#he doesn't even live in this building i saw him coming out from a different one across the complex

[awionetka]

𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞! ➢

3, 2, 1, go! love and deepspace boys become street racers (while possibly romancing you in the process)...

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫: slight angst (?), drabble. street racer!Caleb x reader. they're estranged childhood friends with inconsistent communication, he's not abusive btw... bear with me on this one, there IS hope at the end of the tunnel!

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 / 𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 / 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 / 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 / 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥��𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠…

➢ killing me; conan gray

➢ closer to you; jungkook, major lazer

➢ sour candy; lady gaga, blackpink

"...in the streets of Linkon City. Our experts agree that it has become a rather serious problem. Who is going to protect us from such dangerous activities when we don't even know who to look for?"

The evening discussion panel you'd turned on mixed with the vinyl record you put on in your bedroom, creating the perfect background noise for you current endeavours. Humming absentmindedly at Tara's words, you flipped through the pile of clothes growing dangerously with each rejected outfit.

"Yes. Well... It is best to remember that we, as Linkon citizens, are being thoroughly protected by police forces. We shouldn't act rashly here, especially when it comes to such important matters as illegal racing, oftentimes held purely for monetary gain. Such environments could be dangerous to those who have no experience in the matter. However, when it comes to the identities, there are a couple of things to look out for. Most racers have unique aliases and codenames, ones we can be wary of in our day to day lives. Some of the most infamous ones are, for example, Onyx, Orion, Malamute..."

You returned to the living room once again, this time wearing a different top, twisted phone cord trailing behind you like a puppy with attachment issues.

"I just don't know, Tara, this doesn't look... Ehh, I don't know." You sighed, holding up two skirts in front of you while your friend tried her best to advise you over the phone. "What's that? Oh, just the TV. Hold on, let me switch it off. Yeah, so, like I've been saying..."

Suddenly you paused, turning away to face your front door.

"You're here!" You smiled brightly, already halfway there, but then stopped abruptly at Tara's words. "Oh... I hope it's not another noise complaint..."

Not expecting much, since it was, in fact, a late Thursday evening in a building full of the elderly and families with young children, you took a half-hearted glance through the peephole.

But what you saw, who you saw, on the other side of the door, made your blood run cold.

"It's... It's..." you attempted to give Tara an explanation, but then the person standing in the corridor spoke up, voice muffled by the barrier between you.

"Hey, Pipsqueak..." He cleared his throat and you pressed your forehead to the door. "I... I came to talk. Yeah? I'm sorry about last time, it was never my intent to upset you."

"Well, too bad," you replied before you could stop yourself, already full of annoyance. "Because you did, Caleb. What do you want now?"

You didn't look through the eyehole again, you couldn't make yourself to do so. But you saw him in your mind, shoulders relaxing slowly at the sound of your voice, that you decided to respond to him, even like this, even angry.

"Just to talk. I couldn't call or text you for some time. I just want to... see how you're doing."

Still on the phone with Tara, you placed it carefully on the shelf next to you, not hanging up. Just in case.

"I'm doing fine," you quipped back, but your resolve had already begun to falter. You missed Caleb terribly, the tone of his voice, that roguish glint in his eyes. How he brought you cute keychains from his travels and let you crash at his place when you didn't want to be alone. How he held you in his arms when you cried, gentle and reassuring, yet still at some sort of distance. Even if shortly afterwards he didn't text you back for ten days.

"I'm– I'm glad, Pips." Pause, brief. Then, "Will you let me see you...? Just for a minute. Please."

You glanced over at your phone, laying screen up on the shelf. Tara had texted you, mindful not to make herself known by speaking up, and asked if you'd be okay. Biting your lip, you replied, promising to give her a call as soon as he leaves. You hoped that'd be soon. You hoped she'd come over soon too.

"Okay..." you muttered cautiously and then ended the call. "Just... give me a second."

Hurrying back to the living room, you grabbed one of the skirts that were thrown on the couch, hastily putting it on so Caleb wouldn't see you basically half-naked. He waited patiently until you opened the door for him and scooted to the side to let him pass.

"Hi," he muttered breathlessly, hands twitching at his sides as he took in your figure. "You... going anywhere? I hope I'm not an inconvenience."

There was a gentle smile on his lips, one you felt you hadn't seen for centuries. Aside from that, Caleb looked as Caleb-ish as ever; broad shoulders, bright, attentive eyes and messy hair, now slightly overgrown as you were always the one to cut it. His arm brushed yours when he entered your apartment and he tensed.

"No, it's fine." You closed the door behind him without locking it. Just in case... "So...? Are you going to tell me where the hell you were last time we were supposed to hang out?"

"Pipsqueak..."

A single laugh escaped your chest, more akin to a bark. "Don't 'Pipsqueak' me, Caleb. It's a simple question. I would like to hear a simple answer."

He leaned against the built-in closet, respecting your privacy and not moving from the spot by the entrance. As his head hit the wood with a dull thud, you noticed a wide stripe of gauze sneaking past the hem of his jacket, right at the base of his neck. If Caleb noticed you staring, he decided not to mention it.

"It's... not as simple as I'd like it to be." There was a certain amount of defiance in his voice, one you knew almost too well. "I can't– I couldn't contact you. The matter was out of my hands."

"Caleb, you stood me up!" you pointed out, refusing to meet his eyes, even when he slightly bent over in order to see you better. "Do you even know how long I waited for you back then? I've always known you were busy but this? And then you wouldn't answer my calls, wouldn't text me back? For a second I... I thought something had happened to you."

It seemed like your sudden confession made Caleb, in some wicked and unexplainable way, more upbeat than just mere seconds before. He reached out, but not even to touch you, just to hover. "I wish I could tell you more, so you wouldn't worry..."

"Worry?!" Now, that pissed you off. How would someone who clearly didn't give a damn about you make you worry for him? "You worry about yourself for once, Jesus fucking Christ. Where the hell were you, where you couldn't find two fucking minutes to send me a text?!"

"Pipsqueak–"

Waving him off, you stormed off into the living room, not wanting him to see how emotional it all made you. It took Caleb a moment to follow, quietly and cautiously, as though he was approaching a wild animal. The couch dipped slightly when he sat down at its edge.

"You used to be different," you whispered, more to yourself than to Caleb, really. "We used to be different. There wasn't a single thing we wouldn't talk about. You know there wasn't. And now... It feels like I don't even know you anymore, Caleb."

You looked up to face him, now wide eyed and tense as he stared back. A speck of dust flew in between you, illuminated by the cabinet lamp.

"I don't even know you."

There was a long moment of silence after that. Caleb appeared to be thinking about what to tell you and you, well, you were done talking. You couldn't keep wasting words on those who wouldn't give you any in return.

Suddenly he stood up, shoulders slumped forward, like a long forgotten puppet. Not even looking at you, let alone saying anything, he turned around yet again and made his way to the door.

You sighed. Deeply, unashamedly. With relief.

But then, just when you thought it would all end like this – with Caleb letting you have the last word. Leaving you behind, finally, for good.

He spoke.

Quietly, utterly devoid of emotion.

"I was in jail."

Your breath hitched. "I... I– W-What...?"

"They didn't have any usable evidence," he continued, still turned away, still at a distance (just in... case?). "So they let me go. I didn't want to call. You'd know. You'd know where it was coming from."

"Caleb..." You didn't even notice when you got up from the couch and walked close enough to feel the faint smell of gasoline lingering around him. "What have you done...?"

He glanced at you above his shoulder, smirking. "Don't worry 'bout it. Soon all of it will be gone. Everything will be just how it used to."

And before you could think of anything suitable enough for a reply, he left, closing the door behind him so delicately, you didn't even hear it click.

The air seemed hot that night, sticky. The fact that it was so horrendously crowded too, obviously didn't help and if it weren't for his height, Caleb wouldn't even have anything to breathe with.

He wanted to go home.

Real home, not the college dorms or even that cold, rigid apartment he was renting. You. He wanted, no, he needed to be where you were, see what you saw, hear what you heard. There wasn't a day he didn't spend cultivating the slightly blurred image of you he kept safely in his mind.

But what you told him just a few days before...

Caleb shook his head, as if to physically get rid of whatever resided inside of it at that time.

The past was just that – the past. For a reason, too. If he was to be present in your life still, he would have to earn his spot.

And he was willing to do anything for that to happen.

His racing team was almost finishing up, so Caleb decided to take a quick stroll through the garages. Being observant came naturally to him, so he oftentimes used those moments to spot his rivals' weakest points. That, plus the change of scenery helped him clear his mind, at least a little.

That night he would be up against five other drivers. Plenty of people to beat, but Caleb wasn't exactly a newbie, so he had calculated his chances as pretty high. High enough, he hoped at least. He was also competing with Sage and that was something he wasn't anticipating in the slightest.

Leaning against the garage doors, he observed, taking notice of anything out of the ordinary or potentially dangerous. Sage's Mitsubishi, a Toyoya, two Hondas. The last one was apparently a Mustang but Caleb was yet to see it with his own eyes, so he recoiled from making any rash assumptions. The crowd was vibrant and ever-present, adding to the unique flavour of Linkon's underground scene. There were also many teenagers, something Caleb had noted with confusion, as those who were underage had a way harder time getting in. And right next to a couple of school kids, stood a group of people not too much older, talking excitedly and trying to appear seasoned.

Caleb smiled to himself.

A part of him wished hypocritically that cops would swarm the place that night, making a whole show of cuffing people left and right, just to make those who didn't belong stay away afterwards. It was horrible of Caleb to think that way, considering he had to start somewhere too, but in all honesty he didn't wish his life on anybody. So, in a way it was justified, at least to some extent.

The start of the race was approaching and Caleb was almost about to go back to his trusted Subaru, when two more people with colorful drinks in their hands joined the group he previously observed.

The guy was relatively tall, a little lanky and wore a hoodie with a giant bird on the back, a raven maybe, or a crow. His eyes would shine whenever he looked at the girl beside him and it was clear as day that he was waiting for the right moment to make a move. She was chatting, gesturing animatedly and making him laugh in the process. He bent down to hear better, resting his hand on her hip.

And the girl... The girl was you.

[nightingale-prompts]

Nightwing gets a sidekick introducing: "Batboy"

Continuation of this post: "Danny has Bat wings"

|Next|

Dick tries to tell himself that he's better then Bruce. He's not going around taking young orphaned boys with unique abilities willy-nilly. No, he very careful. Besides this is first- well second sidekick.

He's doing a public service anyways. You can't have a kid with giant bat wings just falling from buildings. If Nightwing hadn't stepped in to stop those goons trying to catch the kid and sell him then who knows what would have happened. What if they tried to cut off his wings and turn the boy into a bloody trophy for the Bats?

There are many villains in Bludhaven who'd take the boy out or take him in. Dick already had a sinking feeling that Heartless would try his hand at killing the kid after all he targets the weak and helpless like a coward.

It was easy enough to convince the boy to be his friend. Dick did have natural charm and charisma after all. All it took was a meal from batburger and a fruit cup to get the kid to open up.

Danny (apparently his family gave him a normal name) didn't live with his family anymore due to ideological differences. That difference was that they thought he shouldn't exist anymore and wanted to turn him into an experiment. Poor kid didn't even get to finish his freshman year of school before he had to leave. He was a small town vigilante for a few months before the incident.

Dick saw an opportunity but was subtle about it. He invited the kid to live with him until he got his education. Its also totally ethical because the kid was a vigilante already.

Everything kind of went by quickly. Dick had done everything possible to hide Danny until he could come up with a plan of how to tell everyone.

True Dick didn't "need" a sidekick but come on, look at him! He's a boy with bat wings! Dick could put a little cowl on him and dress him up like Batman. I mean he's not a dog but it would be funny. The irony there, the bird-themed hero now had a bat-themed sidekick. That is the universe's way of sending a message.

After training Danny Dick learned that the kid had an endless supply of energy and ADHD that rivaled his own at that age. The kid also couldn't fly, it was actually closer to gliding which was still useful but he kind of looked like a flying squirrel when he jumped off ledges.

The term issue with taking Danny in was that Dick was still a Wayne and while he could hide the kid while he was swinging through Bludhaven, Dick Grayson could not.

Danny could hide his wings like they weren't even there whenever he wanted to look human. Which was a start, next he needed a new identity. One that wouldn't tip anyone off.

Dick needed to pull some strings without alerting Barbara or Tim. A new name was forged: "Daniel Nightingale" (Dick patted himself on the back for that one).

With that Dick was ready to let Danny out in the field. For the most part, Danny was as reliable as any Robin if not a bit crazy. Danny was way too charming for his own good but also completely feral. The public adored the domino-masked kid in his green and black costume. Danny didn't wear a cape because of his wings so he used them as a cloak.

When citizens saw them in public they'd offer the kid fruit cups and candies just to get close enough to see his wings. The people of Bludhaven were also excited to have their own version of Robin since Gotham had so many. Also, the kid was so marketable. Look at the way his wings flapped when he was excited.

Danny's or more specifically "Batboy's" presence would not go unnoticed.

Well, this can't end well.

Welp. Dick should have expected this. He couldn't even be upset. He doesn't regret anything that he's done.

Danny was still in bed, actually it was a hammock which was more comfortable for a bat. Dick wondered if he could sleep upside down. The kid was comfortable here and probably better off here than in Gotham. Once the adoption goes public however things will get complicated. Danny may end up Bludhaven's sweetheart or outcast. He'll probably end up fine...probably.

[gaywineauntsstuff]

I love the idea of Dick being all the Batkid's favourite sibling but in violently different fonts.

Jason: Dick and Jay canonically have a pretty solid relationship but i'm partial to the Jason was around for Dick's rebellion stage and so Dick doesn't think he has to worry about the pedestal thing bc Jason has absolutely seen him violently hungover before he was legally allowed to drink font of this

So by the time Jason comes back and is no longer trying to murder Tim (except psychologically) Dick decides... Well he's evil sometimes but also I can finally tell someone all the Titans drama. So him and Jason meet up like once month if they're in the same city and get progressively drunker while shit talking their teams and Bruce.

Also I hate the Dick and Robin!Jason didn't get along. They absolutely did, Dick was like 0.5 seconds away from taking Jason to live with the titans permanently.

Tim: 'Oh Jason is Tims Robin, Oh Dick betrayed Tims trust.' in the name of the orange dude y'all elected twice W R O N G. Tim Drake used to watch VHS tapes of the flying Graysons routine. He wasn't even a batman Stan first. That came after he saw Robin do a quadruple summersault. Tim is a Dick Grayson fanboy first Person second. Like Tim canonically saw Jason die and went lmao skill issue, imagine not being like Dick Grayson i'm better. When Dick first started training him, he'd consistently excuse himself go to the other room, hyperventilate over Dick Grayson teaching him how to train surf. Dick is not just his idol he's also a pretty substantial part of Tim's support system. He calls Dick when he's going through something or is stuck on a case. And he knows that Dick will always have his back. They have like the unrealistic adorable sibling relationships from Tv that don't exist irl. Tim also does that awkward shuffle thing after fights bc they're still siblings and Dick just pretends the fight didn't happen until Tims calm again

Damian: You have to understand Damian thought he'd have to basically do the league all over again. He lands with Bruce and those ideas are soundly rejected and he now has no trust or respect and he has to adjust. And Bruce is doing his holier than thou, you should know better 10yro who literally was brainwashed as a child act, like Tim didn't have to pull him away from straight up becoming a villain and Dick didn't have to put him in his place with his fists a couple times a year (we love Bruce really). Then Bruce gets Time-streamed, Tim runs away and now the circus freak is BATMAN. Except the circus freak is also a sadistic bastard to criminals, despite being made out of marshmallows to you. Dick hangs people upside down off high buildings for information and cackles as Nightwing. He also listens to Damians worries and helps him deconstruct his bias view of the world. Dick canonically set the standard for child heroes and is among one of the most beloved and trusted heroes despite being marshmallowy and refusing to murder people. Dick is kinda like Damians stand in non pretentious moral compass until he learns his own one later on. Hence why Damian adores Dick Grayson more than anyone really.

in summary support my agenda that Dick and Jason are gossipy drinking buddies, Tim absolutely had a Dick Grayson Shrine as a child and Damian calls Dick to double check that he still cannot kill Timothy (its now entirely a joke.... mostly)

[janiehellion]

𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐔𝐩 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫

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

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.

[tammyu-2]

hii can i request tmnt 2012 donnie meeting reader for the first time while the ninjas were at on a mission because she caught them while walking home and him js like falls in love on sight and his brothers tease him ☺️☺️☺️☺️

AHH THIS IS SO CUTE OFC

TMNT 2012 DONNIE FALLS FOR YOU AT FIRST SIGHT

There is no usage of y/n, swearing, female pronouns, awkward,Donnie being in love, and yeah, that's it.

A lil info on me, Leo and Donnie, are my favs

It had been a long ass day for you, to be honest. After all the long hours that occupied you, you were ready to pass out the second you walked into your apartment.

It just so happened that the turtles were fighting the kraang at the same time. In the same area. What a coincidence... even more of a coincidence that you walled right into the battlefield, too tired to even look up as you walked right through it.

The kraang are literal villians ofc they are gonna shoot you. So while you were too occupied looking like the burgains from the movie trolls 1 a kraang saw you and had to get rid of all witnesses. Luckily for you, a certain purple turtle scooped you up and dropped you on top of a building.

Naturally, you are confused. Not only by the fact that you just so quickly got onto the top of a building but the fact that a tall humanoid turtle had saved you. But tbh you read weird shit so it's not that much of a surprise. You looked up at your savior, and your gazes locked.

Now Donnie boy over here has a completely different mindset. Bc Holy shit your so pretty??? He is BLUSHING trust. Bc your hair is swaying from the wind while the moon light makes your eye shimmer. It was like you had made this man putty just by looking at him. Wait, is he staring??

He quickly goes to clear his throat, noting that he had indeed been staring too freakishly long. He doesn't wanna look too weird than he already is.

"Are you alright?"

"What are you-"

YOU CAN'T JUST SAY THAT. WHAT IF ITS OFFENSIVE TO THEIR KIND DUMBASS.

"I mean not to be rude, you know - I'm just wondering cause you know I've never seen anything like you - but not in a bad way. It's just that- you know you're like a walking talking fighting turtle, and that's freakishly weird - not freakishly weird! it's just - I'm gonna stop talking now.."

You have just insulted a man's (or should I say turtles) existence just by saying two sentences to this ...guy? Congrats.

You felt guilty till you heard him chuckle a bit at your word vomit. You didn't even know you were closing your eyes for anything after that till you opened them to see the turtle smiling dorkishly at you.

"It's fine I get that alot. I'm-"

He paused. Since he should be a secret, should he really tell you his name? May swell tell you the secret turtle base as well, seeing as though you're a cute stranger.

"-just glad your safe."

"Thanks to you. You saved my life."

The sincerity in your voice made his smile grow. You're not running away or screaming or looking away in disgust. It's like you saw him. Like really saw him. That or he is just delulu

"I- you know it's really no b-big deal.."

Smooth.

"It is to me."

"YO DONNIE STOP FLIRTING AND COME HELP OUR ASSES OVER HEAR!"

[If raph could swear he would do it all the time trust me]

Turns out during that awkward exchange, the turtles were yelling at Donnie to help them. Woops. He straightened and sent a scowl to raph. He turned to you, giving you a sheepish grin.

"I uh gotta go.."

"It's cool go do your ninja stuff."

Today might be the day he starts a diary. He waves you goodbye and jumps down into battle.

Huh. Finding a humanoid turtle was not on your to-do list, but you're expecting it. He seemed nice enough... After that, thought another popped up that made you groan. You're trapped on a flipping building.

Once the kraang escaped and the turtles all unloaded into the living room of the liar all tired. Now was time for questioning.

"What the hell was that, Don? You left us to go ask for a chick's number. Meanwhile, we were getting our asses handed to us. And by we, I mean Mikey.

He said, earning an offended 'hey!' from said turtle.

"Yeah you were up there for a while..."

"I was just checking on a civilian that got caught in the crossfire of our fight."

He said back matter a factly. Earning (non-existent) eye brow raises from his brother.

"Dude, you totally like her!"

"Wha- I mean- no- what??"

He spluttered, trying to defend himself, but nothing can convince his brothers otherwise.

"Awe, how cute Don likes someone that isn't April."

"I think so but seriously, not in the middle of a mission."

"DONNIE LIKES A GIRLLL DONNIE LIKES A GIRLLL!"

Please let the earth swallow him up right now.

So as the days went by you two met up a second time and decided to casually meet up a third. You became a trusted friend to him and the turtles. That only made the teasing worse. Such as making kissy faces at Donnie while your back was turned. Making teasing remarks here and there about how long Donnie is taking to pursue you.

Even Splinter lightly jokes about how he approves of you already. And let's be honest. He has a whole wall covered in solutions on how to set up the perfect plan to help him get with you. He always covers it when you come around.

The difference between you and April is that you actually are starting to like him to. You love when he explains stuff you can't understand and how he treats you like a literal princess but knows you can handle yourself. He makes cute gadgets here and there to help you with your every day life and all of this is making him grow on you and you honestly secretly blush too at the teasings of his brothers. But only they can catch that. Donnie is clueless.

Chat what we thinking? I actually really like this. It's so cute I adore this. I love this ask that you so much!!!!!

But yeah, enjoy

~Tammy<3

[renae-nicole-lynn]

Invincible x Frankenstein’s Monster!Reader

(GIFS are not mine)

So 'Why Him?' did pretty well, and it turns out I missed writing fanfiction so I decided to try my hand at some other Mark x Reader stuff. Holy fuck this is so bad I am so sorry 🫠.

Originally I thought of idea as an OC but I can’t draw for shit so Reader it is!

Why Frankenstein's Creature/The Bride? Best explanation I can come up with is watching Creature Commandos and Invincible in a short timespan 🤷‍♀️. I took inspiration from a couple of different Frankenstein's Monster/The Bride tropes from different sources and squished them all together; so that means white streaks in your hair and scars/stitches hold your limbs together and your powers are super strength, enhanced intelligence, and the ability to detach your limbs from your body and retain sentience over them.

The first time you saw him, you were perched on top of a building picking off the flaxan invaders with a rifle as they streamed through the portal and you see him through your scope. He's familiar to you, but in the moment the 'why and where' wasn't important as Atom Eve yelled at him to take the civilian in his arms to the hospital. It's not until three days later when he approaches Eve at school does it click. You've seen him around school for years, and only now does he have super powers; Mark Grayson is [title card].

Things are a little… rocky at first. You think he’s too easily influenced by his father and he thinks you’re out of your mind for that. Poor Eve is forced to play referee as arguments start spilling into the hero side of things, but even your best friend couldn’t get through you, or him for that matter.

“Why don’t hate me so much!?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t hate you!”

You’d be a hypocrite if you did.

Mark crossed his arms. “Bullshit!”

“I don’t… you piss me off because I know you have the potential to be so good, probably one of the best! But you’re too caught up in being just like daddy dearest!”

He started floating. “My dad is one of the best.”

…you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t attack you here in a high school lab, but that doesn’t stop your fists from clenching. “So that means what? You’re content on being a copy of your father instead of your own person?”

“I am my own person!”

“Bullshit!”

“Who’s going to teach me then, you?”

“You bet your ass I will! 5:00pm at Teen Team headquarters!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

You didn’t really mean to offer to teach him, but your offer stayed in the front of your mind as you punched away at one of the punching bags engineered for your strength. It's not like he's going to show up. Except he did, and you were surprised he even showed up around the time you gave... granted, ten minutes late.

Mark doesn't know why he showed up. Maybe it was a pride thing, maybe it was because of what you said. He came in almost shyly, asking if you really think he could be one of the best. You surprise both him and yourself with how quickly you reaffirm what you said before.

"Just because I do though, doesn't mean I'm going take it easy on you."

He kind of scoffed when you said this. "No offence, but I have super strength."

"Oh no way." You crack your knuckles with a grin. "So do I. Keep fighting until tap out?"

"You're on!"

You won, mostly because you managed to outmaneuver him.

Mark stayed on the ground when you realeased him from the hold you had him in. "So did you do all this to kick my ass?"

You scoff and drag a hand through your hair. "No, just seeing what I have to work with... I'm not saying learning from your dad is a bad thing." Oh how wrong you were. "But knowing different disciplines is going to help you in the long run."

He... didn't quite know what to say to that. In a way, what you were saying was similar to what his mother has been telling him and his father for years. "Same time next week?"

From there the two of you come to an agreement; the two of you spar together and you stay off each other's cases in civilian life. Plain and simple right? Wrong.

In civilian life, the two of you end up gravitating towards each other. Turns out you can find that you have a lot in common with someone when you're not constantly at each other's throats (comic books of all things, ya freakin' nerds). Before you know it, you can comfortably call him a friend, much to Eve's delight.

It's not long before the two of you hang out together outside of the supersuits, whether you're just walking around town or going to the comic book stores for the latest issues of your respective favorites. You tease him for Seance Dog and he teases you for your favorite.

You roll your eyes as you (carefully) snatch the issue back from him. "Don't knock it 'til you try it."

"Only if you read at least one issue of Seance Dog."

"...Fine."

He grinned brightly cutely as the two of you traded comic books “Fine!”

At some point, you do show him the rest of your abilities. He’s amazed by your intelligence, but lowkey freaks out when you casually pop your hand off your wrist and subtly let it drop to the floor. He can only watch in horrified amazement as your hand uses your fingers to scuttle along the ground and up your leg so you can reattach it. The look on his face when you yanked your head clean off your shoulders was absolutely priceless and you may or may not have a picture of it.

The two of you begin confiding in each other. He tells you about Viltrum and how he doesn't know how to live up to the legacy, to which you reiterated that just being himself should be enough and if his father or other viltrumites thought otherwise they can fuck right off. Oh the way he looked at you when you said that…

You tell him how you were created, your subsequent abandonment, and how you had to learn everything from scratch. Mark tries to ignore the white hot anger because who the fuck would just abandon you like that?! The person he's gotten to know over the last few months, as hidden as your kind heart is, you didn't deserve that. When he tells you as much, something in your eyes shifts and (surprising you both) you shyly squeeze his hand in thanks but say nothing else. Neither of you pull away for a very long time .

Realization hits for the both of you when you’re running along rooftops for patrol and swan dive off a skyscraper. You never like talking about your past, it always put you in a bad headspace. So maybe you let yourself get a little too close to the ground, not that it would have killed you you’ve tried that and other ways with obvious results. You had your grappling line ready, but before you could fire it at the next building, Mark appears out of nowhere and all but plucks you out of the air before flying to the top of the closest building.

You blink in shock at your friend as he sets you on your feet but doesn’t take his hands off your hips. “Hi?”

Even with the goggles you knew his eyes were staring deep into yours. “You’re not disposable.”

“What are you-”

His grip ever-so-slightly tightened. “You mean a lot to people; Eve, the Guardians-”

You grimaced at that. “I’m pretty sure the Guardians old or new couldn’t give-"

“Will you please let me finish?!” Something in the way his voice cracked kept you from saying anything else, and he paused before continuing on. “You mean a lot to me… If you ever feel like this again, you call me. Call me and I’ll be there.”

Your heart started doing a weird dance in your chest, and you tried to bring yourself back to reality. “You mean a lot to me too. But you can’t just promise that with our line of work.”

Something clicked for Mark then. Getting to know you, speed running to a level of trust and vulnerability that usually took years to get to within the span of a few months, what else was there to say? “Fine, then we’ll just have to stick together.”

Oh.

Oh.

It clicked for you then. This boy trusts and cares about you. He cares about your physical and emotional wellbeing and whether or not you were safe, and seems hellbent on ensuring it.

You hug him close, burying your face in his shoulder when he hugs you back.

“Okay.”

Everything and nothing changed. Despite the words and actions shared on the rooftop that evening, you both carried on as usual… save for now always being together for hero work and the emotional tension in the air.

True to the nature of your relationship leading up to this point, both of you were waiting for the other to crack. Remember the flirty sparring matches comment I made on 'Why Him'? As Mark gets better with hand-to-hand and the two of you find a flow when sparring together, a few teasing comments from the both of you are thrown here and there until eventually the two of you are point blank flirting.

Later, you'll insist he was the one who said it first and he'll argue right back that you were the one to say it.

"Loser kisses the winner?"

"You're on.”

[da-rulah]

So yesterday I got home from my Skeletour weekend, and I have some thoughts...

*MAJOR SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT*

I went to both the London and Birmingham rituals, with London being my first ever ritual. I went in with basically no knowledge of what had happened at previous dates (how the fuck I avoided so many spoilers I just don't know) and I'm so glad I did, because the emotional rollercoaster of night one in London with every twist and turn... I'll mostly talk about my London ritual step by step, and add some notes about Birmingham where there were differences. Let's get into it.

Myself and my friends queued from 11am at the venue, and managed to get about 5-6 rows from the barrier just slightly off centre to the left. A STUNNING view for my first ritual... In Birmingham we arrived at around 4, and we still managed to get about 3-4 rows from the front on the left hand side, right in front of the left platform.

Now...Peacefield?! Peacefield... it's giving Separate Ways by Journey in all of the right ways, and my god, what a hopeful song. I could barely hear the lyrics, I was too busy crying the second Papa walked on stage. Part of me is glad I didn't know the song, it gave me a chance to have my moment just watching him and sobbing. But despite it being a ballsy move to open with a song no one knows, just know this - it is an opener. If you haven't heard it, you'll hear it later on today when they drop it. Wow.

And then we dove straight into Lachryma, which just lends itself perfectly to a live performance. The key change? Delectable.

What I wasn't expecting, was Spirit... Are you... fucking joking?! You're gonna play Spirit for the first time since 2018 with no warning?! His long note at the end, held perfectly... The crescendo, the build throughout, then the crowd joining in with "SPIRIT!" and "ABSINTHE!"

He dropped Pinnacle and replaced it with Faith, which I was unaware of not having seen the setlist beforehand, so the second I heard the intro I prepared myself for that growl - not disappointed. Ho-ly fuck. And to hear the "Faith... is... mine, motherFUCKERS!" live?! Sedate me. You need to SEDATE me.

Just as the crowd goes quiet, Phantom wanders over to the middle and splits the crowd in two, making us battle it out for which side is the loudest. From what I remember, my side (the left) was the loudest at both shows, and his reaction to it was always such a treat. But Phantom handled the crowd so well and it really says a lot about him that even through the mask, with no words at all, he can command thousands of people like that.

And then Majesty.

To begin with, I couldn't see Papa at all where we were stood in London, because he was rising behind the drum kit. We had a much clearer view in Birmingham. But when I first saw him in the full regalia, I was just in awe. Majesty is such a grand song and the way he performed it lording over the crowd like that was spectacular. His animatronic-style choreography was fantastic and I can't explain how it worked so well, it just DID. I'm not totally sold that it's actually him doing it, as he doesn't have his handheld mic and I couldn't for the life of me see if he had a Britney-esque mic, plus the screen footage is definitely pre-recorded (you can tell because the movements weren't always spot on with what was happening live, but most of the time they were). The vocals are definitely live though, which is what makes me think he has a double for this (which we see during Umbra, but I'll get on that a little later...) After Majesty, he comes back out without the robes on, and he asks the crowd if they're warm - which yes, we bloody were. And he said he too was feeling a little steamy... In this cocky, flirty way that had me wanting to drop to my knees, if we're being totally honest here... He continues his little speech, but I can't remember what he said after that, I was quite distracted, but probably something about things burning and he transitioned into the Future is a Foreign Land. In Birmingham, he asked us if we were going to be nice to him because he was new, and if we would be gentle with him. Half the crowd (our side) said no, the other yes, and he told us to fight it out in the parking lot after. He told our side off for being mean. Rude.

TFIAFL is beautiful live. I don't know what else I can say about it, really. Everyone singing it together is such a vibe, and I do love how he changed the lyrics to "2034" to prevent it from being outdated. (although side note: he forgot he was supposed to do that in B'ham..."

We got the Devil Church instrumental as the Grucifix lighting rig raises which is a moment within itself, to be honest. You imagine the that choral singing watching it raise - so simple, but stunning.

And then Cirice. Listen, nothing compares to feeling that guitar riff in the pit of your stomach and just knowing what's coming. I've always loved the way they start Cirice so dark with just the one guitar - It's so ominous and feels like a tease as a builds. It's a song that never disappoints and not only does he cirice someone in the crowd, but the camera picks him up very well too, just like in RHRN so the whole arena can feel that stare... He blew kisses to the people he ciriced, but in Birmingham he chose someone on our side and we could see clearly that he held that kiss for a LONG time before he blew it...

Darkness at the Heart of my Love... Let's just say, my friend behind me leaned forward and said "here we go..." before it started and when it did, I got what he meant. I burst into tears again. That song touches a nerve for me anyway in a very personal way - those lyrics feel very close to home around a loss I suffered when I was young, and so I just sobbed so hard I couldn't even sing. Thank god for @angellayercake squeezing my hand the whole time. It was beautiful.

Then the fucker gave me WHIPLASH by kicking off Satanized. No time to dry the tears, I just had to sing along with the streaks on my face. The crowd shouting "BLASPHEMY!" and "HERESY!" at him... *chefs kiss*. And his reactions to them too! It was like he was curling back from us, feeling that shame that so many people with any kind of religious trauma can relate to. In London, Ryan (photographer Ryan, we love him) got a shot of the crowd and I can just see myself, @angellayercake and @her-satanic-wiles screaming/singing along with our mouths WIDE open. Rightly so, for Papa. (It's the attached photo above - if you know what I look like, you may just find me...)

Ritual is a banger and one that almost feels like it has to be on every tour - it's literally what we're all right there to do. But to scream the prayer along with Papa, with a resounding "NEMA!" at the end? Feels spectacular.

Umbra... Listen, if I'm gonna tell you one thing about Papa Perpetua's personality, it's that he is NOT fucking shy! This song confirmed it. Nothing shy about this man, he literally framed his dick with his hands when he sang the lyrics "I put my faith in you" (I may have misheard the exact lyric, but it's definitely 'I put my ---- in you'). He is horny. And he's a lil' arrogant with it, too... It's hot. He comes up from the stage on the right with a cowbell in his hands, seemingly confused that he's been given this and hands it over to Swiss who kicks off the beat. During the last chorus, he's running around the back of the stage from side to side, and I noticed very quickly that that... wasn't Papa. I turned to @angellayercake and said "That's not him... Look at his thighs!" And low and behold, the thighs, the arms, the chest, were all far to bulky to be Papa. Obviously it was the thighs that gave him away to me. I know them fucking thighs. You think I'm a horny smut writer and don't know what his thighs look like?! Nah. That wasn't him, but he was singing backstage while he was getting dressed in time for Year Zero...

Let's talk about the cassock. Black and purple, yes, stunning, but the motherfucking chrome skeletal detail on the back? WITH A TAIL!? Sweet Satan, that's a fucking cool outfit. I am ashamed to admit that I couldn't help the intrusive thought to shout "WAG YOUR TAIL, PAPA!" - luckily my brain stopped my mouth before I could. Anyway... Year Zero is far more powerful live than you can imagine, if you haven't already experienced it yourself. He walked like a robot again to get to centre stage when he came on, and it just works so well. The mechanical thing? It's very foreboding...

The stained glass in the backdrop shatters at the end of Year Zero, and turns into just a night sky. And then we get He Is... I knew this would feel special, and it truly does. It literally is a religious experience - I can't describe it. Now I know how Christians feel when they sing their hymns and can feel 'the light' or whatever they think it is, because I certainly felt something. Not Satan or any kind of deity as such, more a sense of belonging to a community that understands differences and preaches acceptance.

Rats goes hard. We all know this. I'm not sure what else I can really say about this, other than damn it goes hard. You can't not headbang to that outro, y'know? I must say though, that feels like such a Copia song it was a little odd to see Papa Perpetua singing it. Not that it took anything away from the performance at all, but I could just picture Copia sat in his office muttering to himself about how it's 'his song' and 'his rats' and 'fucking v should piss off and leave his babies alone'.

He does a little speech after this, and in London he asked us if we got what we want, to which we yelled a resounding yes. And then... Oh this bastard... "Good, I'll give you everything you want... as long as you just follow me..." SLUT. WHORE. The intrusive thoughts won and before I realised what I was doing I shouted "I WANT YOU!" which got a laugh from people around me, but not a clue if he heard that, because he was just smirking the whole damn time.

Then he asks us if we want a kiss. Well, duh... And this motherfucker smirks because he knows the damn answer. And Kiss The Go-Goat kicks off. Cracking song, had a boogie, lil' shake of the ass here and there. He no longer cradles Sodo's thigh during the 'daddy' lyrics but points at the fucking crowd like he knows we all collectively have daddy issues. Dickhead (affectionately).

Mummy Dust... Oh you feel that in your taint, you really do. In Birmingham, he did significantly more Mummy Thrusts (and right in our fucking direction too, may I add... I don't know how I'm still alive.) In Birmingham I think he saw that our side were giving him a little more in terms of interaction when he was thrusting, so he did a little more for us? But I can't be totally sure. We just got super lucky to be so close to the front left platform and got a face full of Papa pelvis. In London, I managed to get some Mummy Dust at the end of the show from the security team at the barrier, since we were just a little too central to be in the drop zone, but in Birmingham we were in the right spot to catch a bunch of it. If you're not super close, the canons probably won't reach you, but you can try your luck at the end of the show rooting around the floor or asking security at the barrier.

He did another little speech here which was different in London - he talked about how one of their first shows was in Camden (not him, of course; he made that clear by telling us it was his UNCLE, referring to Primo...), and how London almost feels like a home to Ghost which was very sweet. In both shows he said they had one more song, to which he was booed. I don't remember his response in London but in Birmingham he joked that we were a 'shit crowd' because of it.

I was NOT expecting to hear Monstrance Clock at all. I lost my shit a little in London when I heard it begin, but what a moment to hear thousands of people singing the "come together, together as one..." bridge with the lyrics on the screens with a font comprised of people fucking. Excellent. Very on brand. He's still a very flirty, horny little fucker on stage with this, fiddling with his jacket as if he's flashing the crowd etc.

The break here doesn't last too long, but I remember he said that people leaving here in London 'had the right idea', and we kept yelling we wanted more.

To kick off Mary on a Cross, he did mention this was a song his dad used to sing in Birmingham, but I don't think he did in London. As it's coming to an end, he turns to the back and catches a camera, and in Birmingham I was smacking @angellayercake's arm because he was smiling so damn wide, clear as day on the screens. He starts to do the call and response bit at the end at both shows, but after one "Mary on a...." he goes "ah, fuck that!" and kicks off Dance Macabre instead. That feels like a sibling rivalry moment, like he's shitting on Copia's 'thing' here and it made me laugh so hard.

Now, I mostly remember Dance Macabre from Birmingham and I'll tell you for why. During the second verse, he came over to the left platform right in front of us, and during the chorus I was jumping to the beat but the people in my immediate vicinity weren't, so I was pretty damn visible and probably stood out. He fucking locked eyes with me, and grinned, then proceeded to sing with me as I screamed "ONE LAST TIME IN THE ANCIENT RITE!" back at him. I will never, ever forget that. I thought I imagined it, until @her-satanic-wiles did indeed confirm it. Thank you, you angel. I almost thought I'd gone full delulu but nope, that actually happened.

And then, in Birmingham, we saw the unimaginable. He waltzes over to Swiss, practically kneels beneath him, then rises up to LOCK LIPS WITH HIM. This was not a peck. This lasted. None of us could really believe what we were seeing. Side note: I've heard people on Twitter trying to say that Swiss 'forced him' to (categorically incorrect), or that it simply didn't happen because 'well I didn't see it so it must be fake news'. Honey, I fucking saw everything. It happened. And we're still not over it.

Square Hammer slaps. The ghouls made their way over to Dew since they couldn't do the centre bit with Dew’s ankle being broken, but Papa comes out in a sparkly purple jacket that is just absolutely gorgeous. He's very mobile during the whole encore, trying to see as many people as he can before the show ends I'm sure. It's just such a fucking bop to end on, it feels perfect... The whole backdrop is turned into just the crowd being filmed, fans screaming into the live cameras which is such a beautiful addition especially after what they did with RHRN where they asked people to film themselves at the beginning in the screenings. It's very fan focused, and it feels like everyone there was being celebrated as part of something huge.

And just like in RHRN, he yelled "ONE MORE TIME UP THE POOP CHUTE!" in Birmingham. Iconic.

The final bow doesn't really change, but I remember we didn't get Dew in London (not sure about B'ham) as he'd broken his ankle and had to be helped off stage. He's now in a boot, but still continuing to play with some assistance from the other ghouls to use his effects pedals and move to his spots so he can be in the right place for choreography purposes.

So that concludes my ritual lowdown, really. I'm still absolutely reeling from it, can't stop listening to the setlist and now we're being spoiled with a Peacefields early drop today which makes me so incredibly happy. I had the most wonderful time with friends I've made through Ghost over the last few years and met several new friends too. Queueing was wonderful both days because of the people I was with, the rituals were magical and I'm so fucking lucky to be surrounded by some of the best the Ghost fandom has to offer. London was a much more emotional time for me, being my first ritual. In the car on the way to Birmingham that night, I sobbed to my friends about how much this meant to me, and most of the tears came that night. I had my little DATHOML breakdown in B'ham too, as I expected, but that night overall felt more like a celebration to me, another chance to really enjoy it without the fresh emotion of a first ritual.

I hope everyone gets to experience a ritual at some point. There is nothing like it. You truly feel like part of something so special, and whilst I'm so sad it's over, I'm still riding the high of the most amazing weekend. If you were part of it, thank you, and I love you.

Until the next tour... 😈

@her-satanic-wiles @angellayercake @dolceterzo @bonecloaks @callmemamaemeritus @onlyhereforghost @thew0man @the-goat-nurse-666 @delulluart (thank you for the gorgeous paintings, sketches and prints, I wish I'd been at your ritual with you. Next time!) @thew0man (next time we will fucking meet. Screw the O2's shitting management!!!!)

[dipperpepper77]

LADS as romance movies

Dipper's Delusions

Tags: Angst, death, romance, sappy shit. Spoilers for the movies

Xavier: The Time Traveler's Wife. I can see you falling in love with him. Both marrying and having a whole life. But, he keeps vanishing. Continuously in a lapse of going through time. Always having one end goal... come back to you. He travels to times where you were just a child, to the day of his funeral, your funeral, relived your wedding, saw your first heartbreak from a far. Everything. Every time he crashes his head on your lap. You always had your familiar gentle touch. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to tell you what awaits in your future together. He just wants to love you over and over again.

Rafayel: The Notebook. HEAR ME OUT. He is definitely one of the LADS men who will make themselves look stupid to impress you (literally the hospital visit). He would definitely jump up and dangle on a Ferris wheel to get you to say yes to a date. That being said... he IS sassy BUT he is also reliable and loving. He would write to you everyday. He WOULD build you a home with his two hands. Do not be fooled by the mask he wears. He would go to the ends of the earth for you. That's how he finds himself at the same retirement home as you (his choice. no one can tell him to leave). He reads your love story to you everyday until you remember him.

Zayne: Pride and Prejudice. (I was going to say Breakfast at Tiffany's but I see so much edits of him as Darcy) This man does scream Mr. Darcy though. He stays in shadows. Keeps himself busy. A man of honor and integrity. But, in times of him confessing his love... it comes out as a burst of emotion. He's always concealing (Elsa core) how he feels that when it's in the light... it's in the light. His usual stoicism is replaced by a tender husband once you marry. You WOULD have random nicknames he gets to call you for different occasions. He would only call you by the nickname he calls you when he's completely, perfectly, and incandescently happy. Because you are his joy.

(Before I start with Sylus... I'm sorry. You may shoot me if you'd like)

Sylus: Me Before You. Hear me out. In his lore he needed to die by your hands. What if in this life time... he was just meant to die? He's left bedridden after an accident. He was now a recluse (for obvious reasons). He didn't have a plan to live long. Not in his state. So when he met this witty person who wears funky outfits? He didn't expect to love you. To find these outfits endearing, to keep thinking 'one more day' every single morning in order to see you, to find himself having many good days. He's so in love with you. You were light. You were the air he wanted to keep breathing. Like a sunshine after the storm. His will to go 'one more day'. Of course, he's rich. So he spends that remainder on you. Buying things he heard you liked. His heart leapt every single time you squealed at his gifts. But... in the end. He still didn't want to live. He just wanted you to be able to live happily after him. Because... he was so fortunate to meet the love of his life.

Caleb: Big Fish (my fav movie). But, Edward Bloom is so Caleb coded. Imagine this... your child is SO frustrated with the "tale-tales" of his life. Like yeah dad.. you TOTALLY flew into a storm and saw god. But, he retells the way he met you. The love of his life... He see's you at the circus... he's awestruck. Who are you? Where are you from? He can NOT let it go. He's a dog with a bone. You ARE his wife, this was love at first sight. He settles a deal with the circus owner. Working hard labor and nearly dying. He doesn't even get paid... just paid in information about you. He goes to your college... you're so sweet... but, engaged. He does GRAND gestures of love. Your name in a heart written on the sky by a plane, a field of your favorite flowers, the works. So you marry him instead. He goes to war... but escapes. No way that man will EVER be ripped away from you once he's had you.

Dip Talk: HI I MISSED YOU ALL. I'M BACK

[ulteri0rm0tives]

They sooo could've made Johnny romancable if they wanted to.

And I know technicalities were a big part of it, it being Keanu Reeves' face. But honestly I don't even think V and Johnny's romance would've needed a sex scene. I don't think I would've even wanted it. And I also know reception can play a big part of it too, with the fact half the dudebro fan base would've flipped the fuck out if they weren't being catered too, but. I don't know. I just wish the option was there.

The thing about Johnny is, I don't want a romance with him like I have with the other romance options. I'd want it to be something different, not necessarily deeper as I feel that just minimizes the other relationships you can have in the game, but definitely something forged through a connection that is literally quite not possible with the others.

Something just.. knowing. Something that if you choose the right dialogue options and actions, it's a slow natural build up to something unspoken, something that you know they feel for each other by the end of the game and the tragedy of that. Where the only 'physical' affection they can ever show each other is that lingering handshake at the bridge before V gives up the body.

Something to contrast with the other romances. Something that highlights the tragedy of not being able to physically exist with the one you love, the tragedy of knowing one of you won't be able to make it out of this, that one of you will have to leave eventually, always eventually. That one of you will have to sacrifice yourself for the other.

I wanted the lingering looks, the quick turn aways of being caught, the trail offs of meaningful dialogue, the cut offs of almost saying something too revealing. I wanted the subtle snark of jealous dialogue, or even possessiveness, the ones that are played off as jokes and teasing while V is with the other romances. I wanted him sitting on the couch during hangout dates with the others trying his hardest not to look bothered, distracting himself by playing music. I wanted Johnny saying shit with the same vulnerability as him admitting how scared he was for V at the bridge (the closest thing will ever get to a confession I swear).

Something to really, really drive home like a slap across the fucking face how much he changed, how much he learned about himself, how much he learned about how to genuinely care and love for others in ways that weren't just destructive and selfish, but in ways that were literally transformative and life saving, and how fucking sad that is that it comes at a time that's too late. That it's too late for him to do anything about it besides give up his life for V, or betray V, or watch helplessly as they give their life up for him when that isn't what he wanted.

Something. I just wanted something.

Like maybe they didn't add the option because Johnny being a romance option was never something they had in mind, but you cannot tell me Johnny and V's story doesn't play out like a tragic love story. That they weren't starcrossed, doomed from the start. Doomed from the moment they realized they started to care for the other or at least like each other in some capacity.

V would've never given Johnny the keys to the body again after the talk in the oil fields if they didn't start trusting the bastard, caring enough about him to help him find closure or make amends with his friends or reconcile with his past. Johnny would've never entrusted these tasks to V, or open up about them, or open up about how he finally saw how much everyone had hated him yet it seemed like V didn't. He would've never asked V for a second chance if he didn't think V could do right by him, if he didn't care about V. If he didn't trust them. If he didn't want that from them.

And the fact that none of that will matter by the end, how they feel about each other, because there will always be a choice to be had. Which of them will get to live? And which of them will have to leave?

If anything, it'd just make the choice all that much harder. Do you sacrifice yourself for the one you love, or do you sacrifice the one you love for yourself? Do you watch and stand by as the one you love sacrifices themselves for you, or do you try to convince them that it should be you instead? Is this a choice either of you could make?

There could've even been a secret option in Mikoshi if you had achieved a romance with Johnny just like the reaper ending if you had achieved a high enough affinity with him after selecting all the right dialogue. Where if it wasn't a decision either of them could make, or V didn't want to make, which one of them to sacrifice, that V could've convinced Johnny that they could both just leave behind the blackwall, that they both could be homogenized into Alt's code. At least then they could've been together. At least then, in some way, they could still live with and within each other for the rest of their digitally constructed lives. At least then, they could've been something.

(The calls from the others in the end credits could've been much like the ones you get in temperance too. Where it's either assumed V died or offed themselves or ran off, or that even Johnny took the body and ran off. Just a lot of accusations and assumptions and grief that could still come with an ending like this.)

Idk, I just wish we could've had the choice with Johnny is all.

[lakesparkles]

I finished the (actual) first chapter of my Thanos team college AU fanfiction!

But please read the prologue before or it'll make no sense

(I'll put the chapter under the cut)

Chapter 1 - Beginning

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.

.

Nam-gyu doesn't know if he's truly being followed or if being sober makes him extremely paranoid.

—

(NOTE: once again, this chapter needs a warning for Nam-gyu being himself, you know what I mean)

His head was spinning, with a sharp pain that just wouldn't go away. His hands were shaking and he knew that meant he needed a cigarette. However, he had to control himself to focus on what he was doing now. He climbed onto his own bed, his socks almost making him slip on the mattress. With one hand, he held his weight as he leaned on the shelf. With the other, he picked up the books he needed, quickly checking to see if those were the right ones.

He could barely concentrate, even so. All his attention was drawn to the screams and laughter he heard coming from the other room.

So Nam-gyu continued to pretend he didn't care, even though he tried his best to identify any words exchanged by the other two residents of the house. He hadn't had much success, but he knew that Gyeong-su and Se-mi had woken up earlier to try to cook something for breakfast.

Another week had passed since the girl had started living there, but somehow, it was as if everything had changed overnight.

Even when Nam-gyu looked around, he noticed little details in his own room that hadn't been there a few days ago. Starting, of course, with the shelves. He'd gotten tired of endlessly searching for his stuff, deciding to put it all in one place. Gyeong-su had helped him nail the shelf there, just as he had given him the Tupac poster that was now stuck on the door.

However, the most striking difference in that apartment was Se-mi. With each passing day, she seemed less interested in locking herself in her own room all the time. When Nam-gyu came home from work, already in the early hours of the morning, he would now find her asleep on the couch, with her laptop on her lap in the middle of some essay she didn't finish yet. Nam-gyu had wrinkled his nose and then went to his own room.

She and Gyeong-su also had increasingly frequent nighttime conversations; and he saw the two of them walking together in the middle of the campus, since they had some classes in common.

And now, apparently, Nam-gyu took Se-mi's place. When he had some rare free time, he preferred to stay in his own place, away from them.

At that very moment, he put his backpack on his shoulder and walked silently down the hallway. He was almost sneaking to the front door when he heard behind him:

"Nam-gyu!" Gyeong-su, of course, seemed excited to see him. "Do you want Kimchi?"

"No, thanks," he waved his hand in the air, at least trying to be pleasant. "I'll eat something on the way."

"Are you sure?" The other seemed worried, frowning and everything.

In response, Nam-gyu nodded with a small smile on his lips. And so he unlocked the door, only to lock it behind himself.

According to Gyeong-su, Nam-gyu was "too depressed." Nonsense, but that didn't mean his friend didn't take him for a walk every morning like he was a stressed-out pet. Over time, Nam-gyu had begun to enjoy the view and the coffee they both drank on the way back. But today he was fed up, relieved to have managed to get rid of it this time.

He walked down the stairs of the building without thinking much, arriving outside and thanking the better quality of the place where he lived: it was stupidly close to the college campus. That was why they'd been so determined to stay there instead of moving in the first place. All he needed to do was cross the street and he was already there.

He kinda wished he had more time to collect his thoughts and relax, but his classes started very early on Mondays. Between that and having more time to get organized before entering the classroom, he preferred the second option.

And by "having more time to get organized", he meant organizing all his materials in two minutes and spending the rest of it aimlessly walking through the halls, with his neck itching and his hands typically sweating and shaking slightly. He usually managed to control himself while he spent the morning at college - and knowing this made him even more disappointed in himself.

This, and he slightly regretted not having smoked before going there. Now he couldn't think about anything else besides that. He went down the stairs, keeping his head down and avoiding all the movement that was in that part of the campus during the time. He went to the middle of the hall just to read the schedule on the wall: he wanted to make sure he was going to the right class, even if he was already sure beforehand. Then he walked back slowly, observing disinterestedly the models displayed of the class that had graduated the previous semester.

There was still a little less than 10 minutes until his class started. He leaned against the wall. He walked around a little more. Then he gave up completely.

Before it was too late, he went down the stairs again, until he reached the first floor, because he knew that almost no one went into that specific bathroom - besides, all classes usually took place on the second floor and above.

As expected, he found the place practically empty. He even had to turn on the lights, a little uncomfortable. The bathroom there was long and bright, making it even clearer how alone he was. Even so, he took a look around, walking to the shower area and making sure that the only other person in that room was someone taking a shower, considerably far from the entrance.

He would be quick, so he didn't care. Without thinking much, he took another cigarette from his backpack and lit it right there, placing it between his lips to inhale and release the smoke with a sigh. So he felt more comfortable, leaning against the sink to relax and release the weight of his body.

Less than a minute and a half had passed when he heard the shower door opening. Nam-gyu jumped a little in fright, knowing full well that he was one step away from being caught. His mind wavered for just an instant, leaving him confused as to whether he should put out the cigarette and throw it away or stand still and act like he didn't care.

That instant had been enough to force him to choose the second option. When he realized, the other guy already arrived at his side. Nam-gyu wasted no time in turning to the side, taking another drag to disguise it.

At first, the other guy just looked at himself in the mirror. Nam-gyu didn't stare at him directly, but from the corner of his eye, he noticed that he was fixing his hair with his fingertips.

He only looked at him when he heard the other say:

"I won't tell on you if you give me a cigarette too."

Nam-gyu raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth slightly, not sure how he should react. Especially given the way the man was smiling at him, genuinely in good humor.

"What...?" That was all Nam-gyu could answer, genuinely pathetic.

"Look, I won't tell on you at all, like... No, but I still want a cigarette."

He reached out his hand towards Nam-gyu, who didn't feel intimidated by the order.

However, that didn't mean he didn't feel anything.

After all, he slowly reached for the zipper of his backpack and took out the cigarette pack without even turning over, handing one to him.

"Okay, but what about the lighter?"

Nam-gyu handed it over without saying a word, with his chin up and a neutral expression. The other man returned it in the next second:

"Thanks, man! You're a real one," Yes, the last sentence was said entirely in English.

And so the conversation ended, apparently.

Nam-gyu remained standing in the same place, uncertain about what had just happened.

He knew that guy.

It was impossible not to know him. He literally had purple hair, which was now damp as he was meticulously arranging it, still with the towel resting on his left shoulder. The cigarette was between his teeth as he exhaled smoke around it, since both hands were busy:

"I don't usually smoke that much, can you believe it? It's been a while now," He commented with a muffled voice and everything.

Nam-gyu took another drag before responding:

"Yeah, but apparently you bleach and dye your hair in the campus bathroom"

The man - he has a memorable nickname, he was almost remembering it - turned to him with his mouth open, as if he hadn't expected him to connect these dots:

"Are you fucking kidding with me?" Again with the English? That was ridiculous. "Where else would I do that, huh?"

"I was just saying," Nam-gyu shrugged. "Do you live in the dorms?"

"Most of the time, yes."

"Oh," He considered it a fair answer. Above all, there was a very valid reason for him not having chosen to sleep in the dorms. "Did you leave the floor all purple then?

"Dude, you need to have more faith in me!" He winked at Nam-gyu, then grabbed the towel with the hand that wasn't holding the cigarette and started walking away towards the door. This made Nam-gyu smile, watching as he turned back one last time. "You... With this hair-"

"What hair...?"

"Like that, look" To demonstrate, he dragged his hand back and forth at the height of his chin. "You look too familiar to me! What's your name, man?"

"It's Nam-gyu," he had to bite his lip to keep from smiling even more, surprised at how entertained he was with that interaction.

"Nam-gyu, huh? I don't know you!"

As he was about to leave the bathroom, Nam-gyu couldn't resist asking loudly:

"And what's your name?"

The purple-haired guy almost closed his eyes as he smiled, waving his arm and taking the cigarette out of his mouth:

"I know you know!"

Nam-gyu didn't know, but he had already left.

---

It took him a couple of days to realize something was off.

In his defense, he barely had a second of free time during that week, arriving home at dawn and having to wake up early to not miss his classes. He walked across the campus with his head down, without thinking much and hoping he wouldn't have to talk to anyone else.

Unfortunately for him, Gyeong-su appeared at his side without him even noticing.

"Nam-gyu, hi!" He went straight to put his hand on his shoulder, with the same excitement as any other day. "You've seen that boy over there, right? The short one?"

Nam-gyu reluctantly turned his head in the direction where his friend pointed with his chin:

"He lives in the apartment next door," That was his conclusion. Every now and then Nam-gyu saw him wandering aimlessly through the hallways, as if exploring the laundry room in the building was an exciting journey. He was almost certain he lived alone. He'd heard someone calling him Min-su. He looked like a fool. If he listened to him say something three times, it would be a lot.

But, above all, Nam-gyu was too lazy to say any of those things to Gyeong-su.

Realizing that the conversation died down sooner than expected, the two of them just continued walking side by side. They now had a longer break between classes, so Nam-gyu liked to walk around - even if only to see the same buildings and trees, the university campus was stupidly large and strangely beautiful.

It was in the middle of this walk that he noticed it for the first time.

It was a matter of a second. The corner of his eye caught a purple spot and the memory quickly returned to his brain. He knew very well who it was. In the next instant, he turned to the side, making eye contact with the man he'd met in the bathroom that time.

He was sitting on one of the low stone walls, with both legs up on the bench. Other people were there, but none that Nam-gyu recognized. Besides, he knew that man was always surrounded by other students, who were now laughing and talking about something that Nam-gyu was too far away to understand.

The purple-haired guy turned down as soon as their eyes met, but Nam-gyu was sure he was being watched by him before.

This made him feel strange, a little uncomfortable.

"Hey!" He hit Gyeong-su's chest with the back of his hand, who had been distracted the whole time.

"Hm?"

"You have some classes with that purple-haired guy, right? What's his name?"

Gyeong-su didn't even need to look to know who it was:

"Obviously, right! Are you talking about Thanos?"

"... His name is Thanos?" He knew it was something kinda silly like that, but for some reason, he expected a different nickname. That guy didn't seem like a Thanos.

"Sure," Gyeong-su even stopped walking, raising his eyebrows in shock, as if Nam-gyu had personally punched him in the nose. "You don't know Thanos?"

"Kind of. I mean, he has purple hair."

"No, man! It's not just that! He's, like, a legend!"

"Oh, really?" Nam-gyu shook his head, not at all convinced, only to start walking again and away from there.

"Yeah!" Gyeong-su continued with the same level of excitement, quickening his pace to keep up with his friend. "He recorded some albums, haven't you ever listened to them? I have some, I can lend them to you."

Of course he did.

"Is this Thanos a singer?"

"A rapper, man! You'll love it, trust me! But he's studying dance, can you believe it? That's why we have some classes in common."

Nam-gyu just nodded, clearly it was possible to be more interested. None of that information was important to the thoughts that were now stuck in his head.

---

After that day, two things became obvious - and practically impossible to ignore.

The first of them: Nam-gyu had a problem. He knew it. He could be many things, but stupid was not one of them.

One afternoon, he woke up and was simply trampled. He felt the sharp pain in his ribs before he could even open his eyes, followed by:

"What the fuck-"

Shit.

Even with the little bit of consciousness he had, he'd hoped that he'd been trampled by Gyeong-su, not by... her.

He tried to get up, knowing that his honor was at stake. Then he failed completely. As soon as he supported his arm to lift the rest of his body, he fell back to the ground with a pathetic "BAM”. His throat was dry, so he couldn't even defend himself.

Shit, shit, shit.

"Nam-gyu! What the fuck!" Se-mi repeated, looking at him as if he were roadkill. She literally lifted the corner of her mouth in disgust, sending a chill through his chest.

And that was all the motivation he needed. Nam-gyu rolled over to lie on his back on the floor, then sat up. His head burned so much he could feel his heart pounding in his brain. He put his hand on his forehead as his eyes practically turned to stars.

"I..." He began, his voice trailing off after that. He knew nothing was helping his situation.

To his surprise, Se-mi just sighed. That, and walked away, probably locking herself in her room, since that was all she could do.

About five minutes later, Nam-gyu felt well enough to lift his head. The first thing his gaze caught was the gray clock he bought a few days ago: it read 6:45 p.m., around the time Se-mi usually arrived on Thursdays. The last time he remembered was noon. He didn't know how so much time had passed, and he didn't know why he was lying on the living room floor.

The rest of the environment was even worse. A cold wind ran through the entire room, and only now did Nam-gyu realize that the reason was the open front door. With weak steps, he walked slowly to lock it, preferring to use his only strength to shout:

"Do you want someone to break into our house? Are you crazy!?"

Se-mi didn't answer a damn thing. Typical bitch.

But yes, he knew he had a problem. That was the first step, right?

He tried not to stress about it so much in the next few days, at least. Like it or not, he was already more sober the following week. Se-mi should've told Gyeong-su what happened - all he knew was that they drank half of the drinks in the fridge and threw the other half down the sink. Gyeong-su knew that Nam-gyu wouldn't have enough money to buy more, and fuck those two.

Nam-gyu tried to pay attention in class, he knew he wouldn't be able to afford an extra semester either. That's why he now spends his free afternoons in the library. Anywhere but home.

That didn't help at all. He thought Gyeong-su was an idiot, because being sober for so long always ended up messing with Nam-gyu's head even more. He relaxed his shoulders, transcribing the notes from his book into his notebook, seeing if his brain wouldn't erase everything he read.

It didn't work, of course.

He needed to hold the pen tightly, his fingers shaking while the palm of his hand was slippery and sweaty. He bit his lip, hiding it. There were many other people there at that time, and the last thing he wanted was to draw more attention. Believe it or not, that was always something that bothered him.

He read the same page over and over again, his consecutive failures for such a simple task making him disproportionately anxious. His chest tightened. He needed to look somewhere else.

That's how the second obvious thing became even more obvious.

There was that same guy with purple hair. I mean... Thanos. He wasn't looking at him this time, but he was still there. Thanos was leaning back in one of the chairs, his arms raised above his head as he read some book in the most unnatural way possible. He pouted in concentration and everything.

It was strange to see him like that, alone without his huge group of friends, but it was even stranger that he was right there.

This happened more and more often.

Wherever Nam-gyu was, Thanos was too.

It bothered him a little, to tell the truth.

He didn't know if he was really being followed or if being sober made him extremely paranoid.

Just to see if he could learn more about him, he listened to Thanos’ album with Gyeong-su. He discovered that Gyeong-su had shitty taste in music, but nothing more.

When he sat alone on a bench in the campus courtyard, he would see him walking by—he would stare at him for a few seconds each time. When Thanos was feeling braver, he would even give Nam-gyu a confident smile, communicating something he simply couldn’t understand.

One time, Nam-gyu couldn’t take it anymore. He was holding a book when a voice sounded behind him.

"What's the subject?" Thanos leaned towards him, with his hands in his pockets as he tried to read what was written on the pages.

Nam-gyu lost the last bit of patience as slammed the book shut, causing Thanos to step away in two quick steps, laughing in amusement.

"Are you following me?" Nam-gyu asked, not knowing any better way to start the talk.

Thanos then began to walk away with his chin up, the smile not leaving his face for even a second:

"I don't know if you noticed, Nam-su, but I study here too!" He practically hummed.

"What? That's not it- Dude, that's not even my name!"

Thanos laughed, but didn't answer.

If Nam-gyu was supposed to come to any conclusion, he didn't know what.

---

As soon as he took his cell phone out of his pants pocket and turned on the screen, he realized the ending of his shift was a little less than an hour away. Knowing this made Nam-gyu automatically release the weight from his shoulders and throw his head back.

That would normally be good news. However, it was a particularly boring night. At that point, most of his customers had already left the club. Not only that, but it hadn't been a busy day, and that in itself was already stressing him out.

One of two things: either he would get paid even less; or he would need to listen to a lecture on the weekend. The worst part is that he almost preferred the first option.

There wasn't much to do either, wandering around and just making sure there was nothing out of the ordinary. Of course not, as there was hardly anyone there.

He took the cigarette from his lips and threw it in the nearest trash can. He was getting sick of walking around, the typical bright lights and the usual music making him dizzy. He needed to sit down.

He lost focus for a few minutes - maybe -, when he came back to reality he already had another glass placed in front of him on the counter. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now, right? Not wanting to waste it, he took a sip and felt the strong taste - of what? Cognac? Whiskey? - going down his throat.

Back at home, he'd already managed to put some guilt on Gyeong-su's head and convince him to buy a few bottles for him. However, he still appreciated being able to enjoy the benefits of his job.

He checked the notifications on his cell phone. He didn't find anything interesting. Then he started walking again.

Every now and then, some regular customer would call him for a quick chat he didn't care about, but would laugh and pretend to be interested.

When he noticed, there were only five minutes left. So he left already, preferring to walk the short distance to his building. He was still a bit dizzy, but he managed to enjoy the view of the city at night and the strong wind that blew against his cheeks and made the hair on his arms stand up. To everyone walking through those streets, he must've looked like an idiot, because he smiled and laughed at anything that was even slightly funny.

He wasn't going to hide it or be embarrassed this time, preferring to appreciate how he was in an unusual moment of good mood.

And there was the punchline of the joke. He paid attention to everything that didn't matter: the few stars on his car, the gas stations and the convenience stores that were open 24 hours a day. He was so focused that he jumped in fright when he heard a random voice saying:

"You need to be careful, my bro!" Again, English. "You're going to end up tripping over there! Are you sure it's not better to call a taxi?"

"You've got to be kidding me!" Nam-gyu replied, turning to the side immediately.

The convincing look he received from Thanos left him so stressed that he had no reaction other than that. Thanos was leaning with his foot against the wall, with a pink vape in his hand and a pose so calm that it could only mean that he'd been waiting for him there until then.

With a sigh, Nam-gyu stood next to him, relaxing his shoulders against the wall. They didn't say anything for the first few minutes, until the smoke that was constantly coming out of Thanos' mouth began to irritate him:

"I thought you said you didn't smoke."

"Cigarettes! I was talking solely and exclusively about cigarettes," Thanos replied immediately, as if his entire career was at stake.

This made Nam-gyu laugh lightly, taking the lighter and one of the cigarettes from his pocket and handing it to the other, who just lit it and put it in his mouth.

"Now spill it, go on," Nam-gyu started the new subject immediately.

"What!?" As expected, Thanos said in English. The whole time, he moved his head from side to side, dancing to a song that probably only existed in his head.

"Why are you following me? It's scary as hell, you know?" Everything around him seemed a little slow, a little out of place. He felt dizzy even standing still, however, this also allowed Nam-gyu to be infinitely calmer. "If you keep going I'll have to call the police."

"Hah!" The other laughed loudly in a sarcastic tone. "You!? Calling the police? I want to see that, in fact, I dare you to do it! For, I don't know, 2800 won."

Nam-gyu rolled his eyes, a small smile appearing:

"Damn, that's it? Things are bad for you, huh!?"

"Hey! Weren't you the one who was suggesting doing it for free two seconds ago?"

Then they both laughed. Even half out of his mind, Nam-gyu was aware enough to know that nothing in that conversation was funny at all. That was the worst part.

"But you are following me," Nam-gyu confirmed, not letting Thanos distract him from the main topic.

"Maybe, who knows!?" Again the English, and Nam-gyu wasn't sure if he knew what those words meant. - "At first I wasn't, seriously! But then I realized that it was bothering you, so I started for real."

"Why...?"

Thanos wasn't expecting that question, since all he did was shrug and go back to smoking his cigarette. Nam-gyu's reaction was to open his mouth to try some new argument, but he realized it would be completely futile. He didn't know much about Thanos - in fact, his knowledge was almost zero - but he knew he would only say something useful when he himself wanted to.

It was a losing battle from the start, so Nam-gyu just gave up. If he were to look at the positive side, Thanos wasn't such bad company. Especially when he kept his mouth shut, with his eyes fixed on an invisible point in the sky - humming incomprehensible words to Nam-gyu.

Nam-gyu let himself relax for a second. He looked at the people passing in front of the two. He disguised how he was shaking slightly - he hoped it was just from the cold. He took a deep breath. And it paid off. He realized it as soon as Thanos surprisingly answered, several minutes later:

"I don't know, man. It's weird, are you sure you've never seen me before?" He paused slightly. "You really are familiar.”

(NOTE: I hope the way I describe people smoking doesn’t make it obvious how I never smoked before so I’m making everything up LMAO

The funniest part about writing this fic is that, as I first write it in Portuguese, I need to see how Nam-gyu loses half of his personality when I translate it to English. This is something I need to get better at)

[graceroll]

this is what summer feels like

✿ Summary: After watching a tape of the second Quarter Quell, you immediately fall for the handsome and brave victor - Haymitch Abernathy. Since then, you've been a loyal sponsor for District 12.

✿ Pairing: Haymitch x fem! Reader

✿ Warning: NSFW | mentions of prostitution, creampie, unprotected sex, Older Man x Younger Woman

✿ Words: 5.2k (also available on AO3)

It's late at night, your friends just scattered home. You're sitting alone in the home theater, the large screen casting flickering shadows on your face.

Outside, the lights are on. You can see the giant posters of tributes hanging on the wall of the building across the street. Although nights in Capitol are usually restless, it is livelier now than usual. Bars on the street must be crowded with people, all gathered to enjoy the annual event. Every year, you watch the Games with friends. Different from most people here who are crazy about the Hunger Games, you just don't want to seem too out of place.

You look at the girl on the screen - unlike before, District 12 is no longer silent and obscure this year; there is a rare volunteer. You study her closely and find that she is really just like him, the same olive skin, the same gray eyes. More so when heard sister was reaped, she shouted, "I volunteer as tribute!" and resolutely stepped forward, with determination on her face. That look is familiar, one you saw years ago when first laid eyes on him. Perhaps it was then that you thought he was different. But over the years, you never see that in him again.

Although you come from a wealthy family that runs the largest shopping mall and body alteration center in Capitol, you never place a bet on the Games before this year. Maybe it really is as they sarcastically put it, that you are sanctimonious; no matter how hard you try, you can only be a casual spectator, unwilling to gamble with the lives of young children. Just thinking about it makes your throat tighten and bile rises. You believe that war is a double-edged sword, that the defeated don't become inferior and degraded just because they lose. It is too cruel to sacrifice young boys and girls for decades. But clearly, the great President Snow – Panem's #1 Peacekeeper - doesn't think so. Your opinion is obviously rebellious, so cannot air it out.

But this year, before the Games has even officially started, you're already throwing money down on Katniss and Peeta. Katniss wins the hearts of many by volunteering to stand up for her sister, while Peeta's heartfelt confession during the interview with Caesar captivates everyone. Additionally, they both got good grades in private sessions with Gamemakers. But there are more reasons compelling you to place your bets; somehow, you think they are like no other previous tributes from District 12.

Snapping back from flashback of the memory, you look up at the screen again, where Katniss lies pale and sweaty in a sleeping bag high up in the tree. She has been hiding deep in the woods since the Games began, until Gamemakers deliberately released fireballs to force her into the confrontation with the Careers. This agile and clever girl has managed to hold them off for now, but fireball burned her calf, leaving ugly, bloody wounds exposed to the air. Without proper medication to treat, she'll get infected. Although gifts in the early stages of the Games are not expensive, specific medicines are usually not placed in the Cornucopia and are hard to get directly in the arena, so generally worth a lot of money. But you still give a call.

After changing into a silk nightgown in bedroom, you just lie down on the bed when there is a knock at the door. At this late hour, only one person can arrive at your bedroom without the need for an announcement. You get up joyfully and jump forward to open the door.

Door opens. He is leaning against the doorframe, a dark blue suit slung over shoulder, few buttons of shirt undone and tie already loosened. He holds a bottle of wine in the other hand, but isn't drunk. Katniss and Peeta still need him, he cannot be drunk yet.

"I was thinking you wouldn't come." You say in mock annoyance, crossing arms over chest and not letting Haymitch in directly.

He eyes you teasingly when hearing that. "Why?"

"Sponsors for District 12 must be lining up right now, eager to send gifts into the arena."

He laughs. "Not that exaggerated. Even so, my number-one sweetheart still has the privileges."

Satisfied with this answer, you smile and pull on his tie, dragging him into the room as he closes the door behind.

You walk to the loveseat. He tosses suit aside and slumps down. You sit beside him, legs on the couch, cradling the hand he's not holding the drink and resting your head against his shoulder.

"No guards from downstairs to here, it's quite unsafe." He says, raising the bottle to drink, but you snatch it away and take a swig. His hand hovers in the air for a moment, head twisting to look at you in mild surprise.

"No need for that; you're taking the private elevator. I purposely don't arrange for anyone. Unless, of course, that dangerous person - is you." After swallowing the liquid in the throat, you reply. It's not his usual favorite hard stuff.

"How do you know I'm not? I am a victor, after all."

You look into his eyes, gaze moving from brows to nose and then to his lips. You think that he is no different from when you first met nine years ago, except for a bit of grayish stubble on the chin. But you really like the feeling of it brushing against inner of the thighs when he eats you out. Just thinking about it makes you clench your legs involuntarily and get a bit wet.

Nine years ago, you were in the University. One day at the party with friends, someone suddenly said that he had gotten a so-called 'uncensored' tape of the second Quarter Quell. Everyone was exceptionally excited. The rules of that one was different from usual, as each district had to send double tributes. But for some reason, the video of 50th Hunger Games was rarely shown publicly, and the widely available version was heavily edited. It was said that the original version was much more watchable, much gorier, and exciting, so you and your friends watched it together in a home theater.

At the beginning of the tape, sixteen-year-old Haymitch did not cry like most non-Career; instead, he walked up to the stage with steely eyes. Coupled with black curly hair and silver-gray pupils, he appeared surprisingly handsome. Once stood on the stage, he looked fondly into the crowd as camera cut to a woman and a young boy, then - a girl.

The subsequent parade was quite dull. He was a lone ranger in training center. After the Games began, initially he was on his own, then met one female tribute from the same district and dutifully protected her. Later, he encountered three Careers. Although had not been specifically trained for the Games, he still managed to kill two of them, which made you see him in a different light. What truly changed your perception of Haymitch was the final showdown, where he used the arena's force field to kill the final opponent - so clever. You seemed to have a hard time not falling for such a handsome, brave, committed and intelligent victor. The 65th Games was coming up, and you decided to find a chance to meet him then.

On the first day of the 65th Games, you wore a dove-gray strapless dress and a simple pearl necklace to the banquet hall, where mentors would be here to pull in sponsors for their tributes. You wore light makeup, and purple hair was simply styled in curls, no wig. You might be the least Capitol-like person here, not even taking various injections into the face or alternate body like the others. Most of the sponsors in the room were gathered around the mentor from District 4, which had sent an exceptionally good-looking boy this year, who also got high scores in his private session. Before the Games even began, all your friends had already become his loyal followers.

You looked around for your target and immediately spotted him sitting alone on a large couch, staring blankly at a glass of wine in hand. You were struggling to endure the high heels, so felt a bit relieved to be able to sit down.

You scooted small steps towards him and were about one foot away when he noticed you, his eyes scanning you up and down. Your heartbeat began to race and as you came to sit beside him on the couch, you said, "Mind me joining you?"

He raised the eyebrows, "Of course not." You beckoned an Avox to come over, hesitating a little at the various drinks on the tray in his hand. At this point, you naturally took the glass from Haymitch's hand and took a sip—it's whiskey—then handed it back and took the same thing for yourself. Looking over at Haymitch, you found him staring at you. Then he took a sip as well, lips just covering the spot where you left lipstick mark on the edge of glass.

"District 12 is off to a good start this year." You've dated boys, but never been with a man and didn't know how to approach him. In the past, scrawny tributes from District 12 mostly died in the bloodbath. While the girl didn't survive long either in this Games, the boy made it to the evening of the first day, which is a good sign, so complimenting his district might be a good choice.

"Perhaps. But it seems Capitol already has its favorite." He nodded towards the crowd surrounding the mentor from District 4.

You followed his gaze but said, "I believe that the scenery is better on the road less traveled."

You soon arrived at the door of the Hotel Suites. This was the most luxurious hotel in the Capitol, conveniently located near the game center, probably to make it easier for sponsors to get a more in-depth sales pitch from mentors for their tributes.

Haymitch stood close behind you, one hand on your ass. You could feel his wet, hot breath brushing against the back of your exposed neck. Your hand trembled slightly as pulling out the room key from clutch. Door opened with a 'beep'. He wasted no time, almost pushing you into the room.

After the door shut, you immediately turned around, wrapping arms around his neck and forcefully pressing lips to his. His lips were already slightly parted, inviting your tongue to enter. Your tongue slipped into his mouth and explored hungrily, sweeping across palate and licking teeth before tangling with his tongue. His grabbed and squeezed your ass. You withdrawn the tongue, luring him to follow into your mouth. There was much saliva, but for some reason, the sounds of kissing made you get more aroused.

You pressed tightly against him, feeling the hard erection against the small of your abdomen. You couldn't help but stop kissing and started moaning. He took the opportunity to bite your lower lip and tug it lightly, moving his hands from your ass to back and unzip the long dress. You stepped back to slip out of the gown and kicked it aside in high heels. Without a bra, your breasts were fully exposed to summer air.

Haymitch raised an eyebrow and smirked at the show. In the next moment, he took one nipple in mouth, licking and tweaking it. Of course, he wouldn't ignore the other one, pinching it between fingers while mouth sucked harder. You gasped involuntarily, threading your fingers through his hair and pressing his head against your tits, a clear signal that you don't want him to stop. He understood, moan escaping from deep in his throat in approval.

His mouth moved to the other side, sucking eagerly as hand trailed down to your stomach, eventually reaching the destination - between your legs. Two fingers slid along your folds. "Shit, you're so wet. Do you always get this wet for all the victors?" He paused the attention on your breasts and lifted head to talk to you. Hot breath sprayed over your nipples, making you shiver.

"No, just you. I think I've been wet for you for a while." You looked down directly into his eyes and replied. It was truth.

"Then it will be a waste if not to taste you." He said matter-of-factly, standing up and pinning you against the corner by the door. Knowing what was about to happen, you spreaded your legs openly. "Please."

He pecked a kiss on your lips, then ran tongue from your jaw to the hollow of neck, leaving a trail of kisses between your breasts and down the abdomen. Your shut eyes in pleasure.

He dropped to the knees, smoothly draping one of your legs over his shoulder as lips move to your pelvis. "Can you take off your shirt?" You opened eyes suddenly, seeing his curious look, and added, "It doesn't seem fair that I'm the only one naked." He smiled and nodded knowingly, pulling back to remove his suit jacket. As he dealing with his shirt, you reached one hand toward your thighs, fingering the clit slowly.

"Stop, I'm the only one who can make you come tonight." He commanded while undoing the buttons. "First with my tongue, then my cock."

You seemed to get even wetter at this and obediently stop the movements. After stripping off his shirt, he kneeled between your legs again, resting your right leg on his shoulder. You placed one hand on the back of his head and looked down at him. He held your left thigh with one hand while sliding index finger from your clit to entrance with the other. He lifted his gaze to meet yours, slid finger inside, then covered your clit with mouth, swirling tongue around it. You almost imperceptibly began to wiggle hips along with the movements of his tongue.

"Ah," You arched back and gasped. He licked harder, adding another finger to pump in and out. His head prevented you from closing your legs. "Haymitch -" You moaned. Then he alternated between sucking and licking your clit, his fingers moving faster inside you. You involuntarily grabbed his head and pressed it between your legs to fuck his mouth. You got even wetter. "Yes, yes, just like that." You pleaded. He responded with a hum, sending tremors through that bud. The quiet room was filled with your gasps and whimpers, only a little louder than the sound of his tongue and lips sliding between your wetness. His back beneath your legs grew hotter, covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

Your breathing became rapid as pleasure suddenly surged between thighs. Just then, Haymitch took your clit into his mouth firmly, hands supporting your trembling legs. Now the stimulation was overwhelming - you tried to push his face away but only made him suck harder. "Haymitch!" you cried out as clutched at his soft curls, "Ah, I'm coming." Your whole body shuddered as inside clenched around his fingers. He didn't stop, dutifully kept going until your orgasm subsides before withdrawing fingers and licking into your pussy to clean up the gushing wetness.

Once your body calmed down, he pulled back and wiped his mouth with hand, then rubbing it on pants before standing up. You were still panting heavily, limbs weak and barely able to stand straight. He wrapped an arm around your waist and gave you a kiss. You just responded lazily and could taste yourself on his tongue. "You taste so good," he murmurs against your lips, and you smiled. "I can't wait to feel you come on my cock."

"I can't stand now." you said. He picked you up and carried you to bed, tossing you onto it. On one side of the bed was a floor-to-ceiling window, with one-way glass overlooking the cityscape, and the other side faced with a large full-length mirror. He took off your high heels that had tormented you for so long, then turned on the bedside lamp. You spread your legs toward the mirror and could see slickness on pubes glistening in the light.

He walked to the opposite side of the bed. As you started to turn around, his voice dropped into a commanding low growl. "No, face the mirror and get on your knees." The firmness in his tone sent another throb through your still oversensitive clit. Obediently, you positioned yourself on all fours and looked into the mirror. He unbuckled the belt, then yanked down pants and underwear altogether. His thick, swelling erection poked out from the dirty pubic hair, up against the lower abdomen. You swayed your ass slutly.

He swallowed hard, then took off shoes and immediately got on the bed as well. His large palms grabbed and kneaded the round flesh of your ass eagerly. You closed your eyes and let out a soft moan, instinctively arching back into his touch. Suddenly, a sharp slap echoed, sending the stinging pain across one side of cheeks. You flinched and gasped, but he bent down and kissed there. The pain quickly melted into pleasure.

He repeated the same on the other side, and slid the thumb into your slickness, groaning as he felt how soaked you were. "Seems like you're enjoying," he murmured.

"Stop teasing me." You huffed impatiently.

He grinned at that and gave his cock a few firm strokes, then grabbed it in hand to glide the head gently up and down your ass. It brushed against the slick precum beading at his tip. You lowered upper body even more, presenting yourself in anticipation. When he finally pushed in, both of you released sighs of relief. Between assignments and exams, it had been a while for you to date - let alone sex.

He was thicker and bigger than any guy you had ever been with before. He slowly thrust into the halfway, pulled back a bit then buried completely. "You're so tight." he gritted through clenched teeth.

You were kind of proud and asked in mock innocence, "Do I feel good?"

"I'll show you how good I feel," he said, slamming hard. "It'll feel even better when you come inside me." You half moaned, half gasped as he growled low and started fucking you in earnest. You were soaked that there was no resistance to his movements at all. You looked up and locked eyes with him in the mirror; he hooked the hands under your thighs, pulling you frantically towards his pelvis. The lewd watery sounds of his cock going in and out drove you wild. You slipped one hand down to where your bodies connected, cupping his balls in palm and massaging gently. He gasped in surprise and slowed the pace. "Yeah, I like that."

"Fuck me harder, ah—" you demanded impatiently. He immediately pounded you more violently. Each time, he would pull the head to the entrance, then slammed it back all the way in. Your slick lips pressed against his pubic hair, his balls slapping rhythmically against your thighs. Although this felt good, your clit craved attention. Your hand moved to rub it, fingertips occasionally brushing his dick slick with your arousal. "Good girl, touch yourself for me." He moaned.

Your cries grew louder as the hand supporting your body began to go limp. Eventually you could only collapse onto the bed, but he still held onto your ass. After a few minutes, he wrapped his arm around your waist and lifted your upper body, so your back was pressed against his chest. He didn't stop; seeing your bouncing tits in the mirror, he grabbed them in hands to knead. You moaned as your fingers tangled in his hair while the other hand still moved between your legs. His tongue licked over your earlobe, "Want me to rub your clit?" You squeezed your eyes shut, barely managing to reply, "No, just pinch my nipples. Please." He immediately twisted your nipples, both thumbs pressing down and circling them. "Mmm..." you wiggled your ass in rhythm with his fingers.

But he always slipped out in this position, and after the fourth time he pulled out. "No -" you just began to protest at the sudden emptiness without him, but he pushed you onto the bed and flipped you over. He spread your thighs, grabbed a pillow to prop under hips, and without wasting any time, thrust back inside. This angle allowed him to go even deeper, and you could feel every inch of him.

He leaned down to swallow your cries. You grabbed his veined forearms with both hands, only able to tangle his tongue mindlessly in the intense pleasure. When he slid hand down between your bodies, you clenched inside around him, had to push his face away and screamed into the air. "Don't stop. Don't stop."

"You like that dick? Huh? You fucking like that dick?" He asked with a growl.

"I love it, so much, don't stop." You closed your eyes and shook your head from side to side begging him.

"Open your eyes. Look at me," His tone left no room for refusal.

You struggled to open them; his gaze was wild. Neatly styled hair became disheveled under your eager rubbing. Sweat dripped from his hairline to chin. He lowered his head to take one nipple in mouth. You moaned and played with the other, with legs tightening around his waist.

After a while, he released your nipple and pressed lips against your breast. His movements grew erratic. "I - ah – gonna come."

You squeezed him tighter and said, "Come for me." With an embarrassingly loud moan, he thrust hard a few more times. His cock was pulsing inside as he filled you up. The sensation was incredibly intoxicating. He collapsed onto you gasping for air, but you didn't mind the weight of his body at all, even like it. He lifted his head to kiss you, and you respond languidly. He pulled out and rubbed the length between your folds. Semen flowed down your thigh and the head brushed against your clit made you break the kiss.

As if remembering something, Haymitch propped himself up, grabbed the shaft and flicked your clit with the tip. "Shit." You pushed at him, but he instinctively grabbed both of your wrists. The pleasure between legs built higher and higher. You closed your eyes and stopped resisting. The hotel had great soundproofing, so you screamed loudly without any worries. "Theretherethere!" A flash of white light burst behind your eyelids, and you cried out, arching your back as he pressed you back down and hastily thrust his semi-hard cock inside again. Feeling the rapid contractions of your pussy, he let out a soft moan.

You both panted heavily, chests rising and falling rapidly. He planted several kisses casually on your neck and face before getting up from the bed and walking into the bathroom. The sound of running water came from inside. A few minutes later, he returned with a wet towel. Seeing his softened cock sway with each step, you were surprised at how quickly you could become aroused again. But there were more important matters at hand, so you thought, next time - next time you wanted to find out how many rounds he could go in one night.

He cleaned you up with the warm, wet towel. You were so touched by his thoughtfulness, reaching out to let your fingers glide across his chin. "You can tell them that I will pay for all the gifts."

He stopped what he was doing and looked at you. "Thanks."

However, as soon as the parachute landed in the arena, the Careers hunting at night slit the throat of the male tribute from District 12.

Ever since then, if the tributes from District 12 are not eliminated at the very beginning of the Games, you send gifts every year.

"Thank you." He turns his head slightly, pressing his lips in your hair as he says.

"For what?" You asks curiously, tilting your head up to look at him.

"Thank you for sponsoring District 12. Katniss has already gotten the ointment." You secretly breathed a sigh of relief, withdrawing one of the hands holding him and moving to rub his crotch. Then you kneel on the ground to unbuckle his belt and pull out the shirt tucked into his waistband. "I thought I was the one who should be thanking you." Haymitch raises an eyebrow in amusement, lifting his hips considerately as you help pull down his pants. He takes off his tie, then grabs the back of collar to pull the shirt off directly.

"I have the right to define my own rewards," You eagerly grasp the hot length and stroke it slowly. "And this is exactly what I want." One hand rest on his thigh while the other grips the shaft of his dick, you lick away the precum gathered at the tip, then swirl tongue around the head before sucking hard. "Fuck." He curses. You moan in response, looking up at him through long lashes. His eyelids flutter, like he's not sure whether to close them completely and enjoy, or just watch you suck his dick.

"I love your cock." You spit out the head and hover over it, saliva pooling in your mouth before you spit it onto the tip. "Yeah, that feels good" He closes his eyes again as you take him back in, swallowing more. He's big, but after these years, you get used to it. You lick the underside of the shaft, hands pumping the rest you cannot take. The wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth filling the air.

Suddenly, you want to try something you haven't done much before.

You gently caress his balls, then swallow him as much as you can until the head hits the back of your throat. "That's it, do it again." You do it once more, gradually picking up speed and fucking your mouth with his dick. He instinctively thrusts up. You must hold him down to prevent choking. You suck your cheeks in hard, and a few minutes later, he says, "Stop, stop." You widen your eyes and his cock still in your hand - this must look funny. But he just laughs, "I love it, but there's no time for round two today. I want to come inside you."

You wipe your mouth clean with the back of your hand and climb onto his lap, straddling him. "Me too. I want to feel your cum dripping out of me." You murmur against his lips. He grabs your ass and stands up abruptly, your legs subconsciously wrapping around his waist. He carries you to the bed, lays you down, and then lies on his back. "Come on, use my cock to make yourself come."

You take off the nightgown and throw it on the floor. He spreads his legs, and you kneel on either side of his thighs, gripping the erection pressed against his abs and slowly lowering yourself down until his balls hit your ass. "You're so big…" You can't help but sigh, and he looks quite smug. "I've heard that before."

You don't respond, hands braced on his chest as rocking back and forth. The reward is instant - the coarse pubes rubbing against your clit sends mild pleasure. He tugs at your nipples, and you grind harder. "Oh God!" Suddenly, you scream out, stopping completely as you come hard on his cock. "Damn, that was fast." You're still too dazed from the orgasm to say anything.

You collapse forward onto him, lips brushing his ear. He grips your waist and thrust up to fuck you frantically. Even though you've just come and are still sensitive, you bite his earlobe and whisper, "Harder."

Haymitch tightens his arms, "You want me to fuck you harder." He says, slamming his pelvis into your ass passionately. "Yes." The only sounds in the room are the rhythmic slapping of flesh and your moans. You hazily licked the stubble on his chin; unexpectedly, he pushes you on the side to fuck in spooning style. He slips one hand between the mattress and your body to palm your tit, while the other lifts your leg to rub the clit. You grab his hair and whimper, turning your head back and searching for an open-mouthed kiss from him. For a moment, his fucking loses the rhythm but soon resumes. The familiar sensation erupts between your legs again, forcing you to let go of his lips and collapse onto the mattress with legs squeezed together. "No, I don't think I can -"

"I think you can, sweetheart. Come on, just give me one more." You scream as he pins you down on the bed, his arms braced on either side of your head, continuing to pound hotly. Your cries are muffled in the pillows when he suddenly stops and starts grinding in circles. "Haymitch…" You squeeze him tighter. He lets out a trembling moan. "Yeah, squeeze me like that again, good girl." You obey, and he leans down to whisper dirty words in your ear, talking about how much he wants to fuck your mouth, how much he loves your tight little pussy, and how he always cums so hard when he jerks off thinking about that time you squirted all over his dick, even made his balls dripping. "I'm gonna come." This finally pushes you over the edge. Your walls fluttering rapidly, milking out his orgasm.

"Shit." You can feel his cock pulsing inside, thrusting forward with each spurt of cum before becoming completely still. Gasping for air, you turn your head. Instead of pulling out right away, he kisses you tenderly. A few minutes later, he gets off you and lies on his back beside. "You okay?" He asks.

"Never been better." You answer with a smile.

District 12 has two victors all at once and this is your first time attending the celebration dinner at the president's mansion. Haymitch has been busy introducing Katniss and Peeta to all the dignitaries and sponsors, but you don't care about such socializing so stay away. After all, you come here only just to see him again.

Theoretically speaking, he should be happy. This is the first time he has truly achieved success since becoming a mentor. Perhaps it's just your illusion, but Haymitch looks worried.

You want nothing more than to feel joy and quickly shake off that thought. When he is finally on a break, you pull him to a dark corner where no one is around to kiss him. He hesitates at first but soon responds eagerly. And before long, both of you are panting and have to pull away.

You step back, gazing at his swollen lips under the dim light. "Guess we'll see each other again soon." Victory Tour in six months, Capitol is the final stop. He will accompany Katniss and Peeta back here. In the past, you could only see him during the Games when he came to Capitol for mentoring the tributes. Although you are a generous sponsor, you won't call Haymitch back at will like others do with Finnick Odair.

He doesn't say a word, just smiles and wipes away a hint of saliva from the corner of your mouth. "Congratulations, Star Mentor. I'm sure there will be more victors from District 12." You say hopefully.

His thumb brushes against your cheek, his face suddenly thoughtful. "Yeah, I think these games are gonna be different."

End.

☪English is not my first language, so all the mistakes are mine. ☪Likes, reposts and comments are much appreciated.

[writhyv]

⋆｡°✩ pushing his buttons to finally make him confess

unsorted | nishimura riki x male!reader

pairing: childhood bestfriend!ni-ki x male reader genre: fluff, little bit of a build up of angst? i actually don't know ... words: 2.03k notes: trying something completely different and just getting these ideas out! i've always liked the 'childhood bestfriend' tropes and i think ni-ki definitely fills up the criteria. not meant to be a realistic take on ni-ki in anyway (since this is a fanfic lol) but something just loosely based on him. hope you like it!

You've been so focused on impressing your crush that you've completely overlooked Ni-ki's feelings for you. For a long time, he's harbored strong emotions, but he keeps them hidden while you excitedly talk about your crush and ask for his help getting closer to him. Ni-ki always shakes his head and tells you that his friend is not interested in you, but the truth is that every time you mention his friend, it stings a little more. He doesn't want to complicate your friendship by revealing how he truly feels.

Deep down, Ni-ki wishes you could see how much he cares for you. He's been there all along, offering support, even while dealing with his own heartache. While you focused all your attention on this new crush, they were just a new development, yet you seemed to put all your efforts into them at once. Ni-ki couldn't bear it at all.

One day, your teacher announces a group project, and you're in a group with your crush. You're thrilled, but you have no idea where his house is for the group meeting. Luckily, Ni-ki knows the area well and offers to accompany you. He can't resist helping you, even if it hurts him to see you so enamored with his friend.

"You sure you know his house?" you asked, fixing your backpack as you walked alongside your best friend.

"Ugh, it's not like I wanted to," Ni-ki sighed, trying to distance himself from the topic. Clearly, he doesn't care about the guy or the project. He only cares about you.

"But still!" you tugged his arm. "Thank you for taking the time to come with me..."

Ni-ki looked at you with his hands in his pockets. As he saw your golden smile appear, he couldn't help but be mesmerized by it. He couldn't tell whether he was living a dream or a nightmare — it was too hard to tell.

When you both arrive at your crush's house, you try to play it cool, but you can’t help but feel nervous. Your friends arrived shortly, joining you in your project as well. You’re eager to impress your crush, while Ni-ki stands silently beside you, feeling nothing but emptiness and sadness for himself.

As you start working on the project, you keep stealing glances at your crush, laughing at his jokes and trying to engage him in conversation. Ni-ki observes from the sidelines, noticing how your face lights up every time you look at his friend. Each giggle you share with your crush feels like a sharp reminder of what he can’t have, but he keeps quiet, not wanting to ruin the moment for you.

After a while, your friends suggest taking a break and playing some games to lighten the mood. You agree, thrilled to spend more time with him, while Ni-ki watches quietly, wishing he could take your place.

When one of your louder friends suggests the game of truth or dare, laughter fills the room. You sit there nervously as your friends take turns revealing secrets or completing silly dares.

Finally, when it’s your turn, you shyly choose 'dare.' Your friends, excited, dare you to kiss the person you like. You glance over at your crush, your heart racing with anticipation, while Ni-ki’s expression darkens just a bit, feeling the weight of the moment.

"I-"

"This is ridiculous," Ni-ki rose from his seat and quickly pulled you away from the group, who could only groan in dismay. Although it seems unlikely, your supposed crush had a small look of concern. But did it even matter?

"Riki..." you pleaded. "Your hand..."

But Ni-ki couldn't hear you. He didn't want anyone to see you with him at this moment, so he was determined to get you as far away from the others as possible.

"RIKI!!" you shouted. Ni-ki stopped as he saw you.

"You're... you're grip was too tight," you pointed at your arm, and he let it go immediately.

"S-sorry!" he apologized, rubbing your hand quickly. It was clear that he didn't mean to hurt you, but he felt a bit disappointed with himself anyway.

"Hehe, It's alright," you tried to smile for a bit, even though you had no idea what just happened.

You two stood there under the bright moon. It wasn't the best of days, but it was magical how the crickets sounded in the early hours of the night. You looked at Ni-ki, still confused. He couldn't speak at the moment, rethinking what he had intended to do.

"Riki-"

"Do you really like him?" he spoke in a deep voice. It wasn't the first time you heard it, but it sounded so serious now.

"I-"

"I can tell that you're trying too hard," Ni-ki looked at you with his eyes, filled with curiosity. "Too hard."

That didn't feel right, you thought. Why would Ni-ki say something like that so suddenly? Is he against the idea all of a sudden? Does he hate you for it? Does it matter who you want to like?

"Okay..." you sighed. "Can you just tell me what's happening? I thought you were supportive of me..."

Ni-ki looked at you, sincerity clear in his gaze. "I... I am!"

"But you don't feel like it!" you walked towards him.

Ni-ki could only look at you closely before you spoke again.

"Are you..." you took your time to say these words. It was the worst case, but what if it is now?

"Are you disgusted by what I'm feeling? By me?" you spoke hesitantly, knowing full well it wasn't the case.

Ni-ki shot a surprised look towards you, a shocked expression on his face. "N-no! Why would you say that!"

"Then why are you so against me having a crush on him!" you spoke loudly, not even sure if you sounded too loud at that point.

Ni-ki couldn't believe it. Of course, he could never judge you for who you wanted to love. Not in that way. It didn't matter to him what your choices were. Sure, he may be bad at expressing himself sometimes, but he always supported you no matter what.

And he liked it that way.

He liked you that way.

"Because I like you!" Ni-ki replied with his voice shaking in fear. Fear of letting you know, and the fear of possibly losing you. He couldn't handle it, saying the most outrageous thing that might drive you away from him.

"I like you," Ni-ki spoke softly. "I really do."

Ni-ki liked you? Since when?

When did this happen? How could you not see it?

Where was it when you looked for it?

Looked at him.

That way?

"Y...you..." you covered your mouth as you tried to take in his words. "No... no I-"

"I can explain-"

"How could you explain this to me!" you stepped back from him as he tried to come near, his face showing that he was really sorry.

"Are you even listening to what you're saying!"

"I- I do like you!"

Silence.

There was only silence.

Only two people, two best friends... two hearts talking to each other.

"Then ... why ... now..." Tears fell from your eyes as you said those words from your heart, out for your best friend to listen closely.

Why now? Why would your best friend like you when you've given up entirely on that idea?

At daydreaming a future of you and him?

At loving the one person who cared for you like nobody else could?

You punched and punched his chest as you sank to the soft ground. Ni-ki tried to comfort you by wrapping his arms around you. You could only cry even more as you breathed in his familiar scent. There was nothing else that you could say.

You were supposed to forget these feelings, but why do they need to come back like this? Now that you've tried so hard to keep them away from hurting you? Why?

"I... I'm sorry." Ni-ki tried to speak as his sniffling nearly choked him. "I'm sorry I couldn't be brave enough to even pursue you..."

You continued to cry, remembering how much you liked him. How much you appreciated everything he did. How you wanted to understand him so you could build a lasting relationship with this kind guy who got you language guides and taught you manners you wouldn't know otherwise.

You fell for him, and you wanted to fall even deeper, but you never had a clue he liked you back.

"You're so ... stupid!" you continued to hit his chest. It wasn't that hard, but it was enough to make Ni-ki wince. He didn't like it when you hurt. Whether it was a scratch, a burn, or a bully, he didn't want you to suffer at all. He wanted to hold you in his arms as much as he could.

"I am..." Ni-ki tried to speak, trying to hide his own sobbing. "I just... can't decide whether I should let you be with him... or stay with me."

You then began to feel terrible, listening to him being a sniffling mess. You looked back towards his barren features, immediately wiping his tears away.

"So ... you just needed a little push?"

Ni-ki nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"I... I didn't know how to deal with these feelings." He spoke to you. "And even if I did, I couldn't find the courage. Not with you."

You sighed, sitting up as you cleaned your face. "C'mon, Riki. I told you; you've got the charm ... the confidence ... the looks ... the spirit."

Ni-ki looked at you, laughing softly.

"What?" You spoke as you took a good look at him.

"Are you seriously prepping me when I already confessed?"

"I mean, it's not too late to not do that, you know?"

You two shared a quiet moment, mere seconds, as you took your time to process it all.

"So you like me?" Ni-ki broke the silence with one simple question.

"Of course." You nodded. "How couldn't I? You were the perfect package."

"I couldn't even handle my own feelings." Ni-ki wiped his tears as he chuckled lightly. "Are you sure you're ready to take a chance on me?"

"Hey." You looked at him. "Do you really want me or not?"

"Psh. Of course I do."

"Then don't be scared and keep your word." You smiled at him, your eyes still watery. "Love me all you want. And let me love you all I want."

Ni-ki laughed brightly, holding your hands and putting them against his own.

"Okay." He agreed. "I'll love you for all time."

"All time?" You looked at him confused. "You mean forever?"

Ni-ki shook his head. "No. I meant for all time. Past, future, present, and every other moment."

As you raised your hands to his cheeks, he gently cupped them and rubbed his own palm upon yours. "All the moments that time can give me to love you ... that's what I want."

Now, it was your turn to smile back at him.

"You're crazy." You looked at him as you fixed his stray hair. "Then ... let me do that too."

Ni-ki's eyes went wide as you pulled him into a sweet kiss. Having it felt like a soft kind of candy, and not just because of the texture. His mouth tasted so much like a sweet dream, one you'll fall into easily and never want to leave.

"We're both fools, aren't we?" Ni-ki spoke as he broke away from your kiss.

"Very much so." You giggled. "A couple of fools."

"Definitely." Ni-ki said as he rested his head on your shoulder. "A couple."

"A couple it is." Niki rest his head on your shoulders, and exposed his own nape in front of you. Without any care in the world, you pressed your damp lips onto his soft skin, relishing the beauty of this occasion.

tried this new unsorted way of writing for stuff i couldn't just fit into compilations or a full series! also hopefully i did ni-ki's hypothetical highschool self good aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

hope you guys enjoyed it! please like, comment, or reblog~

my masterlist!

made by writhyv 💘

[silentstyx]

"2 AM and I'm Cursing Your Name" ~ (jake peralta x reader's version)

sum! "Reader got home way too late and the Jake has been pacing and worrying all night..."

tw! arguing, idk jake

uhhhh idk how i feel abt this mixed feelings ngl, kinda short too

You and Jake had been fighting for just stupid things for a little bit now. It never was super important and you would just make up 30 minutes later. Not this time though.

This time it was a stupid argument, because Jake was being stupid. He fought a dangerous criminal without backup and not only that, his gun fell out in the car. Not only was this dangerous but he got away.

The two of you were upset about different things when it came to this situation, but you both agreed you were upset.

"Can we drop this? I'm still trying to catch a criminal, ya know my job?" Jake said, peeved.

You could only roll your eyes and reply snarkily, "I am literally trying to tell you about my concerns for your job! But why would you care? You don't listen!"

He returned the same eye roll, "The same concerns that I quite literally have heard all week possibly? Those concerns?"

You couldn't respond with anything other than a scoff/laugh. Absolutely speechless. Sorry you don't want him dead? Why doesn't he listen?! Why is he so stubborn?!

Your grabbed your purse, your phone, and your keys before leaving. You went out the front door without a word in reply to him. You were so pissed off you couldn't physically be around him, so you just left. You'd be back before you went to sleep, but you wouldn't tell him that.

You could hear him get half way through your name before you shut the door, calling you to come back.

He noticed you had turned your location off, so he wouldn't follow you. You stubborn bastard.

You were just walking around Brooklyn for a while, besides the smells, you forgot how pretty New York can be at night. You saw the sunset and then the buildings lit up once it was dark. You got a few pictures of it. You got some snacks while you were out, street meat and what not. But you wanted to go back home. Even though that was gonna take another hour to get home.

You got some fast food before arriving home, your favorite order and Jake's. You still loved him and wanted him to eat. You know he won't eat if he feels like something is genuinely wrong. He'll focus on fixing that rather than eating.

You got home, food and drinks in hand, walking in the front door. You saw him pacing around the living room, phone in hand, before he realised you were there.

"Babe, look I didn't understand why you were so upset until I imagined it was you. I imagined you going in without backup and without your gun and it scared me. I'm sorry and you're not in the wrong, okay? Please don't be mad at me" He blabbed out.

You started smiling halfway through his sentence, "i brought food for us?"

You held up the bag as you talked, showing proof.

He smiled back at you and grabbed the drinks from you to make it easier to carry.

You guys ate together while watching a movie. Once you both finished your food you ended up cuddling, accidentally, while watching the movie.

"I'm sorry I was sorta a jackass," You say barely above a whisper, "I was just mad that you did something that dumb and didn't seem to care"

He nodded, "I know. It's okay, I'm not mad."

[thesilmarillionblog]

ANOTHER LIFE

Summary: You find out that you're pregnant with Soldier Boy’s child, but knowing what Butcher’s wife has been through and that you won’t make it like her, he doesn’t want you to keep it. You try to convince him that you’ll be okay, but you need to face what’s to come.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: +18 (MINORS DNI), angst, hurtful, language, pregnancy, threat, pregnant sex, blood, mention of abortion, mention of death, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 5807

A/N: English is not my first language.

With a bashful smile on your lips, you looked at Ben, whose eyes were locked on the positive result, while you joyfully looked at the pregnancy test with your hands stopped on your tummy. Since you were already married and had been living together for a while, you were confident that this news would strengthen your bond even more.

He merely stated, “We are not keeping it,” glaring at you and clenching his jaw when he saw your hands halt on your tummy. “I'll find a doctor for the abortion.”

You stood up, gently inquired, “Why?” and put your hand on his arms to stop him before he could leave the room.

You didn't understand why he was acting this way at all, because you knew he had always wanted to start a family. Right now, you ought to be enjoying the news.

Your touch tightened his muscles, and he took a deep breath. In an attempt to ease him up, you stroked his cheek, but it felt as though he was building barriers between you, just as on the day of your first meeting.

“We already know Butcher's wife's fate, don't we? You wouldn't survive such a thing.”

You smiled at him a little, realizing that he wasn't against the baby; rather, he was only worried about you. He was upset by your ease with the issue, though, as he could see that you didn't give a damn about what he said.

“Becca did not pass away during childbirth.” You attempted to comfort him. “For me, it won't be any different with good doctors.”

You glanced at him, hoping that, for the moment at least, he wouldn't be obstinate about this and would instead trust you.

"Are you even aware of what you're saying?" He questioned you in a disapproving tone, pushed your hands away from his face, and spoke out. "Just because she made it through doesn't imply you will too. What will happen, do you know? You'll be torn apart, limb by limb, by this nasty beast. You will fucking die and suffer.”

You said to him, “Ben,” in an attempt to soothe him. You gave him a hug, despite the way he shoved your hands away. “Together, we've overcome many obstacles and established a family of our own. Despite what we've been told, there was no possibility that I would become pregnant.” You squeezed his hands and remarked, “This baby is a gift.”

“A gift? It is a fucking punishment and a fucking pain on my ass already,” he grunted and hugged you back tightly.

“Stop calling the baby 'it',” you snapped out of nowhere. “Why are you being like this?”

“It is just an annoying fetus, a virus, not a baby,” he said harshly, looking at your stomach with irritation as if you were sick. “You’re going to get an abortion.”

You pushed him away from you, tears welling up in your eyes, and he withdrew his hands. You had doubts about whether he would ever reconsider.

“I won’t, Ben,” you said firmly. “I won’t just fucking murder my child. You cannot force me to do such a thing."

“You won’t murder it, but it fucking will murder you,” he yelled at you suddenly.

You took a step back, your lips parted in shock at the expression on his face. He hadn't yelled at you in such a furious manner in a very long time. You put your hands on your tummy as if he would hurt you.

His attitude toward you and the baby was crushing your heart, so you sat down on the bed. How could you even kill your own child by going under the knife because Ben believed you wouldn't survive? You were aware that childbirth always carries some risk, even in cases where the kid turned out to be normal and not a supe. Any woman who aspired to motherhood was ready to take a risk.

You said, “Why do you think I'm weaker than Becca—that she survived but I can't?” You were unsure of which was worse—his hatred for your unborn baby or his perception of your weakness.

Seeing your wet eyes, he softened his tone and said, “It's not that I think you are weak or something. It, fuck, I mean the baby, will most highly have the exact power I have; the baby will do anything to get rid of from your womb when your water breaks,” he continued, sitting by your side and taking your hand in his. “Just like I do when I'm really furious or stressed, the baby will explode if it becomes even slightly stressed or when it senses your distress. The reason Butcher's wife survived is that the baby didn't explode to escape her womb; instead, it just wanted to be out. It will be worse for you.”

You listened to him with terror, not having a single idea how and when he did learn the details about Becca’s childbirth. You were overwhelmed trying to imagine the scenario he created. That must be the reason he was acting so strangely and coldly in the last two weeks.

“How do you know such things?” You whispered, not knowing how to react.

“I already knew that you were pregnant before the stupid test. It was clear from your scent and all,” he said, looking at your locked hands. “And I searched for details about Butcher’s wife’s childbirth. We should be glad that we have an example in front of us.”

“I can’t do this, Ben. I want to keep the baby,” you sobbed, feeling pressured. “I can’t go under the knife.”

“Why are you so fucking selfish?” he asked. “Did you even fucking listen to me?”

“We don’t even know it for sure. What you’ve said is just a theory,” you said, hoping he would change his mind or at least listen to you a bit.

“It’s a fucking possibility, a high one, and it’s enough for us to get rid of this monster as soon as possible.”

“I won’t do it, Ben. I can’t have an abortion based on what you think is going to happen in the future,” you answered with a firm voice.

Even though he was able to control his abilities and the power hidden in his chest, he felt as though he was losing control of himself and his temper after witnessing your selfishness and obsession with a tiny fetus. Ben stood up and moved away from you.

He sternly remarked, “If anything happens to you, if you die in childbirth, I will kill the baby, I fucking swear.”

“Have you gone insane?” You sobbed as you realized how serious he was, and your eyes widened in terror. “How are you even able to say something like that?”

“I don't give a fuck.” He was very serious as he snapped, “I won't even blink.”

Whispering softly, “But then I’d die for nothing,” you looked at him with pleading eyes. He was not giving you a chance, but he was not giving a chance to your unborn baby either.

“Huh,” he said, biting his lip, giving you an insidious smile. “That’s something we can both agree on, sweetheart.”

After a few months, Ben spent most of his time at Vought, or God knows where, rather than respecting your decision, accepting the situation, or having a conversation about it. Despite all your efforts to talk to him, he hardly spent any time with you in the house. After two months, he no longer argued with you. He scared the shit out of you when he nearly blew up the house during your argument. Though it was selfish of you, you made the decision, knowing that he was very concerned about you and that it was hurting him to consider the uncertain future that lay ahead of you. If only he knew how much the distance in his eyes hurt you.

Your belly started to show up, and it was already too late for an abortion, which was something you didn’t even consider once. It was almost the fifth stage of your pregnancy, after all. Ben had stopped fighting with you, and you went to the hospital all alone, even though Annie and Kimiko offered to come with you.

You waited for Ben to come home the day you learned that you were pregnant with a boy. You thought that would make Ben’s heart at least a bit soften and make him a bit more eased or even glad when you shared the news as he lay beside the bed. However, he didn’t even say a single word. He just closed his eyes and let you stay on his warm chest. You were too close yet too distant.

“At least, could you say something?” You whispered to him, and he just took a deep breath and wrapped his powerful arms around your body. You begged him again, “Please,” but he kept his eyes closed and put a bit distance between your belly and his, trying not feel the growing life inside you. He considered your baby like an enemy, a monster.

Even though you were eager to enjoy your pregnancy together and fix things with him, he was acting as though you were waiting for your execution day. You knew that he was still angry with you, and he was right about it considering your uncertain future in front of you, but there was no need to live like strangers while you were married. His support and tenderness would mean a lot, at least to ease your distress.

Your unbalanced hormones weren't helping at all, as it had been a while since he touched you, and he had avoided doing so since your belly had begun to swell.

“I’m tired. Sleep,” he said firmly.

“Could you please at least come with me to the hospital for a regular check once a month? You don’t have to be inside of the room.”

“I don’t want it.”

He probably didn’t have an idea about how much the way he talked so sharply and coldly broke your heart, but you didn’t give up.

“Why not?” you asked softly, lifting your head to look at him, trying to talk about it.

“It’s just that I don’t want it,” he said with an irritated voice, cutting it short. “Are you going to force me to do something I don’t want to do again?”

You approached him and again pressed your cheek against his muscled chest, whispering, “No. But I'm so lonely.”

It was impossible to get through to him because of his stubbornness, even though you needed him to show you his love and care—at least to touch your belly and comfort you.

“How come you would feel that way?” He asked in a mocking tone, “You have your baby boy, right?”

“Can you believe that I don't even experience nausea? The doctor says it's nothing out of the ordinary, but he's not making this pregnancy physically more difficult for me or anything. He's going to be a docile boy.”

You occasionally told him about your baby, even though he didn't want to discuss anything except your personal health.

After a moment of silence, “Good for you,” he simply said. “He will be ready to blow your womb up with kindness when the time comes.”

In an attempt to soothe him and set the tone for this conversation, you added, “Ben, I won't die in childbirth, I promise you. Let's try not to make things more difficult for one another than they already are. It won't be easy, but everything will work out in the end. We must confront our future together as a married couple.”

“I told you to get rid of it, but you made every choice by yourself already, selfishly, and now you want me to act like everything's okay when it's fucking not,” he said angrily.

“Ben,” you puffed, and faintly gently stroked his muscular chest, saying, “You're not even listening, and I'm tired of arguing.” Actions speak louder than words, after all.

His eyes narrowed, and he followed your hand as it slid down his strong chest. Feeling the firmness of his body through his sweatpants, you glanced at him expectantly. All you could do was stare with anxiety as you worried that he would stop you again. But he was, you could say, enjoying himself there.

You moved quickly to go on top of him, and as you dropped the nightgown's hanger, exposing your breasts to his view but not your swollen stomach, you waited anxiously for his response. Although he didn't enjoy being the bottom or letting you ride him, he wasn't going to stop you at that moment. Your skin trembled from the cold, even if the room and his body were warm.

He was watching you with an undreadable face, not even touching you, but you knew he desired you. His shaft under you was proof.

“I’ve missed you a lot,” you said as you started to move on top of him, rubbing your pussy against his hardness.

“I can see that,” he said with a rough voice, and he urged your hips to go faster while his eyes were fixed on your breasts. “Do your best, and I might consider fucking you deep and good.”

As your hormones were kicking you hard in the last few days already, you were lost in pleasure and felt yourself getting wetter each second, and your nipples got hard while you were grinding on his hardness with swift movements.

When you sensed that your climax was approaching, you let out a loud moan. It didn't take you long to lose yourself in pleasure because he didn't touch you soon enough. But just as your lips parted with pleasure, he pushed you away from him and got on top of you. You groaned in protest as you lifted your hips to create friction again, but he stopped you turned you so that you were facing the sheets.

With a quick motion, he tore off your panties, and you could feel him taking out his hardness from his sweatpants. Your stomach wasn't flat, so you tried to move a little to find a more comfortable position, but his powerful hands and massive body prevented you from moving even an inch.

You felt he was stroking himself into your wetness from behind, and he groaned, “Stay still; don't move.” With a forceful motion, he spread your legs, and under his strong hands, your pussy throbbed with eagerness.

You pressed your face against the sheets and moaned desperately. You tried to move your hips a bit, urging him to take you already. You didn’t need him to prepare you at all because your body was already craving his presence.

“Ben, please,” you begged him, trying to face him, but he pushed your head and chest a bit hard against the sheets.

“If you want me to fuck you properly, you’ll do as I say,” he said as he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance and pushed it inside with a rough move.

When he swiftly pushed his shaft inside of yours, you both moaned loudly. Your moan was half in pain because of his roughness and the way he pressed you against the sheets, even though you were wet enough to withstand his hardness.

He placed his bisceps on both sides of your head as he began to rapidly fuck you. He groaned as he fucked you and you felt your pussy already clenching around his cock. You arched your ass up feeling his hot panting on your neck.

You tried to concentrate on the pleasure; you kept your eyes closed, trying not to ruin the moment as he was finally taking you. Even if it hurt to feel your swollen belly pushed hard to the sheets by his heavy waist as he fucked you harder every second, you didn't stop him, tried to endure the pain.

However, as he was moving on top of you, he slammed his massive body into your back even harder, lost in pleasure, and his harsh motions and weight caused you to groan in pain. You shut your eyes, and your hands frantically grasped his wrist. You tried to comfort yourself by holding your belly with your other hand.

He instantly stopped, swearing as he allowed you to take a moment after sensing your discomfort and hearing your agonized gasp. You could feel the pleasure and pain in your legs shivering a little.

“Fuck. Are you alright?” he asked in an anxious tone as he became still within you.

You quickly nodded to him in response, saying, “I am; don't stop. Just try not to press your weight, please,” you said, keeping one hand still on your stomach as you shifted under him a little to allow to catch your breath.

Ben cursed and gazed at your hand, still on your swollen belly, as he came to his senses. As he moved on top of you to a more comfortable and safe position, he apologized in a quiet voice and gave you a firm kiss on the forehead. Your heart warmed with his tenderness for you and you smiled. Maybe you should force him to hurt you a little bit sometimes to make him show his tenderness.

One of his hands stopped on your stomach after he waited a little longer on top of you to give you a moment. Now you were waiting for him on your hands and knees. That was the first moment he touched your belly. Feeling his large, warm hand, you gasped and laid your hand on his as he began to pound into you again, more gently but still rough.

When he shifted a bit and hit your sensitive spot with a rough move, you moaned loadly and your walls clenched tightly around his cock as you orgasmed as soon as he groaned on top of you, saying, “Don’t come yet.”

Your walls continued to clenching around his cock, and he immediately began to spill inside of you as he kept cursing. He filled your pussy with his thick white ropes, and he said, “You can't even fucking listen to me just once, right? I might start to think that you're doing it on purpose to make me crazy, sweetheart.”

He pulled out his cock very carefully when it softened inside you. You felt incredibly satisfied, and bliss came over you because it had been a long time since he took you like this.

He turned you back and gave you a firm kiss on the lips. You couldn’t stop smiling between his warm kisses. You felt your body and hormones finally ease.

“Rather than keep fighting, we should have been doing this, you know,” you murmured, and you put your hands around his back. “These hormones are making me crazy.”

He chuckled softly, gave you another kiss on the forehead, and looked at your swollen belly with an unreadable face.

“I don’t even know how to fucking kill myself if anything happens to you,” he said, looking into your eyes with a pained expression. “I can’t live without you.”

You felt your heart broken under his sincere confession. You knew he was extremely concerned about you, and that was the first time he was this honest with you. Shifting under him and taking his hand, putting it on your belly, you kissed him as you said, “Why do you still have trust issues? I’m more strong than you think. I promise you, Ben. This baby will change everything in a good way. You’ll be the best daddy. You’ll see it.”

You gave him a playful smile as he moved his hand vaguely on your belly.

“Yeah,” he sighed and raised his eyebrows, looking to your body. “Best daddy to threaten an unborn baby with death and murder. What a start, right?”

You chuckled and gave him a quick kiss before you shifted under him and leaned your back to his chest.

“Well,” you said, taking his hand and putting it on your low belly. “It is a start at least.”

You closed your eyes when a sudden tiredness came over your body, and you held his hand tighter.

He pulled you to his body like you would vanish at any moment and murmered, “I’m sorry for everything I have done to you.”

“I am not,” you said with a smile on your face. “Stop overthinking, Ben.”

Ben hardly left the house, and you two began to spend the entire time together. You were worried by Vought's extreme interest in your pregnancy, and you and Ben took steps to ensure that the media was kept informed about what was going on. It was frightening and distressing to think that Vought and other devils looked after your child. That was one of the reasons you needed to endure childbirth and be strong.

You were taken to a special Vought hospital, which was a bit far away from the capital, when you reached the last stage of your pregnancy. His energetic and unpatient kicks started to hurt a lot, but you didn’t tell Ben not to stress him out any further. The energy in his chest was getting out of control lately, and there were times he nearly blew up. So, it was suggested that he not come to the hospital until you delivered the baby. You needed him to be with you so badly, but it was better for him not to see your pain.

Thankfully, Kimiko and Annie were there for you and took care of you. You didn’t want to be alone with those doctors at all. They were Vought’s doctors, after all. The boys made sure Ben didn’t blow up, and they watched over him all the time. Annie told you that Ben wanted to come nearer to the hospital at least, but you knew it wasn’t a good idea, but he kept calling you every hour, checking on you if you were doing okay though it was you that reassured him everything would be alright soon and as though he was the one to deliver a supe baby.

When your water broke in the middle of the night, there was no pain like it. Annie and Kimiko did their best to help the doctors while you were being prepared. You screamed at her not to call Ben.

As you saw the doctors prepare to cut open your stomach, Kimiko held your hands firmly above your head. Ben's theory about the baby blowing up inside of you crossed your mind as you tried to remain composed and control your breathing. You also tried to keep your mind off the pain, but before the doctors could do anything, you felt powerful kicks on your lower abdomen that tore you open and made it clear he was done with patience and wanted to be out as soon as possible. You weren't even slightly helped by anesthesia. Even though you clamped your jaw and closed your eyes so you could ignore the blood all over the bed, you couldn't help but scream.

You heard Annie gasping in shock and saying, “Oh, god. I can’t watch this.”

The knives in the doctor’s hand were everywhere in your stomach while they all tried to calm you down, but your pained screams filled the whole hospital. You felt you were losing your consciousness, even if you did your best to keep your eyes open. All you thought about was Ben at that moment and the whole thing you'd been through together. You didn’t want to prove him right about you being weak. You wished he was there with you so badly that you cried even harder.

“Take him out!” you screamed at the doctors while you were crying, and you fisted your hand till you bled your palms while Kimiko watched everything in terror in her eyes.

You watched in amazement while you saw the baby finally coming out of your stomach, which was ripped open, but you couldn’t stop smiling despite all the pain. His little chest was glowing a bit, but he wasn’t crying. You overcame the worst, you told yourself.

The room was filled with blood, and so was your baby. You wanted to reach for him, but you couldn’t manage to find the energy. You heard Annie, and the doctors were saying stuff, though you didn’t understand what it was about at all. Losing your consciousness, your eyes shut. You needed a long rest.

While doctors did their best to keep you alive for hours, it was already morning. Annie finally found the courage to call Butcher and tell him about your condition. She didn’t know how Ben would respond through the phone and wasn’t even sure if he listened to her completely, so she thought it would be better if Butcher talked to Ben.

“Congratulations, Soldier Daddy Boy,” said Butcher with an anxious voice to Ben as he entered the room. “Annie just told me Y/N delivered the baby last night.”

Butcher gave Hughie an exchange of looks while Ben’s chest started to glow as he shut his eyes.

“How is she?” Ben growled, waiting to hear the worst.

“Hey, calm down,” Billy said, putting a hand on his shoulder. The smoke was already rising from his chest, ready to blow up the whole building. “She’s not dead.”

“I’ll fucking kill you all if you are lying.” Ben pushed Butcher, with a harsh move, to the nearest wall as he tried to calm himself down. He didn’t know how long it would take him to wake up if he blew up right there. All he needed was to see if you were really okay.

Hughie gave Ben an awkward look and murmured, "Congratulations for..." but before he could say anything more, Ben pushed him against the wall next to Butcher and said, “Fuck you.”

Ben looked at the doctors, who were attempting to explain that it would take two or three months for you to fully recover, with a homicidal glare when he realized that you were dead asleep on the bed. But it wouldn’t take long you to get your consciousness back. He wouldn't even consider twice about killing those fuckers in an instant if you didn't need them.

They all told him that you were pretty strong, but it didn’t mean anything to him right there while you were half dead on the bed. His supe ears focused on your weak heartbeat behind the glass. He struggled for hours to stay calm and not explode, but it was getting impossible.

“Hey,” Annie said with an anxious voice while she gave a look to your motionless body on the bed and the look on Ben’s face as he stood without doing anything, lost in thoughts. “Would you like to see your baby? He is pretty cute.”

“Fuck off,” Ben simply said.

Hughie and Butcher approached Annie, and Hughie said, “May I see the baby? I already bought a toy,” with a shy smile on his face.

Annie gave him a warm smile and a nod and led him to the room at the end of the corridor.

At the end of the three weeks, Ben finally relieved himself a bit, seeing that your condition was getting better and your heartbeat wasn’t weak anymore. He refused to see the baby until he was sure you were finally recovering. Butcher and the others didn’t leave Ben alone, since his nerves were pretty sensitive. In addition, he knew Hughie and Kimiko were spending their whole time with the baby in his special room. Though he didn’t see the baby once, he kept asking doctors about his health and everything else. He knew he was doing alright; he was a supe baby after all.

Annie had already left the hospital a few days before. The current state of Vought worsened by Ben's sudden disappearance. The public and media weren't informed. Butcher, Hughie, and Kimiko stayed with him and with you to make sure Ben didn't lose his temper.

Ben sighed and went to visit his son when his supe hearing focused on his small mumbles. Even though it was becoming late, it didn't appear like he was sleeping. He knew you didn't suffer for hours only to see you ignore your own son, since it wasn't his fault for being a supe baby after all.

Ben saw his son watching the spinning toy reach up to his crib when he came into the room. Based on the silly lullaby that came out of it, it was most likely Hughie's present.

The moment his son began to make little noises, Ben's heart warmed. When their gazes connected, he smiled, as though he recognized his dad. He stretched for his arms, his little chest glowing. It's likely that his son sensed the familiar scent of his father.

“Hey there,” Ben murmered, his eyes fixed on his son’s chest, which kept glowing and lightening the dark room. He took him from his cradle carefully. “You’re not going to blow your daddy up, right?”

However, his chest started to return to normal as soon as Ben took him in his arms and gave a kiss to his little forehead.

“You know,” he said with a playful tone as he touched his son’s cheeks. “You are lucky your daddy’s the strongest supe in the world, but you are even more lucky your mommy is pretty strong too.”

Ben chuckled when he saw his son begin to play with the small eagle symbol on his suit and quickly rip it off. “It seems like you're a strong little man. I wonder how I'm going to sew it now.”

Ben took one of the toys from his son’s cradle, and he kept kissing his little forehead while he left the room. “Do you want to see your mom?”

Butcher and Hughie were eating sandwiches in the middle of the corridor, and Butcher smirked when he saw Ben approaching with his son on his chest and a toy in his other hand.

"Well, well, well,” he said, giving Ben a side smile. “Big bad daddy finally remembered he has a son.”

“Call me daddy again when I’m deep in your throat,” Ben murmered as he looked at your sleeping form behind the glass.

“Are you kissing your son with that mouth?” Butcher said while was drinking coke.

Ben simply said, “Fuck you,” as he led his footsteps to your room.

He didn't feel comfortable or at peace at all when he spent weeks keeping watch over your tired body in bed. But at least you were alive and would be well soon enough. Your heart was starting to beat stronger already. Last week, you even opened your eyes twice, but you fell back asleep right away.

Ben's small son's head turned as if he sensed his mother's presence before he moved his body from his chest to yours. Perhaps it was like his dad's scent that drew him in, or his supe senses in general.

He reached his little arms to your body on the bed immediately as he mumled excitedly, but Ben kept him in place.

“Hey,” said Ben, trying to distract him with the toy. “Let your mommy rest, little eagle.”

While Ben tried to calm his son down, his son's small chest started to glow while he still tried to reach his small hands to your body. He was trying to get rid of Ben’s hold. It made Ben a bit nervous for the first time in his life. So that was how people felt about his blowing-up issue when he was about to lose his temper.

“You really want to challenge me?” Ben asked. He chuckled and got closer to your body, letting his hands touch your cheeks. But he held his hands carefully, remembering that his son was a supe who didn’t have any control over his strength. “So be it.”

Feeling soft hands on your face, your eyes started to open again. You didn’t know what day it was or if you were alive or dead. You frowned at your eyes, feeling tired as hell. Your stomach also hurts a lot.

“Ben?” You murmered with a small voice, trying to stay awake and not fall asleep again.

All you heard was him arguing, but you didn’t understand what was going on at all. Then you heard him saying “fuck” and pushing a button beside your bed. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Your eyes met with the most beautiful face you’ve seen in your entire life, and you gathered your whole strength to touch your son’s face as he kept mumbling while his hand was touching your cheek as though he were trying to talk to you. He was worth everything you've been through.

“I am okay, just tired,” you murmered as your eyes watered. “He’s so beautiful. I can’t believe he’s mine.”

“Actually, ours. He is and is also pretty strong. He ripped off my fucking suit,” Ben chuckled as he stilled your son with his big hands, sitting on your bed carefully. “I have missed you so fucking much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you said giving him a smile. “I told you I would survive, right?”

“Yeah,” he said proudly, squeezing hand hand softly. “I’m so fucking glad you were right about everything.”

“Stop swearing, Ben. The first word he’s gonna say will be ‘fuck’ because of you,” you giggled. “Are you kissing our son with that mouth?”

He chuckled and said “I’ll do worse things with that mouth,” as leaned and gave you a firm kiss.

PART 2

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A/N: My idea was to kill the reader from the very beginning, but she convinced me not to do it. I always thought fanfiction and the characters had power over the writers, not vice versa. I guess fanfictions write themselves; maybe we, as writers, create nothing at all. Comments and reblogs are very appreciated! Check my masterlist for other Soldier Boy / Reader stories.

[myeyebagsaredesigner]

Tim and Damian piss Jason enough that the next week Jason is their Literature teacher in the School

HAHAHAHAHSDFSHKSD OMG YES

Tim and Damian may not be close, but they're always willing to team up and mess with Jason. They think it's funny. Jason does not. His frustration has been slowly building throughout the past few weeks until finally, he gets glitter bombed after a rough patrol. Post clean up, post shower, about to get into bed, he opens up his clothes drawer and BOOM. Glitter. He has had enough.

He sends a text to them reading 'I'm done with this. Pray for your fucking lives' and gets to work on coming up with a revenge plan. Beat them up? A classic, but too basic. Screw with their patrol routes? Nah, that would just piss Bruce off, and he's not interested in that right now. He knows a few of Black Mask's goons.. maybe he can use them to mess with them? No.. the last time he used Mask's henchmen for revenge behind his back, he was sent a very strongly worded text message. He had to apologize with freshly baked cookies.

He remembers Tim and Damian talking about a literature project. Something about having to choose a book to read for class work. Apparently, Tim is struggling with his book and Damian hasn't even started his. He can steal the books? Tear out a few pages so they don't get the full story?

Wait.

Wait just a minute.

Jason has a degree in English.

He.. he can use this.

He does end up getting help from Mask's goons (with permission, of course), and suddenly their teacher is nowhere to be found and they're stuck with a substitute. They think it's great. Damian uses that time to draw and Tim brings his switch to school for the week and it's awesome.

On Monday the next week, Tim gets a very bad feeling while walking into school. He asks Damian if he feels weird, and he admits that something feels a bit off. They wander into class and find it completely rearranged. Where there used to be a silly alphabet poster, there is now a Hamlet quote. The bright red curtains were replaced with black. On the desk, two books- are those Tim and Damian's books??- are stacked on top of each other, a skull resting on top. The sub isn't there. In fact, Damian swears he saw them walk into a different classroom.

They sit down at a desk, not their usual one, seeing as the desks were moved from groups to lines, and wait. The bell rings and the door slams open, Jason strutting in. They both sit there in shock as their brother sets his stuff down and writes 'Mr. T' on the board. He turns around and smirks at them before turning to the rest of the class.

Jason: "Hello everyone, you can call me Mr. T. I will be your new English Literature teacher for the year."

Student: "You don't look like a teacher.."

Jason, narrowing his eyes: "And you don't look like you're going to pass my class."

Student:

Jason: "That's what I thought.. everybody up. I'm assigning seats."

He switches everybody around, placing Tim and Damian in the front row on opposite sides. He claims he heard something about a project, and he will be collecting it now, seeing as the due date was that day. Tim and Damian watch as the majority of their class hands in the work in shame and slight fear. Jason calls on them for their work and they have to admit to the class that they didn't do it. They receive ten fat F's.

When Jason begins his teaching year, he uses it to torment his brothers. He makes them read aloud, calls on them to answer questions they don't know, curves the lessons to ones they struggle with, etc. Eventually though, he finds that he actually enjoys teaching. His class seems to like him too. He's a fairly young guy who doesn't try to act like he's all professional, and he teaches the lessons in a way that makes them interested. Tim and Damian hate it, and are the only ones who seem to not like the new teacher.

When he leaves at the end of the year, he receives a bunch of flowers and gifts and cards from his students. He cries.

Years later, the kids will come up to him when they see him on the street. He gets told about what new books they're reading, what they're majoring in, how they're doing. A couple kids tell him that he inspired them to study English Literature, and he feels like he's on top of the world. He gets invited to the wedding of two of his students who he assigned together for group work. He's invited to college graduations. They even have a book club that he occasionally goes to.

Tormenting his brothers is the best

[ppssession]

Mystic Shop: Leather Serum

Dale is a fat young man with a fairly good education and financial status.

But unfortunately, he was not so lucky in love. He likes men, but sadly, Sky, the man he loves, even though he likes men, doesn't like Dale.

Sky is a good guy. He is Dale's good friend. But he doesn't like Dale because Sky likes men who are good looking and have a good body, which is very different from Dale.

Today, Dale chooses to confess his love to Sky, but sadly, Sky rejects him.

Dale: Why, why don't you accept my love?

Sky: Sorry, my friend only thinks of you as a friend and besides, I have a boyfriend.

They talked in a restaurant, Lael's face showed disappointment before turning into resentment.

Dale: Yes, you like men who are handsome and have a good body, which is not me.

Dale leaves, leaving Sky behind. Despite the shouts, Dale ignores them and walks away with a burning anger in his chest.

Two weeks later….

Dale spends this time watching Sky live a normal life through social media. Eventually, he meets Sky's boyfriend through social media as well, which is him. His name is Moon.

Moon is a handsome man with a great body and is also very famous on social media. He has 900,000 followers. It is no wonder that he is the boyfriend of the lovely Sky.

Dale spent a long time thinking about his plan for revenge on Sky. He intended to get revenge on Sky, but he didn't like the violent methods that might land him in jail.

He walked out and thought of various plans to use for revenge until he came near an abandoned building.

He saw a strange red light coming from inside the building, he wondered what it was so he went into the abandoned building to look. After walking for a while, Dale found a mysterious shop in the abandoned building. He looked at the shop sign that was the source of the red light. "Mystic Shop, this shop will help you change." Dale read the name of the shop along with the description below before walking into the shop and met a young man wearing a black robe covering his face. "Hello, customer of destiny.

Dale asked curiously, “The storefront said that this store will help change. Tell me what does that mean?”

The robed man smiled and placed the catalog in front of Dale. “You can understand everything by reading the catalog.” Dale took the catalog and read it, finding it quite interesting.

The catalog clearly categorizes the products, but what is strange is that the categories and items include the following: possession, transformation, body swapping, special pets, and body suits.

All the products have instructions for use. Dale was most interested in the bodysuit section. He asked the clerk, “How can I trust what’s written on it?” Dale asked, suspicious and wary.

Man in robe: I can show you an example.

The robed man picked up a pill box. He swallowed one pill. Suddenly, his face distorted. The shape of his face, the position of his eyes, the shape of his face, all changed into another man. He spoke in a new voice, “How is it, customer?”

Dale was stunned by the sight before him. He was sure that everything on the list was real. Dale chose an item from the list in the bodysuit category.

The customer selected product number 428, body suit serum. The male employee walked to the back of the store and brought a long needle with clear liquid inside.

Inside, a male employee began to explain the product, a bodysuit serum. When she injects it into the body, the body will gradually become thinner, the internal organs will dissolve and merge with the body. The person being injected will gradually lose strength and lose consciousness. Then, the back of the person being injected will gradually open up, when the person being injected becomes a bodysuit ready to be worn.

Dale took the serum in his hand and asked if I could use it on anyone. The clerk quickly replied, “Of course.” Then Lall took out his wallet. I had to pay. Although the serum was quite expensive, he thought it was worth it. After paying, the clerk spoke up, “Customer, the serum you just bought is a temporary body suit type. Its effects will only last for 30 days, so please be careful.” Dale replied, “How can I make it permanent?” The clerk put on a superior face before answering, “It will be completed in a day. You can wait and come back tomorrow to get it for a little more money.

Dale's face darkened with resentment that could not be waited for, he quickly turned around and walked away. At first, he was going to use the serum on Sky to get revenge.

But he accidentally found Moon walking to the gym, he looked at Moon before smiling evilly, he followed Moon to the gym, luck seemed to be on his side, the gym owner was fixing the CCTV and all the staff were busy so no one paid any attention to Dale.

He watched Moon walk towards the changing room. As Moon took off her shirt, Dale locked the changing room door and attacked Moon. The serum was injected into Moon's back.

When Moon felt the attack before he could do anything, his body lost all its strength, his body slowly became thin like a deflated balloon, Moon's body collapsed to the ground, the direct view made Dale feel indescribably good, not long after, Moon's back slowly opened up, revealing a gap for another person to wear Moon's body.

Dale didn't hesitate, he quickly took off all of his clothes. Once he was completely naked, Dale pulled the moon bodysuit up and put it on both legs.

The feeling of Dale's legs going into the bodysuit made Dale feel indescribably good. He was so happy that he couldn't describe it. His penis was slowly hardening. Without delay, Dale slowly pushed his penis into the bodysuit. It felt like someone was using their mouth to masturbate Dale and it was like he was fucking someone.

Dale put both hands into the arms of the bodysuit and used his big hand to guide his part into Moon's head. When Dale's head was inside the bodysuit, the hole in the back slowly closed. When it was closed, the bodysuit fused with Dale's body. Moon's muscles slowly flexed. When the bodysuit was completely put on, Moon's face slowly opened. He was not the same Moon anymore, but a new Moon.

Without delay, Dale surveyed his new body. “Look at this bodysuit. It’s so nice. I’m sure no one would envy a body like this.”

Dale used his phone to text Sky. Dale: I'm sorry for being mean to you, I get it, I'm not your type. Sky replied to Dale's text shortly after. It's okay my friend, I understand you now. Great, now Sky has forgiven Lall and he is ready to go back to Sky in this new body. "This bodysuit will definitely help me a lot," Dale in the moon bodysuit said before packing up all his things and going back home to Sky.

Upon arriving at Sky's house, he warmly welcomed Moon as his lover, not knowing that this was Dale wearing Moon's bodysuit. Dale pretended to be Moon smoothly. He knew all of Sky's preferences and was able to answer all of Sky's questions before they went to bed. Sky slowly started to get closer to Moon, urging Rome to add more atmosphere.

Moon responded quickly, he pushed Sky onto the bed. He slowly climbed up and pressed Moon's thick body against his back, leaving the target of his pants on Sky's buttocks.

“I’ve always wanted it.” Moon slowly pulled down his pants, revealing his normally large penis that was released into the air. It bounced between his hot belly and Sky’s ass. Moon quickly thrust his penis into Sky’s ass without delay. Moans of pleasure filled the room.

Their moans were like a symphony in the air, Sky's asshole squeezing Moon's cock that was thrusting in greedily with every thrust. With each relentless thrust, he climaxed. Moon's cockhead released a thick, hot stream of semen into Sky's asshole. "Very good, baby, take all of my seed in."

After the hot sex, both of them fell asleep for a while before they both woke up at 7 am. Today, Moon's body woke up at 6 am, walked to the bathroom and locked it.

Moon grabbed the toy and managed to rip it open. The bodysuit was pulled down to reveal Dale's fat body. "I need to take a shower.

Moon grabbed his neck and successfully ripped it off. The tight-fitting suit was pulled down, revealing Dale's plump body. "I need to take a shower.

After taking a shower, Ple took Moon's bodysuit and cleaned it before putting it on again. He didn't forget to use his hand to grab his flaccid penis to make it hard before inserting it into Moon's dick. Even though Dale's dick was less than half of Moon's dick, when inserted, the bodysuit combined to make Dale's dick bigger to insert. Dale pulled Moon's head and put it on completely, destroying Lael's fat body, leaving only Moon, a famous person on social media, a handsome young man with an extremely hot body.

After putting on the bodysuit, he noticed Moon's hard cock, so he slowly masturbated. His hand grabbed the hard cock up and down, massaging it lustfully. It didn't take long for him to reach his climax, and his semen splattered all over his body. Moon used his tongue to clean Min. "It tastes so good." Not long after cleaning him again, he came out to get dressed.

Sky, Moon's little husband, woke up to find his handsome husband getting dressed. "Honey, where are you going so early in the morning?" Moon quickly replied, "I'm going to meet my advertising sponsor." Sky didn't suspect much since Moon sometimes has early morning business. Moon said, "If we're done talking, I'll text you, honey." He kissed Sky goodbye before leaving the room.

Dale, wearing Moon's leotard, walks to the Mystic Shop again. This time, he wants a serum that will permanently turn Moon into a leotard.

But Dale is having trouble, he can't access Moon's credit card and account because he doesn't have the code. While waiting for the clerk to bring him the permanent body suit serum, he looks at the catalog and finds a new section that makes him smile. When the clerk arrives with the permanent body suit serum, Moon orders the clerk again, speaking in a triumphant tone, "Take item number 555 (memory reading potion for body suits).

Finished as you know I had some personal problems that made me unable to write. Now everything is getting better and I can write again. Maybe not as often as before but I can definitely write again. Thanks, see you soon. Interesting story (This story is a request from my idol. I tried to put his personality into my work along with his personality. I hope he likes it. Hehe)