#female!Reader
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omgfangirlland · 2 days ago
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The Shadows That Nurture 16
Hi! Ch 17 is done and will refocus back on Batsis 🙃idk when ch 18 will be done because I feel like I'll rewrite a lot of it over and over again until I either like it or get tired of it :))) so, ENJOY!
Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 16 >>next
Jason was the first to walk into your room. Not like he hasn’t memorized every little detail. He enjoyed sneaking in to look at your drawings, seeing what he had missed while he was dead, the trinkets you had. Unlike the others who were afraid to touch stuff, to even look around, he walked around like he owned the place. And then his foot fully broke through the already brittle floorboard you broke.
The crime lord pulled his foot out, cussing and swatting away at Bruce’s worried words and helping hand. “Huh.” Jason furrowed his brows, crouching and pulling out two shoe boxes and a few dusty drawings. “Never saw these.” He said while sitting down with one box, the drawings were quickly snatched by Damian and the other box was opened by Duke, everyone taking a journal from it.
Jason’s box was full of sketchbooks and newspaper clippings of her achievements. These sketchbooks seemed to be focused on the family and their bat counterparts. He snorts at a drawing of a Robin where you wrote “Booty shorts are a terrible choice for fighting crime” immediately showing it to Dick. “That’s your robin.” The acrobat mutters, pouting. “What?!” Jason pulls the sketchbook back to squint at it. “Nuh-uh! And even if it was, it’s still your fault! I was trying to imitate and impress you.”
Dick in any other situation would have teased him for the slip, but he couldn’t. He remembers how angry he was at being essentially fired and replaced, not for being unable to continue, but because Bruce felt guilt at how close Dick was to death. And then Jason came, and then he died. Dick remembers how mean he was to both Jason and you, just because he was afraid. Afraid of getting attached, afraid of letting someone in just for them to end up like his parents, and afraid of being replaced and brushed off.
But that’s what he did to you. He and Jason learned to get along, but to you, he was still distant, he brushed you off despite how he was afraid of that happening to him. He remembers always glancing over his shoulder at you after finding an excuse to not interact with you and how it always hurt seeing how sad and defeated you looked, how one day you just stopped even acknowledging him unless he talked to you.
The journals didn’t help his guilt. “I always wanted a big brother. Richard doesn’t seem to like me, but he has started getting along with Jason. I think it’s because I’m a girl and Jason is into gymnastics like him. Maybe he'll spare me some glances if I show interest in that too.” Ignoring how many times you misspelled gymnastics, his fingers traced the words a few rows below simply stating that he refused and yelled at you for getting in the way.
Stephanie and Duke were raking the little books for a mention of them besides “Bruce took in another kid.” They both felt guilty for not trying to get to know you, but while Duke was fixated on him being older and knowing he should have tried, Stephanie thought it was weird how you didn’t come to either. You were still a kid, still young, still curious- so why didn’t you go out of your way to greet them to get to know them, even Damian asked them questions. “Stephanie and Duke do seem nice, friendly. But so did the others. It’ll be another rejection.” Oh- you had given up trying to fit in their lives by then.
Cassandra felt a lot of emotions, sadness mainly. She didn’t mean to come off as rude and mean, like she didn’t care because she did. She cared. She still does- it’s just the anxiety you displayed, the sadness that slipped through- she didn’t know how to deal with it, it was overwhelming to her, so she ran, hid, and watched you from the shadows. Cassandra loved watching you paint and take care of the garden, it was her favorite activity. She handed the diary she finished to Bruce. She has many regrets, but this one she’ll fight to fix.
Barbara and Tim didn’t want to read what you had to say about them, they knew. So, they stuck to Alfred to see the many trophies you had. They brushed you off, brushed off anything you tried to do to impress them, Tim going the extra mile by belittling you. Barbara wasn’t present much, she wasn’t Bruce’s kid. But Tim, like the other, was. He saw how heartbroken you were when they’d have family nights and nobody bothered inviting you, how after Cassandra came and they welcomed her with open arms you just stopped bothering, ignoring everyone, doing your own thing. He didn’t say anything, didn’t fight for you, he saw everyone ignore and brush you off, so he did the same, finding you annoying for no other reason than you simply existed. You existed and were the only person he could be mean with without anyone saying anything. The only person he could express his anger on. Tim cringed at the memories. You were just a child.
Alfred knew he mostly gave you attention out of pity rather than a pure need to take care of a kid who needed reassurance and love. His loyalty and care stood with Bruce, first and foremost- and yet it hurt to see himself through your eyes. Cold, only doing his job, just another shadow, were some of the words you used. He couldn’t read more, it reminded him too much of the words he used to refer to his own father once upon a time, so he carried on with cleaning. His hands shook as he wiped medals, trophies, shelves, dusty paintings, anything he could.
“Why are the science and sports medals hidden behind the others? They’re still first place.”  Tim couldn’t help but mutter out loud. “She didn’t do those because she liked or wanted to. She won those to impress us, specifically, you two.” Jason muttered as his eyes skimmed through the diary in his hand, skipping things about him. He changed, he isn’t running after Dick anymore, there’s no need for him to read what he knows he messed up. You already told him, anyway.
Damian is honestly happy you left before he came to the manor. Seeing the drawing for more than just lines, the subtle way you drew hints that the family were barely strangers to you, always in their shadows, their back always turned to you, their faces always devoid of features, just blank voids- he knew what you were trying to depict, he saw the anger and sadness and despair in every stroke. To him, these were as good as words written in your diaries. He is happy because he didn’t want to see how you would have drawn him, what kind of feeling you’d attribute to him because he knew he wouldn’t have been kind. Damian would have seen you as a threat, an obstacle to his place as the rightful heir. He would have been mean, throwing insults, he would have tried to kill you. He also knows better now, they have lost their chance, he was sure of it, but not him.
Bruce had been clutching the same journal for a while, his eyes unable to leave the little throwaway comment in a long paragraph. “Officer Gordon lied to me. He lied when he said Bruce Wayne is my father, he lied when he said Bruce would love me.” He’s been afraid to see more, but what else could he do? He wasn’t stupid. Emotionally constipated, sure, but he knew his indifference and coldness hurt you, especially at a time when he knew all you needed was warmth and hugs, but he was so scared of the whispers in the back of his head. He was sure keeping his distance would have kept you safer than him being close to you.
His eyes continued reading, and reading, and reading, until he couldn’t anymore, the tears making everything too blurry for him to make out. The younger you blamed herself, deemed herself inadequate for his love and attention, but as you grew you realized that you’re not to blame, you were the child, and he was the adult. “He’s supposed to be my dad but he doesn’t even act like my legal guardian. If it wasn’t for him being a public figure, I would have forgotten how he looks.” And “He publicly recognized everyone else. Everyone but me. Is he so ashamed of me that he just wants me to rot locked away in this hell he calls home?” just kept flashing in his mind as he buried his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He was relieved that he didn’t remember how you sounded... He just cries harder at the traitorous thought.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
“-and you know, getting used to the dorms and all of that.” Mark shrugs. Before you could tell Debbie about your day, you covered your mouth, sneezing into your elbow. “Bless you.” Debbie and Mark said after your third sneeze in a row. “Thank you. That was weird.” You hummed while sending Jason a text to stop talking about you. Lately, superstitions have grabbed a hold of you. “Um, anyway- I spent my day like usual, helping around, uh, spent quite a long time at the altar meditating- John taught me how to summon stuff.”
Your smile matched Debbie’s once she complimented you for doing so much in one day, chest puffing at her attention. Your eyes went back to your phone only when the conversation changed, being met with two photos, one of Bruce curled on your bed, clutching one of your plushies to his chest while reading and crying, the second was of Dick in a similar state, but on the ground clutching at your drawing and paintings. “Couldn’t catch the others.” Jay texted after. You cringed and swiped your thumb to text back. “Fuck that’s pathetic. Weirdos. Tell Bruce to stop touching my plushies.”
Your brows furrowed, your other hand immediately zooming in on the picture of the man. “That mother- mmm.” You stopped before you could cuss, texting the crime lord again. “And stop reading my shit! They’re supposed to be private!!!” Jason didn’t respond back.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Damian’s eyes tracked over every single letter his mother wrote, memorizing every word, every phrase, skipping over her displeasure with how his father had treated you, over her questions on how the man had been treating him.
From how effortlessly his mother deemed that his sister had moved cars, buildings, and people, to how Talia had called her a lovely young woman but starved for praise and love, mentions of her lip trembling at the genuine compliment Talia had given to how willing his sister was to help with even mundane stuff such as carrying bags for the elderly- he took it all in.  
He memorized everything and then let the letters about the few days Talia had observed you go through the flame of the little candle he had lit, the fire slowly eating the paper as he set it in a tray. His eyes moved to the papers branded with Gotham High’s emblem. Damian doesn’t need the letters, not when he’ll crawl his way into your life soon enough.
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avdxl · 3 days ago
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The Red King's Prize- 18+! SMUT
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summary: Y/N made a grave mistake when meeting Shanks. She caught his interest.
A/N: Summaries are hard. Hopefully the story is better lol.
pairing: Shanks X Female!Reader
wc: 5301
C/W: dubcon(?) just to be safe. kidnapping towards then end. slight overstimulation.
"Look lively, my sons!" bellowed the ship's captain. The crew of the Moby scurried about the deck, securing ropes and swabbing the planks. Whitebeard had a gentle but firm voice that could be heard over the crash of waves. His eyes twinkled with the excitement of a pirate's life, and his laugh lines deepened as he surveyed his men.
"Is that Akagami's ship?" one of the crew members shouted, pointing to the speck of red growing larger with each passing moment. The air was filled with a mix of excitement and tension. Shanks was a legend among legends, and his visits were never without incident.
"Aye, it is!" confirmed Whitebeard, squinting into the distance. His daughter, Y/N, emerged from the cabin, her curiosity piqued. She was a young woman with a spirit that matched her father's. "It's been too long since we had good company," he said, ruffling her hair.
"Father, what's so special about Shanks?" she asked, watching the ship draw closer. The name alone was enough to make the most hardened pirates whisper in awe.
Whitebeard turned to her, his gaze softening. "Shanks is a good man, he’s also a friend of sorts, as well as a powerful man." he said, his voice filled with a hint of pain and nostalgia. "But remember, he's got a peculiar sense of humor. Don't take anything he says to heart."
The ships docked with a thud that echoed through the Moby's wooden hull. Shanks' crew, a motley bunch of men, swaggered onto the deck, their captain at the forefront. Shanks was a tall man, with a mischievous glint in his eye and three scars that slashed across his eye.
"Whitebeard, my old friend!" he called out, a wide grin splitting his face. The two men embraced, their laughter booming through the salty air. The crew of the Moby watched as the two pirate lords exchanged greetings like old comrades.
Y/N, feeling a bit shy, hovered at the edge of the group, taking in the scene. That's when she felt it - a pair of eyes on her, assessing her from head to toe. She looked up and met Shanks' gaze. His smile didn't falter, but his eyes held a darker, more intense look than she was expecting. It sent a shiver down her spine.
"And who is this beauty?" Shanks asked, his eyes never leaving hers. The question hung in the air, and she felt the weight of his stare.
Whitebeard beamed with pride. "This is my daughter, Y/N."
The crew grew silent. The air grew thicker, charged with an energy she couldn't quite put her finger on. Shanks stepped forward, his boots thudding heavily on the wooden planks. He extended a hand to her, and she took it, feeling the rough calluses of a seasoned pirate.
"A pleasure to meet you, Y/N," he said, his grip firm. There was something about the way he said her name, something that made her feel both thrilled and uneasy. As he leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek, he whispered, "We're going to have some fun together, you and I."
The crew erupted into laughter, slapping each other's backs and shouting toasts. But Y/N felt the seriousness behind his words. It was as if he had made a silent promise, or perhaps a veiled threat. She couldn't tell which.
The evening grew dark, and the stars twinkled above like scattered jewels on a velvet cloak. The two crews drank and sang, sharing tales of adventure and treasure. Yet, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that this night was the start of something she didn't quite understand. Shanks remained by her side, his presence both comforting and unsettling.
As the party began to wind down, and the crew members stumbled back to their quarters, Y/N made her way to her cabin, her thoughts racing. She was tired, but the anticipation of the night's events kept her from finding peace. Shanks, ever the gentleman, insisted on seeing Y/N to her door. His boisterous laughter grew quieter as they descended the stairs, the shadows stretching out before them like the arms of the sea at night.
The corridor grew still, the only sound the distant echo of the ocean's lullaby. Y/N turned the knob and pushed the door open, the candlelight inside casting a warm glow onto the wooden floor. She stepped in, expecting Shanks to bid her goodnight, but instead, he followed her, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt a flutter of panic, but she stood her ground, refusing to show fear.
"I've been watching you all night," he said, his tone hushed. "There's something about you, something... intriguing." He stepped closer, the scent of rum and saltwater clinging to his clothes. Y/N's heart hammered in her chest, unsure of what was happening. "I can't quite put my finger on it, but I intend to find out."
Before she could respond, Shanks reached out and touched her cheek gently, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. The gesture was so tender it sent a shiver through her body. She looked into his eyes, searching for a hint of his intentions, but all she found was an enigmatic smile. He leaned in, his breath warm and sweet with the scent of the fine wine they'd shared earlier. His lips brushed against hers in a kiss that was as soft as a whisper, yet it seemed to echo through the very core of her being.
The kiss was unexpected, but Y/N didn't pull away. Instead, she found herself leaning into it, feeling the promise of something powerful stirring within her. As they parted, she realized that she had been holding her breath. Shanks' gaze remained locked on hers, and she felt a strange warmth spread through her, as if she had just uncovered a hidden treasure. The moment hung between them, and for a second, Y/N's mind went blank.
Emboldened by the kiss and the emotions it stirred, Shanks decided to push the boundaries further. His hand reached for her waist, pulling her into his muscular embrace. His touch was firm, yet not forceful. It was as if he was testing the waters, gauging her reaction. The air grew thick with tension, and she could feel the warmth of his body against hers.
Shanks released a low growl, the hunger in his eyes unmistakable. He no longer bothered with pleasantries or sweet talk; there was no more need for such trivialities between them. Y/N's breath hitched as she felt his arousal pressing against her stomach. His grip tightened, a silent demand for her submission, and she felt herself melt into his touch, her body craving him.
He spun her around, her back pressing against the cold, hard wood of the cabin wall. His mouth found hers in a bruising kiss, his teeth biting into her lower lip just hard enough to draw a gasp. His hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her neck. He kissed and licked along her throat, leaving a trail of heat that made her shiver with need. His hand leaving her hair and roaming down her body, cupping her ass and squeezing roughly, his fingers digging into her soft flesh.
"Pops won't be happy if he sees us like this," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the gentle rocking of the ship.
Shanks chuckled, a low rumble that seemed to resonate in her very bones. "Let's not worry about that just yet," he said, his voice smooth as silk. He leaned in again, his lips finding hers again demanding, full of passion and a hint of something darker.
Y/N's resolve wavered. She knew she should push him away, but instead, she found herself responding, her own hands moving up to tangle in his hair. The kiss grew deeper, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. She could feel the heat of his desire, and it ignited something within her that she had never felt before. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once.
Finally, she managed to break away, gasping for air. "We can't," she said, her voice trembling. "This isn't right."
Shanks leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Why not?" he asked, his hand still resting on her bare waist. "You're a pirate. Surely, you know that life at sea is about seizing moments of pleasure when they come."
Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Because... because my dad—."
He chuckled again, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. "Whitebeard and I are more than just friendly, Y/N. We share something deeper, more akin to brothers. Plus.." His hand slid up her side, and she felt his thumb trace the edge of her bra strap. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I just want to know you better."
His words were like a siren's song, tempting and dangerous. She knew she should resist, but the desire within her was growing too strong. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she had made up her mind.
"Fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But only if you promise to keep this between us."
Shanks' smile grew sharper, his teeth flashing in the candlelight. He leaned in, his breath hot on her neck. "I can do that," he murmured, deftly unbuttoning her dress. It slid to the floor, and she stepped out of it, feeling the cool air of the cabin kiss her skin.
Without warning, he hoisted her onto the bed, the mattress groaned under their combined weight, the springs protesting as he began to grind his hips into her. The friction between their bodies sent waves of pleasure crashing through her, and she moaned into his mouth. His hand traveled up to her chest, squeezing her breast until she whimpered. His thumb flicked over her hardened nipple, sending an electric shock straight to her core.
Shanks' hand then slid down to the apex of her thighs, pushing aside the damp fabric that barely contained her arousal. He groaned into her ear, feeling how wet she was for him. His fingers teased her clit, rubbing in slow, agonizing circles that had her writhing beneath him. Y/N's nails dug into his back as she tried to pull him closer, needing more, always more. He chuckled darkly, enjoying the way she squirmed in his grasp. He knew he had her right where he wanted her; desperate and begging for release.
The moment his finger slid inside her, she threw her head back, arching off the bed. He pumped in and out, adding another digit, stretching her until she was ready for what was to come. Her pussy clenched around his digits, her inner walls quivering with anticipation. The room was filled with the sounds of their harsh breathing and the slick noises of his hand moving within her. He could feel her muscles tightening, her orgasm building like a storm about to break.
Y/N's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and excitement. She had never been with a man before, and she had always thought it would be with someone she knew, someone she trusted. But here she was, in the grasp of the notorious Shanks, a stranger she's only vaguely heard about, feeling a passion that she had only ever dreamed of.
Y/N tried to keep up, her own desires spiraling out of control. But she could feel the shift in him, the way his kisses turned from tender to bruising, his hand moving from exploratory to possessive. A part of her wanted to stop, to demand gentleness, but the thrill of the forbidden and the power she felt in his embrace kept her from speaking. Suddenly, she was aware of his weight pressing down on her, his body a wall of heat and strength that made her feel both protected and trapped. 
Shanks wasn't done with her yet. He withdrew his hand, leaving her panting and needy. He undid his pants with a swift movement, his cock springing free. It was thick and hard, a testament to his desire. He positioned himself at her entrance, pausing for a moment to enjoy the view of her flushed skin and glazed eyes. Shanks didn't waste any time, pushing aside the last barrier of her innocence with a grunt of pleasure. The pain was sharp, but it was quickly overridden by the sheer force of his desire. He set a brutal pace, his hips slapping against hers with a rhythm that was as relentless as the waves outside. The sounds of their union filled the cabin, a symphony of flesh and passion that seemed to resonate with the very soul of the ship.
Y/N's eyes widened as she felt herself stretched to the limits, her body struggling to keep up with his. Yet, with each thrust, she felt a strange, primal satisfaction blooming within her. It was as if she had been waiting for this all her life, waiting to be claimed by a man who could match her in strength and spirit.
Y/N's scream of pleasure was muffled by the pillow she'd buried her face in, her body shuddering around him. Shanks's hips continued to slam into her, the bed frame rattling with the force of his movements. Each thrust hit her G-spot with unerring precision, sending bolts of pleasure through her body. Her walls clamped down around him, trying to keep him inside her as he withdrew, only to be filled again and again. She could feel herself climbing towards climax, the pressure building with each violent collision of their bodies.
His one good hand continued to maul her breast, pinching and pulling at her nipple until she thought she might go mad with need. The hand that had been in her hair now held her face, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were dark with lust, the scars around his eye standing out starkly against his flushed skin.
"You're mine," he growled, his voice a guttural rumble that seemed to resonate through her very bones. "You'll always be mine."
Her breathing grew ragged as she felt his urgency, his need to claim her. His kisses turned almost violent, as if he was afraid she would slip away. It was overwhelming, and she clung to him, as she tried to find an anchor in the storm of sensations.
Her cries grew louder, mingling with the grunts of his exertion. The cabin walls seemed to close in around them, the air thick with the scent of lust and the salt of the sea. She could feel the tension building, a coil of heat and need that was threatening to consume her.
The possessiveness in his words sent her over the edge. Her orgasm crashed through her like a tidal wave, making her entire body convulse. She screamed his name, her nails raking down his back, drawing blood. He didn't flinch, just grinned, his eyes alight with triumph. He knew she was his, body and soul.
And as he continued to pound into her, her body still spasming around his cock, she couldn't help but admit that she liked it. Liked being claimed so fiercely, so completely, by this man who could take everything from her and give her the world in return. The world of pleasure and pain, of love and obsession, of being his in every conceivable way.
Shanks growled, his movements becoming even more frantic. He was close, she could feel it. The warmth of his breath against her ear was the only sound she could discern amidst the cacophony of their passion.
And then, with a final roar, he reached his peak, filling her to the brim with his seed. Y/N's eyes widened as she felt the warmth spreading inside her, the reality of what had just transpired crashing down like a tempest. She had given herself to this man, this enigma of power and darkness, and she wasn't sure if she would ever be the same.
Shanks' weight remained on her for a moment, his breathing heavy and ragged, as if he had fought a fierce battle and emerged the victor, but his desire for her was a never-ending maelstrom that she was all too eager to drown in. He flipped her onto her stomach, her cheek pressed into the pillow, her ass in the air. His hand slapped down on her flesh, leaving a red imprint that only added to the heat building between her legs. He positioned himself behind her, his cock nudging at her entrance. With a savage grunt, he thrust into her again, filling her completely.
The angle was different this time, deeper, hitting places inside her that had never been touched before. Her eyes rolled back in her head as he began to move, his strokes long and slow, almost tender despite his feral hunger. He reached around, his hand finding her clit, his fingers working it in time with his hips. She was so sensitive now, so close to the edge, that it only took a few moments before she was climaxing once more, her body shaking with the intensity of it.
As he came, he pulled out and immediately slammed back in, pushing his cum back into her with a brutal force that made her whine. His hand was a vice around her neck now, holding her down as he continued to fuck her through his orgasm. He didn't care if it was painful; all he knew was that he needed to be as deep inside her as possible, needed to fill her up with his seed. It was a declaration of ownership, a promise of what was to come.
He didn't stop, though. If anything, his movements grew more frenzied, more possessive. He was breeding her, marking her in the most primal way possible. His cock pulsed inside her, filling her with his seed, claiming her womb. He groaned with the effort, his grip on her tight enough to leave bruises. Y/N could feel every inch of him, making her his in every way that mattered.
When he was finally spent, he collapsed onto her, his heavy weight pressing her into the mattress. His chest heaved with exertion, his breath hot against her neck. For a moment, there was only the sound of the ocean outside and their mingled gasps. Then, slowly, he began to move again, his cock still half-hard, still buried within her. He was not content, not yet satisfied until she was a trembling, boneless mess beneath him.
His hips rolled in a gentle, almost loving motion, his hand stroking her back in a soothing pattern that belied the aggression of their earlier coupling. Y/N felt a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the heat of their passion. It was a strange kind of contentment, one she hadn't felt in a long time. Despite the dubious circumstances of their relationship, she knew that she craved this, craved him.
With a final, deep thrust, Shanks withdrew from her, his cock slick with their combined juices. He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so she straddled his waist.. "Ride me," he ordered, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.
The silence was deafening, the only sound was the soft lapping of the sea against the ship's hull.
Giving her a moment to catch her breath, he watched her, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. The intensity in his gaze made her feel as though she was a treasure he had just plundered, a prize to be savored and claimed again. Then, with a sudden, surprising gentleness, he reached out and traced the curve of her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn't realized had fallen.
"Don't be afraid," he murmured.
Y/N swallowed hard, trying to find the words to express the tumult of emotions that were storming through her. Before she could speak, however, Shanks positioned himself at her entrance, and she felt the head of his cock nudge against her, still sensitive and swollen from their first coupling.
With a smirk that was both playful and predatory, he grabbed her again and thrust upwards, filling her once more. She gasped, her eyes flying open wide in shock and pleasure. She began to rock her hips, setting a slow pace that had them both groaning in ecstasy. His fingers gripped her waist, guiding her movements, urging her to go faster, harder. The cabin spun around her as she gave herself over to the feeling of him inside her, his cock hitting all the right spots, over and over again.
Her breasts bounced with each movement, the pain from his earlier mauling a sweet reminder of his possession. She leaned forward and  took his mouth in another hungry kiss. Their tongues danced together, a false battle for dominance that mirrored their physical union. She could feel his pulse beneath her, the beat of his heart matching the tempo of their lovemaking.
Shanks's hand found her breasts again, kneading and squeezing them as she rode him. His thumb brushing over her sensitive nipples, sending sparks of pleasure to her clit. She moaned into his mouth, her walls tightening around his shaft. He groaned, his hips bucking up to meet hers, his own need for release growing more urgent.
Their rhythm grew faster, more erratic, as they approached their peak. Y/N's nails dug into his chest, leaving behind hints of pain that only seemed to fuel his desire. She threw her head back, her eyes rolling back in her head as another orgasm began to build. Shanks watched her face, his own twisted with pleasure, his grip on her hips tightening as he felt his own climax approaching.
With a final, powerful thrust, she ground herself against him, her muscles spasming around his cock as she reached her peak. Shanks roared his release, his hips jerking up to meet hers, his cum flooding her once more. They remained like that for a moment, locked in a passionate embrace, their bodies joined in the most intimate way possible.
But Shanks wasn't one to rest for long. He flipped her onto her back, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to kiss down her body. His mouth found her breasts, sucking and biting, his tongue swirling around her nipples. His hand traveled between her legs, his fingers sliding through her wetness and back into her. She gasped, her body already on edge from the last orgasm.
"I said all night," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "And we've only just begun."
Y/N knew she was in for a long night of pleasure and pain. She could feel the exhaustion tugging at her, but the desire that burned in her was stronger. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him back inside her, eager for more. He chuckled, his breath hot against her skin, and gave her what she wanted. His cock slammed into her again, hard and fast, setting a pace that she knew she wouldn't be able to keep up with for long.
Shanks' fingers dug into her flesh, guiding her as he plunged into her time and again. Her orgasms came in waves, each one more powerful than the last, her cries echoing through the cabin. He watched her face, his own a mask of concentration and desire, his eyes never leaving hers, as if he was searching for something within the depths of her soul.
Hour after hour, he took her, switching positions with an ease that spoke of long practice. He was relentless, driving her to climax after climax until she could hardly move, until she was nothing but a quivering mess of pleasure and pain. Her body was covered in a sheen of sweat, her hair plastered to her face. 
He fucked her like a toy, a possession to be used and enjoyed at his leisure.Yet, she never once asked him to stop. She reveled in the feeling of being used, of being his. Her pussy clenched around his cock, her walls fluttering. It was messy, their bodies slick with sweat and cum, the bed soaked beneath them. She never felt more alive, it was like she was the center of his world, the focus of his insatiable hunger.
Shanks's touch grew rougher as the night wore on, his kisses bruising, his grip on her body punishing. He took her in every way he could think of, pushing her limits until she thought she would break. Yet, she didn't. Each time she thought she couldn't handle any more, she found a deeper well of strength within herself, a need to satisfy him that overrode any discomfort or weariness.
The room was filled with the sounds of their lovemaking: the slap of skin on skin, the wet sounds of their union, the guttural noises of their pleasure. Y/N's cries grew louder, more desperate, as Shanks pounded into her. He was like a force of nature, unstoppable and primal in his need for release. And she was more than willing to be swept away by the storm.
He whispered dark, possessive things in her ear, his breath hot and ragged. He told her she belonged to him, that she would always come back for more, that she craved this just as much as he did. And as much as she tried to deny it, she knew he was right. Her body responded to him like nothing else ever had, her orgasms more intense, more all-consuming than any she had experienced before. There would be no escape from his obsession, no refuge from the storm of passion that was Shanks.
Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, as if they had been lovers for a hundred lifetimes, and yet this was the first night they had ever shared. It was a dance of dominance and submission, of passion and power, and she found herself lost in it, unable to do anything but give herself over to the storm that raged between them.
As the night slowly crept day, their rhythm grew more frenzied, their cries melding with the cries of the gulls outside. She felt as if she was being torn apart, only to be reborn in the cradle of his arms, a creature of the sea, forever bound to this man of darkness and fire.
Shanks' grip on her hips tightened as he claimed his own release shuddering through his body. 
As dawn began to break, painting the horizon in shades of pink and gold, Shanks rolled her onto her side, his cock still buried deep within her. His hand found her clit, his thumb stroking it with a finesse that belied the brutal passion of the night. He whispered sweet nothings, his voice a soothing balm to her overstimulated senses.
Y/N's eyes grew heavy, her body begging for rest. But she knew it wouldn't come just yet. His obsession with her was a never-ending cycle of desire and fulfillment. As she felt herself drifting off, she was already anticipating the next round, the next time he would take her, claim her, use her. It was a small price to pay for the exhilarating experience she had just shared with the legendary pirate
Reality started to set in. Y/N felt a cold dread coil in her stomach. She had given herself to Shanks, an act that would have repercussions she could not begin to fathom. She could feel the intensity of his gaze as he held her against him. His chest was a wall of heat, his breaths coming in ragged gasps against her neck. Her body was sore.. Carefully, she tried to disentangle herself, but he held fast, his grip unyielding.
"Where do you think you're going?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. She stiffened, not daring to look back at him. "Our time is far from over," he added with a chuckle, his hand sliding down to cup her breast.
Panic set in as she realized she couldn't escape. Not now, not like this. Her father's cabin was just a few doors down, but she knew that calling for help was out of the question. Shanks was too powerful, too dangerous. If Whitebeard found out about their tryst, it could mean war between the two pirate crews.
So, when he finally dragged her to his feet and led her, still naked, to the upper deck, she didn't protest. The crew of the Moby went about their morning routines, not sparing them a second glance. It was as if they had known this would happen all along, as if her fate had been sealed the moment Shanks had stepped aboard.
The air was crisp and salty, the sea breeze a stark contrast to the warmth of the cabin. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, casting the world in a soft, golden light. It was a beautiful sight, but one she couldn't appreciate. Not when she was being led like a lamb to slaughter.
Whitebeard was at the railing, his back to them. He didn't turn as they approached, didn't acknowledge them in any way. Y/N felt herself shiver, it was as though this was the only outcome, as if it was always going to end this way.
Shanks' grip on her arm was firm, almost painful, but she kept her head held high, refusing to let the fear show on her face. The silence was deafening as Shanks' ship, the Red Force, loomed into view, its sails fluttering like a crimson flag of conquest. The crew of the Moby had already lowered the ropes, Shanks stepped onto the plank first, pulling her along with him. The wood groaned under their combined weight, the plank swaying precariously over the churning sea below.
Y/N's heart was in her throat as she looked back at her father's ship, the only home she had ever known. The men she had grown up with, the men she called her brothers, were watching her leave with the enemy. Yet, none of them made a move to stop it.
The plank hit the deck of the Red Haired with a thud, and she stumbled, almost falling. Shanks caught her, his laughter echoing in the early morning air. "Steady, love," he said, his tone mocking. "You're going to have to get your sea legs if you're going to keep up with me."
The Red-Haired Pirates watched with amusement, their eyes glinting with a mix of lust and cruelty. She knew she was in for a rough ride with these men, but she also knew she had no choice. As Shanks led her to his quarters, she steeled herself for what was to come.
The cabin was opulent, a stark contrast to the spartan rooms of the Moby. Plush fabrics and gold trim adorned everything, from the velvet curtains to the intricately carved desk. It was a den of excess, a reflection of the man who owned it.
Shanks released her arm and she stumbled forward, her legs still unsteady. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her every move with a predatory gaze. "Welcome to your new home," he said, his smile wicked.
Y/N swallowed hard, her eyes taking in every detail of the room. There was no going back now. She was Shanks' prize, his plaything. The daughter of Whitebeard, claimed by the very man who might one day seek to usurp her father's throne. And she had willingly let it happen.
The door slammed shut behind them, and she knew she was truly in his clutches.
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xdanisgfx · 2 days ago
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ʚɞ IRL — 19 followed and dated !
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previous ʚɞ masterlist ʚɞ next
taglist! — @meganskiendielsbtc @sunshinez4 @fruityg0rl @wtfisthisnoclueman @winnmin @1luvkarina @peanutbutterlover05 @hiraizyo @kristalag @haerinkisser @zindoriyo @bandaidss320 @xochitlisbest @leotapes @yeetaberry127 @urmom2314 @7purinzer
author's note! — FORGIVE ME I HAVE FAILED ALL OF YOU (only one update today bc i havent finished chap 20 hahaha!)
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hcneymooners · 1 month ago
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⋆ i am afraid i will love you forever.
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ambessa x sugar baby!reader x sevika. men & minors dni.
synopsis: ambessa & sevika are married for business reasons but cannot stand each other. however, they love you—you who are unaware that they are together.
cw: age difference, older woman/young woman, polyam but is it really bc they just love you and not each other, sugar baby!reader, business moguls!ambessa & sevika, power dynamics, power imbalance (you're a sugar baby, lol), sw, pining, non-sexual intimacy, sexually explicit content, threesome, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, oral sex (everyone is receiving at some point), masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, dom/sub, sub!reader, dom!ambessa, switch!sevika, mommy kink, strength kink, face-sitting, face fucking, possessive sevika & ambessa, y'all there's a lot of nastiness in here idk if i can warn for it all, discussions of sexuality, implied assault (non-graphic, within conversation), slightly dub-con, angst, angst with a happy ending, misunderstandings, arranged marriage, sexual tension, hate sex, bisexual!reader.
wc: 10.3k
PLAYLIST.
notes: y'all, i'm going to hell. i had fun with this. i have such a soft spot for plots like this.
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ACT I: CONCEPTION. you were used to feeling like a guest in your own life, everything fleeting, everything temporary.
sugaring was something inherently lacking permanence, even in name. it was sweet for a moment, full of gleaming gifts that you accepted with perfect tears in your eyes.
you had more than enough money, saved from endless months in which you traipsed across the world in the hands of older men. maybe it was about the attention now, this idea that you were still young enough to be considered enticing without effort. maybe it was the desperation to wring what you could out of an age gap connection before you became the older one.
still, in the beginning years of your twenties, you found it increasingly grating. very quickly, you understood that the men were the main problem.
they were all the same: fleshy jowls wiggling as they chewed thickly through caviar and jasmine rice, their boisterous laughs sailing across tables when you attempted to join conversations. they took your interests and re-explained them to you, returning them pulpy and distorted as they attempted to convince you that you didn't understand them the way they did. their self-importance clung to them like cheap cologne.
the rare occasions where you actually slept with them were mercifully short, and you learned to suspend yourself out of your body. you would imagine hovering somewhere over yourself, banished to the lavish mirrored ceiling of the ritz or whatever opulent hotel they'd chosen. they shuddered awkwardly above you, and afterward, you'd come back into yourself only to scrub viciously at your skin under the unforgiving spray of the shower.
the women were different—usually. you found yourself drawn to their luxury perfumes and high society drawls. it was because of this that you dropped working through an agency—which you had originally chosen to better protect yourself from male clients—and began independent contracting.
you kept a private log of the ones you liked best. there was the private university professor (who was really a nepotism baby) who loved to wear le labo matcha 26 and smelled so deliciously of fig whenever she kissed you that you sometimes bought the fruit just to continue tasting her. her nickname for you was something in greek—μωρό μου, you think. moro mou. she told you it meant 'my baby', but in all honesty, she could have called you anything. you just liked hearing her speak.
you were a dreamy, distant creature. your appeal lay in your ethereal quality, moving through the world in a way that suggested you were detached from it. people described your presence as lingering, smokey and soft, like a fading perfume in a sunlit room. there was something endearing about the tilt of your head, the deliberate pause in your movements and speech as you stewed in thought, that made people stare a second too long.
you had plied yourself with romantic imaginations since you were younger, when you first grew to hate your mother. that hatred had led you across far waters into a glittering life of your own making. but you'd learned that women could be just as dangerous, if not more so. they could ensnare you, shatter your heart with just the flicker of a glance.
so, of course, this meant that you were bound to get caught in the tides of extensive affection at some point. you just didn't expect it to be with them.
🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚𓃔
the first sign should have been the unusual nature they coaxed from you.
you typically focused on one relationship at a time, securing yourself to a single person until you became too honest or too sensitive or too old. but with them, you fo​​und yourself with what you called a roster—a term your best friend and fellow sugar baby clleo (yes, two l's) took issue with during your weekly brunches.
"it's not a roster when it's only two women, [name]," she said, stirring her mimosa with a silver straw.
"it's more than one, no?"
"i feel like you have to have a minimum of three." she raised an eyebrow. "though i have to admit, even two is unusual for you."
the first was ambessa.
you'd met her when you weren't even looking, at some jazz show clleo had received tickets for from her newest beau. you had been perched inside the red velvet of the box, eyes roving over the insides of the other open balcony seats. you loved to observe, to look into others' lives and pretend they could be your own.
that night, you'd worn a navy slip dress that pushed the line of being dress-code appropriate, but it was comfortable and you had been tired. your hair was elaborately braided away from your face, threaded through with silk ribbons of the same color. despite its usually disagreeable nature, you'd managed to make it look elegant enough. your skin was littered with goosebumps from the fervent blasting of the air conditioning.
for once, you'd done your makeup the way you preferred it—less blushing ingenue, more cool nudes and a dark, bold lip. in the bottom of your purse sat two rolling bullets of lipstick: one a berry shade, the other a satiny red slightly subdued by a touch of brown pigment.
your feet had been curled beneath you, your ballet flats cast aside in the corner. the rounded tops were slightly scuffed, but you only saw it as a testimony of love. again, you looked out into the crowd only to find a woman looking back.
she was utterly beautiful, and your body flushed with heat for a moment, eyes wide like a doe. her skin was a dark, rich brown that gleamed with a sheen of oil and perhaps a shimmering body mist. her hair—black and streaked with thin rivers of gray—was pulled up into a tight bun, though the front was cornrowed. her mouth was full and smooth, a small gold cuff inserted in the middle of her bottom lip.
that night, she'd worn an oversized blazer over tailored pants. your eyes caught on her diamond cufflinks, and you felt your fingers clutch tighter around the bulk of your vintage ysl clutch.
she watched you with a sense of urgency, as if you might take flight like a bird and never return. bashfully, you turned back to watch the performance and clapped politely as it came to an end. her gaze never strayed from you, and as you rose to leave with clleo, you knew that she would be waiting.
you don't remember much of what happened after, of arranging the contract and indenturing yourself to her wealth. you only remember how she made you feel, her great body towering over you as she pierced you with her shrewd gaze. she'd cupped your elbow, pulled you gently to the side so that you were less in the way. the movement was easy; you trusted her with your body immediately.
now, ambessa reigned over the entries of your leather journal as your clear favorite. everything she did further endeared you to her, and you found yourself tumbling out of bed to check your phone where it lay on the floor, desperate for her messages. you watched the device all night, its flat body connected to a limp white cord plugged into the wall—willing it to ring.
and when she did call, you were almost delirious with joy.
ambessa's world was a carefully curated exhibition of power. noxus corp dominated the skyline with its obsidian tower, all sharp angles and tinted windows that reflected the setting sun like spilled blood. you'd learned early on not to ask too many questions about her work. the corporate merger making headlines—something about expanding into the industrial district of zaun—was just background noise to the way she'd trace your collarbone with cold fingers heavy with rings.
belatedly, in the midst of your betrayal and anguish, you’d berate yourself on your refusal to engage with real life when it inconvenienced you. you could’ve caught on, dived deep into the hole of information that was the internet as clleo did when taking up with someone new. but you didn’t, you just answered her call.
she liked to dress you up. tonight, it was a paper-thin black dress that cost more than your month's rent, the fabric liquid against your skin. you'd paired it with kitten heels that made soft clicking sounds against the marble floors—ambessa preferred when you were shorter than her, easier to maneuver, to possess. your lips were stained the color of coffee, and you'd lined your eyes with something dusky and soft.
the restaurant was the kind of place that didn't list prices on the menu, where the silverware felt weighty enough to be used as weapons. you liked this style of dining; it allowed you to escape further. you could pretend that since there were no prices, every morsel you ate was free and that the woman across from you was someone whom you loved and received love back from instead of bills.
“pull your hair back,” she commanded softly when you sat down, reaching across to brush a strand from your face. her touch lingered longer than necessary. “i want to see you properly. you should never feel a need to hide from me.”
you obliged, using the elastic around your wrist to gather your hair into a loose knot. the movement exposed the necklace she'd given you last week—a delicate thing of white gold and diamonds that probably cost more than your university education. her eyes darkened with satisfaction. she liked marking you with beautiful things, preferred to communicate through touch and gifts rather than words.
you preened under her clear pleasure. the idea that you’d done something right flowed through you, sweet as sugar as was the phenomenon of female favoritism. your tongue settled behind your teeth as she skimmed the menu, ordering for you as she always did. she seemed more aware of what you liked and needed more than you had ever been.
“are you alright with sharing the roast monkfish tonight, little lamb? i’m not all that hungry, so i think we should deal with something light.”
you nodded and she smiled, chucking your chin as she flagged down the server. you squeezed your thighs together, resisting the urge to rise from your seat and sit at her side with your head resting in her lap.
the waiter arrived with a bottle of wine you were unfamiliar with, which meant it was far more expensive than your beloved six-dollar gas station sémillon. as ambessa swirled the dark liquid in her glass, her phone buzzed. her expression hardened for a fraction of a second before smoothing over.
"business," she said simply, standing. "order whatever you'd like. i'll return shortly."
you caught fragments of her conversation as she walked away—something about zaun's infrastructure and liability concerns. one hour bled into two. the waiter refilled your glass with practiced discretion, and you watched the ice in ambessa's water melt completely. your phone remained silent except for a single text: an urgent matter requires my attention. car service will take you home.
the words blurred on your screen. you'd grown used to her absences, the way she could withdraw completely into her world of corporate warfare, leaving you adrift in these expensive spaces. but tonight, the emptiness felt sharper somehow. you had, more than ever, wanted her to take you home.
it was then that the woman entered the restaurant, right as you blinked upward to dispel the gathering tears. the air seemed to shift with her presence as she absentmindley looked in your direction.
she moved with the fluid grace of someone who knew how to handle herself in the cruel maw of this world, efficient and forceful despite wearing an expertly tailored suit. her left arm caught the light strangely—some sort of advanced prosthetic that spoke of military tech or private healthcare. a significant scar bisected her face, but rather than diminishing her beauty, it enhanced her striking features.
your paths crossed at the bar while you waited for a fresh glass of wine. she ordered whiskey, neat, and her voice was rough velvet.
"you're wearing that necklace wrong," she said, not looking at you directly. "the clasp should be centered at the nape. here."
before you could protest, her fingers—warm, unlike ambessa's—were at your neck, adjusting the chain. you caught a whiff of motor oil beneath expensive perfume. you swayed slightly, pressing into her touch. she steadied you with a single finger at the beginning knob of your spine, strong where you were momentarily weak.
"i'm sevika," she said, finally meeting your eyes. something in her gaze made your breath catch. you’d never seen eyes that grey. "you look like you could use something stronger than wine."
you smiled, albeit shakily, which avalanched into finding yourself talking to her about everything and nothing—about the book of poetry you kept on your nightstand for late night reading, about the way you collected vintage coats, about how you sometimes felt like you were floating three feet above your own life.
she listened with an intensity that made you feel anchored, present in your skin in a way you hadn't felt in months. her questions were sparse but precise, each one drawing out another story, another piece of yourself you hadn't meant to expose. and then she asked you to leave with her, and the answer was quick and easy. a light, eager ‘yes’.
the speakeasy she took you to was hidden beneath an auto shop, all exposed brick and piano medleys that wrapped around you like rope. in the dim light, you noticed the way her prosthetic arm moved with incredible precision as she gestured, the way her eyes softened almost imperceptibly when you laughed. she noticed you shiver and draped her jacket over your shoulders without comment, the leather still warm from her body.
"i manage specialized acquisitions," she said when you asked what she did, her smile suggesting there was more to the story. "currently dealing with some complex merger negotiations. but that's boring. tell me more about that poetry collection you mentioned."
you talked until your voice grew hoarse, until the early hours when the city felt like it belonged only to those who were lost or hiding. when she dropped you home, she fixed your broken porch light without being asked, her movements quick and purposeful. you found out later she'd also left her number saved in your phone under 's'.
what you didn't know—couldn't have known—was that across town, ambessa was returning to the penthouse she shared with her wife of six months, their marriage a carefully hidden clause in the merger agreement between noxus and zaun's industrial empire. their shared living space was largely ceremonial, each woman keeping to their own wing, intersecting only for appearances and board meetings.
that night, sevika found ambessa in their shared study, both of them surrounded by contract papers and acquisition reports.
"the zaun infrastructure reports," sevika said, dropping a thick folder on the desk. her wedding ring caught the light—a simple band worn only within these walls.
"you're late," ambessa replied without looking up. "the board expects updates by morning."
"i had a personal matter to attend to."
"as did i."
neither woman acknowledged sevika’s missing jacket which she never was without, nor the faint perfume—your perfume—that clung to ambessa's blazer. their arrangement was clear: their marriage was business, their personal lives their own. they had trained themselves not to care what, or who, the other did in their free time.
but that night, for the first time since their arranged union, both women found themselves thinking of the same person as they worked in silence. it was one of their more agreeable evenings together.
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ACT II: GROWING PAINS.
“where do you go?”
you turned, half-lidded, your hair mussed into an untamed bird’s nest. sevika lay beside you, her smile a lopsided thing—teasing, warm, a little worn. you leaned toward her instinctively, pressing a lazy finger into the shallow dimple that cut into her cheek.
she caught your wrist before you could withdraw, lips brushing the tender pulse beneath your skin before pulling you into her chest. her hand slid across your stomach, warm and heavy, before it wandered higher to pinch your nipple just shy of too hard.
the two of you had met in a hotel, yet somehow, it felt less clinical than it should have.
“what do you mean?” you murmured, breath catching as her hand stilled.
“you go somewhere,” she said, “when we fuck.”
the words hung between you, and you felt your body shift under her scrutiny. her gaze trailed the uneasy motion of your shoulder blades as you shifted upright. honesty clawed at your throat, but you tried to swallow it back. you’ve never been the tiger, only the tiger’s bride.
“i often—” you broke off, tongue darting to wet your lips. her arm tightened around your waist, as if sensing your instinct to retreat. “i tend to disassociate when i do this part of things. i’m not—what i want, i usually can’t achieve. i don’t want to make it anyone’s problem, so i float.”
“float?” she repeated softly. her tone was unreadable, but you refused to meet her eyes.
“i pick a spot on the ceiling,” you admitted, voice small. “from there, i phase myself out of my body. it’s like it’s happening to someone else.”
sevika said nothing at first, and the silence thickened as you focused on the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. then, carefully, she shifted you into her lap, holding you there like a delicate thing. her lips found the center of your chest, pressing a kiss over your heart before trailing up to the vulnerable line of your throat.
“you do this with me?”
“not always,” you whispered. “you’re…different. you pay attention to me—what i need. only two other people have ever been that way. both women.”
“mmm. do you still see them?” her voice was calm, but you caught the subtle current of possession beneath her words.
“only one.”
“and?”
“it’s good with her. one of the best.”
“and what do you want?” she pressed. the question lodged itself in your chest. “you said you can’t achieve it.”
your cheeks burned, and you squirmed in her lap, but she held you fast. “i—this is embarrassing.”
“there’s nothing embarrassing about your desires, baby girl,” she murmured, her tone soothing. “i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want you to enjoy this too.”
“i do enjoy it, but…i’d like to go further. i like to go under.” you hesitated, then added, “you know that i’m—”
“submissive,” she finished for you.
you nodded, your voice softening as you continued. “i don’t really like the harsher aspects of submission, but i love being taken somewhere else—being softer. i love being told i’m good, that i’m doing well. i love being pushed past my limits, to the point where i’m…hazy. overstimulated. freed from my worries through my body, through the pleasure i give and receive.
“when you manhandle me, when you pull me close and push into me like you’re starving for it, when you break me apart with your mouth, i get so close. i hover in this warm heaven where i’m nothing but what i feel. you know?”
sevika’s expression softened, her face almost unbearably open. before you could process it, she moved, pressing you into the mattress beneath her. her broad frame blotted out the light, sheltering you in a cocoon of warmth and safety.
“you are good, baby,” she finally said. “so good.”
her lips fell again to your neck and you felt her slide her thick fingers into the warm walls of your cunt. a sound slid from your throat, something gutteral and worn. she began to move, curling her fingers as if you pull you closer. there, in the back of your mind, was that heaven.
she kissed your temple, her lips lingering there as your body arched into her hands. “thank you for telling me.”
then, softer: “that heaven? i want to take you there.”
the words sank into your skin, heady and heavy, as if she’d whispered she loved you.
🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚𓃔
ambessa had endured a long day—one filled with tedious negotiations and the peculiar frustrations of ruling over people who thought themselves her equals. she'd craved just one moment of quiet in her house, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.
when she stepped through the door, the sight of her wife pacing their kitchen dragged a weary sigh from her chest. sevika's movements were sharp, her broad shoulders taut beneath the worn leather of her jacket. even now, after months of marriage, seeing sevika in their shared space felt like an intrusion.
for a fleeting moment, ambessa considered turning around, but she hadn’t built empires by running from conflict.
“sevika,” she began, voice clipped, “if this is about zaun’s profit percentage in the acquisition, i suggest you take it up with legal. i’ve no patience to discuss business tonight.”
“it’s not that,” sevika muttered, her tone bristling with frustration. “but thanks for your grace, medarda.”
ambessa’s eyebrow arched. “then what?”
sevika stilled, the weight of her gaze pinning ambessa in place. “are you the other woman?”
for a moment, the words didn’t register. then irritation flared, swift and hot.
“i thought we agreed we weren’t in love,” ambessa replied, dry as the desert. “who i see outside this house is none of your concern, unless it compromises our arrangement.”
sevika exhaled sharply, the sound edged with restrained anger. she reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone, its screen casting a gentle glow across the marble counter. with a few taps, she pulled up a recent conversation.
she paused, a smile stealing across her face as she took in the selfie you'd sent of you and clleo in matching milano blaniks. the tenderness in her expression was something ambessa had never seen before.
my feet hurt but it might be worth it!! you'd texted. she had responded in record time.
looking cute, baby girl. i like the purple.
me too! they had a navy and gold pair i would kill for, but i'm trying to be responsible.
sevika's smile deepened, and this time she sent a bank transfer along with her next message.
you can be a little irresponsible.
oh, sevi. that's not what i meant.
i know. i don't mind. get them both.
"i'm sorry, but were we not having a conversation?" ambessa's voice cut through the moment like frost.
sevika snapped back to reality, her face twisting into something ugly—the expression she reserved solely for ambessa. she selected another image, and ambessa stepped closer, her eyes narrowing at the familiar necklace adorning your throat.
she recognized it instantly—it had rested on her desk just nights ago, a small token of indulgence she’d gifted you during one of your afternoons together.
you were smiling, beaming, caught mid-laugh. your hair was damp, clinging to your cheeks, and a sea lion nudged at your side. it was an image of unfiltered joy.
"she was talking to me the other night," sevika began, her voice tight as a wire. "mentioned some other woman. i thought it was a client thing, but then she showed me this." she gestured at the screen. "that necklace. it was on your desk when i saw you."
ambessa said nothing at first, her jaw working. finally, she sighed, the sound heavy with something like resignation. “i didn’t know. i assumed she might have other clients, but i didn’t pursue her because of you.”
sevika’s shoulders sagged slightly, but the tension in her face remained. she bent her head, palms pressing into the cool marble of the counter. “what the fuck.”
“does she know?” ambessa asked after a beat.
"what would it matter?" sevika shot back, her voice rising like tide. her gaze locked on ambessa, and her lips twisted in disbelief. "holy shit. are you in love with her?"
the question hit like a blow, but ambessa’s reaction was instant.
“as if you’re any better,” she snapped. her tone turned venomous, sharp as a blade. “you sulk through the door, reeking of her sex, then slink into the shower as if i can’t hear you simpering in there.”
sevika straightened, anger sparking. “and you’re what? innocent?”
ambessa’s laugh was cold, cruel. “i’ve never been innocent a day in my life. but you—god, sevika, you’re pathetic. you’re worse than i thought.”
sevika’s fists clenched at her sides, but she didn’t lash out. instead, she held her ground, her gaze fierce. “what do we do now?”
ambessa hesitated. her mind raced through the implications, the potential fallout. finally, she crossed her arms, her posture stiff. “we don’t tell her.”
“and keep lying to her?” sevika’s voice cracked slightly. “how long do you think that’ll work?”
“as long as it has to,” ambessa replied, her voice low and final. “this arrangement isn’t just about her, sevika. it’s about us. about what we’ve built. if you care about her as much as you claim, you’ll think before ruining what little stability we have left.”
“for fuck’s sake, ambessa. she’s a sweet girl. she won’t—”
“you have no idea what she will do if she finds out,” ambessa hissed. “and i know how sweet she is. she’s the only goddamn person i know who can stand me. who do you think i’m really protecting?”
for once, sevika had no retort. the silence between them was loud, heavy, filled with unsaid things.
“i’ll handle it,” ambessa said after a long pause, her voice softer now but no less firm. “but don’t let your feelings make you sloppy. if you can’t compartmentalize, this will all fall apart.”
sevika turned away, her shoulders tense. “it’s already falling apart.”
🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚𓃔
ambessa didn’t sleep that night.
not because of sevika’s words—though they lingered like a sour taste in her mouth—but because of you. she’d grown accustomed to the softness of your skin beneath her fingers, the way your presence softened the edges of her world, made it almost bearable. and yet, she couldn’t shake the nagging thought that you might be nothing more than collateral damage in this carefully constructed house of cards.
the following morning, as sunlight filtered through the sprawling windows of her office, ambessa reached for her phone. her fingers hovered over your contact, her mind warring with itself. she’d always prided herself on her control, on her ability to compartmentalize. but now, for the first time in years, she felt the cracks forming.
her phone buzzed before she could decide, sevika’s name flashing across the screen.
“what now?” ambessa answered, her tone clipped.
“the gala,” sevika began, her voice unusually subdued. “this year it’s your turn to host, right?”
ambessa’s grip tightened on the phone. “yes. and what about it?”
“and,” sevika said, dragging out the word, “she’ll be there. she got an invite through one of her clients.”
the air seemed to still around her. “you’re certain?”
“positive,” sevika replied. “what do you want to do?”
ambessa leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on the skyline. the decision should have been simple: handle the event with poise, maintain appearances, and ensure that you remained blissfully unaware. but something about sevika’s tone made her pause.
“we’ll stick to the plan,” ambessa said finally. “she doesn’t know, and she won’t find out. not from us.”
they both knew it was only a beautiful dream.
🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚𓃔
and then suddenly, it was different. it was horrible in its subtleness, but enough to make you less comfortable than you were before.
you went to dinner. ​​ambessa watched you with eyes as sharp as her diamond cufflinks, and you wondered if she knew how small you felt in her presence. you let her brush her thumb over your lower lip, and you leaned into it, hoping she doesn’t notice your hands gripping your clutch too tightly.
“is something wrong?” you asked her, throat closing around the end of the question.
she seemed to startle, and leaned back with a shake of her head. you knew what was coming next. she was going to blame work or her family, which you barely knew about, or maybe something as clandestine as the weather. you suddenly felt entirely too sick. you took a sip of wine, eyes falling on the little brown bag that sat next to you.
every gift you unwrapped felt a little like a goodbye, the sparkle dulled by the unspoken terms behind it. you kept smiling, face stretching tediously through the pain though your heart was sinking because nothing ruined a good arrangement faster than too much honesty.
you must’ve overstepped somewhere down the line, and she had grown weary of it. you were sweating now, looking away from her. it didn’t help that your phone had stayed dark all evening, your slew of messages to sevika read and unanswered.
“i finished that book you gave me,” you offered and ambessa nodded. “it was lovely. a little macabre, but i managed to push through.”
“bessa?” you asked, voice small.
the nickname seemed to spur her back into herself and she reached across the table, clutching your hand. her rings pressed cold indents into your skin. you'd grown to love the weight of them.
"the annual noxus environmental gala is tomorrow night," she said finally. her thumb traced circles on your palm. "i'd like you to come."
your heart stuttered. she'd never invited you to a public event before. "another client already invited me. i’ll be there."
she squeezed your hand once before letting go, unfazed by the mention of someone else. "good."
🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚𓃔
the evening was opulent in a way that made your skin prickle. the ballroom shimmered with soft golden light, chandeliers casting their glow across marble floors that reflected everything like still water.
you'd been invited by marcus—a client who preferred your company over dinner to discuss art and literature, who looked at you like you were made of gold but never asked for more than conversation. he was safe, a spiderweb you could free yourself from anytime without losing any skin.
your dress—a gift from ambessa—felt like a confession of infidelity. marcus had said nothing in the car, but his face had been momentarily confused. he kept track of what he gifted you, and he hadn’t seen this before. you offered no explanation, just smiled softly and held his clammy hand.
the fabric whispered against your skin with every movement, reminding you of her touch. you held your champagne glass like a shield, watching the bubbles rise and disappear, each one carrying a fragment of your certainty with it.
the past week had been strange. ambessa's usual sharp edges had softened into something almost tender, while sevika's messages had grown shorter, more distant. she’d eventually responded to the ones that had been read, but you felt as though you had disturbed her with them. you'd attributed it to work, to the upcoming shareholder conference business weekly had written about. you were good at making excuses for the people you loved.
and then you saw her.
ambessa stood on the stage like she'd been born there, her voice carrying across the room with the kind of authority that made everyone else feel small. her dress was long and white, with a delicate slit framing the plump skin of her thigh. it clung to her frame with an elegance that made your heart ache. you didn't want to admit how your chest tightened at the sight of her, how your body betrayed you with its instinctive pull toward her presence.
but before you could fully process the sight of her, another figure emerged from the crowd.
sevika.
she stood near the base of the stage, her broad frame impossible to miss. her presence was quieter than ambessa's, but no less commanding. the way she held herself—like she belonged here, like this was her world too—made something cold settle in your stomach. you shifted away from marcus, moved slightly forward with a furrowed brow.
it wasn't just their proximity—it was the way they moved. the way sevika's gaze lingered on ambessa, the subtle nods they exchanged, as if communicating in a language only they were privy to. and then, as if to confirm your worst fears, ambessa's hand brushed sevika's arm in a gesture so familiar, so natural, that the truth hit you like a truck.
the matching rings caught the light. the world tilted sideways.
the soft hum of conversation turned to static, the lights too bright, the room too warm. you tried to steady yourself, clutching the edge of a nearby cocktail table and nearly taking it down, but the weight of realization pressed down on you like a tide. marcus was asking after you, but you snapped at him.
you thought of the gifts—how similar their tastes had been. the way they both knew too much about each other’s companies, about each other's worlds. the little moments that should have added up but hadn't—because you hadn't wanted them to. you'd ignored the signs, wrapped yourself in their separate affections like blankets against the cold.
someone nearby whispered, "isn't that their…" the words trailed off, heavy with implication. you spun, eyes wide and searching. you couldn’t tell who had spoken.
the champagne glass slipped from your fingers. it didn't shatter—caught by a waiter's quick reflexes—but the sound of it leaving your hand seemed to echo through the room. both women turned at the noise, their expressions shifting from professional neutrality to something raw and complicated.
“do you know her?” the question came from a guest nearby, their curious tone laced with amusement.
the tension shattered. the murmurs began, the subtle shifts of the crowd as more guests turned to watch the unfolding spectacle. your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the gathering noise like a blade.
“how long?”
ambessa stepped forward, her movements slow and deliberate, as if approaching a wounded animal. “it’s not what you think—”
“don’t,” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “don’t you dare lie to me.”
sevika tried to intervene, her hand reaching out as if to steady you, but you recoiled, your fury spilling over. “you both knew,” you said, your voice rising. “you knew, and you let me—”
sevika tried again."baby—"
"don't." the word came out hard and cold.
you backed away, your heels suddenly unsteady beneath you. the crowd parted like water, their whispers following you like shadows. you felt that your dress was transparent, exposing your body to the their ravaging gaze. you made it halfway down the marble steps before sevika caught your arm. her touch was warm, familiar—everything you'd grown to love and now couldn't bear.
"please," she said, her voice rough with something like desperation. she couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to be desperate. "please."
"let go of me." you tried to pull away, but she was stronger. had always been stronger.
"we never meant—"
"what?" your voice cracked. "to hurt me? to make me look like a fool? do you think i love being a loser? that i would be fine because i would view this as some way of knowing what it was like to win?" you yanked harder, and suddenly you were falling.
the puddle wasn't deep, but it was enough. your dress—ambessa's dress—soaked through instantly, clinging to your skin like shame. you stayed there on your hands and knees, watching your tears make ripples in dirty water.
"stand up," ambessa's voice came from behind you, softer than you'd ever heard it. “come inside. we can—”
"no." you pushed yourself to your feet, water streaming from ruined silk. your makeup was running—you could feel it tracking down your cheeks, and somehow that small detail destroyed you more than anything else. for the first time in a long time, you felt ugly. "i don’t want to come inside."
when you looked up, they were both there. ambessa's perfect composure had cracked, showing something raw underneath. sevika looked like she wanted to reach for you again but didn't dare.
"were you laughing about it?" your voice was barely audible. "about how pathetic i was, falling for both of you?"
"no," sevika said quickly. "god, no. we didn't even know—"
"until when?"
"a week ago," ambessa admitted. the truth fell between you, landed hard.
you stepped back, barefoot now, heels dangling from one hand. "oh my god. were you ever going to tell me?”
their silence was answer enough. the air around you grew thin.
a scream rose up from the depths of you before you could stop it, and echoed wildly from the sides of surrounding buildings. you clutched at your face, eyes screwing shut as you let out a terrible heaving noise. you knew they were seeing you now as you really were: a frantic girl who clasped desperately at whatever she could get in order to save herself.
“i hate you,” you screamed at them, hurling the words like they were knives. “i hate you! i never want you to speak to me again.”
it was rendered useless because the three of you knew that simply wasn’t the truth.
“just—leave me alone,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
their expressions were unreadable. if you gave in to your delusions, you could believe that ambessa looked slightly ill.
you walked away, legs shaking, each step carrying you further from everything you'd thought was real. behind you, you could hear them arguing in harsh whispers, but you didn't turn around. the city lights blurred through your tears until everything was just a soft shape and shadow.
your apartment felt suffocating when you returned, the silence oppressive in its stillness. you sank onto the couch, your dress pooling around you like a shroud. the tears came in waves, each one more relentless than the last.
you thought of ambessa’s calculated charm, sevika’s quiet strength, the way they’d both made you feel seen, cherished. and then you thought of the lies. you reached for your phone, your fingers trembling as you typed out a message. but no words came. what could you possibly say? that you hated them? you’d done that. that you missed them already? that you wouldn’t know how to exist without them?
instead, you deleted their numbers, one by one, the act feeling both liberating and excruciating. for the first time in what felt like forever, you were truly alone.
your mother was right. you were such a fun girl, but impossible to love. when someone looked at you, they’d never see someone worth settling down with. another wail unearthed itself, reverberating through the grave of your body. you twisted, holding yourself with your own arms as you felt the grief break you down.
you would never see them again. there was nothing worse than this, not now. you felt like you’d be better off dead.
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ACT III: DEFORMATION.
ambessa hadn’t slept in days.
the boardroom’s fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her sharp features as she reviewed contracts she couldn’t focus on. every word blurred into the next, her thoughts returning to the look on your face when the truth unraveled.
“i don’t think i can fix this,” she had told sevika the night it happened, her voice hollow as they sat in the dim confines of her private office.
sevika hadn’t responded, her silence cutting deeper than any argument could. ambessa could tell her wife blamed her, and in some ways, she couldn’t disagree.
sevika, in response, buried herself in her work. her nights were spent overseeing global operations, her jaw clenched tight as she barked orders to underlings down the phone who didn’t dare question her unrelenting pace.
but even the chaos of the company’s industrial sprawl couldn’t drown out the memory of you. the sound of your pleausre haunted her—high and wispy as she ate at you. her dreams were vivid, stuck on the way you’d lit up when you talked about the things you loved—things she hadn’t known enough to ask about.
they’d both lost you, and they felt it in the empty spaces you’d left behind.
ambessa, meanwhile, pulled back. she gave the reins to her daughter for an indeterminate amount of time, something viewed as largely positive and a sign of trust. but those who knew her interpreted it as a sign of grave danger.
her days were spent much like yours, wrapped in the endless heart of her bed which she only left to sink underneath the soapy water of a warm bath. there were several evenings where sevika would stumble home, slightly drunk but coherent enough to check on ambessa and yank her from the bottom of the bath.
“no,” she rasped, her hand tight on ambessa’s thick wrist. “you face it.”
and you?
well, eventually you realized that the world would continue to move on. blessedly, your breakdown hadn’t hit the headlines or social media platforms. you knew this had to be the work of them, but it was the least you deserved. you cut all arrangements you had leftover. the gifts were boxed up and put into storage.
despite your dramatics, you reminded yourself to not be stupid. all cash you had kept was deposited into your bank account, in increments so it wasn’t flagged as suspicious. you had well over thousands, so you broke your lease and found a block several miles from where you used to be.
you’d invited clleo to live with you, but she’d refused citing her current suitor as her preferred living situation. she felt that he was the one, that they would marry. you felt your bitterness rise up, but you shot it right in the middle of its scaled head. you were happy for her, you said instead of “he doesn’t mean it. please don’t believe him.”
please send an invite.
she’d cupped your face and kissed your cheek. of course. you’ve been with me through everything.
so, you broke another lease and left the city.
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ACT IV: REVIVAL.
true to her word, clleo did get married, and she did more than invite you. you were her maid of honor; the only bridesmaid at that. this meant that you were captured into a lavish gown that showed more skin than you thought would be appropriate.
“we can’t forget where we came from,” clleo had said coquettishly, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. she treated you so fragilely now, and you clung to it. you were pretending it was something else.
the wedding was a spectacle of opulence—ivory drapes cascading from every corner of the venue, chandeliers dripping crystal tears, and flowers so fragrant they felt like an embrace. the air buzzed with the cloying sweetness of a celebration meant to declare love eternal. you floated through it all, a wraith in your own right, bound by duty and the magnetic pull of clleo’s joy. you wore the dress she picked for you: black satin that crushed in on itself like paper whenever you moved and clung like sin, with lace so delicate it felt like a secret. it revealed too much and not enough all at once. you wondered if she’d done it on purpose, if she’d wanted you to stand out or to feel exposed. to embarrass you.
no, this was clleo. you were simply…paranoid now.
the ceremony was a blur, a kaleidoscope of vows and veils, of clleo’s radiant smile and the way her hand trembled in her husband’s. you caught the bouquet because she’d aimed it at you, her laugh like champagne bubbles bursting in the air. it was later, during the reception, that you felt it—that electric hum at the back of your neck, the awareness of being watched. you turned, and there they were.
ambessa and sevika.
they stood together, an impenetrable force against the crowd. ambessa’s gaze was as sharp as ever, her golden gown gleaming meanly, a study in power and restraint. sevika, beside her, had the air of someone caught between worlds, her hand resting on a glass of something dark, her eyes locked on you. they hadn’t been invited. you knew this because clleo would have warned you. yet here they were, as if summoned by the threads of some cruel, cosmic joke.
your stomach tightened, but you refused to look away. instead, you tilted your chin, the soft wave of your hair catching the light, and took a slow sip of wine. if they wanted to haunt you, they would have to work for it.
it didn’t take long. ambessa approached first, her steps deliberate, her presence cutting through the crowd like a blade. “you look beautiful,” she said, her voice low enough that it felt like a secret. you hated how your skin warmed under her gaze.
“you shouldn’t be here,” you replied, though the edge in your voice felt dull, worn down by something deeper.
sevika joined her then, her expression inscrutable but her proximity unnerving. “we needed to see you,” she said, her voice rougher, as if it cost her something to speak.
“at a wedding? how romantic.” you let the words hang, your lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “good thing it’s not mine.”
sevika’s lips twitched, and you scowled. your pain was not for her amusement.
“[name], we made mistakes,” ambessa said, and for the first time, there was something fragile in her tone, a crack in the glass. it distracted you from your ire. “but we haven’t stopped thinking about you.”
you set your glass down, your fingers trembling against the crystal stem. “i don’t think this is the time or place.”
“when is?” sevika countered, her voice steady but her eyes revealing something raw. “you’ve been avoiding us.”
“i said i never wanted to speak to either one of you again and yet, here you are,” you said, your voice sharper now, cutting through the haze of alcohol and longing. “do you think crashing a wedding will fix what you broke?”
ambessa’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. “we’re not here to fix it. we’re here because we can’t let it end like this. and it’s not crashing if the groom extends an invite at the behest of the bride.”
your heart stuttered, and for a moment, the noise of the reception faded into a dull roar. clleo’s laughter rang out from somewhere behind you, a reminder of where you were, of what you’d tried so hard to rebuild. why did everyone betray you?
“i can’t do this,” you whispered, stepping back. the movement felt like tearing yourself in two.
“baby girl,” sevika said, her voice low, almost pleading. “look at me. this isn’t some big scheme, okay? let’s talk. we don’t even have to do it here. we can go anywhere you fucking want. just like before, mama.”
you shook your head, the weight of their words pressing against the fragile walls you’d built around yourself. “i need air,” you said, your voice barely audible, and before they could respond, you turned and slipped into the crowd.
“[name!]” ambessa called.
fuck being the tiger's bride, you were the tiger. you stood your ground, kept walking.
🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚𓃔
the gardens were quiet, the air cool against your skin as you leaned against the wrought-iron railing. the night sky stretched endlessly above you, an intricate canvas of stars that felt too indifferent to your pain. but the world wasn’t responsible for soothing you.
you’d thought the distance would help, that the cool air would clear your head, but instead, it only magnified the ache in your chest.
you heard them before you saw them, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. you didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge their presence, but you felt it—that charge, that unbearable pull that had slaughtered you repeatedly since the beginning.
“i didn’t ask you to follow me.”
“we’re not asking for forgiveness,” ambessa said, her voice soft but firm. “we are willing—we’re willing to take what we can get. we want to make this right.”
you turned then, your eyes meeting hers, and for the first time, you saw it—the vulnerability, the regret. sevika stood slightly behind her, her expression shadowed but her eyes fixed on you with the same intensity.
“and what does that look like?” you asked, your voice breaking despite yourself. “what could you possibly do to undo the damage?”
ambessa stepped closer, her hand hovering near yours but not quite touching. “we can’t undo it,” she admitted. “but we can promise to be better. to show you that you’re the only thing that matters.”
“you’re both so good with words. but words don’t mean anything if they’re not backed by action.” you laughed then, a bitter sound that cut through the stillness. “you always made me feel like i mattered. that’s why it hurt so much. i have no place between you.
sevika finally spoke, her voice quieter but no less resolute. “then let us prove it. on your terms.”
“you’re not good for me.”
ambessa glided forward, caught your chin inbetween her thumb and index finger.
“nothing in this world that we want with so much intensity will ever be good for us.”
you looked between them, your heart a battlefield between desire and self-preservation. the silence stretched, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. finally, you broke out of her grasp, a small, tentative gesture that felt like stepping off a cliff.
“i have no place between you,” you said again, your voice barely more than a whisper.
sevika's shoulders sagged with disappointment, but ambessa’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. she was like a bloodhound with weakness.
“is that what you want, lamb?” you looked up at her, sensing a shift in the air. “you want to be between us? coddled, warm, and safe?”
“ambessa—” sevika began, but the other woman held up a hand.
“you would’ve been fine if you had know that we were married from the beginning, hmm? is that it? your conscience would’ve been sated, right? because it’s not homewrecking or infidelity if the partners are aware of the others transgressions.”
“that’s not fair,” you snapped.
“mmm, well life isn’t. besides, you must be stupid if you think every client you’ve been with hasn’t once had someone waiting at home. this is your life, little lamb. your permanent affliction,” ambessa sneered. “i think you like it.”
you knew this game well. she pushed you, said the best things to make you act your worst. if you gave in, she won.
“fuck you, ambessa.”
“gladly,” she said with a small smile.
you scoffed, irritated beyond belief and moved to storm past her. by doing so, you gave her what she wanted. as you made an effort to leave, she cinched your waist with her arm and pulled you back into her chest. you could feel her breasts against your back, full and ripe like fruit.
“what are you doing?” you asked incredulously.
she didn’t answer, only hiked your dress up to press a ringed hand to your cunt. she held it there, groping the warmth of you until you were leaking in response. you let out a strangled squeal, legs kicking to no avail.
“see? you want us so badly. it’s like an instinct.”
you glanced at sevika, hoping for some fucking common sense but found her gazing at your lace-clad panties with something unfathomly angry lurking across her face.
“who the fuck gave you those?” she said quietly.
you stopped struggling, looking at her fully now. her stormy gaze lifted, piercing you like a spear through weak flesh.
“it wasn’t me, and ambessa never gifted you shit like this.”
“i had—i had other clients,” you answered and she rolled her shoulders, skulking forward. “but i bought these myself. i don’t see anyone else anymore. i can’t—i couldn’t. it was hard.”
her face softened at that, and she came closer. her large body covered the front of you, shielding your exposed body from any prying eyes. this meant that ambessa could slide the fabric to the side and dip a finger into your cunt. the slide was slick due to your drooling arousal, but the pain still startled you.
she was large, almost too much, but it seemed to burst a part of you that had been straining at its locks. you let loose a silent cry, shuddering desperately in her grasp as she explored you tenderly. sevika cooed, claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss.
“hold on,” she murmured into your mouth and you clutched onto her, gripping tighter as ambessa gave you over.
sevika walked you over to a small alcove, expertly hidden from immediate vision and grunted as she held you up with one arm—removing her jacket with the other. once the concrete floor was covered appropriately, she lowered you on top of it carefully.
you released her, but barely had a moment to thank her before she was on you. your first thought was that it was like before: relentless, tender, and crushing. her hands slid up your thighs until they grasped at your hips. you rocked into her, moaning softly as she squeezed the soft meat of your stomach. your breath came fast, labored and fueled by aching.
“it’s okay, baby. ‘m right here,” sevika said, her voice low and firm.
she pulled back, spreading your legs till the pink of your pussy was revealed to her hungry gaze. it winked at her, clenching around nothing the longer she looked.
“jesus, i’ve missed this,” she murmured.
you flushed, body pulsing hot with flame. from the side of you, ambessa came prowling. she lowered herself to her knees, back arching neatly as she crawled into the apex of your thighs. her mouth descended upon you with a fervor, her lips closing around your clit and sucking. your back bowed until you were practically hunched over her, hands in her thick hair.
she only adjusted herself so that she could better lick into you, her tongue lapping at every crevice of your cunt. you were dripping all over her face, hips bucking as you fucked forward onto her tongue. her hands came to cup the peach of your ass, squeezing and tugging until you felt like nothing more than a piece of meat. after a moment, ambessa pulled back and laughed as you tried to follow.
“sorry, little lamb, but i need to know if i’m doing a good job” she watched you, eyes sharp. “i know you are.”
you shivered at that, and she smiled. impatiently, you further opened your legs and pushed your sopping pussy toward her.
“c’mon. please.” when nothing happened, you let out a groan. “you’re doing a good job.”
“who’s doing a good job?” ambessa asked, moving closer.
you shivered again, your brain beginning to mottle and smear.
“you are, mommy.”
“fuck,” sevika groaned.
satisfied, ambessa suctioned her lips back over you. you let out a high moan, pushing your chest out. sevika reached over, tugging the bust down and exposing your tits. your nipples were straining toward her, so she dragged one in between your teeth. with a cry of surprise, you slammed your thighs closed around ambessa’s bobbing head. she did nothing to open them herself, only slapped a hand on your inner thigh to get you to correct yourself.
“yes, fuck,” you cried. “fuck, please. please. ohhhh.”
ambessa shook her head back and forth, letting herself get messy as she pushed her face deeper inside of your pussy. you were fully fucking her face now, your clit engorged and begging. whatever filter you’d had before was gone now; your mouth ran like water from a faucet.
“yeah. yeah, mommy, like that. eat your baby’s cunt. lick your girl’s pink little pussy.”
ambessa moaned, her nails digging into the skin of your ass. you bounced as much as you could, that warmth coiling deep inside your stomach. sevika was still teasing your tits, but she had a hand inside of herslef now—her pants pushed down for better access.
when you realized she was trying to rub one out, you came with a primal grunt. ambessa attempted to pull back but you kept her where she was with a firm hand at the nape of her neck. breathlessly, you coaxed sevika up for a kiss and then pulled her away by her hair.
“i want you to touch her,” you instructed. your voice was shaky as you edged toward your second orgasm.
it took her a minute to register what you meant and you watched her cheeks darken, her eyes flickering toward ambessa’s rippling back inbetween your legs and then back to you.
“i know you want to, sevi,” you murmured.
your mind was almost gone now; you were so close to heaven.
you could see her warring with herself, but you also knew her love for you would win out. with a curt nod, she moved until she was behind ambessa and lifted her dress until she was face to face with her naked ass. with an efficent movement, sevika pushed ambessa’s legs open so she could smell the musk of her large cunt. there was a moment where you weren’t sure if she would obey, but then she dived in—licking a large stripe between ambessa’s folds. you seized around ambessa’s tongue as she squealed in surprise, your orgasm pouring from you like honey.
you puhsed her off of you and crawled onto all fours, squatting slightly to make the push of your fingers easier as you entered yourself. despite not pleasuring you anymore, ambessa made no effort to move as sevika slapped a hand on her ass as she slurped at her pussy.
“holy shit,” ambessa muttered and you grinned.
“have you—have you touched each other like this before?” you asked, voice breaking as you reached that spot long your walls. “did you fuck when i left to try to stave the guilt?”
there was no answer, but ambessa stiffened. you laughed, bright and a little unhinged. it was confirmation that they’d thought about, but had never actually followed through. you were in a squatting position now, positioning your hips as you rode your own fingers. you wrist twinged in discomfort, but you were more determined to cum for a third time.
faster and faster, you rode. your head was turned up toward the ceiling of the alcove, your tits bouncing as you began to crest that wave. you closed your eyes, focusing on the shaky inhales of ambessa and the wet squelches of sevika feasting on her.
there was a pause, so you opened your eyes and found sevika flipping ambessa over so that the bigger woman sat on her face. like this, she was even more insatiable. she rocked ambessa back and forth on her face, spreading her own thighs weakly as heat cascaded through her.
you weren’t sure what did it: sevika’s newfound desperation to actually fuck her wife, ambessa’s unrelenting eye contact as she came, or the high whine sevika released when ambessa leaned back to fuck two fingers into her frantically pulsing cunt.
but whatever it was ravaged you. you screamed as you came for the third time, legs trembling as you squirted all over yourself and sevika’s suit jacket. the comedown was impossible. you were incoherent, moaning wildly as the pleasure possessed you.
you heard them both scrambling to move toward you, but you held a hand out. your neck bent, your body settling onto all fours like a lame animal as you let your cunt flutter and clench through the remnants of your orgasm. your chest heaved frantically, but you were euphoric. you’d done it, reached Heaven and taken control.
you glanced up at them and know from the look on their faces, you’ve never been this beautiful. if this was what the french called a little death, you wanted to die forever.
“this is your place,” ambessa said hoarsely. “you belong right in the center. you are the only one who understands. you are our center.”
sevika lay next to her, and she said nothing for a long while. then her face turned toward you. you met her gaze unflinching.
“baby girl, please. please.”
you thought you were the loser.
“it has to be different,” you finally said. the two women broke into identical smiles. “it has to be. i want you to be transparent with me. i’m not a little child.”
you thought you were down for the count.
“like you said,” you continued, staring right at them. “you are my life. this is my life.”
but here you were, the last woman standing.
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© hcneymooners.
⚚ special taglist: @venusiandyke @thatonetargaryen @drgnflyteabox @y2kas13 @baeumonde @blackdykegirlblogger @slut4sevika @sevikasllver @indigopearl96 @dut1fuldyk3 @imheadintothemountains @bambishaven @kirammansbow @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @nightlyconfusion @sevikasrightboob @half-of-a-gay @nsfwruru @yourlovesicklibra @tnash-tammy @sweetcinnamoncookie6 @bluferret @doppelman @savedforlaterr @sevikasserafim @fruitfulfashion @soniiyi @namuranguinhos @16novvs @bubblestrbls @spidercat-soccerfan @pllduniverse @sugrcookiiee @iwasholic @sevslefthand @starting6over @fxngsfxgxrty @leone007 @ambessaswhore @jvalentinelvr @bella-goths-wife @maaaaaaaaaaari @elena0497 @powderpinkandsweeet @sweetcinnamoncookie6 @pearldaisy @sevikas-whore @wolfessa @lazyartizt
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saturnsurn · 16 days ago
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LOOKIN’ BIG, MAMA
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In which they find out you’re pregnant!
⭒ Gojo, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna and Toji
⭒ warnings - AFAB reader, FEM! Reader, Pregnancy
⭒ Requested by @ttalkme1 <3
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diejager · 1 year ago
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Can u do pyramid head fucking n overstimulating reader in a headlock?
Like his arms are fucking massive so imagine how good it’d feel to have one around your throat while he absolutely rails you😭
Headlock Cw: smut, overstimulation, creampie, headlock, tell me if I missed any.
You struggled against him, nails digging into his arm forearm, wailing out in pure bliss. You jerked forward with every hard thrust of Pyramid Head’s thick cock, his bulbous head ramming against your spongy cervix. He held you still, his strong arm curving over your neck with a vice. He never faltered even as he drove in and out of you, standing still on two muscle-bound legs that you doubted would buckle under his fast and rough pace.
The veins that ran from the base, over the fat middle of his cock and to the tip felt heavenly with the slight curve upwards, rubbing your spongy walls. You rolled your hips, legs kicking wildly under you while you squirmed, crying out for him for something. You didn’t know anymore, one second you’d be craving his cock, drooling and moaning for more, and the other second, you’d beg for him to stop, plead your case from your soft and tender cunt.
Your cunt pulsed, a loud beat that echoed in your head, it throbbed with a striking warmth, almost painful but never hurting. You came one too many times, slick dripping down heavy balls and his sculpted thighs. He proudly growled in your ear, hips slapping against your ass with loud, wet sounds. He revelled in your cries and mewls, your begging only egged him on to fuck you.
“Please! T-too much!”
He loved the sound of your voice, the high squeaks and your broken voice. You were his drug, something he couldn’t get enough of. It left him wanting and wanting, there was always more he wanted to have. The difference between you both was something he salivated at, that made his cock grow hard and leaky, your soft and round limbs, your shorter stature and your weaker strength. It played on his instincts, it attracted him to the more vulnerable.
His chest rumbled with a soothing growl, still thrusting with an erratic pace and a throbbing cock. He breathed out in short puffs, arm tightening around you as fast as your walls tightened around him, milking him for all his worth for a third time. His balls contracted, his body shaking as he came, slamming into you even as his tip spurted cum, painting your warm walls white with monstrous cum.
You shook, body trembling in his arms, gasping for air as you rode your nth climax, loosing count of the number of times Pyramid Head made you come on his fingers, his tongue and his cock. You couldn’t feel your legs, the loud beat in your ears deafening you to the world and you monstrous lover.
“Are- are we done?”
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specialgradefckr · 1 month ago
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Cutest Girl Alive~
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tw: explicit content. brat!reader, gojo is not a brat tamer he is a brat enjoyer, hate sex vibes, very very tsundere!reader, gojo is hilariously oblivious about how annoying he is, reader is kinda mean (not without reason...)
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satoru gojo who just doesn't know what your problem is.
he really doesn't! suguru doesn't believe him, of course, but it's true - he didn't do anything. at least not anything that would warrant you asking if his "inbred, illiterate ass is too important to file a report".
ichiji said it was just because his paper backlog made things difficult for everybody. but the inbreeding comment was uncalled for!
his mom is super hot, though. he told you as much, and offered to set up a date, just in case you swung the other way.
unfortunately, the only thing that swung was your hand against his face, which didn't make contact, but it still hurt his feelings!
(you'd looked him dead in the eye. "good." walked away.)
and that wasn't just an isolated incident!
he'd caught you at the vending machine, bent over. satoru had politely refrained from slapping your ass and loudly announced how hot it was.
perfect gentleman!
whereupon you had turned around, smiling tightly, and offered him the soda.
"see," he teased, cracking it open, "i knew you could be nice if-"
the soda sprayed all over his face. your smile looked a little looser, a little realer, and your laugh - while awful and wicked - had been terribly adorable.
when he started to laugh with you, though, you just glared. rolled your eyes, and walked off in the middle of the conversation.
and just. random moments! your face falls into an admittedly cute pout (suguru says it's a grimace) whenever he walks into the room.
"how's your day been?"
"good, until you got here."
like, he's not crazy here. you're just being mean.
honestly, it's kind of funny. or it would be funny, if it didn't kind of hurt a little.
suguru doesn't get the same kind of response. when he begs, pleads, and bribes suguru into asking you what you don't like about him -
"if i had to say... everything."
whereupon suguru had burst out laughing.
mean!
but that's the thing, though. you were nice to suguru, to everyone else.
you're not a bitch. you're a bitch to him.
he's special.
you don't treat anybody else like this.
why is that, satoru ponders. why do you especially dislike him?
suguru says it's his shitty personality. joke's on suguru because his best friend has been some guy with a shitty personality for about a decade now! loser.
anyways, he comes up with a plan. he texts you from another phone and number, something perfectly random and polite. a picture of a cat he found on the street.
(you love cats so you'll definitely respond. he knows because he's been popping in on you for several weeks now. it's not stalking because he doesn't follow you! and that was so rude of suguru to say!)
the conversation that follows is perfectly pleasant. sweet, even. he enjoys it, right up until -
mean girl <3: hey could you do me a huge favor actually? satoru gojo: anything 4 u kitten!! mean girl <3: kill yourself gojo
his number is blocked.
whoops. wow. do you have a built in satoru gojo detector or something? what is he missing? what gave him away???
suguru looks over the texts and just stares at him blankly at the question.
"well? what could have clued her in?"
"oh, god... satoru, if you can't tell, just forget about it. and stop trying to fool her."
he probably should. stop, that is.
he's not following you but he's definitely teleporting into places he knows you'll be. trying to run into you. constantly. daily. hourly, even.
he likes to stay updated on all your missions. your favorite restaurants. maybe he watches you a little.
there's just something that draws him in. your quick wits, your derision. the way you look at him with all that fire.
you want to laugh at him. he wants to laugh with you.
and yeah, he gets rock hard when you yell at him. he'd let you slap him but you don't bother trying anymore after hitting his infinity that one time. bummer.
it's a late summer evening - sun still up, orange on the horizon. he's stuck filling out reports, you're stuck grading papers.
in silence, as always. you'd never speak to him unless it was to insult him.
"hey," satoru says all the sudden, "you wanna fuck?"
the silence that fills the room is colder, harder -
"are you fucking serious?" insulted, outraged - that's about what he expected.
but... if he looks with the six eyes... if he glances at your sympathetic nervous system, if he squints really hard and swears three times over, maybe he can convince himself -
"you're not totally against the idea, are you?" he draws himself up from the table, smirking.
hooking a finger in his blindfold like he's trying to remind you just how long they are.
you stare at him.
"dead serious," he confirms, "right here right now. i can be fast."
"i don't doubt it." oooh, there's that bite again, "i doubt i'd enjoy it."
his smile bares teeth.
"wanna bet?"
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and fuck, just look at you now. look at you!
with all six eyes he is. and satoru likes what he sees.
hunched over, teary eyed. face bright red. you used to scowl at him with that face, that pretty face, all hard lines and snarled lips -
and look at you now! so cute and precious and soft! so sweet he wants to take a bite out of you.
you even yelp, adorably, when he nips at the inside of your thigh. sensitive, twitchy.
he's dizzy with it. with the taste of you, of your cum. your high pitched little whimpers in his ears are still ringing in his ears, along with your mean retorts.
"where's your smart mouth now, baby?" he teases, lips glossy with your slick.
and god, it's even fucking hotter watching you try to glare while blushing and trembling and blinking away tears of overstimulation.
"sh-shut up and put your dick in me, gojo," you bite out, "if you even know how."
you jolt when he kisses your cunt, looking you in the eyes while he does it.
"awh, you poor thing," he cooes, crawling up your chest to go face-to-face, even as another hand goes to dig his cock out of his pants, "so impatient."
he can tell it riles you up. that you don't know what to do, trapped in his gaze.
"fuck off, gojo."
"i'll fuck you," he says with a snicker, kissing your throat. like he knows you won't let him kiss your lovely little pouty face.
how could he not have seen it before?
(well, he had his blindfold on for one. but the principle of you being unsettled by your attraction towards him still stands!)
he lines himself up, nice and easy. feels your unsteady hands reach, cling to his shoulders, and that's almost as hot.
you look down to avoid his gaze, but then your eyes widen at the sight of his cock. huge and pink and throbbing.
"yummy, right?" he croons, "you can have a taste after if you want. you're so sweet, you deserve a lick or two."
you make this sharp gasp, the most adorable, helpless noise, your whole body jerking as he plunges into you, and satoru nearly cums just from that.
cute. cute cute cute cute so fucking cute he's gonna go crazy.
he bites at the place your shoulder meets your neck just to sate himself. soft skin, tender flesh. salty and slick from sweat.
you melt in his mouth. around his dick. whimpering and sniffling and mewling little demands.
"get on with it, gojo, fuck, is this your first time - "
"first time fucking a cunt this wet?" he purrs between sucking marks on your neck, "yeah, baby. it's crazy, how much you want me."
"you went down on me for like," another high-pitched squeak as he nips your ear, "t-ten minutes, dumbass. of course i'm wet!"
your hands claw at him, trembling just like your voice.
he shoves himself in, all the way to the hilt, disintegrating any coherence you had left. all you can do is cry out, wailing when his long fingers brush over your poor, swollen, tender clit.
"awh, baby, you can take it," he croons. his heart does a little delighted flutter when he sees your (utterly kissable) lips purse in annoyance, only to fall apart again when he pumps back into you.
"run out of nasty things to say, huh, baby?" satoru swears he can feel your pretty little clit twitching and pulsing at his touch, just like his cock throbs inside you.
his eyes glitter as he thrusts in and out. god, your hot fucking body tensing and shuddering against him, the exhaustion warring with pleasure and aggravation on your face.
there's not a single part of you that isn't utterly fixated on him. in this moment he's the most important thing in your world.
and it's glorious. your cunt is clenching him like a vice, unraveling him almost as far as he's already unwound you. little moans spill from your mouth, music to his ears.
that face, god, that fucking gorgeous face that's always frowning at him. so pretty now.
"look at you," he pants, close so close, "god, you're - such a bitch all the time - you just needed a good fucking, huh?"
satoru snatches your face by the jaw, looking you straight in the eyes.
they're all wet and messy and a little bit red. he's so close he has to press hard, fast circles into your clit to get you closer, closer -
"f-fuck," you sob, "fuck, hngh, you-"
he licks your tears off your cheeks, "just needed some good cock, huh? that's all it takes to shut your mean little mouth?"
clawing at his back. he feels you squeezing him for all he's worth, milking him -
"fuck, i'm cumming," he groans, bursting hot and liquid in your tight cunt.
you gulp down heavy, airy breaths. delicate noises as you tremble in his arms.
fuck, you're so gorgeous. satoru lays you back, your lashes fluttering, face flushed, spread out on the desk all limp and exhausted.
his ravished beauty. his little spitfire.
"see," he cooes, cupping your cheek, "all sweet for me now that you're filled with my cum. see how nice it feels when you're good for me?"
your hands shoot up, slapping his hand away, covering your face.
"your mouth is literally only good for eating pussy."
he laughs, leaning in to hold you against him. "and yours is only good for talking shit."
"maybe if you weren't such an asshole you'd know better." you snap, pulling back, sliding him out of you with a little gasp that gets his cock twitching again.
he whines at the loss of you, "awh, come on, don't be like that."
you roll your eyes. it's pretty incredible how well you're composing yourself, fixing your clothes and hair. taking a deep breath as you pointedly ignore his pestering and prepare to leave.
his bitchy, pretty baby. so much less intimidating when he's seen you moaning and cumming in his mouth - but he thinks you're even more adorable now.
"i gave you more than your fair share of orgasms, didn't i? show me what else it's good for~" he sings, staring at you the whole time.
you ignore him until you're dressed again. glancing at him from the corner of your eye. turning away.
"...next week after class." you say, stopping just before you leave, "i don't like owing people."
"heh." satoru watches you dart out the door, shutting it briskly behind you, smiling to himself.
maybe you thought he couldn't see it - as if he isn't always watching your face - but just before you left, he could tell.
the faintest dusting of pink on your cheeks...
you really are the cutest girl alive, huh?
(megumi tells him to stop whistling that day - he doesn't stop for an entire week.)
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sweekuna · 6 months ago
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Victoria Secret Run w/ Boyfriend!Sukuna
“Kuna! How about these?” You ask, smiling at the King of Curses as he glares your way.
“This is ridiculous.” The man snarls back. Sukuna had been making sure to keep a good distance away from you. This wasn’t his scene, not at all.
You had been dying to take a trip to your local mall. It had been ages since you’d been, with Sukuna keeping you by his side at all times it was hard convincing him to let you go out alone. You only ever went out when you had your guard dog right next to you, and why would Sukuna have any business traveling to some overly expensive shopping market?
After probably weeks of begging he finally agreed. The man had enough of hearing your whines and begs every day. So the two of you went out on what you like to call a ‘shopping spree.’
You place the pair of panties back down on the table and walk over towards Sukuna. The man looks down at you, a frown apparent on his rough face.
“This is supposed to be fun!” You say, crossing your arms over your chest. “I thought you would enjoy helping me pick this stuff out.”
Sukuna looks from you and then to the overly pink store behind. His eyes, judging, scans over the products. “I don’t see why you caused such a fuss to come.” He states, looking back down to you. “Nobody sees what’s under your clothing anyways. Why pay such a large sum of money for useless things?”
You can’t help but roll your eyes and walk back off to the table full of underwear. “If you aren’t going to help then just go wait in line for food.”
Sukuna sighs and for a moment you think he left. That’s until you hear his voice speak from behind your shoulder. “These are nice.” The man points to a pair of bland white undergarments with a lace trim.
You pick them up, turning back towards Sukuna. Just as you open your mouth to judge his boring taste you decide against it. Your eyes meet his own, the usual coldness everyone sees in the man is long gone whenever his deep red irises glimpse upon your face. “You’re so cute.”
Sukuna blinks to your snickering face as you skip off to go look at a different section of the store. He finds himself smiling as he lovingly follows in your steps.
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janiehellion · 2 months ago
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𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐔𝐩 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫
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𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Learning to ride a motorcycle should’ve been simple. After all, you knew your way around bikes better than anyone in Alexandria—except Daryl Dixon. But one crash and one pissed-off redneck later, and you're stuck with him giving you a hands-on crash course in focus and control.
𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Smut ⋮ Language ⋮ Minor Injuries ⋮ Vaginal Fingering ⋮ Cunnilingus ⋮ Semi-Public ⋮ Rough Sex ⋮ Painplay ⋮ Marking
𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 14.441 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: S05E13 & S05E14 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader
𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: My first oneshot of 2025—and my longest yet! Sorry, not sorry, for the length; Daryl Dixon refused to stop until the lesson was fully drilled in. Hope it's worth the ride.
𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔
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You couldn't take your eyes off of him.
Out of everyone from the new group in Alexandria, he was the one who made the least effort to fit in. He was quiet and always looked ready to leave, like this wasn't a place to call home. He preferred to keep his distance, doing his own thing around the community, and that made him even more interesting to you.
Daryl Dixon was certainly different from the rest.
The first time you caught him working on the motorcycle and the parts he got from Aaron, in Aaron's and Eric's garage, something caught your attention. It wasn't just the way he moved, though the way his hands worked on the machine was something you couldn't ignore. No, it was more than that, and it pulled you in.
And for you?
The sound of metal and the smell of oil were all too familiar. You'd grown up around motorcycles and spent hours watching your old man work on his Harley Davidson most of the time, until you decided to become a mechanic after school, especially for motorcycles. That knowledge was something you didn't share with many others in Alexandria, but when you saw Daryl putting that motorcycle together piece by piece, you figured it might be a good way to start a conversation, if nothing else.
Sure, he kept to himself mostly, spending more time with his crossbow than with humans. But it made him stand out in a place where most people were getting used to living 'normally' again. And you didn't want anything normal. You wanted real.
That's what led you to the garage.
Daryl, of course, was bent over the motorcycle he'd been working on for some time now.
As you walked closer, you pretended to inspect his work. "What is this, a '92 Honda? Nice setup. Yamaha front end, though? Bit of a Frankenstein's monster, huh?"
That got his attention. "The hell ya know 'bout bikes?"
You shrugged, smirking at him. "What, do you think just 'cause I live in Alexandria, I can't tell a carburetor from a walker? Oh, please."
He hadn't spoken to you much since he arrived, but then again, Daryl didn't talk to anyone much. But you? You barely ever got a grunt in your direction since he'd been here.
"Looks like it's finally coming together," you started, trying to sound bored. It was a shitty way to break the ice, but small talk wasn't your thing after all.
Daryl didn't even look up. Grease covered his hands, and his current expression made him look like he'd rather punch you than say hello.
"Yeah, maybe if ya'd stop annoyin' my ass," he murmured, tightening a bolt.
"I'm only annoying the bike," you snorted. "And I'm making sure it doesn't fall apart the second you ride it out of the community."
That earned you a glare. A quick one. And you held his stare for that moment, refusing to look away.
"So yer always this annoyin'?" He shot back, wiping his hands on a rag and finally standing up to his full height.
"You tell me. So what is it? This… special kind of build?" You asked, gesturing to the motorcycle. You had to admit, it did look quite nice.
His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to be a little surprised about your curiosity. "Do ya really know bikes?"
You shrugged, playing it cool. "Enough to know that this isn't a normal setup, but that's just personal taste, you know?"
"It'll work."
"Sure, until it doesn't," you continued with a smirk. "But hey, it's your funeral. Or someone else's if that thing gives out mid-run."
He grunted, clearly not in the mood to admit you might have a point.
"Still, not bad for what you had to work with. Must've been a pain in the ass to track down some of the other parts," you moved closer, getting a better look at the setup. "But I heard Aaron's been helping you out. He's good with scavenging stuff. Though, I bet he didn't know half of what you needed."
That got a grunt of agreement from Daryl. "He ain't bad. Jus' don't need anyone watchin' when I'm workin'."
"Noted." You raised your hands, but you didn't back off. Instead, you crouched next to the machine, inspecting the details up close. You could feel Daryl's eyes on you, probably wondering what the hell you were doing.
After a moment of silence, you looked up at him again. "You ever really gonna take this thing out, or are you just building it for the hell of it?"
Daryl looked over to the garage door as if he was thinking whether or not to answer. Finally, he sighed. "Gonna use it. Aaron wants me on the road, recruitin' and all. Need somethin' fast."
"Yeah? And what if you end up with a flat tire out there? Wait, that might not even be a problem, since it kind of looks like you're building yourself a time machine there," you answered, standing up. "But you're gonna need more than just duct tape and spit to get this thing running."
Daryl's eyes narrowed again. "Told ya I know what I'm doin'," he snapped, his hand tightening around the wrench like he was itching to throw it at you.
But you weren't about to be ignored that easily. "You've really got some interesting mismatched parts here. Yamaha forks on a Honda… Look, I'm just saying that you might wanna check the suspension before you ride outta here. Unless you're aiming to get launched off it."
"Gonna manage."
You snorted. "Sure, you will. But hey, if you ever feel like teaching someone else how to ride, I wouldn't mind learning. I mean, someone's gotta be around to save your ass when that thing tries to kill you."
Daryl shot you a look, his jaw clenching slightly, but this time, he just stared at you like you were the most confusing person he'd ever seen.
"Ya wanna learn how to ride?" His voice sounded annoyed, like the idea was somehow offensive to him, but there was also some slight disbelief to be heard as if he wasn't sure why you'd ask him of all people. "Ain't got time for that. Got 'nough problems without babysittin'."
"Come on," you pressed further. "What's the harm? Or is the asshole routine just for me? Besides, if you ever crash, I promise I'll write you some kinda eulogy. Something about how you died doing what you loved—which is looking perpetually pissed off."
You could've sworn you saw the slightest smirk, but Daryl quickly busied himself with the motorcycle, like he hadn't shown you might really have a point with your tips.
Keeping your voice casual, you stepped back. "Let me know if you change your mind," you continued, brushing off your knees. "Might be fun."
With that, you gave him one last smirk and turned around, leaving him to think about whatever he thought of you.
You spent the next couple of days trying not to think about Daryl Dixon, which was about as easy as trying not to notice a walker biting your arm. But despite your best efforts to act like it was no big deal, the thought of riding that motorcycle—and more specifically, him teaching you—kept making its way into your head.
Daryl didn't say anything about your offer for those few days, too. Hell, he didn't say much of anything, really. He'd pass by you in Alexandria, his crossbow by his side, always looking like someone just spit in his drink. But you had gotten used to the silent treatment by now, so you didn't let it get to you... much.
Indeed, it didn't take long to figure out that convincing Daryl Dixon to teach you how to ride a motorcycle was like trying to herd cats—but grumpy, feral ones… with knives.
It was late afternoon when you found yourself near the garage again, and you hadn't planned on seeing him, but let's face it, you were intrigued. And there he was—still working on the motorcycle and still looking like it personally insulted him.
However, the thing looked all patched together with scavenged pieces and maybe a little bit of wishful thinking. It had a certain look to it, like it wanted to run off into the wild and never come back.
Daryl didn't even move. He didn't look your way. He just kept wrenching something near the seat before he glared at you like you'd asked him to solve a math problem.
"Thought I'd come by and bless you with my knowledge once more," you announced, smirking as you leaned against the workbench.
Daryl only rolled his eyes—actually rolled them—like he couldn't believe he had to put up with you again. "Ain't nobody asked for that."
"Yeah, well, nobody asked for that bike to look like it's held together with a plea and a prayer, but here we are," you shot back, leaning forward slightly. "'Livin' on a Prayer,' in fact."
He grunted, shoving the wrench into the toolbox with force. "The hell do ya know 'bout motorcycles, anyway?"
"I do know motorcycles! I told you, didn't I? And that thing," you pointed to the machine, "is one bad pothole away from turning into scrap metal."
Daryl scoffed, clearly not a fan of having his work criticized, especially by someone who, in his eyes, hadn't earned the right to say something about it. "It'll hold. 'S a good bike."
"Sure, sure," you said, grinning at him. "But if you're so confident, why don't you accept my offer? Teach me how to ride. Let's see if this thing here can handle it."
He stared at you for a long moment, like he was thinking about his options. You could practically see the gears running in his head—whether to shut you down and tell you to piss off or give in just to prove you wrong.
"Ya serious 'bout this?"
"Dead serious," you said, holding his stare. "What? Are you afraid?"
His nostrils flared in the way they did when he seemed to be two seconds from snapping at you, but instead, he just turned back to his work. "Ya wanna learn? Fine. But don't come cryin' to me when ya hurt yer ass."
"Oh, don't worry, Dixon. If I hurt my ass, I'll make sure you hurt yours, too," you said, biting back a laugh as you straightened up. "But I swear, this thing's gonna be your mid-life crisis. What's next, leather pants and chaps?"
He showed you one of those stares again—half-annoyed, half-confused—like he wasn't sure if he should bother responding or pretend you didn't exist.
"Ya done?"
"Done? I'm here to save you from yourself, Daryl. You keep this up, and in a week, you're gonna be having a mullet and wearing a crop top."
He stared at you like you'd grown an extra head. "What the hell're ya talkin' 'bout?"
"Mid-life crisis, Daryl. First, it's the bike. Then, it's questionable fashion choices. Next thing you know, you're coming back from a run with a Corvette and crying over Bon Jovi ballads. I'm just here to make sure it won't happen."
"Ain't havin' no damn crisis."
You smirked. "Uh-huh. That's what they all say. Just remember, I offered to help. I can't wait to see you when you're rocking those chaps and a bandana."
"So, ya still wanna learn to ride or not?" His voice sounded definitely pissed off.
You raised your eyebrows, as if in shock. "Oh my, was that an offer in return? From you? I'm touched, really. Let me just—" You pretended to wipe a tear away from your eye and sob. "This moment's very special to me."
"Shut up," he grumbled, but his voice gave way that he almost sounded amused.
"I'm just saying, this is progress," you said. "Next thing I know, we'll be exchanging friendship bracelets."
Daryl didn't respond right away, but you thought you had seen enjoyment, maybe? Or irritation. It was hard to tell with him. Either way, he was back on his feet now, pulling the motorcycle upright and kicking the stand back. Soon enough, the familiar sound of the engine made its way through the garage, and damn if it didn't make your pulse race just a little.
"Get on."
His sudden words made you blink at him in surprise. "Wait, like… right now? Where's the foreplay, Dixon? At least buy me a drink first."
"Nah, when I'm dead. Yeah, right now," he snapped, unable to believe you were even asking.
"Okay, okay," you mumbled, swinging your leg over the motorcycle with as much confidence as you could have at that moment. The seat seemed normal, but it still felt bigger than you expected.
Daryl stepped beside you, his arms crossed as he watched you. "Ya know how to start?"
"Of course I do," you said, reaching for the handlebars.
You were halfway through fumbling with the throttle at first when Daryl's hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. "That ain't how ya do it," he growled as he leaned in. "First lesson: This here's the throttle—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know what a throttle is," you interrupted, waving him off. "I'm not a complete idiot. I could turn this thing into scrap and piece it back together if you wanted me to, so..."
His eyes narrowed. "Then maybe shut up and listen."
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You couldn't help it—pissing him off was just too easy.
"Clutch on the left, throttle on the right," he continued, his fingers tapping the handlebars. "Brake's here. Don't yank it like an idiot." He then gave the machine a once-over. "Ya pull the clutch, twist the throttle slowly. Too much, and yer gonna stall it."
"Okay, understood. Show me."
Daryl let out a frustrated sigh but soon moved behind you, reaching around to grip the handlebars. His strong chest pressed against your back, and you immediately forgot how to breathe.
"Ya gotta ease into it," he instructed while his fingers guided yours on the throttle.
"Uh-huh, yeah, sure, ease into it," you mumbled, trying to sound unimpressed. "And what happens if I don't ease into it? The whole thing explodes?"
"Nah. Ya gonna wipe out an' eat dirt," he shot back, his lips showing a bit of a smirk. "But maybe ya'll learn faster that way."
"Yeah, well, I've eaten worse," you answered, glancing over your shoulder at him. "Besides, I doubt you've ever taught anyone how to ride before. What if you're just a terrible teacher?"
He huffed against your neck. "Ain't teachin' ya much. Now, idle it forward."
You followed his instructions, twisting the throttle just enough to get the engine purring beneath you. The vibration went through your legs, and despite yourself, you had to admit it felt very, very good.
"Okay, now what?" You asked, trying to sound bored even though the adrenaline was starting to kick in.
"Now ya balance," Daryl said, his voice neutral like this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Try not to fall over." You could feel his eyes on you, judging every movement you made. "Quit messin' 'round. Friction Zone is how ya idle forward."
You shot him a look but did as he said, trying not to stall the motorcycle. For a second, you wobbled, and you swore you heard Daryl whisper something—probably betting on how soon you'd crash.
But you didn't. You steadied yourself. It was a weird feeling—kind of thrilling, kind of terrifying.
"Well, look at that," you said, showing him a grin. "Didn't fall over. Guess you're not the worst teacher after all."
"Jus' keep 'em hands on the bars," he instructed, his voice rather patient—well, as patient as Daryl ever got.
You did as he said, gripping the handlebars harder, trying not to think about how close you were to him. His smell wasn't exactly unpleasant. In fact, it was kind of… intoxicating.
Not that you'd ever admit that to him out loud.
"Fine, so what's next? Do I just rev it up and hope for the best?"
Daryl snorted, clearly unimpressed with you being unable to wait. "Ya listen, or yer gonna end up on yer ass."
"You know, Daryl, I don't usually take threats during lessons, but I'll make an exception for you."
His grip tightened on the handlebars, and you thought he might just leave you there. But he didn't. "Don't jerk the damn throttle, woman, or yer gonna take off too fast."
"Throttle, got it. Don't jerk it off. Guess I'll save that one for later." You wiggled your eyebrows, even though he couldn't see it.
Daryl stiffened, grumbling something you didn't quite catch, though it definitely wasn't a compliment.
"C'mon now, twist it—slowly," he ordered.
You followed his lead, the motorcycle easing forward just a bit as you worked the throttle.
"There ya go," Daryl said, his voice sounding a bit less harsh now that you weren't about to play around. "Gotta ease into it."
"Wow, who knew you could be so supportive?" You teased. "Almost makes me think you care."
He grunted. "Jus' don't wanna pick yer ass up off the ground."
"Got it, got it. Now, let's see if I can actually ride this thing without killing myself."
Daryl's hand moved to the clutch, his fingers touching yours as he guided you through the motions. You weren't sure if it was the machine or him, but your heart was beating much faster than usual. Maybe it was both. Either way, you were in for one hell of a ride.
His hand was warm, calloused, and—despite everything—comforting as he guided you out of the garage.
"Okay, slow down a bit, but not too much," he instructed, his voice almost a growl. The way he said it made you shiver, but you refused to let it show. You could be cool about this, right?
"Or I could just go full throttle and see how far I can fly through the streets of Alexandria," you laughed back.
"Real funny," he answered, rolling his eyes. "Jus' don't fuck up. Y'ain't flyin' nowhere. Ya gotta keep it steady."
"Right, no jerking off," you said, moving your head to the side just enough to glance at him. "That's usually my motto, you know, but I can make an exception for you regarding that as well."
"Focus. Don't push it," he warned. "Ya gotta keep yer focus on the bike, not me."
"Really? I thought you were my main distraction." You leaned back a little. "Sure, I'll focus. But I'm also pretty good at multitasking." As you worked the throttle again, you felt a rush of adrenaline. "So, what happens if I actually do fall? You gonna come to my rescue?"
Daryl didn't answer immediately. Instead, he loosened his grip on the handlebars, his body tense next to you. "Ya get back up. Everyone falls. 'S what ya do afterward that matters."
"Profound," you smirked. "You should start writing poetry! 'When life knocks you down, just get back on your bike.' Classic wisdom."
"Shut up and drive."
The motorcycle moved as you used the throttle too hard, and you fought to regain control, laughing nervously. "Shit! Maybe I should have listened to that part about not jerking it!"
He sighed, not bothering to hide his amusement this time. "Ya keep talkin', and ya might jus' convince me to kick ya off myself."
"Promises, promises," you smirked, adrenaline rushing through you, making everything feel a bit more exciting.
He grumbled something again—probably another insult—but he didn't try to stop you. Your movements weren't exactly smooth, but it was a start.
"You're a terrible teacher, by the way," you soon said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.
"Good," Daryl answered. "Means ya won't ask me to do this shit again."
You were just getting into the rhythm, feeling the motorcycle beneath you and getting the hang of it, when you heard the sound of footsteps getting closer behind you.
"Hey! What's going on here?" Aaron's voice destroyed the moment, and you felt Daryl tense near you.
"Shit," he groaned, practically gritting his teeth. You tried to process what was happening as you got off the seat, the way Daryl's body stiffened and the smirk faded from your lips.
"Oh, nothing, just a little driving lesson," you announced, trying to keep going despite the sudden stop. "Motto: 'Try Not to Die, but If You Do, It Ain't My Problem.'"
Aaron laughed, walking closer to you both. "So, it's finally finished?" He looked at the machine, inspecting the mix of parts that somehow came together into something that resembled a proper motorcycle.
"Jus' 'bout," Daryl replied dryly.
Aaron raised an eyebrow, looking from you to Daryl, who was already stepping away from him and you.
"That's great. Looks like you're making some great progress," Aaron continued, stepping closer.
"Ain't needin' ya to worry 'bout that," Daryl grumbled, the annoyance in his voice unmistakable. "Lesson's over."
"Wait, what? You can't just—"
"Don't push it," he snapped, shooting you a look that said he was done. "Ya wanna learn, ya have to find someone else."
You blinked, stunned as he walked away with the motorcycle by his side. "Daryl, stop!"
"Forget 'bout it," he called back, almost like his voice belonged to a different person. "Y'ain't ready."
Your frustration boiled over, and you turned to Aaron, arms crossed. "Thanks for ruining my lesson, by the way. Just what I needed today—more interruptions."
Aaron frowned, glancing between you and Daryl again as he watched him walk away. "What did you expect? He's still new here. Trying to keep his distance from the rest of us."
"Yeah, well, he doesn't need to be an asshole about it," you snapped. "I was getting somewhere!"
"You have to understand that the whole group has been through a lot. Daryl's not always going to be open with people," he explained, but it didn't help your mood.
"I get that, but I was just trying to learn something! Guess it's my fault for thinking he could actually teach me without being a complete asshole about it."
"Maybe give it some time?" Aaron suggested, his voice softer now, sounding more sympathetic. "He'll come around."
"Maybe," you sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. "But just when I thought I could finally get him to smile and to talk, you pull this."
Aaron's expression was by now somewhere between concern and curiosity as you huffed, glaring at Daryl walking away.
"Really, Aaron…" You continued, throwing your hands in the air. "You couldn't have waited five goddamn minutes longer to come and ruin my day? You see me finally making some progress, and you think, 'Oh, hey! The perfect time to interrupt!'"
Aaron raised his hands defensively. "Hey, I didn't mean to ruin anything. I didn't know you two were having... whatever that was."
"Whatever that was?" You repeated, your voice rising. "It was a goddamn driving lesson! Or, at least, it was supposed to be before you came along with your good intentions and your bad timing!"
Aaron frowned, the tone in his voice still kind, but he wasn't backing down. "Look, I was just checking in because I heard the sound of the engine. I thought Daryl wanted to head out, and I only wanted to see if he's done with his work on the bike. I didn't realize you were both so busy."
"Busy?" You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head. "You know what? Forget it. Next time I'm about to get Daryl Dixon to do something other than grunt or skin dead animals on the porch, I'll write you a goddamn note so you don't fuck it up. Now he's all pissed off and stomping away with my only chance at learning how to ride a damn bike and not kill myself."
"I doubt he's mad at you," Aaron responded. "Daryl's complicated. Like the rest of the group. They're still very new here. And you were the same when I found you and brought you here. But you're probably closer to getting through to him than anyone else."
You snorted. "Yeah, sure. 'Cause nothing says 'bonding' and 'getting to know each other' like storming off with his damn Franken-bike in a hurry. Really fucking touching."
Aaron smiled, squeezing your shoulder. "Just think about it."
You exhaled loudly, putting your hands on your hips. "Sounds like it's from a fortune cookie. Thanks for nothing."
With that, Aaron simply walked off, leaving you alone.
Soon, some days had passed since your lesson with Daryl. Days that quickly turned annoying when you realized he was avoiding you like you were the last slice of cold pizza at a party.
It felt weird.
Like, ridiculously weird.
And it didn't help that every time you tried to casually walk into the garage or catch him before he went on a supply run, he was either nowhere to be found or suddenly too busy to talk. You even half-expected to see a 'Do Not Disturb' sign near the bike.
It wasn't like you were stalking him—okay, maybe a little—but it was hard to stop thinking about him.
"Should I ask for him? Should I knock on the garage door? Maybe he's just sleeping? Or dead?" You laughed at the last thought. With Daryl, it wasn't a real possibility.
Finally, you sighed and decided to call it a day. "Alright, Daryl Dixon, you win," you said to yourself, kicking the dirt as you turned to leave.
But just as you made it halfway down the street, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps, followed by a clink of metal that made your heart race. You turned, and there he was—finally. Daryl Dixon, leaning against the side of the garage, arms crossed, his eyes hidden behind his hair, and with a cigarette in one hand.
Oh no, you're not getting away this time.
"Been hiding from me, huh?" You asked as soon as you reached him. "Gonna run off again? Or maybe you've just been too busy?" You faked a yawn, your eyes narrowing. "Or hiding from the bike lesson, maybe?"
Daryl simply scoffed, the only sign of life you got out of him as you stood a few inches from him. His eyes looked down, clearly not thrilled to see you standing there, but you didn't give a damn.
You put your hands on your hips, pretending to inspect him like he was the most boring human in Alexandria. "Hey… You did promise, you know? I didn't just imagine that part now, did I?"
"Dunno what yer talkin' 'bout."
You raised an eyebrow, your smile growing wider. "Oh? Sure feels like it. Guess you finally realized you're not as good of a teacher as you think."
Daryl sighed, sounding not only frustrated but... pissed off? Maybe both?
"Don't need to explain shit to ya," he grumbled in return.
You grinned, shrugging. "Well, if you're busy doing... whatever it is you do when you're not being an asshole, I guess I'll just go back to trying to learn from someone else." You turned to leave, but not without looking back over your shoulder again. "Don't worry. I won't ask you to teach me again."
That got him. He pushed himself off the garage, taking a few steps closer.
"You promised, Daryl. Or is that just another thing you like to say and not follow through with? You were gonna teach me. Not that I care; I'm sure I'll learn from someone else... unless you finally stop being an ass," you taunted, still looking over your shoulder at him.
Daryl's hand shot out before you could get too far, catching your arm in a grip that could've cracked a tree in half if he wanted it to. He was definitely pissed.
With a growl, he yanked you back toward him. "Fine. I'll teach ya. But not here. Not in Alexandria." He released your arm. "Meet me by the gates. Tomorrow, at dawn."
Without waiting for a response, Daryl walked back inside, leaving you standing there with a grin.
The next morning, you woke up early, a little earlier than you'd planned, but that was the least of your problems. There was a knot in your stomach that you couldn't get rid of, not even with a few stretches or by putting on your clothes.
This wasn't just another run. It wasn't just another 'do this or die trying' kinda deal. No, this was different. And for some reason, you were extremely nervous. What was he gonna do? What was he thinking?
You threw on your jacket, tied your boots like they were the last thing you'd ever do, and then... you hesitated.
What the hell was wrong with you?
With a deep breath, you forced yourself out the door and towards the gates of Alexandria. When you finally made it, you saw him. There he was—Daryl Dixon, standing there like he was waiting for the bus, except minus the whole 'bus' part. The motorcycle was leaned up against the walls, and he was staring straight ahead as if you were the last person he wanted to see right now.
"Well, damn. You did show up. Thought maybe you'd hide behind that attitude of yours for another day," you said, taking your time to walk up to him, not quite giving a damn whether he was ready for you or not.
But Daryl didn't even acknowledge you. He just flicked his cigarette away and gave you a look that could probably kill.
He then grunted, clearly not amused. "Ain't here to talk."
You looked at him, smirking a little. "Oh, I thought we were here to talk. 'Cause last time I checked, you were too busy to teach me anything useful. Guess you did promise, isn't that right?" You continued and raised an eyebrow. "So... what's the deal, huh? You just gonna stand there, or are we gonna start this driving lesson?"
He was still giving you that dead-eyed stare like you just asked him to swallow down rusty nails. The way Daryl was looking at you, all calm but irritated at the same time—it made everything weirder. But now, you had no choice. You had to get on that machine if you wanted to learn.
Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer to him after he took the motorcycle and got onto it himself. "Get on."
You hesitated before swinging your leg over it as well, the movement too awkward to be smooth. There was no denying it—there was a whole lot of you that wasn't exactly eager to be pressed up against him.
You bit your lip but tried to keep your cool. "Alright, I'm on."
Daryl didn't answer. He just started the engine, his hands gripping the handlebars, and that was when you had to settle into place—right behind him. You were close now—way too close—and that knot in your stomach was only tightening itself. You couldn't help it. You had to steady yourself, right? And as much as you hated to admit it, you found yourself sliding your hands down, almost instinctively. But... it wasn't enough.
And it wasn't fair. Nothing about this was fair. The way he was so broad, strong, and so very close made it impossible to think straight. Your palms were sweating, and it wasn't because you were nervous about falling off. It was him. Just him. And God, it was infuriating, letting your thoughts run wild.
Why does he have to smell so good? Why can't he just be an asshole and not… this?
Your hands moved. Lower.
You didn't mean to, but... there you were. Your fingers grabbed his hips, right there in front of you and so, so very close. He was warm, so warm, and you couldn't not notice it, even if you tried. But you weren't even trying.
Oh, no. Don't. Don't do it. Not now...
But your hands stayed right there. Resting on his hips. You couldn't help it.
God, he feels good. Warm. Strong. Hell, if I slide even lower, maybe I can make him feel me, too. What if I just—
You quickly cut your thoughts off, but the temptation was there. It was stupid. It's Daryl, you reminded yourself, though it didn't make the racing of your heart in your chest any less intense.
"Quit it. Jus' hold on," he suddenly said, still keeping his focus on the road in front of you.
You snapped out of it, blinking as though you were just pulled back from the edge of a cliff.
"Me?" You shot back, trying to sound as neutral as possible, hoping he didn't feel the way your heart was pounding. "You're the one acting like you've got a stick up your ass. Don't act like I'm the problem here."
Daryl didn't respond—again. His hands tightened on the handlebars, and you felt him move slightly on the motorcycle. You wondered if he could feel the way you were still pressed against him, too. If he noticed, he didn't give any sign, but hell, you weren't sure whether that was calming you down or just making everything worse.
Your hands were still grabbing his hips. Still low. Still in the danger zone. And every second you stayed on that seat that close behind him, the more you realized just how close you were to crossing a line you couldn't uncross, too.
Just stop touching him like that. For God's sake, control yourself...
But it was too late, wasn't it? Your hands were already doing what they wanted, sliding ever so slightly as Daryl revved the engine beneath you. And as the machine roared further and you felt the vibration between your legs, you couldn't deny it—you were holding on tight...
And shit, you hated yourself for it, but you couldn't think straight.
Your hands—those traitorous, slightly trembling hands—started to move further without you even trying. At first, you could feel the hardness of his muscles under his shirt. You didn't mean to, but your fingers couldn't resist anymore.
What the hell is wrong with me?
You kept telling yourself you weren't like this, but the warmth of his body in front of you, the vibrations of the motorcycle—the whole situation—it was clearly messing with your head.
And then your fingers touched the waistband of his pants. Your mind started spiraling.
Fuck, stop it.
But your hands were moving still, just a little further, and before you could catch yourself, you were dangerously close to slipping one whole hand past the button of his pants.
Why does this feel so fucking good? So right? No! This is so wrong!
You knew you shouldn't be doing this. You were driving yourself crazy just being this close to him. You should pull away and act like nothing happened. But the thought of him—of the way he looked, the way he smelled—it was too much.
Should I really keep going? You wondered, heart racing. What if I just slide my hand inside and just feel him?
The idea was so sudden it made your stomach growl, but you couldn't stop imagining it. The way he'd react—if he'd stop the motorcycle and throw you off, or if he'd just let you have your way.
But your hand froze at the button of his pants, resting there, barely touching it. You hated how much you wanted to go further, how much you needed to.
Pull back. Move your hand away. Stop thinking about how strong he is.
The way his muscles moved under your fingers, how he wasn't even saying one thing to stop you. Did he want this? Did he feel it too? You hated how much you wanted to find out.
But Daryl kept driving, focusing on the surroundings and possible dangers as you left Alexandria.
Why isn't he stopping me?
He was tense, but that was it. No words, no warnings. And that drove you wild.
Maybe he wants this as much as I do.
Your mind was on fire now, and you wanted him so badly, it felt like your whole body was about to explode. And the weirdest part? You weren't sure you even cared anymore if this was wrong.
If you don't stop me, I swear I'll—
You didn't finish that thought, and as soon as Daryl pulled off the road and into a clearing surrounded by trees, the motorcycle came to a stop.
"This'll do," he said, getting off it and motioning for you to follow.
You stumbled off, your legs still shaky from holding yourself together.
Right now, you wanted to hate him. To scream at him. But the truth was, you were more pissed at yourself. You were supposed to be learning how to ride a motorcycle, not imagining what it would feel like to be all over him and…
No. Stop it. Get your shit together.
"Alright, what's next?" You asked, doing your best to sound casual even as your heart was still racing. "You gonna teach me how not to eat dirt or just let me ride it?"
Daryl glared at you, one eyebrow raised like you were the one making this complicated. "Jus' pay attention."
You snorted, shaking your head. "Sure, 'cause that's been working out for me so far." You crossed your arms, a little too aware of how your body felt like it was overheating.
Stop thinking about him, stop thinking about him...
He was already gesturing to the motorcycle again, explaining the controls all over. "Clutch, brake, throttle—all that stuff."
You nodded, doing your best to stay focused despite how goddamn awkward you felt.
Focus; you can do this.
You glanced at him and caught the way his hands moved around near you, the way his fingers got hold of the throttle like he was born to do this.
"Ya won't wreck it if ya listen."
You scoffed, trying to hide your nerves. "Yeah… 'if,' but okay."
Daryl took a step closer, the space between you suddenly feeling way too small. "Stop makin' jokes, and start payin' some real attention."
You could feel how he stared you down, even without looking into his eyes, and before you could stop yourself, you were blushing—hard.
Shit, shit, shit.
He then smirked, only a little, and you wanted to punch him for it. Or kiss him. You weren't sure. Either way, you tugged at the collar of your shirt like it was too tight, but there was no escaping it.
Daryl was watching you, though his smirk was already gone again. "Jus' sit down on it. Let's see if ya can at least do that alone while out here, without fallin' over."
You had to swallow hard.
Just get on, just get on, and don't think about him.
Your mind was screaming at you to stop acting like you wanted to crawl all over him, but your body was betraying you.
And Daryl for sure wasn't even trying to make it easier, and all you could do was grit your teeth and pray you didn't lose it.
The first time you tried to balance the motorcycle, you almost tipped it over, but Daryl quickly got a hold of it—and you—before you really ate dirt.
"Goddamn it," he groaned, yanking you upright and keeping the motorcycle steady. "Yer fightin' the damn thing instead o' drivin' it. Quit makin' it harder for yerself."
You shot him a glare but didn't respond, figuring it was easier to just get the lesson over with. This time, he stepped in behind you, hands landing on your waist like he was holding onto a ticking time bomb. His grip tightened just enough to make you aware of his presence, but you weren't going to let him throw you off balance.
"Ease up on the damn clutch," he grumbled. "Slowly. Ya ain't in a damn hurry."
By the third or fourth try, you were starting to get the hang of it. You made it a few feet without the motorcycle wobbling like it had been possessed. You didn't even stall it this time.
"Look at me!" You grinned over your shoulder at him all triumphant as you stopped at a treeline. "I'm basically a stunt double at this point! Wanna try jumping flaming buses next?"
Daryl shot you that look again. The one that made you want to throw something at him. "Nah, yer bein' an amateur stunt double wantin' to set yerself on fire… 'cause ya can't keep yer hands to yerself."
You ignored him.
You had it now. You totally had it.
But who needed to play it safe when you could push this lesson to the limit and prove yourself?
You twisted the throttle again but felt a sudden rush of speed. "Shit!" You screamed from far away. "Fuck!"
"What the hell are ya doin'?!" Daryl shouted before you were hurtling forward at fast speed, your stomach dropping as it made everything around you blurry in sight. You had no idea how to stop in the heat of the moment without throwing yourself off it, and that realization hit you hard. You were in panic mode now, and trying to steer only made it worse.
"Daryl? A little help here, please!" You screamed, gripping the handlebars as your hands shook.
"Hold on!" Daryl yelled, but his warning was already too late. The front wheel hit something—a big rock? A tree stump? You didn't even see it. All you knew was that the motorcycle lurched like a wild animal wanting to throw you off its back.
For a moment, you were sure you were about to die. But Daryl wasn't about to let that happen. He lunged forward, grabbing you and yanking you off the seat just before it tipped completely and threw you off.
You and Daryl went down, both of you slamming into the ground hard. You landed on top of him—completely on top of him, with your thighs pressed against his hips and your upper body crashing against his chest.
You knew you fucked up, but his expression only made it worse. The slight pain in your body was nothing compared to the humiliation you felt. All you could do was catch your breath and stare at him.
And Daryl was flat-out pissed. His face was full of rage, and he was breathing hard from the crash. He shoved you off him, his hands on your shoulders as he stood up.
"What the hell were ya thinkin'!?" His eyes were practically burning holes through you. "I told ya to slow the hell down and focus! Ya don't listen for shit!"
You didn't want to admit that he was right, that you'd been very reckless. "Well, maybe you should've taught me how to actually ride instead of standing there like a statue and just barking orders!"
Daryl's hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
He wasn't just angry.
He was livid.
You were both breathing fast now, adrenaline still running through your veins. "And maybe I'm just a fast learner, okay?" You continued.
Daryl looked at you like he was about to rip you in half. "Yer not a fast learner; yer a damn idiot! And now I gotta drag yer dumb ass back!"
He grabbed the motorcycle and swung his leg over it with a grunt. "Get the fuck on," he growled in frustration.
You glared at him for a moment, but you weren't about to argue. You had to get home. You had no choice but to follow him.
Throwing your leg over the seat, you settled behind him. You couldn't even look up now. Every time you did, your stomach hurt in a way that made no sense. The anger, the shame—it was all so degrading. You wanted to argue. You really did. But you were too embarrassed, and your body was too sore to keep up any fight.
Daryl started the engine, and the motorcycle roared to life under you. As he sped down the road, you couldn't help but notice how tense his body still was. Every muscle in his back seemed to be stiff. And he didn't say a word anymore. Not a single word as you rode back toward Alexandria in silence.
His hands gripped the handlebars with such force, you swore the motorcycle might crack in half under the pressure if he kept it up.
You were pissed as well. Pissed at yourself for fucking up and pissed at him for making you feel all... this. You hated that you couldn't read him, hated how he could just shut everything out like that, and especially for making you feel something you didn't want to feel.
Once back at Alexandria, the garage door had barely been shut when Daryl's frustration exploded. He was still breathing hard from the ride, and he hadn't pushed you away since you'd now gotten back, but the way he was glaring at you said enough.
He took a step toward you, pushing you back a little. "Crashed my damn bike…"
"I didn't wreck it, Daryl," you argued. "It's fine!"
"Fine?" He repeated. "That's what ya call near splittin' yer skull open?"
"I didn't crash on purpose!" You shot back, the frustration boiling over. "I'm not dumb!"
He let out a mean laugh, his eyes narrowing. "Coulda fooled me, dumbass!"
"You're the one all trembling here, not me!" You crossed your arms, trying to hold onto whatever bit of defiance was left. "It was an accident, Daryl," you continued, glaring right back at him. "It's not like I'm trying to be your damn stunt double!"
He scoffed, not buying your excuse. "Bullshit. Ya were pushin' it, tryin' to prove somethin', weren't ya? Ya coulda gotten yerself killed!"
Maybe he was right; maybe you had been showing off, but why bother with giving him the satisfaction and letting him know that it was the truth?
"What's your problem, Dixon? It isn't like I destroyed the damn thing," you scoffed.
He shot you a glare. "Problem is, ya don't think. Out there, one screw-up ain't jus' a scratch—it's the difference 'tween comin' back or not comin' back at all!"
You rolled your eyes. "Oh, please! Spare me the PSA! It isn't like I don't know how this shit works! We're all one wrong turn away from dead anyway! What's the big deal?"
"The big deal," he growled, "is ya don't get to pull that shit with my bike!"
His finger shot out, pointing toward the side of the motorcycle. "Look at this," he growled. "Ya see that?"
You glanced where he was pointing and shrugged. "What, a couple of scratches? Boo-fucking-hoo! Rub some dirt with your spit on it; it'll be fine!"
"Couple o' scratches?" His voice rose, and he bent down to run a hand along the damaged part. "Ya know how I worked on this, ain't that right? To get it runnin' smooth?"
He crouched, looking at the machine like he was inspecting a wounded animal. "Look."
"What?"
"Look," he snarled once more, pointing his finger at the gas tank.
Reluctantly, you stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. The scratches weren't as bad as you'd expected—some scuffed paint and a tiny dent, hardly catastrophic.
"Oh no," you pretended to be shocked and threw your hands up. "It's ruined! Better put it out of its misery!"
Daryl turned around, staring at you in disbelief and anger. "That funny to ya?"
"A little," you shot back, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded. "Newsflash, Dixon! This is a hunk of metal. It'll survive!"
His jaw clenched, and he stood up so fast you stumbled back. "Ain't the damn point," he snapped, stepping closer.
"Then what is the point?" You demanded in return.
"The point is," he growled, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register, "ya don't listen. Yer always so goddamn dumb, thinkin' ya know better—"
"I do know better!" You interrupted him. "I could rebuild this bike with my eyes closed! Hell, I could build you a new one from… a scratch!"
Daryl's hands dropped to his sides, his breathing fast as he stared at you. His eyes looked down to your arms, and you followed his line of sight, realizing for the first time that you were trembling.
His eyes softened, just for a second. "Ya hurt?"
"No," you lied, crossing your arms to hide the shaking.
Daryl huffed, and his frustration was boiling over again. "Bullshit."
He moved toward you, closing the space between you as he grabbed you by the arm. You flinched but didn't pull away. His grip tightened, pulling you back toward the motorcycle you'd nearly wrecked.
"Get on," he growled, holding you still.
You froze, glaring at him. "Excuse me?"
"Get on the fuckin' bike," he repeated, his eyes narrowing.
You shook your head. "You're out of your damn mind."
But you didn't fight it when he shoved you over to the seat, guiding you like you were weighing nothing at all. You hadn't expected this—his touch and his obvious anger.
But it wasn't just the crash. No. It was the way his eyes looked at you—like he was waiting for you to back down, to beg for mercy even.
"What?" You scoffed. "You're pissed 'cause I fucked up your bike? Is that it? So fucking ridiculous!"
"'S part of it," he answered, and before you could respond, his hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him.
And you weren't sure what you expected from him, but you didn't expect the force of his lips on yours.
His kiss was aggressive. It wasn't tender. It wasn't gentle. It was all teeth and tongue and the feel of his stubble against your skin.
You tried to pull back, pushing at his chest. "What the hell—!"
"Shut the fuck up."
You barely had time to react before he was pushing you against the motorcycle, and his hands found their way under your shirt. It was almost too much to bear—the roughness of his touch. It had no place here, not with you two practically being strangers in this world, but somehow it made sense.
And no, you didn't pull away. Not now.
"Daryl—" You cut yourself off when his hand slid down to your waistband, tugging at your pants, a movement that was fast and urgent. Your breath hitched, a gasp escaping your throat.
He didn't respond, not in words anyway, as he lowered himself to his knees in front of you, his hands on your thighs, forcing you to stay still.
He wanted you—had wanted you, maybe for longer than he'd ever care to admit.
You gasped again when he pulled your pants down roughly, his hands moving along your hips before dragging them down your legs. You knew his hands were capable—he could gut a deer in under a minute, rebuild a bike from scratch—but this? This was a whole different level of skill, and you weren't sure whether to be impressed or terrified by how quickly he had you undone.
But you didn't have time to process it before Daryl was standing again, his face dangerously close to yours, eyes burning with a fire that made you blush.
God, his eyes.
They weren't just looking at you—they were staring you down.
Before you could say anything else, he kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands sliding down to your hips and pushing himself closer until there was no space between your bodies.
And then, his fingers slipped beneath your panties, and he slid two of them into you. Without warning.
You cried out at the suddenness of it, at the overwhelming feeling, but you didn't stop him.
"Still think I'm tremblin'?" He asked as he moved them inside you with a pace that made your head spin. You couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.
Sure, he was frustrated—but now it was all coming out, only in a way that you'd never expected. You didn't know what this was—what this would be afterward—but damn if it didn't feel like the only thing that mattered right now.
As his breath turned quicker against your neck, the urgency of his fingers quickened, too. Until he pulled them out of you. The moment he removed his hand, licking his fingers clean, you almost cursed aloud, the emptiness threatening to drive you mad.
He didn't give you time to say anything, didn't even let you think about it, because in the next moment, his hands were yanking your shirt up over your head, and your bra was gone just as fast.
But the way he studied you, every inch of you—like he was savoring the moment as if you were a piece of art he needed to drink in—made everything feel too much. Too much to take. Too much to bear. But also too good to stop.
You couldn't protest, couldn't do anything but let him have his way, and your eyes squeezed shut as you fought to hold it together.
Without a word, Daryl kneeled back down onto the ground again, his hands moving to your thighs, pushing them apart for him.
"Open yer eyes," he ordered, but you didn't. You just couldn't. But you could feel him there, right between your legs, and the anticipation was nearly killing you.
No, you couldn't do anything but obey as his hand was pulling your panties down and his other hand's thumb stroked across your clit, but something else caught his attention. A bruise on your thigh started to slowly form itself from when you'd crashed.
And then, without a word, he leaned forward, his lips pressing hard against the bruise. His teeth bit into the skin, and then he sucked on it with a hunger that had nothing to do with the motorcycle and the crash.
You gasped loudly, eyes opening wide as the sharp sting of his bite was followed by the slow, deep suck of his mouth.
His lips left the bruise for a moment, but it wasn't gone long. His tongue licked over the edges of it, then his teeth, scraping some more, making your legs shiver with lust and a little bit of pain.
As his fingers moved toward and away from your wet pussy, to brush over the scratches on one leg from the crash, you could feel the pressure of his touch as he traced over each one. He didn't care about the discomfort it caused, didn't care about the marks—they were his to play with.
A growl left his throat as he scratched them a little harder, just a little deeper, making you whimper.
You didn't even realize you were staring at him until his blue eyes looked up into yours, a silent claim that went deeper than anything else.
"Ain't lettin' ya look away," he warned as his hands gripped your thighs again, forcing your trembling legs to stay open for him.
And God, they were.
His touch was everything you didn't know you needed as he slipped his fingers back into you—simply all-consuming. His thumb stroked your clit yet again, and you were sure you were going to lose it way too fast.
And the way he kept looking at you—like he was daring you to look away…
But you didn't. Not once.
The pressure was building, that sweet, unbearable pressure, until it felt like you were going to burst into flames.
Indeed, it was pure fire.
"Eyes on me," he growled. "Don't ya look away."
His fingers found their rhythm, slow but deep, making you moan out loud, trying your hardest to keep your eyes open and on him.
"Yeah, 's it," he growled. "Focus."
You nodded wildly, the feeling overtaking everything, your body desperate for more. Every bit of your skin was burning, and you hated how badly you needed this.
"Daryl… I," you gasped, your hands holding on for dear life on the motorcycle seat, trying to stay upright but close to losing the battle with every pump. "I can't—fuck!"
"Can't what? Focus? Ain't nothin' new," he answered, his thumb still on your clit while his fingers were thrusting away. "Can't handle it? Ya jus' gotta focus. Keep yer eyes on me."
You were close, so fucking close already, but he wasn't letting up.
His fingers moved so roughly inside of you, pressing against your G-spot, which soon made you feel certain this was it—this was the moment.
Your legs were shaking hard, your breath coming in quick, desperate moans. "Fuck… fuck…" You whimpered, fingers tightening on the seat behind you.
But then he stopped. Just stopped.
The sudden loss of his fingers was like being thrown into a room full of walkers. You groaned, your hips bucking in a desperate attempt to go after what was just within reach, but he pulled his hand away completely, leaving you trembling and half-crazed.
"What the fuck, Daryl!" You cried out loud as you glared down at him, but Daryl only had the audacity to smirk, licking his fingers off once more like you hadn't been about to shatter into pieces.
"Keep still and shut up," he growled, and before you could scream at him, his head was between your legs.
Your words turned into a choked cry as his tongue moved over your clit, the feeling of his stubble against your inner thighs making you squirm.
It wasn't fair. You were already so close, your body trembling so hard it hurt, but now he was dragging it out, taking his sweet-ass time, licking and sucking like he had all damn day.
"Fuck—fucking hell, Daryl," you hissed, hands grabbing his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against you. The vibrations shot straight through you, making your thighs clench around his head, but he didn't stop—he didn't even flinch.
"Thought ya were so good at takin' risks," he taunted, his lips brushing against your clit as he spoke.
And with that, he sucked on it so hard you nearly screamed, the feeling of it being just on the edge of pain, but God, it was perfect. You were so damn close again, and this time, you needed it.
If he pulled away now, you swore you'd kill him.
"Please," you whimpered, your hips grinding against his mouth in a way that should've embarrassed you. "Daryl, fuck, don't you dare stop again—"
His grip tightened on your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you as his tongue pushed you further and further until there was nowhere left to go but over the edge.
But it wasn't just his mouth—oh no. His hands were keeping you in place, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was claiming you, and maybe he was. You didn't care. You just wanted more.
"Fuck—Daryl, I'm—" Your voice broke, too far gone to even finish the sentence.
He pulled back just enough to growl, "What? Yer what?" His voice was rough and way too sarcastic for a man who was driving you insane.
"Stop it and finish me!" You snapped, your hands pulling at his hair like it would somehow speed him up.
He laughed—actually laughed—and that sound went straight through you. But before you could cuss him out for being an 'insufferable bastard,' his fingers were back on you, two sliding inside so easily you swore you saw stars.
Your breath hitched, and then he added a third.
"Fuck—holy shit!" You gasped, your thighs trembling as he stretched you wide. The feeling was nearly too much, but it was just right, and when his fingers started pumping in and out, so deep and hard, you couldn't do anything but ride it out.
He looked up at you then, his blue eyes searching for yours. You wanted to look away, to hide from the way he was watching you like he was saving every second of this to memory, but you didn't. He wouldn't let you.
"Eyes on me," he growled. "Don't ya fuckin' look away."
You didn't think you could blush any harder—you didn't think you had the energy left for it—but then his other hand moved, his thumb pressing into the bruise on your thigh, just hard enough to make you wince.
"Shit—Daryl, that hurts!" You hissed at him, but his grip tightened, keeping you still.
"Good," he growled, looking at you. "Should hurt."
His fingers inside your pussy were picking up speed, driving you mad with how good they felt.
"Ya think I'm jus' gonna let ya off easy after crashin' my bike?"
He pressed harder into the bruise, making you whimper from the pain that somehow only made everything hotter.
"Nah. Yer gonna feel this. Remember this."
You hated how much it turned you on—the sting of his thumb on your bruise along with the pumping of his fingers inside you and the way his mouth was so close to your clit again.
"Please—fuck—please," you begged, not even sure what you were asking for anymore. You just needed something—anything—to finally push you over the edge.
"C'mon," he growled against you, not stopping. "C'mon, woman. Fuckin' let go. Let me fuckin' have it."
And that was it. That was all it took.
Everything inside you exploded so intensely you moaned out loud, your whole body arching as the orgasm ripped through you.
"Fuck—fuck, Daryl!"
You tried to keep your legs from giving out, but they were done, trembling so hard you had no choice but to lean fully against the motorcycle once more, trying to hold yourself steady. But Daryl didn't stop. His mouth stayed on you, his tongue again working your clit, dragging out every last bit of your orgasm until you were shaking all over, whimpering and sobbing from the overstimulation.
Only then did he pull his fingers out in a way that made sure you'd feel everything.
But before you could catch your breath, his hands were on you again, gripping your thighs like they belonged to him. Without a word, he hoisted your legs up, wrapping them around his neck. The sudden movement made you yelp, but he didn't care—not one bit.
"What the fuck are you—"
"Shut up," he growled, his voice ragged as he shifted you off the motorcycle and onto his shoulders like you weighed nothing. "Focus."
The cold floor hit your back as he lowered you down, your body shivering against it. He moved near you, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread wide as he settled between them again, his face just inches from where you were still dripping for him.
You barely had time to process the new position before his tongue was back on you, licking slow and deep, making you moan aloud through the garage. All you could do was writhe and shake beneath him, your hands searching for anything to grab and hold onto—his hair, his shoulders, the cold floor—trying to keep still as he worked you over.
But then, just when you thought he'd keep going until you couldn't take anymore, he moved, his mouth leaving your pussy as he started to lick and kiss—hot, wet, and sloppy—all over you.
And he didn't move fast. He took his time, crawling up your body like he was deciding which part of you he should tease next. You felt his breath across your skin, so warm yet unsteady, while his hands worked on keeping you exactly where he wanted you—legs spread wide, no room to close yourself off, no room to argue.
His hands? Oh, you knew those hands could kill you if they wanted to, but the way he traced the edges of the scratches on your thigh? Fuck, it was worse. Slow. On purpose. Just enough pressure to remind you it was there. A reminder you didn't need, but apparently, he thought you needed.
The tip of his thumb ran over them once, twice, then pressed down harder. You flinched—it was pure instinct—but his other hand clamped down on your leg, pinning you to the floor. His thumb didn't move, didn't give you a break. If anything, he pressed harder, and you hissed through your teeth. He groaned, low and deep, like your slight discomfort was exactly what he wanted.
Daryl soon leaned down and kissed them. He kissed them like he was apologizing. Then his teeth grazed over the same scratches, and you realized he wasn't sorry for it at all. His tongue followed, licking slowly and wetly over the stinging feeling of them, and your back arched itself off the floor.
By the time he moved up to the bruise on your hips, his fingers found it first, pressing into your flesh like he was testing it, seeing how much it was hurting you. You flinched again, but this time, his response was immediate—a growl coming out of his throat as his fingers dug in deeper.
"Daryl," you started, but your voice cracked, and you knew that he wasn't listening anyway. His mouth replaced his fingers, and the first kiss of his lips made your head snap up.
Not soft, not tender—he sucked on the bruise as if he wanted to drag the pain out of you, to make you feel every sting of it.
He kept going, his mouth kissing up your ribs, licking, biting, sucking, finding every bruise that was forming itself, every scratch, and making sure you knew he'd found them.
"Fuckin' hell…" He whispered as his mouth moved higher, pressing kisses to your chest, in between your tits, before his tongue licked over one nipple.
You gasped as he sucked it into his mouth, one of his hands moving to tease the other, pinching and rolling it between his fingers.
"Daryl, please! Please… just—"
He didn't let up. He crawled higher over you, his body pinning you down, his mouth moving up to your collarbone, where his tongue licked over it next.
By the time he reached your neck, you were a mess, your hands now clawing at his shoulders, desperate for him to give you more, to stop teasing. And he knew it.
But he wasn't done. His teeth found your neck, and he bit down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark, your thighs instantly squeezing around his hips.
"Goddamn," he growled as his mouth finally reached yours. "Look atcha… all wrecked."
Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, rough and hungry, his tongue pushing into your mouth like he needed to taste every part of you.
And fuck, you didn't care.
Daryl left no room for argument—not that you had any strength left to argue.
His hands were everywhere at once, sliding over your thighs, your hips, your waist. You moaned into his mouth as his fingers moved back down between your legs, slipping through the wetness he'd left behind when he dragged his fingers through your wet folds, and his smirk certainly showed that he was satisfied with himself.
He wasn't asking for permission, no, but he wasn't rushing either. And he was now giving you the chance to stop him without saying a word.
When you didn't push him away, he leaned back just enough to look at you. His blue eyes seemed darker now, his pupils all wide, searching for something, waiting.
Your hands slid up his strong back, trembling slightly but steadying themselves as they reached his shoulders. You gave him a small but quick nod as you took a shaky breath.
That was all he needed.
With a growl, Daryl's hands gripped your hips, flipping you over onto your stomach fast but not harshly. Before you could even process it all, he pressed himself down against your ass.
"Don't move," he whispered.
You weren't planning to.
He grabbed your hips again, pulling you back just enough to hold them upward. You felt his cock pressing against your ass, still in his pants but unmistakably hard as he grunted and pushed it against you, his hands only holding on harder.
The deep and loud groan he made? You couldn't help but push back against him.
You barely had time to listen to the sound of his zipper before he was back, his cock sliding between your thighs, teasing, the wetness of your pussy making it too easy for him to glide against you.
Your fingers were clawing at the floor as you tried to push back, but his hands held you in place.
His hips rocked forward, and the tip of his cock pressed into your pussy. You tensed, your breath stopping at the sheer size of it, but he didn't push in—not completely. He was letting you feel every inch of how big he was.
When he did push inside, it was enough to stretch you wide open, and with one slow thrust, he sank into you, filling you up. Still, Daryl didn't move right away. He stayed there, buried to the hilt, as he gave you a moment to adjust and made sure you were okay.
Then, he finally started to move.
Slow at first, his hips pulling back before thrusting forward again, each movement so controlled.
But it didn't take long for him to move faster.
Harder.
Deeper.
And you couldn't do anything but take it as he pinned you down.
"Daryl—" you moaned, but he cut you off with a growl, his arm sliding down around you, pulling your hips higher to give him better access.
"Don't talk," he ordered, trying not to lose himself. "Jus' take it."
And you did. God, you did.
The garage felt almost suffocating now, and all you could smell was the scent of sweat and sex. The only sounds to be heard were your fast-breathing moans of yourself and his feral grunts as Daryl moved behind you. Every thrust was deep, driving you forward just to pull you back again with a growl, his grip on your hips leaving marks you'd wear for days.
Your hands still searched for any kind of hold against the floor, trying to ground yourself as the intensity of it all threatened to break you apart. His cock stretched you in a way that still bordered on too much, each thrust rougher than the last, and yet you couldn't get enough of it—of him.
"Fuck," Daryl grunted, his voice sounding as if the word was being dragged out from deep inside him.
You couldn't respond to him, not with the way he filled you so completely, your body trembling under his control. But he didn't need any words in return from you. His hand slid from your hip, moving along your ass and up your spine, before he put his arm around your shoulders to keep you steady.
"Don't lose focus now," he growled, leaning over you, his chest brushing against your back. His stubble grazed along your shoulder as he pressed his mouth down, his lips rough, almost punishing. He bit down hard, his teeth sinking into your skin just enough to leave another mark.
You cried out, clenching around him involuntarily. "Daryl—"
"Shut up," he said, cutting you off with another bite to your shoulder, this one softer than the last. His teeth were still on the mark he'd made, right before his tongue soothed it, leaving you shivering.
Daryl's pace quickened, each thrust making your overstimulated body shudder.
"Goddamn, look atcha," he grumbled, his voice full of lust. "Really fuckin' wrecked, ain't ya?"
You whimpered in response, your head falling forward and almost hitting the floor, but your body was still being held on tight by his grip.
"Ya like that?"
You nodded.
"C'mon," he growled, his hand tightening around your chest to keep you steady as his thrusts grew erratic. "Stay with me, woman. Focus. Fuckin' focus."
You didn't have a choice. His arm around your chest and his cock buried so deep inside you made it impossible to think about anything else. And the pressure was building again, unavoidable, and you knew he could feel it—the way your pussy clenched around him, desperate to feel him come, too.
And he didn't slow down. He didn't ease the pace or give you any room to breathe. Instead, he buried his face against you again, his lips sucking on your neck, his tongue following to taste the sweat of your skin.
"Shit," he hissed, his voice all muffled against your neck. "Goddamn, ya feel so fuckin' good."
His hips thrust forward, harder and faster, and you could feel him getting close, his movements losing their rhythm as his breathing turned ragged.
"Fuck—fuck," he groaned, his arm moving from your chest to hold your hip again, his hand grabbing you roughly as his thrusts went deeper. "Gonna—fuck, I'm—"
He didn't finish the sentence. With a loud groan that was almost sounding more animal than man, he pulled out, his hand gripping his cock as he came all over your back with force.
You stayed there momentarily, still on the cold floor of the garage, as you tried to piece yourself back together. Your legs felt like jelly, trembling so badly you weren't even sure they'd hold you if you tried to stand up.
Daryl soon moved off behind you, his heavy breathing just as loud and uneven as yours as he leaned against the motorcycle for balance. His cum was feeling all warm across your back, but you didn't have the energy to care—not yet.
Finally, he straightened himself, pulling his pants back up and putting his softening cock away. You heard the sound of his footsteps next to you as he walked around the garage, and for a second, you thought he was going to leave you there, fucked and half-naked in the garage.
But not long after, he was back, something soft and slightly damp rubbing over your skin.
"Hold still," he grunted. "Gotta clean ya up."
You flinched, moving your head to see what he was doing. Daryl had an old, torn rag in one hand, smudged with a little bit of dry oil, but it was enough to do the job. His other hand pressed against your shoulder, holding you still as he wiped away the mess of his cum he'd left behind.
"You could've at least grabbed a clean one," you grumbled, but there wasn't any real annoyance in your voice.
When he was done, he tossed the rag aside. "Yer alright?"
You smirked, despite the ache in your legs. "What, worried I might've cracked under all that control?"
For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue. Instead, he just grunted before crouching in front of you. His hands found your arms as he helped you up, his strength the only thing keeping you from falling right back to the floor.
"Easy," he mumbled, sliding one arm around your waist to steady you. "Ain't wantin' to pick yer ass up again if ya fall."
"Not my fault," you answered, your legs wobbling as you tried to find your balance. "You're the one who—"
"Don't even start," he cut you off quickly, but definitely with amusement. "Ya got no one to blame but yer damn self."
His arm stayed around you as you took a few shaky steps with him by your side as if you had to learn how to walk again, your knees still threatening to buckle. You hated how he looked at you right now, showing you a smirk as he watched you struggle.
"Shut up," you grumbled, leaning against him more than you wanted to admit.
"Ain't said nothin'," he smirked, but the way his hand tightened on your waist betrayed his satisfaction.
Once you were steady enough to stand on your own, he let go, his hands falling to his sides. As you reached for your clothes, putting them on with clumsy, trembling fingers, Daryl leaned against the motorcycle again, watching you with that same gaze he'd had earlier, his blue eyes tracking every movement of your body.
"So? Ya still reckless?" He suddenly asked, as if to taunt you.
You glared at him as you put on your bra and shirt. "Excuse me?"
"Crashin' my bike," he continued, crossing his arms over his chest. "Then gettin' all riled up when ya can't handle shit."
Feeling your cheeks turn red, the heat was spreading all over your face as you turned to zip up your pants. "Maybe if you weren't such a goddamn caveman, my attention would've—"
"Caveman, huh?" Daryl stepped closer, the space closing between you until you could feel the presence of him behind your back. One hand came up, his fingers brushing lightly over the bruise on your thigh from earlier, the touch rather gentle.
"Caveman kept ya focused now, didn't he?" He continued, his lips all close near your ear. "Got yer attention real good."
You hated how easily your body responded to him even now, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer.
"Next time," he said, his voice dropping slightly, "ya might think twice 'bout tryin' to show off."
His fingers then pressed into the bruise just enough to make you wince, reminding you of the lesson he'd drilled into you—literally.
"Control," he said, stepping back again. "Might save yer damn ass next time."
You turned to face the motorcycle with a scowl as you adjusted your clothes, looking around for your jacket. "Are you done lecturing me, or should I grab a notepad?"
"Nah. Jus' get yer shit together," he answered. "We're headin' out again tomorrow. Yer ridin' bitch till ya prove ya can handle it."
Laughing at that, your words were coming out faster than your still-wobbly legs could even move. "Riding bitch, huh?" You repeated as you turned to face him. "Next time you're teaching me to drive, I'll be riding something, alright—but it sure as shit won't be the bike."
It was a bold answer, considering your legs still felt like they'd been switched for spaghetti, but you weren't about to let him see you back down.
Daryl's lips twitched, that small smirk coming back as he closed the distance between you in a few quick movements. One hand shot out, gripping your chin and tilting your head up to meet his gaze.
"Keep talkin'," he grumbled, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "See where it gets ya."
You grinned, biting his thumb just enough to make him hiss. "I think it gets me exactly where I want to be," you responded, voice all daring, even as your pulse kicked up a notch all over. "Don't you think?"
Daryl's silence was answer enough, and for a moment, you thought he might snap again, dragging you into another round right there on the spot. But for now, and for once, you decided to savor and enjoy your little victory. Of course, it didn't last long.
You weren't sure who moved first, but before you knew it, you were pulling him down by his collar, your lips crashing onto his like they had something to prove.
The kiss was all grunts and stubbornness, his teeth biting at your lip as you ran your fingers through his messy hair. You didn't even notice when his hands found your waist, pulling you closer until there wasn't an inch of space between your bodies.
"Y'ain't got any sense o' self-control," he mumbled against your mouth, but he didn't stop kissing you, one hand sliding up to grab the back of your neck.
You broke the kiss just long enough to catch your breath, smirking up at him. "And you've got too much of it," you shot back.
You knew this would've gone on longer—should've gone on longer—but the sound of the side door from the garage to the house opening stopped you both in place like a couple of kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
"Daryl?" Aaron's voice was to be heard, and you felt the blood freeze in your veins. "Are you both back already?"
Daryl let out a growl, his forehead slowly dropping to yours like he was trying to collect himself before turning to look toward the unwanted interruption.
Aaron stood in the doorway, his eyes looking between the two of you, taking in the sheer awkwardness of it all. His eyebrows shot up, and he blinked like he was trying to reset his brain back to factory settings.
"Oh…" Aaron said after a moment, his voice sounding a little bit higher than usual. "I just—uh—saw the garage door was closed from the outside when I came back. Thought you were done with, uh, teaching? I just wanted to get—"
Daryl cleared his throat, stepping back from you but not bothering to hide his irritation. "'M still teachin'."
Aaron's mouth opened like he was about to ask something else, but you jumped in before he could make things even worse. "Yeah, exactly," you said, smiling at him before you looked back at Daryl. "He's teachin' me how to… focus."
The words had barely left your mouth before Daryl shot you a look. Still, he couldn't resist adding, "And 'bout… control."
Aaron stood there, his mouth opening and closing like a fish in urgent need of water. Finally, he managed to let out a quiet, "Still teaching, huh?" His voice was full of disbelief. "About control and focus?"
You crossed your arms, smirking. "Of course! And let me tell you, Daryl's got a real hands-on approach." Daryl gave you a warning look, but you ignored him. "Next time, maybe we'll move on to, I dunno, accelerating!"
"Yeah," Daryl answered flatly, his tone as casual as if Aaron had walked in on him fixing the motorcycle, not having had you taken against it. "Focusin' on the road ahead. Controllin' the bike while… ridin' it."
Aaron arched only one eyebrow this time. "Right," he said, dragging the word out like it was hurting him. "Well, maybe teach her outside of Alexandria next time instead of Eric's and my garage?"
You snorted. "Oh, we can, for sure. But Daryl's really good at teaching me how to focus on what's in front of me," you said sweetly. "It's the control part I keep getting stuck on."
Aaron let out a short, strangled laugh, already backing toward the door. "Yeah, okay! Don't let me interrupt your lesson." His face went red, and he backed up so fast he nearly tripped. "I mean, it sounds, uh... productive. I'll just—yeah." He gestured around awkwardly as he was about to hurry back inside the house.
When he left, you could've sworn he whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, "What the hell is wrong with all these people?" before he closed the door behind him.
The second the door clicked shut, you leaned against the workbench, your eyes moving to the motorcycle that had started this whole situation, after all. It stood there innocently enough, like it hadn't been witness to your absolute lack of keeping control. Stepping forward, you traced your fingers along one of the scratches on its gas tank.
"Looks like Frankenstein's bike's seen some rough handling, thanks to me," you said before your eyes moved back onto Daryl, who was watching you like an animal sizing up its next meal. "Guess it'll get used to bein' ridden hard."
Eyes looking up, you were daring him to take the bait. "Think you'll leave some scratches on me next time?"
His muscles were flexing like he was seconds from pulling you back to him. "Keep talkin', woman, and I jus' might."
You grinned, stepping away from the motorcycle and grabbing your jacket, which was on the floor near the workbench. "Guess I'll just have to wait and see, huh?" You put the jacket on, taking your time on purpose to let him stew in his frustration.
Just as you reached the garage door and opened it, you turned back toward Daryl, who'd started to talk, watching you lean your shoulder against the frame. "Yer walkin' funny, woman."
You stopped, moving your head up with a glare. "If I walk funny, I'm tellin' everyone it's 'cause of the bike." You made sure to add a smirk. "I'm going to say it was a wild ride—not a crash."
As you pushed yourself off the frame and stepped outside onto the streets of Alexandria, your grin was as wide as ever. "Thank you for the thorough lesson, Dixon."
But before the garage could even close behind you, something soft and slightly damp was flying past your head, landing on the ground in front of you.
"Jesus, was that—?" You started to laugh, realizing exactly what he'd thrown after you. "Oh, come on! Did you seriously throw that at me? Gross!"
Daryl leaned against the motorcycle, his smirk not obvious, but it was there. "Missed, didn't I?" He didn't flinch, didn't apologize. "Didn't miss on purpose."
"That's disgusting," you called back and laughed, unable to help yourself. "And I'm not picking that up!"
"Didn't ask ya to," he answered, pushing himself off the machine and taking a few steps closer to the street. "But yer might come back in here 'n pick up somethin' else."
"Not a chance," you snorted, shaking your head while you stumbled a little bit. "Better luck next time. Or… tomorrow."
"Fuckin' reckless…" Daryl growled, but with amusement in his voice as he watched you disappear ever so slowly. But he didn't move, not yet. "Jus' get yer damn ass back here!"
You were already down the street and smirking to yourself as you tried to walk and just waved him off, making it clear that it was all for show as you held up both middle fingers, trying to make it seem like you were stumbling away with your body intact.
And, of course, you were—kind of.
Either way, Daryl knew that next time, the only thing you'd be riding was him, and you'd make sure he would be the one struggling to keep focus and control.
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lokilaufeysonslove · 8 months ago
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𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠
𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
// Summary // you and Bucky are chased by your enemy, him driving his bike with you sat behind him, shooting. You have to switch positions, to which he… reacts in some way.
// Warnings // shooting, pet names, cursing, mentions of arousal.
// Author’s Note // divider by the amazing @saradika-graphics / gif by @londonalozzy
MASTERLIST
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You were on a mission, along with Bucky, running away from being attacked, towards his bike. Bullets were being fired at you from all directions while you were both running. Bucky grabbed his fallen motorcycle and hopped on it.
"Quick, get on!" He shouted to you, you grunted in annoyance, but climbed up behind him nonetheless, grabbing his waist.
You were being chased by three cars. Bucky drove with the full speed, but they still were getting closer.
“Do something, Y/n!” He shouted over the chaos.
You pulled out a pistol, quickly reloading it. You position the gun perfectly and shoot twice, running the first car off the road.
"Two more to go." He said.
You made your move, standing up and making another shot at the next car. Driving it off the road.
"Last car, doll."
You looked at the next car, realizing it's going to be harder to shoot in your position.
"Shit." You whispered.
You looked at Bucky, groaning. "I'm gonna need you to trust me."
"What's going on."
"Just trust me. Please!" You told him as you climbed over him and sat on his lap, straddling and facing him.
"What the hell!" He responded to your movements.
"Look over my shoulder and I'll shoot!!" You said, pulling out your gun, and started aiming at the last car. Bucky looked in the bike mirror to see two men fall out of the car.
"Damn, okay carry on!" He said over the loud engine.
"Shit!" You cursed as you ran out of bullets and threw your empty gun to the ground.
"Where's yours?" You asked him.
"Waistband!" He replied. You reached down to his waist.
"Bucky!" You shouted his name as the ride got bumpier and bumpier, he was driving with one hand and holding you steady by your waist with another.
"I got you." He reassured.
"Got it." You said and carried on aiming through the bumps, readjusting yourself for a better aim. You felt him rising beneath you.
"Bucky... what are you doing?” you asked.
"Nothing, what do you mea-" he said.
"Stop!" You raised your voice, interrupting him.
"It's not my fault! You are the one moving on top of me." He said cockily.
"Okay, but right now? Seriously?"
"Get off me then! What did you expect?" He said. You sighed and carried on shooting.
"Oh my god, just stop it." You mumbled. He scoffed and turned a corner, then down an alleyway.
When you were in a safe spot, you both got off the motorcycle and hid behind a wall.
"You're disgusting, you know that?!" You whisper shouted to him, to which he just laughed at.
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omgfangirlland · 16 hours ago
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The Shadows That Nurture 17
Remember when I said that ch 18 may take longer? Yeah, so I surprised myself- I thought the little fight sequence would kill me but I found a work around- kinda.
Here's ch 17, hope y'all enjoy!
Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 17 >>next(TBC)
“Wait- you and Superman were friends? Ok, no- let me back track. You know Clark is Superman?” You asked, sipping on your Tedi drink as you stopped looking over Luthor’s plans for a Mars station. “This won’t be of any use, by the way- Mars is already populated, has a mind control parasite problem, and the Martians are quick to execute people.” Lex just laughs.
“Yes, we were. Yes, I know. No, I won’t tell you, it’s a story for another time. And I’m working on finding a diplomat for a treaty and on something to fix that little problem. Now, how did you know Clark is Superman?” You just shrug. “Not like he’s wearing a mask. Sure, the posture difference and the unfitted suits he wears helps, but if you look close enough at Superman it’ll be hard not to connect him to someone. And his face is too soft to be Bruce Wayne.”
"And I saw Lois kiss him." Luthor’s amused cackle got cut short as the doors to his office opened, Slade Wilson strutting in as if he owned the place. “How did-“ Lex almost hisses at the man, but Slade waves him off. “Does it matter? I’m already here.” The man smirks as he hands you the garment bag he was carrying, taking a seat in the other armchair near Luthor’s desk while watching you critique the work on your suit. “Ha! This looks brand new, thanks- oh this reminded me.”
You get up, swinging the closed bag over your shoulder. “I have to cut our gossiping session short, I have to go rob a billionaire. Don’t kill each other.” You snatch the pointer from Luthor’s desk, slashing your nails through the air to open a portal. “And up your security Alex!” Lex just cringes at the name, grunting in displeasure.
Slade finally turns to look at the bald billionaire. “So? Have you thought about my offer?” Luthor sighs as he slums in his chair, eye twitching at the assassin’s question, his fingers tapping the armrest. Of course he has. “You are assuming she’ll just accept it like nothing.” Slade just raises an eyebrow. “I’ll take the blame, don’t worry.”
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
“So, who's in?” You grin widely as Rex and Amanda immediately raise their hands, mischief glinting in their eyes. “Alright- hey, calm down- why do you even want to go rob Bruce Wayne? I know you hate the guy but aren’t you afraid of Batman?”  Black Samson intervenes, the others looking at the board you produced out of thin air with pictures depicting the Wayne manor and Bruce Wayne with some drawn red horns and goatee.
“Well- it’s not technically stealing. I’m just taking my childhood stuff back. Mainly plushies.” You shrug. “Childhood stuff? You lived there?” Dupli-Kate voices what others are thinking, getting a simple yes. “Don’t get fooled by his fake clumsy act, the man is cold. And he was a deadbeat to me.” You pointed Luthor’s pointer at the Immortal. “No, I will not elaborate on my parental issues, and-“ You moved to point at Rudy when he opened his mouth. “Magic. Well, more of a pocket dimension I already had the board in.” You shrug. “Still used magic to teleport it here.”
“Can we go already?” Rex's whines are quickly followed by Monster Girl’s voice. “Yeah, I want to check rob the rich off my bucket list. And to try those cookies you keep raving about!” Samson sighs as he gets up, arms crossing looking like a disappointed father. “I can’t in good conscience let you do that. Immortal, back me up, man.” But it took one look at your unimpressed face for the spineless man to fold. “Well, if he was such a terrible father-“
“That decides it then!” You smile brightly, grabbing the message board and throwing it back into the pocket dimension. You quickly grab Rex and Monster Girl and fly away, not giving anyone else the chance to argue. “Jesus, do we weight anything to you?” Amanda grabs tighter onto you. “Nope. It’s like holding a couple of grapes.”
Samson’s eyes move from your departing figure to the ancient man, disappointment shining through as he sighs and shakes his head before going back to the GDA computer.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
“Can’t believe we almost got caught by the billionaire.” Amanda giggles as she eats another chocolate chip cookie. “I can’t believe the butler almost caught us! These are so good-” Rex groans, moaning as he too stuffs another cookie in his mouth. “Alfred’s highly trained, actually. Even if we were invisible, he probably still felt our eyes on him.” You shrugged, dangling your feet over the edge of the building you three sat on.
“That Bruce guy… he seemed quite wrecked when he passed by your door.” At Amanda’s worried words, you just brush her off. “He’s probably worried about it ruining his image or something.” Rex’s brows furrow as he looks at you. “What about your mom? You’ve never talked about her before.”
“Nobody asked before. But seriously- compared to Debbie, hell, compared to Eve’s mom, mine was doing it more out of duty. I loved her, I still do. She was a better parent than Bruce, but she still had her faults. Now that I know what a mom is truly like, I feel like I was more of a doll she occasionally played with when she was bored of men and work.”
“Damn. First your mom, then Wayne, now Omni-Man- you can’t catch a break, can you?” Monster Girl joked, trying to lighten the mood. You laugh and groan, eyes fixated on the stars. “Twice is a coincidence, three times is a curse, eh?” Your small talk is interrupted by the sound of your phone, the screen lighting up with a message from Mark only stating an address and to get there as fast as possible. “Well, the fun is over, I have to go. Let’s get you two home.” They both booed as they got up, making you laugh.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
You anxiously sat in a seat as the alien was starting up his spaceship, giving a small smile and thumbs up as the Thraxan asked about your comfortability. “Yeah. Thanks… Hey, how long until we get to Thraxa?” Mark asks, seemingly just as nervous. “Approximately six of your earth days.”
“Wicked.” You muttered sarcastically, eyes meeting Mark’s. “We so should have talked to mom face to face.” The older sibling sighs. “I mean- you got that teleportation magic stuff, you could always just check in with her once we get there, right?” You give a noncommittal hum as you pout. “Still feels wrong. Like a trap.”
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Tim Drake was staring at the video footage and audio recordings, playing the sound over and over again. “Can’t believe the fuckers went through my stuff.” Keeps on being repeated by the Sorceress as two others help her throw plushies and paintings through a Lazarus green portal. His eyes move to the clock. Four in the morning, and he has been awake for about a day. His eyes moved to the only picture they seemed to find of you, the one Alfred had ran around the house with, before his eyes moved back to your figure on the screen.
He puts the coffee mug on the table while he gets up, going straight into the elevator. He was hallucinating. He must be. You were a normal kid and he was tired, and in distress, he was seeing things, associating The Sorceress with his little sister because they were two unknowns. Yes. Definitely that and not because he was in denial. Granted, Tim was tired enough not to see another figure looming in the shadows. So, he wasn’t lying to himself fully.
By the next morning, everyone in the manor found out there was missing stuff from your old room, and while Tim was sure that he was awake then, he had no proof of anything he saw. No footage, no voice recordings, nothing. His eyes drifted to Damian’s seemingly annoyed but unbothered expression, rubbing at his eyes after the younger boy gave him a smirk. Damian’s face was as blank as ever. Tim decided to get more sleep. He has to be seeing shit.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
While Nuolzot was trying to wake up your brother gently you just grabbed your pillow and whacked it across his face, making the young adult wake up screaming, fists raised ready for a fight. “We’re here sleeping beauty.” You snicker at his expression, moving in synch with him once he’s by your side, completely ignoring his mumbles.
When the door of the spacecraft opens you both flinch at the sound of the Thraxans exclaiming greetings and cheers. You both awkwardly waved. “Oh, don't mind them. Come. The monarch wants to meet you at once.” Mark and you simply follow the alien as you look around. “Wait, what exactly about this planet needs saving? Where are the meteors?” The man asks only to be answered with confusion. “Meteors? What meteors?” You give Mark a look before turning back to Nuolzot, speaking with just as much confusion. “Uh- the ones that are supposedly killing billions?” This was definitely a trap.
“Oh, yeah, those meteors. You know, must be a touch of dementia.” The alien shrugs nervously. “We age much quicker than you humans, you know. Uh, don't worry, the monarch will explain all.” The Thraxan quickly ushers you two towards the staircase, nudging you to bow politely. “Your Majesty. May I present Invincible and Sorceress of Earth.”
You look at Mark with a face that clearly shows how tired you already are of this madness. But nonetheless, you kneel alongside your brother, only looking up when a familiar voice greets you both. As your eyes meet the monarch your brows furrow. “Oh, you mother-“
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writinginatree · 2 months ago
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Too Sweet
Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson/female!reader
Summary: Xaden never understood how opposites could attract — not until he meets you and realizes that he doesn't have to understand your sweetness to cherish it.
Anonymous requested: I was thinking in a xaden fic based in "too sweet" from Hozier, where he's all like wanting the reader but also thinking like she deserved more, but with a happy ending ( maybe smutty too ✋🏻
Part 2
Xaden never understood that opposites were supposed to attract. On a physical level, sure. But when it comes to personality and ideology? How could anyone be with someone so wildly different from themselves that they can't possibly understand the other? Someone whose whole attitude to life is completely unlike their own? To him, it just seemed like a recipe for heartbreak. Then again, the saying only claims that opposites attract, not necessarily that they're compatible.
Since meeting you, this is something he's been thinking about a lot.
You're everything he is not; happy, bubbly, energetic, adored by just about everyone and making friends left and right. You're... sweet. There's no other way to put it. What someone like you is doing in the Riders Quadrant, Xaden doesn't know.
He tries to keep his distance at first — liking people is dangerous, and you're much too likable. Needless to say, it doesn't work. Being in the same squad, he constantly finds himself in your presence, and while he keeps to himself as much as he can, he finds it hard to outright avoid you. Almost against his will, he slowly gets to know you. He can't exactly help it, seeing as you sit next to him in almost every class, seek him out at mealtimes, asking him to come sit with the rest of your squad, offer smiles every time you pass him in the halls. You're everywhere, a persistent ray of sunshine piercing into the darkness of his life.
He doesn't understand you. Doesn't have a clue why you're so nice, or how you always manage to be so sociable, no matter what time it is or what lethal bullshit you're about to face, let alone why you seem to genuinely like him. Unlike most others, you have no prejudices against the marked ones, but even so, Xaden is not an easy person to like these days. He can't afford kindness, weakness. Not with all the lives that quite literally rest upon his back.
But no matter how curt he is, no matter how often he only gives one-word answers to your steady stream of chatter or declines your offers to study together, your friendliness never wavers. Every morning your beaming smile greets him in the gathering hall at breakfast, and as days turn into weeks, he often finds his gaze automatically scanning the room for you upon entering, hoping to catch a glimpse of that precious smile. Your presence becomes a comforting part of his routine, always there and yet never intruding. For all your persistence in trying to include him, you're never overbearing. You don't push him when he doesn't join your squad's study session, give him opportunity to join a conversation should he want to, but accept when he doesn't.
He shouldn't get too used to your presence — two of your year-mates have died already, and there's no guarantee you won't be next. Life is dangerous in the Riders Quadrant, and Xaden keeps wondering why someone so sweet would choose this life. You seem more like the type who would be a healer — or maybe even a baker or gardener, far away from the cruelty of war. And yet you thrive even in this environment. He supposes he could just ask you about it, but he doesn't want to get to know you, gods damn it.
Thinking back later, Xaden will realize that the superficial attraction he felt for you from the first starts to grow toward something more the first time your squad leader pairs him with you for a sparring session.
He has already seen you fight at Assessment, but facing you on the mat himself, he gets a much more intimate feeling of your fighting style. You're fast, full of the same energy that is in everything you do, smiling even as you struggle to dodge his punches and get past his defense. You're good. Not as good as him, but your enthusiasm makes up for that. Xaden has to admit — at least to himself — that sparring with you is actually fun. The training session seems to be over in the blink of an eye, and as you step off the mat, both of you sweaty and breathing hard, Xaden is already looking forward to the next, hoping he'll get you as his sparring partner again.
For once he allows himself to be drawn into conversation, answering your questions on how to improve your technique as you walk out of the gym side by side.
The better he gets to know you, the more he has to keep reminding himself to stay away from you, that you're too sweet for him. But, oh, it's hard; he enjoys your company so much. Garrick has caught on, too, teasing him about what he calls his crush on the sunshine girl every time he sees him talking to you. And though Xaden vehemently denies having such a silly thing as a crush, he can't even convince himself of that, let alone his best friend. Having known him as long as he does, Garrick always sees right through him.
The relief Xaden feels at Threshing when he lands and spots you already standing on the flight field in front of a Red is immense. He quickly shoves the feeling down, preferring not to think about what it implies. He does not have a crush, and the last thing he needs is for his dragon to think him a lovesick fool and change its mind about bonding him while it still can. He feels the unfamiliar presence of her in the back of his mind, her golden eyes piercing into him after he dismounts.
He feels all the other people's gazes on him, too, the disapproving stares from where leadership is seated on the dais, their disdain for him permeating the very air. He keeps his head high as he walks to the rollkeeper, refusing to so much as look at the people who'd doubtlessly been hoping he would meet his end in the woods today.
Blood keeps trickling into his eye from the cut Sgaeyl gave him. It stings, but the annoyance of it is worse than the pain. Pain is fine. But constantly having to blink away the blood blurring his vision, feeling it run down his cheek like tears — it makes his skin crawl with discomfort. He's not going to seek out the professors giving first-aid, though. Bothersome as it might be, it's just a little cut, and he can't afford to look weak.
As he walks back to Sgaeyl, his eyes automatically find you in the crowd of mingling first-years, just as they always do. You're watching him, too, but unlike everyone else whose gazes darken, you smile at the sight of him. When you notice him looking, you wave and start toward him. As you get closer, Xaden notes a split in your lip and a blood-soaked bandage around your thigh, but since you're hardly even limping, Xaden assumes that the injury can't be very bad. No, if anything, there's even more of a spring to your walk than usual, your hair bouncing with every step.
Instead of stopping in front of him when you reach him, you throw your arms around him, squeezing him tight, and suddenly, Xaden doesn't remember how to breathe. No one just hugs him out of nowhere like that. No one would even dream of hugging him at all. And yet here you are, doing just that and apparently thinking nothing of it, judging by the easy smile on your face when you let go after a couple of seconds.
"I'm glad you made it," you say. "I mean, I never doubted it, but still."
"I'm glad you made it, too," he admits, quiet enough that none of the people nearby will hear. He allows himself to return your smile, just for a moment, absentmindedly lifting his hand to wipe blood from his eye again. Your gaze immediately snags on the cut, a small crease appearing between your own brows.
"Your dragon?" you ask.
Xaden nods.
"You'd think the relics they'll give us should be enough to mark us as theirs, but apparently not. Mine stabbed me in the thigh."
"Daggertail?"
"Swordtail. Went right through and back out on the other side, but luckily she didn't cut through anything important." You shrug, the grin reappearing on your face as you tilt your head to the side, studying him. "That'll be one hell of a badass scar you're gonna have there."
Xaden bites back another smile, watching with slight confusion as you remove the kerchief you're wearing around your neck today. For a moment, Xaden catches a flash of glitter dotting the black cloth, then it's too close to see clearly as you bring the balled up fabric to his brow and dab up the blood. Your touch is much gentler than his own, and, with the cloth soaking up the blood, much more effective, too.
After a few seconds you pull back, pressing your now bloody neckerchief into his hand. "Keep it."
"Thanks," he mutters past the lump he suddenly seems to have in his throat.
He'll never get used to how kind you are. It's such a little thing, to notice how much the blood in his eye was bothering him and do something about it, and yet it means more to him than you could ever know. It'll probably take a while until the wound completely stops bleeding, but with your kerchief to wipe at it, at least it won't bleed all over his face anymore.
He pretends to listen as you start rambling about your dragon and the thrill of the short flight here, and though Xaden agrees that there's nothing that can compare to the feeling of flying, he can't focus enough to keep up with the sheer endless rush of words. It should be annoying, he thinks. The constant happy babbling, the needless touching — even now you're standing much closer than necessary, shaking his arm as you bounce on your feet while telling him about a particularly exciting part of approaching Milis. If anyone else did that, he'd shove them away to get some space, tell them to stop being so childish. But for some reason it doesn't bother him when you're the one doing it.
Spotting Garrick in the crowd, Xaden hurriedly uses the excuse to walk away toward his best friend. Turning his mind to more practical matters, he forces his thoughts away from you with great difficulty, still reeling from your unreasonable kindness.
After Threshing, something changes, and Xaden finds himself spending more and more time in your company. Maybe it's just that you and him are slowly crystalizing out to be the most powerful in your squad. Or maybe he's going down a slippery slope, no idea where it might lead but unable to stop the descent.
Too sweet, that's what you are. But then, Xaden has always liked sweet things. He remembers when he was a child, being told that all those sugary things he liked so much would hurt his teeth. With you, he feels similar to how he did then; afraid of the hurt he might be causing himself in the long run and wishing to preserve himself from it, but unable to resist the immediate temptation of sweetness. He craves it, that contrast you bring to the usual bitterness that is his life.
And it's refreshing to be around someone who isn't scared of him, even if he still doesn't understand why you aren't intimidated of him like everyone else. Despite your easygoing attitude and bubbly personality, you're far from a fool, unrelenting and self-preservative when need be.
It's an uncomfortable thought, the idea that maybe you're seeing past the stoic facade he keeps, know that he wouldn't hurt you unless you hurt him first. He's not used to people seeing him for who he is anymore, only for who he has to be. The Great Betrayer's son, the heir apparent, the revolution's leader. Traitor or hero, depending on who you ask. But with you, he can simply be Xaden. It scares him, that vulnerability you bring out in him, but he'd be lying if he claimed not to like how simple everything seems when he's with you.
The only difficulty is the secrets he is forced to keep. Luckily, you're very understanding when he says he doesn't want to talk about anything to do with his father's rebellion, and if you suspect that he's up to anything illegal, you don't show it. Some of it — like the meetings with all the marked ones in the quadrant to make sure everyone is helping each other get by — he could probably trust you with. By now, he knows you well enough to know you wouldn't immediately jump to the worst conclusions, would probably even help him sneak out. But in a way, the worst possible conclusions are uncomfortably close to the truth, and he can't risk revealing even such a comparatively harmless secret. No, the less you know, the better — for both of you.
Enjoy your company as he might, sometimes it does grate on his nerves, that seemingly endless happy energy you radiate. Like today, sitting at breakfast and tired out of his mind as he sips on his second mug of coffee when you come bouncing into the gathering hall, fresh from the gym. If he didn't know you get up before sunrise every morning to lift weights with another girl from your squad before breakfast, he'd think you came straight from your bed after a full night's sleep. Of course, even with getting up almost two hours earlier than necessary, you're most certainly still getting more sleep than he is.
Sliding into your usual seat beside him, you greet everyone with more enthusiasm than anyone should have at this time of morning. Xaden returns only the barest of nods, which is more than he's spared anyone else so far. He can already tell this is not going to be his day, and he doesn't feel like wasting energy on being sociable.
You know better than to take it personally, humming a happy little melody under your breath as you start to eat.
As much as Xaden normally enjoys the sound of your voice, the noise in the hall is already bad enough, and he doesn't need you adding to it. "Would you stop that?" he snaps, more harshly than he had intended.
You fall quiet with an apologetic smile, and Xaden immediately feels bad about losing his patience on you.
He downs the rest of his coffee, contemplating whether or not getting another mug of it would help his mood. Probably not, but it's worth a try to keep from snapping at you again. You're trying to be considerate, doubtlessly having noticed that the dark circles under his eyes are even more pronounced than usual, but it simply isn't in your nature to be quiet for long. He likes that — most of the time, at least. The silence he takes refuge in can feel suffocating at times; having you around to break it makes life decidedly more bearable.
"Maybe you'd be less tired if you tried going to bed a little earlier," you tease.
The glare he levels on you is the kind that would have a lesser person shrinking in their seat, as evident by the wary looks from your squadmates, but you're not intimidated in the least. If anything, your smile only widens.
Unbelievable.
"How do you want to know what time I go to bed?"
You shrug. "You know I have the room next to yours. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, and when I look out of the window then there's always light coming from your window."
"Stalker," he mutters, rolling his eyes when you giggle. The sound effortlessly melts away the worst of his irritation, leaving him still tired and moody, but decidedly less likely to kill anyone for testing his patience.
"I wasn't stalking you on purpose," you defend yourself, the laughter lingering in your voice, "I just like looking at the snow in the moonlight. It's always so pretty, don't you think?"
Xaden shrugs. It's been a long time since he's spared any thought to the beauty of nature. The next time he can't sleep — which is almost all the time — he'll try to enjoy the nightly view from his window too, he decides, if only so he can understand what you like about it.
"The snow would be all nice and well if we didn't have to fly in it," your squadmate inserts themself into the conversation. "Have you seen how much is coming down right now?"
You nod. "Maybe it'll let up until our turn on the flight field. Milis says if this keeps up, she and the other dragons might just refuse to show up." Quieter, only for Xaden, you add, "Let's hope they don't, then you can use the time for a nap instead."
"I don't need a nap," he grumbles back, just as quietly. Truth be told, he probably could use one, but if he were able to sleep, he wouldn't be this tired.
"You sure? I'll even sing you a lullaby if you'd like."
You wink at him, grinning in that way only you can, and Xaden knows that despite your playful manner, you're serious about helping him fall asleep if you can.
He shakes his head, smiling against his will. "You're a dork."
"And you're an insomniac."
"I'm fine."
"Whatever you say."
People's intimidation of him turns to outright fear once his signet manifests, shadows stirring wherever he goes. As usual, you're the exception. Your eyes shine with awe and something like pride as you watch him demonstrate his newfound powers to you with rapt fascination, not a trace of fear to be found.
"That's amazing!" You bring a hand to the shadow closest to you, gingerly brushing your fingers along it. Xaden feels goosebumps rise on his skin, as if it had been him you touched. "They're actually solid! How is that even possible?"
"No idea," Xaden admits. "I'm only just starting to figure out how it works."
As his signet grows stronger, your shadow is the one he's most aware of. Even when you're not in the same room — or even the same building — as him, he always knows exactly where you are and what you're doing. It's not what he should be using this power for, but the shadows seem to have a mind of their own. They're very attached to you. Or maybe he's just making that up to excuse his embarrassing lack of control. It's not like he wants to be some kind of obsessive stalker; he simply can't help the fact that you're constantly on his mind.
If you have noticed that the shadows near you always seem more alive than is natural as of late, you haven't mentioned it. Not very surprising, considering you're occupied with trying to control your own water wielding signet. Xaden has taken more than one involuntary bath since it manifested a couple weeks ago, and has learned to keep his distance from you while drinking water. When you lose control, it's always him getting drenched, as though your water is drawn to him the same way his shadows are to you. It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't the middle of fucking winter. You always try to remove the moisture from his clothes afterwards, but while you have already gotten a little better at it, even your best efforts don't get them any less than damp, so Xaden — or whoever else falls victim to your flood — is left either freezing his ass off in wet clothes, or making himself late to the next class by returning to his room to get changed.
Worst of all, Xaden can't even bring himself to be mad at you about it. He's no better; the only difference is that, so far, his shadows haven't tried to drown anyone.
He probably shouldn't be thinking about that incident as often as he does, and he definitely shouldn't be so giddy about it. It was hotter than it had any right to be, watching you almost murder someone on his account. It also made his heart flutter with a whole array of feelings he can't even begin to name. While Xaden obviously doesn't need your protection, the fact that you're willing to publicly stand up for him means a lot. The knowledge that you got so angry in defense of him, that you wielded enough water to flood a whole stairway without even meaning to because someone had been talking shit about him... Just thinking about it makes him more emotional than he'd like.
But while your signet can be wild and destructive, the water is usually gentle. It's an accurate reflection of you, he thinks, untamed and unpredictable, inherently soft but just as capable of terrible harm when provoked. When you're calm and in control, the water flows steadily along like the ever present stream of your chatter, lively and somehow soothing at the same time. Xaden enjoys watching it, how it can flow through even the smallest crack, how it glitters in the light. He enjoys watching you wield it even more, the look of concentration on your face, the beaming smile when you get it to do what you want. It's hypnotizing. A dangerous distraction he really can't afford. He loses track of everything else all too easily when he's with you. You're an undertow, irresistibly pulling him in, and Xaden would happily drown in your sweet waters.
When his lips finally meet yours for the first time, you taste as sweet as Xaden's favorite chocolate cake, and he's instantly addicted.
Afterward, he's not even sure how it happened. You'd been sitting in commons after doing homework together, enjoying a few more minutes of quiet in each other's presence before turning in for the night. You'd rested your head on his shoulder, smiling up at him as he teased you about already being tired so early in the evening, the only other sound the dripping of the melting snow outside the window. Then, before he even knew what he was doing, Xaden had leaned down and kissed you.
Lying in bed that night, he still can't believe it. Even harder to believe is the fact that you'd kissed back, smiling from ear to ear and gracing him with another peck of your lips when he'd wished you a good night and fled to his room. He still feels the ghost of your lips against his, imagines he can still taste you as he licks them.
Trying to form a coherent thought feels like swimming through an ocean of thick, cloying sweet honey. When he closes his eyes, there's only you. Your bright smile and soft eyes, the sound of your laugh, the feeling of your lips, over and over again. The tiny part of him still capable of logic is telling him he made a mistake, that he should stay the fuck away from you. Indulging the feelings for you, which he is no longer able to deny, can't lead anywhere good. He should turn back while he still can, for your sake as much as his own.
You deserve someone nicer, someone you won't be in danger for associating with, who doesn't have so much to hide. Someone who can openly worship the ground you walk on, prioritize you over everything else. Xaden wishes he could be that person, but the burden he took on after his father's death won't allow it.
He plans on telling you as much, but when he sees you in the hall the next morning, he can't bring himself to get the words out. Your face lights up at the sight of him, the awareness of the joy his presence brings you making his heart ache. Then you come skipping over and peck his cheek, first making sure nobody is watching, which has Xaden melting all over again. No, as much as he knows he should end this before it can really start, he simply can't.
You walk to breakfast in companionable silence, which Xaden is very grateful for. He's not ready to talk about whatever this is that's developing between you. You'll have to, eventually, he knows. He'll have to decide if he wants to accept that he's smitten and just see where this will go, vulnerability and problems that would come with it and all, or if he wants to try and shut you out. It's barely a choice, considering how he loathes every moment he's apart from you. He should have never allowed himself to get this close in the first place, but now it's too late.
"You shouldn't be seen with me so much," he tells you a few days later. The both of you are late for math because you'd been too busy making out in an empty corridor to hear the bells, and he can't help but worry what everyone will think when they see you walk in together, kiss-swollen lips and all. "People will say you associate with traitors."
The roll of your eyes is a stark contrast to the gentle tone of your voice when you reply. "People see us together all the time, Xaden. It's not any different just because we're more than friends now. And I don't care what they think, anyway. You're not a traitor, and anyone who thinks you are is an idiot and doesn't matter."
Xaden has to bite his lip to keep silent. If only you knew what he's been up to. Dragging you into the revolution is the last thing he wants, and yet, he can't help but imagine how much nicer it all would be with you by his side. With a sense of justice as strong as yours, you would certainly want to help if you knew the truth of what's out there. No matter. He's not going to put you into that danger, not with how uncertain everything still is.
Twice him and Garrick have managed to smuggle weapons out now, chancing upon a friendly drift by mere luck the first time. Twice is not enough to determine whether they'll get away with it in the long run. For all he knows, someone could already be suspecting them — which is exactly why you should not be seen with him. Even unaware as you are, it's not safe.
And what if you catch on? Xaden knows you know he has secrets, and adores you even more for not pushing the matter, but eventually, your curiosity is bound to get the best of you. If you find out about the weapons runs, he'll either have to tell you what leadership has been hiding — which will sound like madness when he has no way to prove it — or let you believe him to be a traitor without reason. He can't imagine either.
Unfortunately, you choose just then to say, "You know, I missed you at dinner yesterday."
Xaden acknowledges your comment with a nod but doesn't reply, unwilling to lie but unable to tell you that he'd snuck out with Garrick to deliver the weapons they'd stolen for the fliers.
"I'm not saying that because I want to stalk you or anything," you continue. It's become sort of a running joke between the two of you to call the other a stalker for such observations. "It's just that you had me worried. Maybe next time you could let me know when you're going to be busy?"
"Yeah. I can do that," Xaden says, praying you won't ask where he's been.
"Thank you." You smile, briefly halting your steps to give him another kiss, and Xaden is too lost in the sweetness of it to notice you've already reached the classroom until you open the door.
Despite his resolution to not let your relationship — or whatever it is — progress any further, he does. It's like any time he's near you, he loses all common sense.
Sgaeyl is getting annoyed with him, telling him to make up his mind. It is clear he's already made his decision, she says, so he might as well commit to it. She's right, of course, even if Xaden hates to admit it.
He doesn't want to be the selfish asshole he feels he's being by letting himself bask in your presence every chance he gets, by allowing himself to dream of a future with you by his side. It's unattainable, no matter how much he wants it, and yet there's a tiny part of him that dares to hope and refuses to settle for less. You may not have actually talked about your feelings so far, but Xaden knows you want a real, deeper relationship with him as much as he does. It could all be so perfect, if there weren't all those responsibilities Xaden has to think of, the lives depending on him. He can't drag you into that mess in good conscience; just imagining that inherent joy leaving your eyes as the truth destroys your faith in humanity makes him feel sick.
Maybe he could be with you without letting you find out? You always respect his privacy, never probe about the secrets you know he has.
But no, he can't keep you in the dark forever. He'll tell you, sooner or later. You deserve to know the truth, terrible as it is. You deserve to fight by his side, if you so choose. Whatever horrors the future holds, Xaden wants to face them together with you.
"I don't know if this is such a good idea," he admits one night, lying in your bed. One last, half-hearted attempt to make you see he's bad for you. And if you brush it off like you always do, he'll accept that you want him too, consequences be damned.
"What isn't?"
"Us."
"Why not?" you ask, voice as soft as the drizzle of rain falling outside the window.
There's more than a dozen reasons he could list, but most of them have to do with matters he can't — won't — tell you about. Someday he will, if the world keeps turning long enough, but for the time being, it's better you don't know.
"I'm not sweet like you," he mumbles instead.
You just smile, the way you always do when he's being difficult. "No, I guess not. But you're not the bad guy you want people to think you are, either."
"You can't possibly know that."
He thinks of everything you don't know, the secrets he's hiding. Would you still think the same of him if you knew the truth about him, everything he really is?
"I do, though. You're not a bad guy," you repeat with a gentleness he doesn't deserve. "You're just you. A survivor. Maybe a bit broody. But that's okay, 'cause I love you just the way you are."
Your fingers brush a few stray hairs from his forehead, and the last of Xaden's resolve crumbles. Neither of you had dared use the word love so far; hearing it now, Xaden wants you to say it over and over again.
"Good. Because you're not getting rid of me anymore."
"No?"
"No. Even if you probably should."
"Good." You smile, ignoring the second half of what he said, and brush your lips against his. "Now stop worrying so much and go to sleep."
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xdanisgfx · 4 hours ago
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ʚɞ IRL — 20 lara did something (and y/n too) !
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taglist! — @meganskiendielsbtc @sunshinez4 @fruityg0rl @wtfisthisnoclueman @winnmin @1luvkarina @peanutbutterlover05 @hiraizyo @kristalag @haerinkisser @zindoriyo @bandaidss320 @xochitlisbest @leotapes @yeetaberry127 @urmom2314 @7purinzer @mei2yok
author's note! — yo that's crazy guys!! not a secret for long i guess...
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halsteadlover · 10 months ago
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𝐀 𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐧
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*Pics not mine credits to the owner*
• Pairing: Derek Morgan x Female!Reader.
• Requested by anon: Could you please write a derek Morgan x reader smut where the reader and derek and the team obvi are on a case and while interviewing neighbors in the apartments the reader makes a stupid bet like "I bet whoever lives here is a hot single bachelor in his 20s" and then it's the opposite and when they are back in the car derek makes the reader pay up but with her panties and when she goes to get them back at the end of the day it leads to smut.
• Warnings: a really brief mention of a murder case (it’s just a sentence), dirty talk, cuss words, making out, semi-public foreplay (f. receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up you guyssss!!)
• Word count: 5.5K
• A/N: my first Derek fic 😭 I hope you like it guys, please let me know what do you think about it and also comment, like and reblog, it’d mean the world. Sending lots of love to everyone ❤️
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What part of your brain thought it was a good idea to make a bet with Derek Morgan?
You didn’t even know why you did it, it must’ve been the pleasure of losing because there was no way on earth you would’ve won.
You and Morgan were about to go interview a witness for a case you were working on: a serial killer who was killing his victims by setting fires. You were walking next to each other while you thought of some way to make what was going to be a long and boring afternoon, interesting.
You and Derek had a, well… Particular relationship, to say the least.
Months prior you and him had started to have sex. It started out as a purely physical thing as you had always been very attracted to each other, but as time went on you found yourselves spending time together and enjoying each other’s company even outside of a sexual sphere.
Your relationship, both from a working and private point of view, had always been characterized by a playful banter, mischievous jokes, by the constant flirting so it wasn’t strange you both often found yourselves making bets aimed to make lose the other’s mind.
In fact, it was at that moment that you came up with an idea for a bet, however forgetting he took them so seriously it seemed like his life depended on it, especially since most of the time he won, and the penances were of a sexual nature. Of course you didn’t mind losing one bit.
“I bet whoever lives here is a hot single bachelor in his twenties,” you said, pointing to the apartment where you were heading, ready to question the witness. He grinned and glanced at you, hands shoved in his pockets.
“Oh baby girl, you still don’t understand it’s a losing battle?”
“What’s the matter Agent Morgan, you afraid of losing?” You challenged him with the deliberate pleasure of teasing him and in fact he immediately gave in to your provocation.
He chuckled, shaking his head slightly in amusement. You arrived in front of the apartment door that had the number ‘23’ on its sign. You were standing facing each other while he thought about the penance, he would’ve make you do if you – most likely – lost.
Another evil, mocking grin appeared on his lips, and you immediately knew you were in trouble. “You’ll give me your panties when you lose.”
“If I lose.”
“When. But you can still back out.”
“Never.”
He held out a hand towards you but you didn’t miss the way his eyes roamed over your body from head to toe, checking you out without shame. Over time you had learned to understand what he was thinking, what was hidden behind his look and you almost caught fire because you immediately recognized that look, it was the one he gave you when he was imagining you naked in every possible and imaginable position.
And in fact, you weren’t wrong.
Just the thought of having your panties in his pocket, walking around and smelling you, was enough to make his dick stir in his pants.
You knew the odds of you winning the bet were slim, but your competitive nature made you shake Morgan’s hand, and he gave you another one of his panty-ripping smiles.
“Wipe that smirk off your face, don’t take the victory for granted.”
He raised his hands in surrender, chuckling. “I would never dare but be realistic darling. Do you know how low the odds are?”.
“What if I win?”.
“You won’t.”
“What if I win?” You repeated, crossing your arms over your chest.
He shrugged, very sure he’d win. “You’ll choose the penance.”
You thought about it for a moment and a mischievous smile appeared on your lips this time. “I’ll do a strip tease and a lap dance.”
He looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “How is that a penance? Baby I’d drop on my knees right now to make this happen...”
“…But you’ll be handcuffed, you won’t be able to touch me and I won’t make you come.”
He opened his mouth wide, feeling his dick twitch just at the thought. He had to force himself to think of something else since he didn’t want to question a witness with a raging hard on but it was awfully difficult when all he could do was imagine you strip teasing and grinding on his lap. “Fuck I don’t know if I should win or lose.”
“If you want to end up with blue balls then you have to hope to lose.”
You knocked on the apartment door, still maintaining eye contact with Derek and trying to hold back your laughter since you knew exactly what he was thinking. You took your eyes away from him only to let them travel down his body and to the crotch of his pants which was clearly prominent at that moment. You bit your lip as you looked back at his face and he glared at you.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered, feeling the situation getting even worse. Damn it, he felt like a damn horny teenager.
Before you could respond to his comment the door opened, revealing a person who couldn’t be more different from the object of your bet. He in fact was a she, a lady who couldn’t have been less than sixty years old.
Your smile dropped as the one on Derek’s face grew even more and, as you had already said, you wondered what part of your brain had thought it was a good idea to make that bet.
“Good morning. Can I help you?” she looked skeptically at both of you.
“Oh yes ma’am, you just made my day so much better,” he replied softly but glancing at you. “We’re FBI agents, may we ask you few questions?”
Over the next hour and a half you interviewed other witnesses near the fire scene and on your way to the car, Derek wouldn’t stop trying to get close to you and touch you.
“Derek stop it! We’re in public! God you’re so unprofessional,” you slapped one of his hands away that had been squeezing your ass for the last couple of minutes, trying not to laugh.
“There’s nothing professional about what we do, baby girl,” he replied with mock annoyance, “Plus I can’t help it, I can’t wait to rip your panties off.”
“Nuh uh mister, the deal was that I have to give you my panties not you taking them off me.”
He snorted and rolled his eyes as you approached the car but before you could get in he grabbed your hand and turned you towards him. He placed his hands on your face and as he pushed your back against the car door he crushed his lips on yours.
He didn’t care about passers-by in any way, in people’s eyes you might have looked like a couple who was passionately making out.
After the first few seconds of surprise, you immediately kissed him back, parting your lips and letting him slip his tongue into your mouth. You knew it was totally unprofessional to kiss your colleague in broad daylight while you were doing your job but all it took was for him to get close for you to lose your mind, no longer able to think clearly.
Your hands moved down his chest to encircle his waist, trying to pull him closer to you than his body already was. Your mouths moved in sync while he seemed to want to suck his soul out of you and although you were now used to kissing him, every time it was as if it was the first.
You almost moaned into the kiss, your body already on fire, wanting more. You wanted him so badly, you wanted his hands, his fingers, his mouth and his tongue all over you.
“Derek please…” you sighed when you broke away, his face still dangerously close to yours.
“Get in the car princess,” he ordered and his voice was so low and seductive that if he had asked you to give him a blowjob right there on the sidewalk you would’ve dropped on your knees without the slightest hesitation.
He opened the door for you and you giggled like a teenager before getting in, thanking him as you watched him walk around the car before getting in too.
“I would’ve fucked you in the car here and now if we weren’t in public. You’re so fucking hot baby,” he whispered against your lips after moving closer to you and taking your chin between his fingers. “But I’ll settle taking your panties off for now.”
He placed a hand on your breast and groped it before sliding it across your stomach to your jeans-covered pussy. You moaned as he began to touch you, making you squirm under his expert fingers.
“I bet you’re already wet, aren’t you honey?” He continued to tease you.
“Fuck Derek… They’ll see us…”
“You’re right,” he replied, stopping touching you, causing you to moan and grunt at the same time. “No one should look at what is mine.”
God Derek Morgan and the things he made you feel. You were starting to really hate him.
“You’re having so much fun aren’t you?”
He started the car but not before throwing you one last mocking and sexy as hell grin. “You have no idea how much.”
You squeezed your legs together in anticipation feeling the urge and desire grow more and more. You continued to look at him as he drove, observing every feature of his perfect profile with your hungry eyes.
How could someone be so perfect?
And it didn’t help he had one hand resting on your inner thigh as his thumb was stroking dangerously close to your intimate area. You didn’t know whether to hate him, to beg him to go higher or both but certainly the smug expression on his face made you want to punch him.
Derek drove to a hidden, dead end road, not caring the rest of the team was probably waiting to hear from both you and him.
He kissed you breathless again, threading a hand into your hair. But he didn’t stay there for long as he moved down your chest again, wasting no time in groping your breasts again, until he reached your pussy again.
“God Derek you’re driving me crazy,” you hissed as you struggled to keep control. He kissed you again and unbuttoned your pants and you lifted your hips before your brain could even process the movement, allowing him to slide them down your thighs. You took off your shoes, slipping your pants off.
He slipped his hands into your underwear and a loud moan escaped your lips that Derek felt right in his dick. “As I imagined… So fucking wet.”
“Fuck yes just like that,” you sighed as his fingers drew circles on your clit. You gripped the sides of the seat as if searching for a leverage, pleasure flowing through your veins.
He knew where to touch you, he knew HOW to touch you, what to do to make you lose your mind and control.
“I'm dying to taste this pussy, look at you soaking up my fingers,” he whispered in your ear, pressing his lips to your neck and sucking on your skin but being careful not to leave any marks. The team already didn’t give you any respite suspecting there was something between you, he certainly didn’t want to give them clear proof.
Two of his fingers slipped easily inside your wet pussy, curling inside you and touching that spongy spot that made you moan and thinking you were about to ascend to heaven.
“Yes, yes, oh god yes,” you kissed him, spreading your legs even more to give him more access.
“You like that don’t you? My pretty girl loves being so dirty, letting me finger this pussy in public.”
You dipped your head back in pleasure, feeling the orgasm already building inside you.
He pulled his fingers out and you grunted at the loss and took off your panties, bringing them to his nose and deeply inhaling the scent that drove him so crazy: you and sex. “Now I really don’t know how I’m going to go through the whole day without being hard knowing I have your panties here,” he spoke up as he stuffed them into his pocket. “But we should go back.”
What?
“Derek you can’t leave me like this!”.
“Oh I can and I will, we shouldn’t let the others think we might be doing something shouldn’t we?”
“You fucking piece of shit.”
He burst out laughing and you nearly punched him in his handsome face.
You were furious. Irritated.
You were furious, irritated but above all horny.
After that little stunt he had done in the car Derek had really left you like that, without an orgasm and with a mad desire to fuck.
The rest of the day was torture, especially having to work with other people while pretending you didn’t feel like you were on the edge the whole time. You didn’t spare Morgan some dirty looks after which he had to force himself not to laugh but he didn’t spare you those languid looks full of lust either.
It wasn’t easy for you but it wasn’t easy for him either since, unlike you, couldn’t hide his excitement so easily. Knowing he had your panties in his pocket and the memory of your wet pussy were giving him no respite.
In reality, you both loved that little game, teasing and torturing each other until the other lost his mind, even if… To be honest, wearing jeans without underwear was complete torture.
At the end of the day, when you were finally all in your own room, you took the opportunity to take a shower and put on a dress and the sexy lingerie you had put in your bag before leaving for the new case.
You giggled just thinking about Derek’s reaction.
You went to his room, knocking twice before he opened the door making your jaw drop and almost fall to the floor when you realized he was naked and only had a towel around his waist.
His body was still wet, sign he had just gotten out of the shower, the drops running down his sculpted chest that you wanted to lick off one by one.
“Oh man…” He sighed. “You’re breathtaking baby,” he began, shamelessly scanning your body from head to toe, a smirk on his lips. “I was wondering when you were coming.”
“You always opening the door like this, Agent Morgan?” You asked ironically before entering his room without even waiting for him to invite you.
“Woah woah woah, where do you think you’re going baby girl? Where is my kiss?” He scolded you, almost truly offended after closing the door behind him.
You giggled, but unable to take your eyes off his body and stop them from wandering hungrily over his figure.
“No, dry yourself first and then I’ll kiss you,” you replied before going to sit on the edge of the bed, placing your hands behind you on the mattress and tilting your head slightly as you looked at him.
He didn’t answer but came closer to you and placed two fingers on your chin, forcing you to lift your head and pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss that took the air out of your lungs.
“Jealous Agent Y/Ln?” He whispered an inch from your lips, referring to your initial question after making you get up from the bed.
“Not even a little bit, it was just an innocent question agent Morgan.”
Absolutely. You were 100% jealous.
But you knew from the way the corner of his mouth lifted in a twisted, mischievous smile he didn’t believe it one bit. “You know, being a profiler I thought you were better at hiding emotions. Lies don’t look good on you pretty girl.”
“That would be true if I had told a lie but that’s not the case, I’m not jealous at all,” you said with a confident tone as your gaze alternated between his eyes and his lips. He was so close and so tempting you felt like you were already losing patience.
“To answer the question, no, I don’t answer to anyone. Just you.”
“You? Derek Morgan?”.
He chuckled. “Strange right? But it seems like you’ve done some weird witchcraft on me because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“You already got in my pants, no need to be cheesy,” you retorted, biting your lip to keep from smiling.
He sighed, slightly shaking his head. “Always so cynical. What should I do with you?”
“Give me back my panties?”.
He raised an eyebrow. “Have you forgotten what the word ‘lose’ means?”.
“If I had known you liked them so much I would’ve bought you a new pair to wear you know.”
“You think you’re so funny don’t you?”. He grabbed your face with one hand, his mouth dangerously close to yours but never touching it.
You nodded with a smirk as you watched as his eyes were fixed on your lips. “Maybe you might like what I have now better.”
You took a step back and the look of pure confusion on his face was replaced by astonishment when he saw your hands lower the thick straps of your dress down your arms, then lowering the side zip and letting the dress fall around your feet.
The look of shock on his face was something you’d never forget.
Derek widened his mouth and eyes, letting his hungry gaze travel along your body wrapped in lace lingerie, studying every curve and inch of your skin. A warm feeling spread in your lower abdomen and it was amazing how just the way he looked at you was enough to turn you on.
“Holy shit…” he breathed out, “You… Are… You… Holy fuck…” he continued stuttering, unable to form a single meaningful sentence.
“Wow did I really manage to surprise Agent Morgan?” You giggled, your cheeks flushed and stomach filled with fluttering butterflies, knowing you had such an effect on him. Derek Morgan – the man who with a single smile and a look could’ve make rows and rows of women fall at his feet – was drooling over you, looking at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world.
“I’ll answer you when some blood returns to my brain.”
Your gaze trailed down his body and your insides clenched at the sight of his prominent erection beneath the towel around his waist. Your mouth watered just thinking about what was underneath that single fabric, imagining his dick in your mouth, in every hole in your body as he filled you completely.
“You look spectacular Y/n, my god” he murmured, his chocolate brown eyes still on your body and never on your face. You could see him struggling in not knowing what to pay more attention to, your breasts which were perfectly highlighted by the lace that gave that see-through effect while it showed the shadow of your nipples, if the hold-ups that surrounded your thighs that Derek wanted nothing more than to mark and bite or your pussy also covered in matching lace in which he wanted to dive and feed on it until he drown himself to death.
Derek moved closer to you, closing the small distance between the two of you. “Turn around. Show me this beautiful ass that torments me in my sleep.”
The tone of his voice alone made you almost beg him to do anything he wanted. You didn’t have to be told twice and you turned around, your skin on fire as you felt his penetrating gaze on you as he observed and studied every millimeter of your body.
You heard Derek exhale a deep breath behind you. “A fucking goddess. You’re absolutely mesmerizing.”
A rush of shivers gave you goosebumps as he placed his rough hands on your arms, stroking them slowly before moving up and moving your hair from your shoulders and letting it fall along your shoulder blades, leaving your neck exposed. His lips began to plant kisses on your skin and the mere contact made you sigh and tilt your head to the side, giving him more access.
“Do you have any idea how crazy you drive me?” he whispered in your ear and you clenched your hands into fists, pressing your nails into your palms in an attempt to release the frustration you felt. Every second that passed while he didn’t touch you as you wanted there was a shred of your sanity that was shattered.
You shook your head, realizing you hadn’t answered yet.
His hands went down your arms again, then moving up your hips until they reached your ass. You let out a gasp when his fingers tightened around the flesh of your ass, squeezing it, groping it with the sole purpose of torturing you and leaving you eager for more.
“God the things I want do to you baby, you can’t even imagine.”
“Do it Derek, do whatever you want to me… I need you.”
“I love feeling you so desperate for me.”
An empty feeling came over you as his fingers let go of your ass, moving to your hips. However, you moaned when he pushed his body against yours, pressing his erection against the curves of your ass and grinding against you without shame or restraint.
“Fuck Derek,” you murmured, now on the verge of losing your mind.
One of his hands ended up around your throat, forcing you to bend your head and rest it on his shoulder while the other cupped one of your breasts, palpating it over the top of your bra. You sighed, rubbing your ass against his hard dick as you couldn’t wait for it to stretch your pussy.
“That’s what you do to me, you make me so hard I can’t even think straight anymore.” He pinched your hard nipple from above the fabric. “You have no idea how much I want to rip this off of you but I know you’d kill me,” he chuckled in your ear.
“I don’t give a shit.” You blurted out, not evens embarrassed about how fast you said it.
“What do you want baby? Talk to me.”
God it was so damn hard talking when you were so horny you couldn’t even remember your name, the denied orgasm making things worse.
“You. Fuck me, please. I need you so badly Derek.”
He tightened his hand lightly around your neck, cupping your chin then turning your head towards him and before you knew it he slammed his lips onto yours, sucking the breath from your body as his tongue explored your mouth in a sloppy, deep kiss.
He slowly slid the fingers of his other hand – that until a few seconds before were on your breast – along your chest, your lower abdomen, touching your needy and drenched pussy with his fingertips. You whined during the kiss, spontaneously lifting your hips to try and meet his fingers.
God you were hating him at that moment.
“I can smell your wetness from here, is my baby horny for me?” he whispered on your lips swollen and red from the impetuous kiss.
“I’ll fucking kill you right now Morgan I swear to god.”
He laughed and your stomach clenched in on itself. “Don’t worry baby, I’m here. I’m going to fuck your brains out, so good you won’t even be able to get up when I’m done with you.” This time it was your pussy that clenched when you squeezed your legs together for some friction. Derek let go of your throat and began to play with your panties. Your breath hitched as he slowly began to lower them, trailing them down your legs.
“I think I’ll keep these too,” he whispered even as his voice came loud and clear to your ears. You turned your head to the side so you could look at him and let out a ragged sigh when you saw him kneeling behind you. His eyes shone under the light of the hotel room as they looked at you with so much intensity that they alone would’ve been enough to set you on fire.
He left a kiss on your ass, making you gasp to the point of embarrassment as he bit your skin and groped your now bare ass. “One day I’ll fuck this pretty little ass too and you’ll love every second of it.”
“You can start by fucking my pussy now.”
He chuckled again as he stood up. He placed a hand on your heated back, inviting you to lean on the bed in front of you and you obeyed, resting your hands on the bed and giving him a perfect view of your ass.
“I can see from here how wet you are baby girl,” he moved closer to you, his bare thighs touching yours and then you realized he had removed the towel from his waist.
God have mercy on me.
“I’ll eat this beautiful pussy later but now all I can think about is fucking her so good,” he said as his fingers brushed against you and this little contact, combined with his dirty words, made you squirm with anticipation. “After all, you deserve it after being such a good girl all day.”
You felt him place his tip near your entrance and you both moaned as he slid his dick against your folds, wetting it with your fluids. He provoked you, tortured you with every motion, it was what he was best at, he knew which points to touch to drive you crazy and leave you painfully longing.
“Derek please, I want you so much,” you whined in a pathetic tone full of lust and desire as he continued to penetrate you with just the tip and then pull out. You hated him and wanted him at the same time, so much it hurt.
“What do you want, princess?” His hands gripped your hips and he leaned over you, pressing his lips to your skin before leaving damp, wet kisses all over your back.
“Fuck me.”
“Fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth before lining his dick up with your entrance and finally filling you.
“Oh God yes, you feel so god Derek.” You panted vigorously, your heart beating so hard it almost stopped as you felt his soft and especially bare skin touching every corner of you.
He remained still for a few moments, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to maintain control of his body. You were so wet and it felt so good being inside you, Derek feared that with just one push he would’ve come on the spot.
“Baby please… Move…”
Baby.
Fuck.
That simple little word had no business making his insides twist like he had. You were used to calling each other nicknames, it wasn’t new, but there was something in that ‘baby’ you said: perhaps it was the vulnerability with which you pronounced it, breathless and as if he was the only one who could save you, the way your voice was so full of desire.
Derek pulled out before thrusting into you again with a strong thrust so deep if it hadn’t been for his hands firmly gripping your hips you would’ve probably fallen forward.
“You have no idea what you do to me, fucking hell you drive me crazy,” he breathed out, head tilted back and eyes closed as his dick pounded into you like he was angry.
You tried to formulate a meaningful sentence but as you opened your lips only gasps and moans came out. He was fucking you so deeply that with each thrust you felt a piece of your brain coming out of your head and your soul out of your body.
Exactly like he promised.
All the hidden frustration made its way and exploded like a time bomb, not much time passing until even the orgasm began to build inside you.
Your face was pressed into the sheets of the bed, your breathing heavy and quickening as your hands clenched the fabric into a fist. “Derek…” you whimpered in pleasure as you pushed your pelvis towards him with each thrust. It didn’t seem to be enough though, you wanted more and more.
One of his hands continued to hold your hips firmly while he slid the other along your back, until he reached your hair which he tightened in a fist forcing you to lift your head. His moans and groans sounded like music to your ears and you couldn’t contain the joy of knowing it was you who made him feel this way, it was you who made him lose control.
“Fuck I could stay inside you forever, you take me so well. This pussy was made for me,” he groaned as the tip of his dick hit your G-spot, making you see stars. You wanted to answer but when you opened your mouth all that came out were moans and sighs. “Just for me… You understand?”
“Just you baby, only you,” you babbled while loudly moaning, not caring one bit if someone could hear you having sex.
His lips kissed your shoulder, his tongue traced every inch of skin he could reach. “That’s right pretty girl…” he groaned in your ear, his sentence interrupted by another moan. “Fuck yeah you’re mine.”
“Holy shit baby… I’m about to come…” You managed to say and the orgasm that hit you full on like a truck gave you no mercy, didn’t let you escape as it sucked away your ability to breath. If it wasn’t for Derek’s hand still in your hair you would’ve collapsed on the mattress.
His thrusts became unhinged, even more out of control than they were before and it didn’t take long for him to reach his climax too. How could he resist? There was no chance, not when your pussy was tightening around his dick in the throes of orgasmic spasms, leaving him no escape.
Derek exploded inside you, emptying himself into you until the last drop of his seed filled your pussy, then leaking from your entrance and sliding down your thighs as he pulled out.
“Shit,” he breathed as you felt the weight of the mattress dip as he collapsed next to you. “You destroy me baby, how do you manage to do this every single time?”
You mumbled something nonsensical in response, eyes closed and too tired to say anything. He chuckled and stroked your hair, brushing it away from your face so he could get a good look at you.
You were so beautiful, ethereal, so mesmerizing it hurt and seeing that happy and pleased look on your face almost sent him to his knees, internally promising himself he’d fight every single person on earth just to always see you so relaxed and happy.
“How many women do you tell this?” you managed to say, opening one eye and keeping the other closed and a flock of butterflies exploded in your stomach when you saw the breathtaking smile he was looking at you with.
“If you think there is someone capable of making me feel what you feel, you’re very wrong. Like I already said, I don’t know what strange witchcraft you did to me but you really hooked me baby.” He propped himself up on one elbow and leaned towards you, pressing small kisses across your face, neck, shoulders and all the way up to your lips. “There is no one else since you came in in my life, I’m so obsessed with you it’s not even funny.”
You opened your second eye too, suddenly not so tired anymore. “Really?”
“Why, isn’t the same for you?” he asked, his stomach clenched with jealousy at the thought of a man laying a finger on you. “Please tell me no or someone help me I will kill every man who even looked at you, I’m an FBI agent and I know how to hide dead bodies in such a way that not even the families will ever find them.”
You burst out laughing, and rolled onto your back before throwing your arms around his neck so you could bring him closer to you and press your lips to his. “Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”
“Y/n. Don’t fucking test me.”
“I’m just kidding,” your lips brushed against his before planting another small kiss on them. “There couldn’t be another man even if they forced me, you’ve really messed up my life Agent Morgan and I’m pretty much obsessed with you too.”
“That better be. We’re exclusive since the day I kissed you in that elevator,” he grumbled. “God I love when you call me baby,” he then sighed happily and the way his mood shifted so quickly made. Your fingers caressed his soft, perfect skin and he mumbled with contentment. You noticed how his pupils were so dilated the chocolate surrounding them had almost disappeared. “Mine, only mine.”
“And you’re mine darling, I’m an FBI agent too and I know a thousand ways to make deaths look like accidents.” He pressed his lips to yours again, kissing you so deeply your heart almost stopped in your chest.
Derek Morgan would be the death of you, you were certain of that.
“Just give me five more minutes and I’ll show you how much we belong to each other princess, how much I look, think and breathe for you only.”
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hcneymooners · 25 days ago
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i know this might be controversial, but enough is enough.
as someone who grew up in the rigidity—and, at times, oppressive nature—of roman catholicism, i am so tired of the religious!reader trope where they’re portrayed as so innocent they’re practically a child. we were not innocent. we knew the names of our bodies, the weight of shame, and the crushing complexity of guilt. i knew that my vagina was a vagina.
the sheer amount of extremely innocent!religious!reader fics is unsettling. they turn the reader into this caricature—wide-eyed, naive, almost infantilized, complete with pigtails and an oversized cross necklace perfect for a porn video thumbnail.
for me—and for a lot of other lesbians i’ve bonded with over religious trauma—it was never about innocence. it was about guilt. guilt over pleasure, guilt over sin, and all the ways we punished ourselves for being human.
we weren’t these overgrown children teetering around in purity. we were messy, complicated, and burdened by shame in ways that were far more nuanced than these portrayals ever capture. enough, please.
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saturnsurn · 24 days ago
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RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE
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In which you rage in/from a videogame
⭒ Gojo, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna and Toji
⭒ Warnings - Fem! Reader in Gojos (girlfriend), GN! Reader in the rest
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