process. From the chocolate bar, to you being the first person he’d check on if you needed anything before heading out on a run, to even the simple act of being there just to talk when life felt rough. A shape of one Daryl Dixon had been carved out by the man before either of you had realised.

A thunderous groan erupts from your lips as you turn onto your back to stare at the bunk on top with the realisation hitting you like a train threatening not to stop. You completely adore the Dixon.

About an hour away from the Prison Daryl secures the last of the rabbits caught, they swing side to side with each of his calculated movements. All Daryl finds himself wanting to do is to get back to the Prison, unable to push down the inclination of being back to the comfort the life behind those metal fences bring. It’s been a long day and all he’s interested in is getting back to those he holds dear.

That thought is when a fleeting frame of your face crosses his mind. Though he speaks not of which he truly wishes to share, the time you do spend together is something he cherishes more than a billionaire would with all of the money and rubies in the world if they had them in the palm of their hands. The darker side of him, the side that would always listen to those who preferred to taint his waters with their gloom, doesn’t allow the emotions constantly swirling within him to be touched by the burning sun rays as they are laid bare.

Heavy breaths fall without grace from his chest as he’s let through the gates, the stony expressions etched deeply into Carol’s features. No words need to be uttered to know it’s to do with you, Daryl doesn’t even allow a thought before he’s making his way on a path he has walked a thousand times and will walk a thousand times more. Creaks that echo in the darkening corridors that are not lit by the comforting flames of candles, the prison sounding as if it’s more in pain than it appears — still, he pays no care. His only goal is to check on you, he’d be unable to forgive himself if anything were to happen to you and he’d never be able to see you one last time. His brain conjures a number of horrific scenarios and tainted pictures to accompany them as it runs wild in a sea of dread.

The crossbow that had been secured in Daryl’s grip is lowered gently to the ground as he scans your form, a grateful sigh when he sees the slow movement of breathing.

He lowers himself into the chair next to your bed, trying to pinpoint the moment he’d stopped gazing upon your form as a friend to replace it with an aura of starlight — no longer did he see the colour of your eyes, but galaxies full of life and wonderment. Daryl allows himself a few seconds to chase each other by as he considers his next action, though deep down he’s aware his decision had already been chosen, as he threads his fingertips into yours to allow your warmth to comfort the panic that had been raging at the thought of your demise. His thumb traces a circle that is light enough to keep you tucked away in a slumber and as a comfort technique for him, where his mind allows him the time to placate himself.

Before he’s aware of it, the sky blends into itself once more as the pastel hues paint it with dashes of gold from the sun as dawn breaks and he’s hunched over with your hands still connected as one — the position held the entire night. Nothing can be heard in the confined space except a symphony of soft breathing from you both, the serenity only the early hours in which no one is awake brings comfort to the sleeping forms of you and Daryl.

A lengthy yawn escapes your lips as your eyes fight to open as they blink heavily to adjust to the light that invades as much as it can. The weight of something lying comfortably in your hands confuses you, as you distinctly remember there had been no pressure previously, the image before you washes your entire body with the icy grip of shock as you scan the trail leading from the hand within yours to the person it belongs to. Teeth grip your bottom lip as you bite it, attempting to battle away a smile that wishes to break free, you can’t believe the sense of humour that the universe has. Not an inch is moved by any part of your body, you seek to savour the intensity that such a simple action bears, your eyes positively glowing in adoration as a softer side to the man is revealed. Moments like these are few and far between, it leaves you wanting to bottle it up and pocket it forever.

A squeak of displeasure cuts through the serenity the early hours have worked so hard to cultivate as you inch your injured ankle to the side, clearly different positions prove to be the opposite of beneficial. The noise is enough to wake Daryl, his sudden alertness makes you doubt whether he’d truly been in a deep rest, but it’s the least of your worries as he realises he spent the night with his grip connected to yours. The warmth that brought a grounding comfort to your being now is a phantom touch you crave again once an eerily coolness now surrounds your empty palm.

“ ‘M sorry ‘bout that. “

“ There’s nothing to apologise for, Daryl. It was nice. “ You confess, your volume touches the air with a softness of a feather that descends to below in an elegant waltz.

“ Mhm. “ He turns his gaze to the floor, a thumb is chewed upon lightly as he’s wondering what he should say next. “ ‘Was worried about ‘ya as soon as I got back. “

“ Yeah, things just kinda happened. “

“ ‘Ya gotta watch y’self more out there. “ He scolds you with a light scorch of misplaced anger that almost lays eternally with him, a wave of anxiety at the thought of losing you are twins in a realm of horror he never wants to bear witness to.

“ I know, Daryl. “

Poisonous words full of fire and fury born out of dread of your existence in his life being cut short itch to burn your indifference to the situation. As he settles his gaze upon you, all he can see are the stolen moments you both have shared away from the group, where the person he’d created in his head built without even speaking to had been smashed into shards the more he got to know — you’re a fresh breath of peace in an unstable world that thrives on chaos. Quiet moments where all he can hear are the flickering embers of the fire are the memories he finds himself kicking for, all that lost time to never be recovered due to his preconceived notions.

“ Do ‘ya? “ Daryl shakes his head in frustration, his soul a pot of swirling emotions and thoughts blinding him to the point he can’t see straight. “ I can’t lose ‘ya. “

His voice is so low you barely hear it, your brows thread together in the slightest form as they’re unused to the window of Daryl’s vulnerability being so widely open.

“ You won’t. “ A faint twitch of your lips means well, you try to comfort the man. Your touch is delicate as your palm overlaps his with warmth.

“ Y’can’t promise that. “

“ But I can try! “ You argue lightly, a bounce in your response.

“ Forget it. “ Daryl sighs harshly, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts that run circles around his mind.

“ Daryl! Wait. “ Your voice falls on deaf ears as he’s already halfway towards the exit of the room, for a moment you forget your injury and a burning sensation flies with boundless wings up your protesting muscles and you land in a heap on the floor. The bandages do nothing to cushion your fall, you cry out in pain from the intensity of the throbbing plaguing your body.

“ Why can’t ‘ya be careful!? Damn it. “

Before you know it, Daryl is level with you as you feel his touch grazing your skin — ensuring you’d not injured yourself further. Guilt pools in his stomach at the thought of your current suffering being his fault, his ire now directs itself brightly towards him.

“ Dar — what’s going on? Why are you acting like this? “ You quiz as your expression contorts into a grimace. You’d not seen him behave like this for what feels like a long century, even more so when directed towards you.

“ Like what?! Huh? “

“ You’re being crazy! “ You state, your finger jabs into his chest.

“ Ain’t it obvious? “ Daryl asks suddenly.

Your head shakes, confusion clouds your features as if it’s an angry storm that has waited long enough for the calm — nothing can be seen through the darkened skies. All you want is for the sunny rays of truth to shed light upon this mess.

“ ‘Ya mean more to me than you should. “

“ Daryl? Do.. do you — ? “

He nods suddenly, unable to hear the words out loud no matter how true they ring, because as real as it is. There would be no taking it back then. Your lips purse as a sad smile lifts itself with no help from you, your heart hurting as you realise this could have been avoided entirely since you both appear to be on the same page. You acknowledge the fact that actions would speak louder than words in this scenario, your fingertips brush through darkened strands of hair as if they play a sheet of music with the aging competence of a commanding pianist. This is one of many songs your mind finds itself conjuring, a burning hope of this forging something more between you. It’s not long before your arms are wrapped around his neck, with Daryl unable to believe the scene in which he finds himself in, you’re a sky full of stars that he finds himself wanting to get lost in.

“ We can take this one step at a time, yeah? “ You question softly, not wanting to be witness to the fleeting images of a set of angel wings.

He agrees silently, a warmth spreads outwards from your cheeks and treks outwards to cover your completely. The moment is sweet, as it concludes with a honeyed kiss on his tanned cheek. In one frame you both are thinking the same thing, just how lucky you are to have fought through your fears of living and given in to taking the plunge into unchartered waters that Maggie and Glenn have already found themselves navigating.

In a world full of the dead, you both agree that to love shouldn’t be a reason to cower and hide.

[waywardimpalawriter]

hi! i really love your writing, and was really hoping you could do another dean winchester x f! plus size reader. possibly were they are best friends and she is pining for someone else. so before she can make her move on someone else he stops her and confess his love for her. idk maybe some angst/fluff/smut?? you don’t have to if u don’t want to, it’s totally up to you. like no pressure at all! but seriously, i do really love all your writing and i wanted to say thank you for everything u write and do!! <3 once again no pressure at all with this ask, but overall thank you!!<3

Just one good reason

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Female Reader

SPN mixed Bingo Square: Hurt/Comfort Square

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester,

Setting: mid season 11

Rating: E (explicit), NSFW, 18+ only please

Warnings: angst, smut, yearning, grumpy and sweet Dean (yes they need a warning),

Word count: 12,805 (Truly Was suppose to be this long. I blame Dean for this.)

Summary: He’s given a million reasons, damaged goods, blood on his hands, nightmares, scared in so many ways. But most of all that he’s not good enough. Just when you’re ready to walk out that door he gives you one good reason to stay.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this request, I love writing for Dean so very much and to add a plus size gal in as well that just makes my day. I do hope you’ll enjoy this story. The song “Million Reasons” both version’s by Lady Gaga and Briana Buckmaster are inspiration for this story.

Tag list: Is open for all character’s and series I write for.

@spnmixedbingo

Dean Winchester list: @akshi8278

Just one good reason list: @chickensarentcheap

@impala1967dwinchester, @lilacprincessofrecovery, @superavengerpotterstar @jbbarnesgirl @sofreddie  @slightlyobsessedwithissues  

Ancient hinges creak wearily, firm hand pushing to hold open the heavy door letting you and Sam pass by. Fatigued sigh leaves slightly chapped lips, “It’s good to be home.” Taking the stairs down two at a time, tossing duffle bags towards the war table.

“Going soft on us old man?” Teasing quip tugging a smile from your lips as you drop down into the nearest chair. “Getting use to having that soft bed under your ass now huh?”

Scoffing, whiskey flecked green eyes settling on your plush frame, “Woman you forget we’re the same age first off.” Playfully stocking towards you, hands placed on the back of your chair to cage you in. “Second damn right that bed is magical, memory form baby, it remembers me,” poking your side, giggle leaving your lips body squirming in the seat.

“Stop,” pleading tone entering your voice, trying to evaded his questing hands trailing along your curvy sides. “Please,” puppy eyes begging for mercy, his hands aren’t willing to give. Though you can’t bring yourself to care seeing the weight, even for a moment, disappear from his countenance. Or the fact your sides aren’t the ticklish spot on your body, moving in the seat purely for show.

“Say your sorry for calling me old,” brow lifting watching you squirm under his hands. Wishing and not for the first time, he could have your soft body slotted against his harder frame. Knowing how well you fit just in a different way, one that hasn’t been enough for a long time.

Giggles burst from your lips, hands flat against the hard plains of his chest tugging on the dark blue t-shirt to distract from his plans. Pushing him away which had as much of an effect as a toy bulldozer did against a real brick wall. “Okay, okay I’m sorry, promise I’m sorry,” gasping for breath giving a hard tap to his shoulder.

“Now who’s giving up too soon?” Hands pause as his eyes catch yours for a long moment. Smiling face beaming up at him, heart beating triple time and not from assaulting you with his hands. Unable to resist the urge to touch your soft skin. Callused fingers come up to barely graze just under your left eye carefully capturing the eyelash on the tip of his forefinger from your cheek, “Make a wish.”

Leaning forward to place your lips close to the offered digit, eyes closed to blow a cold stream, eyelash fluttering away unseen. Keeping your libs lowered for a bit longer torn between what you truly desire and what’s within your grasp. Whiskey roughened voice breaking through your thoughts, sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine.

“What you wish for?” Swallowing hard, beloved eyes flutter open to ensnare his in there depths. Catching something simmering just below but disappears quicker than a jack rabbit running from a coyote.

Clearing yours throat, “Can’t tell ya Deano won’t come true if I do.” Giving a smile, pressing him backwards to raise and grab your duffle bag. Cell phone signaling an incoming text message making you pull the the black case wrapped piece of tech out of your front jeans pocket. Bright smile pulling your lips higher seeing just who’s messaged you. “Catch y’all later.”

“Someone good?” Sam speaks for the first time since coming home. Watching the scene between his brother and best friend. Wanting to strangle the both of you for not seeing what’s right in front of you.

Head snapping up from buried in your phone to stare wide eyed at Sam, “Yes, no I mean it’s nothing but could be something.”

“Will again?” Peripheral catching the dark scowl pass over Dean’s features before disappearing behind a mask of indifference.

Humming sweetly, sparkle lighting your eyes that go back to your phone for a moment. “He’s asking if we can meet up tomorrow for lunch, trying to choose where to eat.”

“What about,” clearing his throat to unclog the emotions choking off the air to breath. “That little diner in town? It’s your favorite and serves the best pie aside yours of course.”

Trapping and tugging your bottom lip between nibbling teeth, head shaking in the negative. “Nope he’s not fond of greasy foods.”

‘Plus that’s our spot,’ unbridled thought slides into your mind and you want to look over at Dean to remind him. But push those thoughts aside with a wave, heading towards the bedrooms carefully making sure not to bump into a wall while responding.

Green eyes follow till you round the corner, heart catching in his throat cursing himself for mentioning your diner. Knowing better yet wanting confirmation without asking if the spot is still special.

“You’re an idiot Dean,” shaggy brown head shaking as he to snaps up his duffle bag to head towards his room. “The foundation is already there start building before it cracks.”

“Thanks Riddler, just cause I’m Batman doesn’t mean you have to be so fucking vague.” Left with his thoughts and the growing feeling he’s loosing you to another man. Dean leaves his stuff lay where it landed glancing over the chair you vacated not five minutes ago then heading towards the kitchen. In need of something harder than beer but settling for the dark brew being the only alcohol in the bunker.

Opening the fridge door, grabbing a brew his fingers brush against the clear plastic container holding a single slice of pecan pie. Eyes unseeing, drifting back into memories when the Mark of Cain still burned into his skin.

2015

Charlie’s dead, beaten, murdered and left in a pool of her own blood. Every time his eyes close she’s there, expressionless sea green eyes staring blankly into his own. Never hearing her snarky retorts, sassy ways or those hugs she gave. Staring into cold brown sludge, hands gripping the mug a little too tightly. Not sure why he chose to come here of all places. When he could’ve started out on his hunt for the Styne’s. Deep down though he knows the reason right as the little bell signals someone’s entered the small family owned diner. Knowing exactly who and trying to ready himself for your present.

Never ready for how your soft fingers brush along his temple, settling on his shoulder for a moment while you slide into the worn pleather covered booth. Trailing those gentle fingers down his black and grey plaid covered arm. Tugging one hand from around the ceramic cup to intertwine your fingers. Head coming to rest on his shoulder, no words just comfort in a time when he needs it most.

“You shouldn’t be here,” dark with hints of gravel and kissed with pain in the tone. Whiskey flicked green obits focus, for the first time on something besides the cup in his hands, landing on the top of your head.

Shrugging, “Where else should I be Dean?” Looking up at him sorrowful eyes meeting right when your other palm comes up to brush moisture from his cheek. Unnoticed tears sliding down cool cheeks, “You’re my best friend there’s no place I’d rather be then right here helping you.”

“You could get killed,” the very through twists his heart till almost bursting. Brings bile to rise in the back of his throat, slithering through his system to settle unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach. It’s one thing to loose Charlie a heavy casualty. But you, Dean isn’t sure he’d come back from the dark path he’d follow for vengeance.

Soft sad smile turns your lips barely upward, “Not gonna happen I have my knight in shining Impala to keep me safe.”

“I couldn’t keep Charlie safe how can I…”

Shaking your head, finger placed over his kissable lips, “You’ve given me a million reasons already Dean Winchester and I don’t believe a single one of them.” Resting your foreheads together a moment, tenderness skating across your veins for the man beside you, “You might not believe it but your a good man.”

Pie filled plate slides across scared formica table top, metal fork clattering against the ceramic pushed in front. “More coffee,” sweet feminine voice floats from beside you.

Nodding, “Please, sugar and cream too.” Giving her a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes feeling Dean stir beside you.

“Black like my soul you know that sweetheart,” slightly chapped lips brush your cheek. A simple thank you for this act of kindness he feels undeserving of. If he hadn’t already been head over heels in love with you this sweet gesture would’ve sealed the deal.

Breathless gasp parts your lips as you turn finding Dean closer almost invading your space. Leather, motor oil and Irish Spring tickle your nose, eyes locking with those agony drenched obits, making another gasp exist your lungs. Heartache rocketing through your body, colliding with anger directed at the Styne’s.

“Eat your pie Winchester we’ll talk about that soul of yours later after dealing with the Styne’s.”

Heart freezing at the mention of the murdering family, “No,” rougher than intended, Dean grabs your chin twisting your face towards his. Rage hot and potent flaring through those beautiful greens. “No you will stay with Sam I’ll deal with them myself…”

“Dean you can’t be serious…” grabbing his wrist, pleading in your eyes for him to listen. Loosing Charlie splintered your heart, counting her as the sister you’ve never had. Her blood demanding revenge for the grievous act. But loosing Dean would kill you, knowing you never would come back from that agony.

“I am, deadly so. You try and sneak along I’ll toss that sexy ass outta Baby faster than you can pray to Castiel.”

Snorting, pulling your chin from his grasp, “You couldn’t lift me Winchester and you can’t stop me…” but the look he gives you does. Any farther flow of words halt in there bid to tumble out of your mouth.

“No I can’t,” callused palms cup your cheeks keeping you in place. Searching your eyes and making sure you understood, “I don’t want you to come with me Y/N. If there’s anytime to listen its now. I’ve lost one sister I didn’t want.” Bitting those words out to keep from speaking the others which threaten to pour from his being. “I can’t loose you,” resting your foreheads together again.

Nodding, trying to keep yourself from rubbing your cheek into his palm or worse press your lips against his. Lying to yourself isn’t something you normally do and you wouldn’t start now with the realization you were in love with your best friend and worried your going to loose him to the all consuming darkness.

You're giving me a million reasons to let you go

You're giving me a million reasons to quit the show

You're giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Giving me a million reasons

About a million reasons

Present

Downing the last of his long neck, drawing patterns over the hardwood table underneath with the condensation from the bottle. Eyes trained on that single slice of pie you’d bought him weeks ago.

“I wouldn’t eat that if I were you D,” mirth filled voice floats towards him before you reach his side in body.

Hand coming into view grabbing for the container to toss it out. But Dean’s quicker, “If you value your life, you’ll unhand my pie,” thick fingers circle your wrist pulling your plush body down beside him. “It’s not nice to steal a man’s pie woman,” keeping his tone light, playful and away from the looming fate he knows will visit upon his person once you figure out Will is the man you truly want. Deserving of your light, and laughter, the sweetness, of your beauty that Dean only hopes the other man will appreciate.

Gasping in mock outrage, “Who me?” Hand to heart trying to keep the laughter from your tone. “I would never deprive you of pie Deano. But I would that slice since I think it’s become a science experiment.”

Narrowing his eyes towards the offending sweet dessert, “It is not.” Poking twice before pulling the pie forward for a closer inspection. Musical laughter meeting his ears, smothering the smirk threatening to bloom over his lips. “Okay so maybe your right,” turning his pouting face towards you.

“Course I am,” giving him a wink then standing to toss the ruined sweets out. Pausing by the panty, you peek in unaware Dean’s watching you from his seat.

Teasing sway to your generous hips has his eyes tracking every movement. Bitting the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning at how temping you look. Thick thighs encased in blue denim jeans feet bare from wearing those steal toed Dr. Martins during hunts. Body stretching upwards, soft cotton baby blue tank top riding up to bare a silver of delicate skin to his eyes. Your fingers barely snag the sugar container’s edge, pulling it down to clasp against your ample chest.

Chastising himself for the erotic thoughts flipping through his mind on a single film reel. “What exactly are you doing sweetheart?” Carefully keeping his lower half away from your line of sight. Lest you find out the problem currently tenting his jeans, teeth gritting to stop himself from acting on all those thoughts.

“Never you mind Dean Winchester,” tossing over your shoulder, checking for vanilla extract, light syrup, and butter from the fridge. Last stop the freezer mentally trying to remember if you there's a pie shell left or would need to make one. Hoping for at least a single, since checking the flour stock and coming up almost empty. “Start a list for me please and put flour on it,” setting the three ingredients in your hands down. Turning back to open the metal door to peer into the freeze, swaying slighting to a song running through your head. A triumphant “Yes,” exists your lips, a little dance of excitement upon finding the last shell.

Damn near swallowing his tongue so entranced by your movements gulping different words back down to keep from making a total fool of himself. As he utters, “Not till I know exactly what your making over there Betty Crocker.”

“Resorting to blackmail now?” Brow arched, unconsciously licking your lips slowly. Unaware of Dean watching the path it takes across your pump bottom lip, tucking it between indenting teeth.

For distraction purposes, Dean pulls his phone from the front pocket of his jeans. Bringing up the list app a suggestion to simplify things you gave him months back. Forcing himself to focus on the small screen in his hands instead of the woman currently dancing around the kitchen. Pulling bowls, pots and pans out, one chance glance has an inaudible groan vibrating through his chest at the sight of your plush ass. Bent over shifting through sheet pans knowing which you look for as arousal flares to life so potent Dean turns quickly hiding his reacting. Planting his face in the palms of his hands, elbows bent to catch the weight. Fingers digging into eye sockets to use the pain and banish the thoughts from reappearing.

Frowning at his actions you come over after putting the pan on the counter. Fingers running through his hair, scraping the scalp with short nails. Pleased smile at the groan you pull from his lips as he rubs his head into your palm like a little puppy. “Something wrong Dean?” Worry dancing through the cadence of your voice other hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Fine,” head popping up, forcing your fingers to slide out of his hair. Taking a chance to glance up into your worried eyes. Underserving of your soft touch searing his skin. An itch to run from our presence skitters across his veins. “I’m fine sweetheart just tired.”

Searching his face, those whiskey flecked green eyes so unlike the blue-greens of Will’s, catching something hiding in those deep depths he’s trying to hide. Never fooled by words, always inspecting his actions and those little tells partially concealed though you know them all too well. “You’re covering something up Winchester I’ll get it out of you one way or another,” patting his cheek and stepping away.

‘I don’t want you to go on that date,’ on the tip of his tongue poised to leave his lips he keeps smashed together burying those feelings to not ruin this chance you have at an apple pie life. The very thought tears his heart, rendering another hole in the punched out organ. Though it’s his own fault for giving you a million reasons to keep that boundary line in place. Tip toeing almost across a few times, but always toeing the line keeping himself in check. Head snapping around when something hard hits the back of his head, scowl in place though it’s more playful than menacing. “Did you just…” glancing towards the floor to find a lone pecan on the ground behind him. Head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed on your face, which is the total opposite of his holding a sweetly innocent look concealing the trouble he knows you’ll cause. “Seriously a pecan? That could’ve done damage Babe Ruth.”

Eyes rolling, snort issuing from your up turned lips, “I don’t know what you speak of Dean I’m just here making a pie minding my own business. Can’t help it if a pecan has it out for you.”

“Possessed it must be,” voice pitched in a poor imitation of Master Yoda, getting a boo hiss from your general direction. “Though something tells me a certain someone threw the poor helpless nut.”

Shrugging, face neutral a picture of indifference with hands on your wide hips ingredients spread out over the counter. “Stop calling yourself names Dean it’s not nice.” Bottom lip trapped for a second to keep from giggling at the way he’s looking towards you.

Enjoying this moment of normalcy you’ve managed to capture in these dark and dangerous times. Thoughts skittering towards Will, if he’s able to put up with the hunters life style? Former Marine, Will knows so little of what truly goes bump in the night making you worry he wouldn’t feel at ease. It’s the reason you’ve hesitated each time he’s asked you out. Not wanting to drag someone else into a life of blood and death. Persistence and patience paid off when you finally agreed on a dinner date for tomorrow night. One your actually looking forward to.

But then you glance towards Dean, seeing the smile grace those soft looking lips, shinning in his whiskey flecked green orbs for the first time in months and you hesitate. Would you want to leave this life for a man who wouldn’t understand you not fully anyway? Or stay and remain the best friend till a hunt takes one of you out? Could you truly leave your home with the Winchesters, with Dean?

His voice breaks through the your thoughts, ruthful chuckle echoing through the room, “Haha sweetheart stop trying to be John Candy it ain’t workin for ya,” bending to scoop up the tossed nut a memory filters through his mind. Opening a wound he thought long since closed over soaked in whiskey and women who’s names he’s forgotten. Shaking the thought away to ask, “You gonna chunk a nut at your boyfriend tomorrow night too? Or is that reserved for me?”

Not sure why he’s even asking or teasing you about it or the fact there’s a bite to the tone. He shouldn’t care about a simple date, yet the thought twists his gut smile slipping from his lips as he looks down at the pecan in hand. Unwillingly letting those images fill and play before his eyes.

If I had a highway, I would run for the hills

If you could find a dry way, I'd forever be still

But you're giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Giving me a million reasons

About a million reasons

December 2011

Run down two room shack a nicer way of putting it truly, you think while pulling up outside next to Baby’s sleek black side. Hands gripping the steer wheel till knuckles hurt and you can focus again through the haze of tears spilling down your cold cheeks. Still trying to grasp the fact Bobby Singer legendary hunter, go to lore man, and surrogate father, dead by a bullet from Dick Roman’s gun. Itching for vengeance you try to quell for another time when you can let all the anger out. For right now you knew he needed you more than any strategy planning or revenge thought.

Remembering Sam’s voice shaking, laced with pain, peppered with rage but above all coated in sadness you could hear over the phone lines. Never hesitating to drop the case — for now — breaking speed limit in the need to reunite with your boys. You’d do anything for family even those who weren’t by blood. Learning a long time ago that family doesn’t end with the DNA flowing through your veins.

Shaking those thoughts from your mind and existing the car only to lean back in and grab the bags from the passenger side. Standing to full height to peer over the top locking eyes with those anger clouded greens. “No I didn’t bring you anything Winchester so don’t bother asking.” Trying to lighten the situation with poorly used humor.

Words fail to leave thinned lips as you pass by, hand holding the creaking barely held together door open for you. Following behind his voice scratchy from no use, “Sam call you?”

“Of course silly why wouldn’t he?” Placing the bags on what could pass for a pile of rubble instead of an island countertop. Turning to face him cataloging each feature, the stone set of his jaw, shoulders tight with tension, eyes those beautiful normally vibrate whiskey flecked greens mute with anguish he tries to hide.

Shrugging, shoulders dropping forward with no will to keep them up, “He shouldn’t have your needed else where Y/N.”

“Bullshit Winchester,” moving with purpose to stand in his personal space. “Bobby was just as much a father to me as to you. There’s no other place I’d rather be than here, for a different reason yes but I’m not leaving so suck it up buttercup.”

Catching the flash of anger tinging the deep greens whether directed at you or himself you’re not sure. “We already salted and burned his body, there’s no reason for you to stay.” Turning away from your softening eyes knowing your going to try and reason with him. Make him see he’s not responsible for what happened.

“I know,” two simple words make him pause and turn back. “I didn’t come to say goodbye to Bobby, I came for you.” Taking one step closer arms wrapping around his slumped shoulders bringing him into the shelter of your embrace. Steady hands running the length of his stiff back, imparting your warm, trying to give comfort knowing he’s unaccepting of such sympathies.

Brows furrowing, frown tipping his lips downward, fists clinching at his sides, Dean tries to keep himself from giving into the solace he so easily could find in your embrace. Warmth sinking into his skin through the layers of clothing he wears, tingling his skin, quickening his pulse.“Why?”

“You need me, your not listening to Sam or Castiel talking about going off to track Roman down yourself,” spitting the Leviathan’s name out like chewed to long gum. Head resting against his strong chest feeling the slightly erratic beat of his heart against your ear.

Back stiffening, “I don’t need you to tell me what to do Y/N I can make that decision on my own.” Low growl rattling through his chest as he pulls from your arms and steps from the warmth evaporating from his body. “You should leave.”

“And get yourself killed?” Hands slamming to your wide hips glaring daggers at your best friend. “What happened wasn’t your fault Dean. Any one of us could’ve taken that bullet, Bobby knew the risks of the mission, accepted them and died…” swallowing the tears threatening to slip from your eyes. “A hero,” ignoring his last words, reaching out to try and take his hand only to have him pull away like you’ve burned him.

“Don’t, don’t try to reason this with me I know better,” turning his back to head for the wall covered in papers trying to figure out just what Dick Roman’s up too.

Shaking your head knowing he’s hurting but not wanting to voice those feelings, to make him appear weak. With a sigh leaving your frowning lips you move silently beside him looking over the wall of weird trying to piece together how everything connects. Brushing your hand against his, pinkie trailing to catch what you think is his forefinger. Wrapping the little finger tightly around his you lean over, “I’m right here when you’re ready Dean, I’m not leaving nor letting go.”

“You should,” not bothering to turn and face you. Memories of Lisa and Ben filter through his thoughts along with Bobby, his father and what he can remember of his mother. “I’m poison and get everyone around me killed.” He doesn’t want to add you to the growing list. Rather wanting you to leave and find a different path for your life.

Tugging on his finger to wrap the middle and forefinger with your ring and pinkie fingers, “Then Sam and I are the antidote to your poison.” Giving a soft sad smile to his side profile, wrapping him up into your arms. Resting your head on his shoulder, voice a gentle whisper of breath upon his cheek and neck,“Those reasons keep tallying up Winchester we’ll hit a million before long.”

Reminding you both of a long ago discussion between the two of you in Bobby’s junk yard while still teenagers. Before angels and demons, vampires thought long dead and ancient Leviathan brought back from the pit of purgatory. When you made the packed to never fall for each other and always remain best friends. To never let go no matter how dire the situation, you’d have each other’s back.

Evaporating memories of long ago, you speak softly still resting your head on his shoulder. “You work on this mosaic of papers you have plastered over the walls. I have a pie to bake,” not giving it much thought you quickly press a kiss to his stubbled cheek then turn to head back towards the passable kitchen area.

Tingles dance over his skin for longer than he wishes, wanting to suppress those feelings bubbling up to try and consume him. Thinking he could bury them under the mounting pain and self hated. Yet, the warmth of your arms, soft press of your lips, your words register and sink into his brain Dean turns to watch you work unable stop a few of those feelings from dancing around his heart. Single thought shocking him in its stark contradiction to his current state of mind, Dean Winchester self proclaimed ladies man has fallen in love with his best friend. A sucker punch to the gut making him gasp and reel that silent declaration in. Stuffing it under the right full emotions of anger and pain. Letting them tap dance through his veins instead, something much safer for the both of them. Something he could understand and deal with.

I bow down to pray

I try to make the worst seem better

Lord, show me the way

To cut through all his worn out leather

I've got a hundred million reasons to walk away

But, baby, I just need one good one to stay

Head stuck in a cycle, I look off and I stare

It's like that I've stopped breathing, but completely aware

'Cause you're giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Giving me a million reasons

About a million reasons

Present

“He’s not my boyfriend yet Dean,” eyes rolling as you turn to melt the butter in a small sauce pan. Though there is a part of you wishing he could one day fill the role unless a single good reason can change your mind comes your way.

“But you want him too?” Words muttered through presses together teeth. Hating the fact he’s letting something so trivial effect him in such a way. You’ve had other boyfriends, one night stands he’s had to sit through yet this one feels different. As if he could truly loose you this time and those thoughts scare the shit outta him the most. Because yes you’re his best friend for longer than he can remember but above that you’re the woman who gets him, argues with him, sets his ass straight when he’s being stupid and above all or so he hopes, loves him warts and all.

Hands pause at his question looking into the melting golden liquid bubbling silently remembering to flick the tiny knob and turn the heat off. While your head screams to say yes but it’s a little small voice beating quickly beneath your ribcage making you pause. Clearing your throat to gather what thoughts you could from their scattered places. You’ve always spoke with honesty to Dean, unless circumstances dictated other wise, and you weren’t about to change now. Through you wouldn’t turn to face him when you did wanting to keep from seeing his eyes. Finding the reason for his questions in those green depths you’ve fallen for though never spoken the feelings. “Yes, he could…” swallowing to coat your dry throat to spit out the words rotting your stomach. “I could have a chance at happiness with Will, Dean. Why do you even ask?”

“I don’t want to loose you,” ‘Because I love you,’ on the tip of his tongue to tell you, give voice and life to his true feelings. Wanting you to stay and forget about those million other reasons he’s let slip between the cracks in your relationship.

Frozen in place, hands gripping the countertop beside the stove. “You wouldn’t loose me Dean I’d still go on hunts with you, I’d stick around,” lies tasting bitter on your tongue, heart beating triple time wondering if he’ll pick up on the dishonesty your speaking. Always feeling he’d never see you as anything other than his best friend. Never the type of woman to draw his attention, too soft and plush in places most men wouldn’t want and you didn’t pine for a man who’s given you a million reasons to walk away. So you shoved those feelings, the love you held back trying to make it work with other men. To find the one who’d surpass Dean destroying your feelings for the green eyed hunter, giving you the one reason to stay and belong. So why now did he have to put doubts in your mind? Why ask these questions when in years past he’d brush other men away as nothing more than a passing fancy?

Silently Dean stands slowly making his way towards you, taking in the ridged stance of your plush form. Hands itch to wrap around your thick waist and haul you against his chest. Pausing right beside you, brushing his fingers against yours too hook what he thinks is your forefinger with his pinkie. “You and I both know things wouldn’t stay the same between us sweetheart. He’d find a way to take you away from me,” praying you won’t pull away Dean turns to stare at your profile. Taking in the beauty he’s catalogued thousands of times, the curve of your lips when you smile, slope of your nose, eyes bright with laughter or spiting fire when angry usually at him. Softness of your cheeks under his palms the times he’s actually got to cup and caress the skin.

“We’ll remain best friends Dean that’ll never change,” gathering the courage to turn and look into his eyes. Catching the sadness coating those beloved greens making your heart ache. Tongue slipping out to tug back your bottom lip between your teeth indented them to keep from asking the question your heart demands.

Of its own accord Dean’s free hand comes up to brush over your cheek, cupping the soft skin, fingers spread from apple to jaw wanting so badly to draw you in and kiss those tempting lips. “I want you happy Y/N and if it’s possible out of this life, been wanting that for you since Bobby,” sliding his hand to your chin to pinch the end with his thumb and forefinger tipping your face up to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I’ll miss you sweetheart.”

Eyes lock with stormy greens after he pulls back, soft gasp parting your lips at the simple touch, words sounding like a goodbye instead of their usual see ya later. Grappling for words to say, questions to ask, trying to figure out what’s going on, and why now. But he’s gone before your brain can catch up with your mouth, and your turning to rush after, seeing his back disappear around the corner.

Feet finally responding to command as you quickly follow stopping at the doorway, “Give me one good reason.” Praying he’ll listen and stop, hoping it’s not too late. “Stop giving me all these reasons to leave.”

Back ridged but his mind a flurry of thoughts and answers, more questions than he could shake a stick at. Only one reason comes to mind, “Good reason to what?”

Traveling the short distance to take his hand intertwining your fingers with his, needing him to turn around and look at you. Needing the connection while stating, “Give me a good reason to stay Dean to not go tomorrow night.”

“I can’t,” partly wanting to flinch from your touch, to tug his hand free, and partly wanting to sink into your familiar embrace. Soak in the peace he always finds in your arms, to bath in your warmth and possibly bask in your love. But Dean wouldn’t be selfish he’d let you go even if it meant killing his own heart and soul.

The urge to punch him grows strong but your refrain from using violence, “Why not? Too scared? Or you just don’t care?”

The warmth of your hand disappears from searing into his palm, tingling those long nimble fingers, his eyes close knowing you’re walking away because of that millionth reason. Till the first brush of soft fingers tender in there touch upon his cheek. He gives in to the urge and rubs his slightly stubbled cheek into your palm. “If that’s you Sam, I’m gonna kick your ass dude,” ignoring your questions in favor of basking in your touch instead. Hearing the soft giggle from your lips brings a smile to his own. Eyes finally opening too stare into yours, almost doing a doubt take at what he sees in those beloved depths. “I don’t deserve you Y/N.”

“Stop giving me a million reasons Dean and give me the one that’ll make me stay,” imploring him with your touch, fingers tracing over his cheeks and jaw. Tracing his plush bottom lip with the pad of your thumb, “I just need one good reason.”

He’d find the situation funny if it’s anyone else standing in front asking the same question. Even Sam would get a chuckle from his lips, but you, his breath freezes, heart thumping wildly in equal measures of terror and excitement. The very thoughts running unrestrained in his mind scare the shit out of him, but only one truly feels right. Snaking an arm around your thick waist pulling you against his strong chest, fitting like missing puzzle pieces. His free hand coming up to cup your cheek, “I love you.”

Tears slip from their ducts barely held back till those three simple words spill from his mouth jump starting your heart and sending your emotions swirling. Warm palms cradle your wet cheeks, gun callused thumbs brush hot tears away, you spy the worry and fear your non response sparks. “Do you mean it?” Wanting clarification before handing your heart over to the very man who’s held it for so long.

Knowing what your asking Dean stops waiting and lowers his mouth to yours. That first touch of lips electricity shoots through you veins. Body responding quicker with arms going around his neck to pull him firmly against you not a wisp of space between your bodies. Fingers tangling in the short hairs at the back of his head while you slot your lips against his. Demanding and deep, a tangled dance of tongues. Clashing of teeth, a melding mouths and finding the right angles to draw those delicious moans from each of you. Till air becomes necessary and you break apart panting, “That answer your question sweetheart?”

“No,” smirking when his eyes narrow, “I wanna hear it again.”

No hesitation in speaking those three words, “I love you.” Groaning when your lips smash back to his. Stealing breath from his lungs and a moan from his chest, Dean walks you backward till your pressed against the cool tile wall. Lower pelvis holding your soft body in place so his hands can dance over your cotton covered plush form. Palm’s flat against your thick waist, slowly dragging them around and down to cup your generous ass. Squeezing firmly and making you gasp.

Using the opening as a way to work his tongue back into your mouth, delving in for another taste of your sweetness. Low groan existing when rearranging his mouth to fit differently and snag a gulp of air. Stubble abrading your chin in the most spectacular of ways. Pooling heat low in your belly and making your mind wander in other more salacious directions. Brought back from teetering on the deliciously desirable edge by a sharp bite, his teeth nabbing your bottom lip to tug, letting go with a wet pop. Breath fanning out over your heated cheeks. Eyes once closed now open and locked with yours a pleading undertone to the desire darkened greens.

Knowing what he wants to hear and unable to wait along, “I love you too Dean.” Heart bursting with unrestrained joy flooding your system and making you love drunk.

“Thank fucking God,” groaning, resting your foreheads together still trying to reign in the wild thumping of his heart. Your admission only serves to make the largest muscle spasm quicker. All his pent up emotions, desires and needs flowing to the surface, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from rushing into something too fast. Remembering it’s still fresh and new between the two of you a different path to the relationship already established in friendship.

Giggling softly, you cup both his cheeks, thumbs brushing along his skin, three days worth of stubble abrading your palms. “So,” teasing smirk pulling at your lips, “I better call Will huh?”

“For?” Trying to keep the bitter growl from escaping and giving away his feelings on the sore subject. Tugging your soft body back in place from your wiggles to side free, not ready to let you go just yet.

Sliding one hand down his chest to rest where you know his anti-possession tattoo resides. Tracing the edges with the tip of your finger over the black t-shirt he’s wearing, locking eyes with his, “Seems I’m a taken woman. Wouldn’t want to lead the poor guy on now would I?” Watching how those whiskey flecked greens darken, pushing his lower body deeper into your plush form. Barely heard as you try not to give away the whimper of need his body produces in your own, with his pressed so tightly. Cool concrete keeping you body temp from over heating for the moment.

“No,” clearing his throat leaning in to draw his nose over your jawline. Touring towards your ear, catching the lobe between his front teeth to tug. Low desire filled growl leaving his lips, followed by, “Tomorrow is another day sweetheart and right now you’ve got better things to do.”

Heading tipping over granting access to the parts of your neck he wants, trying to keep the shiver from rolling over your body. Heat flooding your veins sparking a need you’ve never felt with any of the other men you’d previously had relations with. “What,” licking your parched lips, “what better things Dean?” Praying it’s the same idea rolling around your head for the longest time.

Pausing in his mapping of your neck and shoulder with his lips, Dean raises his head to spear you with a heated look. “Me for starters sweetheart, that is of course…” uneasiness has him trailing off the first time in his life. The bitter taste of uncertainty coating his thoughts for a fraction of a second before your lips land back on his.

Teasingly soft presses, little ghost touches of your tongue, playfully dotting his cheeks, chin and forehead with your lips before brushing close to his ear. “Hey Dean,” smiling against his skin, tenderly pressing your lips just south of his ear. Nibbling the found patch of sensitive skin behind committing the spot to memory for later. Breath puffing out quicker feeling him shiver, knowing what the next words would invoke in Dean and his love for the movie. “You big stud. Take me to bed or lose me forever,” sultry tone added to the cadence.

His eyes close for a moment, heart swelling as you recite the words to one of his favorite movies. Marveling at the fact you’ve remembered the lines perfectly and Dean falls deeper in love with you if that’s possible.

The gentle caresses of your lips against his skin setting fire to his nerve endings, room in his jeans becoming a hot commodity as his shaft thickens and throbs. Finding the distraction almost too much while trying to recall the next line. Teasing giggles reach his ears that he replies to with a deep chuckle. Words coming back to him, “Show me the way home, honey.”

Reaching down to tug one hand from your ass, chuckling with a shake of your head when it doesn’t budge but squeezes the generous globe. Notching himself tighter into your body, smirk appearing as your eyes widen, gasp issuing from parted lips. Bitting the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling before the words can escape. “Is that a pickle in your pocket or you just happy to see me?”

“Oh sweetheart it’s a great big dill I can show ya,” flashing a smirk, both of you trying hard not to laugh.

“Preferably,” deep voice tinged with slight offense but liberally coated in amusement. “In your own room so the both of you aren’t bare ass naked in the hallway bumping like bunnies,” having rounded the corner towards the kitchen and catching the intimate embrace. “A vision I don’t want branded into my skull thank you very much,” Sam paused arms crossed in annoyance. Golden dotted green eyes dancing with mirth, catching the playfully scandalous expression cross your features. Glancing towards Dean who buries his face in your neck getting a deep chuckle from his brother.

Try as you might to keep from busting out laughing they just rolled out of your mouth as your eyes lock with Sam’s. Acting stoic but the smile tugging at his lips and the teasing flash through his eyes speak a different story. Only thing holding you up is Dean���s body still pressed heavily against your. The man in question glancing up first to look at you then over his shoulder towards Sam. “Don’t even start Sammy,” grumbling good-naturedly giving him a middle finger salute and the opening you need to slip from between his hard body and the wall. Teasing growl rumbling through his chest at the loss of your warmth. Dean reaches out to snag your arm but you manage to dance out of his reach, giggles echoing off the walls trailing behind your disappearing form.

“Wouldn’t dream of it Dean but Cas owes me fifty bucks,” patent Sam Winchester smirk sliding over his lips. Brow raised at his scoff, “Can’t believe I had a betting pot going?”

Watching you run off happy grin tipping his mouth upward, he looks back at Sam grin still in place. “Just can’t believe it’s with Cas. Rowena maybe, Jody, Claire, Alex and Donna fuck yes but Cas,” incredulous look stealing over his features for a few moments.

“Who say’s the bet’s not bigger than you think,” broad shoulders shrugging same smirk in place, Sam enters the kitchen on that note leaving Dean to stare wide eyed after his baby brother. “Matter of time, always just a matter of time,” laughter tinged voice exists the kitchen, unseen shake of his head at the mess left behind.

Stock still for a fraction of a second till soft giggles echo quietly down the hall, grin turning into full blown smile. Need rushing back through his veins in remembrance of your position just a few short moments ago. Low curse existing his mouth, Dean turns racing off to find which room you’re hiding in.

Nerves tingled through your body, worry interrupting thoughts/memories of short minutes ago. Hard press of his body against yours, warm moist breath fanning out over your skin sending tingles of a different kind to skitter across your veins. But now standing in Dean’s room trying to figure out where to lay or stand that would invoke images of sensuality. You look down at your bare feet toes wiggling against cold concrete. Up wards to thick jeans clad thighs, a baby blue tank top covering your torso, self consciousness went out the window decades ago. After the first serious injuries you suffered at the hands of a vengeful spirit had you damn near stripped naked in front of Dean. Confidence in face of adversity knowing he’s the only one for miles around to patch you up.

Now though is different, same confidence but wishing for sexier clothing something to entice and tease. Small snort issues from the depths of your body knowing damn well you had nothing of the sort in your possession. Flannels, tank tops, t-shirts and jeans hunter’s required staples along with the functional under garments you groan at remembering are mismatched at the present.

“Beautiful even in those rumpled clothing,” deep voice breaking through thoughts and making a squeak sound as you quickly turn to face the lazily leaning against the door jam hunter. Arms crossed over muscular chest, biceps straining the black t-shirt’s sleeves, “I meant what I said before Sammy interrupted us.”

Tugging your bottom lip back under indented top teeth turning to face him fully, “Which part?” Barely keeping the mirth from bubbling over, “That I should show you the way home or you have a big dill?” Easy going banter calming your nerves even the part about feeling ill-prepared clothing wise.

Tender infused whiskey fleck green eyes turn molten with each sweep of your body. “I love you,” words escape as eyes stay locked, Dean pushing away from the doorway. Booted foot catching the hardwood door and slamming it shut behind him. Stocking towards you as a lion would his prey, licking parched lips wanting to devour you. Hands fisting at his side though to keep from reaching out and doing just that incase it’s something your not ready for.

His breath froze upon seeing you walking around his room, something akin to relief floods his veins along with a sense of rightness. Sure you’ve come in hundreds of times to wake him from a nightmare or mornings, to barrow music and to talk. Yet, this time feels different giving your relationship changed moments ago. Catching the indecision clearly written in those beloved eyes that don’t focus on one place too long. For a moment Dean wishes he could read your thoughts but then having hunted and lived together for decades he picked up the situation and cues without having to know your thoughts.

Pleased hum breaks Dean from the wondering trail his thoughts took him on to spy the sweet smile gracing your lips. Hands positioned on your hips one cocked to the side as you stand there waiting expectedly. Restraining himself, Dean opens his palms to bring them up and cup your cheeks dragging you against him. Lips meeting in the tenderest of kisses that he keeps in place while speaking, “You want this, want me?”

Recognizing his vulnerability and what he’s asking with those simple words, arms wrap around his back fisting the shirt tightly to press the two of you together. Love saturated eyes burn into those greens you could drown in, “That’s my question Winchester stop stealing my lines.” Flattening one palm to slide up and into his hair. Pressing another kiss to his soft lips you’ve only imaged kissing till now. The reality so much better than any fantasy you ever came up with.

“Calling me a thief now sweetheart?” Using jokes to cover the fact he’s searching for the right words. Flustered and frustration slither through his veins in a combination Dean’s not accustom, words stammering of unintelligible nature tumble from his mouth. The feel of your blunt nails sending pleasurable shivers down his spine.

Nodding, craning your neck back a few inches but keeping your eyes locked, “You stole my lines and my heart Dean so yes that would make you a thief.” Hand sliding over his back now and settling into the back pocket of his jeans, “I also meant what I said back there.” Catching the cocked brow you elaborate, “Take me to bed Dean I’m tired of waiting, I want to know how it feels to have you inside me.”

Soft groan issues from parted lips. Wanting to act on your words so damn badly his body vibrates with barely contained desire. Forehead coming to rest against yours, strong hands sliding too loosely wrap around and caress your neck. “You know I’m not great at relationships. I could seriously fuck things up.”

“I know but then so could I,” any doubts or insecurities evaporating into the ether with every look.

Callused fingers brush over your bare shoulders sending sensual shivers cascading down your body. Rubbing your thighs together for added friction with the heated look Dean’s fixing you with. Boosting your confidence to step back his hands drop to the side as you own pinch at the hem of your tank top. Slowly pulling it from your body, letting it drop with a barely heard whisper.

“Fucking hell sweetheart,” resolve snapping, reaching for your hips and tugging you back against him harder than intended. Lips sealing quickly to swallow the gasp existed parted lips Dean takes advantage of and slips his tongue inside the warm cavern of your mouth.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss, it’s all teeth and tongues, fighting desperately for dominance. Pulling groans from the depths of Dean’s soul as he pulls whimpers and moans from your own. Till air becomes needed though it doesn’t stop your mouth from trailing a hot path across his stubbled jaw. Nibbling towards that little patch behind his ear to flick the tip of your tongue against. Smirking at the shutter rolling through his body, fingers dancing a rhythm over his shirt covered torso. Hem reached you tug twice to which he nods reaching behind him grasping and pulling the garment off to join yours.

Hands, palms flat immediately going to ghost over his rippling tummy. Muscle covered soften causing all moisture to pool south, clit throbbing almost painfully. Sure you’ve seen him bare chested before this time it’s different. For pleasure instead of patching him up. Drawing desired groans rather than pain filled. “I know Sam would abject but I so wouldn’t mind seeing you walk around shirtless.”

Full belly chuckle leaves Dean’s lips, “Sweetheart don’t talk about other men right now especially not my brother.” Possessive hands landing on your naked plush waist, fingers spanning the distance and gripping the flesh in his palm. Dreams having nothing on the real woman in his palms.

“Just stating facts sir nothing more,” trailing your fingers over the slightly hair roughen skin. Brushing pebbled nipples from the cool air and your proximity. Reserving a gasp when you lean forward to lap with the tip of our tongue and nip at the peaked point. Glancing to lock eyes as you switch and give the same attention to its twin giving the same attention getting a hiss from your actions. Dragging you lips upward to trace his tattoo with kisses.

Molten green eyes drinking in the sight of your lips on his skin, shooting desire straight to his cock. Throbbing need demanding attention no matter how good your soft lips feel against his body. “Baby girl,” groaning at the nip you place, eyes close to compose himself. Flying open as air cool brushes his skin inside of the shared heat of both your bodies. Mesmerized by the way you reach back to unclasp your bra, pushing your lushes breasts out teasing his vision, salivating for a taste of your skin.

He steps forward crowding into your space backing you into the bed till the back of your calves hit the edge. Wrapping his arms around your plush form to brush hands away and do the task himself. Finger tips skimming the edges of both straps till reaching the top at your shoulders and drawing them down. Keeping his eyes locked with yours while pulling the garment from your pliant body tossing it behind him. Eyes flicking down on a groan, licking his dry lips at the beauty displayed for his ravenous gaze.

“Lay down for me sweetheart,” meeting your lust blown orbs with his own. “I wanna see you in my bed,” biting off a whimper when you drop onto the edge. Bountiful breasts bouncing teasingly as he watches you slide backwards towards the head board. Hands going to the button of your jeans, low growl pausing your nimble fingers. “That’s for me to do baby girl, just,” swallowing harshly as he looks you over. Partially naked spread out over his bed picture perfect memory for those times when the darkness tries to steal this happiness. “Give me a moment to drink you in.” Unable to decide where to look first, “So fucking gorgeous.” Toeing off his boots, hands going to his own jeans your shaking head pausing the movements.

“I get the same pleasure,” licking your lips slowly while raising up on your elbows. Beckoning him with two crooked fingers, hand resting with the palms up beside your plush body, “Get up here before I get impatience and take matters into my own hands.”

Declaration making him pause a moment low growl rumbling from deep with in his chest. As desire blown green meet yours, smirk gracing his handsome features. One knee comes to rest on the mattress Dean leans forward keeping eyes locked while pressing a kiss to your ankle. Grinning, feeling the quiver that runs through your body. “You wouldn’t dare sweetheart,” adding his other knee to spread your legs and slowly fit his body between.

“Shall we make a bet Winchester?” Using your free foot to brushing the nearest thigh with the flat. Sliding towards the very noticeable bulge busting the seams of his jeans, toes teasing the thick ridge before pressing the flat of your foot against him. Rubbing the length slowly pleased when a growl echos the room.

Grabbing that foot tickling the pad enjoying the way you squirm and giggle. Taking the opportunity to move fully between your legs. “About that bet hum,” fingertips drawing an invisible path of fire down the middle your body. Bracing then both arms on either side of your shoulders hovering over you, warm breath fanning out over your cheek he nuzzles with stubbled chin. Pulling a whimper from your gasping lips.

Of there own accord, your hands slide up the strength of his arms and biceps to clasping fingers together around the back of his neck. Left leg draped over his waist to pull him against your pelvis, breathless moan parting your lips at the contact of his hard length pressing into your dripping center. “I don’t want slow or gentle Dean,” head tipping back to give access to his questing lips that find your wildly thumping pulse, sucking a mark into the soft skin. “We have all night for that I just…” words caught upon seeing whiskey flecked green eyes dilated almost pitch with desire. Cheshire Cat grin tugging kiss swollen lips upward.

“Just what sweetheart?” Humming, brushing your lips together before returning to his last spot. One hand dragging over your soft body cupping the generous globe massaging gently feeling the nipple peak against his palm. Teasingly circling the stiff nub with the tip of his index finger before giving a sharp pinch and making you gasp out. Back arching at the pleasurable pain skittering across your veins.

Grasping what’s left of your mind to try and form coherent words, body responding instead pressing your chest into his large hand. Nails score down his back, one completing the journey to give his ass a tight squeeze. As the other detours to between your intimately pressed body. Happy to find enough space to slot your palm against his erection, cupping his throbbing length and giving short little strokes. Smile blooming with a breathless groan against your collarbone where Dean’s forehead currently rests. Nimble fingers pop the small metal disk, pulling the zipper tab down to slip the hand inside. Warmth enveloping palm feeling him twitch has you slowly licking your lips at the mire thought of getting to taste him.

“You’re killing me Y/N,” rutting his hips into your hand, mouth coming back to claim yours in a punishingly bruising kill. Tangling your tongues together, nipping a little harder on your bottom lip than meaning to but the accompanying moan flows straight to his cock. Making him twitch against your palm that has slowed with the distraction of the kiss.

Breaking for air, panting while trying to form and speak the right words, “We’re both a little over dressed Dean.” Pulling your hand from the tight confines of his jeans, using the one at his ass to help pull them and his boxers down only stopping when you couldn’t reach anything passed his knees. Sigh of relief exists his parted lips making you giggle and press a kiss to his chin. “Feel better?” Bottom lip trapped and nibbled on as your fingers brush his length. Finding your fingers barely wrap around the girth while to stroke, palm sliding over precum leaking head. Hips thrust forward at the sensations tingling down his back gathering low in his belly.

“Now who’s over dressed?” Mumbling the words against your skin. Dean regretfully brushes your hand aside grinning at the annoyed huff that leaves your lips. “Ah sweetheart put that sexy pout away you’ll get a chance to taste me soon enough. Cause if you keep using that soft hand on my cock I’ll cum faster than I want.”

His words presenting so many thoughts to run through your mind only cut off when wet warm heat engulfs your right nipple. Tongue flicking quickly over taut peak, blunt teeth nipping then soothing over with the tip of his tongue. Switching to the twin leaving both sloppy wet and tight, gleaming in the low light of his room. Worshipping at the temple of your body with kisses pressed into your tummy, running scared callused hands over your skin in silent reverence. Eyes taking in very inch Dean sits back on his knees between your parted legs. Tracing his knuckles along the seam of your jeans covered cunt, making you jolt against him.

Pausing to strip your jeans and panties from your body, tossing them and kicking his own off to land somewhere on the floor. Raising up on elbows to finally get a chance to look at him in all his naked glory. Tracing each divot of scars over a broad chest, passing over the middle to admire thick bowed legs spread wide. Lips licked slowly upon landing on his ridge cock, slightly curved and resting against his lower belly. Palm itching for a touch, mouth watering for that taste. “You’re beautiful Dean,” words whispered so low your unsure if he’s really heard them.

Heat blooms over his cheeks at your admission, looking your fill of his adonis body. Dean returns the admiration. Tracing the features of your beloved face, staring a little too long at your heaving breasts, soft tummy he wants to nibble on at some point. Thick thighs he can’t wait to have wrapped around his waist once he’s buried deep inside your wet heat. The very though has his eyes dropping between your parted legs, glistening folds beckoning him forward. Caught in that tempting trance, Dean slides back between your legs. Brushing his lips just above your mound and receiving a whimper from you. Locking eyes, “I think you got that backwards sweetheart, it’s you who’s beautiful.” Dipping to run the thick flat of his tongue through your folds, humming at the tangy sweetness exploding over his taste buds.

Hips cantering against his mouth, your own letting a deep moan free as one hand slides down to card through his short brown locks. Tugging the strands getting a groan to vibrate against your cunt while his talented tongue dances through your soaked folds. Torturing your clit with ghosted touches, one arm wraps around our thigh spreading you open. As the other slips a finger inside your wet channel, finding you squeezing and tight, garnering a deep groan of arousal from the man between your lips.

“Dean,” voice wrecked and he’s barely touched you. When he doesn’t answer or budge from his sensual assault on your cunt. Lips having formed a perfect O around your clit, tongue flicking kitten licks to the tiny nerve filled nub. Pleased with he whimpers and whines that filter through his desire filled mind.

Resulting in you tugging on his hair harder, back arching as a small shock rocks through your body, tingling your belly when he bites carefully on your clit. “Dean please,” eyes rolling back into your head at the added second finger. Crooked and pressing into the little spongy spot you’ve never had anyone touch. Ripping a half scream from the hidden depths of your soul.

Smug smirk tugging over slick wet lips, stubbled chin coming to rest just above your mound. Watching as you heave a breath, breasts catching his eyes for a moment till you tug again. Fingers anything but still as they thrust and scissor you open, working you carefully to fit his slightly above average length not wanting to hurt you. “Yes sweetheart?” Licking his lips from your slick.

Free hand coming up to cover your heated face, “Don’t sound so smug,” gasping the last word when his thumb brushes over your clit making you jump and wither. Heat spreading from that special spot in your belly, where the tight coil starts to wind higher. Thick thighs tremble with each sensation Dean draws out of you. “Need you, please, please.”

Caressing your quivering walls with the gun callused pads of his fingers, massaging your clit as you plead. Breath chocked out on another moan, chest heavy, heat coating your skin as you wither under him. “Ah but I can’t help myself sweetheart you don’t know what seeing you like this does to me.”

Gathering what little strength you have in your limbs to reach down and cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the skin under his eyes. “Why don’t you get up here and show me Dean?” Voice wreaked yet a tender undertone rides through the cadence.

Pressing a single kiss to the pulsing little clit, giving once last flick making your squirm and Dean to chuckle. Slowly pulling his fingers out, stroking twice more your hips chasing the indescribable ecstasy winding its way through your veins. Only to have the tingles dance slower, the coil start to unwind as frustrated huff leaving your gasping lips.

Taking advantage to plunder your mouth, greedy for a sample of the wet cavern and a tongue tango that draws out a sharp moan of need. Especially tasting your tangy sweetness from his lips, sucking the bottom between your teeth to nibble. While reaching blindly over to the nightstand, damn near yanking the whole draw on the ground in his haste. “Give me a sec woman,” huffing out he rolls slightly off you. The noise drawing a giggle out causing him too stiffen, glancing back with a playful glare to refocus on finding his prize.

Using the opportunity to nose the thick column of his neck, taking in the scent of whiskey, leather and motor oil, peppered now with sex and sweat. Addicting and unable to help yourself from sink your teeth into his skin gently but hard enough to leave a small soon to purple mark. Soothing over with the flat of your tongue catching sight of the pause your actions caused. The aroused moan that leaves his lips, head resting on the bed to try and gather himself from your onslaught.

“Something wrong Dean?” Nipping just below his jaw, tracing your fingers along his side. Index finger swirling through the spares, crisp hairs leading a path to what you’ve craved to have inside you for a long time. Nimble fingers surround the base forming a perfect circle that can’t close but tightens. Stroking his length teasingly slow. In return receiving a warning growl — the sound devastating your senses making you throb — from the man currently fishing for a condom and growing frustrated when his fingers come up empty. “Shall I stop my love? Am I distracting you?” Whispered words breathed into his ear, lips kissing the shell. Knowing damn well just how tormenting you are to his senes and body. If his twitching cock your hand currently wrapping around stroking and the shallow breaths are any indication.

“Ha,” triumphant shout of accomplishment, Dean rolls back over you pressing bodies together and into the mattress. “Now where were we?” Flashing that teasing smirk with a hard rutting of his hips against your dripping core and tight fisted hand.

“What to you so long stud?” Biting back the giggles when he fixes you with a scowl.

Breath hissing out through clinched teeth when taking your hand off his cock, bringing those wickedly wonderful fingers to his lips and sucking on each one with a short nibble. Placing the open condom pack in your palm, “Do the honors sweetheart.”

Curling your fingers around the little foil packet, pressing your other hand into the back of his neck drawing Dean in for a tender kiss. Slow meld of your lips, light sips of your warm mouths. Tenderly tugging his bottom lip, to slide your tongue over the bruised skin and into his mouth. Licking and touring the heated cavern, seeking out ways to make his moan and grunt. A moment of forgetfulness while mapping his tonsils and sucking on his tongue, till you break for air. Chasing his mouth for more kisses only to receive a chuckle instead.

Eyes open to spear him with a heated look, foil packet crinkling in your hand a remind of your mission. Slipping fingers from his soft hair, to trace over his body, joining its partner between the two of your heaving bodies. Unlocking your eyes to glance down, hand wrapping back around his thick shaft to stroke twice getting a needy moan from the man above you. Before teasingly rolling the condom on paying special attention to the thick pulsing vein on the underside, mouth watering at the thoughts of getting to taste it later.

Dean grasps one of your hips to bring the leg around his waist, opening you up and feeling your soft skin under his palm. Sliding between your bodies to entwine his fingers with your, pumping his cock together. Different sounds, a hiss from Dean and a moan from you exists on shuttering breaths. Eyes reattach both blown with desire and coated in need, you notch the head of his cock at your entrance pressing the heel of your foot into the small of his back to urge him forward.

Teeth clamping to draw blood from your bottom lip but also to keep from screaming out in pleasure as he slowly sinks inside your quivering depths. Reaching up with his other hand to free your bruised lip, brushing the pad of his thumb over the glistening skin. “I wanna hear you sweetheart don’t hold back.”

“What about Sam?” Breath hitching, mouth hanging open on a moan that’s trapped on the edge of a scream when he bottoms out against you. Bodies flush, joined hands now resting above your head where Dean’s placed them.

Leaning in to press open mouth kisses to your lips and neck letting you adjust to his size, the exquisite stretch thumps through your veins the slight sting only heightening the pleasure. “Never mention his name while we’re in bed sweetheart,” snagging the lobe of your ear with his teeth. Pleased when you nod speechless, though not enough, “Words baby girl I wanna hear that prefect voice of yours.”

Swallowing trying to form words to answer, scoring your nails down his back an impatience mewling whimper leaves instead. Using the leg not wrapped around Dean’s waist as leverage to plant and push your hips up against him. Squeezing your walls tightly around his shaft drawing out a grunt from his lips. “Dean…” going to say more but he chooses that moment to pull out till just the crown rested inside your pulsing channel. “Just you…” hips snapping forward to fill you quickly stealing those words into a loud scream of ecstasy.

Starting a hard punishing rhythm, repeatedly waiting till your fixing to speak and either pulling out or trusting home. Always taking away what your going to say. Knowing your trapped between frustration and pleasure, Dean captures your mouth in another deep kiss. While his hips snap against yours, wrapping the other leg around his waist to angle you differently. Pressing your intertwined hands into the pillow beside your head and breaking the bruising kiss to gulp a lung full of air into both your burning lungs.

Feeling your walls start to quiver around his hammering cock, knowing by the pinched look on your countenance, the quivering of your thick thighs clutching at his trim waist. Heels pressing into the small of his back drawing him forward with quickened strokes that he’s shortened from the long deep thrusts. Notching your legs higher on his waist to press forward, curling his pelvis into your core, determined to make you cum first. Wanting to feel you soak his cock, see the looks of pleasure dance across your features.

Sliding his fingers through your soaked folds to find your pearl pulsing, pressing the pad of his thumb circling to make a gasp fly from your lips. Back arching, tingles no longer gentle but tap dancing a rhythm through your veins. Dean’s name a chant from your dry, parched lips, panting to try and fill your starving lungs. Body vibrating on a higher frequency only Dean’s turned in on as with every snap of his hips, brush of his thumb sends your spiraling deeper into euphoria.

Reaching up to wrap your hand around his neck to bring him back down for another kiss. This one sloppy as the thrusts of Dean’s hips, brief touches of lips, wet slide of your tongues across the other. Eyes sliding closed only to snap back open with a pinch to your nipple soothed over my his teasing fingers.

“Keep those beautiful eyes open for me sweetheart and cum for me I know your close. You just gotta let go for me,” resting your foreheads together, gritting his teeth to starve off his own orgasm. The wet clinch almost too much for Dean to handle. Always wondering but never imagining how good this truly would feel.

“Dean,” breathing out his name, a series of moans and whimpers following. Trying to capture his mouth for another kiss that’s broken off when your orgasm slams into you soaking Dean’s cock in your slick. Eyes rolling back his name a screamed prayer from your lips.

Body convulsing in pleasurable all consuming fire, little sparks of light pin prick behind your tightly closed eyes. Moisture breath fans out over your neck where Dean buries his face, lips pressing into your skin. Chasing that high while working you through your orgasm the wet clinch of your walls prove too much to starve off any long. Giving in with a groan of your name rubbed into your skin as he fills the condom. Circling his hips a few more times to drag out the pleasurable spikes racking his frame.

Collapsing into your arms a welcome weight pressing you into the mattress as you both try to capture your breath. He brings your joined hands down starting to untwine them but the shake of your head stops the actions.

“For a few moments longer,” voice hoarse from screaming out your pleasure. Free hand coming up to card through his sweat drenched hair. Brushing the strands back from his forehead and sliding your lips over his. Brief touches, lingering into something deeper. Tender caresses of mouth’s, nibbling, and sucking softly on bruised skin. Dean starts to move getting a whimpered whine from your throat tightening your arms around him.

“Gotta clear you up sweetheart I’m not going anywhere,” reassuring you with another soft kiss while carefully pulling out of your tender depths. Mesmerized by the slick coating your tights and dripping from your convulsing walls. Brushing his fingers over the reddening swollen skin, gasp reaching his ears, eyes flying up to yours. Then flicking across your body seeing the beard burn on your neck and chest, hand prints blooming over your hips. “Did I hurt you?”

Sitting up to cup his cheeks, “No Dean you didn’t hurt me. If you had I would’ve told you.” Leaning in to kiss him tendering, “Better take care of that mess it’ll get awful sticky otherwise,” giving him a bright smile. Watching while he gingerly takes the spent condom off, tying it closed before tossing it into the waste bin by the night stand.

Raising to walk on shaky bowed legs to grab up the wash cloth from the sink. Wetting with warm water he turns back stunned to find you watching him with a grin on your lips. “Like what you see?”

“Hmm no,” seeing the frown you go to finish. “Love Dean, I see the man I love,” frown switching to teasing smirk as he nears the bed.

Nudging you to lay back and spread your legs, tenderly wiping you clean. Dragging the warm cloth over your folds and inner thighs. Tossing it behind him to crawl into bed gathering your pliant plush body against his hard chest. Back pressed into his front, arms wrapped tightly around your thick waist. Placing a kiss to your shoulder, “I love to you Y/N, get some rest I’m far from through with you.”

Soft giggles vibrate into his chest, “Careful you’re getting old baby you sure you’ll have the stamina?” Toying with the fingers tapping against your tummy sending shivers cross your body.

Low growl accompanies the drag of his teeth over your sensitive skin, drawing a moan from your lips. Pressing his hips into your generous ass, “Give me an hour sweetheart and I’ll show you just how much stamina your man has.”

[sevendeadlymorons]

Hello! I don't really see many guys who play Obey Me so it's actually kinda interesting to see that. I hope no one has been rude to you.

If you are open to requests- how about one where the MC isn't afraid to pact command the brothers when they want something? Be it a change in their behavior for a bit or for them to do something for them 😏

Hey! Thanks for the concern, everyone has been lovely on here so far, so I’m hoping it’ll stay that way, haha!

But anyway, that sounds like it’ll be fun to write 😏 I haven’t written anything In a while, so excuse the poor writing :)

MC Controls the Demon Boys with Their Pacts

NSFW // Sexual Language

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MC has been wanting to be able to use their pacts on the brothers for a little while now. So one day, they decide to pay Solomon a visit...

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Lucifer

MC decides today is the day. The day when they finally make Lucifer kneel at their feet. They walk up to Lucifers room and knock on the door, anticipation running through their veins. The door swings open and there stands the one and only avatar of Pride. It was quite late at night so he looked exhausted and quite ready to collapse none the less.

“Ah. MC. What are you doing here so late at night?” He smirked. Looking at him smile like that made their stomach twist into knots and they felt they couldn’t hold back more longer.

“May I come in?” They ask innocently, flashing him a smile and stepping closer inside.

“I don’t see why not..” Lucifer moves to the side to let them in and they smirk at him as they go past, running the plan over in their head to make sure it’s flawless. Lucifer turns round to shut the door but as soon as he does, he feels MC’s hand rub over his shoulder. They could feel him slightly stiffen at the meer touch of them. They lick their lips and lean up towards his ear...

“Lucifer. Lock the door. Now” They whispered seductively in his ear. Visible chills ran down his spine as a subtle click came from the door. Perfect...

“What do you think you’re doing, MC?” He said in a cold but also seductive way, turning around to put his face close to theirs. MC shrugs playfully and wraps their arms around his neck pulling him closer.

“How about you go sit on the bed for me...?” They purr, so close to his lips that they could feel his hot breath against their skin. He obeys his order and walks over to the bed with MC in tow. He pulls them in by the waist but MC pushes him down and straddles him. “I’m in charge tonight, Lucifer..” They plant kisses all down his neck, tangling their hand in his hair and tugging at his clothes. Silent groans escape his throat as he lays motionless underneath MC. They begin to unbutton his shirt as arousal pools in the pit of their stomach. They kiss down towards his navel, looking up at him with lewd eyes. They start meddling with his belt, tugging at it desperately, their eyes not leaving his. A tent building up inside his trousers, and desperation and desire burning in his eyes.

“Please, Master... Keep going”

Mammon

MC was watching Mammon on the floor of their room, most likely selling something he stole from around the house. He looked so happy at something, which made them curious. MC didn’t really plan to do this today but they suppose it was a good moment...

They hopped off the bed and joined him on the floor, startling him slightly, but more or less not the reaction they were looking for. They huffed and playfully rolled on top of Mammon.

“Ey, MC, what do ya think you’re doin’?!” Attempting to wriggle his way out from underneath her, a light pink blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Mammon. Stay!” They spoke harshly, causing him to stop in a halt. MC felt an overwhelming feeling of power rush over them when they stared down at Mammon’s face, so shocked and vulnerable. They wanted more... “Kiss me”

Mammon’s body shot up, crashing into MC’s lips. They instinctively closed their eyes and pressed into the kiss harder, desperate for his touch and the taste of his lips. They ran a hand through his hair, gripping and pulling at it, a growl escaping his lips as his arms wrapped tightly around their waist, pulling them in. MC broke away from the kiss to explore his neck and collar bones. They kissed and sucked every inch, covering him in lovely red bruises, his mouth wide open with moans leaving his throat. MC could feel his heart racing inside his chest, like it was close to exploding, the faint pink blush that was previously covering his face was now replaced with a bright red tint and lustful eyes, like a predator reading to pounce on it’s prey.

They could feel Mammon gradually taking over them, leaning greedily into the kiss, pushing them further back so that he’s almost straddling them. Their name escapes from his lips in a lazy moan as his hands begin to wander underneath their clothes...

“Master... Please... Give me another order”

Levi

Levi had invited MC over for a game night, and was currently sat on the floor, game controller in hand, presumably on the last level on his game. It was somewhat exciting seeing him in his zone. His fingers quick at the buttons and his tongue slightly peeking out of his lips. Unfortunately, it did mean not much attention was on them. They planned to change that...

Usually at this time, Levi was pretty distracted and not really in touch with the world around him, which gave them a perfect opportunity to sneak behind him. MC crawled around to where Levi was sitting and put their hands around his waist, resting their head in the crevice of his neck. Levi continued to play his game so MC decided to test how long it wound take him to notice. They creeped their hands down towards the hem of his shirt, and fingered their way inside, towards his stomach. They felt him jump in surprise and swing his head back to face her

“MC—?!” They cut him off with a kiss, no longer able to resist. The outline of his muscles underneath his shirt, alleviating their desires and overpowering them with lust. They reached a hand towards his jaw, cradling it, pushing his face closer towards them to delve deeper into the kiss. They felt his body go limp from their touch and felt a hand gently touch their hip.

“Levi. Turn and face me.” He didn’t hesitate in obeying his masters orders, and was quickly facing MC, pushing deeper into the kiss, sloppy kisses and tongue included. His hands were placed either side of MC’s thighs and he was already on his knees, leaning over them. For a quick second, for the first time ever, they saw a glance of deep desire and arousement in his eyes. Burning passion as his cheeks grew red and he wandering hands explored more of their body. They wanted more, they wanted him to envelop her body in a tight embrace as he touched them in more erotic places...

“Levi. Stay.” A low whimper formed in his throat as he was forced off them, looking hurt and confused. MC proceeded to crawl up to Levi and place multiple kisses all over his neck, occasionally nibbling his collar bone to hear him groan in pleasure. Their hands wandered over his sweats, tugging and palming at them, causing his breathing to hitch and his face to burn up, his obvious arousal clearly showing. They giggled at his reaction as they licked over a bite mark, causing his head to lean back and moan their name deep in his throat.

“Master, I need you, now...”

Satan

It was quite late at night. MC was having no luck sleeping, so decided to wander around the house a little bit. As they walked past the library, they noticed a lamp was on. They weren’t exactly allowed up past this hour, so they peeked around the corner to check who it is. And there sat Satan, book in hand, tea by his side and a small red lamp dimly lighting the room around him.

MC didn’t plan on going to sleep any time soon, so decided to join Satan for a little while. They silently walked behind him where the couch was sitting and gently wrapped their arms around his neck, hands draped down towards his stomach. His body tensed up but relaxed when he turned around and saw MC, a silent purr leaving his lips from the sudden touch.

“MC? What are you doing up? Can’t sleep?” He asked, grabbing hold of one of MC’s hands and stroking it lightly, a small smile creeping onto his lips at the warmth of it. Just this small amount of affection made MC’s stomach flutter and they were finding it difficult to contain themself. Being alone at night made their situation worsen. “Would you like to join me?” Offering out a book from the pile that sat next to him. MC didn’t answer, their eyes were glued to the gently smile plastered on his lips.

A sudden urge came over them and they leaned down towards his ear, so close, they were positive he could feel their breath on his skin. “Satan. Put the book down.” He quickly obeys his order, placing his book on his knees, MC’s hands still wandering over his stomach and breath radiating across his skin. They reward him with kisses plastering across his neck, turning to his ear to nibble on and sucking the red marks they leave behind. Satan was a flustered mess at this point and was getting riled up by the second. They could feel him squeezing their fingers in arousal and groaning at each mark they leave.

They walk in front of Satan who desperately grabs and claws at their hips to try and get them as close to him as possible, desperation and desire burning in their eyes. A slight ping of wrath as he drags them towards him onto their lap to envelop into a deep passionate kiss. He was rough, and they were both panting seconds into the kiss, breaking away every few moments to take a breather before continuing, even deeper than the last.

Satan was grinding into the kiss now, his arousal obvious in his trousers, poking at them, making the pool in their gut grow larger by the second. “Take off your shirt. Now.” A commanding growl escaped MC’s lips as they felt the never fading smirk on his lips spread wider. Satan breaks the kiss to pull off his shirt, but is immediately back into it as soon as it’s off him, the shirt flung across the floor. MC traces their finger over his abs and grips on tightly to his shoulder, as low moans escape each others lips.

“So... What next, Master?”

Asmo

Asmo had decided that today was a good day to pamper eachother. Just the two of them alone. And honestly, he’s probably more excited about it than they are. You two are sat on the bed together talking about whatever gossip Asmo could think up, because let’s face it, he hears it all, when they had an idea that was sure to make the Avatar of Lust falls to his knees..

Asmo had forgotten about the world around him and just kept on talking about things that MC didn’t exactly understand.. so they decided to spice things up and a bit and make things much more exciting. MC smirks at Asmo as they crawl their way over to him and place a hand right on his thigh.

“Oh, MC, how dirty of you!” He smirks in obvious enjoyment at their sudden move, ready to lean in for a kiss.

“Asmo. Stay.” They weren’t going to let him get what he wants that easily. Asmo stares in disappointment as he obeys his command. MC leans forward towards his neck, pulling down his shirt slightly and licks from his chest, up towards his jaw. A shiver runs up his spine as his body expresses how much this excites him. His hands are already slivering it’s way towards their lower back to tug them closer to his body, his eyes blazing with more lust than usual. He knew what he wanted and he wanted it now...

MC’s hands explored his body, using their finger tips to tickle certain sensitive places. He groans in pleasure as his hands grip tighter to your clothes, desperate for you to relieve him of his heightened arousal. They place 2 fingers underneath his chin as he desperately leans forward to engage in a kiss.

“Kiss me. Now.” Asmo lunges forward and he doesn’t hold back. He’s rough, lewd with desire and a longing to be touched more. Moans escape their lips as his hands trail over their body, discovering new erotic and sensual places. You should know better than to tease the Avatar of Lust...

“Do you like it when I touch you there, Master?”

Beel

MC was staring at the ceiling when they suddenly felt quite hungry. They thought they’d just quickly go downstairs to grab something to eat and then come back up, easy. But as they head down the stairs, muffled clashing noises could be heard in the kitchen. It wasn’t unusual to be heard in this house, especially with Beel around, so when they turned the corner to see none other than Beel helping himself to the fridge, they weren’t exactly surprised and instead snook up behind him to give him a hug.

He let out a sound of surprise at the sudden touch, and looked down to see MC squeezing at his waist. He gave them a sweet smile and offered them a bit of food. “You hungry too? There’s not much left, but I’ll happily share what’s left with you.” He grinned at them and continued to eat. They sighed as they realised they weren’t going to get much of a reaction out of him this way.

They swiftly let go of his waist and looked up at the tall man before them. “Beel. Stop and look at me. Now.” His body obeyed the order he was given and spun around to face them, so MC grabbed his shirt, and pulled him down into a kiss. Beel dazedly stared at them for a few seconds, once again surprised by the sudden affection, before eventually closing his eyes and pressing into the kiss, deepening it. MC’s hands moved from his shirt to his neck as their hands ran through his messy, orange hair, gripping at it suddenly, making him groan against their lips. “Beel. Lift me onto the counter” His hands quickly lifted them up and harshly placed them onto the counter, never once breaking the kiss. It was filled with passion and both their eyes were lust filled, both wanting more. MC’s hands trailed underneath Beel’s shirt, and towards his back, clawing at it slightly.

Beel started to explore MC’s body, making them moan onto his lips as his fingers ran over sensitive areas, sending chills down their spine and arousal form between their legs. He nibbled on their lip, occasionally breaking the kiss to bite down on their neck. His eyes looked so lewd as he stared at MC, begging for permission to go further.

“Master... I want to taste more of you...”

Belphie

It was a peaceful night with Belphie. He’d asked them to stay and sleep with him, which, of course, they agreed to. But they had to get up because they were hungry. So now here they are, standing in the doorway of the attic, Belphie’s soft snores echoing around the room, the sounds of his breathing and the way his chest rose and fell so soothing to them. They couldn’t get enough of it. They walked over to where he was laying. He was cuddled up in several blankets, his arms tightly wrapped around his favourite pillow. MC was going to just get into bed and go to sleep, but they had other plans..

MC places a hand on Belphie’s shoulder and gently shakes him, no reaction. Didn’t surprise them really. MC eventually decides to crawl onto the bed and sit on top of him. They stare down at him, still sleeping softly, completely oblivious. It’s somewhat cute when they think about it. He actually always talks about being woken up by his true loves kiss so... MC licks their lips and leans down towards Belphie’s ear, giving it soft kisses and licking down towards his jaw. He stirs in his sleep and groans, grasping at their waist. They wiggle their hips playfully and chuckle to themself, once again leaning down towards his ear

“Belphie. Wake up. Now” His eyes bleakly open to MC sitting on top of him, a wet sensation along his jaw line. A smirk creeps across his lips as he looks them up and down, not saying a word. He leans forward to kiss them, but MC only pushes him back down again. “Stay, boy.” The heat from their breath tickles his neck and he obeys willingly, but bucks his hips against them smugly, causing them to gasp. They lean down and cock an eyebrow at him before going back to his neck, running their hand through his hair whilst the other runs up and down his leg. He groans and places his hand on their lower back, pulling them forwards slightly.

They move their hand towards his chin and pull it up so he’s looking at them. They tease him for a bit before slowly connecting their lips together, tongues entwining seconds later. Belphie was desperate for any type of touch, every moment that MC touched him, made him want to lose control. MC felt him become erect underneath their crotch, Belphie often grinding his hips into them to get some sort of friction. He moans against their lips from meer touches from them, he was overcome with clear lust and was waiting on his Masters orders on what he should do next.

“Keep going, just like that, Master...”