#but I have to see that fucking gif every time i open the search page and I'm annoyed

[str4wkinzi]

NO LONGER YOUR OWN.

Sukuna x Reader. >:3 (Also i was giggling so hard at the bubbles summoning circle so i had to add it bite me) also this is suppperrrr long so teehee :3

Part 2 <3 Part 3

NSFW CONTENT! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

You were obsessed with the thought of summoning something. Spell book upon spell book that line your bookshelf, all were lousy flukes. None of them worked but you still had hope that you’d summon something one day.

You’d recently found out the dark web. They had all sorts of freaky shit on there like “eye of the blahblah” or “brain of the blahblahblah.” Whatever the fuck was on there it didn’t attract you. You were looking for one thing and one thing only.

After searching for a hour or two you come across an ad on the top of the screen. “RYOMEN.” You decide to click on it, its either another scarring video or a….

When you click the ad it takes you to a page that displays a thick book with the words on the ad imprinted on the cover. A book. Maybe not a spell book but its a book on the dark web so it probably is one. After.. hours of searching you found one.

I mean, at this point, fluke or not, you shouldn’t have hours of search to fail and you come back empty handed.

You don’t even read the description before ordering it. Even if it is a fluke its still worth a buy considering its only 5$.

You order it and close the page. Five dollars for the book and three days for it to come. Was hours of search, 70 viruses hacking your computer, and 200 trackers tracking your exact address worth it? Probably not. Do you care? Not really.

Three days after you ordered that book it arrived at your doorstep.

You pick the book up and take it inside, unwrapping it and taking it out of the box. You try ignore the red marks on the book which look and smell like blood..

The book looks exactly how it did in the ad.. except its burnt in some places and scraped on others. This actually looks.. somewhat real. Though, no matter how it looks theres only one thing that can prove this is real.

Candles and salt surrounding you, you know you’re ready. Though, you aren’t very excited. You can’t get your hopes up just incase it is fake.

You light your candles and open the book. You turn to a page, flip the book upside down and start reading. Half way through the page the words start… moving?

With the letters twisting on the page, it ends up spelling one thing..

‘SHUT UP.’

The words doubled, then tripled. The words start climbing out of the page as if they were alive, bouncing around you in a circle. You don’t even have time to see all the candles going out one by one before the book slams itself shut.

You try to open it again, it’s as if its been nailed shut. You try with all your might but it barely budges.

You go grab a knife from your kitchen and pry the book open. You open the book and flip through the pages but… nothings there. No words, no anything. Every single page has absolutely nothing.

A outline of a finger appears on the page you’re on. You put your finger perfectly in the outline. Nothing seems to happen. You try to take your finger off but you cant… You try and try but your finger wont move.

The whole page turns black. You then see a red hand. Not around you, no. Its coming from the page.. The red hand points at you.

It stays in a pointing position before grabbing your face and pulling you into the book. You’re trying to scream but you cant.

You soon fall into a pile of.. you open your eyes and you see a skull looking back at you. You crawl out of the pile screaming. Though it was a long fall, it actually didn’t hurt..?

You get up and start wondering around. You hear laughing from somewhere. You follow the sound and you see a figure on a chair. Thats of course, atop a pile of bones. A really huge pile of bones.

You go closer and you see…. Nothing. Its dark as fuck. But whatever it is.. its still laughing.

“I told you to shut up didn’t I?” the figure scolded.

“I’m giving you a chance. Don’t fuck it up.” He snaps his fingers and you’re out cold before you could utter a word in reply.

You wake up in your bed. You jump up and look around. Everything’s cleaned up, no candles, no salt, no words hopping around everywhere. Its as if last night.. never happened.

The book is still in its same place. Its almost menacing. What was that last night? Who was that last night? So many questions running through your mind make you dizzy. You fall back on your bed.

‘Did that thing have four arms?’ It was dark but you swear you saw two sets of arms, you just didn’t remember it until now.

You try to go on with your day but you just feel someone watching you. When theres no one around you feel theres something.

After you get home you contemplate trying the book again. Who was that? And what did he mean by ‘giving you a chance’?

Later that night you decide you’re trying the book again. You need answers. You set everything up again. The candles that look brand new, the salt that looks like it was never used. Did last night really happen?

With no time to dwell, you start reading again. The words start shifting, this time it spells something different.

‘I WARNED YOU.’

Bloodcurdling screams start echoing around you, making the room spin. You feel a drop of liquid hit your head. You look up and see.. blood. Blood dripping from the ceiling.

Youre too busy looking at the blood dropping to see the eight foot tall man standing in front of you. He starts chuckling and you almost break your neck to look where it came from.

“I gave you a chance to keep your life, mortal.” He says while grabbing your chin.

You’re unable to talk. What would you say to a four armed thing who just appeared in your room? Is this the guy from last night, it has to be.

He pulls your face closer to his, squishing your cheeks with his strong fingers.

“I should rip your face off right now.”

Upon hearing that you squirm away from his grasp and crawl back away from him.

“I could kill you right now.” He says, almost questioningly.

“But.. you are a cute little human. I’ll give you that much.” He adds.

He bends down, noses almost touching.

“I’ll make you a deal. If you give me your body, i’ll let you live.”

With so many things running through your mind you don’t even hear what the man said. Let alone come up with an answer.

“Hurry up, brat. Make me wait too long and ill kill you right here.” The scowls.

You snap out of your trance upon hearing those words.

Wait, what.

“Wait! Okayokayokayokay, whatever you want just don’t kill me!” You plead, you barely even hear what he wanted.

He picks you up with all four of his arms.

You look at all of his arms, tightly securing you feet in the air. He looks you in the eyes for a second before plopping you on the ground, on your knees.

He pulls his pants down just enough to expose his cock.

He sits down on your bed, manspreading.

All you can do is stare. He notices this and grabs the back of your head, forcing you down just enough to have your cheek against it.

Understanding what he wants, you try to put your mouth over the tip but its too big. You keep trying but it just wont fit. He notices your efforts and laughs.

He grabs the back of your head again, taking in a fist full of your hair. He positions your mouth over his cock and he forces you down. The noises and the tears in your eyes while you take his cock almost make it bigger.

He’s chuckling at your almost sorry display. You choking on a cock thats way to big for you is really a sight to see. Though, he can’t help the groans falling from his lips.

He lifts your head up as soon as he was about to cum. You’re trying to catch your breath but he interrupts you.

“Come.” He demands. You scramble to his side as he lays on your bed. He makes you sit right beside his head.

“Sit.” You know what he means. You take your pants off and hover over this face. He notices your hesitance and uses his second pair of arms to grab ahold of yours and hold you down.

You’re a moaning, whining mess. Made putty by the hands of.. whatever he is. You’d be embarrassed but his tongue. You can barely even think straight. The way his tongue squirms into your hole, coming back out only to lick at your clit.

You’re trying to squirm away, he doesn’t let you. With his arms holding you down you really can’t do anything but moan and grind on his face.

Though, you’re almost surprised when you feel two hands start playing with your chest. Forgetting the man has a whole other set of arms. You suddenly feel tongues swirling around your nipples.

The extra stimulation doesn’t help your case, you’re cumming in seconds.

Coming down from your high, he tells you to get on top of him. He knows you can barely stand you don’t have to tell him :3

You hover over him, all of him.

‘Will that thing fit?’

‘Its too big!’

Suddenly you feel his arms on your hips, pushing you down on his cock. You don’t even try to fight back, you can’t fight back.

The stretch is almost unbearable, tears prickling down your face. He notices this and grabs he back of your head, pulling you in just enough to lick away your tears.

After you’ve accommodated him he demands you to…

“Move.”

You put your hands on his torso and start grinding on his cock.

“You’re too slow.”

You’re flipped on your back, legs up. He’s pounding into your cunt like a wild animal.

He takes one of his hands and puts it over your clit, using his mouth-hand thing to suck on it.

With him pounding into your cunt, speed only ever getting faster, and his hand licking your clit, you cum fast.

One after another neither of you stop. He never stops fucking you and you never stop cumming. You would be screaming his name but you don’t even know it.

Wait.

You remember the books title through blurred images in your mind.

RYOMEN.

You remember the page you read.

RYOMEN… SUKUNA.

“Sukuna!” You moan, finally having something new to moan instead of sounding like a broken record.

He stops.

He looks down at you.

He uses his other hand to grab your lower face and lift it towards his as he cranes his face down.

He grins and retreats his face, letting go of yours as well.

“Say my name, pet.”

He starts slamming into you again with more vigor. You’re screaming by this time, you’ve cum so many times and you’re sensitive. He doesn’t care. Actually, that makes it better.

Ryomen Sukuna.

Ryomen Sukuna.

RYOMEN SUKUNA.

RYOMEN SUKUNA!

Really, its music to his ears. He knows he has you now.

After the umpteenth time of mutual cumming he pulls out. His cum flowing out of you looks so adorable.

He puts his hand on the top of your lower stomach. Suddenly, you feel a tingling sensation at that spot. You’re so fucked out you really don’t notice, or care.

Be leans down and whispers in your ear.

“You’re mine now, pet.”

You wake up on your bed, exactly how you were last night except cleaned up. No cum dripping out of your hole or anything. You even have clothes on.

You go to the bathroom and look at yourself. You would doubt last nights happenings but you can barely walk.

You feel something on your lower stomach.

You look down and you see.. a marking..?

You try to wipe it away but it stays.

You try to use water but it wont go away.

Him.

You remember the markings on his face. It reminds you of all of those markings into one. You don’t really have time to question anymore because you hear the bathroom door open.

Sukuna grabs your head and turns it to the mirror, him looking into your eyes through it.

“You’re no longer your own. You belong to me, pet.”

STR4WZ STICKY NOTE < YIPPPEEE this is finally done omg it took so long for NO reason (too busy adding to my 80 drafts) but ill definitely be posting more small stuff cuz its been a couple days ALSO!!! Thanks to my bbg @comicsann for giving me the idea of the uterus claim mark thing or whatever so wahoo anyways love you guys buebue 3

[lovelettersforthedamned]

tasm!peter finds your love letter to him that you never gave him because you are too embarrassed to show him

Big Words On A Little Page

--genre: FLUFF, SO MUCH FLUFF.

--pairing: tasm!peter parker x gn!reader

--word count: 0.7k

--warnings: some smooching, fluff, a little bit of anxiety coming from the reader, if you don't like a healthy loving relationship then you'll hate this.

i love this, wait...

--gif credits: @ddlovatosrps

Love came easy for you, but expressing it took time. Peter knew that putting your feelings into words wasn’t straightforward, and he knew that it would take time for you to be completely comfortable with him. So for you, he waited. 

If you asked Peter, he would have no complaints. Peter knew you loved him with every bone in your body, so why do you still feel like you’re not putting in your part? 

Sure, you couldn’t verbally express your feelings for him, but you can write them down. 

While Peter was out protecting the city, you pulled out a piece of lined paper and a red. Once you sat there and started writing, it was hard to stop. You ended up writing two full pages, the words on the paper full of adoration and love for your beloved boyfriend. You didn’t even read what you wrote, you folded the paper and set it in your bedside table’s drawer, hidden and safe. 

Once you put the letters in the drawer, you forgot about them. Life got busy, and two pieces of paper were the last thing on your mind. “Pete? Can you get my chapstick, the peppermint one,” you yell out from the couch, the book in your hand too riveting for you to get up. 

Peter walks past you and heads towards your shared bedroom, and after rummaging through some drawers, he finds himself stumped on where it was, “I can’t find it, bug!”

Without a second thought, you yell back, “It’s in my bedside drawer!”

Pulling open the drawer, Peter finally lays his eyes on the god-forsaken peppermint chapstick he’s been searching for, along with a folded piece of paper with red ink bleeding through its fibers. This seems to catch his eye, especially the top of it, reading ‘Dear Peter,’. A part of him felt guilty as he grabbed it and opened it up, but it was addressed to him, right? 

His eyes scanned through your writing, his eyes welling up with tears the farther he read. He couldn’t deny that a big stupid smile was spread across his face, and a warm blush fluttered onto his cheeks. 

Finishing the letter, he’s speechless, and he couldn’t be more overwhelmed with love. Walking back out to you in the living room, he finds you still nose-deep in your book, still unaware of his presence. Moving to stand directly next to you, you finally see him in the corner of your eye, “Thank you so much babe, you will not believe what happened in this book–.” As you give him your full attention, your eyes dart between his face and the papers in his hand. “Peter, I was going to give you those I promise–,” your sentence was cut short by his lips meeting yours. The warmth of his cheeks radiated onto yours, inviting you to stay here a while. 

Eventually, you both have run out of breath prompting you to pull away, breathless. Peter holds your face in his hands and looks directly into your eyes, the honey brown of his irises putting you in a trance. Although there was silence, you could tell that Peter had something on his mind, giving him time to speak. Reaching up to hold the back of one of his hands, you rub your thumb against the skin there. 

“I love you so much, (Y/N). I’m sorry I read this without asking first, but fuck, I’m so glad I did,” his eyes still not breaking contact with yours. 

All you could do was smile, you were afraid that tears would fall if you spoke. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and Peter could feel it, “You’re stuck with me for as long as you’ll have me, and if this is the last time I receive a love letter from you, I’d die a happy man. As long as you’re here with me, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, bug.”

A sudden urge of desperation for his touch overwhelmed your senses. Dropping your book, you wrap both of your arms around his neck and pull him onto the couch, nestling your face into the nape of his neck. You two stay there for a while, the sunlight slowly receding as you squeeze Peter a little tighter, grateful for a man who loves you with everything he has. Even if you can’t verbally show it. 

--author's note: HELLOOOO!! sorry guys for the inactivity recently, i was so dead sick two days before christmas, and then christmas happened, and now im back. to those who celebrate, i hope you all had a merry christmas!! nonnie, thank you so much for the ask!! THIS IS A REMINDER THAT YOU CAN STILL SEND IN REGULAR ASKS BAES!!! don't forget to like, comment, and reblog to support this blog. ok, ily bye<3333

[pinacoladaz]

Sypnosis: your roommate character and his temptation to bring a pet to the shared apartment.

Gojo x gn reader, Sukuna x gn reader.

For all ages❕

Gojo Satoru

He could complicate everything unnecessarily.

You are sitting on the couch reading with some tea after a long day, and faster than you thought, your peace is disturbed when obviously Satoru enters the apartment noisily, slamming the door and approaching with heavy steps to the other side of the sofa

Without taking your eyes off the reading, you move your head as a form of greeting, he doesn't respond but through your peripheral vision you see him leaning back on the couch with one arm covering his eyes. Dramatic.

After a moment of silence, he sighs needlessly loud.

...

Since you don't answer, he takes a breath to sigh even loudly, not getting answers he lifts up his arm a little and opens one eye to check if you are giving him atenttion, unfortunately for him, no.

After another moment of silence and a breath of air to sigh again, you cut him off, looking up from the book, expectant "boy just say it"

He looks at you for some seconds and closes his eye again, returning to his initial position "hm, i already regretted it."

One of your eyes twitches, closing the book, getting an idea "i swear to God, to GOD, if you burned a bin again..."

"That happened months ago, what's even wrong wi-"

"Well just keep going!"

He comes out of his hiding place resting his elbows on his thighs and after hesitating, he threatens you with his gaze "Don't you dare joke about it" he gets up from the couch going to the kitchen to get water, still talking to you from there "let's say that, in theory, someone offered me a pet. A dog."

There can't be anything very wrong if it involves a dog, so you relax your posture and open your book again, searching the page as you hear him "Mhm, a puppy?"

"Uhuh, that thing..." The kitchen drawers rattle.

"So what's the problem?"

"Let me finish; he was like 2 seconds or 2 days old, i'm still wondering..." you hear him close the refrigerator while he speaks thoughtful, perhaps trying to sound with disdain.

Shit.

I close my book slowly, starting to get up to go to the kitchen "He was?"

"Let me finish! I knew you didn't want dogs in the apartment, so i brought him to the apartment without you realizing it."

The audacity.

When i get to the kitchen i see his back facing me, he moves the glass as he speaks and his abdomen is lying on the island so i go around it to look at him, stupefied, but he is looking at the ceiling so as not to see me.

"Wow. Just- Just wow. I actually have a lot to say about that because, because that's crazy! i never said i didn't want dogs, but you believed it and you brought it? incredible, when did that even happened? where is th...?"

"The first day i kept him in my bathroom, when i noticed that with 1 day of life he managed to make noises, i took him to the cleaning closet from the ground floor..." he plays with the glass, at this point i just look at him so he can continue "but... mm, maybe maybe maybe the 1 day of life thing was not so much an exaggeration" he squints one eye and tilts his head "and dogs need breast milk and probably a normal environment to be healthy."

At that moment there is an almost infinite silence in the room, which i break with a incredulous gasp after processing what he says. "Where is the dog Satoru."

"I really thought almond milk was a good-"

"The dog, Gojo, the fucking do-"

"He's at the vet! healthy, but he had fainted and it scared me so much that it got all the shit out of my system" he falls on one of the stools, rubbing his face "those who gave him to me didn't know much either, it was the first time the dog had children, they will return him to his mother." he focuses on every word so that the chances of being stabbed go down.

After another silence, you look at him with a scowl in your face, shaking your head in disbelief. "You're- you're useless! Fuck at what point of my life did i say i didn't want dogs here?!"

"Probably when i showed you that test about what dog would i be and you just kinda threw up in my family tre-"

"Oh my god I literally said 'i don't like those dogs' because that's the one you got! i didn't even... God! Satoru, you deserve a lawsuit or something, and the mother's owners too! who was it? a campus drug addict...?"

"It's Sukuna" he clarifies in a murmur, still avoiding your gaze by playing with the glass.

I scoff in desvielief "Sukuna? the law student who literally threatened to kill you last month?" he nods "oh fuck of course it was Ryomen Sukuna. You two hate each other only when it suits you."

Sukuna Ryomen

Despite how much you had insisted and insisted Sukuna to get a cat, he maintained his stance that cat hair was disgusting, that they meows were annoying or that their pee smelled like acid. Every time you brought up the subject at dinner or some weekend, he would growl and grab his hair between his fingers.

Luckily, you had already forgotten about the thing.

Unfortunately, natural selection was chasing him like crazy.

Since he left the university to the parking lot, a small kitten had been chasing him; he had been stoping and giving it 'little kicks' which were more of a careful and slow movement to push it away from him.

The cat was insanely insistent, meowing, coming closer and closer even if he pushed it away; it almost reminded him of something. Running out of patience with a lick of the lips and a roll of the eyes, he bent down and without even hesitating, he picked up the tiny kitty from the ground and continued walking to his car with the animal in one of his hands, which was like three times the size of the thing.

He drove him in the car on the way to the apartment, without even questioning what he was doing, as if the cat's company was an everyday occurrence. It wasn't until he reached the threshold of the front door that he thought an actually what the fuck.

He had seen it with his own eyes, how you would go crazy when it came to cats, taking multiple photos, talking in a stupid voice saying even stupider things, Sukuna didn't even want to imagine what it would be like if he was directly related to the cat.

But... he could not leave it outside anymore!

...

Well, yes he could, but he wanted to think that he couldn't, so he didn't bother looking for excuses to back out, he preferred to solve it.

Sukuna looked at the time on his phone, at this hour you were usually already in the apartment.

He clicked his tongue and leaving everything to fate, opened the door, entered and closed it with his foot, observing the perimeter, you were not close and there was no trace of your existence.

Still, he preferred to make sure with a shout. "Dunce? Are u here?" He stood still, listening intently.

A few seconds later the pink haired hear footsteps approaching him, making him quickly hide the cat behind his back and the keys in his pocket so they don't get in the way. A seconds later you came out of the hallway, you had a mask, gloves, apron and a surgical hat.

He acts as he would naturally, looking at you with disgust "Who the fuck did you kill"

You stand in the shape of a cup "To the germs in the toilet, hello to you too" you narrow your eyes at him, then you notice his unnatural posture "What do you have there? Will you finally win me over with flowers?"

"Keep dreaming, is..." Sukuna is interrupted by a meow, to which you raise an eyebrow. Never in a million years do you expect Sukuna to bring a cat, so you wait for an explanation "... is... my new phone with a notification that I can't change. Leave me alone" he says going to his room rarely, without breaking eye contact and without turning his back on you in the process.

After making a face you choose to ignore the strange behavior and go to continue cleaning; it's Sukuna after all.

Meanwhile he was preparing a house for the cat in his room; a shoe box with a blanket under his bed would be the bed and two plates that he had not taken to the kitchen, the feeder.

And it worked, or at least it was kept secret for a while. One month to be exact; he almost never let you into his room and the door was always locked.

You were already worried about this strange behavior, he even bought a lot of milk and took it to his room, bring sand there from time to time, and started buying stuffed animals. You investigated a lot if it was some sign of a mental illness, but denial is a river in Egypt and what was obvious was obvious.

You thought maybe Sukuna had some killer dog puppy in his room, so after giving it a lot of thought, while Sukuna was taking a bath and leaved the door unlocked, you slipped into the room to look for the little guest.

Big surprise when you find a little yellow kitten living under his bed, meowing softly.

As you took him in your arms with excitement, Sukuna walked in with wet hair and a towel wrapped around his hip, staying still at the sight of you in his room, with the creature in your arms.

"You violated my privacy."

That harsh accusation didn't save him from your impulsive questioning that after half an hour ended with you throwing yourself on Sukuna's bed while you petted and played with the kitten, talking childishly to it with your back on Sukuna so he can finally get dressed.

Something in Sukuna warmed up at hearing you being so ridiculously cute with that thing, joining you after being dressed, but mostly just to push the cat away and look at you two in threat to shut up so he can see his series.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Frank Castle X Reader: Dead man walking

Warnings; Fluff, blood, stitching up, mentions of pain, description of wounds, mentions of sexual behaviour(nothing graphic), kissing, angst.

Summary: You knew Frank was alive but you rarely had contact then one day he shows up at your doorstep covered in blood.

Frank Castle was a dead man. The papers had stamped that headline on every front page they could find. For the second time in his life Frank had been declared as deceased and for the second time it was a lie. Frank had trusted few with his secret and you were honored he trusted you enough to know the truth.

That being said things seemed to get more and more complicated the longer time went on. You knew it was for the best but the lack of contact with Frank was making you crazy. You’d never really figured out where the two of you stood, your relationship having been a bit on the complicated side. And now it was practically nonexistent. 

Everywhere you went you searched for Frank's frame, the feeling that he was watching from the shadows constantly in your mind. You didn’t have contacts like Karen so it wouldn’t make sense for Frank to reach out to you all the time. Still you’d be lying if you didn’t expect it to be him on the other end of the phone every time you got a call. To your dismay it never was. The days turned into weeks and then the weeks turned into months. You stopped picking up the phone so eagerly and you quit glancing behind you whenever you went out. Frank was a dead man and that’s exactly what he was acting like. You’d almost given up on waiting for Frank to show up when you got the call. 

You were eating in one of the many dinners scattered around the city when the phone started ringing. You barely flinched, taking another sip of your coffee as you scanned over the day's newspaper. It was only when you heard a whistle that you raised your head. You looked over to where the noise had come from. A young man was holding the dinner's phone in his hand as he waved in your direction. You glanced behind you searching for who he was gesturing to before you realized you were the only one sitting in this portion of the place. You got up from your booth, eyebrows knitting as you made your way towards the phone. You thanked the boy as you grabbed onto the phone, leaning against the wall before you pressed the device to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

You almost let go of the phone at the sound of his voice. Gruff and deep the way you remember it to be. 

‘Fra-”

“No. No names. It’s not safe.”

“I have a cell phone, you know.”

“Easier to hack. Couldn’t risk it. This way is less dangerous.”

You leaned your head against the wall, fingers wrapping around the phone wire as you sighed.

“What do you need?”

You couldn’t help but sound a bit annoyed. Months without contact and then out of nowhere he calls. That could only mean one thing. Frank Castle needed your help with something.

“Meet me at our spot tonight. Once it’s dark.”

To someone outside it would seem like a rather vague way of marking a meeting place but you knew exactly what he meant. 

“Alright. Hey-”

Before you could even finish the line went dead.

“Fucking asshole hung up on me!”

You jammed the phone into the receiver before going to your booth, picking up your things and storming out of the dinner.

When the time came you went to Frank's requested meeting place. You sat at one of the benches taking in the nature around you as you waited. You’d always loved this park. Ever since you were a kid you remembered dragging your family out every weekend for a picnic. You’d told Frank about it on the day he’d told you about his family and from that day on it became your spot. Which was funny because you’d never actually been here together.

“I see why you like it here.”

You opened your eyes, turning around from your spot so that you could look at Frank. He was wearing all black his once clean shaven face covered by a rather impressive beard. You got up, making your way to him slowly. He watched you get closer to him and stop about a foot from where he stood. You were giving him a choice. He could come to you or he could keep his distance. For safety reasons it would be best to stay away from you but it’d been so long and there was no way he was going to give up the chance to touch you. So against his better judgment Frank pushed off from the tree he’d been leaning on and closed the distance between the two of you. You tilted your head up to look at Franks face your eyes meeting his as you searched for some sort of restraint. You expected Frank to be looking around you for any sign of trouble but to your surprise his attention was only on you. 

“Hey.”

Frank gave you a small smile, his teeth poking through the mess of hair that covered his face. You couldn’t help but smile back at him, the joy of seeing him again getting to you. Slowly you smile turning into a slight frown, your lips quivering lightly as you continue to look up at Frank. God you’d missed him. Frank's brows knitted at the sight of your glassy eyes, his hand moving out of his pockets so that he could pull you into his embrace. You wrapped your arms around his waist, nuzzling your head into his chest as he held you.  

“I’m sorry. Sorry for taking so long, I just had to be sure you’d be safe.”

Frank gave your head a kiss, his arms tightening around you a bit more.

“I missed you, darling.”

You removed your head from Frank's chest, lifting your chin so you could see him.

“Missed you too Frankie.”

He had always hated when people called him that but for some reason when it came from you he didn’t seem to mind. You spent a while in each other's arms before you pulled away from Frank taking his hand into your own.

“So what can I help you with?”

Frank frowned at your question, a twinge of guilt making his way into his chest. Hell, it’d been so long since he reached out that you’d forgotten how importante you were to him. He cursed himself for making you feel like you were a means to an end. Frank placed his hand against your cheek tucking in a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Don’t need help with anything. Just needed to see you. Needed to see my girl.”

You smiled at his words grinning from ear to ear and Frank swore he’d never get tired of the sight. You looked around trying to make sure no one was around before you leaned up and kissed Frank's lips. He groaned against your mouth, his hands going to your waist. You pulled away leaning your forehead against his before whispering.

“It’s cold out here. Let’s go to my apartment.”

“I can’t do that doll. It’s not safe.”

You looked at Frank, your face showing resolve.

“Screw that! I haven't seen you in months, you really think I'm gonna let you leave now?”

Frank took in your expression he’d learned the hard way that trying to talk you out of something was useless. He let out a sigh, turning to look at his surroundings before looking at you again.

“You got your keys?”

That night Frank spent his time buried between your legs pulling all kinds of beautiful noises from your mouth. The next morning when you woke up the spot next to yours on the bed was empty except for a small note scribbled in familiar handwriting. 

“Thanks for last night,doll. Keep an eye on your window i’ll be in touch soon”

You smiled at the words leaning back into the bed and falling asleep once again.

Frank kept his promise. He’d leave little notes on your windowsill every so often and every once in a while the two of you would meet up at your spot. Some nights you’d convince Frank to come back to the apartment other times he’d conjure up all his will to say no to you. It was a weird dynamic but it worked and it was better than it was before. Frank never told you exactly what he was doing but he’d warn you when he would have to disappear for a while. His intention was to keep you from worrying but every time you received the red piece of paper on your window your heart ached a bit. You knew he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He was the toughest person you knew but you couldn’t help but worry. 

One random night you found yourself unable to fall asleep so you decided you’d try to watch some tv to distract yourself. You were just about to relax when someone knocked at your door. Your eyes flitted to the clock, reading the time. It was late. Too late for visitors. You made your way to your bookshelf pulling a decoy book and finding the gun Frank had given you when you first met. Slowly you moved to the door, wrapping your hand on the handle before peeking at the peephole. The gun you’d been holding fell to the ground once you realized what you were looking at. Your hands fumbled against the locks trying desperately to open the door. The second you managed to open the door Frank stumbled onto you, his feet almost giving out beneath him. Your eyes widened as you saw his blood soak into your nightgown. You pulled the man inside, placing him against the wall before rushing to lock the door. Frank leaned against the wall, his bloody hand latching onto your kitchen counter for support.

“What the hell happened Frank?”

“Got-ugh-absuhed.”

“Ah shit.”

You placed Frank's arm around your shoulders half dragging him over to the living room. You were about to place him on your coach when he groaned.

“No. The floor. Can’t leave too much evidence.”

“Should have thought about that before showing up covered in blood at my front door!”

“You’re the only one I can trust.”

You did as Frank asked, placing him on the floor before rushing to grab the first aid kit you had in the bathroom. You made it back to him as fast as you could, wasting no time to get to work. With a pair of scissors you cut open his shirt revealing a nasty gash on his abdomen. You groaned at the sight.

“Frank, that looks bad.”

“Ugh, I've had worse.”

You knew that was true but the other times Frank had had someone who knew about patching people up and right now you were his best shot. Which wasn’t saying much. YOu rummaged through the contents of the first aid kit searching for a needle and some string. You got up and went to the kitchen grabbing a towel and a bottle of scotch. You pressed the towel against Frank's wound grimacing as he let out a pained grunt.

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright. You’re doing great.”

You uncapped the bottle of scotch, taking a swing before handing it to Frank. He took the bottle looking up at you in question. 

“I’m guessing this is gonna hurt a lot, you know, alcohol numbs inside pain. So drink up.”

Frank gave you a faint smile, placing the bottle against his lips and taking a couple of swings.

“Okay i need you to stay as still as you can.”

“You got it Doc.”

You cleaned up Frank's wound with alcohol, your heart aching as he groaned in pain.

“I know baby, I know I'm sorry.”

You placed your hand on Frank's forehead, leaning down to give him a kiss in an attempt to distract him from the pain. Once he stopped flinching in pain you got to work stitching him up. Frank hated the feelings of needles going into his skin. Unfortunately for him it was something he’d had to become used to in his line of work. He’d been hurt before. Hell he’d taken a bullet to the fucking head. Yet somehow the moment Frank felt you tug at the string to finish stitching him up he was gone. The last thing Frank heard before he fainted was the sound of you calling out his name.

Frank's eyes fluttered open, his vision slowly adjusting to the light. The sun was out. Frank's eyes started making out what was in front of him. He was staring at the ceiling. Your bedroom ceiling to be more exact. Frank groaned as he tried to turn his head the memories of last night flooding back into his mind. He remembered stumbling into your apartment building and making his way to your door. He could almost see the look of horror on your face when you’d brought him inside your apartment. He leaned his head down to look at his abdomen instead of finding a gushing cut he was greeted by a wad of gauze. He ran his finger over the wound remembering the way your hands shook against his skin as you stitched him up. He should have never brought you into his shit. He should have let you think he was dead. It would have been better that way. All he ever seemed to do was drag you into trouble. And the worst part is that you just took it. Never complained and nothing. Frank pushed himself up, throwing his legs over your bed so that his feet could reach the ground. His gaze found its way to the mirror from your vanity eyes struggling to take in what he looked like. His eye was purple and his nose looked like it would break if he touched it.

“You look like shit.”

Frank's eyes snapped to your bedroom door, finding you leaning against the frame with two mugs in your hand. You made your way to Frank, taking a seat next to him in your bed before handing him one of the mugs.

“Thank you.”

You nodded at him, taking a sip of your coffee before turning to look to your side. Frank watched you from the mirror, his shoulders sagging as he realized you were trying not to cry. He placed his mug down on your night stand, his hands moving to grab your own mug from you and put it next to his. You allowed him to take your mug but refused to turn towards him, the idea of looking at him too overwhelming. You couldn’t help it. Every time you got a glimpse of his face flashes from last night made their way into your head and none of them were pleasant. Frank placed his hands around your waist dragging you closer to him with a bit of effort due to the wound on his side. He placed his head against your shoulder moving his lips against your skin as he gave your shoulder small kisses. The tears streamed down your face silently as Frank caressed your body. He knew you needed some time but he wanted to show you that he was okay. He was here. All thanks to you. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

You moved your hand to wrap around the back of Frank's head, your fingers toying with the small amount of hair that he’d left after his haircut. You turned your body so you could face him, your eyes closing as you leaned your forehead against Franks. He nudged your face with his nose leaning down to kiss the fresh tears on your cheeks. You let out a small sigh, your hands going to either side of Frank's face.

“I thought I was gonna lose you.”

“I’m right here.”

Frank pulled your hand off his cheek moving it to be flat against his chest, right where his heart was. You felt his heart beat against your hand, a breath of relief entering your body at the feeling.

“I’m here baby. I’m alive. I’m with you.”

You opened your eyes looking at Frank. He gave you a pained smile which you returned with your own tired one. Frank pulled your lips to his giving you a loving kiss before pulling you into his arms

“Frank your hurt-”

“It’s alright. Just relax.”

You leaned against Frank's chest feeling him breath in and out. Frank moved his hand to your hair playing with some loose strands. Silence took over the room and all you could hear was Frank's steady breaths against your ear. You’d been wanting to tell him something for a while and seeing that you almost lost him yesterday you decided you were done waiting. 

“Frank…”

“What is it baby?”

“I love you.”

You felt Frank's breath hitch against your back. Frank threw his head up, tears forming in his eyes at your words. It’s been a while since he’d been loved. He'd forgotten how it felt to hear those words. He leaned his head back against yours, his arms tightening against your body.

“I love you too baby. So fucking much.”

You let out a relieved sob at his words, turning to give him a kiss.

To some Frank Castle was a dead man. To others he was a dead man walking. But to you he was the man you loved. The man that made you believe that there was some good left in the world. And to him you were a reason to stay alive.

[emotionalmessss]

Dead End

A/N: chrollo one-shot I wrote a few months back. :) hope you guys enjoy.

Synopsis: chrollo comes back for his ex-girlfriend who managed to escape his grasp. Non-canon. No spoilers.

Warnings: violence if you squint, yandere chrollo, obsession, kidnapping, forced relationship, angst, unhealthy relationship. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Word count: 3.1K

My eyes scanned the sidewalks of York New, frantically, searching for the familiar face that I had grown to loath. I found nothing, no sign of him. Much to my luck. My legs moved quickly against the rough pavement as I made my way towards my new apartment. It had been the fourth new home in a span of a few months, everything was temporary. I couldn’t risk being tracked down after I went through all of that trouble of escaping. Hence the constant paranoia that I felt.

I tightened my grip on my jacket as I picked up my pace, reading on my phone that the building was only one more block down. The wind was brisk and the light jacket I had brought was not sufficient enough to keep me warm in this weather.

The bundle of nerves continued to rage inside my stomach. Everywhere that I looked, I could see that slicked back raven coloured hair, walking amongst the hundreds of people. I knew that wasn’t really the case after doing a few double takes, but it still freaked me out.

Relax, fuck. I cursed at myself.

It was starting to get dark, but I knew that wouldn’t stop Chrollo. If he wanted something, and in this case, me, he would stop at nothing. He was a thief afterall, and he steals whatever he wants.

I reached the sky high building, my feet pausing as I looked up for a moment. I felt a rush of worry hit me like a ton of bricks. For months now, my body was constantly on edge. Searching every room, street, and building for any signs of that raven haired man. No matter how many times I tried to convince myself I was just being paranoid, I still found myself constantly searching.

The automatic doors opened almost immediately for me. I stepped inside, glancing behind me for a moment before I turned my attention back in front of me. The lower lobby had a few people standing around and talking amongst themselves, which failed to make me feel comfortable.

Knowing him, he wouldn’t care if he had to kill an entire army of people just to have me back in his grasp. It was sickening to think about, but it constantly dwelled in my mind.

Easier to blend. I managed to calm my racing thoughts for a few moments. But I knew nowhere that I went meant complete and total safety from him. I could move across the world and still be at risk of him tracking me down.

I shuddered, either from the thought of him finding me or the cold. Right now, I don't know which it is.

“Miss L/N?” A man spoke towards me, his voice carrying across the lobby.

I moved my gaze over to the man and rushed over to the desk. “My apartment-” I started to speak, only to be cut off by the man wearing a perfectly tailored suit.

“Yes, yes.” He raised a hand dismissively. “It’s all ready for you. I just need you to sign a few documents and I can give you the keys.” He slid over a small pile of papers towards me, along with an expensive looking black pen. His eyes flicked down to me for a moment before he casted his gaze to a woman beside him, seemingly mumbling something to her.

“Right, thanks.” I muttered, quickly signing the pages. Most of them were consent forms and me agreeing that I would not smoke or have any pets in the apartment with me. I frankly didn’t even read them fully, I just wanted to get inside my new home.

I slid the pages back towards him and he glanced over them for a moment, his brow raising in agreement. The man turned around, organizing the papers behind a mountain of others. I let out a small sigh, once again glancing around the room. Nothing was out of the ordinary, yet I could not shake the feeling of discomfort that grew like a wildfire in my stomach.

“Here you are.” The man gave me a thin smile as he handed me over the small key. “There’s no spare, so don’t lose it.” He said, giving me one last nod before turning his attention back to the woman.

I didn’t bother giving him my thanks as I made my way towards my new home.

New home for a few months.

I didn’t like being out in the open for so long. I learned to be hyper-aware of my surroundings since being involved with the Phantom Troupe. As much as I hated to say this, I had learned a lot of skills from them.

My fingers fumbled as I unlocked the front door, stumbling inside and dropping my bags to the ground. I made sure to lock the door behind me, providing myself with a tad bit of security.

I didn’t have the patience to unpack tonight, it was the least important thing on my mind right now. The apartment was furnished, luckily. I had brought a few of my own personal belongings, but not much. I hadn’t gotten enough time to get all of my stuff before I fled.

I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stay here forever and it was just going to be temporary, just like all of the other places I had stayed at over the months of escaping. Everything was temporary. The feeling of security. The feeling of being safe. Everything had to come to an end.

My feet glided across the hardwood floor, making my way towards my bedroom. I had seen the apartment already, agreeing to rent it out almost immediately. It was cheap and hidden away. It should have provided me with some comfort, but it didn’t. I knew that having a false sense of security would be stupid in this circumstance. It would get me killed.

I shook my head, trying to get rid of the thoughts as I tucked my hair up into a bun. I quickly stripped down into just a t-shirt and my underwear, climbing into bed and pulling the sheets over my head. My phone rested beside me on the nightstand. I always kept it close, just in case.

My anxieties drifted away as I lost consciousness, falling asleep almost immediately after I settled down.

++++++++++++++

My eyes slowly drifted open and I glanced over to the large windows in my room. It was dark and raining, signinalling to me that I hadn’t slept too long. I never slept deep out of the habit of always being on edge.

Tonight was no different.

I pushed myself up against my headboard, shutting my eyes for a moment and breathing deeply. Sleep. I needed to sleep, but yet, I couldn’t. I rubbed my eyes hard, leaning over to my nightstand as I blindly reached out for my phone.

I traced my fingers over the nightstand, half bent over the bed in search of it. My eyes widened for a moment, jerking my head up from its slumped position on my pillow. I frantically looked over the nightstand which was now bare.

Fuck. Where is it? I tossed the covers back and slipped out from the bed. I dropped down onto my knees in search of my phone, my brain starting to swim with panicked thoughts.

I sat back up, shaking my head. I probably left it in the kitchen when I was grabbing a glass of water earlier. Yeah, it had to be there. I tried to calm myself as I ventured out into the kitchen. The moonlight was shining in through the windows, making the kitchen light up with an eerie glow.

“Quit being so paranoid.” I muttered to myself, rubbing my forehead in annoyance.

My eyes landed on my phone that was sitting on the counter, beginning to walk over to it.

“A bit late, isn’t it?” The sound of a calm voice rang out from the living room.

My feet slid to a stop as I froze, my eyes widening and my body starting to buzz with anxiety. No. No. No! I turned slowly, facing the sofa that was situated right beside the kitchen. My eyes landed on a shadowy figure resting upon it. Their feet kicked back as they held an opened book in their hands.

There he was. That raven haired monster that haunted my dreams for so long. There he was. Sitting on my fucking couch, feet kicked up and relaxed, like it was his own place. My blood turned cold as I faced him, unable to control the shaking of my legs now.

“I-what? You?” I stuttered, my face flushed with anxiety.

My eyes darted between the front door and my phone. It would take me a few seconds to reach the door, but he was quicker than me. I would also have to run by him, which would mean I would certainly be intercepted. Fuck. He would be on me within seconds by the time I managed to unlock the door. I turned my attention to my phone. I could get there faster than him, but would I have a chance to call for help? Most definitely not. My brain raced with thoughts as I stood, frozen.

“That wouldn’t be wise.” Chrollo’s voice was smooth, just like I remember. And just like before, he was always able to calculate my next moves, placing himself ten steps ahead of me.

My eyes shifted towards him when I heard the sound of the book he held closing.

Kitchen. Door. Kitchen. Door. Kitchen. Kitchen.

My legs pumped as fast as they could, closing the short distance between the kitchen and me. I slammed myself clumsily into the island, grabbing hold of my phone with shaky fingers. My hands fumbled with the small device as I fiddled with the buttons to no avail.

Dead. No. No. This isn’t happening.

“The front door would’ve been the smarter choice.” Chrollo seemingly read my mind.

The shock I felt just moments ago replaced itself with complete and utter fear as the gravity of my situation began to sink in. Fuck. My head snapped up in his direction. He was standing now, but he made no move towards me. My wild eyes darted between him and the door, which was now blocked by his body.

No. Fight. I won’t go down without a fight. My legs felt like they were full of lead as I staggered back from the island, my eyes never leaving him as I tried to keep the distance between us. Chrollo didn’t move an inch from where he stood, he only watched me with a blank expression.

“This is a dream. You’re not really here.” It almost sounded like a question, like I was trying to convince myself.

The voice spoke out again. “I can assure you, I am.”

I let out a groan of dismay, scattering back against the counter. No amount of distance that I put between Chrollo and myself calmed my nerves. If he wanted to end our little game here, he could within seconds.

My eyes scanned over the countertops, searching for anything I could use against him. The fear mixed with adrenaline, making my thoughts irrational. The glint of a knife caught my attention, which also caught Chrollo’s. Our eyes met for a moment, his head cocking to the side, while my gaze was challenging.

“Let’s be smart about this, Y/N.” His calmness irked me. He shook his head slightly at me, as if to warn me of my next actions.

Egotistical bastard.

I ignored his warning and dove towards the knife. I grasped the handle with both hands, my knuckles turning white with my strong grip. I would not die without a fight. Despite my attempts to keep a calm composure, my arms were shaking. The small paring knife felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

“Get the fuck out of my house.” I hissed, both arms extended in his direction.

If it came down to physical strength, I had no chance in coming out alive. He was bigger. He was stronger. He was faster. Even with the small knife I held in my uneasy hands, I wouldn’t even get the chance to use it.

“You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.” Chrollo seemed mildly annoyed by my defiance, but he barely showed it.

“What-” I tried to find the words that I so desperately needed, but my mind was blank.

Chrollo took a step forward, his body relaxed as he watched me with a curious expression. His hands were tucked inside the pockets of his dress pants. I noticed that he wasn’t wearing what he usually did; instead he wore a black suit, his hair covering most of his face, and a brown bandana covering up the inverted cross in the middle of his forehead.

“I have no intentions of hurting you, Y/N. Unless you force me to.” Chrollo stood in the entrance of the kitchen now, his lips pulled down into a frown as he saw me extend my arms out further.

“I know enough about you to tell that’s a lie.” My voice was shaky, despite my attempts to sound stronger.

Chrollo tilted his head to the side slightly. He looks mildly amused now, but says nothing. This frightens me even more. I instinctively take a step back, creating more of a distance between us. False security. He could get to me in a second.

“You have my word.” His voice is steady, the look of amusement gone.

“The word of a murderer doesn’t mean shit to me!” My eyes narrowed on his as I screamed. This is the first time I’ve said it out loud, my brain didn’t want to believe the man that I had fallen in love with all that time ago was a murderer.

Loved. I couldn’t even look at his face now. The mixture of anger and fear that I felt towards this man right now was indescribable. My chest was tight with a newfound bout of courage, which came from the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Chrollo doesn’t do so much to even flinch at my words.

“Put down the knife.” His voice is firm and instructive, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I scoff, shaking my head and closing my eyes for a moment. “Get out of my house.”

This time, he takes a step forward as he realizes I have no intention of dropping the knife. My body screams at me to run, to fight, but I remain still. His brow arches, shifting the bandana across his forehead, but otherwise he says nothing. My legs start to shake as I glance behind him, looking at the door. Get out. Run. Scream for help. Alert somebody. Do something!

“Let’s not do anything we might regret.” Chrollo cautioned, his voice lowering a few decibels. The threat is even more evident as he predicts my motives once again. It was a silent threat, but a threat nonetheless. He takes another calculated move towards me, his hands at his sides now.

Fuck this.

Instinctively, I throw the knife in his direction as hard and as accurately as I can. I barely gave him a second glance, noticing that his body shifted to the side as he easily dodged the knife. Figures. I glided across the island countertop, swinging my body over the edge as I landed hard on my feet. But that didn’t stop me. I threw myself towards the front door, slamming my whole body into it as I fumbled with the handle.

Open! Open, please! My hands pull futilely at the handle, yanking and tugging relentlessly. The lock slid out of place and let out a cry of joy, pulling open the door and seeing the light flood in from the hallway. My fingers dug into the doorframe as I prepared to launch myself down the hall.

However, my joy is short-lived as my body is flung back inside my dark apartment. The collar of my shirt pulled back, digging into my neck and cutting off my scream. No! I let out a strangled cry as my legs caught beneath me, twisting awkwardly as I fell onto my back. My head slammed against the hardwood, a sickening clunk echoed against the walls, followed by grayness filling my vision.

The air escaped my lungs before I could catch my breath, leaving me gasping on the floor like a fish.

I shook my head, blinking rapidly, glancing up towards the light that flooded in from the hallway, suddenly dwindling back into darkness.The sound of the lock clicking and a deep sigh followed soon after.

“No…” My voice was soft and weak, my head beginning to pound.

Chrollo stepped in front of me, glancing down at me with nothing more than slight annoyance. His hands were back inside his pockets as he tilted his head down towards me.

“I told you not to do anything you might regret, now look at you.” He tutted.

My eyes felt heavy, struggling to even remain open. No. Don’t pass out. My head swayed as I lazily looked up at him. If I was in a clearer state of mind I would’ve gotten mad at the way he was condescending to me.

“Rot in hell.” I spoke with as much venom that I could muster up in my weak voice, my brain barely able to form a sentence.

Chrollo remained silent as he bent down towards me. I could have noticed a small smile pull at his lips, but I couldn’t be sure. If it was there, I knew that it was because he was enjoying seeing me like this. I instinctively flinched back, melting myself into the floorboards. My vision started to grow darker as I looked up at him. His hand came down as he pushed a small strand of my hair out of my eyes.

My lips parted slightly, looking into the gray, emotionless eyes of the man who I had been running from for so long. His hand rested upon my sweat coated forehead, his thumb rubbing small circles in attempts to sooth me. This would have calmed me months ago, but now? It was nothing more than a show of his power over me.

My mind was screaming at me to run, but I couldn’t move a muscle. I could feel my brain beginning to process things slower, drifting in and out of darkness.

Chrollo was the last thing I saw before I felt myself engulfed in darkness.

++++++++++++++

[massgenocide03]

You're The Only One for Me

~NaruSasu Omegaverse Fanfic~

Summary: An Unexpected Transformation" follows Sasuke Uchiha, a high school junior who hides his Omega status behind suppressants and an Alpha facade due to the overwhelming expectations of his influential family. When his best friend, Naruto, returns to school after a summer of growth and self-discovery, Sasuke is confronted by Naruto’s unexpected manifestation into a confident Alpha.

Chapter 2

---

Sasuke lay on his bed, the dim light of his lamp casting a warm glow on the pages of the book in his hands, “Alpha Ruts.” He had spent the last hour trying to learn any useful information from it, but to no avail. He knew there was a high chance that Naruto would want to continue their earlier conversation, and Sasuke hated the idea of looking uninformed. “A periodic and often annually recurring state for Alphas, during which their behavior associated with the urge to breed is displayed. Usually, an Alpha goes into rut every month or can be triggered by an Omega’s heat.” Everyone knew that. This book was useless; all it had were biological details. What he needed to know was what it felt like. But he had nobody to ask—after all, it would be weird for a supposed “Alpha” to go around asking what a rut is like when he should be experiencing it every month.

“Urghhh,” growled Sasuke in frustration, slamming the book shut. Why did everyone and everything have to be so useless? He grabbed his phone from his nightstand and opened Google. “What do Alpha Ruts feel like?” he typed.

The first result was a Reddit post. “I feel like I want to fuck anyone and everything. I’m always horny, it becomes really hot, I get super territorial, and just very animalistic. I jerk off at least 15 times a day when I’m going through a rut. If not, I hire one of those prostitute omegas and then—” Okay, that’s enough, Sasuke thought to himself, feeling a wave of disgust. Sure, he wanted to know what it felt like, but he didn’t need every explicit detail. 

He kept scrolling through the search results, skimming through various forums and articles that all seemed to repeat the same crude descriptions. Suddenly, his phone buzzed with a message notification. 

Naruto: Do you want to come over? My mom made cookies and she said I should invite you over because she hasn’t seen you in a while.

Sasuke sighed. He didn't feel like going. The thought of potentially awkward conversations with Naruto made his stomach churn, and he was still a bit butt-hurt about Naruto being a Dominant Alpha. However, he couldn’t ignore an invitation from Mrs. Uzumaki. She had always been kind to him. When his own parents had often neglected him, Mrs. Uzumaki had been there, treating him like her own son. She sent him lunch every day, took care of his injuries, took him to the park or other places when she took Naruto, and even signed his field trip forms as a “Close Family Friend,” which might have gotten her into trouble at some point. Sasuke was nothing but grateful to her, so he had to go if she wanted to see him.

Sasuke: I’ll be there in a bit, but only because your mother wants to see me. Preferably, I wouldn’t want to see your ugly face when it’s not necessary.

Naruto responded with an emoji sticking out its tongue and another flipping him off.

Sasuke got up from his bed, closed the book, and put on a black jacket. He descended the stairs, the quiet house echoing his movements. At the door, he slipped on a black pair of Converse and stepped out into the cool evening air.

It had been a while since he had walked to Naruto’s house; he had started avoiding it around the time he got to middle school. He felt bad for always making Naruto’s parents take care of him, so he started acting more independent. Naruto’s house was only a fifteen-minute walk away from his, which was very convenient. As he walked, memories of simpler times flooded back—times when he didn’t have to worry about suppressants, his family’s expectations, or the secret he carried. The neighborhood was quiet, the only sounds being the distant hum of traffic and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. 

—----

Sasuke arrived at Naruto’s house, pausing to take in the sight. It was a large but cozy home, a stark contrast to his own family’s cold, opulent mansion. Naruto’s parents were well-off but chose to live simply, without the luxury items that adorned the Uchiha household. He believed that’s one of the reasons his parents tolerated his closeness with Naruto’s family; they probably saw them as people that would be useful to them later on.

He walked up the porch and rang the doorbell, hearing a cheerful "Coming!" from inside. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal Mrs. Uzumaki. 

“Sasuke, sweetheart, it’s been a while! We’ve missed you so much! You should come by more often!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a warm embrace. Her long red hair enveloped him, and he was surrounded by her comforting pheromones, which smelled like warm cinnamon. She was a beautiful omega, and Sasuke always found solace in her motherly scent. It was sweet and relaxing, making him feel as if he could take a nap right there on her porch.

Their moment was interrupted by a noise from the stairs. Naruto came bounding down, his usual boisterous self. “No, we haven’t, and I don’t want him coming over more often. It would ruin my calm atmosphere,” he teased, sticking his tongue out at Sasuke.

Mrs. Uzumaki’s eyes narrowed as she turned to Naruto, stomping over to him and delivering a swat to the back of his head. “Idiot, the only one ruining the calm atmosphere around here is you.”

Naruto rubbed the back of his head, pouting. “Ow, Mom! Why do you always take his side?”

“Because he doesn’t always cause trouble,” she snapped back, then turned to Sasuke with a warm smile. “Sasuke, sweetheart, come in. I already have a plate of cookies and milk ready for you at the table.”

Sasuke stepped inside, following her to the dining room. He sat in his usual spot, where he always sat when he came over. Mrs. Uzumaki placed a plate of cookies in front of him, and her smile urged him to take a bite. He did, and they were delicious. Mrs. Uzumaki knew he didn’t like sweet things, so she always made a special batch just for him, perfectly balanced to his taste. He washed down the cookie with a sip of almond milk, his preferred choice. He doubted his own parents even knew that.

“Thank you, Mrs. Uzumaki. Your baking is as delicious as always,” Sasuke said, offering one of the warmest, most genuine smiles he had in him.

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. We’re family, and you know we’ll always be here for you.”

Hearing those words, Sasuke felt a lump in his throat. He hadn’t heard anything like that in years, since he had distanced himself from Naruto’s house. A tear rolled down his cheek, surprising him. He rarely cried, but Mrs. Uzumaki’s words made him feel loved, easing the burdens he always carried. Without a word, she pulled him into another hug, letting him feel the comfort of her embrace.

After a few moments, she gently released him. “You can go upstairs and play with Naruto for a while,” she said. Sasuke nodded, glancing down at his plate. He hadn’t even noticed he had finished all the cookies and milk.

“I’ll pack you some more cookies to go,” Mrs. Uzumaki added, pointing him towards the stairs.

Sasuke made his way to the stairs, and to his surprise, Naruto was sitting in the middle of them, looking a bit sad. Had he seen Sasuke cry? Sasuke hoped not.

“What are you doing, idiot? Let’s go upstairs,” Sasuke said in the most serious tone he could muster, hoping his eyes weren’t red.

“I’m going, asshole,” Naruto replied, his demeanor shifting to a more lively and playful one. He climbed the rest of the stairs and led Sasuke to his bedroom, not that Sasuke needed guidance—he had been there countless times.

The moment Sasuke stepped into the room, he was hit by the heavy pheromones. They were strong, but luckily Sasuke had drowned himself in suppressants that morning, or else he might have had a strange reaction, or worse, entered a heat. The pheromones smelled like oranges and grass—a weird but delicious combination. He liked the smell, even though it was overwhelming. That was strange.

“Open a window, dumbass. Your pheromones are everywhere.”

“Oh right, I guess Alphas don’t really like smelling other Alphas,” Naruto said as he opened the windows in his room. Sasuke was caught off guard by the statement but didn’t respond.

Naruto’s room was nice but messy. Posters of his favorite manga characters and celebrities adorned the walls, and a board Sasuke had made for him for his birthday in middle school, filled with photographs of them when they were younger, hung above Naruto’s desk. The board was even themed in Naruto's favorite color—an ugly orange. Sasuke smiled at the sight, but his smile quickly turned into a scowl as he took in the mess: piles of random clothes and stuff scattered around, unorganized and chaotic.

“You’re such a pig. How do you live with this mess?” Sasuke asked, looking for a clean spot to sit, which ended up being the edge of Naruto’s bed, where his pheromones were even stronger.

“I cleaned it last week because my mom said the same thing, but I guess I’ll have to clean again soon, your highness,” Naruto said with a playful bow and an eye roll. Then, he jumped on his bed, startling Sasuke for a second, but Sasuke didn’t move. Naruto adjusted himself and lay down in a way that wouldn’t disturb Sasuke.

“So, what are we going to do?” Sasuke asked. He hadn’t hung out with Naruto like this since middle school, so he didn’t know what to expect.

“Well, I thought we could just talk for a bit, you know, about life,” Naruto said, staring at the ceiling.

“Okay,” Sasuke replied, though it was far from okay. “Talk” was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t want Naruto to catch on to anything that might out him as an omega.

Naruto suddenly spoke. “Any cute omegas you’ve been interested in lately?”

“Nothing like that. What about you?” Sasuke responded.

“Not anyone in particular, but a lot of people outside my friends have been talking to me now that they know I’m an Alpha. It’s weird considering that when I was a ‘Beta,’ everyone ignored or called me annoying. Now, when I do something stupid, they all think it’s funny.” Naruto’s eyes widened. “Sorry, did I just dump all that on you? I didn’t mean to do that.” He gave an awkward smile.

“It’s fine. I understand what you mean.”

“Soooo, want to tell me how the whole Alpha thing works now that we have time?” Naruto asked, sitting up with an expression of anticipation.

Shit. Sasuke knew this was coming. He didn’t want to reach this point, but here they were. Luckily, he had studied a bit about Alpha ruts before coming over.

“Well, what do you want to know?” Sasuke asked, hoping to give minimal information.

“Well, let’s see. I want to know how it feels, what kind of urges you get, how you act. I did get a lesson on what ruts are supposed to be like, but I want to know from someone who has actually experienced them, not some stupid textbook or video.”

Sasuke felt a pang of guilt. He was about to lie to his best friend and tell him things he’d never experienced. “Well, you get really hot and territorial. You also get very horny and just want to fuck everyone and everything. If you don’t have anyone to fuck, you can just jerk off your rut away.” He hoped that sounded truthful, recalling everything from that one Reddit post and explaining it as simply as possible.

He turned to look at Naruto, who was now sitting with his knees close to his face, burying half of his face in them. Naruto’s face was super red. Was he embarrassed? How funny. This made Sasuke want to tease him more. What a baby.

“What’s wrong, Naruto? You’ve never thought about fucking an omega?” Sasuke asked with a smirk. Naruto’s face turned even redder, matching his mother’s hair. Sasuke continued, “Let me guess, you don’t even know how to work your dick?”

Naruto suddenly looked up. “Yes, I do. I can show you right now,” he said in an annoyed tone, then realized what he had just said and buried his head into his knees again, not noticing that Sasuke was now red too.

After a few moments, when the embarrassment had subsided, Naruto asked another question. “How do you usually take care of your ruts?”

Shit. Sasuke didn’t know how to respond. “Um, I jerk off and have sex when I need to,” he said in the most nonchalant tone he could muster.

Naruto’s eyes widened. “So, you’re not a virgin? Who do you usually have sex with? How many times have you done it? How come you’ve never told me you already had your first? Don’t best friends usually tell each other that stuff?” Naruto bombarded him with questions, looking a bit pissed and maybe even a little sad.

Sasuke sighed. He had never even properly jerked off, let alone had sex. The lies were getting deeper. “First of all, my sex life is none of your business, and I shouldn’t have to report to you about what I do with my life,” Sasuke snapped.

Naruto got up from the bed. “Fine, have it your way. You don’t ever have to tell me anything. I’m sorry for being worried and curious about my best friend!” Naruto snapped back.

“You know what? I'm just going to leave,” Sasuke said.

“Do what you want. I don’t care, since it’s ‘none of my business,’” Naruto mocked.

Sasuke got up and left the room without bothering to respond. Naruto was just being stupid and annoying. He made his way downstairs, said goodbye to Mrs. Uzumaki, grabbed the bag of pastries she gave him, and left. He was mad—mad at Naruto, mad at his parents, mad at the world, and mad at himself.

The fresh afternoon summer air seemed to calm him a bit as he walked home, overwhelmed with emotions.

[drgngutz]

Cybernetic Soulmate - I

BEN Drowned x Reader: Part 1

Soulmate AU – Implied Feminine Reader

Note: BEN is my favorite creepypasta, and lowkey I never see enough of him in the fandom. SO, I’m taking it upon myself to give this a try. Can’t promise it’ll be finished, but I’m having fun with it right now. If you’d rather read this on a website, ima post it on quotev and wattpad soon. Right now i’m vibin here. If you don’t like scary shit, this one might not be for u but we’ll see how it goes. Thanks for reading :) 

Description: Having the name Benjamin Lawman inscribed on your wrist until the age of 11, you had to live the rest of your life as one of the unlucky few who woke up one day with their soulmate mark crossed off. Devastated didn’t properly express the feeling of emptiness at the loss of connection between someone you had grown so close to. Ten long years have passed since then, but a new name has shown up just underneath the butchered one: BEN drowned. Soon enough you’ll figure out your old soulmate is now more demon than he is man. 

Masterlist

Benjamin Lawman 

BEN Drowned

The pads of your fingers swiped over the newly printed name on your wrist in absent-mindedness as you scrolled through page after page on the internet, causing subtle goosebumps to rise up on your skin as the bold letters brandished a light tingling with the friction. Old memories bumped around in your brain of producing the same feeling when the name you used to have was touched. 

It wasn’t feasible. It wasn’t something that had ever happened unless a soulmate had clinically died and been resuscitated within minutes. But over the span of ten years? Impossible. 

So why was this name here now? And why on earth was it different?

Returning to the old articles- the ones that you hadn’t looked at in years- yielded no results. 

‘Benjamin Lawman, aged 12, has been missing since around 6p.m. yesterday. Reports have mentioned he was wearing…”

‘It has been just over a month since the young boy, Benjamin Lawman, has gone missing. If you have seen anything in relation to his case…’

‘Benjamin Lawman declared deceased. “The search has gone on too long.” - Officer Hubris states…’

Hours and hours of looking at the same stupid newspaper clippings, public records, and news outlets was doing nothing besides digging up old memories that you didn’t want to relive. The times where Ben would talk to you, laugh with you, when you would play made up games with each other through the connection you both had created over a short time. He was always showing you his games on the console he had been gifted for his tenth birthday; you could still see the hazy image of a little boy with blonde hair swinging a sword at all kinds of different monsters, with Ben reciting each one of them as if he had memorized every detail of the game. You had talked to each other through the connection every day, and then he was just… gone. 

Exhausting your emotional and logical thinking, you ran your fingers through your hair before dragging your fingers down over your face to rid yourself of the stiffness. Glancing at the darkened letters on your wrist, you sighed in exasperation. Flopping the limb down onto your lap like a ragdoll, you traced the letters once more. It tingled again; that was the only grounding factor telling you that you weren’t dreaming all of this up. But, what kind of a name was BEN Drowned?

You swallowed thickly at the implication of both names showing up like that, how one replaced the other, and then opened up a new tab on your laptop. 

Immediately searching the name led you to a page on 4chan. Clicking on the site led to a very in depth and lengthy story, accompanied by multiple videos of a fucked up version of Ben’s favorite game, which took you about two whole hours to complete and understand. 

“...It already has proven to me that Ben can access my account/password and manipulate my computer, and like I said I have no idea to what extent it can do this, but know that it will do anything to break free. He is desperate. I’m going to do something, something rash that may not work. But, if it can keep everyone safe from him, I’m willing to try it. I’m going to make sure he stays in that fucking cartridge, so just forget about me, please…” 

It’s nearly dark out at this point, and your head is stuck spinning in place like a globe as you try to swallow the massive amount of information that you’ve been presented with. And still, none of it makes sense. But, really, did any of this? The newly branded name on your wrist certainly made no sense. Was it so odd that maybe there was something going on with this man, Jadusable, as well? And somehow it was all lining up together that this…thing shows up, and then its name shows up on your wrist just below where your old soulmate's name was crossed off, further implying that your soulmate was whatever BEN Drowned is. 

“Oh god. I need to go lay down.” 

Benjamin Lawman 

BEN Drowned

After the day that the name had appeared, you had been doing more research than you had ever bothered to do during your schooling. Each and every piece always led to the same two destinations; a declared dead little boy and a 4chan page that no longer had any active comments or replies from its author. 

You had since resorted to using the connection to try and make a breakthrough. 

The first time was difficult for you. Something that had laid dormant for so long felt… wrong. To try and open it again meant the possibility of connecting with someone who you’d assumed was gone forever. Now what? What if he answered? What if he didn’t answer? What if it wasn’t him?

It took a lot of thinking, and a lot more courage, to open up that connection again. 

Hands shaking, you clasped them together and closed your eyes, brows furrowing in concentration as you felt the familiar sensation flip like a switch in your brain. Clenching your teeth, you felt your eyes water beneath your eyelids as you let yourself fall away from your own consciousness for a moment, the familiarity nearly making you pull out of the sensation in discomfort. But, you pursued. You had never gotten this far, not after he disappeared. 

It was dark. That was the only way to explain it. Pitch black, with no source of light or sound to be observed. You dug a little deeper, trying to find the point of communication again… Only to be stopped. Confused, you tried to move forward again, only to be pushed back again. You tried over and over, poking and prodding at the connection, but to no avail. It was like something was specifically keeping you out; as if Ben didn’t want you to make a connection. 

You came back to your own consciousness with a start, eyes flashing open and feeling breathless as the connection dwindled and then faded away without your focus to keep it going. But, it was there. You had never been able to enter our connection like that before. Now, there was at least something.

It continued like this for the rest of the week; you trying to make a connection happen while something forced you away. But, you weren’t about to give up anytime soon. You were just as stubborn as Ben could be, pushing and pushing to no avail. You felt insane to be reaching out to somebody that was dead, somebody that wasn’t alive anymore, but you refused to give in. 

Then finally, it worked. 

You had gotten better at it the more you had practiced, gotten used to the familiar feeling that was at first melancholic; this time, you entered without bothering to close your eyes. Apparently, he had his guard down. 

A box shaped view, bordered in complete darkness. The light that peered in did nothing to illuminate the surrounding area; the light was coming from a window. Your window. You recognized it as the one in your living room that overlooked the couch opposite of the TV. And there you were, sitting straight, a focused look on your face as you stared at the wall, as you had done time and time again over the past few weeks. You watched yourself flick your eyes up to the TV in astonishment–

You were slammed out of the connection so hard that it sprouted a headache at the front of your forehead, and you flung your hand upwards in order to cater to the sudden feeling. Debilitated, you groaned tearfully before you could open your eyes again, blinking away the sting and glancing up at the TV. 

Stop trying.

The words were written in white, in a small text box at the bottom of the screen. You were only able to read it once before they disappeared as quickly as you had seen them. 

“What… What the fuck?” 

Benjamin Lawman 

BEN Drowned

He’s been watching her for a while now, observing, debating, keeping her annoying attempts at contacting him at bay; she was relentless in that particular field. 

Soulmates had always existed on this earth, apparently. And, although the fragmented memories of the soul he had ‘borrowed’ managed to save them from being imprisoned again via this aggravating connection, he wanted nothing to do with her. 

He was called many names; demon, ghost, vengeful spirit, poltergeist, cybernetic entity – Something born from a mixture of code and the aftermath of an abominable act – so they were not entirely wrong, but they were never right, either. Regardless, they were right about one thing. He had no room for care, or sympathy, or love. Not anymore. It was not programmed, not a part of his ideals. 

That was what he assumed, until the annoying little prick that he chose to resuscitate from that watery grave started to rekindle the connection he had before, when he was alive. The little bits of his host that still existed within him now crawled and zapped within the numbers, disagreeing with how he was treating the girl. He assumed this was some form of rebellion from the kid, and it was affecting them a lot worse than he understood. 

They weren’t supposed to feel the way he was toward this human, he wasn’t capable of having emotion at all. It wasn’t possible. And yet, here he was, watching her from the screen of the television that they had been trapped in ever since Ben’s last ditch effort at escape; it had worked, they were out of the cartridge, but they were missing pieces. That made the effort useless. 

Perhaps he should’ve chosen a better host for ascension. 

Benjamin Lawman 

BEN Drowned

WHAM!

You jolted awake at the loudness of the sound, feeling it reverberate through the ground and walls with the force of it. Sitting upright, you stayed still as a statue and listened closely, in the case that you had dreamt the sound. 

“Shit.” A voice whispered harshly against the silence, raspy and low. 

“We- We gotta make this quick. Hurry up,” Foot steps followed the higher pitched voice heading down the hallway. 

Swiftly, you ripped the covers off and dove for the closet, being as silent as possible as you settled below the hanging clothes and behind a hamper of dirty ones, trying to ease your breath and keep calm. Soon after, the two men barge into the bedroom and begin scouring your drawers. 

Addicts, you assumed. That was the likely situation, given your shitty location and even shittier apartment, they frequented the area and often ended up breaking into places that they figured were either abandoned or no one was home. A few of her neighbors had some close calls, while a few others were not so lucky. Flashes of ambulances and white sheets came to your mind, and you pushed them away, instead listening to the two of them argue in some kind of whacked-out dispute. 

“There’s no money, no jewelry; where the fuck is it all?” The first one started, slamming the drawer so loud the whole cabinet stuttered against the wall. 

“M-Maybe we got the wrong number,” The other replied, dumping something onto the floor, “is it the wrong apartment?” 

“If it is, we’re fucked. C’mon,” The two pairs of footsteps went further down the hall toward the kitchen, and you sighed gratefully. 

Hearing them rummage through the kitchen drawers now, you felt your heart beating in your veins as you slowly opened up the closet door and peered around. The room was empty, and you could hear them starting another argument about something else. Now was the time to move before they could come back and check the closet; there was no point in waiting like a sitting duck. 

Just as you were starting to silently make your way down the hallway and towards the front door, in the process realizing that they had burst the damn thing open in order to get inside, you heard the shuffle of footsteps in the kitchen begin to grow closer. Your blood ran cold, mind running wildly at the possibility of what would happen if they saw you. 

Wordlessly, you bolted to the living room, relying completely on instinct as you locked your eyes onto the black screen of the TV. You hesitated a second, debating if hiding somewhere would be a better option, but a quick glance around the room told you there wouldn’t be a place for you to do so. They were getting closer, the scuffing of their boots on the tile spurred you forward. 

“I am so fucking crazy for this…” You whispered, eyes flickering all over the screen as you gripped its edge in a vice. Fuck it.

“If you’re in there,” You took a deep breath, faltering out of fear, “I need help. Please, some men broke into my house and–” 

“Did you hear that?” You nearly stopped breathing from how close they were now. 

“Yeah, came from that room, there.” Hurried, heavy steps started toward the rooms entrance. 

“Shit.” You turned and gazed desperately at the screen, no response. 

“God damn you,” Frustrated, you began to scream and bang at its dark surface with your fists, “Fucking answer me!” 

“The hell’s wrong with you?” The two men had finally made it into the room, just staring at you as your slammed your fists repeatedly against the TV. One of them, a smaller, scruffy looking man, looked confused and concerned. The other, much taller and larger, looked pissed off. 

“What does that matter?” The bigger one began to advance, and right before he pushed you to the floor, you saw the screen light up. Hissing at the sting of the impact, you glanced behind the man towards the now lit-up screen.

Fine.

“Tell us where you’re keeping all of your shit. Now.” His harsh tone made you flinch, feeling spit hit your face as he loomed over you.

“I-I… I don’t have anything. I swear… I don’t have–” You stuttered, but couldn’t complete the sentence in time. 

SMACK!

The burning of your cheek registered before you realized what had happened, feeling tears fall down your face at the shock of the pain. You heard something clicking against itself, the harsh noise berating your ears and making you look back at him before freezing in place. 

“Don’t fucking lie to me. You’re hiding something, I know you are. Hand it over!” You’re left staring down the barrel of a hand gun as he shouts at you, and if you weren’t crying before, you definitely are now. 

“Hey… Hey Jim.” The soft voice of the other man interrupts the exchange, and the angry man, Jim, nearly blows a fuse. 

“Something’s wrong, man.” 

“What the hell are you on about now, Mike?” With a rage in his eyes, he turned around, the gun turned safely away from your face. Before he could say anything else, however, he stilled. 

You peered up at the screen, where they were both looking, as you trembled at the prospect of being shot. 

You shouldn’t have done that. 

“What the hell? This some kinda game?” 

You wish it was.

“Jim, lets go.” Mike practically begs his friend, inching towards the door. 

“There’s somebody else here. They’re probably watchin’ us, right now.” His voice trembles at the thought. 

“Don’t be such a pussy,” Jim spits, angry at the idea; “I’m talking to you too, creep! Come out and show yourself instead of hiding behind a fucking screen.” 

If you say so. 

There’s a moment where the screen goes dark, before another message pops up on screen. 

Close your eyes.

You obey the message without a word, clenching them as tight as you possibly can. Then, you hear the front door slam shut, despite it being broken off of it’s hinges before. 

“What the fuck was–” Jim’s words are cut off by his own strangled screams. Something drops to the ground with a clatter, shortly followed by Mike’s shrill screams that fade as he moves towards the front of the apartment. He begins to plead for something to open as something begins to snap and pop in the living room. You flinch at each noise, nearly sobbing as the man’s screams from in front of you are reduced to garbled grunts and groans, before he goes silent with one final crunch. 

Mike’s murmured ‘no, no, no’ can be heard from he hallway as he slams rhythmically against something over and over. The words are chased by his own screams that echo one final time before it’s swiftly cut short, only to be replaced by a deafening silence that leaves your heart beat thrumming in your ears. Ragged breaths help to filter out the lack of sound as you stay glued in place, not daring to open your eyes. 

A moment passes, then another; What feels like a few minutes go by before you hear anything else. 

“You can open them now.” Your eyes snap open at the almost robotic tone that instinctively feels familiar. 

A quick sweep around the room showed that there was nobody there; in fact, there was no sign that they had ever been there in the first place. The only thing that was different was the TV, which was still lit up, the same words that were spoken to you depicted in white letters in the textbox. 

You can open them now.

The screen dropped to black, and then lit up again. 

All done. You’re welcome. 

The screen went dark for the final time that night, and all that was left was the silence. 

Next Part

[nininikki]

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊: j. kirschtein x fem!reader

✧ summary! — there’s nothing in the world that feels better than beating jean kirschtein. except maybe fucking him. (inspired by this request)

✧ warnings! — jean and reader are rivals, insults, fencing (🤺), reader’s kinda mean to jean but he’ll be fine, hate sex, somewhat rough, bit of nipple play, hair pulling, brief handjob, unprotected p in v (wrap it up), mirror sex, slight clit play, finger sucking, choking, degradation, name calling (slut), orgasm denial.

✧ author’s note! — first request ever, let’s go!! lmk if i missed anything in the warnings!

✧ word count! — 2.6k

“did you fucking see that? did you see that fucking look on his fucking face?”

the blood that normally rushed through your veins had been promptly replaced with triumph. triumph that evidently couldn’t be contained as you bounced up and off the floor of your dorm room.

sasha—your proud, but awfully concerned roommate—only sat gingerly at the edge of her bed. having just finished a family sized bag of bugle chips, she settled on congratulating you with soft claps of her crumb-covered hands. “that is, uh,” her face bounced between expressions before landing on a somewhat smile. “that’s amazing, (y/n), but—”

“i know, right. and, he had this, like, kicked puppy look, y’know?” you voice trailed off as you began searching through your drawers for a pair of pajama pants. “like pure defeat. it was fuckin’ incredible.”

just an hour or so ago, jean kirschtein had made the dire mistake of challenging you to a brief fencing match. a game of which you were only mildly skilled, so you’d feared you might end up in one of those rare predicaments where jean—fucking jean, of all people—managed to beat you.

“you are such a bad sport.” sasha chuckled from where she sat behind you. “he almost had you, though. it was neck and neck.”

you giddily pulled some pants from your drawer, turning in the direction of the shower with a smile. “now that, i can admit. see, i’m a great sport.”

***

eren was on his third peal of laughter in the past five minutes. the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers as heaps of schoolgirl giggles whistled through his lips. “how’d you let her get away with that shit, man? i mean, you were, like,” eren combed a hand through his hair and pinched his fingers together so close they were almost touching. “right here.”

“kiss my ass, jaeger.” jean only murmured, choosing to live in blissful amnesia about the whole thing. he’d opened the page of some random jane austen novel and began pretending to read.

this was, by far, his most humiliating defeat. not because of the fact that he lost, but how.

the sheer swiftness and grace with which your blade moved almost made it impossible for him to believe you were anything other than advanced. although, maybe this was what hardly remarkable looked like for you—those being the words you used to describe your fencing skills.

but still, where you were good, jean was always better. at least that’s what he told himself on the frequent—yes, very frequent—occasions that he bested you in something.

that thought could wait. for jean was too busy trying to stick his winning blow. except you moved with so much effortless agility he missed you by only the hair of an inch.

you were back on his heels with a cocky giggle pouring from your mouth. “oh, come on, kirschtein. do you want me or not?”

what a stupid question to ask. of course he wanted you. he’d wanted you since before he even knew what want was. since your eighth grade spelling bee where you managed to halt the match at a perfect tie. since every occurrence thereafter where the two of you had needed to beat one another more than you needed air.

so, yes. he fucking wanted you. how could he not? you were the most insufferably brilliant, wickedly talented, and oftentimes the funniest person he’d ever had the displeasure of knowing. and god help him if you weren’t beautiful as all hell too.

wait, huh?

in enough of the time it had taken him to form that thought, the blunted tip of your blade had jabbed directly into his chest, right above the rapid beating of his heart.

from then on, jean had taken the route of not thinking at all. because he knew that if he did, you’d be the only thing on his mind.

and seriously, how could he let a thought like that slip through the finely trained cracks and crevices of his own mind? you were, by all experiences and understandings, his rival. universally, anciently, eternally. you had been on opposing sides of some invisible thing for as long as he could remember.

so, why? why, why, why had such a sickening thought started to bloom—in the way fungus did, not flowers. totally not.—so suddenly through the concrete cracks of his brain?

well, that could only be possible if such a thought wasn’t so sudden at all

***

you were perhaps the only person who could still look good in fluorescent lighting. a fact jean guiltily registered when you pulled back the bathroom door and stood practically swathed in it. it flushed you bare, made you look naked and real and impossibly prettier. prettier. despite how well the description characterized you, jean still harbored his own habitual difficulty associating such a nice phrase—a compliment—with you.

“ugh.” you scoffed upon taking your eyes away from the mirror, a wand of lipstick halfway to your now frowning lips. “i’ll be out in a second. try not to piss yourself.” you barked over the blaring music.

as flushed as you made the skin behind his ears, you were still a pain in the ass. “i actually wanted to talk to you.” jean practically vomited the words, not yet used to speaking to you sans malice or insults.

“about?”

another bout of word vomit. “about what happened today.”

“you mean when i kicked your ass in fencing.”

“see, that’s the thing. i—i didn’t mean to lose.”

“yeah, no one really means to get their ass kicked.” your lips jumped into a contented smirk. “that’s what makes doing it so fun. especially when it’s you, right, kirschtein?”

“you’re a real class act, you know that?”

“glad you think so highly of me.” you dropped your lipstick into your purse and leaned against the counter. arms folded and one brow beautifully, interrogatively arched. “but c’mon, what about earlier today? what was so pressing that you had to follow me into the bathroom?”

“i don’t know, i…” jean blinked, trying to scrape some semblances of confidence together. “i’m sick of fighting with you.”

“are you this butthurt about earlier?” you scoffed, looking almost hurt and pursing your freshly lacquered lips together. “i mean, if that’s why—” you turned away from him and back into the mirror with an insultingly exasperated sigh. “if you came here to mope about what a loser you are, this isn’t the place.”

now it was jean’s turn to scoff. and that he did, kicking the bathroom door closed behind him and leaning his weight over on the narrow counter. the fury and disbelief jean felt must have been sheer on his face, because of your lackluster attempt at a turnaround. “look, i’m just saying i’m not exactly great with sympathy. or whatever it is you’re trying to do here.”

anger tunneled through his veins, as hot and passionate as those feelings he felt earlier. “you know what, fuck you.”

“yeah, as if i’d ever let a loser like you anywhere near m—” but you didn’t get to finish your sentence, because jean’s fingers were pulling you into him by the nape of your neck. in a split second in what you think was a kiss.

it was more an aggressive gnashing of teeth and tongue with frustrated groans of anger soundtracking it. you hardly even felt his lips, except for when he tried to break away and you pulled the bottom one between your teeth. which led to his hands finding the backs of your thighs so he could prop you onto the cold countertop.

he then took you in a more proper kiss. one that was certain to have your lips bruised by the end of it. one that sent the minute vibration of a whimper out of your mouth and over his. “i hate you,” jean murmured over you, arousal and anger pooling between your legs as he palmed your tits through your shirt. in that same moment you were wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer as he rasped, “so fucking much.”

your hands strung fervently between the ashy blonde moss of his hair. “not more than i hate you.” you hissed as he pulled your shirt over your head. his lips dragged across your jaw, down your, over your collarbone—not stopping until he was at your chest, at which point he was haste in pulling the straps of your bra off your shoulders.

with your hardened nipples exposed to the brisk bathroom air, jean was free to wrap his lips around one and suck and pinch as he pleased. lidded eyes glazed with malice as he peered up at you, mouth wrapping eagerly around you. all while his hand toyed aimlessly with the button on your jeans.

“the hell are you waiting for?” you asked, unexpectedly breathless. tugging a little harder on his hair elicited exactly the reaction you were hoping for.

in an instant, your jaw was in his grip and he was pulling you close enough to his face that he could’ve—should’ve—kissed you, but he didn’t. “shut the fuck up.” he hoarsely demanded. “you don’t get to rush this.”

try me, you might as well have said. because in that same second your lips and hands were on him again. groping at his stiffened cock through his pants working a hickey into the smooth skin of his neck.

his dick sprung free from the confines of his underwear—shaded a blushing red, leaking a milky bead of precum from the head, and littered with pretty veins—you barely gave yourself a moment to think before you were wrapping an eager hand around it.

all the while, jean was struggling to pull your shorts over the curve of your ass. poorly contained shudders wracking his body with every stroke you dealt him. “c’mon, kirschtein. show me you’re not as useless as i think.”

and then you went from perched upon the counter to bent directly over it. a yelp sprouted from your parted mouth as jean all but yanked your shorts down your legs. from this view, you were staring at your hazy reflection in the bathroom mirror—eyes lidded and brimmed with untamed desire, the lipstick you’d originally ventured here to fix now smudged worse than before.

you steal a glance up at jean, whose hair sat mangled atop his head. hickies purpling his jaw and collarbones. chest heaving only slightly. when the two of you made eye contact through the mirror, you could feel jean hooking his fingers under the crotch of your underwear so he could slide them down your legs.

weak with anticipation, your vision grew bleary and unfocused. “hey, hey,” but jean had your jaw in his grasp again, directing your focus back to him. “keep your eyes on me, alright.”

you only meekly nodded, even though he was certainly telling more than asking.

his fingers ghosted over the engorged head of your clit, and even when you wanted to shut your eyes as shockwaves of pleasure rolled over you, jean’s grip on your jaw tightened every time you tried. “did you not hear what the fuck i said?” he’d grunt into your ear, neglecting your pussy by taking his fingers away from it. he’d instead stick those same fingers into your mouth, running the pads of them over your tongue and letting you suck the taste from them.

then finally, his hands were on your hips, and the tip of his cock was sliding through the sodden folds of your cunt. “what was that you said earlier?” jean asked as he dipped his head into your waiting heat. “‘as if i’d ever let a loser like you anywhere near me’”

truthfully, you didn’t regret saying that. if you hadn’t, you’d have gone back downstairs to that party and not been here receiving what might’ve been the best sex of your life. (although you’d never admit that to him.)

you didn’t have time to answer because jean was kissing you. his tongue was breathtakingly soft as it mulled around in your mouth. when he pulled away, leaving strings of saliva connecting your lips, you hardly had a chance to register it before he was sliding into you with a deep grunt.

you promptly died of infatuation at the feeling of having him inside you. growing dumber and dumber off the way the curve of his cock slid up into you at just the right angle. and it didn’t take long before he bottomed out, at which point you both sang sweet moans into the stuffy bathroom air. “i hate you.” you moaned into the reflection, but his thrusts only sped up. “i hate you, i fuckin’ hate you. i—ohmygod!”

jean snaked a hand around your throat, his relentless grip sending mixed waves of pleasure and pain through your body. “you hate me so much,” he panted into the crook of your neck, “but you’re letting me fuck you like this.” his grip tightened, and you could feel the slicked walls of your cunt clench in response. “nasty fuckin’ slut.”

it wasn’t long before the head of his dick was prodding that sweet spot inside you. “don’t stop. i’m so close.” wracking your body with the most debaucherous fixes of saccharine satisfaction and pushing you closer and closer to your release. “i’m gonna cum, don’t—”

mischief crawled over jean’s flushed gestures as he blushed, his thrusts coming to a subtle halt. “ask me nicely.”

you had no other choice but to die, because there was no way you’d be able to walk out of here from a half finished fuck with a neglected orgasm. but there was also even less way you’d be nice to jean kirschtein of all fucking people.

but then he leaned over and brought his lips to yours in a soft kiss. not nearly as rough as the previous ones had been and almost out of character for the two of you. “c’mon, i know how bad you want it.” jean murmured into your mouth, sending—dare i say—butterflies in fervent laps around your tummy. “be nice so i can give you what you need, yeah?”

normally, you’d have scolded him for just outright assuming he knew anything about you. but this wasn’t normally and this time, he was right. he kissed you again, and that’s when you uttered, “please,” under his lips. “please, don’t stop.”

jean kissed you again, but at the front of your cheek. a ghost of a smile appeared over his lips. “atta girl.”

slowly but surely, his thrusts resumed and you right where you left off: toeing the edge of an orgasm with every passing second. “oh,” you whimpered as you gazed into jean’s eyes through the mirror. his very sweet, very determined eyes. that sight coupled with the feeling of his cock piercing your very soul was what sent you over.

the orgasm practically poured out of you. a white hot flash of blinding pleasure that had left you shaking where you stood and surely sheathed his dick in the thick, creamy mess of your own cum. and jean wasn’t far behind, quickly pulling out of you and covering your back in warm streaks of his own spend.

you both needed a moment to recover. heavy breaths crushing your lungs and a post orgasmic-haze looming over your heads in a tangible cloud.

“here, don’t move.” jean unfurled a towel from a nearby closet and doused it with water before gently wiping down your back. “see, all better.”

“thanks, i guess.” you said, unsure of the proper thing to say to someone who just wiped their cum off your back.

when you were done shrugging your clothes over your body and making sure your makeup shed no discretion as to what you’d just been doing, you cautioned a small kiss to jean’s jaw. “tell anyone about this and i’ll kill you.”

he only smirked back at you with a roll of his eyes, but answered nonetheless. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

© NININIKKI. do not translate, copy, or modify my works in any way shape or form.

[keyrey]

To those who need to hear it.

Likes, they're good. Thank you! Reblogs, oh my goodness, you want your audience to see my work? Oh... you didn't use tags? Don't even get me started on stalking the pages of each one of your ten followers. Not that I do that of course, right? A comment! Do I respond now or later? I don't want to be seen as a psychopath. I got a kudo! 100 hits!? Oh, but my writing's not even that good... Why is it that we put so much value on a number when the real value comes from acquiring new skills and knowledge?

Idealization? Check

False perception of reality? Double check.

Yikes.

Go back and look at the words written in bold. My writing's not even good. Why would you think that after all of the hours you've poured into your work, or the endless amount of times you searched the thesaurus for synonyms to 'said' and eventually fail and chose it anyway?

The amount of times I've opened this app not even a day after I post is unreal. I got a like already? Wow! I should probably post this on Ao3 too, right? Even though I utterly hate the outdated website, the red on white background and the minuscule text that is too jarring to look at?

Y'all, the need for validation from strangers on the internet is real.

Arguably, the craziest part about the ordeal is that every feed looks the same, but there's a story behind them all. All ideas develop differently. It's the whole meaning of story tropes, to have your own take of a commonly used cliché. My feed in particular is filled with heaps of SatoSugu (I don't mind this), Nanani fanfic (I love this), the most smuttiest of smut of all time (an occasional treat before I slip into slumber), and people swearing that Deadpool and Wolverine were doing a certain something in that Honda Odyssey. (They probably were. But come on, my mom watched this film. Loved the jokes though. Keep 'em coming.)

Upon my mere two months of posting and doom scrolling, I've observed that this isn't only a 'me' thing. Most, if not all people go through some form of self-doubt. So yeah, is this just a phase? Maybe. Is it okay if this whole doubting-yourself sensation is reoccurring? It is.

Your story is special.

Lovely Tumblr poster number one, Lovely Tumblr poster number two, may your ask inbox be cleared of my wacky questions. I will leave you alone for now. Please enjoy your life while I try to get myself under control. Let's hope you know who you are. Though I really hope you don't. I mentally cringe at the things I've gotten wrong about your character.

How about a day of rest? Yeah, that would be useful. A cup of warm tea? A cozy book amidst the comfort of silence? A podcast or a playlist running as you take in the sun? Your life has more meaning than you think. Put away the phone, your laptop and take in your surroundings. Please, don't be like me! Go to bed at a reasonable hour.

The funny thing about being self-aware is knowing that I will come back within the next thirty seconds to see how this post has been doing. I've already got this site bookmarked. Peak hypocrisy, right?

Jeez, I can't believe I'm writing this. I apologize for all you lactose intolerant readers out there. This is cheesy. Not even your usual Cheddar or American cheese. No, this is some full-on cheese mozzarella pull level shit right here. I'm not responsible for your bathroom needs. Just remember to wash your hands.

If I can try, you can try.

To sum up, keep putting yourself out there and sharing your voice with the world. Even if you don't see it, others do. Even if others don't see it, fuck them. No, you try to see the worth in your work for yourself. If you're tired, let yourself feel the fatigue and take a break.

For those who care, this isn't a goodbye to Tumblr. Just a reminder that it's a website that you can remove yourself from at any time with proper accountability for your actions. It's hard to practice and it's not something that I can give advice on. My brain is only so big.

-Sending lots of love and warm hugs from the bedtime ponderer, Miss KeyRey.

I've got the temperature of my bedroom set to just below freezing. I'm bundled in my many layers of warm, fuzzy blankets. I ordered some ramen takeout for dinner and have taken a nice, long shower. I'm going to let my laptop die because I know I'll be too lazy to put it on charge. Using your weaknesses in a smarter way? Hell yeah. I think I'm ready to try this whole 'sleeping' thing once again. Or whatever you call it.

How many tags is too many?

[soft-lilith]

Cursed dating profile

Ok guys, i have no idea how I have stumbled onto something like this, but I need to post about it.

I was scrolling through a small dating app call "Boo" and got a profile which is... it's bad. It makes my flight our fight go off, hundreds of alarm bells.

(I translated the text with DeepL because I can't be bothered to do it myself. I'm german but his way of writing feels so... incoherent? Wrong? Also like he was on drugs???)

Search here for true love and often read that it has become a rarity. I often see how it exists in everyone in one way or another. Hm, and I want to find her, my dream woman. I write a lot to reach her. I miss her. Pants up, sweater down, cuddling. So much more. I show myself meticulously here. I know that. Women and men tell me “show me you don't need her, then she'll come”… doesn't feel right. I admit, I'm less well without her. That's why I've been writing a love letter for months. I haven't touched myself for six months. No more desire? I'm full of fantasies of sexual togetherness in privacy. The love letter is perverse. I'm waiting for her and I realize that, as strange as it may sound, every day in my head, in bed, in my stomach and in my shorts. It's honest and so much about my character. I try to be very honest and that's hard. Faithful. That because I want my wife with me so much that I write about. www.frau-wundervoll-liest.de … What does the last picture on the “Intimate around the clock” page say? I want to get to know her. Even closer. Because then who sees me with love. Hopefully I'll find out who I'm making this love letter puzzle website for. If you need help, write to me. Good luck and all the best

Here are a few hurdles I encountered on the way to finding her. She reads, is elegant, is faithful, loving, has decency and likes some intensities of eroticism very much. How do I describe her character trait to show her how much we fit together? Show how much I like it too? That I catch her eye? without scaring her away

Describe eroticism with a heart in a lovely, loving way. I want her full attention. Crotch-warm (??????) head love, eyes in view, legs felt, hair seen, bottom touched. Preference. Physically. Berolle. Lovingly. Feel my lip, stay with me. Mountains, brooks, basket, pit, cork, construction bump. Lip fill. Bend. Pull, high mountain reach. Come, sea come. Love.

We speak quite differently. The texts perhaps roughly describe our nature, which lives its true beauty far beyond that.

I am looking for a woman who wants to be with me. Constantly. Who wants to love me in her relationship, as her husband, her own boyfriend and best friend all in one. Seduces me playfully and focuses on me. Wants to be and stay young with me. Looking for our shoulders when we cry. Intrusively affectionate. Love long walks. Laugh. Love each other.

I can love particularly well and be terribly shy. Does this sentence make sense if it's true? How difficult it is for me to find the right thing, the barrel of words…Difficult sentence structure, oh intelligence. A woman who scares others away and opens the door for me while I remain her gentleman. Leads me to bed, lies down with me, holds my hand and looks me in the eye. A woman who extends our time together, not shortens it. A woman who cares about love as much as I do. A woman who wants to cuddle and pull me back into bed when I get up. A woman who likes the warmth of my body and makes me happy. Crotch warm..head love. A woman who wants to focus completely on me. A dream woman for her dream man. Body language, movements, touch, sensitive despite beauty, full of healthy, protected jealousy. We want to find her.

Halbe Bible, ganzer Hurensohn. (half of a bible, a full on asshole)

Mind you, this man is 27. how, how the fuck. What is going on? Ok so to the web side (which looks like ass), for a love letter to his dream woman.

A fairy tale, baptized into truth. Love. So many are looking for. A hyper-intimate fairy tale, designed for 2 adults? A sweet one for a couple. Love should feel beautiful. Falling in love should tingle. Flirting should be fun, even if you're shy. Love. The reins of two lovers love together in firm hands. Hand in hand. Leaf in front of your mouth, get wet, woman of my life, love of my life, take it from my lips and lead our relationship together. A hot sweeper is looking for his enchanting cleaning fairy. Secretly places half-full cups on the edge of the table. The peppercorns drip onto the floor. Not too dirty, not too messy. Sometimes you need to clean. With feeling. With love. Secret and obvious love letters. This is the beginning of both of our stories, crushes on the future, vacation destinations, poetry “We” and also, yes… lots and lots of eroticism. A strange feeling to read about it so publicly? That's fine, even after happy dates you should go to your safe haven and away from the public, into the privacy of loving togetherness. Love is. Your bodies stay together in the garage and the two of you drive yourselves to happiness. This guy here can be very shy. Protective purpose. A self-assured insecurity. Full of previously contained intimate, physically sensual desires and needs. At the same time, seek love in a partnership that makes attachment, affection, jealousy, concentration and a tendency to isolate together with your partner not a problem, but much more a beautiful lifestyle and love style of two lovers come true. Is that your story? No short fun, much more long-lasting love. Seems like a very warm potato and wants to be kept warm. Stay warm.

Btw this sounds a loooot better than it does in German. Maybe it's also the translator which makes his word vomit into something readable but dear lord. I hate the word ick. I really do. But this? This is giving me the ICK

I'm almost tempted to write him just to find out what kind of person he has to be to act this way. But like I said, he makes me want to run away and my gut feeling are mostly on point.

[valhallaas]

Play to Win

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Ghost is good at the silent game. Even better when you don’t know that you’re playing. 

A/N: This is is something new. I just wanted to dabble in it. It leaves you wanting more which is the whole point. As always, feedback is appreciated, and enjoy! Also! Shoutout to @charnelhouse the ghost queen.

He’s been here two weeks and the only reason you know that is by the empty coffee pot that greets you every morning. He truly lives up to his name. Ghost. A name you’ve heard, a reputation that lives beyond him. He may be a ghost, it’s still pretty shitty of him to leave no coffee for you at all. You run a tight ship, have a set schedule. Your routine only differs when someone drops by. Which is rare. Normally it’s just you and the silence. You don’t mind. It is a simple, boring life. But you’d rather be bored than dead.

You’re not lonely. Twice a month you go to town. You get the occasional phone call from Sargent Mactavish (I call you when I can, Val. Y’know how it is) There’s also the farm. Two horses, two cows, one goat and three cats. You’ve got your hands busy.

Feet banging on the mat outside, you can’t help the sigh of irritation that slips. You glare at the snow as it falls. The air was chilly, freezing you down to your bones. It’s a beautiful wonderland until you have to go muck around in it. Finally peeling the boots from your feet you pad your way to the kitchen as the door slammed behind you.

Your fingers twitch. It’s empty. Again. He has to be doing it on purpose. You’d adjusted the settings so there’d be enough for the both of you. You need your coffee. The familiar cup sits beside the coffee maker waiting to be filled. It was 6:20 am and murder was on your mind. You could get away with it. You knew these mountains. Your rifle was a limb forged by war. You’ve never missed a shot. Maybe another day. You’re running on fumes. You blow on your hands, flexing your fingers, you move to the cabinet and grab the coffee container. It’s another twenty minutes and a steaming cup of coffee rests next to you. You’re curled up in the reading nook, fingers gripping the book like your life depends on it. They haven’t quite got any feeling back in them yet. Sometimes you wonder how you ended up here. You hate the fucking cold. Snorting softly, you open your book and get lost in the pages.

There’s a loud bang. Like a distant gunshot. Like a door slamming. Boots pounding against hardwood. The book you had been reading earlier clattered to the floor as you shot up. It’s bright, sunlight glaring off fresh snow; squinting you throw your feet to the floor, hands searching for your gun. What you find is a blanket. The one that normally stays draped over the couch. Frowning, you stare down at the soft material. As your breathing calms and your thoughts become clearer, you relax and slump against the seat. You had fallen asleep. Your dream had shocked you, taken a turn from a memory and made it seem real. It had been at one point, but that was a long time ago. You’re safe now.

The sudden sound of vibrations startle you, causing you to jump. Now more than ever were you glad to be alone. You know how to take care of yourself. You’ve been doing it for a long time. Nobody needed to be questioning that. Standing, you go to the counter where your cell phone sits. An eyebrow ticks at the caller I.D.

“What do you want?”

“Is that how you answer all your calls?”

“I don’t get very many of them. Sorry if my etiquette is lacking. Why are you calling me?”

“I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

Your eyes narrow. “Either you know I have a guest, or you think I’ve been compromised. Which, if it’s the latter, I’m deeply offended.”

“Come on, Val. Y’know I have the utmost faith in you. Is he there?”

“Been here two weeks.”

Soap hums. “We haven’t had any contact. But I figured he’d go far to get a break. The farthest safe house is you.”

He wants peace. They normally do when they come out this far. You offer solace.

“Has he spoken to you?”

You snort. “That’s a negative.”

“Are you at least getting along?”

You look behind you at the blanket spilled on the floor. You think about your empty coffee cup. The first day he came to the house comes to mind.

You hadn’t even seen him. Hadn’t noticed one of the coffee cups was missing from the counter. Hadn’t noticed the sugar not right where you had left it. It had been the coffee pot. It was empty. Brows furrowed, your hand hovered over the handle of the pot. There’s a little at the bottom. You knew that you made some. You hadn’t drank it. Right?

Turning to grab your cup, you froze. A squeak lodged into your throat, hand flying to your back where your gun rested. A large man sat at the counter, an almost empty cup rested in front of him. His gaze was lazy as he stared at you. Unaffected. Black smudge was marked around his eyes making the whites stand out. The mask, you knew the mask. Had heard of it hundreds of times. You didn’t have to ask his name. Huffing out a sigh, you relaxed. Hand dropping back to your side. He watched you a moment more before leaning down to pick up his duffle bag and headed down the hall. You didn’t move again until you heard the sound of the shower turning on.

The silence that lingers between the both of you, though, might just kill you. He hasn’t said a word. You haven’t attempted to either. More so out of pettiness.

“Could be better. Could be worse.”

“Valkyrie,”

“He keeps drinking my coffee, Johnny. I don’t know how to function.”

He hummed again. “Expect a care package soon.”

It’s two days later when the helicopter lands in the middle of the open field. You lean in the doorway watching as packages are being tossed out. Who knew you were this special? You perk up when a familiar face starts heading your way. Heart pounding you push from the house and run. Seconds passed and you were pressed into him. Strong arms wrap tightly around you. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip when it begins to wobble. You didn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry. He’d just laugh at you. Though, maybe not. It’s been over a year since you’d last seen him. He’d never know, but you locked yourself in your bathroom after he called you and bawled for twenty minutes. Being alone was hard. Being away from those you cared about, those you loved, that was even harder.

“What are you doing here?!”

“Came to see my favorite girl,”

“Gross.” Your nose crinkles.

The small moment is cut short by the flurry coming through the trees. Your breath caught, hand grabbing for your gun. Soap steps in front of you, already armed, gun pointing towards the unknown danger. You sigh when the figure comes barreling out of the brush. The familiar white of his mask is drastic compared to the lush, green backdrop. Shaking your head you turn back to Soap.

“This should be fun.” Leaving the men outside you amble inside, setting up the coffee maker for the company you’d have for the day.

Soap didn’t stay long. He and Ghost brought the packages up to the house, shared a few words, kissed you on the cheek, and he was off. You don’t like the feeling he left behind. Don’t like how your chest tightens, your heart aches. It would never get easier.

You’re surprised to see Ghost sitting at the counter. Arms crossed across his chest, eyes raking over the packages. It’s rare for him to be at the house. He leaves early in the morning and comes back late at night. Circumstances were different today. He probably spotted the chopper and instantly ran. That thought makes you slightly lightheaded. He doesn’t know you—knew absolutely nothing, but he still came for you anyway.

“I’ve never known Soap to make house calls.” He doesn’t sound like you thought he would. His accent lilts his words, his voice rough like it’s been dragged through gravel. It gives you goosebumps.

“Guess I’m just special.”

“You’ve got history.”

Your lips twitch. “I’ve known Johnny a very long time.”

He hums, dark eyes on you. You meet his gaze head on. For as long as he stared, you met the dark abyss of his eyes right back. No twitching, no flinching. You took in what he gave you. Which wasn’t a lot. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing a tattoo sleeve on his left forearm. His hands are bare of the gloves he often wore. They’re large, scarred, veins running through them and up his arms. It’s the most exposed you'd ever seen him.

“Who are you?”

You raise a brow, leaning forward to rest your arms on the counter across from him. “You haven’t found that out already?”

“It’s like you don’t bloody exist.”

“You should know all about that, Ghost.”

His gaze lights up at his name. His call sign. His being. He’s like a black hole. But you know there’s stars, hidden galaxies. Every soldier has their well kept secrets. If he’s going to call you out on yours, might as well call the kettle black.

“Have you fucked him?”

You only snort. “He wishes.”

***

Pop. You sit in the living room, your rifle torn apart. After setting your alarm even earlier last night, you were able to get the chores done, drink your coffee while leaving some for your guest. Pop. There’s no biting back your smirk when you see his muscles twitch. You want to twirl the bubblegum around your finger like some lovesick school girl. It’s the oldest trick in the book, and you couldn’t be more thankful for Soap Mactavish. Looking away because you know he can feel you staring, you go back to cleaning your gun. You were a trained professional at one time. You’d like to keep it that way. It’s one of the reasons you ran the safe house. You didn’t like having to rely on people.

Pop. There were always exceptions, though.

An hour later you’re trekking through the woods. Snow crunches underneath your feet, your breath hot puffs of air clouding in front of your face. The cold air prickled in your lungs with every inhale. You were not made for a place like this. Perhaps California. Mexico maybe. Somewhere you can get a tan. You like solitude, though. You like the silence. Maybe it came from years of doing just this.

The wind was not in your favor. You’ve had to adjust three times. This is the clearest your head has been in weeks. Since that man has come into your house. There's something about him that puts you on edge. It’s more than the mask. You haven’t spent a lot of time with him. You can’t pass judgment. But maybe that’s just it. There was a real live ghost in your presence.

Focus. Breathing in only to cough against the burning cold. You lean forward, eye peering through the scope. You can see your targets. Five of them. Each one ten yards farther away from the last. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Finger on the trigger.

You’ve never missed a shot.

A clean hole through the fifth target and you see movement. Heart rate skyrocketing, you’re not nervous. Whoever it is, they couldn’t know where the shot came from. Instinct is telling you to get up and head home, but you're curious. Who the hell else is out here? Who the hell is insane enough to be out this far in this weather?

He appeared out of thin air. His mask blended in with the snow while his gear isa stark contrast. He favors black, much like you do. With your eye still watching through the scope, you see him check each target. Each hit through the center. Not a hair off. You swallow down the anxiety building in you. Slowly he moved away from the target, his gaze taking in the mountain range.

Your heart falls into your ass when his gaze lands on you. Only for a few seconds, but long enough that you know. You can feel it. He knew exactly where you were. The moment passes, and he’s disappearing back into the woods again.

***

“Valkyrie. You were a sniper in the army.”

Oil popped in the pan as you stood over the stove. You had been so sure he’d meet you back at the house. Seems like he had gone and done a little research. Turning the chicken, you peeked at him. He was in the kitchen with you, his back against the counter. He has the plastic skull piece off. Your breath catches when you meet his gaze. His lashes were so long. His eyes were piercing, yet sad. You don’t think he’s perpetually sad, that it’s only the way he looks. It almost feels like you’re seeing him naked. Tearing your eyes from him you go back to cooking.

“How many?”

You sigh. “I don’t know. I didn’t count.” “No?”

“No. It didn’t matter how many, it mattered that I took the shot and it hit.”

“And you never miss.”

He was closer now, breath hitting the back of your neck. Goosebumps break out across your skin.

“No, I never miss.”

He hums before stepping away. Your legs feel like jelly. You never knew a man could do that to you. Flipping the burner off, you ran a hand over your face. It’s been a long day and you were ready for bed.

Later, when you’re getting ready for bed you do the usual lockdown. Blow out any candles, Check that all the doors were locked for the third time. Your eyesight is bleary, eyes begging to close. Socked feet pad as you make your way back to your room. A graveled voice stops you in your tracks.

“When I want something, I never miss either.” Ghost appears in his doorway. “I’d never forget to make more coffee.”

Your lips twitch. It’s been a game, and he was winning.

[osric-giroux-ffxiv]

Incoming Storms

Weak. Undeserving. 

He could feel the barely suppressed anger in every inch of his form. Like pinpricks in his brain, moving up and down his spine, it was all  he could do not to see red.  It was right there, right on the edge of his consciousness. His shoulders tight and taught, every muscle tense - rest had been nearly impossible as his thoughts had raced. 

And it had been like that for days. 

Always someone knew better.

Always someone would have made a better choice.  

Always someone would have taken the better action.

Well, it wasn’t their choice to make. It wasn’t their action to take. They weren’t the Lord of the house. He was. And he was beyond weary of the doubt and the second guessing.

Osric scowled as he was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps behind him. Fully prepared to tell whomever it was to leave him in peace, he paused only when he realized who it was, eyes narrowing when Wyland offered a piece of paper out in the form of a peace offering of sorts. “This had best be good news, Wyland.”

“The final inspection results, sir. All documentation has been filed, construction is complete...at least per the paperwork.” 

“About damn time, I was getting tired of their nitpicking. Inform Hyaka he can shift his attention to recruitment.”

“As you say, sir.” The Elezen paused, glancing at the contents of the room Osric had been occupying, hesitating for a moment before broaching the subject. “I…perhaps this is overstepping sir, but is there something you’re looking for among these items that I could perhaps help with?”

Dark blue eyes shifted over to the older man before offering a quick shake of his head. “No. But they’re taking up space and in the coming months I believe the space will have a better use than simply storage. Or it could be used to store the supplies I asked you to gather for Doctor Aethwyn. I was assessing whether these items are worth a damn thing or whether they can be thrown out like the junk I believe they are.”

Wyland shifted uncomfortably, an action that did not go unnoticed by Osric in his already irritated state. “...Unless you know something I don’t, Wyland. In which case I suggest you start sharing. Now.”

“Sir…you have to understand…”

“I don’t have to understand anything, Wyland. In fact I’m quite tired of being understanding.”

Weak. Undeserving.

“Tell me what you know, NOW.” 

There was a heavy sigh from the older man, his shoulders slumping for a moment as he moved further into the room, Osric’s narrowed gaze following him as he moved through the boxes and past the wrapped statues, searching through various items until he seemed to obtain what he was looking for. He returned, hesitating a moment before offering out a leather tome to the dark-haired man. “A ledger, my lord. It contains a listing of every item here. When it was obtained, where…and I believe where your unc-”

“Father.” 

“Yes, father…of course…was to travel to next to obtain the next item.”

Osric turned the tome over between his hands, narrowed gaze shifting from the tome up to Wyland for a long moment. “How long have you know about this?” He held the tome up for emphasis.

“Since…your parents started collecting the items, sir.”

“And that was when, Wyland? Stop skirting around the answers and give me the fucking details.” Red was seeping into his vision, and he took a long exhale in an attempt to push it back - trying to remember the cause of his anger wasn’t actually the man in front of him.

Wyland swallowed roughly, wringing his hands for a moment. “...It started when Benedict started courting Camilla, sir. And…increased after their marriage, after it was announced  that Camilla was with child.”

Osric brushed past Wyland, moving into the room, his gaze narrowing at the items as he opened the tome, quickly reading through the entries, his brow furrowing as he flipped through page after page of his mother’s handwriting. “...Wyland - none of these items ever left. They were never sold, they were never moved.”

The man shook his head slowly. “No sir…it was never mentioned what they were for, just that we were not to touch them.” 

“The staff knew of them...that they were being collected, not sold.” His scowl deepened. “Did Edalene?”

Again, Wyland looked deeply uncomfortable. 

“Did Edalene, Wyland?”

“...Yes, my lord. She did.” 

More lies. Of course there were more lies. Perhaps it was good that his sister was off in the middle of the ocean on the Sirensong.

Weak. Undeserving.

“Sir…you have to understand that we-”

“I don’t have to understand anything, Wyland. Deliver the message I asked you to deliver to Hyaka. I have no further instructions for you at the moment.”

“I…yes, sir.”

He was met with the sound of retreating footsteps and waited for complete silence before assessing the tome once again, reviewing the items and the notes one at a time. 

His parents and his uncle had been self-serving pricks - but if they had kept these items they had been  keeping them for a reason…perhaps he could use that to his advantage and to the benefit of his house. 

Osric moved over and tore open the wrapping off of one of the statues, only to be met by a dragon with oddly bright sapphire eyes, a slight chill radiating off of it, which he attributed to the cool nature of the room.

“Well then…let’s see what you have to tell us….”

[nepentheansea]

can u make timothée smut with cockwarming😁😁

Penny For Your Thoughts

© nepentheansea all works are my own and contain mature content! 

𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ・𝑪𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔

premise: Timothée has been busy with work that he barely has time for you..

Pairing: Timothée Chalamet x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cockwarming (my favourite btw) smut, swearing.

Word Count: 960

A/N: Hello Lovelies 💙 Hey babe, sorry this took me so damn long, but here you go! I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for the request!!!

Anything, you would settle for anything right now. Timothée had been sitting on the couch for the past few hours, trying to get a feel for the new script that he was determined to memorize as soon as possible, which to him meant no time for a break and no time for you. From sun up to sun down he had been working, day after day. 

You were entering week two, and all you had gotten from him was a few kisses here and there and if you were lucky maybe a fuck once or twice, but nothing lasting. You needed him. You knew he didn’t mean anything by it, he wasn’t purposefully trying to avoid you or leave you absolutely starving for his touch, it was simply just him trying to be good at his job and you respected that, but all you wanted was a little attention.

You didn’t need much, just something more than a few kisses every now and then. you wanted to be close to him, touch him, feel his hands on you, even if it was only for a few minutes, just something to hold you over until you could get him away from the pages, and to do something more fulfilling.

Eyeing him from the archway, you watch as he highlights the script in his hand, re-reading the line over and over again. His eyes fall closed in what you can only assume is frustration, and that was your cue. You make your way over to him, taking long strides. Moving the papers away from his face, you quickly straddle him before he can object. His eyes dart open at the sudden feeling of you atop him.

   “Mon amour?” he exhales with a soft smile.

You were waiting for him to tell you that he didn’t have time, or that he was too busy, or any other excuse for that matter, but he doesn't, not yet at least.

“Darling, I miss you. I swear it feels like I haven’t seen you in forever.” you groan.

His eyes hold an apologetic gleam to them, as he studies your face. You could see the stress and the need for sleep hanging over him like a dark cloud. Your hands, firmly placed on his chest, begin to roam, making your way to his tensed shoulders, slowly massaging them. You lean in, placing a kiss along his neck, moving up it slowly listening to the low groans that he makes. 

“I’m sorry my love, I just-I have to-” he starts. 

You put your finger over his lips silencing his excuse. You pull back to look at him, as you think over what you need to say. 

“I just want to feel you, we don’t have to-” you pause, searching his expression. His brow raises as he considers what you’re saying. “Baby, please…” you plead. 

You go back to kissing his neck, sweetening the deal just a little. You meant what you said, you didn’t need to fuck, you just needed to feel him, touch him, have him touch you. You could tell he wanted the same, you could feel the evidence growing beneath you, his cock aching. You slowly grind your hips against him, feeling him grow harder by the second, savoring the low groan that grows in the back of his throat as it goes straight to your core. 

“fuck..okay,,” was all he could manage to say.  

His hand slips down to your cunt, grinning at you when he feels nothing but your wetness.

“What have you been doing that involves no panties, my dear?” he coos. Leaning into you, Timmy kisses the soft skin of your collar, his free hand sliding up the thin fabric of your shirt, his thumb brushing over your hardening nipple. 

“Waiting for you,” you moan, as he sucks a welt into your neck. He lets go of the script in his hand for the moment, using it to grab your ass, kneading it in his palm. 

“Hmm, so you got impatient  I see,” his lips trail down your chest, even more, tending to your sweet spots. “Well let's see what we can do about it,” You begin to fiddle with the waistband of his pants, and he lifts his hips just enough to get them down, letting his cock spring free. 

You lean up on your knees, letting out a sharp gasp when you feel his tip graze through your wet folds, your grip on his shoulder tightening. He gawks at you as you lower yourself onto his length, signing in tandem as he bottoms out inside you. His head leans back against the couch as he lets out a groan, as your walls clench around him, soaking in the delicious stretch of him. 

You throw your arms around his neck. wrapping the hair at the nape of his neck around your pretty little fingers. You begging to kiss up his neck slowly, reaching his ear,

“You can go back to work now..” you smile innocently, your breath heavy.

He chuckles, knowing damn well that he wasn’t going to be able to focus on work when he was buried so deep in your needy cunt. Not when your plump lips ever so delicately kiss at his neck. He needed you just as badly as you needed him, if not more. He could try to go back to work, practice his lines for an hour more, but when you start moving your hip, like the little minx you are, he knows he's lost. 

You knew you had gotten him, when his hands find your hips, slowly helping you to grind against him. Despite him seeming cool and collected you could feel just how untrue that was. You had won. 

[theartofimagining13]

SUMMARY: Lee is married and living a happy life until his wife’s ex-husband and police detective Jeffrey shows up and uncovers his dark past. 

BASED ON THE PROMPT: “My advice is, get her a big diamond ring so she can’t see the monster she’s marrying.” | Snowy weather | First Person

WRITTEN BY: A.Wölf.

REQUESTED BY: @sigynbandraoi-blog​​ (Thank you! I legit never imagined that this would turn into 11 pages lol).

AMBIENCE: Winter cabin during snowstorm

NOTES: I changed pov from first to third a couple times throughout the story to make it work. Also, let’s not forget that this is 100% fiction and Lee and Jeffrey are just portraying these characters I created.

A bit of October and December vibes while June is on its deathbed, because why not? ;)

Enjoy!

I couldn’t say no to a huge diamond ring.

I was breathless when Lee proposed and I first saw it, and I made sure to flaunt it around that snowy afternoon when all of our friends and family were gathered in my parents’ living room to celebrate our engagement; all of us holding champagne flutes in one hand and wearing big smiles on our faces.

“Let me see.” One of my younger cousins said while grabbing my left hand to get a good look, and her mouth fell open. “This is even bigger than the one Kanye gave to Kim K, what the fuck?”

I couldn’t help but laugh and enjoy every second of it, Lee, who was standing beside me got a good chuckle over it as well.

“You know… I always wondered how you got her to say yes given that your looks were never going to cut it obviously.”  A friend of ours joked too.

Lee laughed and put his right arm around me and I felt whole; I had the most gorgeous man by my side and he loved me enough to want me to be his forever as did I.

“Well,” Lee began, “my advice is, get her a big diamond ring so she can’t see the monster she’s marrying.”

Everyone erupted into laughter and my fiancé took a sip of his champagne. I playfully smacked his arm and leaned in closer to look into his eyes.

“You’re not a monster. Don’t say that.” I said before giving him a quick peck on the lips.

He kept his arm around me and stared into my soul.

“Oh, you just wait, honey.”

Lee looked so serious when he said it that I actually couldn’t take my eyes of him for a complete minute until he scoffed. He gave me a gentle squeeze while kissing my left temple.

“I’m just messing with you.”

I had a past.

I had been married before, and I never thought that my ex-husband Jeffrey would end up showing up at my wedding, but when I walked out into the venue’s balcony, I saw him leaning against his car, in jeans and a leather jacket which told me that coming here had been an impulse. He seemed nervous and unsure, pacing back and forth until he sensed me and looked up. He just stared at me for a while but his seriousness slowly faded and turned into a smile that I mirrored.

“What are you doing here, Jeffrey?” I asked the second I joined him outside the venue.

He hesitated, as if trying to either find the right words or come up with a good lie but he seemed to give up.

“I’ve kept my distance but I heard all about it, kid.” He confessed. “I just wanted to congratulate you and wish you the best. You deserve it.” He said then joked. “You know what they say… the second one is always better than the first, or so I’ve heard.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off him while a sort of nostalgic tenderness invaded me. Jeffrey had been a very good husband but it simply didn’t work out in the end. I knew that he sometimes still blamed himself because of his job, and it tore me in two.

“So, who’s the lucky guy?”

“His name’s Lee. He’s from Oklahoma. Born and raised. We met in New York City while we were both on vacation.”

“Hm… is it too late to run a background check?”

“Easy there, detective Morgan. That’s outside your jurisdiction.” I teased.

Jeffrey smiled but then he turned serious and searched for my eyes.

“I care about you. You know that.”

“I know.” I gave a single nod. “Lee is a good man you have nothing to worry about.”

Suddenly, the radio in his car came to life and it triggered many bittersweet memories. Jeffrey was out of the house all the time. His job demanded too much of him and sometimes at the most inconvenient hours of the day. Today, all this years later, it remained the same.

“Gotta run, kid.” He said in an apologetic tone as he pulled me into an embrace.

When Jeffrey got into his car, my new husband showed up behind me.

“You disappeared on me.” Lee said but looked at my ex’s car. “Who was that?”

“My ex-husband.”

Lee tensed up a little bit.

“Is he a cop?” He asked, and I realized that he must’ve heard the radio.

“He’s a detective.” I explained.

Jeffrey glanced at us through the rearview mirror and slightly narrowed his eyes when he saw Lee. I knew that he didn’t trust him because Jeffrey didn’t trust anyone. It was his job not to. He drove off after a second, and once he was gone, Lee stood in front of me with his hands inside his pockets.

“Why didn’t you mention this before?” He cocked his head.

“I didn’t think it was necessary, Lee. I mean, you did have the right to know that I was once married before… but talking about your ex with a new partner is just…” I trailed off and shook my head.

Lee stared at me for a few seconds but nodded.

“You’re right. The past is in the past. Besides, you’re all mine now.” He said with a grin as he held my hand. “Come on, let’s go back.”

Jeffrey was in his office late at night killing two birds with one stone by working on a case while waiting for the snowstorm to pass so he could finally go home.

He removed his glasses and threw them on the desk in front of him while pinching the bridge of his nose and allowing his body to feel tired. He needed a good night’s sleep but work had been hell lately. He decided to distract himself so he grabbed his cell phone and opened the Instagram app. He spent a few minutes scrolling until he saw a photograph of his ex with a mutual friend who had posted it. Jeffrey smiled but he couldn’t resist and tapped the photograph to see if she had been tagged.

Jeffrey found himself looking at his ex’s profile and all the photographs from her honeymoon which had taken place a few months ago. He zoomed in on a picture of her posing with her new husband to get a good look at Lee. That bloodhound instinct Jeffrey had been born with made him grab the office phone and dial an old colleague’s number while still staring at his ex’s husband on his cell phone. After greeting her and making a bit of small talk, Jeffrey asked what he truly wanted to ask.

“Are you still in Oklahoma? I need a favor.”

Jeffrey was sitting in one of the diner booths having a cup of coffee while looking at the Christmas lights and decorations all around the place when his colleague showed up in a trench coat and covered in snow. She removed her gloves and scarf as she sat across from him and put them on top of her purse, next to her.

“Oh, I certainly didn’t miss this town’s ridiculous snow.” She said. “How have you been, Jeffrey?”

“You didn’t have to come all the way here. You could’ve e-mailed the file, you know?”

“I’m spending the holidays with my daughter and my grandkid.” She explained then teased. “You’re not that special.”

Jeffrey smiled and beckoned a waiter over for his colleague who ordered a black coffee, and as soon as the young guy left, she looked at Jeffrey.

“So…” She began, “why did I run a background check on this so-called Lee guy?”

“He’s involved with a friend of mine. You know me. I get curious from time to time.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“A friend?” She echoed skeptically. “You think you can lie to me after spending 10 years in your passenger seat, Morgan?”

Before Jeffrey could answer, the waiter brought the coffee pot and poured some into the empty cup in front of her. She waited for him to leave and pulled out a file folder from her purse.

“Well, Curious George, I’m afraid you’re not going to like this.” She warned as she handed it to him. “Your guy was born in Oklahoma but he lived in Texas for quite some time. So my hands were a bit tied but I called a friend who could dig into it and he sent me Lee’s file.”  

Jeffrey grabbed it and started flipping through it while his colleague delved in her purse again and pulled out a flask to add a splash of whiskey to her coffee. She held it up, offering some to Jeffrey.

“What do you say, for old time’s sake?”  She asked and Jeffrey nodded.  “Lee spent two years in prison for aggravated assault.” She carried on as she spiked his coffee. “But the whole thing is just shady as fuck. Apparently, Lee’s girlfriend at the time was having an affair and, according to her, when he found out, he lost it and beat her. He grabbed a baseball bat, drove straight to his girlfriend’s paramour’s house and ended up breaking his ribs and right leg in two places. But, according to Lee’s defense team… they were no longer together after Lee found out about the affair, and it was actually the lover who hit her and Lee acted on impulse after she came to him all bruised up.” She paused and Jeffrey looked up from the document in his hands. “But it doesn’t end there. The Jury found Lee guilty and he served his sentence but, a few days after he got out, his ex was found dead along with her lover.”

“Sounds to me like he should be rotting in the fucking can.” Jeffrey said.

His colleague shrugged.

“He had a perfect alibi.”

“Oh, come on.”

Jeffrey threw the file on the table and dragged a hand down his face, dreading the thought of his ex-wife being married and sleeping next to a possible murderer.

Being married to Lee was everything I ever dreamed of.

Christmas was just around the corner and, since it would be our first as husband and wife, we decided to rent a cabin in the mountains and spend the holidays just us two. He was outside, in the snow chopping wood for our fireplace, when a car appeared all of a sudden and entered our driveway. I stood in front of the window in our living room and recognized the vehicle, so I rushed outside. Lee had just split a log in two with his axe and he lowered it when he noticed our visitor.

Jeffrey got out of the car and my heartbeat stuttered because I couldn’t find another reason for him to show up like this other than to bring bad news. I stared at Lee with fear in my eyes but I couldn’t read him; he just stayed put a few feet away from me.

“What’s going on?” I said as Jeffrey approached me.

“Everything’s fine.” He assured but glanced at Lee and then back at me. “I need to talk to you.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Lee asked with narrowed eyes as he got closer to Jeffrey, almost standing between us.

“He’s Jeffrey. My ex-husband.”

“Oh, right. You were at our wedding.” He said and held one hand out. “Lee. The new husband. Nice to meet you.”

Jeffrey stared at my husband’s hand for an awkwardly long until he finally shook it.

“How did you find us?” Lee asked in a certain tone.

“I need to talk to your wife. In private, if you don’t mind.” Jeffrey coldly said.

I noticed that he seemed quite tense. He glanced at the axe in Lee’s left hand; he was gripping it white knuckle tight. Lee stared at me.

“Actually, I do mind.” He stated.

“What is this about, Jeffrey?” I asked starting to get a little nervous.

Jeffrey glanced at Lee.

“Do you know what I do for a living, Lee?” He inquired.

“My wife told me you’re a detective.” Lee answered expressionlessly.

“Then you know what this is about, don’t you?”

I looked at my husband confused like never before but I saw how his semblance turned somber all of a sudden and he gave Jeffrey a challenging look.

“You told me that Lee was born and raised in Oklahoma,” Jeffrey said to me, “I suspect he never mentioned that he spent a considerable amount of time in Texas, did you, Lee?”

Lee frowned and cocked his head, and I knew that he was irritated. I realized that he had never mentioned anything about Texas before. I glared at Jeffrey.

“You ran a background check on my husband, Jeffrey? I thought I told y-”

“Your husband spent two years in prison.” Jeffrey cut me off and all air left me, but he faced Lee again. “Now, do you want to tell her why or should I tell her myself?”

Lee threateningly marched towards Jeffrey and towered over him.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“What is he talking about, Lee?” I jumped in and my voice broke.

“She has the right to know the truth.” Jeffrey said through gritted teeth.

“And I have the right to tell her myself because it’s my life you’re talking about.” Lee retorted.

Jeffrey let out a sarcastic chuckle.

“Well, you should’ve done that long before you got her that big rock, don’t you think?”

Lee inched even closer to Jeffrey, and for a second, I thought he was going to hit him but I noticed how he slowly regained his composure and looked at me instead.

“I lost two years of my life in prison for something I didn’t do.” He confessed.

I convinced Jeffrey to let me and Lee talk in private and he insisted on waiting outside. We were in the kitchen, sitting at the table as Lee finally came clean.

“I was very young and involved with the wrong people back then. They fucked me over and it cost me my freedom. Whatever happened to them afterwards was just life doing its own thing.”  Lee said as he finished telling me his awful story, then he looked into my eyes and I could see the pain in his. “I never told you because I was afraid. I thought you wouldn’t believe me and you would run away from me.” He dragged his chair to get closer to me and cupped my face in his hands. “Baby, I love you more than anything in this world. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. Losing you would be the end of me.”

I didn’t know what to say; this all felt like I was hearing about two completely different people because that part of Lee’s past was so dark I couldn’t even envision him in such context. Not the Lee I knew at least. But I still felt betrayed on some level because he had kept this huge secret from me, and while I tried to understand his reasons, it was just too much and I was very overwhelmed.

I gently removed his hands from my face and I could see that it broke his heart.

“Lee, I need time to process this.” I said as I stood up.

“Yes, of course.”

“I understand that it must be unpleasant to talk about but Jeffrey was right, you should’ve told me long ago.”

I leaned against the counter and saw Lee standing up and getting closer to me. Only then I realized that I had already put distance between us out of instinct and I felt a pinch of guilt. I didn’t want to make him feel bad about his past but at the same time, I couldn’t act like it meant nothing.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Lee studied me but he looked at the floor when his eyes began to well up.

“Fuck.” He whispered and I noticed that a tear had escaped from his left eye and slid down his nose to ultimately land on the floor. He quickly wiped away the wet trail it had left behind before he faced me again. “Are you scared of me?”

He looked like a frightened little kid and it broke me. The Lee I knew was a good, hard-working man that had nothing but love to give. I inched closer to him, put one hand on his cheek and stared into his soul.

“No.” I whispered.

Lee suddenly pulled me in and crashed his lips against mine, and I could feel the relief washing over him. He held me tight against him and deepened the kiss before he pulled away. He took a step back, giving me space and put his hands on his waist.

“If you want me to leave or drive you to your parents’ I-” He began but I stopped him.

I wasn’t going to separate after one issue. I believed we could work this out in time, and it was mostly I who had to find a way to process this new information and eventually leave it where it belonged; in Lee’s past.

“Don’t be silly.” I said. “We’ll figure it out. The past is in the past, right?”

Jeffrey wasn’t happy with my decision to stay with Lee alone in the cabin, and called him a dangerous man, which led to another argument where he ended up stomping his way to his car, but he turned around before he got in and glared at my husband.

“This isn’t over.” He warned. “The death of your ex-girlfriend and her lover is still an unsolved case but I am going to change that, Lee, and I’m going to put you behind bars for the rest of your life.”

He sat behind the wheel and slammed the door shut.

Jeffrey had been driving for less than ten minutes when his car suddenly made a strange noise. He barely had time to pull over before it broke down on the snowy road.

“Oh, come on. Don’t do this to me.” He groaned.

He tried to start the engine again a few times and failed.

“Son of a bitch!” He yelled and hit the steering wheel with both hands.

He got out, lifted the hood of the car and smoke started to come out. Jeffrey glanced all around him realizing that there was nothing but snow and trees surrounding him. He put his hands on his waist and looked at the sky before letting out a long frustrated sigh.

Lee and I were making dinner when my cell phone rang and Jeffrey’s name popped up on the screen. I picked up and learned that he had car trouble and that no toll service wanted to drive all the way here, so I told him I would pick him up and drive him back to the city.

“No.” Lee said after I hung up and told him. “I’ll do it.”

“What? After everything he said to you? No, way. I’m not letting you do this.”

“Honey,” he got closer to me and wrapped his arms around my waist, “I know he didn’t approach this the right way but I can’t really blame him. After all, he cares about your wellbeing, and I appreciate that. It’s the one thing Jeffrey and I have in common.”

I gazed into Lee’s eyes and I couldn’t believe his big heart. After the way Jeffrey had behaved and treated him, if I was in Lee’s shoes, I’m not so sure I would’ve done the same. He let go of me and I watched as he went to get his jacket that was hanging near the front door.

“You’re really going to help him?”

“Yeah.” He said with a chuckle.            

I don’t know what came over me, but I just ended the distance between us again and kissed Lee like I’d never kissed him before. It even took him by surprise and he grinned against my lips, but when I put an arm round his neck, he hummed and his breathing pattern changed; we were suddenly making out like adolescents. I put my hands on his chest and ran my fingers down his abdomen until they reached his pants. Lee gently caught my wrists to stop me.

“I hate myself right now for what I’m about to say but, we don’t want to keep Jeffrey waiting in the snow, do we?” He said a little out of breath and with his forehead still pressed to mine.

“You’re right.” I whispered.

“I won’t be long.” He promised.

“I hope not.”

He chuckled and finally we broke apart and he grabbed his keys. As he walked out the door all I could do was thank my lucky stars for having married such a good man, and imagined what his return would be like after that kiss.

Jeffrey was sitting in his car when he heard another vehicle getting closer. He glanced at it through the rear view mirror and realized that it was Lee driving.

“Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me…” he muttered.

Lee parked behind Jeffrey and got out. He knocked on Jeffrey’s window and he reluctantly rolled it down and scowled at him.

“So, car trouble, huh?” Lee asked.

He smiled at Jeffrey in a certain way that made the detective utterly uncomfortable.

On Christmas morning, Lee was squatting down in front of the fireplace arranging wood to start a fire so the house would be warm when his wife woke up. He had the TV on in the background and, suddenly, a news report caught his attention. Lee stood up while the flames began to slowly consume the logs and grabbed the remote from the coffee table. He instinctively glanced over his shoulder, at his and his wife’s bedroom door that was still ajar as he had left it when he got up.

Lee slightly turned up the volume and sat on the couch as he listened to the news anchor.

“A local police detective has gone missing. The authorities have a surveillance video from a gas station where he was last seen a week ago in…”

Lee stared at the screen and a picture of Jeffrey was shown.

“Hey.”

Lee was startled at the sound of his wife’s voice and her footsteps getting closer as she entered the living room. He immediately gripped the remote and turned off the TV. He stood up and walked around the couch to greet his wife.

“Merry Christmas.” She said with a grin.

Lee realized that she hadn’t heard or seen a thing on the TV and pulled her in to give her a passionate kiss. He then held her tight and rested his chin on top of her head while lovingly rubbing her back.

“Oh, Merry Christmas indeed, love.” He sang without letting go.

Lee looked straight ahead and his lips curved into a smile.

[halethestilinskis]

"You Don't Know Who I Am?" Colin (Not Okay Movie) Imagine

AN: I did a thing!!!!! Haven't had the itch to write in a bit, but DOB always sparks it- love that man- let me know what you think, I might make a second part!

New York was a special place, full of.... special people. Tourist look at these streets like their dangerous and they will get shot if they look at a vendor the wrong way, or that food poisoning is common among the street food vendors, but in reality, these streets were your home, and you felt safer than ever here.

It was definitely expensive though, your 500sqft apartment in the city was close to $3000 a month, and you didn't make enough to cover that and other expenses, such as food, you ate a lot of ramen and chips. Cars were a luxury, but the good news about New York is you can pretty much walk anywhere. You had a crappy job interning for a magazine that didn't pay you nearly enough for the abuse you took. Writing columns in that ended up in the tiniest font on the very last page that no one cared about or bothered to read, about things you weren't even passionate about. Your parents liked to tell you, you were lucky to have this opportunity, to stick it out and see where it gets you, but it's been two years, and your boss still calls you by the wrong name, and you have to fix it every time you review the piece before it was published.

You woke up with a start, your boss was calling you before your alarm even went off, "hello?" you said sleepily, looking at the time. 6 AM, great.

"Where the hell are you?" she exclaimed, clearly frustrated. You sat in silence for a second while your stomach hit the floor, what day was it, were you supposed to be in the office early today? "If I have to repeat myself, you won't have a job."

"S-sorry" you stuttered out, about to vomit, "I didn't know you wanted me to come in early".

"Are you fucking kidding me!?" You could hear hand hit the table, "If you're not here in the next 10 minutes, you're fired- no don't give me an excuse, I don't care how far you live, get your ass in here".

Your entire body went numb, trying to think back to when she said she wanted you in the office early, you panic looked through your text messages with her, there was nothing in there, you even searched it in the search bar. Reality set in again, you jumped up , grabbed your bag and ran out the door, not bothering to get ready or dressed up, you couldn't afford to lose this job. The door closed and locked behind you. As you were waiting for the elevator you decided there was no time and took the stairs, already starting to sweat, you swung open the front door to the building, in to the cool, garbage filled air of New York, smacking face first into a bright yellow shirt and falling on your ass.

"Aye, shorty, you okay?" The blonde stranger asked, but you had no time for this. You gathered yourself together, grabbed your bag and jumped back up.

"I'm fine, sorry" you muttered frustrated. 8 more minutes or you're fired.

"Yo, you're bleeding" the stranger called after you. You looked down to see red running down your leg. "Fuck" you exhaled, starting to feel the tears of panic creep it's way out, your breathing suddenly rapid. Blood always made you feel faint.

"Oh, shit" you heard before you felt your body on the ground again, your vision a little blurry, "you good, girl?".

"I have to get to work" you gasped out, realizing you might actually lose consciousness, "call my boss", was the last thing you remembered before passing out.

Gasping for air, you woke up on the side walk, the blonde stranger kneeled beside you, your phone in his hand, "please don't steal my phone" you said, trying to take it out of his hands, but not having the energy to.

He smirked, "I don't need an iPhone 5, shorty". You rolled your eyes, seeing the glint of his Rolex in the process. "Is that the time?" you asked, suddenly alert, sitting straight up, your head was spinning, but you ignored it.

"Yeah" he said eyeing his piece, "6:07".

"Fuck" you yelled, grabbing your phone out of his hand and trying to break into a run, but your knee was hurting so badly, you had to settle for hobbling. The stranger seemingly shrugged and took a drag from his vape, turning to walk in the other direction.

You made it to the building at 6:15, 5 minutes later than what you boss had said, hoping she would just be grateful that you were here so quickly she would let the 5 minutes slide. However, in the 2 years you have been here, she has never let anything slide, and remembers everything like her life depended on it. She was waiting in your cubicle when you got there, a box next to her.

"I told you 10 minutes" she tapped her heel.

"I know" you gasped, swallowing hard, feeling the panic creep up again, "I ran out the door as soon as I got off the phone" you stated, showing your obviously poor bedtime attire, "I fell and ended up passing out for a few minutes, before I got back up and ran here", you pointed to your still bleeding leg that ran into your shoes and stained the tongue. You swallowed hard again, waiting for answer, your face burning red from both running and feeling so anxious and embarrassed. Co-workers were looking over their cubicles, their eyes wide with interest and fear.

"Y/N" she sighed, shaking her head. She knew your name? "When I say 10 minutes, I mean, 10 minutes, not 10 minutes and 3 seconds. 10 minutes. This isn't the first time we have had problems. You can pack your stuff and leave" she gave you a satisfied, fake sad smirk.

You felt rage bubble up in you, and you couldn't stop yourself, couldn't hold you tongue this time, you've been tiptoeing around this bitch for too long.

"You're a fucking joke, Cindy" you spat, " I have done nothing but walk on eggshells around you, for two years. I have submitted to every stupid request you give me. Worked overtime every week because you didn't like the way my column was formatted, or you didn't like the topic, even though that same topic was posted by someone else in this trashy magazine, a week later, and it went viral. You didn't even tell me you wanted me in early, you never even told me that you had any problems with me, so how in gods name was I supposed to know to be here at 6 AM?"

She smirked, knowing she won, "you have 2 hours to pack your things, or they will be thrown out, just like every column you ever gave me".

She walked away after that statement, her heels clicking matter of factly.

"When this magazine burns, I hope you know it was because of you" you muttered, shooting daggers into her back. You gave one last frustrated huff, and started packing your things, not letting her get the satisfaction of seeing you cry. However, you did make sure you left a nice bloodstain on the carpet when you knelt down, something to remember you by, or something to cost her money. Both would be better.

It took longer than expected to pack everything, you only expected to be there for 20 minutes or so, but turns out, you had a ton of crap here, all over the office, it took you over an hour to get everything neatly into the box Cindy gave you. Unpacking and repacking several times to make it all fit.

You held your head high as you walked to the elevator, hitting the down button and waiting impatiently for the doors to open. Cindy was looking at you as got into the elevator and turned around, you made sure you held eye contact until the doors closed. You hit ground floor, but it ended up stopping at level 2 for another person.

He glanced up from his phone at you and then back down to his phone. It took him a minute to side step you and press ground level, even though it was already lit up. He glanced over at you above the ray bans he was wearing.

"Aye, shorty, your the girl that passed out on the street this morning" he chuckled, chewing his gum and showing his perfect teeth.

"That's me" you groveled, not interested in having a conversation.

"You good?" he asked, taken a little aback, furrowing his eye brows.

"Got fired" you muttered, holding your box a little higher.

"Shit, that blows" he stated, then looked back at his phone. You wondered what he was doing here, did he follow you?

"Do you work here or something?" you managed to ask.

"Yeah, baby" he grinned, "I'm Colintheweedguy".

You're not sure if he expected you to know who he was, and you weren't one to hurt another's ego, so you just said "oh, cool".

His face dropped, he eyed you over his sunglasses again, and the door opened up to let you out of the elevator. He looked a little shocked and you didn't know what to say, so you just awkwardly smiled and walked away.

Colin walked out behind you, you could feel his eyes on your back.

"Aye, Colin" someone called, your turned around quickly for a peak to watch him dap up a friend and then make eye contact with you. Your whole face turned red, and you quickly turned around so he wouldn't see, and hurried to the door.

"Wait up, girl" he called and jogged up beside you, holding the door open that you were trying to shove open with your foot, "did you work here?".

"Yeah" you said as you tried to reposition your box so it wouldn't fall.

"And you don't know who I am?" he asked, a confused smirk on his face.

"No" you stated flatly, once again, not interested in conversation.

"Who'd you work for?" He asked, offering to grab your box for you, which you refused.

"Cindy on the 4th floor" you huffed, still trying to position your box so it was comfortable to carry for 10 blocks.

Colin took it out of your hands "Ha" he shook his head, "shorty's a bitch".

You were taken aback a little but relieved he agreed with you, and you instantly felt a little more comfortable in his presence. You chuckled, smiling for the first time today.

"That's who I was telling you to call when I was passing out" you stated.

"You couldn't pay me to call that girl" his demeanor suddenly changing. You didn't see when, but his sunglasses were no longer on the tip of his nose so he can look over them, but instead in the right place, he wasn't walking with a swagger anymore, and he lost the fuck boy accent real quick. You decided not to mention it.

"Where do you work?" you asked.

"Depravity" he stated, still speaking normally, "second floor".

"Ah" you nodded, "so you're a social media star".

"Hell yeah I am, baby" he said proudly, the accent coming back. He handed the box back to you and started to walk with that swagger again. You cocked an eyebrow at him as he took a hit from his vape.

"Colin!" you heard someone scream, "Aye, yo, Colin!". He looked around and found them across the street as he blew the smoke out of his mouth and nose, basically blinding him, he waved.

"Sup my dudes" he yelled back, lowering his sunglasses again like he was Mike from Jersey Shore. You rolled your eyes and kept walking. His little fan boys went away, and he caught up to you, "they love me out here".

"I can see that" you stated, raising your eye brows, "your demeanor changed real quick when you saw them and thought I knew who you were".

"Nah, I'm the same person, I ain't fake and shit" he looked offended.

"Okay" you stated, not continuing this conversation, "this is me".

"Shit, girl, you live in the slums" he chuckled, taking another hit on the vape.

"Thanks" you rolled your eyes and typed in the code to your building.

"Hit me up on Insta" he called as the door closed. You shook your head, confused about this day.

You hit the button to go up to your apartment, allowing yourself a moment of silence on the ride up, letting the events of today sink in. The bell dinging brought you out of your thoughts. The building was seemingly empty, everyone was at work, which simply reminded you, you were unemployed. You kicked the door open after unlocking it and placed your box on your counter, sighing deeply and heading to your bed.

You weren't sure what the next few months would bring, you didn't have money saved up to stay here, and your parents weren't the most inviting people. You let a quiet sob out, tears hitting your comforter, and crashed back. You'll figure it out, you always do., but for now, it's okay to mourn a bit.

[haruhey]

Mind If I Join You?

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Word count: 13k (i am SO SORRY i got carried away and this fic turned out SO FILTHY but i hit 300 followers so consider this a gift??)

Established Relationship Fluff | Smut

There’s only one bed shower, and Daryl Dixon is an opportunist.

the request:

every single fic of yours is seriously amazing. ur a great writer!! can i request a daryl shower smut bc wooweeeee

There’s always a giddiness inside Daryl when he returns from runs. No more sleeping in the RV for nights on end, no more eating cold canned chicken soup and - as much as he liked Aaron - no more hearing him talk about how much he missed Eric and making him miss you, too. He’s exhausted, his muscles sore from overuse, but the fact that you’re probably curled up in bed makes him so damn excited that all the ailments of his aging body are swiftly forgotten with each step he takes.

Houses fly by in a blur as he ramps up into a jog, his feet taking him to the dim light of a moving lantern in your shared bedroom window. By Daryl’s estimate, it couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11pm, but time meant little in the apocalypse - it was either dark out, or light and with the days getting shorter, he noticed you using the lantern more and more frequently. Just a few days ago, you had fallen asleep curled up on his chest, the soft orange light filling the room before he strained his body trying to turn it off without waking you. The next morning he had a terrible cramp running from his rib up to his bicep, but he never complained. Not even a wince in your presence since he thought the soreness was worth it. He would rather die several times over than lose the image he saw - of your pillowy lips taking soft, steady breaths of air while you slept against his bare skin.

Smiling, he lets himself remember the way you looked when he first gifted it to you, a grin that spread to the apples of your cheeks and crinkled at your eyes plastered on your face. It wasn’t a perfect replica, but it looked close enough to the one you would both light on nightwatches in the prison - which he thinks was when he first realized he loved you. Daryl also remembers the first night he saw you use it, the memory so vivid in his mind that he felt like if he reached out, the soft fabric of your pajamas would welcome his touch.

He could picture it now, your back against the headboard, reading one of the books that littered the shelves he never touches. Your face bathed in the lantern’s hue while your eyes scanned the pages and drinking in every word of whatever you were holding. He plucked that book right out of your hands that night and pulled you onto his lap, kissing the pout off your face until you weren’t annoyed at him anymore, rendered down to just laughing against his lips.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get home and see you again.

Daryl curses under his breath as he fumbles a little with the doorknob, but the profanities are quickly replaced with a huff of accomplishment as he practically sprints to the bedroom, boots shucked off haphazardly at the front door. He skips every other stair with long strides, desperate to feel you in his arms. When he enters the bedroom, he places his crossbow on the dresser and is surprised to see the room as dark as it is, the only source of illumination being the moon as it streams through the windows. The bed is empty and the blankets are strewn to your side, but neither you nor your pajamas are anywhere in sight. Panic flies through him before he registers the unmistakable sounds of the shower running, and he scoffs at himself when he sees the dim orange light peeking from beneath the bathroom door.

Had you known how worried he was for a second, you would have laughed at him. He was already so protective of you before the two of you got together, but it was another level entirely when you both made it official. It wasn’t just losing you to the dead anymore - it was also losing you to other people. Daryl knew you could take care of yourself, he had seen you hold your own on runs in the prison and trips outside the Alexandrian gates, but, God, if anything happened to you he wouldn’t know what to do. Being apart from you once when the Governor attacked was already almost too much for him to handle, but the thought of losing you and having to be okay with the fact you were never going to love him again? That was something he never wanted to experience.

Leaning against the wall, he pulls off his belt and places it next to his crossbow, his vest following not long after. The mattress squeaks slightly when he makes his way over to it and lies down, his body feeling almost instant comfort at the feeling of something other than the hard leather of his bike’s seat. Days like this made him think that maybe you were right in jokingly telling him that his motorcycle was a dumb choice for long runs - his tailbone was probably shaped like a rectangle from how long he’d been sitting on his ass.

A few moments pass as he allows himself to indulge in some rest, eyes closing and already in the first stages of a slumber before he shoots up, pushing himself to the edge of the mattress and sitting straight. Fuck, he needed to shower. He had given you his word that he would. Each time before he fell asleep after a run, he’d said; and Daryl Dixon was not one to break promises. Especially not to you.

Getting off the bed, he sheds his shirt and throws the old fabric onto the dresser, grimacing at the knowledge he would have to scrub at the dried walker blood come morning. His socks are next, pulled off by impatient hands and left on the floor, not even given a second glance as he then pulls open a drawer and grabs a pair of boxers from his meager pile. The only thought in his mind being the feeling of smooth sheets and your body against his skin. He’d pick up his clothes after his shower - if he could even muster up enough energy to.

Step by step, he makes it a good few feet out of the bedroom before he realizes the other second floor bathroom doesn’t work. If his memory served him correct, there were some plumbing issues and, before anyone could buy replacements, the world became, well, what it is now. After all, it was the only reason you and Daryl even took this house - nobody else wanted to have only one shower and, after becoming a couple, sharing one between two people didn’t seem all that bad. At least, that’s what he thought until now. Groaning, he rubs his eyes in an attempt to rub out the fatigue in them before his whole body lights up with an idea. Maybe he could have some fun with this. And if you asked, he could always blame the missing pipe or whatever it was that the Alexandrians couldn’t fix.

Practically thrilled, he mentally pats himself on the back and rushes back to the bedroom. Tired? Not anymore. Daryl can’t be if he wants to fulfill what just popped into his mind. Years of hunting leave his footsteps nearly silent when he enters the bathroom, but he’s not exactly at a disadvantage in terms of noise. The rhythmic beating of water against the tiled floor drowns out the slight squeak of the door as well as the hitching of his breath when he notices the gap. With how the room was designed, just standing at the door led his gaze in a nearly direct line of sight to you, the shower curtain lying an inch or two from the wall and offering him a vision which he doesn’t hesitate to indulge in.

It’s not like he's never seen your body - far from it, actually - but there was something about you that made him hesitate when it came to stuff like this. You deserved sweet and soft, affectionate with declarations of love between his kisses, and while he enjoyed giving that to you, sometimes he wanted something different. Sometimes Daryl wanted to act on impulse - to feel a different type of desperation - and tonight, he wanted to act out one of his long-hidden fantasies. One that involved you on many, many occasions.

Truthfully, he couldn’t fucking stop thinking about it since Merle and his buddies showed him that damn VHS as a hormonal high schooler. He never really had a committed girlfriend or anything like that to ever even pluck up the courage to ask, but that fantasy remained like a phantom in the back of his mind, lying just outside his finger’s reach. One that haunts him late at night and renders him withering in his own palm. At least, that was the case. Because he has you now and how he managed that? He didn't know. But he felt confident enough around you and trusted you enough to pursue the desire in him.

A shiver courses through him, running along the tip of his spine when he considers the possibility you might like it as much as him - and if you did, maybe he would divulge to you more of these secrets he’s always kept hidden so well.

With silent movements, Daryl unbuttons and unzips his jeans as he leans against the door of the bathroom, just barely suppressing a groan when his fingers graze the zipper. He curses himself, chastising his sensitivity at the mere image of you doing something as mundane as taking a shower, but he knew it was an inevitable consequence. Ever since the prison, anything you did got him riled up - even just seeing you sitting on his motorcycle made his skin light up with goosebumps. Left in only his boxers, he steps out of the denim pooling at his feet and picks it up, throwing it haphazardly onto the cream coloured counter as he waits for you to take notice of his presence. The metal button clashes against the smooth marble of the vanity, and its noises sound across the room, your eyes opening and your fingers catching the edge of the plastic curtain as you dart your head out, searching for the source.

Your body tenses up, no doubt the experience of living out on the road for so long, but the fighting instinct drains from you the moment you see the affectionate boyish grin playing on Daryl’s lips. It’s barely visible as he stands so far from the meager light source, but it sends an eager smile onto your face. Like all those times he’s returned to you, you want to run to him, feel his arms wrap around you and inhale his scent as you plant those incessant kisses he ‘hated’ everywhere on his face, but that urge only serves to remind you that you’re standing naked in a shower and he’s just staring at you.

“Daryl! What the- I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

Embarrassed, you speak, voice pitched higher than normal from the shock and excitement coursing through your body. However, he stays put, leaning against the door as he drags his eyes up the expanses of skin afforded to him; that is, until you pull the plastic curtain to cover yourself and run your free hand through your hair, tilting your head ever so slightly in order to urge his eyes to meet yours. You wait for his response as you brush the wet strands back from your face, but it never comes, him instead choosing to stride towards you and send you a pout before pulling petulantly at the shower curtain, trying to coax you to let go of it. Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, your grip loosens and he can barely hold back his excitement when you really do let go, tongue peeking out for just a second before he hooks his lip between his teeth.

Throughout your relationship with Daryl, you learned he loved looking at you, gawking at and admiring each angle, birthmark and curve until you felt heat flush through your body. Even before the two of you got together, his gaze stuck on you, longing and soft when you weren’t looking, only hardening if your eyes ever met his. Each time he saw you it was like he was still in disbelief that you were his, forever suspended in the wide look he had when you first confessed to him, hence why you didn’t pay much attention to his stare as you moved to pump out some shampoo. You didn’t really know why he was in the bathroom and he made no effort to tell you, but you were here to clean yourself. So that’s what you’ll do. He’ll probably leave sooner or later after making sure you weren’t hurt anywhere, anyways.

The way the light from the lantern bounced off your glistening skin made you look like some sort of goddess. Like an otherworldly being he shouldn’t be looking at. Or like a succubus, sinfully tantalizing, except you didn’t know what you were doing to him as you raked your hands through your hair again, bubbles forming already between your fingers as you scrubbed. Shit, this was way better than he expected, and he’s gladly taking in everything it was offering. Shifting his weight, he clenches and unclenches his fists - commanding himself to keep them at his sides - but then you turn around, allowing the water to rush down your back and his resolve withers away as he tries not to envy the path along which it’s falling.

Soon, the little space between the shower curtain and the ceramic tiling isn’t enough for him. He needs to feel you against him, his trembling hands and suffocating boxers egging him on like this was the first time he’s ever seen you naked. Clearing his throat, he urges himself to move, building his confidence which had seemed to dissipate nearly immediately as you locked eyes with him. What he wanted to do wasn’t sweet or affectionate, and even though he knew you would tell him if you didn’t like it, he just didn’t really want to risk even doing something you didn’t like in the first place.

“Sorry I, uh, I’ll go rinse out my hair somewhere else. Here, I’ll get out so you can-”

This was it. He had to act now or he’ll lose the opportunity. Running his thumb across his bottom lip, he watches as your hand reaches for the shower valve, but your movements and voice stop when Daryl shoots his dominant hand out, the calloused skin wrapping around your wrist in a warmth that makes you snap your gaze to his. While firm, he never applies enough force to hurt you - he knows what kind of men there were in this world, and he didn’t know what he would do if you ever thought of him like that. On the contrary, the feeling of his fingers around you is welcome, especially after what felt like years away from him. Giving him that same inquisitive look, except this time laced with a small smile, you can tell by the way he’s gnawing at his lip that he has something to say. Something that has him hesitating in a way you’ve never really seen him hesitate before, well, besides the first time you both kissed.

“Actually, mind if I join ya? ‘Cause ya see, the other shower don’t work and there’s this girl - my girl - she’s amazin’, but she doesn’t let me into our bed ‘til I shower and I’m damn tired.”

Oh.

Noticing the way you tense up slightly at his suggestion, he offers more, another reason to sway you into accepting as if the pursuit of his little fantasy would both begin and end with what drops from his lips. This definitely felt more daunting, like a much larger leap than him asking for permission to kiss you.

“I also heard showerin’ in pairs saves water.”

Oh.

Yeah, you get why he was hesitating now.

Honestly, Daryl really couldn’t give a fuck about the water he was talking about. What he had in his running mind had little to do with his environmental footprint and more to do with feeling your skin on his and the image of you coming undone for him. He hasn’t been home - been with you - in what felt like weeks, and he thought the generator could stand to work a little harder after running for one person for a few days. With a slight upwards twitch of his eyebrow, you can feel what little apprehension you had leave your body and his heart pounds in his ribcage with the anxiety of what’s to come. At least, he thinks that’s why its beating at 100 miles per hour.

It surely can’t be the residual hormonal anticipation or excitement from his youth.

“And who exactly did you hear that from?”

The slight joking edge to your voice causes him to smile, but it’s a mischievous one, one that holds promises and sends a shiver through your body. Daryl really had no clue what he did to you when he looked at you like that, his piercing blue gaze hitting you as his head tilts down almost sheepishly to the grip he has on you.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a glint residing in them that draws you to look at nothing but him as he runs his thumb along the bone of your wrist. With a tilt of his head, he speaks, muttered as he gnaws once more at his lips and lets go of his hold.

“It matter?”

So nobody, probably.

The amusing thought sends you shaking your head ‘no’ as you smile, pulling open the plastic curtain in invitation while trying to suppress the idea that just popped into your head. Daryl just wants to shower and the only reason he wants to shower with you is to fulfill that promise he had made. Because he just wants to go to sleep. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, he’s hopeful that you would be watching him - and he’s fully prepared to make a show of stripping his last piece of fabric - but he’s sorely disappointed when he sees your eyes closed in an attempt to keep the bubbling shampoo from burning at them.

Why weren’t you looking at him? Was he not overt enough?

Wow, he really wasn’t very good with… whatever it is he’s trying to do, huh?

You shuffle forward from the steady stream and he takes that as his cue to step in, gladly placing his body just a few inches from yours and sighing in relief when the water hits his sore muscles. The sounds don’t go unnoticed by you, and your heart sinks a little with each suppressed groan of pain Daryl lets out. He always worked so hard for Alexandria, and they still treated him like somewhat of an outsider, questioning his true intentions with harsh looks when he even so much as walked too close to them. But they didn’t seem to mind him much when they were eating the animals he hunted, though, and that sent your blood boiling.

Turning around, you try not to let your gaze drop too low as you place your hands on his shoulders, frowning when you feel the stiff knots that have burrowed their way underneath his skin. Almost immediately, Daryl submits to your touch, an all too familiar warmth bubbling in his heart as he, too, turns and exposes his scar ridden skin to you, allowing your thumbs to rub circles into his upper back. He always loved this - the domesticity of these moments, the wordless communications, your love and affection directed solely at him - and he’s starting to forget the real reason he crashed your shower in the first place, lulled into relaxation under your nimble fingers and the water beating down on his overworked muscles.

“Does that feel better?”

Your question warrants a response landing somewhere between a grunt and a groan, but then you laugh and he swears his heart swells tenfold. He missed hearing that. Even if you got embarrassed of it sometimes, or hid it muffled behind the palms of your hands, he loved hearing it. Because you glowed when you did, your eyes crinkling up at the corners with a smile that almost always brought him to his knees, and perhaps almost selfishly, the knowledge that he doesn’t want to be away from you any longer dawns on him - as well as the knowledge that it’s inevitable that he has to leave again soon. Whether it be with Aaron or Rick, or some of the poor bastards that piss their pants whenever they see him.

When you stop your ministrations, he feels himself frowning as you tap him once with your thumbs, but he elates almost immediately when you speak promise of a better massage come morning. He’s slightly ashamed of the way his whole body lights up in goosebumps in anticipation, but it’s not unwarranted. Spending late mornings with you was something Daryl never knew how the hell he had lived so long without, and they were his favourite types of mornings by a long shot. Especially when it ended up more often than not with you on him or him on you, the both of you thankful for the misfit house you had all to yourselves and away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

“You’re too damn good to me.”

But he deserves it, you think to yourself, He deserved to be cared for like this.

His praise drips with a softness he didn’t even know he was capable of until you came along and Daryl turns back around to face you, smirking lopsided when he sees a shy smile worm its way onto your face. He had to have known what he was doing when he said stuff like that - especially when he used a voice like that. Seriously, how long had the two of you been together? It felt like an eternity already, but he could still make you flustered from a simple compliment. Shaking your head, you rest your wrists at the nape of his neck and use the leverage to pull his lips to yours, thumb swiping at the blood dried at his cheek and hoping the distraction of your tongue on his will keep him from teasing the warmth crawling up your neck.

A ‘hm?’ noise falls from him, small and surprised as his eyebrows raise for just a moment before his hands loop around your waist by instinct. When you pull away, another noise falls from Daryl, but this time it’s more disappointed than anything, and he chases your lips with his bottom one jutted out, taking full advantage of the strong arms he has wrapped around you. Holding you in place, his eyes plead with the now perfected ‘one more’ look you’re all too familiar with and you can’t bring yourself to deny him - he knows you can’t. Closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he waits patiently, he hums when you finally kiss him again, his satisfaction vibrating down to the hollow center of your collarbones before begrudgingly letting you go when you pull away again.

The water runs a brownish red from the dried walker blood being washed off his body and he scrubs furiously at his arms, trying to gauge the right move that will get your thighs shaking and your moans bouncing off the ceramic tiles he’s seen less than he’s willing to admit. Should he just… go for it? Just pull you against him and push you up against the walls he wants your noises to echo off of? No, he should come up with a better idea. You deserved a better idea.

Running his thumb along his jaw, Daryl sneaks furtive glances at your body - who the hell he was hiding them from, he didn’t know - and picks even more skin off his chapped lips as he watches you twist at your waist ever so slightly to comb through your hair. Swallowing down his spit like some teenager, he watches your shoulder blades protrude and disappear, intently following the droplets of water as they fall along your neck and down the muscles you’ve developed. He had to hand it to the sorry rich prick who had designed this house because, all things considered, they did a pretty good job; there was just enough spread of it between the two of you to pass as a decent shower. Even if you or him had to oddly angle yourselves to warm a cool patch of skin.

Reaching towards the shampoo bottle, his arm brushes against your waist almost feather-light, but it sends a shiver through you, rattling your ribs and making your cheeks flush all the same. Daryl lingers for a moment longer than you expect, his body leaning as he stretches over and you think he’s going to step forward - wrap you up in him - but dutifully, respectfully, anxiously he stays put. You want his touch, especially after nights alone with only the scent of him on his side of the bed to keep you company, and, having caught a quick glance at his straining boxers before he joined, there’s little room for doubt in your mind that he wants you. But still, it exists.

Your own arms begin to sore when he finally pulls away, his hands now raking through the hair he seemingly never wants to cut. Clearing your throat, you turn around, eyes screwed shut as you face Daryl, fearing for both the shampoo you’re washing out stinging at your eyes and the fact that if you looked at him, your gaze would probably drop. God, was all it took just a few days without him to have you craving him like this? The close proximity coupled with the knowledge he’s standing next to you naked makes you tense up before a shiver runs up your spine, your thoughts causing your breath to hitch for barely a second. Despite your efforts to suppress it, your subconscious prays that he picks up on the little noise. Please let him pick up on it.

And he does, ever observant as he connects the dots, the initially surprised look on his face melting into a small anticipatory smirk before he all but races to lather his hair in the coconut - or was it grapefruit? - scent. This was good. This was damn good.

He dares take a step forward, tentative, testing out the waters as if he was unsure of your desire, but he knows he can read you, and that he can do it well. This was when he should do something, right? The subtle confirmations - a tense, a shiver, a hitching breath - beg him to. Under the streaming shower, Daryl impatiently scrubs at his scalp, teeth hooked permanently atop his lip as he watches the rivulets of watered-down shampoo catch along your skin, his fingers and mouth itching to replicate its path down your neck to your chest. He knows that path well, and perhaps that’s what makes him even more envious.

Thank God for the fact you’ve closed your eyes because if anybody saw Daryl right now, they would take a step back, maybe even several thinking he was angry. How could they not when he was glaring at you as if you had done something horrible? It’s a surprise to him, the fact that it seemed like you really could not feel the burn of his stare, but then a thought pops into his lust-fogged brain. Maybe you did know. And maybe you were toying with him, playing coy and pushing him to a teetering edge, letting him taste the tension on his tongue until he could hold back no more.

To say he’s impatient is an understatement. He isn’t simply impatient, no, he’s impatient. He wants to do something. He wants you to do something, to initiate the flurry of hands and lips he’s craving so desperately and, seemingly blind to that triad of signals, he scrubs frantic at his hair in an attempt to control himself. As he rinses out the shampoo, he manages to cling onto what little restraint he had over his body until you turn back around. It was like the universe was egging him on, trying to break his resolve by showing him those dimples on your lower back, reminding him of the way he gripped them when he took you that night before he left - and it works. Jesus fucking Christ does it work.

Daryl’s body crowds you then, muscular arms wrapped around either side of your waist and rough hands palming at your chest before sliding down to your stomach, pulling you flush into him while he grinds his hips experimentally against your body. The feeling catches you off-guard, eyes widening in surprise as you let out a gasp into the steam of hot water and you grip harshly at his forearm, attempting to steady yourself from the sensations blossoming from your thighs. He can feel them tense and begin to snap closed against him, but you hear the corners of his mouth twitch upwards with satisfaction.

“What- what are you doing?”

Restless, his fingers travel downwards, hooking a strong thigh between your two legs as he ignores your question, them parting immediately to accommodate him. Daryl’s veins thrum with adrenaline, feeling the all too familiar effects of your warm skin when he realizes you’re letting him do this - enjoying him, even - your hands pawing at his to beg him to speed up, to bring you that nirvana he loves to be the reason for. Heat flushes your body, knowing full well what he’s capable of, but despite it, your skin erupts into goosebumps under his touch, desperate for more.

“What’s it look like ‘m doin’?”

Your neck comes under his affection next, his lips meeting it as he mumbles the words against your pulse point, tongue darting out when he feels it speed up. Almost methodically, Daryl finds the marks he’d left days prior, darkening them with unadulterated determination and rolling his hips against you once more. The heavy motion draws a whine from you, short and needy as your nails dig into his wrist and he all but basks in it. God, this felt good. How the hell had he spent so long without you? Without your skin under his? Everything about you feels like a fucking drug to him.

“D-Daryl- what would your girl say.”

He smiles against your neck, a warm pride bubbling in his chest when he hears the slight shake in your voice. It always got like this when he was touching you, and he liked to think it was the anticipation raking through your body. All the possibilities he could bring to you. He loved listening to your voice as it was, but hearing it quaver as it bounced off the ceramic walls, mingled perfectly with the rhythmic thrum of water crashing against the two of you? It was almost alarming how quickly it made his head spin.

Submitting to your urging, he lets you slide his hands down to the apex of your thighs, groaning guttural into your ear when he feels your hips lift and rut into his touch, unintentionally grinding your ass onto his cock when you push yourself back onto him. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, you hear his breaths as he digs his palm an inch below your pelvis, thick fingers gripping harsh at your inner thighs as he nudges his further between them. It feels like fucking magic, whatever he’s doing, and a plea tingles at your lips before you bite it down. Daryl’s never been this bold, and this is new territory for the two of you. Very new. So you were going to let him take his time - let him explore every inch of your skin as if he didn’t already have it memorized - despite the fact every cell in your body screams for you to sink down on him right here and now.

His grip disappears too quickly for your taste, but before you can even register the decadent sear that marks his blunt fingernails and calluses, his palm makes home just below your stomach and he swipes two fingers against you, spreading you for him but avoiding that bundle of nerves you want so desperately for him to touch. An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips as he gathers evidence of your arousal, and the sound of him makes you claw at his wrist, your hands still blanketing his as you try to angle him to do something other than coat his fingers and smear you across your inner thighs. Amused, his middle finger curls, breaching you just until his first joint before pulling away, relishing in the way you clench as if trying to keep him in you.

“Hm, I dunno. What do ya think she’d say? I think she likes it.”

You can hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he feels your body react and you can practically see it behind your closed eyelids. Daryl knows all your buttons, every single movement that renders you down to a puddle of mush, but he’s avoiding them. His jaw clenches and unclenches as you buck your hips up to try and meet the talented fingers only getting further and further and further from you. Skin warm from the streaming water and the sheer amount of lust coursing through him, his left arm snakes upward, resting just under your breasts before pulling your shoulders flush against him. His teeth sneak out from behind his lips, grazing against that spot that made your thighs shake the first time you slept with him, and you become putty in his hands.

A gasp of Daryl’s name falls before a staggered whimper erupts from your throat, his hands moving so fast and sure along your body as if he had molded you to his perfection. Everything hits you at the same time, his sharp canines right below your jaw bone before they melt into the caress of slightly chapped lips, the hand at your chest palming and tweaking and toying like there was no tomorrow, his fingers swirling, nudging at that tiny bundle of nerves you’ve been silently begging him to touch just once, and you can’t stop the noises falling from your lips. No matter how much you try, they escape.

“Or d’ya think she’s too busy moanin’ for me to tell me?”

Oh, that fucking prick.

To make it worse, you can’t even bring yourself to be angry for that long because his voice drops into that low, husky whisper that makes your knees go weak. Had Daryl not essentially smothered you against his body, you just know you would be a puddle, pliable and aching after just a few days away from him. A jolt of pleasure rockets through you the moment you realize what he wants - to make you as desperate as he is for this - and you know he knows exactly how to get it. Biting your lip, you trap your sounds in your throat just to spite him and you dig your fingers into his forearm, seeking in any way to find another outlet for all the compounding stimulation he just keeps giving you.

Your heartbeat drums through your ears and you can barely register the growl against your skin, but the vibration of it is inescapable. He feels the crescent shapes already forming from your nails on his tan skin and he pulls his face from you, breath fanning your ear in preparation to express how disappointed he is at you robbing him of your noises, but you beat him to it, freeing the words that burn at your tongue to knock him off his high-horse. Daryl was never a very confident man, but fuck if it does not make your skin tingle.

“I think she’d tell you to- to shut up.”

The rebuke is futile, a stutter brought on by the push and pull of his deft fingers and he laughs. Daryl chuckles into your skin before everything from him detaches, only for him to grab at your waist and spin you around to face him, adjusting his hold to crowd you once more. Your back hits the ceramic tiles, a sharp whine escaping you at the contrasting cold, and you can see that smirk you had envisioned on his face when you open your eyes, taking in every inch of the swept back hair now falling into his face as he tilts his forehead slowly to yours. Running your non-dominant hand up from his arm to his face, you push the strands back, smiling slightly at the way he melts as his eyelids flutter shut for just a second. As much as he said he hated how damn soft you made him, he sought after your touch, your hands much too intoxicating for him to deny them.

You glow a ring of delicate orange from the lantern shining behind him, the light bouncing off your glistening skin and those sparkling damn eyes that shine with unguarded affection despite your ‘annoyance’ from just moments ago. Creating shadows over your body with his broad figure as he blankets you, Daryl nearly groans with delight at the image - the realization that you look impossibly better with the warm hue making his head spin. And when he remembers that you’re his to love? He tries to hide just how much it makes his mind run, but his voice comes spilling out without much thought, everything about you shrinking the filter between his brain and mouth that he so tenaciously keeps on during the day.

“That so? ‘Cause if I do then I can’t tell ‘er how much I missed her. Or what I was thinkin’ when I thought about ‘er at night.”

Daryl was already so worked up at the thought of doing this to you, you didn’t even need to actually do anything to him to have him throbbing against your stomach, begging to be touched after days of only imagined scenarios to keep him company. So you indulge him, tracing your dominant hand down the V-line of his pelvis and biting your tongue when his hips snap into your grasp, his grip at your waist tightening as he tries to still himself. He wants you to touch him, to let you give him what you want to give him and he tries his damndest to control himself, instead using his words to try and rile you up.

“Nothin’ I do feels as good as her. Nothin’ I’ve tried’s ever been close.”

Your whole body shivers at the insinuation, the ceramic sandwiching you to Daryl ceasing to feel as cold as it did when he first pushed you against it. He feels like centuries have passed when your hand finally wraps around him, running your fingers in a stroke that has him groaning and nearly keeling over you with how much that simple damn action makes heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Everything about this feels heightened, the steam of the shower failing in comparison to the heat pinging between the two of you. His eyes seek yours, cock twitching and catapulting him much farther to his climax than he would like to admit when he sees you watching your grasp, lips parted ever so slightly, pleading with him to lay his on them.

Heart thrumming in his chest, another groan of an expletive followed by your name drops from Daryl before his hips jerk forward, stuttering into your grip with no real rhythm as he pushes a rough kiss onto your mouth. When you let out a little surprised squeal, he pulls himself back immediately, as if shocked by his own lack of self-control, but your hand never stops, and your face leans closer towards his, the feeling of his ruined sounds vibrating along your tongue making you chase him. This must have been how he felt when he had you whimpering for him on those late nights and early mornings. No wonder you both loved them so much.

Twisting your other hand from the side of his neck to his nape, you pull him to you with equal fervor, the stroking of his cock forgotten in favour of his chapped lips turning into something more sinful with each movement of his talented mouth. His fingers begin to wander now, eagerly grasping at the two dimples at your lower back before his palms find all too familiar territory kneading and massaging your ass. Knees nearly buckling, you remember the leaking heaviness twitching in your grip and you nudge him between your thighs, your legs spreading just a bit wider as you inch him closer and closer and closer to where you need it most.

“N-no, wait- I gotta-“

His hands shoot downwards to still yours and he pulls his hips from you, his statement stuttered through a sharp, shaky breath. Whining, you nearly beg for him before you realize he succeeded in what he set out to do - and he was only gone four days, your subconscious chastises. Your head is swimming in desperation for him as you shake it, hair whipping into your face and onto the wall while you vehemently disagree with both his words and your own internal mocking. All coherent thoughts leave your mind, washed away in the stream of water running down your body and you come to the conclusion that you don’t fucking care if he would poke fun at you come morning, you need to feel him.

“Daryl you don’t need to- you can just- I can-“

You don’t need to keep-

You can just-

I can-

God, you sounded pathetic, your voice barely breaking above breathy through the heavy beating of water, and he loves it, it’s enticing him; he could die right now and he would feel nothing but satisfaction. Daryl was never a very confident man - well, with people at least - but around you, he felt wanted. Not just in moments like this when you craved him so debaucherously, but in moments when you would pull close to him while you were sleeping or hug him from the back. Just giving him your affection so freely and not expecting any back. It made his heart damn near break everytime he had to leave. Adjusting his grip on you, he digs his knee into the wall, perching you on either side of him and leaning closer and closer to your burning skin.

“Gotta get ya ready. Jus’- jus’ be a good girl an’ be patient. Don’t want ya limpin’ tomorrow ”

Despite his words, Daryl can’t help but think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be so bad to linger beside you the whole day, a constant reminder of the real reason you needed him to get you things, or why you would grip his arm as a piss poor substitute for a crutch when the two of you walked along the street. Nobody else would know - at least, neither of you would ever tell - but the satisfied puff of his chest and the fact he stands just a little bit prouder might make them connect the dots. That, and the lovebites that creep out from underneath the neckline of your shirt which, coincidentally, only seemed to darken after he came back. Nah, he thinks to himself, it wouldn’t be so damn bad.

“I thought you were tired.”

There’s a hint of concern in your voice, peeking out from between the teasing and he grunts, acknowledging your words before his hands wrap around your wrists and urges them to loop around his neck. He knows he needs to do this, the action a silent beg for you to just relax and let him treat you right in the way you know he always will. With his neck flush in the crooks of your elbows, you tug him, pulling his face to yours and raking your fingers through his wet hair.

“Never too tired for you.”

His stubble scrapes against your nose as he mumbles his confession between kisses down from your forehead, a delicious burn leaving a trail that makes your heart beat impossibly faster between your ribs. Grip falling to your waist, Daryl’s rough fingers inch towards the apex of your thighs, but he moves them so fucking slow you're tempted to just reach down and push them into you like you intended to do with his cock. Before you can entertain the idea any longer, he catches your lips in a clash of tongue and teeth and knowingly smirks against your lips. He’s dedicated, attentive, and what kind of man would have the heart to deny you? He would do anything for you, all you had to do was ask.

Daryl eagerly swallows the moan you let out against his lips when his middle finger curls into you, the vibrations spreading along his tongue and consuming him from the inside out. Your thighs spread wider for him, welcoming him - no, begging him - for more and it riles him up almost comically well. Whether it was intentional or not, he would never know. He pulls his face away just inches, breath heavy against your parted lips before he sends you a small smile, an underlying mischief peeking out from the tiniest sliver of teeth he exposes. Leaning more of his weight onto his knee, his left hand travels around your waist to your ass, digging his dull fingernails into the flesh and pulling towards him, bringing your hips off the cold ceramic and snaking that arm into the curve he’s just created.

Before you can even brace yourself, he pushes a second finger in, curling languid with accelerating speed, revelling in the heat you bring him with an audible groan that reverberates off the shower walls. Already so desperate, the feeling nearly makes your legs shake under your own weight, but Daryl’s prepared - he could keep you up with the hand he has splayed across your upper back and he’s secretly proud of it. His mouth returns to you again, tongue surging to meet yours as if just the taste of your kiss would satisfy his desire to taste what’s beginning to coat down his palm.

It doesn’t, but it’s a damn good substitute.

Nails scratching pathetically at his scalp, your lungs beg for oxygen, but you ignore your body’s pleading for as long as you can. You need Daryl. Just him. Just him. His fingers are ardent, all of them pushing and pulling and toying and touching you in a way that skyrockets you into an overwhelming nirvana and it feels good. It feels so good to be with him again, surrounded by his scent and his heat, that you start to entertain the thought of begging for him. You try to do just that, but every sound coming from your lips is only absorbed greedily by his before you pull him away by his hair, taking large gulps of oxygen as he does the same.

Not even a second passes before you’re grinding down into his palm with pleas falling into the steam of the shower, all your words going straight down to his cock. Gritting his teeth, he growls at your desperation, lips shooting down along your collarbone before catching the skin between teeth. He has your whole body memorized, proof of that fact littered across your body in the form of lovebites, memories seared into your mind of his everything and it’s almost too much to handle. Almost. But you need more. And Daryl knows, much too perceptive in all senses of the word.

His left arm snakes up to your neck, the nape of it secured in a grip firm enough to pull your hips down onto his muscular thigh, spreading you and rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves with his rough skin. Something between a swear and Daryl’s name chokes through your throat and he curls his two fingers just enough for you to repeat the sound, the movement perhaps pulling your hips forwards toward him. With the way you grind down so readily on him, it wasn’t easy to tell whether the roll of your lower body was from his fingers or the lust running through your veins. A satisfied smirk worms its way onto his face that you want to kiss off, but your head is stuck against the ceramic tiling by his hand tugging securely on your hair. Not enough to hurt you. Never enough to hurt you.

He can feel it now, the fact that you’re close, and it only makes him work harder. Maybe it was selfish of him, expediting your pleasure so he can finally seek out his, but he’s damn near shaking with the thought of finally being able to be with you in one of the ways he always wants to be. Sometimes Daryl felt like a teenager with all this certain enthusiasm he can’t seem to control with you around, but you had never complained - you made him feel alive in all the best ways - and he thanked whoever was pulling the strings in his favour for bringing him to you. Circling his thigh, he pushes everything he can up into you, the pressure making you feel like you’re floating. Fingers carding through his hair, your whole body tightens around him in a silent plea, and he's pretty sure he would have to be just about the biggest idiot in existence to ever deny you.

“Give it to me. C’mon, give it to me. Ya wanted my cock didn’t ya? Jus’ give it to me an’ I’ll make ya feel even better.”

Give it to me.

Give it to me.

Give it to me.

Daryl’s voice makes your mind swim, the growl rough and dangerous like everyone always tends to think he is, and incoherence drops from your lips, echoing against the confines of the walls as his breath fans your ear. Rutting your hips up to his hand, the knot in your abdomen snaps, the proclamation of it escaping you in a broken moan of his name. He can feel your body’s reactions before you start to get those familiar sparking waves of pleasure, the clench of you around him growing sporadic as he continues to unravel you with his teeth gritted, the unrelenting precision of his fingers sending you clawing and tugging at his scalp with no regard of your strength for just a moment.

His groan at the sensations edges out the haze of your climax and you immediately detach from him, pulling your body back from his so abruptly that he slips from you. Scrunching his nose in disappointment, his large hands cling at the back of your thighs, bringing your chest and forehead to his as if he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even just a few seconds.

“Sorry- sorry if that hurt I didn’t mean to-”

Face inches from yours, he shakes his head and cuts you off with a series of hungry pecks. One to your sinfully soft lips, then to the corner of your mouth, then one to your jawbone, devouring your apology right then and there as he overtakes your senses.

“‘S alright. It felt good.”

Then he kisses you again, urgent all the same, but he only pushes a firm brush of his mouth against yours. The movement is like a signature, as if it were his name scribbled easily along at the bottom of a letter - a soft possession that you wear along the tingles of your lips. It makes you claw at him again, tugging on the sides of his hips to pull him flush against you, fingernails digging crescent shapes he wants to see come morning, and your apprehension all but dissolves into the hot water of the shower. You were his, he was yours and in his mind, there was nothing he wanted more than for you to show him just what he does to you.

“Anythin’ ya do feels good.”

It’s stupid, how you could be in the middle of something so intimate and a simple compliment from him could leave you flushed from the neck upwards, but he loves it. He loves the little whimper you let out at his words and he smiles that lopsided boyish grin that makes your heart skip a beat. When he smiles at you like that, it makes you feel like the only person in the entire world. No walkers, no Alexandrians, no runs or patients at the infirmary to steal you or him away from the other. There was no one except you and Daryl - and it’s been too damn long since it was like this.

Body flush against yours, he snakes a hand down between his legs and the other grips at your thigh, hooking it around his torso and begging with a roll of his hips for you to rest your leg there. Each breath he takes sends a jolt of pleasure blossoming against your ribs, his skin rubbing against your chest so deliciously it makes your mouth fall open in silent pants of air. You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but they open when Daryl says your name, broken by a curse that falls somewhere after the first letter. He looks good like this - eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched.

Gritting his teeth, his mouth can barely form a coherent sentence with how much excitement is coursing through him, and he’s trying his fucking best to hold back from slamming into you until you give him a nod or a pull or anything, but then something in him breaks. The feeling of just having you so damn close worms its way into his brain and he takes himself in his fist, dragging along to gather the remnants of your climax and notches himself, all the while groaning from the heat emanating off you.

“‘S this okay? Need t’know if this’s okay.”

Slurred speech. It was so uncharacteristic of the Daryl everyone else knew - the Daryl who was so sure of himself, the Daryl who wore a permanent scowl on his face, the Daryl who was so mysterious, never speaking anything above a growl - and you think you could have laughed had it not been for the fact the words themselves dig up memories of all the times he had said them to you before. Every cell in your body lights up, high alert now that he’s in you, but he’s not moving. He’s not inching into you or filling you in the only way he can and you push your hips towards him, greedy movements making you swallow more of him. Taking a sharp breath, he lets you rut against him, but still, he doesn’t fucking move.

“God, Daryl- yes. Yes, it’s okay. More- more than okay.”

Sometimes you hated him, and then hated how stupid you felt for hating him.

He waits for your words. He always does. Without fail he checks on you before he slides into you. He never wants to take because he always wants to be good for you, but sometimes you wish he would. Sometimes you wish he would just take from you - take everything you have. There is nothing in this world that is not shared between the two of you. Daryl’s wholly yours as you are wholly his.

Curses drop from his lips, your name thrown in once or twice as if he’s reminding himself you’re real as he feels you around him. They fly out of his mouth like the bolts from his crossbow and ricochet off every wall as he begins to move, slow at first, experimental maybe with his hand secure against your thigh, then he starts building and building into a heavy, sinful rhythm. Shakily, Daryl groans, the breath he lets out tendrilling at your chin before he sucks frantically at your bottom lip, your noises meeting his as they hit the ceramic wall.

He wants to live in this moment forever; immortalize the way you look and sound on one of those VHSes, write the damn date on it, and hide it away for his and your eyes only so it’s rewatchable and revisitable and reliveable. It's not enough to just sear you into his memory like he’s done so many times before because you’re damn near perfect. Like you were made for him - for him to give you everything he wants to give to you.

“Fuck- fuck- you feel better’n I remembered. How’s‘at possible?”

The words escape him, rushing out as if you’ve put a spell on him, and they almost escape you, too, your pulse beating in your ears. But he’s so close to you, growling out through gritted teeth into your ear and pushing his lips to the curve of your jawbone like they need to be on your skin. He pulls his body away, chest leaving yours, and you pull at his waist to bring him back, whining lewd for him and only him, shameless and betraying the blush you feel as you register his stutters, but he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl smiles, that same damn grin with his teeth hooked along his bottom lip and eyes hooded as he watches every change in expression. You groan, half in the way he rolls his pelvis just enough to rub against that small bundle of nerves that beg for him, and half in annoyance at the way that lascivious expression seems to make every electron in you buzz.

“Shut- shut up.”

He lets out a sharp breath, a singular amused ‘ha’ following it, cock hardening and twitching even more at the fact he’s making you blush like that first night he had lavished every inch of your body with his lips - like you didn’t deserve every single damn word escaping from him. Leaning his weight against his left forearm that lies on the side of your head, Daryl brings his face to yours, nipping at your lips and seeking your tongue before he starts speaking.

“You should see yourself like this, y’know. Fuckin’ perfect for me.”

For a man who only ever growls and mutters, he certainly liked to talk a lot when he was pounding into you the way only he knows how and you’re just so damn unbelievable for him. For him. You’re his to love and it sparks something within in him that makes his tongue fucking run and his hips speed up involuntarily. Hell, you probably heard more of his voice in this shower tryst than the whole first nightwatch you had with him. You’re not even sure the water is beating down onto you anymore because the heat of your body makes the shower pale in comparison.

The sweat accumulating on his back and chest and everywhere is washed away almost immediately as it forms and you’re grasping for something to hold onto. Clawing, you wrap both your arms under and around his shoulders and scratch desperately at his back, grinding up against him and making jumbled noises of moans and Daryl’s name when he drags against that spot he knows so well. It’s skin on skin, the ceramic wall ceasing to feel cold as you screw your eyes shut and let yourself mount and mount with each roll of his hips. You hear a nearly feral growl, feeling your leg being hiked up higher by the elbow hooked underneath your thigh, and a loud noise breaks from your throat when his thumb swipes where his cock meets you.

“C’mon, we ain’t got all night.”

You’re close and he knows it. It was like he was rubbing it in your face, the fact he could make you like this - how quickly he could reduce you into the incoherent, ruined state you always seemed to become for him. Attentive. He’s always attentive. You can tell by the way he’s memorized everything that makes you shake and capitalizes on them, thrusts coupled with the tight circles pulling you closer and closer to that precipice of pleasure, but he says those words anyways, hoping to get a reaction from you. Daryl’s not an impatient lover - he would spend hours buried in you if you let him - but he’s so damn close and perhaps almost selfishly, he wants to watch you succumb first. He wants to watch the water race down your body as you writhe for him against the wall, and he wants that to send him over the edge.

“Then- then do better, Daryl.”

You bite back, your breath grazing against his neck and a wet heat rushes through him, making him groan nearly wrecked as his hair tickles your cheek. Reaching behind his muscular body to his shoulder blades, one of his large hands is more than enough to wrap around both of your wrists and he takes them in his grasp, moving them until they’re secure against the ceramic wall behind you. You’re warm for him. Pliable for him despite the veil of distaste in your voice and he can’t get enough of it.

Daryl’s so fucking happy you bite back.

His hips stop and you let out an almost childish cry, but he stays buried deep, filling you up to the brim as the water beats down on the both of you and holding you against the tiles by the weight he’s pressing from where you meld to him. His face is so close to your ear now. So much so that you can feel the breath when he speaks, a dangerous growl resounding through your body before his teeth graze along your neck.

“Hm? I ain’t never heard a complaint from you be- before. That a- fuck- are ya challengin’ me?”

An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips when you clench around him, no doubt from the sudden crash of your mounting pleasure, and he pushes impossibly further into you, firmly pinning you down until he knows you won’t be able to move anymore. He wants to show you he can stop at any moment, that he can make you work for it, but you both know he’ll give in. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of which you have him wrapped around your finger, but if you even knew half of it, you would know he would never stop. Not when he was so desperate for you he can barely think of anything except the way you look and feel. At least, not unless you wanted him to.

“Are you g-gonna take it up?”

Although your mouth ceases there, your brain runs, pleas tickling at the tip of your tongue, but you can barely manage to form the meager few syllables that have already escaped you. Eyebrows knotted at your forehead, you try desperately to coax more movement from him - a whine, a whimper, a thrash of your pinned hands flattened by his strong grip - but Daryl’s so damn still and it’s driving you crazy. When your body settles for only ragged breathing and shaking thighs, he takes it as his cue to lean down, lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s so affectionate you forget that, just moments ago, he was relentlessly pounding into you.

“Don’t know. Seems like you might be wantin’ it more’n me.”

Smiling against your mouth, he pulls away just enough to speak. A challenge in his words so obvious to you that you try in vain to buck your hips to his. If he didn’t sound so good and look so good and feel so damn good, you would have denied it, but you’re strung so taut, so close to the peak, that you can barely form a retort. A stupid, handsome smirk rests on his lips as he waits. Patient. Like it wasn’t affecting him, being buried in you. He’s just waiting for your words - goading you as he watches from underneath his lashes.

“Daryl, I swear to God if you stop right-“

The insincere threat is enough to spur him into action. Partly due to the fact you sound so desperate and ruined for him, and partly because he just needs to feel you again - he would lay you down and take you the way you deserved on the bed come morning, but right now was a different matter entirely. Swearing, his smirk drops in favour of a scowl, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he snaps up into you in quick succession. The hand at your thigh is roaming now, massaging and palming wherever his nimble fingers can worm their way onto before it splays across your ass, using the grip to pull your body impossibly closer to his. Daryl would have made you beg for him - he wanted to - but he can’t stop himself. Not when you look so pretty up against the wall and you’re taking his cock so well.

“Been gone four days an’ you’re already so damn needy.”

Whether that statement was directed at you or himself, you would never know.

An abashed whimper escapes through you and you want to deny it, perhaps just to see what would happen, but you can’t. You can’t because Daryl’s right. He knows he is, and you know he is. You thrash your arms so you can touch him, feel his skin underneath your fingers, but his grip around your wrists keeps you firm against the ceramic tiling - just enough to keep you pinned so he can admire the way you squirm for him. Grunts and groans of your name escape from him with each thrust, the feeling of your body melded to his much too intoxicating for him to keep his mouth shut.

“What, you embarrassed now? Wanna cover your mouth? Keep them noises from me when you’re soundin’ so damn pretty? Ya better not be thinkin’ about it. ‘Cause ya damn well ain’t gotta.”

Daryl tilts his head, eyes squinting in faux-concern and mocking you as his hips relentlessly hit up into yours, pushing out the breath from your lungs which escape in tantalizing gasps with each roll. You’re so close, and the only thing you can do is moan at the sound of his rough voice, the coil tightening in your abdomen because of his determined thrusts. You just need a little more - just a little more - and he reads you like a book.

Without warning, the hand pinning your wrists frees itself, his finger pinpointing back between your thighs with an unadulterated eagerness to pull your climax from you and you damn near cry out Daryl’s name as you claw at his back. It’s like second nature to him, the way he can touch you and make you crumble for him. Practice does make perfect, and he’s always been a persistent man.

“Ya sure as hell weren’t when you were bein’ a brat.”

Everything he’s doing to you is almost effortless. It makes your legs shake and without warning, your thighs tense up, a white hot surge of pleasure erupting from the base of your stomach and you gasp a broken moan of Daryl’s name as you clutch at his neck in an effort to keep yourself from collapsing onto him. He holds you close, chest pushed up to yours and breathing ruined into your ear as he works you through your climax with dextrous fingers, chasing his own as his rhythm begins to falter. Sporadic thrusts meet each flutter of your clenching warmth. until he can’t hold out anymore.

Screwing his eyes shut, a stuttered chanting of profanities mixed in perfectly with pleads of your name fan out from his mouth and he pulls out, rubbing himself harsh against your thigh before your fingers wrap around his cock. Fuck, Daryl nearly crumbles right then and there, a ragged groan rushing from him before his hips jerk upwards to your touch - nothing could even compare to it and he thinks nothing could ever come close. Nothing except you. Pulsing in your grasp, both of his rough hands dig into either of your thighs and he stills, teeth gritted as the evidence of his pleasure hits your stomach before being washed away in the steady stream of water.

Satisfied, you smile and lean towards him, your head coming off the ceramic wall, and he parts his lips immediately for your tongue, but you pull away after giving him a quick peck. Scrunching his nose, Daryl pats lightly at your thigh for your attention and seeks your lips once more, moving his with the same amount of overwhelming love and affection he always does. It makes you feel warm inside, like you were the only one in the world for him. And you were. At least, in his mind you were.

He releases the grip he has on your thigh and slowly lowers it, his hand still ghosting close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Both legs still shaking slightly, your foot hits the floor of the shower and you lean your weight on it, tentative and experimentally at first before you overestimate its security and half-fall-half-stumble into him. Daryl notices, of course he does, and he swallows down the pride welling in his chest as his sure grasp steadies you against his body.  

“Hey, hey, I got ya. Jus’- jus’- I got ya.”

By instinct, he speaks, the rumble of his chest against yours making your heart well up with the familiar fondness you always experience when it comes to him. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words even though you had managed to break him out of his shell a little - at least with you - but there was no doubt in your mind that he genuinely and wholeheartedly cared about you. In his eyes, you had strung the stars into the sky and he always treated you with a softness he never thought himself capable of.

With one hand on his waist and one on his shoulder, you use Daryl as a crutch, continuing to lean your weight on your legs until they cease to shake. When you can stand on your own, albeit with wobbly legs, you link your fingers in both of his and meet his protective gaze - alert as if prepared to catch you again if your body gave any type of signal. He smiles when he sees the expression on your face and brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto the back of each of your hands before letting go and reaching for the bar of soap you two had ignored in exchange for something more riveting.

“Here, let me- I’ll help ya wash up.”

It meets your shoulder and it’s cold as he trails it down, lathering your right arm before moving across your chest and to your left. Smiling at his concern, you hum, nodding your head and content at the feeling of his tenderness as he continues to dutifully run the suds down along your body. Daryl unabashedly goes about copping a feel or two when his hand just so happens to fall onto your chest or your ass, a boyish grin meeting your quirked eyebrow when you question his intentions with a look. If you actually, truly cared to ask him, he would say he was helping you wash your body and making sure he was doing it to the best of his ability - quality assurance or some shit like that.

He helps you lather, too, calloused fingers rubbing off dead skin much better than yours could as he focuses the showerhead on him. You laugh when he pulls you into him, water streaming down your body along with his hands as the bubbles wash off your body and you run the bar of soap along the broad expanse of his shoulders, doing your fair share of subtle… touching too. Daryl all but melts into your caring hands, revelling in the way your attention is solely focused on him before he grunts, as if signalling you to look at him. When you do, his hands loop around your waist, head tilted to one side as he gingerly rubs those little shapes he always love to draw onto your skin.

“Y’alright? Was, uh, was that alright, I mean.”

Allowing you to maneuver him under the shower, he begrudgingly lets go of you to rinse off all the soap and feels genuinely clean for the first time in what felt like days. Smiling, you respond, saluting playfully and laying a small peck onto the corner of his lips before you spin around, pulling the curtain open just enough to reach for the towel lying just a few inches away on the towel rack but still keeping the warmth from the water in.  

“Yes, sir!”

His cock twitches at the name, betraying the slur of fatigue in his voice and he sighs at himself, turning the shower knob off and opening the curtain fully, reaching for his own towel that hangs next to yours. He always did feel like a teenager when it came to you, and usually he didn’t mind it, but he really was tired before this and his back is killing him, so maybe another time.

Drying your body, you turn your head towards him and smile before making quick work of your wet hair and stepping out, pulling your underwear on from where you left it on the bathroom counter. It’s a small smile, one fully innocent and only ever reserved for him, but that look makes your words replay in his mind. A shudder runs through him as he tries to ease a smile onto his face too, admiring the scene of you for a moment. It’s domesticity, showing him a homelife he could actually feel loved and safe in; reminding Daryl something like that actually existed for him.

He imagines meeting you in a different world, wooing you like you deserved through coffee dates and Radiohead concerts, not through killing reanimated corpses or guarding Alexandria’s walls together, and his whole body calms down.

But then you pull on a shirt that’s much too big for you - one of his shirts that you said you liked wearing because it smelled like him - and he swallows his spit as if he hadn’t seen you naked just moments ago, a familiar shudder running through him again. Definitely another time. Near future, preferably.

Hopefully.

“You coming?”

Your voice breaks Daryl out of his daydream and he grunts an answer, smirking at the joke that just popped into his head as he replies with a curt ‘I just did’ and catches the pair of boxers you throw at him in response. Rolling your eyes, you comb your fingers through your hair and try to dry it as much as you can with the towel before reaching for your toothbrush. He follows suit, dressed in only his boxers as he brushes his teeth and shakes his wet hair at you like a dog, causing you to whip water at him off your fingertips after you wash off the excess toothpaste dribbling at the corners of your mouth. Smiling internally, he spits, tasting mint on his tongue that he'd much rather replace with the taste of your lips, even though he knows full well you’re just as minty as he is.

“Thank you.”

Meeting his eye in the mirror, you give him a confused look, eyebrows raised in an expression he thought was much too cute on your face for your own good. Your hands don’t still as you continue to rub out the water in your hair, determined not to go to bed with it too wet and risking it to clump up and dry tangled.

“For lettin’ me, uh, do that.”

His naturally gravelly voice clears up, turning slightly more timid than you were used to and you notice the shift in his behaviour. He avoids your gaze, waiting for your response as he fiddles with the lantern he now has in his grasp, unsure of what you would say and you decide your hair is dry enough. Hanging your towel back onto the rack next to his, you grab his free hand and lead the two of you back towards the bed, smiling affectionately as you turn off the lightsource and place it onto the nightstand. Wide-eyed, Daryl stares at you, as if waiting for you to tell him to leave - that you hated what he had done - but you break him from that train of thought as you slip under the covers and welcome him to join you.

Relief washes over him and he happily climbs in, groaning at the feeling of your body next to his and he succumbs to the comfort of the mattress. Pushing yourself into his side, his arms automatically open for you and he swears he could cry when you brush your thumb against his cheekbone and lean up to him.

“Anything for you.”

He feels the words as you whisper them just inches away from his lips, and he relishes in them when you pull away from the quick peck and dig your face into your pillow, closing your eyes and just looking so at peace. You’re so close to him Daryl’s in awe and he can’t help but stare. Wanting to hold onto the feeling of his skin a little longer, your finger draws a little heart over where his beats in his chest and you speak again, voice so warm and sincere.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Home. That’s what it is to him now, too.

“Glad ‘m home too.”

With a final kiss laid on your forehead, Daryl echoes your statement and pulls your body closer into his. A small smile tugs at his lips and his arm slings lazily at your waist before he, too, closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into the lull of sleep.

It was good to be back.

Back to a home he had made with you.

──── ⋙ 

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