#he’s like very pretty very soft looking but | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tinysunshine · 2 days ago

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━━━ ✧˖° 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄’𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍

‎ ‎ [ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.

kinks: protective daryl, reader is extremely girly and feminine, fingering, very light dom/sub, fucking on a motorcycle, daryl sucks his fingers, pet names, oral sex, cum swallowing, slightly rough sex, some dirty talk, true love

warnings and triggers: age difference, reader is a former sex worker, trauma bonding, violence, death, slut shaming, bullying

word count: 13.4k

plot with porn, slight alternate universe.

you’re known as the princess of your group - soft, feminine, a girly girl who doesn’t want to get her hands dirty. despite the cruel new world you’re living in, you still hold on to whatever remnants of beauty you can find, hoping for a better tomorrow.

daryl is the opposite of everything you stand for. he’s hardened, rugged, ruthless - he’ll do whatever it takes to survive. despite your differences, you find yourselves drawn to each other in ways nobody, not even you two, can really understand. you bring softness to his strength, and in daryl you find a friend, a lover, a protector.

he’s everything you find warm and safe in this cold, scary world. you cling to him, and the best part?

daryl clings back.

“Cookies?”

The look Daryl gives you actually makes you crack a smile, and it’s a nice feeling. It’s been a long time since you smiled, now that you think about it - but it’s not like you’re keeping score.

Because if you were - you’d probably be able to count the amount of grins that’ve graced your face in the last eight months on one hand. Life has been brutal to everyone this year.

“I know it sounds weird,” you explain, crossing your legs on the rock you’re sitting on. Daryl’s supposed to be keeping watch of the camp while Rick and a few other men from the group make a run into the neighboring town for supplies. The plan was, because even the smallest things need well thought out plans in this world, that the women and children of the camp would rest, and if Daryl saw any walkers, he’d wake everyone up.

Sort of dumb, in theory, with how fast things happen when walkers are added to the equation, but it’s all this group has got.

Plans and Rick’s hope.

You’re supposed to be resting too, since yesterday was a travel day - long and exhausting. But you can’t sleep. You’ve got a headache, you’re hungry, and your sleeping bag is still a little damp from your water bottle, the plastic gone thin from having been dropped too many times, breaking while you drove from your last destination. Your tent is cold and you’re sharing it with a single woman who has a child, and their crying is really starting to bum you out.

So you decided to join Daryl keeping watch. He’s perched on a little ledge that overlooks the rest of the camp, able to see anything coming or going before anyone on the ground can. You’re not great with a gun, but since the world went to shit, you can handle yourself pretty well.

You want to help protect the camp and everyone in it, especially since you asked Rick to pick up another reusable water bottle for you while he was in town. The look on his face was so priceless it actually made you a little sad.

“Doesn’t just sound weird,” Daryl replies, shifting to get more comfortable on the grassy ground. There’s another rock for him to sit on, but it’s something you’ve noticed about him - Daryl always chooses to sit close to the ground, even if there’s a proper place for him to sit. “It is weird,” he grumbles the last part, busying himself with chucking a rock a few feet away while a squirrel scampers up a tree. He curses under his breath, no doubt pissed at himself for not securing another meal.

You’re distracting him. You should feel bad, but you don’t.

Before walkers and the end of the world as you knew it, you used to be so concerned with manners. Worried about what others thought about you more than you worried about your own well being. You’re not like that anymore. It’s a dark, although funny thought - that it took something as drastic as an apocalypse to finally rid you of your people pleasing habit.

There’s a crunching sound a few yards away that has the both of you tensing up, frozen while you listen for the sound of growling, but it never comes. Daryl visibly relaxes after a minute, which is your cue to start talking again. He just listens, although from the angle you’re sitting at, you swear you see him roll his eyes.

“You ever think about how weird it is, the stuff we miss?” You ask, but you already know he’s not going to reply. Daryl rarely replies, but you know he’s listening. You don’t have any real proof that he is - but what else would he be doing while you chat his ear off? He can stand up for himself, doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do - if he didn’t want you talking to him, he’d tell you to fuck off.

It’s a small victory you hold close to your heart - the fact that he just puts up with you. You continue. “I mean, everyone always says they miss things like hot showers, electricity, or whatever. I do, but I guess it’s not the thing I miss the most. For me, it’s cookies. But not bakery cookies. The kind of cookies you get from the store, the cheap ones. When you flatten the cookie dough yourself, and no matter what, always burn them or undercook them,” as you talk about it, you can taste the ghost of cookies past on your tongue. It waters a little, your mouth, which goes to show you just how hungry you are.

All you eat these days are protein bars and uncooked cans of whatever food the group can find. Sometimes, with your eyes closed and your breath held, you’ll try bits of squirrel or owl or whatever other animal Daryl hunts and shares with the group, but even the thought makes you nauseated. You never knew you’d be able to have preferences when the other choice is starving to death, but the difficult human spirit prevails, you suppose.

Daryl glances at you, and although it’s pretty dark, the moon shines light enough that you can see his expression. You’d expect his face to be mean, aggravated - tired. Listening to a young woman ramble about baking cookies while his body is on high alert to protect an entire fucking camp - but instead, Daryl’s expression is soft. He lets you continue, although his reaction does remind you that you’re also on guard. But aren’t you always?

The gun strapped to your hip and the knife in the pocket of your boot feel extra heavy at the reminder.

You clear your throat, trying to keep your voice low. God forbid a fucking walker kills you or anyone else in this group because you couldn’t shut up about cookies.

“Maybe it’s stupid, you know? I just,” you look down, playing with the zipper on your jacket. Suddenly, you feel really embarrassed. On the spot. Daryl probably thinks you’re a fucking idiot. Your face heats up.

But it’s not just the cookies. You leave out the part where the cookies remind you of your parents. How your mom, when she was alive, used to make them for you after a rough day. That those cookies were the staple of every sleepover you’ve ever had with your best friends. How those cookies were -

“It ain’t,” Daryl’s voice takes you out of your thoughts. You look at him, brows furrowed. You catch his eyes for only a second, before he looks away quickly, pretending to be occupied by something on the dirty ground. “It ain’t stupid,” he finishes.

You wonder that night, after Rick and the others come back to relieve you and Daryl of your duty, while you’re laid up in your sleeping bag that hardly protects you from the cold - what does Daryl miss? Sure, out of everyone in the group, he’s most equipped at living this kind of life. Knows how to hunt, can stomach raw fucking meat, isn’t scared of anything, or so he says. What reminds him of home? What thoughts comfort him?

Surely, whatever those thoughts are, they’re not as dumb as store bought cookie dough.

But what Daryl said stuck with you. Not stupid. You fall asleep, albeit with one eye open, feeling a little less cold.

Because for a moment, Daryl’s understanding?

It made the world feel a little less broken.

────

“Gross,” you mutter, blood slashing on your face. You just shot a walker in the head, and your ears are ringing from the loud noise of the gun. You’ll never get used to firing that thing. How loud it is, the way your hand shakes even minutes after you pull the trigger.

Daryl comes from behind you, and he lets out a laugh. It’s low, short - if you weren’t trained to hear the noise, you’d miss it. Because really - it’s like you’ve literally trained yourself to look for little cues that Daryl is having a good time. Or, since you doubt anyone these days is having a good time, at least that he’s alright. That he’s not annoyed at you for hanging around him or talking to him or irritated at your presence in general.

“Blood on your face grosses you out, but you’ll pick through walker guts for a bottle of nail polish,” he shakes his head, but it's not like he’s judging. In fact, Daryl actually seems a little…fond? He’s teasing you, and normally the reputation you have in this group as a girl that’s afraid to get her hands dirty, too girly to do anything for yourself - it stings.

But not when it comes from Daryl. You can tell he’s teasing, and you roll your eyes playfully.

“Didn’t dig in walker guts for that nail polish,” you remind him, even as he walks past you to lead the way. You glance at his back, the angel wings on his leather vest, and will yourself to stop the heat rushing to your face and the arousal pooling in your belly at how fucking strong he is. Big arms, muscles that look like he should be on the cover of a body building magazine instead of in these creepy woods with a crossbow. You gulp. “There was a little blood in the nail polish section when we did a run the other day. I cleaned it off the bottle I wanted. No biggie.”

Daryl scoffs, and you smile. “Yer crazy, girl,” he replies, and at that you look down at your nails. Baby pink, the same color you always used to choose when you’d get your nails done back at home. You could shiver with pleasure, just from thinking about the feeling of warm water on your hands, someone paying special attention to your cuticles - lotion, that you don't have to share with every other woman at the camp. The polish you’re wearing, painted just two days ago, is chipped and stained red with walker blood, but it’s better than nothing.

Makes you feel a little more human. A little more like a woman. A little more like yourself.

Now, if only you could find some hairspray and a razor.

You’ve been joining Daryl whenever he lets you - or, more truthfully, whenever Rick tells Daryl it’s okay for you to join him. Rick still doesn’t believe that you know what you’re doing, thinks of you as a liability, but you’re determined to prove yourself. You got to go on a run the other day, and today, Daryl went to check out the perimeter of the grassy hill the group is currently camping in, and you volunteered to go with him.

“You sure?” Rick had asked when the plan was originally made, looking at Daryl with squinted eyes. He pretended like you didn’t exist, even as you were standing right next to him. Daryl nodded. “S’okay with me. I’ll look out for her. Bring yer gun,” he told you, and you nodded, skipping after him down the trail.

Around Daryl, and maybe this is why you like him so much - it’s easy to feel like a woman. Easy to feel safe, too. Daryl just knows what he’s doing, and he’s so strong, big, can handle so much. Being around him feels good, but you know it’s all just a farce.

You’re not safe and neither is Daryl, a fact that becomes even clearer when you almost trip on a dead body by a stream you’re both passing on the way back to camp, alerting a walker that was only a few yards away. Daryl was able to kill him with an arrow, but it was a close call.

One minute, laughing and talking. The next, like you’re begging death to open the door after ringing his doorbell a few too many times.

You walk back to camp in silence, walker blood splattered on the both of you. When you get back, it’s nearly dark, and you help a few of the other women finish some laundry and keep an eye on a few restless kids. Life sucks in this world as an adult - but you can’t imagine living like this as a kid. Although, you think, watching them throw dirt at each other and believe the food their mothers are giving them really tastes just like chicken nuggets, maybe being so clueless is for the best.

After dinner, on your way to your tent, you see Rick and Daryl talking. You try to listen in, pretending that you’re just getting your sleeping bag ready for bed, but you don’t hear anything of importance. Meaning, you don’t hear either of them bring up your name. You feel like a highschooler, desperate for friends, eager to belong - hoping your crush notices you.

Because that’s what this is with Daryl, isn’t it? You’ve got a crush on him. Butterflies, wanting his attention, looking for excuses to be around him. It’s pathetic but a little beautiful, you admit - that even in a situation like this, where death surrounds every person, no matter who they are - there’s room in the human spirit for a little love.

A crush, you think again, fixing your nails in your tent. You can almost convince yourself that life isn’t so horrible, just for a minute, until the woman you share your tent with comes in for bed and complains that the smell of the polish is too strong and makes it hard for her to sleep.

Okay, bitch, you say in your head. It’s not like the walker guts and dead bodies beyond our tent smell any better. You bite your tongue and walk out of the tent, making your way to the empty clearing a little ways away from the tents. It’s so quiet, there’s no way you wouldn’t hear a walker if one was to come around you, but you have a knife on you just in case. No gun, since the noise would just draw more to you.

You think these things through. You just wish Rick, and the rest of the group, would see that too.

It’s dark, except for the moon and the stars shining pretty above you. Maybe the little fact you read online years ago about the environment is true - people are the cause of everything bad and all the pollution. A little more than half a year into the apocalypse, and there’s no smog clogging up the skies. It’s a gorgeous night.

You sit with your hands flat on the ground, waiting for your nails to dry. You get a good few minutes of silence, until the noise of footsteps has you nearly jumping out of your boots, reaching for your knife, only to realize that it’s not a walker, but Daryl coming to plop down next to you.

“Gosh, Daryl. You scared me,” you complain, letting out a whine. He doesn’t say anything, just sits next to you on the ground, although he moves so his back is facing your back. Makes sense, so you're both safe from all angles. Daryl always thinks about little things like that.

He’s quiet for long enough that you start to think of something to fill the silence. “Damnit,” you mutter, letting out a huff. “I ruined my nails.”

“Oh, quit it,” Daryl replies. “Whatcha doin’ out here all by yerself? You got a death wish, girl?” You’re mortified that Daryl is scolding you like you’re a kid, like you’re an idiot, and coming from him it just hurts even more.

You’ve always had an even temper, but in this new world, you lose it more often than you used to. It’s probably just the way life is now - the stress, the hunger, the cold and the dirt and the sweat and the lack of anything that used to bring anyone joy. It makes everyone crazy.

“Yeah, well - ‘m sure your buddy Rick hopes a walker gets to me. Know he was talking shit about me earlier.” You sniffle, but you’re not crying yet - it just really hurts, that you feel like such dead weight at this camp. You’ve never really been insecure, but you feel like nobody likes you. Nobody understands you. And yeah, surviving is more important than being miss popular with a group of people in the apocalypse, but everyone’s always talking about this group being family. Does that include you? It doesn’t feel like it these days.

Daryl is silent, as you expected. Normally you don’t mind the company, even if it’s a mute one, but tonight you’re feeling on edge. Until Daryl speaks. “Rick ain’t my friend. No one wants you to die, kid. Yer too much,” he mutters, and then you stand up, aggravated and not wanting to take it out on him.

You begin to walk away when Daryl reaches out and grabs your ankle to stop you. “Daryl,” you warn, as if you’d do anything to retaliate even if he pulled you on the ground with him. But you keep up the hard ass attitude - it feels good, you admit, being difficult for once. You don’t get to be anything but accommodating at camp.

“Rick and I were sayin’ how valuable you are to the group. How much you’ve grown,” he explains, and you roll your eyes, make a show of stomping away, knowing, loving that Daryl is right on your heels. Because there’s no reason for him to stay in that clearing - he’s not on watch tonight. He was only hanging around there for you.

Despite acting like Rick’s comment meant nothing to you, on the inside, as you walk to your tent, you fight a smile. So Rick has noticed your effort. That’s all you wanted, except -

You realize that maybe approval you wanted so badly never needed to come from Rick -

Because the approval from Daryl feels pretty damn good.

────

Daryl fixes you with a look that makes you burst out laughing.

You’ve only been at this spot in the woods for a few weeks, but so far, quality of life among the camp has improved. Almost a year in this new world, and this is the first time anyone’s ever slept with both eyes closed since before people turned into the living dead. There’s a river nearby perfect for fishing, and tonight at the campfire, you had your first taste of - what did Daryl call it?

Sushi.

“Just so you know,” you say, crossing a leg over the other on the little log you’re sitting on. The sun is going down, and the sky is a pretty shade of pink and even a little purple. You wonder if nature has always been this beautiful - you’d always just been too preoccupied to see it. You put a tiny piece of the fish Daryl caught and cooked into your mouth, surprised at the taste. You don’t have to fake your reaction. It’s not bad at all - but you wouldn’t necessarily say it’s good. Tastes better than another can of old spaghetti rings though, that’s for sure.

Still, you can’t help teasing. You finish your original statement. “Sushi tastes much better than this.”

Daryl smiles, just slightly. And not the fake kind of smile he does when he’s just trying to be polite. Like when an elderly man from the group tells a joke no one else laughs at, or when the strap of your last bra broke and you started crying until Rick promised, cheeks red, that he’d look for your size on the next run.

Right now, it seems like Daryl’s actually having a good time.

The thought makes you smile.

“Thank you,” you tell Daryl, and you swear you see him blush. “It's better than sushi, really.”

“Yeah,” Daryl says, nodding. He’s grown uncomfortable with the compliments already. “It’s the best yer gonna get.” Others from the group join you around the campfire, and then Daryl takes off, but not before giving you one last lingering gaze. He has small eyes, you’ve noticed - a little hooded, but so beautiful. He’s incredibly handsome, in a unique way. A pretty, no, beautiful man. His stare burns you, warms you up even with the chill in the air.

It’s only later, when the rest of the group clears off and you and Daryl are alone again, that he speaks. He’s sharpening a knife, leaning on the side of a camper van for support, and you’re at a makeshift sink (bucket) washing the dishes. It was your least favorite chore before this new world, and it’s still your least favorite after.

But, if you let your mind go there - something about the dynamic between Daryl cooking dinner and you cleaning the dishes up has you -

No. You’ve got to stop acting so juvenile.

On one hand, this little crush you have on Daryl is something positive that gets you through the day. Waiting to talk to him, excited to be around him - it shines light on a dark, terrible reality. On the other hand, getting attached to anyone at this camp is a bad idea. You just lost someone else a few days ago.

The reality, that death really is lurking everywhere - that something could happen to you, or Daryl…it makes your palms sweat and your breathing become erratic. The reality of this new world is just so scary and cruel.

You’re done with the dishes and you dry your hands on an old flannel that the camp uses as a dish towel. You feel Daryl watching you, and you like it.

“What are you looking at?” You tease, pushing some hair away from your face. “There a walker behind me or something?

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t look at no walker like that,” he grumbles, but then he must realize what he said - what it really means. You’re so excited you’re almost vibrating, wondering, realizing now - that maybe this crush isn’t one sided. But you still try to play it cool, even as Daryl shakes his head, says, “Wasn’t lookin’ at nuthin.’”

You don’t know what to say to that. You begin to walk away, excited to spend the rest of the night in your tent going over this interaction until you fall asleep, but what Daryl says next stops you in your tracks. You freeze.

“Gotta get you a bra on the nex’ run,” he says, and your knees feel weak. “Those things almos’ poked me in the eye. You cold or sumthin’?’”

You fast walk to your tent, nearly crying from embarrassment - but your entire body is dizzy with excitement. It’s adrenaline, but not the same kind you get when you’re running or kill a walker and make it out alive - a different kind, one you haven’t felt since maybe even before the walkers. It lights you up inside, makes it hard to breathe - and the funniest part?

Daryl has no idea your nipples are hard because you’re aroused - all from watching him sharpen a knife. What can you say? A man who can handle a weapon like that can surely handle…other things.

────

The fire crackles as you sit back, the warmth from the flames doing little to ease the chill in your bones. It’s freezing outside, but you’re under a warm blanket, and if you delude yourself enough you can almost convince yourself that this is just a toasty evening with friends and not a risky fire that could very well lead walkers directly to the camp.

But there’s nothing the group can do - it’s simply too cold to go without a fire tonight. Even Daryl, king of having his arms always showing, is in a jacket tonight. Which sucks, because you really love looking at his arms…but this is survival.

There’s hushed conversation while Rick tells a story, a few pairs to the side chattering, and you feel left out until you notice that Daryl isn’t talking to anyone either. He’s just looking at the ground, then the fire, gaze flickering to you every few minutes.

And you only notice that because your eyes can’t stay off of him. You can’t help it - it’s like you’re always looking for him. There’s something about that man, as dumb as it sounds, that makes him feel like your own security blanket. Even seeing him from across the camp, just a glimpse, can settle your nerves like nothing else.

Suddenly, a voice from next to you tries to get your attention. It’s Derek, a decent looking guy about your age - but he’s pretty useless, as far as skills go. He accompanies the rest of the men for runs into town, can kill a walker if necessary, but he’s selfish and all about himself. Won’t even take watch at night, says it interferes with his sleep. You can’t stand him.

You try to avoid his gaze and pretend to be busy, picking at your cuticles and hoping he leaves you alone, but no such luck.

“Look at you, princess,” he teases, and you cringe so hard you wonder if it’s visible. It’s embarrassing, being referred to like that - so what, that you like the color pink and happen to be attractive? You’re not hurting anyone. The clothes you’re wearing, the pink clips you have to hold your hair back, the floral printed pillow case - those were all things you had before the world went to shit.

You didn’t know the apocalypse had a dress code.

You’re sick of being teased. Of being reduced to this overly feminine character - as if you don’t keep watch just as much as the men. As if you don’t kill walkers when they get close to the camp, while the other women hide. As if you don’t cook, and clean, and -

Derek is still talking.

You sneak a glance across the campfire at Daryl, who holds your gaze for a minute before dropping it. You look back down too, play with your fingers on your lap. You’d go to your tent right now if you weren’t scared about the safety of falling asleep with no one actively on watch.

“So, what’d you all do before this?” Derek asks, leaning forward. He’s asking the group, but he’s looking at you, which means - you’re supposed to go first?

You wonder if this has anything to do with what you told Cindy, someone you used to share a tent with before she found room in another one. There’s not much to do these days when you’re not cooking or cleaning or hunting or moving - lots of time to sit and talk. The apocalypse is so much more boring than you ever anticipated. You shared a lot about your past with her, but surely she wouldn’t gossip about you to the others in the camp?

You thought girl code was still a thing, even in these trying times.

Everyone is silent, waiting for your answer. Even Daryl and Rick seem interested, which makes you feel even worse. You wanted to fit in, not be the center of attention.

You shift uncomfortably, before clearing your throat. You can feel Cindy’s eyes on you, sitting just a few people down. “Nothing special. Just,” you pause and shrug, unsure of what to say. “Whatever I had to. To survive.”

Back then, surviving was all about money, and ever since your parents died when you were a teenager, money is the one thing you never had enough of. One thing you did have though, is your beauty. So you used it, to get the things you needed, and sometimes a little more - but it all boiled down to one thing, just like it does now - to survive.

That’s all life is about, really? Take away the frills, the fun - people just want to stay alive, no matter how rough things get.

So - you had a boyfriend to pay your rent. A man that loved to take you shopping. A lonely guy who paid off your car. You’ve never lived in luxury, but you always made it. Always got by. Had the things you needed and a little bit more. Always -

“Yeah, well, we all knew you were a whore.”

The words leave Derek’s mouth and you’re frozen. Speechless - and that never happens to you. You’re so shocked at what he said that your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and it’s only then that you realize the bottle of hard liquor on his lap.

You glare at Cindy, who quickly gets up and runs to her tent, more scared of you than walkers apparently - good, you think, because she’s such a bitch for talking about you behind your back. You try to be cool about it, to laugh it off like Derek is so wrong it doesn’t even deserve a reaction, but you’re so embarrassed you feel your chest aching.

Has everyone known about your history the entire time you’ve been at camp? You shared those stories with Cindy in the beginning, one of the first nights you arrived, desperate for some comfort. Is that why everyone treats you so differently from the rest? Is that why you’re the black sheep of a fucking camp formed during the apocalypse?

Does Daryl know?

You’re ready to defend yourself, but you don’t get to. Because Daryl is around the fire so fast you don’t even have time to blink, grabbing Derek by the collar of his shirt and pounding his fists into his face.

The sound of knuckles against bone is excruciating, makes you want to hurl - but you don’t tell him to stop. You’re frozen, and anyway, Derek deserves it, doesn’t he?

It’s Rick, and a few other men that pull Daryl off of Derek, who’s sporting an eye so swollen it won’t shut and a busted lip, a cheek that’ll be purple for the next few weeks for sure. “Whore,” he spits, still able to talk, even as someone drags him away. “Man, shut up already,” one of the guys says to him, but nobody eases the sting of what he says.

Daryl wipes sweat from his brow while Rick walks off to talk to Derek, but he can’t get a word in with the shit the other man is spewing. “Fucking whore,” he keeps grumbling. “There’s no money to milk from men anymore, is there? Bet you put out for that fish Dixon caught for you. Did you do the same for that new bra? Or that water bottle Rick brought back for you? Almost died you know, getting that shit for you, maybe you can thank me with,” Rick kicks him in the ribs before he can finish and tells him to shut up in that leader voice of his.

You run off, now that the rest of the group has scattered, but you hear Daryl yell out, “Yeah, man, you should’ve died,” with a string of curse words. “All you fuckin’ people looking’ at her. Yer all whores in your own way. Useless too,” he continues, but you don’t hear it because you get into your tent and zip it up.

Great. All this drama, and now nobody is ever going to fucking like you now. You’ll be the black sheep forever, won’t you? It’s a harsh wake up call, and you’re thankful you’re alone. Your tentmate must’ve taken her daughter out to be with the other kids, away from the rowdiness at the fucking campfire. You sniffle, and climb into your sleeping bag.

A minute later, before you’ve even had time to process what’s happening, Daryl enters the tent. He’s so big, it’s hard for him to fit, but he manages - cursing and crouching in a way that would make you laugh if this wasn’t such a depressing situation.

He sits next to your sleeping bag. Knees bent, arms around his legs. He just sort of watches you. You look anywhere but his face, but you notice his knuckles are bloody red and torn, all because of you.

“Didn’t have to defend me,’ you say, instead of thank you. “I wasn’t a whore, so,” but Daryl cuts you off.

“Don’t matter what you were. He shouldn’t talk to you like that. Little prick deserves his ass kicked anyway. Can’t even shoot straight,” it’s like this moment is as uncomfortable for him as it is for you. You share a look, but you look away first, afraid of the intensity. You’ve never had someone stand up for you before - not like this. What are you supposed to say? What are you supposed to do?

You say nothing at all. A few more minutes go by, with your vision blurry as you stare at Daryl’s knuckles and he stares at the hole that shows the grassy ground in the bottom of your tent. Finally, he sighs, annoyed, and even though you’re not talking you’re still worried he’s going to leave. He’s your teddy bear after all, right? Your security blanket. Maybe you’re selfish - but you don't want him to go.

And he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl adjusts his position so he can reach into his pocket and pull something out. It’s bright pink, satin looking - you wonder if he’s going to hand you a pair of racy panties just to seal the deal that he thinks you’re a slut. A whore.

But is he wrong? The look of the muscles in his arm, at his sheer size - at the smell of him, so masculine and woodsy in this little tent it almost makes you dizzy with want.

After what just happened, how can you be thinking about sex? Maybe you are a slut. A whore. You’ve done things for money before, but -

Daryl hands the piece of pink satin to you. “S’posed to be a ribbon,” he says, shrugging. He’s embarrassed you realize, and it’s cute. “Found it on a toy, er, teddy bear, thought you might like it. If you don’t, I,” but you cut him off, scoot closer to him as you tie it around your wrist.

“Thank you, Daryl,” you say softly, sweetly - and it feels so natural to lean in and press your lips against his cheek. His body is warm, and when you grip his bicep every cell in your body is on fire with desire. He must’ve taken his jacket off after the fight. If it could even be called that, with the way Daryl jumped Derek. Fights are usually a two way street.

Your heart swells, at the fact that he protected you. Thought about you on a run. Saw something and thought of you. Men have bought you things before, of course - but never something personal like this. Never something you didn’t have to ask for beforehand, for nothing in return.

Daryl, he - he gives you feelings so fuzzy and pure in your chest that you almost forget you’re sleeping just a few feet away from a forest of dead bodies.

He doesn’t wipe his cheek when you pull away after the kiss, which is a step in the right direction. You’ve seen Daryl lose his shit over the intimacy of a simple thank you hug with someone else from camp before.

You feel special.

“Was nothin,’” he says, before pausing. He looks at you, then away again, wringing his hands before continuing. “Don’t feel any typa way about doin’ what you had to do to survive, ya hear me? I know what it’s like to do what you hav’to to live, ya know? That fucker. He doesn't have a clue about makin’ it on your own. How tough it can be. Don’ listen to the shit he’s got to say. Don’t listen to none of these people,” he won’t look at you, but you look at him, the side profile of his face so handsome you want to reach out and touch him. But you refrain.

Instead, you squeeze his arm, bicep tan and bulging. You lick your bottom lip. “Daryl,” you interrupt him and he looks at you, gaze on your eyes, then your lips, then to the pretty ribbon tied around your wrist. He visibly swallows, before looking back at your eyes. His eyes are blue, pretty. Too pretty for a man as rugged as him, but what’s the saying?

A person who is good on the inside - their beauty shines through. You think that’s true about Daryl. At this moment, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a man as beautiful as him. You breathe him in, going crazy over his pheromones - his smell. You can feel your body getting aroused at his closeness, and he’s not even doing anything sexual.

“Next time,” you say, teasing tone in your voice, “Can you bring the whole bear?”

────

“Look at us,” you say, trying not to skip beside Daryl. A mood this good feels eerie in this new world, but you can’t help the way you feel.

Daryl asked you to join him for a walk, and ever since that night when he gave you the ribbon in your tent - you’ve been closer than ever. You wear the ribbon around your wrist every single day, except for right now, when you’re wearing it to hold some of your hair back.

You’re not sure what’s going on with you and Daryl, but there’s a freedom about it that fills you with joy. Helps you exhale easier in this crazy, cruel world - because he’s safe, and you like being around him, and he obviously likes you too, right? Or he wouldn’t ask you to go for a walk every single day, wouldn’t pay special attention to you during meals, making sure you’re eating enough -

And he really wouldn’t have kissed you against a tree during his watch last week if he had any bad feelings towards you.

Things at the camp are complicated, because that stunt Derek pulled separated the group. There’s people that hate you, because they’re really mad at Daryl - but nobody can be actually mad at Daryl, since he does so much for the entire group. Catches animals for food, is one of the strongest men besides Rick. You’re not exactly his girl, not even close, but you know that the only reason you haven’t been used as walker bait is because of Daryl’s status at the camp.

When he kissed you, just a few weeks after that night in the tent - it was so much softer than you imagined. Because, yeah - you imagined what it would be like to kiss Daryl Dixon. Ever since you met him, really. He’s so tough, so crass, such a force. It’s always been an opinion of yours, that the toughest people really just need some softness. You wonder now, when he smiles shyly at you as you walk past a stream, if you’re that softness for him these days.

“Look at us, what, girlie?” He asks, and you stifle a giggle, trying to remain serious for the bit of the joke. You brush your hand against his as you walk, wondering when he’ll grab it. Wondering when, if, he’ll ever claim you. But you’re trying not to rush things. It’s easy to get worried about time, when every single day is life and death - but there's something kind of beautiful about just going with the flow of what feels good.

Living in the present, which is literally all you have now. All anyone has. And right now, your goal in the present, is to make Daryl laugh.

“You’ve got your bow,” you say, gesturing to his weapon, “And I’ve got mine.” You flip your hair, showing off the pink, satin ribbon holding your hair away from your face. Daryl chuckles and shakes his head, but it only lasts for a second.

Your face heats, pleased with yourself for making him laugh, and then your breath hitches when he grabs hold of your hand.

“Yer sumthin’ else, girl,” he says fondly, and you walk into an area dense with trees before he nudges you against the trunk of one.

You don’t know what life was like for Daryl before walkers took over the population. You’re not sure if he had a lot, or a little, experience with women before this all happened. In fact, you don’t know a lot about Daryl at all. He’s closed off, he’s a little mean sometimes, too tough for his own good -

But god, the way he kisses.

Hesitant, like he’s scared to take something he didn’t earn. You want to tell him that every single part of you, he has earned. You’ve known him for more time than your longest relationship. You’ve seen each other filthy, desperate, depraved. Covered in blood, covered in guts - starving, dirty, depressed. For a man that hardly talks, Daryl somehow knows you better than any man, maybe even any other person, ever has.

He stood up for you. He tries to take care of you. He’s a good friend, he’s -

When he slips a hand to your hip and drops his crossbow on the ground, squeezes at your skin in a way that’s so possessive it makes your breath hitch, you literally let out a cry. Against your lips, Daryl murmurs, “Quiet, ‘less you wanna have a threesum with a walker.” His tongue tastes like cigarettes, a little bit like the apple juice one of the kids at the camp wanted him to try, because he’s a good sport, even if his resting bitch face might suggest otherwise.

There’s something about him ordering you around that does it for you. You let him take charge of the kiss, but you grab his roaming hand and move it to your breast. He squeezes, but in your new bra, you don’t feel the friction you’re so desperately craving from him rubbing over your nipples. You want more, and you whine, trying not to be greedy but it’s just so damn hard.

Against the tree, Daryl slips a leg between yours, and you shamelessly bend down to try to rub your aching core against it. “Daryl,” you whine, and he laughs, pulling away to look at you, his hair that’s getting longer plastered against his forehead with sweat. Everything about him is overwhelming. His smell, intense, his lips, delicious, his strength and size, so fucking hot you just want to curl up in the pocket of his shirt and stay safe forever.

Because you don’t have a doubt in your mind - Daryl would keep you safe. You wonder, why you wasted your time with finance guys and entrepreneurs and men who’d never gotten their hands dirty, back when life was normal. Daryl, with calloused fingertips and his thick accent, a country boy through and through - he pleases you, makes you happier than anyone you’ve ever met before.

Yeah, even in the apocalypse, you can find the romance. You kiss Daryl deeper.

He moves his hand down from your breast to slip it into your pants, and he lets out a low noise in his throat at the feeling of your wetness already. Just from kissing him. You’re not ashamed - it’s been a long time since anyone touched your pussy like this, a long time since you even touched it yourself. There’s just no time alone, and you share a tent, and -

“Yer soakin,’” Daryl comments, and your entire body flushes with humiliation. But the good kind. You nod. “For you,” you whisper, and he leans his forehead against yours before capturing your lips in his again.

Just as you expected, Darly is good with his fingers. He positions one of your legs over his hip so he has better access to finger you, rough hands, the calloused pads of his thumb dragging over your clit, so swollen after so long without cumming. It’s not going to take long, you know, to completely fucking burst. You want it so bad, to come apart on his fingers, to show him just how good you can be. He’s knuckle deep inside of you while still also putting pressure on your clit when you let out a screech, thankful you opened your eyes in time to see the walker coming from behind Daryl.

You push him off of you until he curses and tries to pick up his crossbow, fingers still slick with your pussy, but you beat him to it. You grab the knife out of your boot, even though your body feels like jelly, and you slam it into the walker’s forehead as hard as you can. You huff and puff, because it takes a lot out of you, and when the walker is on the ground you slam your boot into its face a few too many times until the bottom of your shoe is covered with walker brains.

“He’s dead,” Daryl says behind you. “Don’ waste yer energy.” You roll your eyes, wiping sweat from your face with a bandana you had in your pocket.

“I know. That’s for him ruining my orgasm,” you say out loud, and behind you, Daryl lets out a low whistle. You’re really humiliated now, but what are the chances? A fucking walker trying to eat Daryl while you’re trying to get him to eat you? Some fucking luck.

There’s still blood splattering on your face, and you turn to Daryl, wiping it with your sleeve. “Doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you,” you say sheepishly, unsure of how to read his bland expression. But just because a walker interrupted, doesn’t mean you don’t want to continue your little fingering session. Just in case, shame out the window, you reach for him. Daryl backs away slightly.

“Slow down,” he says, pulling away from you. “Don’ wanna fuck you in the forest,” and you understand, but also - where else can you have sex? Everyone’s always watching each other. When else can you get some time alone?

Daryl looks down at the bulge in his pants, and you reach down and grope him, like some kind of horny harlot. Maybe you are. He watches you, the color of your nails, your tiny hand - and he lets out a groan himself.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he says, leaving you speechless and wet in the middle of the woods. He starts to walk away, but his head is turned to you and his eyes never leave you. You know it’s because he’s making sure you’re safe, watching over you, even with his dick chubbing up in his pants. He tugs his weapon up to rest on his shoulder.

If that’s not a man, you don’t know what is.

“Daryl,” you start to say, following him, about to beg him for something more, but he just throws an arm around your shoulders and tugs you along. You use the opportunity with his hand on your shoulder to tie the ribbon around his wrist, a small mark of your ownership. You wonder what he’ll say about that, if he’ll be mad -

He just squeezes your shoulder. “Not tryna deny you. I want you. Me and the little guy,” he looks down to his cock in his pants, obviously referring to that. “Yer just too pretty to do somethin’ like that in the woods. My tent, tonight?” You know that his tent mate is keeping watch tonight, so you’ll be alone for a good amount of time. Enough time to - you shiver just thinking about it.

You nod eagerly.

“You sure you’re not just disgusted at what I just did?” You phrase it like a joke, gently rubbing your lips on the healing cuts of his knuckles, but you’re serious. Maybe seeing a woman behave greedy, wanting, desperate - violent - maybe it was a huge turn off.

Daryl shakes his head and tugs you closer, presses his lips to the top of your head. “Nah,” he assures, looking back down to the bulge in his pants. It’s even more noticeable than before. He takes the hand he used to finger you and sucks the digits, covered in your slick, into his mouth. The muscles in your cunt clench, at the way his cheekbones look, the level of lust in his eyes aimed at you.

“That was fuckin’ sexy,” he assures, popping his fingers out of his mouth.

────

At dinner that night, which is squirrel - so you settle for half a protein bar and a bruised apple, Rick sits down beside you. You’re eating away from everyone else, because Daryl’s helping someone with something like he always is, but it’s alright because you’re in your own world, thinking about what’s to come later tonight with him.

You’re in a trance, remembering the way he scratched at your scalp fondly when he walked you to your tent and watched you bend down to get inside. “Don’t sprain yer wrist before tonight,” he joked, insinuating you’d be finishing yourself off. He went off with a wink, leaving you reeling - because since when did Daryl Dixon joke around?

You’ve been riding on a high for the rest of the night.

Rick sitting beside you takes you out of your thoughts. You look at him and swallow the bit of stale protein bar you’ve been chewing for probably ten minutes, quirking an eyebrow at him. He’s so serious, it’s annoying.

Don’t get it wrong - you like Rick. Appreciate everything he’s done, does for the camp - he’s just so intense, but he’s handsome in his own right too. Not your normal type, but then again - neither is Daryl. You just don’t understand a man like Rick, and he doesn’t get you. But he’s the best thing this group has, because he has everyone's interest at heart. Even someone like Daryl, well -

He puts himself, and you by extension now, maybe - first. It’s not a bad thing, in fact, you find both sides of the coin admirable in their own way.

“What’s up, Rick?” You finally ask. He looks down to his hands, before nodding behind you, and you turn and look at what he’s referring to - it’s Daryl, looking angrily at Derek, who’s by the fire drunkenly talking shit about everything while people try to calm him down. You sigh.

“You and Daryl,” Rick says, and you’re not sure what to say to that - statement? Accusation? You just nod. “What about us?” You ask, and you really don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not sure why whatever you’re doing with Daryl is any of Rick, or anyone’s, business?

You expect a lecture. Something about needing to earn your keep, to stop distracting him, to make things right with Derek. Instead, Rick just pats you on the back, literally.

“You’re good for him,” he says, before awkwardly walking off when someone calls his name. No doubt for a crisis that could easily be solved without his help. You feel sorta bad for Rick - people are so stressed, so traumatized in this new world, that they don’t want to use their brains at all. They put all their problems, no matter how small, on Rick, and that’s gotta be hard.

You want to call out some sort of acknowledgement for all he does as he walks away, but Daryl begins walking towards you before you get the chance. You’re still looking towards Rick. “You checkin’ the boss out?” Daryl jokes, with something like possessiveness or jealousy in his tone. It burns you in the best way possible - that Daryl might worry about something like that.

What can you say? You’ve always thought a possessive man was hot.

Daryl plops down beside you. You’re sitting on a log, but he’s on the ground. Typical Daryl behavior. He wraps a hand around your ankle - and suddenly you’re very glad you got a chance to shave with the razor you stole from someone’s pile of toiletries after the last run.

“That all yer eatin?’” He asks, referring to the empty wrapper in your hand. You shake your head and show off your sorry apple, but Daryl just shakes his head and scoffs. “Tha’s not enough. You can’t be picky about,” but he stops when he sees the expression on your face.

You’ve talked to him about this before. He didn’t reply, but you know he was listening. Food - it’s the only thing you can be a little picky about. Everything else, you don't have any choice over. Where the camp goes, who you share a tent with. Food and now, this thing with Daryl - that’s all the power you have. Daryl nods, like he gets it but doesn’t like it, and then changes the subject.

“Are you cold?” You ask, and Daryl laughs. As kind as he is to you, you know that he’s uncomfortable when you, or anyone, tries to show any kind of care for him. He nods his chin towards the ratty blanket you’re using. “You gon’ share with me, girlie?” You shake your head, a grin spreading across your face.

“No,” you say, tossing the blanket, the apple, and the wrapper into a duffle bag next to the log you’re sitting on. “Just thought I could warm you up in your tent.” Daryl looks like a deer caught in headlights as he peaks over your shoulder to where the rest of the group is getting ready for bed, his tent mate grabbing a gun before heading to the area where he’ll keep watch while everyone sleeps.

Daryl nods. “Yer dirty,” he grumbles, standing up, but he runs his hands up and down his bare arms like he’s feigning being cold. “C’mon then. You gunna warm me up or what?”

────

The first time Daryl fucked you, he went slow. Took his time, opening you up with his thick fingers, even though you didn’t need the extra time. You were aching, wet - desperate for him to shove his cock inside of you, because you’d been thinking about it for too long. Too much kissing, humping, friction between the two of you - all you wanted, could imagine, was how his cock would feel against your throbbing center.

When he finally thrusted inside of you, stretched you out and began to fuck into you, he didn’t let himself go like you always imagined. Insecurely, you narrowed your eyes, even as your back arched off of his sleeping bag. “When’s the last time?” You asked, referring to the last time he had sex. Daryl just let out a shaky laugh and calmed your fears with a thrust that made your toes curl and a moan escape your lips.

“Long enough, pretty girl,” he assured, all while you huffed in brat and dug your nails into his shoulders. “Jus’ wanna enjoy it. We’ve finally got the time.” And Daryl was right, but really, when is he ever wrong?

The first time you had sex you got to enjoy going slow. But the rest of the times after that - and there’s been a lot now, it’s always a quickie. A rush, because shit hit the fan at your current camp soon after the first night together. The entire group had to move, you lost people to walkers (though not Derek, unfortunately), and now getting off with Daryl only happens in quick spurts whenever you’re alone.

In a way, the drama surrounding the camp has made the two of you closer.

When the entire group has to drive down a walker infested highway, normally you’d be in a camper van with the other women and children, but Daryl has your back.

“You’re ridin’ with me,” he says, shooting Rick a look before anyone can object. As he walks off, he purposely bumps his shoulder into Derek, who scoffs and does the same to you. Daryl doesn’t notice, but Rick does, and he tells Derek off before Daryl can do anything drastic like beat his ass again.

“Hey,” he warns, shoving Derek away from you. “Watch it,” Derek grumbles, glaring at you before hopping into the back of a truck with a few of the other men. “What?” He asks mockingly, because you’re frozen, watching him in a trance while Daryl starts up his bike.

Derek just can’t leave you alone - he picks on you every single chance he gets. “You got Rick standing up for you now too, huh?” He says, shaking his head in disgust. “You let him fuck you too?”

It’s not his words that hurt so much, but it’s the fact that he’s saying them at all. You’ve never done anything to Derek, have only been nice, yet he looks at you like a target and it hurts so bad your eyes threaten to spill tears. Thankfully, Daryl comes for you, and you get on the back of his bike with ease.

“You okay?” He asks, even though it’s hard to hear with the sound of the rumble from the motorcycle. You nod, and press your face into his back. Daryl takes off down the highway, leading the way while Rick follows behind, and you selfishly let yourself doze off against him. You trust Daryl, more than you’ve ever trusted another man - and that’s a lot of pressure.

Trusting anyone these days means you’re putting your life in their hands. It’s exhausting. When you tell the women at camp you’ll watch their kids while they go to the restroom, or go for a walk - essentially what you’re saying is you’ll protect their kids if shit was going south. Even just the thought, being responsible for someone else - it makes your chest heave.

Your arms are tight around Daryl as he drives. You’re not sure how long you’re on the road for when the motorcycle stops, but you know you’re much farther ahead then the rest of the group. In another life, you imagine Daryl happy and free - driving to a city, or another town on a brand new motorcycle. Maybe working in a shop. You feel a pang of sadness, that he’ll never get that.

He deserves so much more than this shit. You all do.

Except maybe Derek.

And Cindy. Fuck that bitch.

Daryl stops the bike and you get off, stretching your legs.

“You good, dolly?” He asks, and you wrinkle your nose at the nickname. You’re pretending not to like it, when in reality, it makes you tingle all over. You nod.

“You go fast,” you say, and he laughs, steps off of the bike and walks to an empty field off to the side of the highway. “‘S the only way to go. Stay here,” he orders, before walking off. He grumbles something about taking a piss and you stifle a laugh, pretending to salute him. You see his hand twitch, like he wants to jokingly flip you off, but he stops himself.

Something about that, that he won’t play rough with you, has your knees feeling wobbly. You feel like you can breathe, without the rest of the group breathing down your back, insulting you, accusing you of doing sexual things just to be treated like a human being. You try not to think about it, because you want to have a decent day and don’t want Derek to be the cause of tears when you’ve been through worse circumstances without crying. It’s hard though.

You walk around the motorcycle, eyes on the ground. You catch a glimpse of your shoelace, pink against the black of your boot, because you used the ribbon for added flair when you gave your shoelace to someone at the camp who needed a belt.

Daryl saw you, and promised you that night with his cock buried deep in your throat, “I’ll get you some more ribbons, pretty girl,” he assured, while you gagged and spit dribbled down your chin. “Too hard to hold your hair back when yer suckin’ me off like a pro.”

That comment should’ve stung, but you know Daryl didn’t mean it like that. In fact, it was so hot that you did your best, until he spilled down your throat and you licked the mess you made off of his cock and balls and thighs.

You’re lost in your thoughts, busy giving your pussy a heartbeat when you notice a little gold, bullet shaped thing on the ground. You’re not sure what it is, but if it is a bullet, you know having extra is always good. You reach down to grab it, only then realizing that it's a lipstick.

You pop open the lid. It’s a pretty pink color, and while it’s used - you can’t even remember the last time you wore makeup. You wipe the top layer off before dabbing some with your finger and putting it on, trying to check yourself out in the mirror of the motorcycle when Daryl comes back.

“The fuck are they?” He asks, zipping his pants up. He’s so, so, so - crass sometimes that it’s endearing. You shrug, and that’s when he notices the lipstick you’re wearing. His eyes are hooded, heavy with tiredness, and it makes him look all the more handsome. “There a makeup store aroun’ here I shud know about?” He teases, and you shake your head and hold up the lipstick tube.

“Found this. How’s it look?” Daryl just nods, looking at you with a strange expression. You’re not sure what he’s thinking, until he tugs you closer to him by the wrist and tentatively presses his lips against yours.

“Don’ care about the gloss,” he comments, and you resist the urge to explain it’s not gloss, it’s lipstick. “But I don’ call you pretty girl for no reason. Always pretty,” he says shyly, and Daryl is a perfect guy, but he never opens up. Hardly ever says how he feels, or what he thinks - but he’s being clear now. That he wants you, verbally, even though his actions in everything he do is always proving that to you.

It’s crazy, the feeling of happiness bubbling in your chest, all thanks to Daryl Dixon. On the fucking highway filled with walkers probably silent in their cars, with flat tires and blood stains and ramsacked belongings, you stand on your tip toes and nudge the toe of your boots against his, grabbing hold of his handsome face and peppering kisses all over. You leave pink lipstick marks, but he doesn’t know that yet - and it makes you giggle.

Putting your mark all over Daryl - you’ve never been possessive, but wow does it feel good. When you finally pull away, Daryl looks at you like you’re crazy. Then he takes a look down the highway to make sure nobody’s coming, before bending you over the front of his motorcycle.

“Grab the handlebars,” he orders, a hand on your back before roughly pulling your pants down your ass. It’s risky, knowing that the rest of the camp could drive up at any minute, but who really cares? They already think so low of you. They already -

Your eyes shut as Daryl shoves his half hard cock inside of you, and your walls clamp down around him, so tight you feel him growing. It happened so fast he wasn’t even fully hard, but now he is, small thrusts so the both of you can get used to the feeling. Your hands are cramping where they grip the bars of his bike, so tight, until it almost starts to tip. Daryl has an idea.

He pulls out, cock in hand with his fucking pants not even pulled all the way down, and he sits himself over his bike like normal. “Take em’ off,” he says, nodding towards your pants, and you obey, stripping them off until it takes too long because of your boots and Daryl just hauls you over to him.

You almost trip as he lifts you onto the bike, bent over the handlebars, eyes on the road, before he slips his cock into you. It’s like you’re sitting on his lap, and he reaches around you, fully supporting your body while rubbing your clit.

“Can you move?” He asks roughly, and you whine, trying to go up and down on his cock but it’s too hard at the angle. Daryl presses a kiss to your head, moves some of your hair back while he takes hold of your hips and ruts you back and forth over his dick. You know he’s strong, but feeling it first hand is something else entirely. It’s like you’re a doll with the way he easily controls your body, dick so thick it feels like he’s stretching your pussy into the perfect mold just for him.

“Don’ worry,” he assures, letting out a breath of pleasure right by your ear. “I got ya. Only time yer quiet ‘s when you got my cock in you, huh?”

He’s not wrong. You wish you could see his face, but this position, your back to his front, is pretty hot too.

It’s only a minute later, when his hand slips while you try to pull your body up to do some of the work, that he nearly pinches your clit and it’s the pain that sends you over the edge. You cum, that easily against him, and you cry out his name just as you both hear the sound of an engine in the distance. Daryl curses, throws his head back at the feel of your tight pussy squeezing him, and quite literally picks you up off his cock and puts you on your feet.

“Knees,” he says quickly, and you obey, because of course you do, even though the gravel of the road is a little painful on your knees. He grabs you by your hair, and forces your mouth onto his cock where he spills his load down your throat. You swallow it down and kitten lick the head of his cock clean after, admiring the pink lipstick marks all over his perfect dick as he quickly zips tucks his dick in his pants and zips up, but not before helping you get your pants back up too.

“If we live another day,” Daryl says, helping you straighten out your pants when the other cars pull up. He snaps the band of your panties, white cotton and floral print, against your skin while the rest of the group gets out of the cars to have a meeting over some bullshit, you’re sure. “I’ll return the favor,” he finishes.

You don’t know if he’s joking or not, but you pull up his arm and cuddle into his side as he stands up, his tongue on your mind even though you just came all over his cock. You wish you could’ve had time to ride your orgasm out, but you’ll take what you can get.

Rick nods to Daryl as he gets out of his truck. He looks between the two of you, and for the first time, maybe ever, - you see him smirk a little.

“‘S your color, man,” he says, closing the car door. Daryl is confused, and takes a look at himself in the rearview mirror of his motorcycle, notices all the kiss marks and another first happens -

Daryl Dixon blushes red.

────

“I wanna come,” you say, resisting the urge to literally stomp your foot as Rick and Daryl and a few other men head out on a run.

It’s not like you actually want to go, but you can’t bear the thought of Daryl leaving without you. You know he can take care of himself, but the thought of him not returning - it literally makes you feel sick. You tug on the sleeves of your sweater while Daryl loads a bag of guns into the back of Rick’s truck, the other men exchanging glances that you know are them hoping Rick puts you in your place.

Ever since people caught on about you and Daryl, they’ve kept their mouths shut in regards to you. Which is good. You’re still ignored, like before - but at least you’ve got a little respect. You cross your arms as Rick and Daryl walk towards you.

“It’s dangerous out there,” Rick says, as if you’re an idiot who’s head has been buried in the sand for the past year. He sighs. “Look - we need you here. This is your role,” he looks like he wants to continue, but Daryl places a hand on his shoulder and gives him a look that Rick knows means let me handle this.

But you already know what Daryl is going to say to you, and you don’t want to fucking hear it. “I want to come, Daryl,” you say, trying not to whine. “I’m good with a gun, and since Derek can’t go,” you lower your voice, but Derek must’ve been slinking around. He pops up next to you, and Daryl tenses.

“You,” Daryl warns, mood gone sour just from Derek’s presence. “Fuck off.”

Derek laughs, but he’s obviously pissed. He can’t go on anymore runs, at least not for a while - he’s too scared, after a walker almost bit him the last time.

It’s only when you tense up, that Daryl realizes the other reason you don’t want to be left alone.

You don’t want to be alone with Derek. Yes, there’s other women at the camp and a few other men, but Derek is a scary, loose cannon. He’s the last person you want to be around right now. Daryl’s jaw locks, and he looks between the two of you, at the way you’re uncomfortable. Someone in Rick’s truck blares the horn, and he turns around, stressed out, not knowing what to do.

“Fuck face,” Daryl grumbles, running a hand down his face. He’s addressing Derek with a glare. He walks closer to him, chest to chest almost, backing Derek almost onto his ass. Derek can pretend to be tough all he wants - but he’s a bitch in comparison to a man like Daryl.

“Stay away from her. Don’t even look at her. If I come back and you so much as,” but Derek smirks. “If,” he emphasizes, until Daryl literally shoves him. Rick calls his name, and Daryl backs off.

You end up dropping whatever you’re saying, hating the position you’re putting Daryl in - like you’re a kid who has to have your way. Daryl is just trying to help the group, he has responsibilities - you don’t need to make his job harder than it is, so you wave him off. “I’ll be fine, Daryl. Just - come back safe.” You kiss his cheek and then he’s off.

You go to your tent to avoid Derek when the men going on the run are gone, but as you walk away you hear him speaking to you. “What’re you doing with that white trash? You might’ve been a whore, but you’re no trailer trash. You wouldn’t be with him if this was any other world.”

You stop in your tracks. “Don’t talk about Daryl like that,” you say softly, but firmly. For all Daryl does for everyone - you can’t believe Derek has the fucking nerve to talk shit. You want to flip him off, but he walks closer to you, and you freeze. You’re more scared of this man than a fucking walker, and your stomach flips with anxiety at his nearness.

“I worked in finance,” he says, like it matters. You actually have to stifle a laugh, confused at why his past matters - he’s so worthless that this is all he has to brag about? He thinks you care? Is he trying to relate to you, by putting Daryl down? He’s an idiot.

You smile sweetly, as if that’s anything to brag about. All the finance guys you knew in the city before all of this - they were horrible people. Of course that’s what Derek used to do.

“Trust me, Derek,” you say, hoping it stings. “I know.”

You walk away again, but just as you do, he grabs you by the arm. You try to pull your arm out of his grasp, but he won’t let you go. He tugs you closer to him, and you wish anyone cared about you enough to help you.

“Let go of me,” you spit, but Derek just shakes his head.

“You’re such a stupid bitch, you know that? Acting too good for any of us, treating all of us like shit. But you put out for fucking Dixon - let all of us hear you letting him fuck you in his tent and the woods. We saw you on your knees that day on the highway. I mean, it’s not a secret you’re a slut, but it’s another thing to see it. And now Rick is defending you? That why you were talking to him the other day for dinner? Offering yourself up for more rations or something? You’re sick,” Derek rants and raves, bruising your arm with his grip.

“Let me go,” you say, trying not to show how scared you are. “Or I’ll fucking scream.”

Derek actually laughs, shaking his head. You’re disturbed to know that he’s been watching you? Following you and Daryl? Because the both of you know - you only ever fooled around with Daryl when nobody could listen and see unless they were trying to. You wouldn’t do that, and neither would Daryl.

“If I’m such a stupid slut, that must make you pretty bad, huh? That I won’t even put out for you,” you hate that you even say those words, like you’d ever consider having sex with this man, but you want to hurt him. To get him to see that he's wrong about you - you want him to leave you alone.

“You fucking bitch,” Derek says, pushing you to the ground.

You let out a cry. You should’ve never told Daryl and Rick you’d be okay, you should’ve -

Suddenly Derek is off of you. You’re frozen for a second, before you hear screaming and someone calling out your name.

You’re in shock as someone helps you up. You know it’s Rick, because you notice his watch. “Damnit,” he curses, and you register the sound of Daryl’s voice. You look around for him, and when you find him, you see Derek on the ground, an arrow in his head.

He’s dead - for now. That fast. Until he turns into a walker.

Daryl walks to you, pulls you into his arms. “What happened?” He asks, and you’re worried he’s going to blame you, because you provoked him, and you stupidly left your weapons in your tent. You’re worried he’s going to think differently of you, that Rick will be mad that Derek is dead, and all these worries start swirling in your head until you can’t be strong anymore. You start crying so loud that you know you’ll be responsible for any walkers coming into camp tonight.

Rick starts to talk, but Daryl, for the first time ever, shuts him down harshly. “No, man. I ain’t sorry. He had it coming,” he says sharply, and Rick just swallows, holds his hands up like he agrees.

“Jus’ was gonna say to finish the job,” and you know he means, kill the fucker before he turns.

But you don't want Daryl to do it.

No, this is a job you can do.

Wordlessly, you pull yourself out of Daryl’s arms and walk towards Derek’s corpse. Everyone at the camp has gathered around now, too little too fucking late, but Rick tries to stop you from getting closer. You smack his hand away, and hold your palm out. It takes a minute, until Daryl finally orders Rick to give you what you want.

Rick hesitantly places a gun in your hand - and you shoot Derek in the head.

────

You’ve never killed someone who hasn’t turned yet. Derek was the first.

What scares you the most, is how little you care.

After what happened, you told Daryl everything that Derek said. You learned that night, from both Rick and Daryl, that the reason Derek was so horrible is because he wanted you - and how scary is that? What if he hurt you in another way once he had you on the ground? You’re lucky Rick forgot his gun and backpack on the run, that they had to turn around and come back to camp - the reason they got to you in time.

Rick assured you that you did the right thing. Which felt good, coming from the moral compass of the group. Everyone else was kind too, apologetic - you guess Derek scared more people into submission than you thought.

But Daryl was just pissed. More angry than you’d ever seen him. Throwing shit, breaking stuff - burning Derek the minute he dragged him a far enough distance from camp. Derek never even got a chance to turn.

Daryl threatened to leave the group with just you. It seemed like a good idea at first, until the reality that two people can’t survive on their own. No matter how resourceful, strong, and brave Daryl is.

But that meant a lot, that Daryl was trying - but the important thing is to survive.

The last few weeks, you’ve kept your head down. You clean, you help cook, you even take a few bites of whatever Daryl cooks because he pretty much forces you to - and because, secretly, you like how proud of you he looks when you try something new.

You just wish the world was different. But Daryl’s been amazing.

Rick’s been kind too. Everyone has, and maybe -

The sound of the zipper on your tent takes you out of your thoughts. You’re braiding your hair since you just washed it, but it’s proving to be a difficult task. You’re thankful for the distraction.

It’s Daryl.

“I already ate,” you tell him, worried that he’s bringing you some rodent that’s badly cooked. But you’re trying to be nice - he’s the only good thing in your world these days, so you soften your words. “Come inside and cuddle.”

Daryl squeezes inside the tent, and he leans on his side by your sleeping bag, just watching you. His head balanced on his hand, propped up on his elbow.

“Have somethin’ for you,” he says, not waiting for you to reply. In his hand is something wrapped in a tissue and you wonder what it is. He places it on your lap, and you look at him, excited but also a little upset.

“I told you to stop risking your life to get me things,” you scold, because everytime Daryl goes on a run, he finds things for you. Ribbons, hair clips, a pink toothbrush the other day. Lip gloss and lipstick (he knows the difference now), a pair of socks with little bows on them that are a size too big but still your favorite. He’s always saying how cute you are, how he thinks about you whenever he sees something pink.

It’s the best compliment ever.

You look to the other end of your sleeping bag, where a teddy bear Daryl found for you on a run a few weeks ago faces you both. It’s missing an eye, has the ribbon, the first gift he ever gave to you tied around its neck, and you love it so much that you sleep with it every night.

It’s definitely seen better days, and you don’t really know where he found it, but it’s so special to you - partly because Daryl gave it to you, and partly because it’s a little part of him that’s always with you. Part teddy bear, part security blanket - just like him.

It’s also a little scraggly. Sort of rough, dirty - but cuddly just the same. Kind of like Daryl. You move it a little closer.

Daryl groans in frustration and you almost roll your eyes at the dramatics. “Hush, lady, y’know I can take care of myself. ‘S nothing,” he nods to the thing on your lap, and you sigh and open the tissue.

It’s a cookie.

Your brows furrow, and you look at Daryl, all confused. “What,” you start, and he shrugs, sitting up. He rubs a hand down his face.

“Remembered what you said, about the cookies,” he’s sheepish, as if this isn’t the sweetest thing in the world. You gulp, trying not to cry at how touched you are, but you can’t help it. Tears brim at your waterline, and you wipe your eyes.

“Oh,” he scolds, letting out a huff. “Don’ cry. I just remembered what you said, is all. It’s probably not good anymore, but you’re my girl, and I want,” you smile even as tears run down your face.

“Your girl,” you hold that close to your heart, and Daryl nods, avoiding eye contact. You don’t care. You throw yourself into his arms.

His hug is warm, strong, and you feel the stress leave your body as he kisses your temple. He was listening, all those times you were talking.

Daryl Dixon, you think, the man that you are.

Your silence must be unexpected. He pulls away, watches your thumb brush over the most likely stale cookie he probably found on a run. You’re not really gonna eat it - but it’s the thought that counts.

“You talked about what ya miss, from before. But when I look back,” pretty blue eyes look at you. He cups your chin, presses his lips against yours.

You make a note to ask for chapstick for the both of you on the next run.

“Don’ cry, c’mon. You’re makin me soft,” he complains, even as he holds you closer. You want tell him that you can’t make him something he already is, but what he says next throws the sass right out of you. “When I look back, before I knew you,” he finishes shyly, “I just miss you, ya know?”

Daryl says that he’s not romantic, but he’s the most romantic man you've ever met. He’s a good person. He’s kind, and thoughtful, and even though he’s vague sometimes, too quiet for his own good - you know what he means.

You can’t believe there was a time you didn’t know - a time you didn’t love - this man. He’s everything to you.

And maybe, yeah - this world is hell. There’s death and decay and too much sadness to catch a break, but there’s one good thing in all of it. One thing so important to the both of you, that gives a little bit of meaning to this shitty, shitty world.

You found each other. You have each other.

You sniffle and nod, holding the cookie close, but Daryl even closer.

“Yeah,” you say, kissing his cheek softly. You feel him relax at your touch. “I’ve always missed you too, Daryl.”

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just1cefor4ll · 3 days ago

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A rare kind of love

Kang Dae-ho x fem!reader

warning. I don’t really know the reason of Dae-ho’s debt so I made something up other then that no warnings

genre. hurt comfort

Shadows stretched across the floor, where the sleeping figures of players shifted in their deep slumber, the tension in the room never ceasing, not even in their sleep. But being next to Dae-ho, keeping watch for the night as everyone else slept was something that brought you a bit of comfort even in these tough circumstances. Dae-ho sat a few feet away, his elbows on his knees, eyes quietly sweeping over the restless forms. You watched him for a moment, his calm and steady presence oddly warm in a place like this. It was strange how much trust you’d built with someone you barely knew—someone you’d met under conditions that could kill you both.

“You know,” you said finally, breaking the silence, “I used to stay up late like this back at home. Not for anything important—mostly just lying in bed, stressing over things I couldn’t fix.” You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Guess that habit didn’t really help me in the long run.”

“I could say the same thing about myself. The marines made me develop insomnia so I never really slept after i got back— but I guess I’ve gotten a bit better with the help of my sisters” He replied, giving you a soft smile which you returned with a hint of curiosity in your eyes. “You have sisters? How many?” “Four. All of them are older and I’m thankful to them for being who I am now.. though I can’t say everyone in my family is proud of how I turned out.” It was like his mask had faltered for a split second, his shoulders slumping and eyes looking like a disappointed child.

You didn’t push further, staying in comfortable silence, only the soft snores os players and shuffling of those who were having nightmares in their beds.

“Sorry uh—“ “[Name] [Last Name]” You cut him off with a smile but make a shh gesture with your pointer finger. “Don’t let the others know my name, only you and Jun-hee are the ones I trust to the fullest with this information.” You wink playfully before letting him go on— his face starstruck as you looked at him with a face no one has ever looked at him with. “Right, [Name]. How’d you end up in here? I mean you seem pretty smart to me so proper education is something you have no doubt.. so?”

You hesitated, wondering if you should even say it. But what was the point of holding back now? It wasn’t like secrets mattered in a place like this. “Debt.. a lot of it. Just like everyone here I made bad choices, bad timing… one thing snowballed into another. And then—” You paused, gesturing vaguely to the room around you. “Well, here I am.” You smile sheepishly, but your once beaming energy did die down a bit. “I was a psychologist.. It payed very well but with my poor choices and actions I lost my job and I fell into the arms of gambling where I lost it all.”

He didn’t interrupt, letting you keep talking.

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “I figured I’d win back just enough to cover everything. I thought, ‘What’s the harm in trying?’” You shook your head. “Turns out, the harm is a mountain of debt and a bunch of very angry people coming after you. Then my mom got sick, and the hospital bills started piling up. Insurance only covered so much, you know? So, I started taking out loans to keep up.” You leaned back against the rail, staring at the ceiling as the memories came rushing back

He didn’t say anything right away, just nodded slowly, his expression was sympathetic and no hint of judgment was evident either which you appreciated.

“I was out of options,” you continued, your voice softer now. “So when this… game showed up, I thought, ‘Why not? I’ve got nothing left to lose.’”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence. Then, Dae-ho spoke, his voice calm but edged with something you couldn’t quite place. “It’s easy to fall into, isn’t it? Debt. Mistakes. Feels like one bad move and your whole life spirals out of control.” “Yeah,” you said, glancing over at him. “Something like that. What about you? How’d you end up in the marines is my first question.. I mean why’d your sisters let their precious brother get into the hands of such a traumatic thing? Respect to you though! I wouldn’t be able to handle it any better than you so I’m very proud of you for serving the country, soldier.” You teased, looking at him with a big smile.

He hesitated, his eyes dropping to the railing, though a slight chuckle did manage to escape his lips from your silly nickname. For a moment, you thought he might brush off the question, but then he let out a soft sigh. “My dad,” he started, his voice quiet. “He wanted a ‘real man’ for a son. Someone strong, someone tough. But I wasn’t what he wanted.” You frowned. “What do you mean?” “Like I’ve mentioned before, I grew up with four older sisters,” he said, a faint, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips. “They were the ones who raised me, really. Taught me how to cook, how to listen, how to be patient. I guess I turned out too… soft for my dad’s taste. He’d look at me and see failure. Said I’d never make it in the real world unless I ‘toughened up.’”

You could hear the bitterness in his voice, even though he tried to hide it.

“So he sent me to the Marines,” Dae-ho continued, his gaze distant. “Said they’d make a man out of me. And I guess they did. But they also…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “They took the parts of me that my sisters had built. Replaced them with someone who could fight. Someone who could kill. And when I got out, I didn’t even know who I was anymore. The marines take your spark.. or at least dim it with all they got.”

“What happened after that?” you asked gently.

He hesitated again, his fingers curling loosely around the railing. “When I got back my sisters were more than happy to see me but they knew I was different. It was a bit awkward at first but they got through to me and got me to go to therapy for a while but bills started piling up. I tried working—construction, private security—but the flashbacks made it impossible to hold a job."

He looked down at his hands, as if trying to remember a time they weren’t shaking. "I kept borrowing money to keep my head above water, but no matter how much I tried, it was never enough. My dad called me weak for struggling. Sisters tried to help, but I couldn’t let them. Too much pride, too much of him in me, I guess."

“I came here,” he said finally, “because it felt like the only thing left. At least here, I could do something. I could try and make my father proud.” For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then you reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “You didn’t deserve any of that,” you said quietly. He looked at you, surprised, and for a moment, the guarded expression fell away. “Maybe not,” he said softly. “But it’s done now. All I can do is try to keep moving forward, survive this place and get my life together.”

You nodded, your grip on his arm tightening slightly. “We’ll figure it out. Together.” You said and squeezed his hand, laying your head on his shoulder. “We’ll get out and open up a small shop.. we can sell whatever we can think of and buy a small house on Hyepjae beach. I’ve always wanted to visit Jeju, haven’t you?” You rambled, completely forgetting the fact how you were just mere strangers a few days ago. He nodded, putting a over your shoulders, holding you close. “I’d love that.. more then anything.”

You looked up at him, and his heart nearly stopped in the process. “For the record, I don’t think you’re weak at all. You’re one of the strongest people here, and considering what you’ve been through in your past, the fact that you’re still such a kind-hearted soul is rare in a place like this. You’re one of a kind, Kang Dae-ho.” You spoke softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before standing up to switch places with Jung-bae and Gi-hun, who were just waking up so you could get some rest.

He could only stare, his cheeks flushed as a quiet chuckle escaped him. Heading toward his own bed, which was a bit farther from yours, he suddenly paused. Kneeling down beside you, he gently brushed your hair behind your ear. “You’re one of a kind too, [Name] [Last Name],” he murmured, his voice soft but full of meaning, your name rolling naturally off his tongue. Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “Sleep well.”

As your eyes fluttered closed, a faint smile curved your lips. “Good night, Dae-ho.”

He lingered for just a moment longer, his gaze lingering on your peaceful expression, before whispering to himself, “How could someone like you exist?” Then, with one last glance, he quietly made his way to bed, his heart still racing.

#⚖️just1cefor4ll #kang dae ho x reader #kang dae ho fluff #kang dae ho #dae ho fluff #dae ho squid game #dae ho x reader #dae ho #player 388 #player 388 x reader #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game fluff #squid game season 2

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acmeangel · 1 day ago

Text

♡ Levi being awkward about his feelings for you and not knowing how to act around you.

♡ SFW, pretty fluffy ♡ Levi x Fem!Reader ♡ One shot, soft Levi ♡ Word count: 2431 ♡ Summary: You work at the orphanage that Levi helped facilitate. You think he doesn't like you -- he definitely doesn't act like it. But it turns out, you couldn't be more wrong.

Levi tends to visit the orphanage now and then, when he can. He doesn't like to make a big show of it -- he just wants to check in on things, make sure everything is running smoothly and that the children are being properly cared for. After all, this is a project that he had helped bring to fruition.

He's pragmatic with his approach to his visits -- he wants to know updates, facts, and problems to which he can find solutions by leveraging his position as Captain. He doesn't interact much with the children, it's not exactly his strong suit. Still, he seems to linger longer than he needs to. He usually just leans against the fence along the perimeter of the grounds, taking in the idyllic scene of children, no longer lost and alone, playing in the field together.

There was no need for him to do this, but he did it anyway. And you had noticed.

But, you could never get a read on Levi, really. The two of you hardly interacted outside of meetings, during which, you'd often feel his eyes burning into you, narrowed and tense. While others in the meetings talked about numbers, resources, and operations, you typically told stories about the children -- their personalities, preferences, funny habits, concerns you had for each of their small, little hearts. It didn't help that you frequently bent the rules, too, finding them too constricting and unnecessary.

This often dragged the meetings out longer than necessary, and you could sense the annoyance emanating off of Levi. He wasn't fond of you and your sentimental musings -- this much you were sure of.

You missed today's meeting, somewhat purposefully, trying to avoid subjecting yourself to Levi's gaze and mutterings.

It's one of the first Spring days that feels truly in bloom, the sun kissing your skin, blossoms dotting the trees, the grass lush and vibrant. So, you sit out in the field and read a storybook to the children, who are either sitting at your feet or laying down, one of them tucked up into your lap.

Some of them had been falling behind in learning to read and write -- it wasn't their fault, and you wanted to help. You show all of them each of the words in the book and help them sound out the letters, guiding them through the story.

After the meeting inside draws to a close, Levi makes his way out into the field as he always does, expecting to see the children running around as they usually are. Instead, he sees you. His posture stiffens as he approaches you, his expression unreadable.

"That's not your job," he comments, a flat statement, as he leans against the fence. He looks down at you, his gaze scrutinizing. "They have teachers."

You tilt your head up to look at him, a soft smile on your face. "I know, but," you look at the children, "they don't mind that, do they?"

The children collectively shake their heads, tiny giggles rising from the group.

Tch. He's officially annoyed.

"Suppose it doesn't matter then, huh?" His voice drips with dry sarcasm. "Just do whatever you want."

The child who is curled into your lap gently tugs on your sleeve, lifting themselves up to whisper into your ear, not very discreetly, "Miss Y/N, why is Captain Levi always so grumpy?"

You catch Levi's frown, subtle as it may be, and the low rumble that comes from the back of his throat.

You laugh, an effortless, melodious sound, your lips curving into a wider smile that reveals your teeth. "I don't know," you whisper to the child with just as much indiscretion, "why don't you ask him?"

The child's face flushes bright pink, nuzzling their head into the fabric of your shirt, too sheepish to talk to Levi themselves. Your hand lifts up to stroke the child's hair.

For a moment so fleeting you can't be sure it actually happened at all, his eyes follow the tender, gentle motion of your fingers stroking the child's hair, before he looks away. Your gaze lingers on his profile, tracing the outline of it, the way his hair blows in the breeze, revealing a clearer look at his eyes than usual.

He shifts his weight as he stands there, just barely, a signal that he's waiting both for this scene to end, and to speak to you, likely about logistics. You get the hint.

"Alright, my sweethearts, why don't you all head inside?" You look at the group of children, nodding your head toward the large farmhouse. "Go on and get cleaned up for dinner, I'm expecting no dirty little hands at the table, hm?"

The children scramble to their feet and begin running off, giggling and mumbling to each other as they do. You rise up, closing the book and tucking it under your arm and brushing off the blades of grass that have stuck to your clothes.

"Come inside for some tea?" You ask, your eyes drifting back to Levi after you watch the children run off, the bubbly sounds of their laughter popping in the air.

He pauses for a beat. The faintest twitch of his lower lip. "Sure, 'ppreciate it."

You grin. "Okay, great." You begin walking. "You usually decline that offer."

You look at him from the corner of your eye. His movements as he walks are precise, economical, his eyes cemented forward.

"So?" The word is terse, even a tinge defensive. "Doesn't mean I hate tea."

You accept his answer; with him, you tend to take what you get. The rest of the walk is silent, apart from the gentle hum of springtime bursting to life around you.

Inside, the kitchen is washed in golden sunlight, specks of dust hovering in the air as if the moment is completely suspended in time. Without a word, Levi takes a seat at the small table by the window, his head turned to look outside as you set the kettle on the stove. You can't help but catch glances at the back of his head, the tilt of his shoulders.

You make two cups of black tea -- both with milk and a drop of honey. This is how everyone you know drinks it, and you can't imagine anyone would have a preference for it plain, bitter.

You settle into the chair next to his, and you hand him the teacup, which he takes from you by the top, your fingers briefly brushing against his in the exchange. His skin is dry, rough. He peers into the cup, his teeth grinding together imperceptibly as he notes the light, creamy color of the tea; he takes a sip and his eyelid flutters, faintly.

Normally, with anyone else, he'd have pushed the cup to the side, his mouth set in a curt line of disapproval at the unnecessary sweetness. But for some reason that he's not quite sure of, with you, he can't. He sips the tea anyway, forces himself to.

"One of the other workers ratted on you." He breaks the silence. He leans back in his chair, slinging one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his knee. "Told me you let those brats sneak into the kitchen at night and take extra food."

"Oh," your teeth clench together, your nose scrunches, embarrassed to be caught. "Well, the thing with that- it's-"

"Why?" He cuts you off, a single word urging you to get to the point. God, you think, he must think I'm a complete idiot.

You inhale deeply. "I think they're just hungry, you know? Their meals aren't always that big, and they're still growing, so..."

"That's not what I'm asking," his gaze bores into yours with an intensity you're not sure he's completely aware of. "I'm asking why you let them do it."

"Oh," you sigh softly, your eyes tracing over the patterns in the wooden table, collecting your thoughts. "It wouldn't feel right to scold them, to dissuade them from wanting something as simple as food. They've never been allowed to want... anything before. I don't want them to feel like they're not supposed to want even the most basic things. I think it would make them feel like... like they don't deserve anything."

"You're not wrong about that." His voice is low, hardly above a whisper, and he turns his head to look out the window. "I'm not going to stop you from letting them do it. I just... wanted to know why."

You see the clouds swirling in his irises for a moment, his jawline tense with thought, with memory, with contemplation.

You look away, feeling as if you're intruding on something private just by looking at him. You lift your teacup and take a long sip, then set it back down.

At the sound of your cup fitting back into its saucer, he's brought back to reality. His gaze narrows, helplessly fixated on the rim of your teacup, on the faded pink lipstick stain you left on it, that somehow blends perfectly into the intricate floral pattern painted onto the cup. A short, barely perceptible puff of air escapes his nose.

He looks at you, again, his eyes catching the sunlight in a way that makes them look silver, but not icy or cold -- like delicate dew drops that form in the gray early morning mist after a rainy night. Rare, and oddly comforting.

He's too busy looking at you to notice you looking at him. His eyes trace over you, as if he's searching for something. Something that he's not sure if he wants to find, but has to -- in the way the light catches your hair and brings secret tones and shades out of it, the softness of your breathing, the lingering redness from the sun that glows on your cheeks, nose, and shoulders.

He doesn't understand it -- you -- how you've remained good, compassionate, free, warm, even hopeful, despite the cruelty and ugliness of the world you both live in. But he wants to understand it, just by looking at you.

"You look..." he begins, the words tumbling out of his mouth tightly, awkwardly, as if by accident.

Your eyes snap to his, widened slightly like an animal caught in the woods, and your hand flies up to your mouth. "What? Is there something on my face?"

Your fingers wipe across your lips preemptively, the apples of your cheeks and the bridge of your nose turn rosy. He watches this motion, and his brows press together, his jaw clamps down. You think he's become actually repelled by you.

"No. Shit. You look," his voice is flat, dry. His hand gestures vaguely, the movement stilted and rigid, as if he's trying to find the word he's looking for in the air, "nice. Now. In the sunlight." He grumbles the last part.

You couldn't help but smile. It was endearing in a way, seeing Levi, who is typically calm and collected, stumble his way through a simple sentence.

"Thank you, Levi." You mean it, genuinely.

"Yeah." He clears his throat. The grip of his fingers flex slightly, tightening their hold around the rim of his tea cup.

"I always thought I bothered you." Your head tilts to the side, your hair flowing with the movement. A glint of amusement, teasing shines in your eyes.

"You do bother me," he breathes out, firmly, his eyes darting to the side. "Just not in the way you think."

Oh.

"I see..." The words come out of your mouth in a single breath, your heart catching in your throat, preventing you from saying anything more.

He looks at you. The tension in his jaw releases, his lips relax, parting ever so slightly.

"Is that alri-"

"Yes." You cut him off before he can even finish the thought, before he can question this fragile moment and retreat back inside himself.

He nods, strands of his hair swaying in front of his eyes. Your hand, drawn to him by an invisible force, reaches up to his forehead. You hover, hesitantly, before pushing the hair away from his eyes, slowly, your touch feather-light.

Instantly, instinctively, he turns his head away, pulling away from your touch partially. His top lip tugs upward, a movement of subdued discomfort, uncertainty. Your hand slides down to his chin, gently coaxing him back toward you, and he allows it.

"Sorry." He mutters. "I don't..." The rest of the sentence evades him. But you know where it was going. He doesn't do this. He doesn't know how.

You nod, your expression melting into one of understanding. Your eyes glide around his face, your fingers returning to his hair, pushing away the curtain that his eyes often hide behind.

"What are you doing?" He's not defensive -- he's genuinely curious.

"I want to see your eyes better." You tilt your head as you look at him, your eyes meeting his, looking into them for what feels like the first time, with a clarity and honesty that feels palpable. He lets you.

Your lips curl up into a perfect curve, and his eyes shift down to them immediately. His expression doesn't waver, but his dilating pupils reveal his hand.

You begin to lean in, little by little, as if testing how far he'll let this go, what he truly wants. His eyes meet yours again with a softness, a vulnerable longing that grants you permission. Finally, you close the space between the two of you, your lips lightly brushing against his. You feel a small breath escape from his lips, melting against yours.

His head tilts and he leans in further, his lips molding against yours with a whispered intensity. A soft sound rises in the back of his throat, as his hand finds its way to the back of your head, his fingers tangling into your hair. His tongue presses against your lips, realizing he's enjoying the taste of something sweet for the first time.

He tugs your hair, not forcefully, just enough to pull you back so he can look into your eyes; you can see the thoughts reeling through his head as his eyes shift between the two of yours.

"Y/N," his voice dips into a rare tenderness, "you bother me. A lot."

You're not sure if you're imagining it, but you think you even see the smallest upturn to his lips.

"Then I suppose I'll have to keep bothering you," you match his tone, your words wrapping around him with a warmth he's never felt before.

He makes a hm sound of approval. He nods. He smiles -- you're sure of it this time.

Masterlist

Requests are OPEN!

#☆.levi.oneshot #☆.acmeangel.writes #levi ackerman #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman fic #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman one shot #levi one shot #levi fic #levi fanfic #levi x y/n #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman x you #levi fluff #levi ackerman fluff

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revelboo · 2 days ago

Note

I come to you again for more jazz. I'm on a brainrot over this story and others. Started reading the rest of the characters waiting for more Optimus prime, Jazz, Ironhide, and wheeljack content.

I even pre-order Jazz from bigbadtoystore 🥹

Saw him and immediately pre-ordered, love him.

Ps: Enjoy my small Autobot collection

Sure! Cute collection! 18+ Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Over It Now Pt 21

Jazz x Reader

• Mouth sliding against yours, there’s an urgency in the brush of his servos against bare skin. In the way he’s rocking himself against you, teasing you both because he’s right there, but not where you need him. Reaching up, one hand slides against the mesh of his neck, the other grips his upper arm, trying to find some leverage. Feeling him vent warm air when he breaks away from the kiss to stare down at you. Fingers running up to his cheek, a thumb brushing the bottom edge of his visor, hating that you can barely see his optics through it. And then he’s shifting over you, sinking deep as his head turns to slide his glossa against your hand, his lips parting on a rough groan.

• Cupping the back of your head, he presses his helm to your forehead. Waiting on you to open those lovely eyes and when you do he begins to move against you, loving the way you feel gripping his spike, so slick and soft. Incredibly tight like you’re made just to sheath him. “You let me have it all, kitten?” He growls, hips pumping faster. “Give me everything?” Lost in the feel of you, he knows he shouldn’t ask. Spark bonds are taboo, but he wonders what it would feel like to bond himself to you that way. To lose himself so thoroughly in you that he can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

• Head thrown back as he hooks your legs over his arms so your hips are up, so you can feel every ridge and bump of his spike when he thrusts deep. “Please! Right there!” Toes curling, you’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything as long as he doesn’t stop moving like that. “Jazz, please.” And his optics are bright behind his visor as he ruts against you, because this angle feels too good, almost too much.

• Hips pumping, he stares down at your flushed face, your parted lips. Alien, but so pretty to him now. “You let me spark you, doll?” He asks, voice strained. Knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to stop himself either. Doesn’t even know if he can bond you let alone spark you. That maybe you’re just too different to work that way. “Would you?” Your back arches, lips parting on a cry as you come apart under him, feels your wet heat fisting his spike. Demanding he fill you. Hips snapping against yours, he tries to make it last, to drag it out, but too soon he’s driving deep. Hips rocking shallowly as his spike pulses with his release.

• Trembling as he leans over you, the position he has you in pushing your legs up higher until you’re whimpering at the feel of his spike still buried inside you. Too much. “Jazz,” you whimper breathlessly, feeling him rock himself against you like he can’t help himself. What had he asked you? Something about sparking? “You want to spark me?” You ask, squirming to try and get so you’re not pinned so tight. While the position isn’t painful, it’s hard to breathe and you’re very aware of the way his spike is filling and stretching you. And he shudders against you at the question, feel him releasing inside you again like he hasn’t just filled you. His lips parting on a rough groan and you love how he looks, almost feral and unguarded. No lies between you. No masks.

#transformers x reader #jazz x reader #tf jazz

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dollzites · 1 day ago

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⏦ﾟ♡︎ SEUNGHYUN (T.O.P) AS YOUR HUSBAND

୨ৎ pairing: husband!seunghyun x fem reader

୨ৎ genre: fluff! with mild sex talk

୨ৎ from myeong: hi!!! super duper excited to take this request since he’s been my love since I was a very young girl! have always looked up to him and I’m so happy to be writing for him!! and he’s back?! wooo!! please enjoy this! x

he’s going to be a very caring, attentive, and thoughtful husband. I don’t care what anyone else says about him, he’s going to be the bestest husband and do all that he can to make you happy.

is he perfect? nope. not even close to it and no one is perfect but what he does is try and he shows you that he cares and cares enough to work hard to keep the relationship as healthy as it can be.

sometimes isn’t clingy because he wants you to be the one to break first. he definitely enjoys watching you run to him for a hug, kiss, or something else.

shy!!!! he’s not shy all the time and likes to be the dominant one in the relationship of course and in a very non toxic way but when he does feel shy it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen a man do.

“what? you think this suit looks good on me? oh.. it’s what they told me to wear and honestly I wasn’t sure if it was too much.. but since you like it—”

he won’t finish because he’s looking down at the ground cheeks slightly pink from feeling a bit shy and embarrassed by how you keep staring at him and complimenting him. sounds weird for him hm? well! you’re just that special girl to him. I mean come on he married you!! he’s a different man now.

is very overly protective over you. will do all that he can to protect you and your relationship. since you are now a married couple he takes it to another level of wanting you and him protected as a couple.

“would you like to try this new dish with me? I can make it! or.. maybe.. we can cook it together?”

please cook with him because he secretly loves it and falls more in love with you watching how you cut up vegetables and the look on your pretty face when you’re concentrated and working. so cute

seunghyun is very obsessed with morning sex especially now as a married couple he just feels it’s needed and if you both don’t have time in the morning then expect before bedtime sex.

he loves trying new things with you. when he first brought up pulling hair.. it wasn’t yours. it was his. you pulled on his soft black locks and he felt this spark inside of him that he’s never felt before.

if it was a long night of sex he purposely gets up before you and makes you breakfast but not in bed since he’ll kindly drag you out of bed and have you sit at the table with him but you always end up sitting in his lap which he enjoys more of course.

“you’re such a pretty girl did you know that?”

“I.. love you a lot. thank you for loving me despite everything that I’ve been through. thank you.”

he’s a cautious husband and never wants you to feel hurt or anything close to that. he’ll do all that he can to make sure you’re happy, comfortable, and safe. he’s careful with his words especially when you two get into small arguments. he’s learned from the past on what not to do.

seunghyun is very emotional and he’s not afraid to show that with you. when he was younger it was a different story but he’s older now and has been through things that has shown him it’s okay to show such emotions. he trusts you as his wife and always cries in your arms if he desperately needs it.

expect movie nights with him!! which end in not watching the movie at all and just talking to each other about the weirdest topics or space of course.

will take so many pictures of you posing next to the moon specially the full moon since it’s his favorite! he finds it beautiful just like you. cries

nights in are his favorite but if you want to go out then he’ll do that for you. he’ll enjoy going on walks with you while eating ice cream his most favorite sweets. his free hand will hold yours tightly.

craves you in every way possible. he’ll need to kiss you often and stroke your hair or pull you closer to him and his larger frame. he enjoys how much shorter you are and constantly brings it up.

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he3ts · 2 days ago

Text

JUST A GAME

squid game / masterlist

pairings: nam gyu x reader

warnings: sex, drugs, unprotected sex, sub nam gyu, manipulation, sex under the influence of drugs, alcohol, toxic relationship, toxic nam gyu. +18

Nam Gyu tossed and turned in bed a thousand times, with a thousand thoughts in his head, your image was the only thing he could see clearly that morning. You were wrapped in the blankets like a bundle, your hair spread on the pillow, and your hands in front of your face. You were finally at peace, looking happy only when you were sleeping peacefully. He breathed hard, turning toward your sleeping figure, grabbed your helpless hand only to join it with his own. How long would that game last? Out and stay. Out and stay. For a thousand times, a thousand encounters, yet to him you still remained an enigma.

You promised yourself that you would be good this time, that the distance from him would be manageable, but it was always like that, it happened a lot. You were always too stoned, drunk and needy to stop. Only in the end you had managed to feel far too much affection for him. He, on the other hand, sought you out only when it was most convenient for him. No one could hurt you more than him. No one could heal you, you said, but the love you felt for him was alive. It burned. And it hurt. All his broken promises just to have you one more night in his bed, what were you after all that time?

Friends? No, friends don't touch each other like that, don't confuse your thoughts, don't kiss until your breath is completely gone. You are not friends. But to him you are like nothing. One in billions. But he wanted you, no woman he saw at the Pentagon gave him the same effect. You were not friends. You were nothing. He was just very good at breaking promises, looking for you when he needed you, or when he promised you at night that he would come back to you, but he didn't come back at all.

He wanted you. But not the way you wanted him. You coveted him as a lover, he used you to vent when everything was too complicated to digest. That morning you looked radiant to him, he had never seen you so serene, in truth, a warm smile carved your cheeks into pretty dimples, your cheeks flushed and your hair messed up. You had not spoken; you had simply looked at him, shifting your eyes to your entwined hands. It all seemed so intimate, so simple, that you almost missed your pulse.

Waking up like that, every morning, was all you aspired to. His black eyes seemed to read your soul too easily, all your weaknesses, all your love you felt for him. He stroked your hair gently, moving an unruly lock away from your face. You remembered little of the other night, everything so blurry and unfocused, Nam Gyu's breath on your neck as you sat on his lap, his arm holding you tightly, possessively, as he made you feel his erection against your bottom in plain sight thanks to the short skirt.

Remember how he had grabbed you by the hips as he put a blue pill in his mouth, remember how he had kissed you by sliding it into your mouth, a hundred times with the kiss deepening and the pill melting under your tongues. He had touched you as always, but now there was the drug consuming you, your body split in half. You could remember nothing but his appearance shrouded in a cloud of smoke.

"I want you."

Then the emptiness. Just him, his room, his hair clinging to your neck and your skin burning. You were lying on the bed, as if paralyzed, as he crushed his head against the pillow rolling the joint. You were twisted in on yourself, his boxers on and his loose shirt traveling straight. He had run his tongue over the edge of the rod a couple of times, then passed it to you. His lips soft and plump. Irresistible. No matter how hard you tried, the feel of his lips on your neck was hard to erase.

You were both drugged, locked in those four walls, your eyes foggy from that joint you had just smoked.

"What's the matter, bunny, can't you do it?"

"Think for yourself," you had whispered before straddling him. Everything was wonderful. Too much so. You still had his cologne on you as you trembled with immense pleasure under him and felt a range of otherworldly sensations inside your body. He kept up the pace so that you came for the thousandth time that same evening. You trembled around him as you moaned into his mouth.

You were not lucid. But it happened a lot. He was so good at using you.

His brown eyes were exhausted, hiding a proud smile, as if he was happy to give himself to you. He didn't want to waste time. But he liked hurting you so much.

You had cried that night because of him.

"Oh, fuck," was your moan as your intimacies collided, and you continued to tighten around him. Aware of your closeness, of his excessive fatigue and your desire to have a little more fun. He had touched the end of your neck several times as you played with his hair and sniffed it like a drug addict. You had whispered his name against his ear, looking at him just below his long, thick lashes.

"You're driving me crazy, you fucking bunny," his voice grew lower and lower, but he didn't want to scare you. Your legs trembled so overwhelmingly that you leaned them against his hips to draw him more to your body. He had paused briefly, playing with the strands of your hair as if to soothe you.

You were so close. So close. It was heaven.

When the storm of your orgasm began to fade, only a gracious smile was born on your face. Finally he was there, again, to hurt you.

You used to remember. But you still remembered too little. For after this he had fallen onto your body and then rolled onto his side. He looked so beautiful when he was asleep, so at peace, you had barely sighed before resting your lips on his in his drowsiness.

"What are you doing?" he gasped into the gentle kiss you had granted him.

"I'm kissing you"

"Why do you persist in loving me?" maybe it was the pill, or maybe he really was the main problem. He turned his back to you too quickly, you were still shaken, your thighs shaking and the smile that had now faded from your face.

You don't want to remember. Now. Nam Gyu got out of bed without making a sound, leaving you there, wrapped in the sheets soaked in his scent, your skin still warm from the marks he had left on you. The mattress sagged slightly as he moved away, and for a moment you had felt the emptiness at your side, as if it had only been an illusion, a blurry dream amid alcohol, smoke, and stifled moans.

You reached out a hand into the darkness, seeking the warmth of his body. Finding only the cold of rumpled sheets. Your heart clenched in your chest. He had left you once again. And you, once again, had believed he could be different.

You had stood staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the burning inside you. Each time it was the same thing. He would take you, consume you, and then pull away, as if it had been just another meaningless night. But when he used you like that, he made you feel loved. Cursedly loved.

You had pulled yourself up with difficulty, your legs still soft, your head turning slightly. His shirt slid wide over your bare shoulders, the fabric impregnated with his scent. You ran a hand through your shaggy hair, trying to tidy your thoughts, but it was no use. The night blurred in your mind like a vortex of pleasure and regret.

You could hear him, he was in the kitchen, the sound of the gas on, the clink of a spoon against the cup. The scent of coffee wafted through the air, familiar and painful. You had dragged yourself out of the room, barefoot on the cold floor, then leaned against the doorframe.

He was there, his hair still tousled, his chest bare, his boxers pulled down slightly on his hips. He was pouring his coffee with his usual calmness, his shoulders tense, his gaze not even dignifying you with a glance. As if you had never existed. As if he had not spent the night inside you, whispering against your skin things that now seemed to have evaporated into the air.

You wet your dry lips before speaking.

"Are you leaving without saying anything?" Your voice was scratchy, hoarse, still marked by the night.

Nam Gyu had not looked up, bringing the cup to his lips, blowing softly. "What good would it do to say anything?"

Your stomach clenched. Always like this. Always fucking like this. You had moved closer, crossing your arms over your chest. "So what? Are you again the usual asshole who fucks and then pretends nothing happened?"

He finally looked at you. His eyes were cold, inscrutable. "I never promised you anything"

You knew. But hearing him say it like that still broke you.

"That's strange, because last night it seemed like you were doing something else entirely"

He laughed softly, bitterly. "Last night we were high. It's different"

You had paused, for your own sake, feeling your hands clench into fists along your sides. "No, it's not different, Nam Gyu. Not for me"

He stiffened, his fingers drumming against the cup. "Then whose fault is it?"

You were out of breath, for a second, no longer knowing how to breathe. "Mine?"

He shrugged, taking another sip of coffee. "You're still here, aren't you?"

That sentence had been the straw. You had reached out, grabbing his arm to force him to really look at you. "And why are you always looking for me? Why can't you let me go!"

The cup slammed against the piano with a dull sound. His eyes were dark, his jaw clenched, his hair messed up, "I don't want to let you go. But I don't want what you want either"

Your hands were shaking. "Then what the fuck do you want from me, Nam Gyu?"

Silence.

A heavy silence, laden with everything you never said.

Then he flinched, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and lit one. He took a long drag, exhaled the smoke without looking at you.

"I don't know"

You felt you lacked air, your throat tightened in a vice. He was always like that. Always hovering between yes and no, between desire and rejection. You couldn't take it anymore. "You're a coward," you had breathed out, your voice trembling with anger and pain.

He laughed, a sound devoid of joy. "Maybe"

You had shifted out of the way, grabbing the still-warm cup and throwing it against the wall. The sound of shattering pottery filled the air. Nam Gyu did not move, did not even flinch.

"Tell me you don't want me anymore and I'll leave," you were challenging him, your eyes glazed over, your breath broken. He turned toward you, cigarette smoke enveloping his face, his gaze steady. "I can't"

You felt yourself breaking down.

It was a vicious cycle. An endless game.

You had dropped into the chair, your head in your hands. "Then you're an even worse bastard than I thought"

Nam Gyu put out his cigarette in the sink, then ran a hand through his hair. "I know, bunny"

You bit your lip hard, trying to hold back the frustration that exploded in your chest like a hurricane. He was there, standing in front of you, with that air of someone who won't let anything get to him, someone who is in control of everything, even you. And that was driving you crazy.

"If you know that, why do you keep doing this to me?" your voice cracked, but you didn't want to cry. Not in front of him.

Nam Gyu huffed, ran a hand through his shaggy hair, and shook his head. "I'm not doing anything to you"

"You're not doing anything to me?!" you had exploded, and with you your anger, your hands moving instinctively against his bare chest, pushing him hard. "You want me. You seek me out. You destroy me. And then you pretend not to. If that's not doing something to me, then tell me what the fuck it is!"

He barely staggered, but did not move. He looked down at you, his lips pressed into a thin line, his dark eyes burning with emotions he did not want to admit.

"I can't give you what you want." Another stab. You felt yourself sinking.

"Then let me go," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "If you can't give me what I want, let me go"

Nam Gyu had remained silent, his breathing barely heavier. He wasn't going to do that. You knew. He never would.

You stared at him, anger mixing with the pain, the nights spent longing for him, the mornings like that when you were left with emptiness between the sheets and a broken heart. And he was still fucking there, without an answer, without an ounce of shame.

"Tell me you don't care about me. Look me in the eye and tell me"

He didn't. He never did.

On the contrary, he had taken a step toward you, his chest brushing against yours, his warmth enveloping you like a flame too close. "You don't understand," he whispered, his voice low, scratchy, charged with something he didn't want to say out loud.

You burst out laughing, a bitter, desperate laugh. "I don't understand?! I love you, Nam Gyu! l-"

Not let you finish.

His hands tightened around your face and his mouth crashed against yours violently. A brutal, hungry kiss, filled with anger and frustration. It was not sweet, it was not gentle. It was a confrontation, a desperate need.

You clung to his shoulders, nails sinking into warm skin as he pushed you back, not breaking the kiss, not giving you time to think. He grabbed you by the hips with the strength of someone who did not want to let you go, and you hated him for it. You hated the way his body stuck to yours, the way his tongue explored your mouth as if it were his own.

You crashed against the couch as he pushed himself down unceremoniously, pulling your body to sit astride him.

"Nam Gyu-" kiss, "Please." kiss.

"That's not enough, baby. Let me hear your voice," he lowered his lips to the level of your sensitive ear; he was a very good actor, becoming dominant just to manipulate you and get whatever he wanted. He had lightly bitten your ear after saying this, as you tried to hide your beautiful face even more, ending up in the crook of his neck.

"I need you," an almost inaudible whisper was heard in the room, muffled further by the proximity of your lips on his neck. He felt your panties getting wetter by the minute.

"Where?" He continued with that torture, he wanted to rip the words out of your mouth, he had no intention of stopping, common sense had overwhelmed reason. You had to talk, with him, express your desires.

"Inside me" you had put even more force on his grip, moving your face to look at his lips voraciously, but he had no intention of kissing you now. He wanted to do it gently, the one he so lacked. At his words one of your hands slid to his boxers.

Your bodies intertwined in the darkness of the room, skin against skin, heat against heat, with no more room for modesty or control. It was a perverse game, a visceral need that renewed itself every time your hands found each other, your lips colliding in kisses too greedy to be sweet.

Your clothes were already strewn on the floor, as forgotten as the promises you had never made to each other. His fingers traced paths over your skin, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you, as your breath broke against his neck. His muscles tensed under your hands, his chest rising and falling heavily as desire grew between you, insatiable, inevitable.

He held you against him, making you shudder as his throbbing member brushed against your opening, teasing you with slow, studied movements, as if he wanted to hear you beg. And you, damn it, were already there, ready to give in, ready to let him destroy you once more.

"May I?" you had asked, looking deeply into his eyes, a mixture similar to bitter coffee. You were looking for a signal from him. He felt his belly explode from the sensation, his head thrown back as you touched his light abs to his navel. He penetrated you very slowly, forced to suppress a moan, biting his lower lip fiercely. You both gasped as he entered you completely.

"Bunny" grabbed your hips, throwing your head between the pillows as you began to jump on his cock like a mad mare, your breasts in the wind and his footprints marking the flesh of your damn soft hips.

You had begun to move back and forth very slowly and quietly, not really picking up a rhythm.

Moving your hips, you had picked up a rhythm that was not too fast but sustained, making Nam Gyu moan even louder, "shhh" you had whispered in his ear, that hiss broken in turn by a few moans. You were no better off. Yours, at that point, sounded more like cries coming out of your mouth, moans combined with whimpers. The friction between your two bodies was driving him crazy; he was as if drugged by the sensation. You had rested your head against his chest, moaning pathetically, while your hips gave no hint of decay.

His words kept reaching you like a distant echo, "You are so good," he begged your voice in a way so deep that it only made him moan more, and for a moment he stopped breathing on his own, "You need to ride me more often"

In response you had breathed hard, wrapping your lips lower toward his Adam's apple. Your legs rubbed against his, making little jumps to increase your shared pleasure.

"You don't want to stop now, little girl, do you?" He had said hoarsely in your ear. His cock moved a little to the left, hitting a particular spot, a scream ripped your chest in two. "How beautiful you are," your forehead on his shoulder, he played with your breast, taking it with his large hand.

"Oh, fuck," you had screamed, digging your nails into his shoulders as you flexed on his body as if you were dying.

"What, you want me to stop?"

"Don't! Don't. Please. Don't ever stop," you had closed more against him, pinning your legs against his stomach.

Fuck.

You were almost at your limit. You had gasped as you felt his cock react inside you, as he took you by the hips so he could get out.

"Can you finish inside me?" you had gasped with a puppy face, grabbing his hands to move them from your hips and rest them on your breasts.

"Are you sure?" he had asked, but you had kissed him again, with overwhelming eagerness, grabbing his dark locks.

"Please, just this once"

"Just this once, bunny"

Your muscles stiffened and his cock twitched repeatedly, then a gentle kiss on your neck as he released himself completely inside you. He had taken your face only to kiss you one more time; you were shaken, confused. The silence that followed was almost unbearable. Both of you were too tired to talk, but not tired enough not to feel the emptiness between you. Your bodies were still warm, but the contact no longer felt the same, as if everything that had brought you together had vanished along with the tension that had dissipated. Every breath seemed heavy.

He was not looking at you. He had moved slowly, as if the slightest movement was an unbearable effort, and had taken the cigarette from the pack on the table beside the bed. The smoke rose, dancing in the air like a fog that separated them, like a barrier between his world and yours. You watched him in silence as the room seemed to grow smaller and smaller, your thoughts more confused. The adrenaline you had been feeling was slowly fading, giving way to a feeling of emptiness. The feeling that had always haunted you.

All that passion, that irrepressible desire, in the end had never been anything but an illusion. Maybe that was what hurt you. The fact that, each time, you felt involved, overwhelmed, but always for a reason you could not understand. What about Nam Gyu? He was the same as always. Nothing more. Yet, each time, you thought he would be different. But it had never been.

He had said nothing as he watched you arrange your clothes. He merely looked at you, but not with the intensity of before. The one that made you feel like you were the most important thing, the most desired. Now there was only distance.

"Tell me this is the last time," you had said, your voice low, broken by a restlessness you could no longer hide.

"We can't stop," he had replied simply, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.

You knew. Very well.

MASTERLIST.

#nam gyu x reader #nam gyu x you #nam gyu #player 124 #player 124 x reader #squid game #squid game x reader #smut #nam gyu smut #namgyu fanfic #squid game season 2 #roh jae won

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ariiadnes · 3 days ago

Text

ଓ.° ・ sukuna. jujutsu kaisen. cw : modern!au. reader & sukuna are parents.

"look at you," a low murmur and seemingly harsh gaze : the furrowed brows, that sharp, scrutinizing stare ( but if you look closely, you'll only see a familiar and subtle fondness ), "so weak and powerless. too reliant on others. you won't survive if you don't learn."

a silence, heavy. deafening. suffocating.

-- and then a soft babble. and another. and... another. a grimace as a little hand bats at sukuna's face ( and yet he doesn't quite pull away ).

and then there's you, watching the interaction with both fondness and amusement as you gingerly prepare a bottle of milk for a certain munchkin.

"stop talking to her like that."

"life lessons." he responds. "she has to know."

"okay," you begin, voice flat, "but also, she is a baby."

he shoots you a half-hearted glare, though it's quick to falter when you sit next to him on the couch, giving him a kiss on the cheek before handing him the bottle. feeding the kid is almost like clockwork now ( well, actually, it pretty much is ), so it's not long at all before he's holding a content baby in his arms, one hand supporting the bottle for her ( 'she can't hold this by herself yet?' 'she can't even hold her head up half the time, sukuna.' ), his other one adjusting her the slightest bit to make sure she's comfortable.

there's just the faintest hint of curiosity and mirth in those eyes as he studies her intently -- she looks more like you, he thinks, and while he can pout all he wants about it openly, he's secretly glad that she's taken on more of your features.

you smile softly at the sight, the quiet such a peaceful one as you rest your chin on his shoulder. you don't think you've ever seen him like this before, so attentive and doting, and so incredibly worried over every little thing when it comes to the baby.

"as weird as you are with your lectures, you have to admit you're completely smitten with her." you murmur. "waking up every few hours to check on her, never letting her out of your sight, the list goes on..."

a feign scowl-- one you entirely expect and get rid of with yet another kiss on the cheek.

"it's necessary." a grumble. "she's too small, defenseless. utterly feeble and frail."

god. you think he could go on about this forever and ever.

"sukuna."

"what?"

"she is two months old."

he pauses for a long while, seemingly deep in thought as he looks down at the baby once more. you're not sure what he's thinking about, because there's no way in hell he forgot how old his own daughter was, but he's definitely... contemplating. and when he finally looks at you once more, you are very much curious to hear what he has to say next.

"-- and? what a futile point."

( the dead, blank look you give sukuna is perhaps one of the most haunting things he has ever seen. unfortunately, it does not deter him from his life lessons that he insists on teaching the baby, anyway. )

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #⋆. 𐙚 ̊ ݁ ˖ library #⋆. 𐙚 ̊ ݁ ˖ jjk #div cr @ v6que

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bunny-jpeg · 6 hours ago

Text

wife

mark webber

tags: smut/pwp, age gap (20s/47), wife kink, height difference, breeding kink, wife!reader, summertime fic, verbal worship

a/n: do you have baby fever? you do now! *flashbangs*

kimi raikkonen ver. - sebastian vettel ver. - jenson button ver.

while summer wasn't your favourite season you were happy at the very least that there had been a fair bit of sun. your little pet project had become helping your husband out in the garden behind the house you lived in. you had been mostly taking online summer courses for your degree prior to this year, but now that your degree was finally done you were a little more helpful outside. plus, you were never going to say no to be away from your desk.

you suggested to mark, that you start looking for a 'big girl job' and your loving, older husband simply patted you on the head and said, "take the summer off, you deserve a break!"

but you had a different idea of what break meant. you thought it was going to be a few months until the weather cooled down while mark through the break would end once your first child started primary school.

mark's hand grazed your lower back as he leaned in towards you while you were bent over giving your attention to the tomato plant. his touch was comforting, yet firm. he remarked with humor, "you take care of them so well. you're like their mother." and then laughed.

"i wouldn't say that, honey." you replied as you were upright once more. your husband wrapped his arms around you and pressed up against you.

something had been filling his mind lately. he was almost in his fifties! he thought it was about time that you two did a little family planning. the world of racing would like another webber and he thought you were the perfect woman to have them.

didn't help that he had been having a reoccurring dream. mrs. webber, happily greeting him with his son at your hip and pregnant with your second child, a daughter. kid looked just like him and you always had dinner ready for your little sprouting family. it itched a part of his brain that mark didn't think was possible. he wanted to see you pregnant with his child.

he placed a hand on your middle. it was already a little softer, but the idea of you with his child made a fire light in him. he held on and kissed your cheek with a gentle affection.

"let's go inside for a bit. too much sun isn't good for you." he said softly, even though the sun was now hidden behind some fluffy white clouds. mark loved how much smaller you felt compared to him. he was close to six foot two so he had to look down at you. especially when you were tucked away at his side.

softer, gentler, younger. near perfect to be the mother to his children. because you weren't going to stop at one, mark might be getting up there in age. but he could still keep up and keep you full.

he loved looking at you. your skin warmed by the sun. you had an old baseball cap of his on that you wore while you gardened, but mark had it off of you while he was shepherding you into the bedroom.

his wide hands on your hips as he got you into the room. he made his size difference known and it turned you on. it was quite the feeling that leapt in your chest. him being domineering as his hands then trailed up under your shirt.

he playfully scolded you, "you need to wear some sunscreen. i don't want to anything about my wife getting a sunburn." then kissed your cheek before the t-shirt was pushed up to just under your breasts. exposing your middle to him.

you soon stood there in your shorts, underwear and socks. your dirty shoes left by the door and your t-shirt thrown to the floor to be washed later. mark licked his lips and cupped your breasts in your bra with fondness. gonna need a bigger size in a few months. he exhaled before he leaned in for a deep kiss. he continued to undress you slowly. fuck, you looked beautiful. pretty breasts, soft curves, all belonged to mark webber. the thought made him hard.

he kissed you before he got his shirt off and kissed you again before he full got undressed. you ended up on the bed and he continued to kiss you deeply.his large hands roamed your beautiful body.

you moaned under his kisses and held onto his shoulders. your short nails dug into the skin for a moment as his kisses grew in passion. with a want in his gut for you. he groaned against in the kiss as his cock throbbed while pressed against your middle.

"fuck honey, i knew i had to have you all to myself. look at you." he said between heavy breaths. he got you on your back, further up the bed and said, "how did i get so lucky?" he got between your legs, "they don't make them like you anymore." he said cheekily as he rubbed his hard cock up against your slick entrance.

you blushed as you felt mark's cock up against you. you replied, "they don't make them like you anymore either."

mark adored you. he was deeply loving and protective. if he was protective now, imagine when you were having his baby?he soon sank into you and he loved the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his aching cock. his slice of paradise. he fit perfectly inside of you, his wife.

"fuck, mark." you groaned as you felt the euphoric state down to your nerves. you didn't think you'd crave sex as much as you did with mark.

he kissed your face with a gentle force. he clutched onto your soft thighs, "honey, you feel so good. i love you, i love you so much. you are the most - fuck - beautiful woman i've ever laid eyes on." his thrusts were steady as he pressed as far as he could inside of you. the two of you were chest to chest.

his cock nudged against your spongy warmth. mark was hefty in the cock department. he was big, but knew you took it beautifully. even under him, letting him take you with no protective. but he was certain that your body was needy for him.

mrs. webber with her two children, playing in the yard while her loving husband tended to your tomato plants. a domestic bliss. mark webber's little family, his pride and joys. mark loved it and maybe when they were in bed. he'd get to feel his wife's curves again.

"you feel amazing, honey. fuck, you're my angel. perfect beyond measure. look at you. all mine. the wife to end all wives." his thrusts grew stronger.

even at his age, he could still keep up. you couldn't even tease him because you would just be lying. more often you tapped out before mark could ever break a sweat.

his pace continued, it was heavier. his movements were more desperate, he needed his cute little wife. he was smart by putting a ring on you. maybe he should've waited till after you graduated before you got married, but you were already putting webber on assignments by accident.

now he could spend all summer making a baby with you. you have that free time, letting him fuck you, make love to you, breed you. the headboard creaked up against the wall while he thrusted up into you. he heavily panted and he kept up the pace. he wanted you deeply, like a throb in his body while he worked your core.

your back arched a little, you held onto the covers for support while mark shifted your hips a little and continued to fuck you at a pace that left you breathless. sweet noises left your lips as he continued to feverishly fuck you. the leap in your heart as the need for more pleasure grew.

"mark."

"yes, honey?" he panted as he held onto you tighter. the race in his soul and the excitement coursed through him.

"i need you." you gasped as the pleasure only mounted in your body. it was near overwhelming, you felt the leap in your pulse and the sweat on your body. to mark it looked painfully erotic. you felt the heightened euphoria, your soul begged for your husband. you knew that mark's main kink was you. you as his wife. you as the mother of his children. he had a thing for your carrying that title. it fit you lovely, just like his cock in you.

as it should be.

you were so close to your orgasm, close to being pushed over the euphoric edge. you panted heavily, he felt amazing against you. you were so needy when mark gave you that pleasure you desired. you could taste it in your throat. the noises got sweeter, pathetic in a beautiful way. you held on tighter to the covers as the feeling only grew in you.

mark shuddered and continued his heavy thrusts. he could feel it as well which only spurred him on to continue his movements. he wanted to make you feel the best you could possibly feel. to pour his love into you, a certain deep devotion that left you yearning for more.

"cum for me, baby. my honey, my wife, cum for me." he groaned as he dug his hands into your hips. with a few more thrusts he finished inside of you.

he kept his pace steady in a post-orgasmic bliss. running on a certain primal instinct as he hiked your hips up further and fucked your pussy. he fucked you through your orgasm as your back arched and you held onto the covers tightly for support. the pleasure consumed you and it left you panting and hot all over.

"beautiful." he slowed his pace to a stop. he leaned in to kiss you on the lips. he pulled out and got you into his arms while he laid next to you in bed. your leg over his hip as you laid facing him. your cheek against his chest. his words were so much softer as he said, "you're the perfect wife. you do everything for me, and i do everything for you."

"aw c'mon!" you huffed as you tried to get a better look at the tomato plant. the problem was that there was too much of the plant in your way to check on what you needed to see. the thing had grown like a monster over the early parts of summer!

"honey.. baby." mark said as he picked up your small daughter to see what was troubling you, "why don't you try getting a chair to sit down." he placed a hand on your lower back.

you exhaled, "i'm fine, i'm fine." you were currently four months pregnant with your second child. your daughter, stella, was three now and excited to be a big sister. you were still a stubborn little wife despite mark's guidance to relax.

you rubbed your lower back and looked to your daughter, "next year you'll help daddy and i pick all the tomatoes, right?" then tickled your daughter's middle which made the little girl laugh loudly.

she nodded eagerly and mark kissed her on the top of the head. already a total daddy's girl. you said you had dibs on being your second child's favourite.

mark gave you a small kiss on the cheek and said, "better yet, how about you sit with stelly-belly and i get you both something to drink and i'll check the plants?" his eyes lingered on your round middle, "you're not wonder woman, honey. and before our second peanut is born, why don't you enjoy today?"

you sighed, reluctant. but once you got an armful of your daughter you had no choice but to take a seat. you knew you weren't going to win this fight. you leaned in to kiss him before you headed towards the patio furniture near by.

"hey!" mark said and you looked over. he pointed at you, "not too much sun alright, don't need my girls getting a sunburn today." then winked at you. he smiled. he couldn't be happier, he had everything he needed and so much more <3

#bunny writes #reader insert #formula 1 #formula one imagine #f1 smut #formula one smut #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader #formula one #mark webber x y/n #mark webber x you #mark webber x reader #mark webber smut #f1 #f1 x female reader #f1 x you #pregnant reader #pregnant!reader

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formulawolff · 2 days ago

Text

i. headlock - g.g. + g.r.

pairing -> fem!driver reader x gr63 (platonically)

word count -> 4.6k

warnings -> brocedes parallels, marijuana use, cursing, ANGST, so much ANGST, gut-wrenching heartbreak, lots of tears, slight toxicity, a falling out between two friends and teammates, alcohol usage, smut. basically every warning in the book!

a/n -> this is anon that started all of this. i do not apologize for the person that this concept has made me become. and i do not apologize for this fic. anon, ily. thank you for pulling me from the trenches of writer's block. <3

december 31st, 2025

“start from the beginning.”

“i’m not really sure if i want to–”

a hand floats across the cushion, trembling slightly.

it settles on top of yours, his fingers curling, squeezing the clammy skin.

he exhales a shaky breath, lashes fluttering as a tongue swipes along his lower lip. as he makes out the words, you can’t help but make out the golden glimmer in his mocha depths. they’re inviting, begging you to fall further and further in as he brings your knuckles to his mouth, shallow breaths fanning against heated skin.

his voice is soft, rich with notes of comfort. a sound you forgot you missed, the coziness of bliss rippling in your chest as he speaks.

“please. for me.”

292 days prior

“golden girl, what are you looking forward to most this season with mercedes?”

blinking, you clear your throat, leaning into the microphone, “you were speaking to me, right?”

the reporter scoffs, rolling her eyes, “who else would i refer to as ‘golden girl’?”

“easy there,” lewis cuts in, flashing a dazzling grin, “any one of us could be golden girl. especially this season. one of us could shine any given weekend.”

“he’s just saying that because he’s in that ferrari bullshit,” a giggle bubbles up in your throat as you shoot lewis a wink. yet, the realization washes over you, eyes widening, “oh fuck! did i just curse?”

“twice,” laughter erupts as max licks his lips, fighting a devious smirk, “hey someone call the fia on this lady! she’s cursing up a storm! where are the stewards so we can ensure she’s dealt with?”

“miss america,” another voice interjects, “will you just answer this poor woman’s question? she’s been waiting nearly three minutes now.”

your gaze falls on george, who happens to be visibly annoyed, toying with the zipper on his jacket, “yes, but only because you asked so politely.”

“thank you,” the british driver simply nods in response, his gaze fixated on his jacket.

you and lewis share a glance, the ferrari driver a bit unnerved by the sudden shift of energy. silence settles over the space, the attention honing in on you once again. squirming in your seat, you shrug, gnawing on your lower lip.

“i mean, i feel like there are a lot of things to look forward to this season now that i’m with mercedes. i really feel like i’m at home, and toto has been extremely encouraging and welcoming. the team has been open to all of the ideas i’ve pitched, and care about my input. and i can’t forget george. he’s been absolutely wonderful. i look forward to working with him, as we have a pretty good friendship off the track. and if i may add, he can whip up some tasty beans on toast.”

beside you, lando snickers, bringing his hand to his mouth. lewis shakes his head, mouth quivering. more chuckles rise from the crowd, yet george remains still, his jaw clenching.

too far? you mouth to lewis, who waves a hand.

not at all.

“thank you,” the reporter’s pen flicks as she jots down your response, “that’s all i have.”

“are we finished here?” ollie fights a yawn, “cause–”

“awwww, is the baby getting sleepy?” fernando chimes in, exaggerating a pout.

“yes, actually,” ollie nods, stifling a yawn, “very sleepy.”

“well that’s a wrap,” alex stretches as the media personnel shuffle about, filing out of the room, “i thought that was pretty productive. what about you guys?”

george tuts, folding his arms across his chest, “that was a waste of time.”

“oh come on,” alex frowns, “you didn’t like that, georgie?”

george mumbles a strand of words under his breath, rising to his feet, “i will see you all tomorrow for qualifying. have a good evening, and get some rest. you all need it, clearly.”

as the british driver makes his way through the array of chairs and tables, the remaining drivers linger, almost holding their breath. max is the first to break through the quiet, letting out a shaky breath.

“not quite sure what’s gotten into him lately.”

“he was like that a couple of months ago,” lando inhales sharply, “i think he’s just in his head, that’s all.”

“we’re all in our heads,” fernando clicks his tongue, “this is opening weekend.”

at the spaniard’s words, you can’t help but nod in agreement.

it was march 14th, 2025, the friday night before qualifying.

a mere forty-eight hours from the first race of the season.

twenty-four hours from now, the grid would be set.

in approximately twelve hours, you’d be soaring down the track for your first ever qualifying in a mercedes car.

a dream come true, really.

a dream that came with a cost.

following abu dhabi, bridges were burned.

actually, more like incinerated.

james did not take the move from williams to mercedes lightly.

as your move to mercedes became more and more of a reality for the team principal, the relationship between the two of you only grew more and more bitter. with each passing weekend, the snide remarks shifted into blunt, loaded statements. even when you won, it was never enough for james.

you were not fit enough for the world of formula one. your attitude was too sour. when you made mistakes, they were too costly. you would never become a champion at mercedes. toto was only filling your head with empty promises, just as he did with lewis. the upgrades they were making would not be able to compete with mclaren or ferrari. it would be years before mercedes could produce a car of championship caliber.

you would only be going where dreams were left to die.

that was the one statement that lingered.

no matter how many times toto attempted to squash it.

yet, with the start of the 2025 season, it promised nothing but new beginnings. a fresh start with the team you cherished ever since you were a little girl. over the course of the next nine months, you would be able to prove to the world that you were capable of securing that championship title.

it sounded easy enough when you thought about it, but saying it out loud was particularly challenging.

why were you so doubtful? what was holding you back? why was it so fucking difficult to picture yourself hoisting that trophy up high?

you could list a few reasons why.

max verstappen was the first.

throughout the entirety of last year, you were so confident. so sure of yourself. you managed to pull off one of the best starts of a season in your career, locking in a win weekend after weekend. you would have never imagined a more perfect start in the race to the championship. you sailed through jeddah. soared in miami. you even secured monaco.

the points were stacked, odds in your favor, as you were the favorite to win it all.

well, that was the case until spielberg.

spielberg was a shit show.

there really was not one particular person to blame for spielberg. the weather conditions were not entirely favorable that weekend. you were running off fumes from an eventful night with toto. there was a costly error in the team strategy that cost you several seconds from a podium. you couldn’t forget the time penalty either, which placed you near the bottom of the grid once everything was said and done.

george was the one who ended up winning austria, as max and lando collided in their fight for first.

from there, you fell into a funk. it was just an array of disappointing finishes. you barely made it to p2 some weekends, which cost you greatly in terms of the championship race.

in the end, it was max verstappen who sealed the deal in vegas.

it was a heartbreaking loss. gut-wrenching even.

it was one of the first times in your life where you felt truly and utterly defeated, fighting back tears as you ducked through the paddock, desperate to avoid the press. the headlines to follow were even lower blows, as your name was plastered everywhere and anywhere. you could barely log on to instagram or tik tok without reading scathing, horrific remarks.

there were demands that mercedes retract their deal with you. fans wanted you out of the paddocks for good. why even try when it was clear that you could not produce results? why were you even behind the wheel of a formula one car in the first place?

following vegas, part of you wondered if they were right. you would never be max. you could never compete with someone as gifted as him. you would never win a championship as long as he was on the grid. you would never make history. you were just a stupid woman with silly little hopes. going to mercedes would not automatically guarantee you the championship title. you would have to fight for it in a mediocre car just like everyone else on the grid.

perhaps you were icarus, who flew just a little too close to the sun.

as long as max verstappen was competing, you would never achieve greatness.

the second reason behind your doubts was mclaren.

it was not a secret that mclaren was a force to be reckoned with. securing the constructor’s title proved that.

those mclaren boys were starting to become a threat, the speed of the mclaren almost lethal. there were many instances in which you speculated if the car itself was legal, but it seemed to pass every inspection by the fia. without a doubt, oscar and lando were talented. but having a rocketship under your fingertips was certainly a bonus.

a bonus that you were envious of with each passing weekend.

yet, the idea of working with zak brown left a bitter taste in your mouth. it was enough to keep you from stepping foot in that ridiculous papaya paddock.

and the third? you didn’t really want to talk about it.

well, it did bubble up often. a little too much for your liking.

whenever those feelings resurfaced, you instinctively reached for the cartridge in your bag. you would inhale, exhale, and all of the sudden, those lingering ruminations would disappear, the high sweeping you up in its blissful embrace.

did you want to discuss those lingering thoughts? yes.

but could you? no.

well, lately, they weren’t thoughts.

they were starting to transform into an awful sensation. the sort of feeling that left you numb from head to toe, waves of guilt crashing over. the sort of sensation that sent you reeling, lying awake at night, reaching for that cartridge so you wouldn’t feel anything else.

you were going through those carts a little too much for your liking as of lately.

but as long as it distracted you from those thoughts, it didn’t matter.

luckily, the start of the season slowed you down. well, just enough.

making your way to the garage, you notice him pacing about, phone pressed to his ear. his brows are furrowed, knit together with concentration. his pristine polo is unbuttoned slightly more than it was a few hours ago, revealing a snowy white t-shirt underneath. the shirt clings to his skin, spanning across his toned chest.

as you get closer, you pick out the way the muscles in his forearm flex as he brings a hand to his chin, nodding along.

the moment you come into his line of sight, he murmurs a few hushed words, then proceeds to shove the phone into his pocket. you purse your lips, cocking your head. typically, you were greeted with a radiant smile, swept up into his arms for a tight hug. however, he is reserved, his lips etched in a deep frown, hands situated on his hips.

ducking your head, you avoid his stony gaze, “who was that?”

“the stewards,” you shrink slightly at the iciness inflected throughout his words, “it was about your drug test.”

“and?” your heart skips a beat, yet you maintain your composure, shrugging, “was there something abnormal or–”

“you tested positive for cannabinoids.”

“and?” you press, clicking your tongue, “what about it?”

the team principal tilts his head, a tongue swiping along his teeth, “why have you been hiding it from me?”

“that’s what you’re concerned about?”

toto nods, the intense eye contact picking you apart, almost as if he was studying every little move, every little inflection in your voice, “yes, that is what i’m concerned about. i do not give a fuck about the other shit that comes with this. i want to know why you were hiding it from me. you know i don’t care during the off-season and holidays. i encourage it, actually, as it seems to help keep your anxiety at bay.

but we are not on holiday. we are about to start the fucking season and here you are, prancing around with that ridiculous little pen. are you under the impression that the rules just don’t apply to you because of our relationship?”

“toto,” you swallow thickly, realizing that eyes are starting to wander, “can we please talk about this in private?”

“no,” to your dismay, he raises his voice several octaves, the sound carrying throughout the entire space, “you are not racing this weekend. kimi will be filling your seat instead. you have been suspended for three races.”

in that moment, you want nothing more than to just sink into the floor, disappearing from the stares that are now lasered in, focusing on nothing else but the lover’s quarrel in the middle of the garage.

that’s when the terror starts to seep in.

you would not be able to race this weekend. you would have to sit on the sidelines, barred from earning points. you would not get that head start you needed so desperately in order to get ahead in the championship fight. you would have to play catch up the rest of the season to even compete for the title.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

you wanted to scream. you wanted to explode. you wanted to curse him out right then and there.

yet, your knees buckle, a wail rising in your throat.

your lower lip quivers, tears blurring your vision, “toto, can we just–”

“no excuses,” the team principal growls, “you may have been able to get away with this at williams, but i am not excusing this. you are going to face the consequences of your actions, whether you detest it or not.”

bringing a hand to your face, you attempt to wipe away a tear. yet, you realize it’s too late, as there were streams flowing down your cheeks, completely soaking through the fabric.

hanging your head, you exhale a shaky breath, “o-okay.”

“that’s it?” you recoil at the cruel taunt, “that’s all you have to say?”

“yes,” you mutter, “that’s all.”

to your dismay, he struts past, giving you one last sentiment.

“meet me in my office tomorrow morning at seven. if you’re a second late, i’m extending your suspension two more races. no exceptions.”

˗ˏˋ⋆. ݁₊˚. ݁⊹₊ ݁. ݁⋆˖˚₊ ݁. ⊹. ࣪ ˖ ✴︎ ˖ ࣪ .⊹ . ݁₊˚˖⋆ ݁. ݁₊⊹ ݁.˚₊ ݁.⋆ˊˎ˗

three knocks ring out in the night.

“hospitality! we have come to collect your bedding!”

grumbling, you get up on your feet, shuffling to the door. as your hand curls around the knob, you crack open the door, peering behind it.

before you stand alex and carlos, the pair bearing goofy smiles. in one of alex’s hands is a mysterious white paper bag, a bouquet of flowers in the other. at the sight of them, you nearly crumble, your throat tightening.

“h-hi guys.”

alex puckers his lips, “can we come in?”

“yeah,” you dip your head, pulling the door toward you, “come on in.”

“we just wanted to let you know that we’re proud of you,” alex gushes, making his way to your kitchenette, “since you’re accomplishing big dreams, we brought some of your favorite snacks and a couple of drinks.”

at the sight of the flowers, you can’t help but giggle, “where did you find those?”

“don’t worry about it,” carlos waves a hand, making himself comfortable on your couch, “where’s toto?”

the mere mention of his name sends your heart rate spiking, a sheen of sweat pooling in your palms, “h-he had some stuff to take care of before qualifying tomorrow.”

“you’re lying,” alex rolls his eyes, plopping down next to carlos, “what’s going on? and don’t act like everything is all fine and dandy because i know damn well things are not.”

sighing, you settle between alex and carlos, resting your head on alex’s shoulder, “i’m not racing this weekend.”

alex’s muscles tense, the words dangerously quiet as they flow from his mouth, “what happened?”

chewing on the inside of your lower lip, you shrug, “i got into some deep shit with the stewards.”

at that, alex straightens his spine, shifting his waist so that he was looking down at you, “what. happened.”

“i failed my drug test.”

“what?” carlos blinks, “why did you fail?”

sucking in a breath, you pause, trying to formulate some sort of response that wouldn’t trigger another meltdown.

i failed because i am starting to regret taking the mercedes seat. and i can’t stop fucking thinking about it. it takes up my brain space. i can’t even focus without my mind wandering. i don’t feel joy when i’m in that seat. i’m not sure if this hunger i have will ever be fulfilled if i stay in that seat. i don’t feel at home.

maybe james was right. maybe my dreams are going to just rot and die in that fucking car.

i feel like a fool.

i just can’t take it anymore.

i just can’t…

“apparently i tested positive for cannabinoids.”

“apparently or you did test positive?” alex presses, his voice soft as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, “you can be honest. you know we won’t say anything.”

“you can tell us,” carlos affirms, nodding fervently, “we just want to know what’s going on, in case we can help.”

i’m not sure if you guys can help.

“i’ve been high nearly every day for the last three months.”

“wait, pause,” alex clears his throat, putting up a hand, “every day?”

“well,” you exhale, “more like every night. i haven’t been able to sleep.”

“oh,” carlos leans back, bringing a hand to his chin, “that’s not unheard of.”

“thanks guys,” you melt into the cushion, groaning, “i’m feeling so much better about it.”

“i mean it’s pretty normalized in the states so i’m not judging,” alex brings you closer to him, squeezing you gently, “did you get one of those special forms from a psychiatrist or therapist authorizing you to use it for therapeutic purposes? i know that the fia sort of excuses it if it’s medicinal.”

“of course not,” you shake your head, “i’ve just been carrying it around with me. everywhere i go, it comes with.”

“how do you get past international flights?” the inquiry comes tumbling out of carlos’ mouth, earning a laugh from you.

“toto and i usually just fly private.”

“oh,” carlos licks his lips, “that makes sense.”

“why have you been having issues sleeping?” alex murmurs, resting his chin on your head, “do carlos and i need to come over every night and have sleepovers so that you’ll get some shut-eye?”

“i’m not too sure if i want to talk about that right now. can we just change the subject?”

you feel alex’s adam apple bob, as if he was going to pry, but he remains quiet. carlos crosses his legs, his hands resting on his lap. you expect alex to ignore your request, but he complies, a ripple of relief blossoming in your chest.

“how are things going with george? he seemed a wee bit uptight today.”

your jaw clenches, hands curling into tight fists.

of course alex was going to bring up george.

of course.

“things are going fine,” you pick at a loose thread on your sweatpants, “he’s been welcoming. we’re good friends, you know.”

“you sure about that?” alex coughs, “remember, we’re having honesty hour here. everything you say is confidential information.”

biting back a sharp retort, you snuggle into your hoodie, catching a whiff of toto’s cologne.

there’s a pang in your chest, tugging at your heart.

maybe you could gossip with them about the incident earlier. just to change the topic of conversation entirely.

maybe it would help you feel a little bit better to rant about your boyfriend for a good hour. maybe it would lift your mood slightly if you heard the words oh my god he’s such an asshole for that or what a dick! tell us more.

just maybe.

but would it make everything better?

would it really?

or would it just be like slapping a bandaid on a gaping wound? would it temporarily ease the pain that ate away at you, tearing you open from the inside?

there was no denying that when you made the move to mercedes, the way toto treated you changed.

but that was expected. he was your boss now. you were under his wing. things had to remain professional. no lines could be blurred, as it was stated in your contract. there was no room for special treatment.

he was the reason why you were here at mercedes. he was the one who was going to lead you to greatness. he was the one who promised he would fulfill your destiny.

he was the one who gifted mercedes with their messiah.

the one who was going to win them both the world driver’s championship and the constructor’s.

no matter the cost.

at least, that’s what he told you.

and that is what you were going to keep telling yourself.

even if it absolutely destroyed you, you were going to secure that title.

you had to. you just had to.

because now, there was no other way out.

there just wasn’t.

december 31st, 2025

“i am so fucking sorry.”

sniffling, you wrinkle your nose, “you have no reason to be sorry.”

“i am though,” your heart sinks as he brings his head up, gaze glossy from tears, “you should never be in that sort of position. ever. you should never have to feel like you need to destroy every part of yourself for a team. that’s just so fucking unfair.”

“i-i did that to my-myself though,” the words are mangled as you spit them out, shoulders trembling as you sob, “i signed that contract. i was the one who put myself in that position. it’s all my fault. it’s all my fucking fault.”

“hey,” his accent seeps through as his hand connects with your cheek, the pad of his thumb swiping away a droplet as it cascades down, “please don’t blame yourself. you have no reason to blame yourself. it’s not your fault.”

“then who do i blame?” you counter, “whose fault is it then?”

“it’s not entirely one person’s fault,” the words are tender as he leans in, “if you keep blaming yourself, you’re only going to spiral further and further down that dark path. here, let’s talk about something else for the time being. ask me something. anything.”

“okay,” you nod, “c-can i have a tissue?”

“of course,” a chuckle rumbles in the base of his throat. carefully, he leans to the right, plucking a tissue box off the table, “here, knock yourself out. use as many as you need.”

graciously, you pull a few tissues from the box, blowing into them. he offers you a small trash can, and you toss them into the bin. bringing your sleeves to your eyes, you swipe along your lashes, dousing the fabric. he murmurs something you can’t quite comprehend, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

“what do you say we order some food, yeah?”

“i’m not so sure if that’s a good idea,” you exhale, curling up into the couch cushion, “i’m not really hungry.”

“oh come on,” his knee nudges yours playfully, “you’ve been over here for almost three hours. you need something to eat.”

“i need a joint,” you grumble, ignoring the continuous buzzing in your pocket.

“good thing we’re in new york,” clambering to his feet, he shoots you a wink, “come on. let’s go for a ride. you need some fresh air.”

“can i drive?”

at that, the corners of his lips twitch, forming a wide grin, “of course you can drive. which car do you want to take?”

“what about the mclaren?”

“keys are on the island,” he motions his head toward the kitchen, “while you’re at it, start thinking about places where you want to eat.”

“that’s not fair,” you scoff, rolling your eyes, “if i drive, that means you choose where to eat.”

“you have a point there,” he ushers you out of the door, pulling it shut, “you have a point there.”

as he makes his way to the garage, your gaze rests on his arm as it stretches out behind him, his hand waving.

swallowing the lump in your throat, you find yourself intertwining your fingers together.

you shouldn’t be here.

the dozens upon dozens of missed calls and ignored texts proved that.

but fuck, did it feel right.

as if you were meant to be here.

for the first time in months, there was this feeling brewing within you, coming back to the surface.

it was peaceful, filling you up the brim with euphoria. reminiscent of that feeling of when you heard you father’s car pulling up in the driveway, or when your mom stopped by mcdonald’s on the way to kindergarten classes. it reminded you of that sensation you felt every time your plane pulled to a stop on that tarmac, surrounded by palm trees and cacti.

for the first time in months, you felt like you were home.

“since you’re driving, that means i’m aux,” his voice brings you back to earth, grounding you, “however, i’m making an exception. what do you want to listen to?”

“whatever you want to,” you shrug, climbing into the driver’s seat, “i’m not picky.”

“how about some adele?” he arches a brow, letting out a hearty laugh as you scowl, “i was just kidding. i know that’s probably the last thing you want to listen to.”

as you start the car, the engine roars to life. your eyes widen, and you can sense his smile as he leans over the center console, pointing out a few of the bells and whistles. his shoulder brushes against yours, sending heat flourishing into your cheeks as his hand guides yours to the gear shift.

“i-i’m sorry,” he whispers, “i’m getting too close.”

“is that such a bad thing?”

his chest heaves as you tilt your head, lashes fluttering as the tip of his nose brushes against yours, “no, but i need to keep my distance.”

all around you, the windows fog as his mouth ghosts over yours, “what if i want you to be this close?”

“it wouldn’t be fair,” the words tremble as you inch closer, “i-i shouldn’t–”

“you should–”

“mmm,” he hums, pulling away, “you need time, as much as you won’t admit it.”

“fuck you,” you mumble, feeling a pout form as he smirks, waggling a finger.

“you really though you could seduce me but nope! i am immune!”

“look up where the nearest dispensary,” your fingers curl around the gear shift, “please and–”

“i’m not letting that happen,” his attention is invested in his phone, scrolling through his apple music library, “okay, i found a good one. did you pick a place to eat?”

“no,” glancing over your shoulder, you ensure that there is nothing in sight as you reverse, foot hovering over the brake, “can we just drive around a little bit? i need some time to think.”

“yep!” he chirps, “under one condition, though.”

“and what’s that?” you hold your breath as you pull up to the gate.

“you tell me about george.”

˗ˏˋ⋆. ݁₊˚. ݁⊹₊ ݁. ݁⋆˖˚₊ ݁. ⊹. ࣪ ˖ ✴︎ ˖ ࣪ .⊹ . ݁₊˚˖⋆ ݁. ݁₊⊹ ݁.˚₊ ݁.⋆ˊˎ˗

let me know if you would like to be tagged! i plan on making this a three part miniseries! thank you for reading! ♡

#toto wolff x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #toto wolff #george russell x reader #alkaline #alkaline: female driver! x toto wolff #toto wolff x y/n #alex albon #formula 1 #carlos sainz #lewis hamilton

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butlervibesonly · 1 day ago

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𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 || Austin Butler

• Summary: Y/n and Austin are expected their first baby… Hormones, changes of the body and other are not very comfortable to go through. But Austin is here to remind her that her body is miracle carrying another miracle.

• Pairing: Austin Butler x pregnant reader

• Warnings: pregnancy, self doubts about stretch marks, emotional hormones, …

You are now almost 6 months pregnant with your and Austin’s first baby. The late afternoon sun filters through the blinds, casting soft golden lines across the mirror in the bedroom that you two share as you stand in front of it. You are just changing into some more comfortable clothes.

You stand there now, just in your underwear and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your growing belly, round and full with the life you and Austin created. As you take a firm look at your belly, you notice something that hasn’t been there before.

Fain lines stretched across your skin, tracing gentle paths over your tummy. Your fingers hover over them. You of course knew pregnancy brings changes, but seeing them on your own body simply feels different. It makes everything more real… More permanent.

You barely hear the bedroom door open, while you caress your round belly. “Hey, love,” Austin’s voice was warm as he steps inside. He stops when he sees you standing there, both hands resting on your belly, eyes filled with uncertainty. “Is everything okay?”

You hesitate, then gesture towards your stomach. “Well… I have stretch marks, Aus…” Austin takes a look at your belly, seeing the lines that were made due to your skin stretching. He steps closer, looking at the reflection in the mirror. “Darling, those stretch marks? They're a sign of your beauty and strength, carrying our baby.”

“I know… I just… I didn’t expect these to show up this soon.” you try to laugh, but it came out thinner than you meant it to. “I look different.”

Austin frowns, not at you, but at the sadness you carry in your voice. He moves even closer, wrapping his arms gently around you from behind. Your reflections meet in the mirror, his hands now cradling the curve of your belly.

“You look absolutely beautiful…” Austin murmurs, his chin resting on your shoulder as he keeps watching the reflection of your body against him. “You don’t have to say that, Aus.” you sigh, knowing he wants to encourage you.

“No, I have to! I need to,” he states softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “These little marks, darling? They’re proof. Proof that you’re growing something incredible. That you’re strong. That your body is making room for our baby.” Austin meets your gaze in the mirror. “How could that be anything but beautiful?”

You blink to the warmth of his words. You turn in his arms, resting your forehead against his chest as he holds you close, the baby bump making it little bit hard for you to hug firmly. “Marks of love,” he adds rubbing slow circles over your belly. “That’s all I see.”

You smile now, his words melting your heart in the best way possible. “There's that beautiful smile. I love seeing you smile, love. But I also want you to know that I'm serious about this, okay?” he presses his hands on the sides of your round belly, looking into your eyes.

“You're doing something incredible and you deserve to feel like the goddess that you are. So please, let me make it up to you,” he continues to rub your belly, his words reassuring you more and more. You nod in acceptance, your hands covering his as you gaze down at the belly.

“Good. Now, I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you're beautiful.” Austin lifts your chin with his finger, making you look at him with those pretty eyes of yours. You do so and take a deep breath. “I am… beautiful…”

“That's more like it! Now say it like you mean it.”

You smile at his stubbornness but you also feel the wave of support that you need. “I am beautiful…”

“Yes, you are. Say it again now, love. Let it sink in.” he stares at your eyes, searching for the confidence. “I am beautiful.” you say again, this time meaning it. Austin smiles, his hands moving to your stomach, his touch gentle and loving.

“That's right, love. You are beautiful! You're carrying our baby, and every stretch mark, every curve is a sign of your strength and love. You are absolutely astonishing, beautiful and amazing, and I will never stop telling you that.” he kneels in front of you, his hands never leaving your belly.

He actually brings your belly closer to him, his lips gently pressing against your soft skin. You smile widely at the feeling, as he now peppers your belly with nothing but kisses only. When he stands up, he takes your hands in his.

“Thank you, love…” you say softly, more encouraged and less self conscious. Austin smiles, one of his hands brushing your hair, while the other lands on your tummy once again. “You are very welcome, my dear. I will always make sure you and the baby are alright.”

You have been with Austin for many years now, and this man never fails to make you blush with the unconditional love you both carry for each other. “I love you, you know that, right? And I'll do everything in my power to make you feel loved, beautiful, and confident, now and always.”

“I love you too, my love.” you lean in and Austin meets you halfway, pressing his lips against yours. You two kiss passionately, filled with love, care and affection. Austin gently traces his fingers over your belly, his touch the softest it ever been.

"You know, few years from now, when our little one is running around, laughing, calling you 'Mom' with that big, bright smile, I hope you remember this moment, Y/n. I hope you remember that every change, every mark, every part of this journey was worth it. Because this? This is love the purest form. Your body is doing something I could never do…. Something incredible. I love you because of your incredible braveness and strength you have in you. So when you look in the mirror again, I hope you see what I see – a wonderful and beautiful woman that is carrying our whole world inside of her."

You wrap his arms round him, knowing this is what you craved to hear. He pulls you closer, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your hair. You always felt loved by Austin, but now you feel loved even more. And also beautiful and strong.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler imagine #austin butler x you #austin butler fandom #austin butler x y/n #austinbutler #austin butler fic #austin butler imagines #dad austin butler #Spotify

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mushgloomz · 1 day ago

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Hey there, lovely! I have a Joel request!

So i have an ear infection and fever and not feeling great and I'd love a smutty comfort fic of Joel taking care of you but also getting kind of obsessed with filthy thoughts about how warm and inviting your skin feels and that leads to him taking care of you/making you feel better in a whole other way.

Thank you! I love your writing!

EEK thank you so so much <3 one hot n steamy caregiver!Joel fic coming up my friend x

• Rating: 18+, MINORS DNI

• Tags: language, female reader, oral (f!receiving), pussy pronouns (she, her), joel being a slut for giving head :)

There were no words for just how shitty you felt. Every menial task you’d completed had left you entirely deflated by the afternoon; a sniffling, puffy-faced wreck sprawled across the tattered couch in your lounge. At this point, you’d rather take your chances with cordyceps over whatever virus was plaguing you at present. A tickle in your nose crept up on you, eventually manifesting itself as a sneeze. The pressure through your skull with the expulsion made your sinuses sing out with searing pain. Fuck cordyceps, even the sweet release of death seemed tempting now.

Very much in the throes of delirium, Joel returned from his patrol. His boots clomped along the hardwood flooring, the sound echoing as though they were made of lead. You instinctually squeezed your eyes closed but even that hurt; a quiet whine of discomfort passing your cracked lips. As he walked into the lounge where you were nestled, Joel let out a soft, rumbling hum as he acknowledged your presence.

“Still feelin’ rough, darlin’?”

Usually you couldn’t get enough of Joel’s gravelly baritone, but in that moment, it reverberated inside your head far too loudly. Another pained whine rolled from your throat as you covered your ears. “Joel, please be quiet…”, you mumbled, eyes screwed shut. By now, Joel had made his way around the leather couch and was stood in front of you, peering down with his burly arms crossed over his chest. A sympathetic smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a much quieter grumble passing his lips.

“C’mon sweetheart, tuck those legs up ‘n’ lemme sit next to you.”

With a groan and a concerted amount of effort on your part, you pulled your legs up toward your torso. Joel slumped into the space on the couch that your legs had previously occupied before patting his lap.

“Atta girl. You can lay ‘em back down now.”

Another groan later and your legs were strewn over thick denim-covered thighs. A calloused hand worked itself slowly over your shins, another resting on the meat of your thigh, tracing soft patterns into the skin there. It worked wonders at relieving some of the discomfort brought on by the full body ache you endured; a soft, appreciative sigh lilting from you. The delicate sound elicited a smile from your newfound masseuse.

“That feel good, baby?”

All you could muster was a slow, appreciative nod - even that made your head throb with the motion. Joel hummed, apparently satisfied with the response. His hands continued to work your aching limbs with a featherlight touch, each stroke of a palm causing you to somehow slump deeper into the upholstery beneath you. Despite the persistent pounding behind your eyes, you felt more relaxed than you had in hours.

“Skin’s burnin’ up, baby. You’re real poorly, aren’t ya?”

You couldn’t help it – the opportunity to be babied presented itself on a gleaming pedestal at his softly spoken words. Pouting your bottom lip, forcing your eyes to open just slightly in order to look over at him, you nodded once again. This was your area of expertise; you knew the man like the back of your hand, and shit, you were going to use it. Your eyes followed Joel’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard, his own eyes fixed on the glistening pink lip you stuck out at him. The hand resting on your thigh squeezed ever so gently.

“Don’t gimme that look, pretty girl…”

There was an unconvincing firmness to the rumbling voice; you could practically hear the cogs whirring and winding in his head as he toyed with the moral grey area your expression posed to him, contemplating on whether he should look after you, or look after you. Honestly, you weren’t sure what you’d prefer either.

“Dunno what you mean…”, you whispered, your throat scratching and adding to the needy tone you took. You could tell that it would only be a matter of time before he took the bait as he removed the hand from your shins to rub the back of his neck.

“Y’know damn well what I mean, baby.”

He was right, you were all too aware of the effect that you were having on him; a familiar firmness pressing against your calf as it rested in his lap. It did nothing but spur you on, as you intentionally dragged your leg lazily over the growing bulge in his jeans. He squeezed your thigh again, his grip firmer, a small grunt rumbling from this throat as he did so. Joel moved, as if to kiss you, but you held up an arm in protest and turned your head. “Don’t need you getting sick as well”, you said softly, not wanting to offend as you resisted his efforts.

Joel smirked as he retreated, a devious twinkle residing deep in his eyes as he looked you over. The gaze he had over you made your stomach knot with anticipation; you’d reeled him in with your performance – hook, line and sinker.

“You want me to look after you, sweet girl?”

Something had shifted in his tone; the question was just as endearing as before, but now laced with intent as his voice dropped an octave. A plush pink tongue swept over his bottom lip as he let his eyes scan over you. Joel shifted underneath your legs, palming your thighs in opposite directions until one slunk off the couch. “W-What are you doing? I said I don’t want you getting sick”, you half-protested.

“Ain’t gonna get sick if I stay down here now will I?”

The logic behind Joel’s question was hazy at best, but like fuck were you going to argue, especially as he lowered his head down to press gentle kisses along the inner thigh of the leg that remained on the couch. The caress of his lips against such sensitive skin sent shockwaves straight to the building heat between your legs. A heady sigh left your now-parted lips.

Fingers tucked themselves under the waistband of your pale blue cotton shorts, coaxing the garment along your legs until they were able to be discarded. The same followed with your underwear, though once removed, the motherfucker brought them to his face to inhale deeply, a growl of desire echoing from him as he did so. Any semblance of taking it easy and resting was long gone.

Who were you to try and deny the beautiful man between your legs access? Your leg propped up onto his shoulder and you were swiftly rewarded for your cooperation as Joel pursed his lips around the skin of your inner thigh, sucking until a small purple welt bloomed there. Kisses trailed higher, wet and firm, until he looked up just as he was about to reach where you needed him most.

“Sweet girl, shoulda told me you needed me this much. Woulda kissed her better if I knew she’d been cryin’ like this the whole time.”

The rich brown hue of Joel’s eyes was hardly visible; stretched into a slender ring around his blown pupils. Joel adored eating you out - it was the perfect combination of low physical effort and high reward. Of course he loved fucking you, but his knees weren’t quite what they used to be in his thirties. Spread out in front of him, Joel could lay down and make you see stars without having to pace himself.

He blew a cold stream of air against your clit, making your hips roll gratuitously toward his mouth. A dark chuckle replaced the cold gust with warmth as he remained hovered over your slick cunt, amused by your eagerness.

“Stay still baby. Ya gotta rest; can’t take care of you if you’re fidgetin’.”

You couldn’t help the small whimper that passed your lips as a strong hand splayed over your hip, pressing down and pinning you in place. Ever the tease, Joel kept his eyes locked on yours as he lowered his head, painstakingly slow, until contact was made.

He pressed his tongue, flat and wide, against your pussy before dragging from your entrance all the way to your clit. If there was any doubt in your mind about how much Joel enjoyed the act, it was swiftly removed as his groan of pleasure harmonised with the breathy moan that was forced from your mouth. Moustache now glistening, he raised his head once more as he spoke.

“Taste so fuckin’ good baby, so sweet. Gonna give me toothache.”

The man all but moaned the words at you before diving back down between your legs, ravenous after the taste he’d just had. As he lapped hungrily at your core, you saw his hips rolling against the cushion of the couch. It was downright pornographic, as was the moan that you let out as his tongue worked its way back up to your throbbing clit.

You reached an eager hand into the salt-and-pepper curls that littered the crown of his head, threading your fingers in between the strands and tugging just so. Too invested in the sensation of your needy pussy against his tongue, he opted to groan against you, not wanting to break contact for even a second. The gentle vibration that the sound produced was better than any archaic sex toy you’d been able to find whilst scavenging in the city.

Your spine arched off of the leather, your hips still held down firmly with one hand, like a territorial dog resource-guarding its favourite meal.

“God damn, pretty girl. Gonna make a mess of you.”

“That’s it, lemme hear ya.”

“Such a good girl for me, darlin’.”

The filth that reached your ears only departed Joel’s slick-covered mouth when he came up for air momentarily. You could feel the coil in the pit of your stomach getting wound tighter and tighter; each flick of his tongue over your clit punctuated with a whispered moan of your name sending your mind and body into overdrive. The way he said your name was akin to a prayer whispered amongst pews, as if your cunt alone was the man’s saving grace.

The obscene visual of Joel grinding his hips desperately into the worn brown leather couch was the last straw. Your fingers, still interwoven in his hair, stiffened and pulled as your mind stilled, thoughts replaced in their entirety by blinding pleasure. Whimpering, your thighs trembled and Joel grunted against you, working you through your orgasm.

After ensuring that every aftershock of euphoria had been acknowledged and attended to, Joel reluctantly lifted himself from between your legs. The space between his nose and chin glistened, a testament to his devotion in getting you off. “Y-You’re far too good at that…”, you trailed off, something distracting you before you could finish your sentence.

Joel sat himself upright, snuggling himself back under your legs as he had done earlier, his cheeks flushed as he grinned at you.

“Pleasure’s all mine, baby.”

And you believed it; the small damp patch in the front of his jeans that you’d noticed just moments ago going unmentioned - he looked far too proud of himself to tease him about it right this second.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(gif isn’t mine, but sorry can you not imagine how delicious that face would look with a damp sheen over his mouth??? i’m unwell)

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aleexoxosstuff · 2 days ago

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-Pump it up!

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x Lawyer!reader

Summary: Jun-Ho had no idea to approach his gym crush who was also very intimidating. He was content with observing from afar but he was given an opportunity to finally interact with you.

Warnings: implied situation where someone harasses reader, profanity, may be more that I missed!

wc: 1.7 k

Jun-ho was captivated when he first saw you

It was as if time had momentarily paused, the bustling sounds of the gym fading into a distant hum. You were there, effortlessly moving through your routine, your focus unwavering as you executed each exercise with ease. The early morning light streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow around you, and highlighting the sweat etched on your face. Jun-ho felt himself in awe for the first time.

After a prolonged hiatus from physical activity, he had spent days convincing himself to return to the gym, following his doctor's advice to slowly add exercise into his routine.

When he finally gathered the resolve to step back into that world, he chose the early morning hours, when the gym was blissfully quiet and only a few people scattered around. It allowed him to ease back into his workouts.

It wasn't that he felt insecure about his physique; rather, he found it difficult to endure the stars directed at his injury. It served as a constant reminder of the whole situation. He could almost hear the whispers of concern and curiosity from those around him, their eyes flickering to his injury before darting away, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable.

But then, there you were, looking so beautiful. As you moved from one machine to another, with your small duffle bag that had pretty small bows attached to the zipper. He watched as you did every rep and set of your workout.

With each passing moment, he felt his heart race—not just from the physical exertion of his workout, but from seeing you pass him without a second glance as you reach for the dumbbells.

He was okay with admiring you from afar, you didn’t seem like the talkative type anyway. He would watch men his age try to shoot their shot with a smug smile, only to be either painfully rejected or completely ignored. That was enough for him to keep his distance, not wanting to meet the same fate. He overheard one of them saying you worked as a criminal defense lawyer and he grew curious about your occupation. He’d met several as a detective but had never seen you before. Maybe you were new, you looked like you were in your late 20’s and he had to guess you were 26 at the very least.

Jun-ho knew next to nothing about you, yet he found himself admiring you as you exercised in the tranquil hours of the morning. The soft glow of the rising sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, casting a warm light on your movements. Despite this growing crush of his, he recognized that he should put his attention towards his responsibilities. He knew his feelings would lead to things he wasn’t sure he was ready to face, but the thought of you lingered on his mind like a tattoo.

It wasn’t until someone came up to you that he would make his move.

He watched as another man made his way up to you, and a wave of unease washed over him. He remained rooted in place as a man tapped your shoulder just as you stepped off the machine, your body glistening with sweat. You had an exhausted look on your face, still trying to catch your breath from the intense workout. Jun-ho noticed the way your lips pressed together, a line of confusion forming between your brows. The man’s hand rested on your shoulder, rubbing it gently back and forth.

Jun-ho could sense your discomfort with the man's touch, and just as he started to approach, your eyes darted to him, your eyes wide with urgency. The gesture was a clear signal, a plea for help. He felt a surge of adrenaline, his heart racing as he took a step forward, walking towards you.

The man, oblivious to the tension building in the air, continued his casual pat, a smirk playing on his lips as if he were simply engaging in friendly banter. But Jun-ho could see the way your body tensed, the slight flinch of your shoulder under the man's hand. It was a subtle but unmistakable sign that you wanted him to stop, that this interaction was making you uncomfortable.

“Hey” Jun-ho called out, his voice firm yet steady, cutting through the quiet music echoing in the gym. The man turned, his expression shifting from casual amusement to mild annoyance as he registered Jun-ho’s presence. “I think she’s uninterested,” Jun-ho added, stepping closer, his posture protective. He could feel the heat radiating from your skin, the lingering effects of the workout mingling with the discomfort of the situation.

You looked at Jun-ho, your eyes searching for reassurance, and he gave a tiny nod in return. The man’s smirk faltered, and he raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the sudden confrontation. “What’s your problem?” he shot back, his tone defensive, but Jun-ho could see the uncertainty flickering behind his supposed tough facade.

“The problem is that she doesn’t want to be touched by you,” Jun-ho replied, his voice steady, unwavering. He could feel the tension in the air, as the other gym-goers began to take notice of the unfolding scene. The man looked away embarrassed, his jaw clenching as he looked at Jun-ho.

“Just mind your business dude, I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” He scowled, his fingers were tightened into a fist, and he reluctantly released his grip on you.

You gave him an incredulous look before scoffing. “You got mad at me for saying to fuck off, refusing to let go of me.”

“C’mon quit being such a bitch, you’re just playing hard to get.” Jun-ho had just enough time to stop you from punching the dude, pulling you back by your waist. The man gasped in shock as you attempted to land a punch on him. It wasn’t long before one of the other seven people in the gym called security on him, who then escorted him out. He left out a series of profanities at you and the male beside you.

The gym had begun to go back to its usual routine and Jun-ho was beginning to awkwardly walk away before he heard you call out to him.

Thank you for that,” you say, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks. Naturally, your first encounter with your gym crush of two months involved him intervening just as you were about to punch someone. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease his nervousness. You found yourself fidgeting with your fingers, offering him a timid smile.

Jun-ho was a total wreck as you looked up at him, His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, and you could see the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks, mirroring your own. The way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other made him seem almost boyish, a stark contrast to the muscular physique that had caught your eye in the first place.

“Uh, I just thought you might need some help,” he stammered, his voice a mix of sincerity and nervousness. You could tell he was trying to play it cool, but the way his eyes darted around the gym, avoiding direct contact with yours, revealed his unease. It was endearing, really, and you couldn’t help but feel a warm, fluttery feeling in your stomach.

“Yeah, I really appreciate it,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel your heart racing, and you hoped he couldn’t hear it over the noise of the gym. “I didn’t want to cause a scene, but…” You trailed off, unsure of how to express the mix of gratitude and embarrassment swirling inside you. You weren’t talkative, opting to study most of the time instead of hanging out with friends. You were in no position to waste your time after graduation, finding a job was incredibly difficult, and only a year and a half ago you were able to secure a job at a firm. Being 28 and having no social life meant that you were lonely most of the time.

Only four months ago had you begun to go to the gym before work, finding it therapeutic and a way to release stress. Then you began to notice the quiet male who stayed away in one corner of the gym, having his headphones on most of the time which left you hesitant to go up to him.

Jun-ho nodded, his expression softening as he finally met your gaze. “No he was making you uncomfortable but maybe go about a different tactic.” His words made you laugh out of embarrassment. There was a moment of silence before you both spoke in unison.

“Can I have-”

“Are you single-”

You and Jun-ho looked at each other with surprise and you let out a laugh. He quickly followed with a chuckle before asking you again.

“Can I have your number and possibly go out for dinner?” He asked with a shy smile. You nodded quickly as you took out your phone.

Your heart raced as you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. This was unexpected, yet it felt right. You glanced up at him, catching the way his eyes sparkled with anticipation.

“Sure, I’d love that,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your stomach. You could see the relief wash over his face, and it made you smile even wider.

As you handed him your phone, your fingers brushed against his, sending a small jolt of electricity through you. He took your phone, his hands slightly trembling as he entered his number. You watched him, noticing the way his brow furrowed in concentration, and you couldn’t help but admire the way his dark hair fell just above his eyes.

As handing your phone back to you, you take account of the time and your eyes widen in disbelief.

“Shit, I need to go but make sure to call me!” As you grab your small duffle bag you give him a small peck on the cheek as you quickly make your way out the doors.

Huh, maybe it was a good thing he decided to listen to his doctor for once.

#squid game x reader #Jun ho x reader #squid game #hwang junho x reader #junho imagine #squid game imagine #hwang junho #squid game x fem!reader #wi ha joon #wi ha jun #squid game x you

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crybaby-bkg · 10 hours ago

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SACRIFICES & WICKED VICES

Izuku doesn't need you to know that he's the boss of one of the most infamous Yakuza groups. Too bad he's pretty shit at hiding it.

Warnings: yakuza boss Izuku x civilian reader, lots of cunnilingus, vaginal fingering mentions of tattoos, non graphic mentions of violence, Izuku picks reader up twice, pet names include princess baby and love, blowjobs, and very soft and emotional sex Word Count: 6.6k Notes: as many of you know, this fic is based on a Drabble I created back in June 2023!! I can't believe it took me this long to write it, but this is for Kitten and Kitten only!!! <3 Also available on Ao3! Minors and ageless blogs DNI.

“Excuse me!” A deep voice yells out, catching your attention as your head turns to look over your shoulder. There’s a green haired man a couple feet behind you, bent over, grabbing something from the ground that you can’t make out from around his fingers. When he stands, you’re slightly taken aback by his looks and his size, more focused on the overwhelming smattering of freckles that dot his face than what you had dropped. He’s handsome, the man, with eyes to match his hair of a deep verdant color, a scar across his nose and through his eyebrow, his smile big and kind, his frame wider than what you’d expect from a face like his.

Finally, do you manage to pry your eyes from his own to look down at his hands. You discover that your favorite lipgloss had somehow fallen from your bag, and you briskly pad over to the man who holds it out to you.

“Oh, thank you so much!” You bow to him as you grab the tube from his hand, your fingers grazing over his rough and scarred palms. “I would’ve been pissed to have to kick out another twenty bucks for a lipgloss.” You roll your eyes at the price, smiling at the man who gives you a kind one in return. His eyes drink you in, almost respectfully so, as he tries to gather the right thing to say.

“With or without it, you’re very beautiful, you know.” The stranger says, his words soft as they carry over the nights howling wind. He straightens when your eyebrows raise in surprise, his freckled face becoming pinker by the minute as he laughs awkwardly to himself.

“That was—that was creepy, I’m—”

“No,” you cut him off with a wave of your hands, unable to stop grinning from the compliment. “That wasn’t creepy at all, I promise. If it was, I would’ve maced you by now.” You shrug halfheartedly, a playful look on your face. The stranger laughs, his smile wide and genuine, makes you damn near swoon at the dimples in his cheeks.

“And I would’ve very much deserved it.” He smiles at you, his head tilting to the side, a curl of emerald hair shadowing his eyes for a split second. This man is handsome, and the longer he looks at you like that, the weaker you can feel your knees getting. When too much time passes without either of you saying anything, he opens his mouth, thumb hooked behind him as if poised to leave. You take a step in his direction quickly, your eyebrows raised in question as you rush out your words.

“Can I ask you out to dinner sometime?” You spit out, surprising yourself at your boldness to make the first move, nerves immediately hitting you in the gut. What if he says no? What if he’s already taken and was just being polite?

“As a way to thank you for saving me twenty bucks?” You tack on quickly when his mouth closes and opens again, cutting him off once more. He only smiles though, shaking his head at you as he scratches at the scruff on his chin.

“Please, you don’t have to repay me.” He tells you, but doesn’t offer up any other reason that screams for you to back off. He doesn’t walk off either, and doesn’t look like he wants to any moment now. So you bite the bullet again, and hope that you’re not embarrassing yourself too much in front of the handsome, well dressed stranger.

“Well can I just ask you out to dinner then? Just for the fun of it?” You ask him, shoulders raised, smile strained, hopeful. The man considers you for a long moment, before his eyes wander off down the street, over your shoulder, over his own, his hands scratching incessantly at his scruff. You can feel your excitement dying down by the second, the sinking feeling of rejection hitting you right in the belly as you slowly start to deflate. You open your mouth to rescind your offer and apologize, ready to walk away with your tail tucked between your legs, when he speaks.

“Sure.” He says with a small smile before it brightens at the surprised look on your face, chuckling under his breath. “Sure, I’d like that.” He repeats, grin matching your own as he sticks his large hand out to you.

“My name is Izuku, by the way.” He tells you, fitting your palm in his own. You wonder how he’s gotten so many scars on the backs of them, how many freckles you could count on just his right hand, as you introduce yourself to him. You exchange numbers with Izuku, promising to text him the details when you find the perfect place to dine at.

“I don’t always answer in the most timeliest of manners, but please don’t take that as my disinterest. I just have a pretty packed schedule.” He tells you, his face suddenly going serious as he tilts his head down until you’re forced eye to eye with him. Slightly taken aback, you pause before nodding profusely, smiling a little as you wave his worries away.

“That’s totally fine.” You promise him, checking the time as you realize you need to be home in a few minutes (your cat gets very finicky about dinner time, and you do not want to face her wrath today). “I’ll text you!” You call over your shoulder as you start to jog down the street, smiling at this mystery man who you can’t wait to know more about. Especially those tattoos on his wrist that you got just the tiniest glimpse of when he shook your hand.

…

The night of your date takes place exactly one week after running into Izuku. You don’t text him first until three days after meeting, and he replied just last night to confirm meeting today. You’ve been nervous since the moment your eyes opened this morning, trying to figure out what you’re gonna wear, how you’ll do your makeup, what time you’ll have to get off work to make it home to shower and shave (thinking very far ahead, if you’re lucky), feed your cat, catch the train—

It’s a lot. But you’re here now, dressed in something soft and flowing for the summer night, sandals adorning your feet, makeup painted pretty and delicate, your cat at home and fed, and right on time. But Izuku is nowhere to be found, as you stand outside the restaurant for a few minutes, tote bag held in front of you to ward off the attention from anybody that’s not him. After a while, do you finally go inside so that you don’t miss your reservation.

The hostess’ eyes damn near bulge out of her head when you tell her who the reservation is for, under his name, and she escorts you to the furthest most booth in the back. Its dimly lit there, but you notice a few eyes lingering on you as you make yourself comfortable. It must be because you don’t fit in much with the others and their attires, who mainly wear suits or traditional wear, so you brush off the looks and hope that Izuku doesn’t keep you waiting too long.

He shows up twenty minutes after your agreed time, in a rush, huffing and panting as he loosens his tie on his way over to the table with an apologetic look on his face. You stand as he finally makes his way to the table, smiling at him and his flushed cheeks.

“My apologies,” he starts, ruffling his hair into place as he tries to look more put together. “A business meeting ran a little longer than usual, and then my driver scraped somebody’s car, and,”

Izuku stops abruptly mid sentence when he finally, actually, looks at you for the first time that night. His eyes go round, his mouth falling just the tiniest bit, his gaze drinking in every single inch of you from head to toe. His mouth snaps shut audibly, which makes you laugh behind your palm, and he finally looks you in the eye almost shyly.

“I must be a blind idiot to not have first noticed how beautiful you look tonight.” The compliment rolls almost smoothly off of his tongue, his voice coated in velvet. It makes your face warm as you halfheartedly fix your hair, your eyes taking in his own outfit for the night. He wears a simple black suit, but its carved to the exact shape of his body, molded onto his thick biceps and muscled thighs. He slips off his tie smoothly before tucking it into his back pocket, popping open the first few buttons of his white shirt, revealing just the tiniest slither of pale, freckled skin.

“You also look very beautiful,” you tell him with a smile before it drops in horror at the slight cock of his eyebrow, his inching grin. “Well, not beautiful, but—but handsome? Very handsome and polished and, I don’t know.” Izuku only laughs at your babbling, and you shake your head at your motor mouth.

“I’ll take beautiful as a compliment any day if its coming from your mouth.” He says softly, his eyes an emerald green that seem to shine a bit brighter, even in the dull light of the restaurant. You only smile at him, thanking him softly as he holds out your chair for you to sit in.

After that, the date goes smoothly. You two sit and talk for what feels like hours, ordering course after course that Izuku ensures will be fine on his credit card. You share a bottle of sake, and the restaurant is close to empty by the time the night begins to dwindle down for the two of you.

So far, you’ve learned that Izuku is a businessman—he doesn’t specific what business exactly, but he mentioned something about numbers and finances. He runs his own company, one that he says isn’t too successful, but you’re not sure just how true that is when he doesn’t even gawk at the bill once its laid between you on the table. He’s twenty-eight, and lives by himself, his favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip, and he loves his best friend very much, despite the fact that said best friend is very much so against that idea.

All in all, Izuku is kind, and sweet, and seems so attentive and caring. He hangs onto your every word, and actually shows interest in the things that you talk about. He asks you on another date, this time, as he walks you to the train station, and of course, you agree.

The next couple of weeks go by relatively smooth when it comes to Izuku. He’s gentlemanly, despite the fact that he shows up late to a majority of your dates. He always makes it up by bringing flowers and your favorite snacks, offering you more and more lavish desserts and even a pair of diamond earrings by the fourth date.

It’s a lot, at first, getting used to being spoiled by him. But Izuku makes it so easy with his charming smile and easygoing attitude. That makes it even easier to let him spoil you in other, nonmaterial ways.

He’s a giver, through and through. That much is obvious when you take him back to your place after the fifth date, and he picks you up as if you weigh nothing, pinning you against the door to your place. You can hear your cat scurrying away from the flurry of commotion, of flying clothes and your greedy hands. Izuku pins you with his hips, a heavy bulge that he presses against you, his mouth covering every inch of exposed skin that he can.

“My bed,” you say in between breathless kisses, but Izuku either doesn’t hear you, or straight up ignores you, as he carries you over to your couch instead. He sets you down gently, his mouth still connected with yours, a string of saliva breaking between the two of you when he finally pulls away to look at you, and you at him. His mouth is smeared with your lipgloss, panting as his pupils have blown completely out, the bright green of his eyes swallowed whole by his desire.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he murmurs under his breath, pressing another searing kiss to your mouth before he begins kissing and nipping his way down your throat. He kneels before you, one hand around your waist, the other creeping beneath the skirt you wore. Izuku mouths at your pulse point, feeling it jump under the ridges of his teeth, inhaling your scent as his thick fingers brush against the band of your panties.

“Can I?” He asks softly against your skin, tongue darting out to taste the building sweat there. “Can I lick your pussy? Can I make you cum? Please,”

You think you might’ve orgasmed already, without him even touching you. You can’t help the whimper that escapes your throat, your bottom lip bitten between your teeth as you vigorously nod your head. Izuku moans against your skin, biting softly and pulling with sharp teeth until you gasp from the pain, before soothing it over with a gentle peck of his lips.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, kissing his way down your chest, mouthing at your nipples through your layers. He makes a promise to come back to your breasts later, his mind too busy focused on getting the taste of you forever ingrained on his tongue. Izuku pushes your skirt up until it rests on your stomach, pressing a kiss to your bellybutton, before he finally makes his way to your panty covered cunt.

He fists the material in his grip, but instead of pulling the fabric away, he pulls it up until your lips make an obscene print against the material. Your breath catches in your throat at the slight sting, the way your panties rub against your swelling clit, but Izuku only coos at the way you wriggle under his watchful gaze.

He kisses your lips with the same passion he did with the ones on your face. His head tilts this way and that, as he mouths at the outline, his lips pucker as he sucks your clit through the material, feeling it grow fat and thick under his tongue. He licks at you through the fabric until its soaked, until it sticks against your cunt, until the material is dark and soaked with his spit and your slick.

You damn near cry when Izuku finally peels the material away from you, the softness of his lips encasing your own as he kisses them so sweetly, so delicately that you can’t help but roll your hips against his face. He holds you by the waist, not to keep you still, but to encourage you to use him.

“Fuck my face,” he goads, looking at you from under his green curls, his eyes blown out with lust, his mouth dropped open as he guides your hips to roll your clit along his tongue. He pushes your cunt to his mouth, fucking your hips down as you hold eye contact, fingers grasped desperately in his hair to anchor yourself.

Izuku watches you as you use him, as you spread your knees and open yourself up to let his tongue slide inside of your wet hole. He grips your hips tightly, lips pursing to spit on your clit before catching it on his tongue as it rolls down to messy with the slick dripping from your hole. The sight is obscene, and you feel yourself orgasming before you can even warn him.

But Izuku doesn’t stop. You’re not even sure he knows whether or not you came, because he only bullies two fingers inside of you as he sucks your clit into his mouth. Your back arches from the couch, your cry similar to something feline, as you squeeze your eyes shut from the overstimulation. You try to push his head away, gasping for breath, but Izuku only tilts his face so that he can swallow the entirety of your puffy clit. His fingers crook inside of you, stroking sensitive walls that clench tightly around his thick digits.

“I can’t!” You whine, despite the fact that you fuck your hips down on his hand and his hot mouth until you’re breathless.

“Please, one more. You can take it.” Izuku moans against you, flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue before spitting on it once more, making your entire lower body twitch. You dig your fingers into his hair, eyes clenched shut as you plant one foot on the couch, the other against his shoulder. Izuku only holds it tenderly against him, as if his other hand isn’t pressing against that weak spot inside of you that makes you see stars.

You cum again with a hoarse cry, your hips jerking from the intensity, tears alighting your eyes as you squeeze your eyes shut. Finally, does Izuku seem to pull back from you, licking the slick drooling from your hole with sweet little laps, massaging your lips gently with the pads of his fingers. You can hear him lick your essence from his fingers, too fucked out to even be able to watch, but your hole clenches at the sound of it, nonetheless.

“Hope I didn’t push you too much,” Izuku mutters after a few moments of quiet, your arm slung over your eyes as you try to catch your breath. He moves your arm gently, his big verdant eyes blinking up at you, unsure if he did went a little too far during his first time with you. But you smile at him, still slightly breathless, before pulling him to your mouth.

You kiss him, your tongue slithering against his own, lapping at the taste of yourself. You pull gently at his roots until he moans, wrapping your arms around his neck until he falls against you, head tilted to the side as he brushes his tongue over the smoothness of your teeth, your gums. You start to sneak a hand down his front to return the favor, but Izuku quickly catches your wrist, bringing it to his mouth as he kisses the pads of each and every one of your fingertips.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your skin, placing his cheek in the palm of your hand as he kisses the skin there again and again. You can’t help but frown though, rubbing his nape and the tops of his strong shoulders with your free hand.

“Really? Are you sure?” You ask, not used to men turning down you putting your hands or mouth on them whatsoever. It’s strange, the way he turns away from you to hide his erection while still planting kisses on whatever exposed skin he can reach. He mouths at the softness of your belly, humming against the skin there when you scratch at his scalp soothingly.

“I’m sure.” He says softly, turning to face you as he smiles reassuringly, but you’re still not buying it. A handsome businessman as himself, surely pent up from all the late night shifts and difficult clients—and he doesn’t want you to touch him back?

“You know, I don’t mind at all.” You tell him, raking in his entire form, how gorgeous he looks on his knees before you, his mouth still wet with your cum. “Actually, I’d love to return the favor.” You whisper, cupping his cheek to pull him to you, hands reaching down to undo the buttons on his shirt, but he stops you once more. You frown.

“I’m more of a giver than a receiver, in all honesty.” Izuku says, the tops of his cheeks hinting red beneath his freckles as he blinks up at you. A small piece of you, a tiny slither, doesn’t really believe him, but you don’t argue with him anymore. Just let him kiss you quiet, his fingers slipping inside you once more as he instantly finds that spot inside that makes you see stars. He massages it, thumb pressed to your clit as he slowly works you to another orgasm as you cry against his mouth, creaming on his fingers.

Most of your encounters, after that, are pretty similar. Izuku still takes you on dates, but he’s getting better about being late. He brings you more and more gifts, pays for the meal, has his driver bring you both back to your place, and then he’s in between your legs for what feels like hours. He asks you to be his girlfriend after a few months of seeing each other, and you think the one sided pleasure will end there, but if anything, it gets even worse.

Izuku buys you toys so that he can play with you, if he gets tired of using his mouth or his fingers. But he still never lets you touch him. You’ve only ever seen his cock in passing, as he jerks himself off while he touches you, or cums in his pants after having you squirt all over his face. You understand that he likes to give, but isn’t it a little strange to never want to receive? To never even want to be seen naked in front of your girlfriend?

Was he insecure about his body? That didn’t make sense. He was jacked and muscular as hell, from what you could tell touching him through his clothing. You caught a few glances of tattoos that he had when you first met, a few more times in passing. Was he afraid that you wouldn’t like them, that you would find them unattractive? You know how Japan is when it comes to marking your body with ink, but it would never be enough to phase you to never want to see your boyfriends glorious body naked.

Every time you tried to bring it up, Izuku came up with some excuse as to why he couldn’t get naked in front of you. He’d fuck you fully clothed, which was actually kind of hot, but it still wasn’t enough for you. To have him guiding you up and down on his cock, to messy his expensively tailored pants with your slick as you scratch up his button down shirts that you were begging to rip open.

You figured he maybe had a really bad scar he wasn’t too proud of, or maybe an embarrassing tattoo he got when he was young. Either way, you’re determined to let your boyfriend know that its okay for him to be open and vulnerable with you as you are with him.

Izuku likes to be on a schedule, you’ve learned about him, in these past couple of months. So you know that he must be showering the day off at the moment, and you take that moment to FaceTime him. A little manipulative, knowing that he’ll always answer the phone for you? Maybe. But it’s been months since you started dating, a year since you met, and you still haven’t seen anything past his wrists and collarbones!

Izuku answers on the fourth ring, his eyes wide as he holds the phone up so only his chin and above are seen. He looks shifty eyed, unsure, his thick eyebrows screwed down as he forces a little smile in your direction.

“Hey, princess. What are you doing calling me so late?” He asks, eyes darting around as he tries to maintain the phone above chin level. He does a poor job at it though, with the mirror at his back that exposed a colorful shoulder blade covered in ink. You don’t say anything though, afraid that you’ll spook him.

“I just wanted to see you.” You tell him softly, angling the phone in a way that shows off your prettiness, knowing how weak it’ll make him. It does just that; Izuku softens his eyebrows, his smile melting into one that’s more genuine, his arm lowering ever so slightly. Your eyes trace the ink on his back, big and expansive, green and blue scales that curve all the way down to his ass. You’ve never wanted to bite something so bad.

“Well, I just got out of the shower, so,” he trails off, his grin a little lopsided as you pout your lip at him.

“Can you come over, actually?” You ask him, ready to get everything over it, to have it all spelled out in front of you. The hiding and the sneakiness bothers you more than the scars and the bruises on his knuckles, the little specks of blood that he forgets to clean off of his collar. Izuku’s smile dims just the slightest bit at the change of your tone, the phone lowering even more for you to see that the tattoo covers the entirety of his ass. Fuckin’ hot!

“Everything okay, baby?” Izuku asks, toweling off his hair with his free hand, his curls still damp and limp as they straggle over the roundness of his eyes.

“Yeah, just what I need to talk to you about should be in person.” You say softly, resting your head in your arms as you turn the camera to face the ceiling more, growing tired of holding your phone up. Izuku stops drying off his hair, his mouth setting in a thin line as his voice lowers,

“Are you breaking up with me?” He asks quietly. You only snort though and shake your head at him, at how the worry bleeds on his face, how he doesn’t instantly go murderous at the thought of you wanting to leave him. If anything, he looks more like a kicked puppy. How could he could be the leader of such an organization is definitely beyond you.

“No,” you chuckle. “Not at all. Just come over so we can talk.”

“Okay,” Izuku says hesitantly, his movements a lot slower this time. He tells you he’ll be at your house in thirty, but its more like fifteen with how he speeds down the empty roads so late at night.

Izuku is there in record time, knocking incessantly at your door, his anxiety levels on high. He hasn’t been this nervous since his first kill, and something about the idea of you needing to see him in person, unplanned, at the drop of a hat, makes his stomach twist more than he cares to admit. You make him wait, just to be an asshole, for a minute longer than necessary, before you open the door to him.

Izuku stands there, dressed more haphazardly than you have ever seen him. Usually polished and poised in his suits and expensive clothing, he instead stands in an old long sleeve tee shirt that says “t-shirt” and a pair of baggy sweatpants, worn running shoes adorning his feet.

“Hi, my love,” you greet him with a smile, pulling him inside your place with a grip on the front of his shirt. Izuku stumbles in, never being so unsure on his feet in years, it makes him feel like he’s a teenager again. You crush your lips to his own, carding a hand through his still damp hair as you press up on your tippy toes to kiss him. He melts into the kiss, forgetting about the anxiety fluttering in his stomach, his eyes still dazed when you pull back and look at him with such a soft smile, he wondered why he was ever nervous in the first place.

“Hey, princess.” He smiles, the soft sight dropping the moment you open your mouth.

“I know that you’re a yakuza member, and I think its fine time to admit it, now.” You say matter of factly, your smile still there, but tight, your eyes slightly narrowed in his direction. Izuku pauses. His entire body goes stiff, everything around him going dark as he tries to process your words. After a solid minute of silence, he opens and closes his mouth once, twice, before swallowing, finally spitting his words out.

“What? How did you…?” He trails off, finally remembering to close the door behind him as he takes a single step toward you, before stopping himself. He doesn’t want to get too close in case he’ll spook you, in case you’ve somehow set him up, in case he has to flee in seconds. It hurts to think that you’d ever betray him, but Izuku has been burned too many times. You look at him so softly though, your smile crooked as you slowly step back into your living space, inviting him in to get comfortable, like he’s always done.

“Took me a while, but I figured it out.” You shrug, perking up when you hear the kettle going off. You patter into the kitchen on quick feet, fixing Izuku his favorite flavor of tea, as he still stands hesitantly by the door. You frown at him, pushing the mug he’s left over your house into his thick hands, before guiding him to sit on the couch. He goes along with you, although he looks more like a ghost haunting your place than he does your boyfriend at the moment.

“The business ventures, only going out to ‘safe’ restaurants, the bruises on your knuckles, and, oh, how could I forget the big as fuck tattoo on your back?” You cock your head to him teasingly, a small smile gracing your face at the look of horror that passes over his own.

“When did you—”

“Doesn’t matter.” You shrug, guiding him to bring the mug to his lips, his movements stiff and jerky. “When were you planning on telling me this, Izuku?” You ask him, suddenly serious, your smile falling ever so slightly as you brush a curl away from his face.

“When you inevitably got into a shootout and came to my house for me to patch you up? When some opposing yakuza member kidnapped me because he’s holding some grudge against you?” You try to laugh it off, but it comes out as strained, the gravity of the situation finally settling on your shoulders. You love him, you really do, and you understand why he didn’t tell you in the beginning. But did he not trust you enough, even now? What would have been the catalyst for him to finally be open and honest with you? When it was bordering on too late?

“I’m sorry.” Izuku says softly, setting the mug down as he reaches forward to grab your hands in his own. He physically relaxes when you don’t flinch away from him, despite the fact that you have to know what kind of carnage he’s created with his bare hands.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask him softly, letting him pull you into his chest as he exhales deeply. He goes quiet for a few moments, as he tucks you under his chin, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, wrapping his arms tight around your flank.

“Because I love you, and I didn’t want to scare you away.” Izuku admits quietly against your head. “I know its selfish, but you’re not like anybody I’ve ever met before, and I didn’t want our time together to ever end. I’m sorry its had to come to this.”

“To what?” You ask, pulling away from him so you can look him in the eye quizzically. “Who said we were over?”

“Huh?” Izuku asks after a few seconds of silence, his voice beamingly loud as he lets your words sink in. You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you, pulling him into you so now its your turn to hold his face against your chest, your chin resting on the top of his head.

“I’m not breaking up with you, Izuku, I already told you that. I’m just pissed that I had to put the pieces together myself. I keep you around to think for me for a reason.” You tease, pulling his face up to watch everything slowly sink in. And to think he was in charge of one of the most dangerous ‘businesses’ in all of Japan, with a face that cute and eyes that round. You can’t help the kiss that you press to the bridge of his nose.

“You’re not breaking up with me?” Izuku repeats slowly, sitting up in your arms so that you’re eye level with him, gripping you gently by the shoulders. You frown at him, knocking your forehead softly against his own.

“Baby, I just said that.” You mutter, laughing when he suddenly pulls you into a tight embrace, pressing his mouth to yours firmly.

“Gods, I love you.” Izuku says against your lips, pecking you again and again until he’s kissing your teeth from how hard you laugh. “How can I make it up to you?” He asks, rubbing up and down your shoulders, watching how your face melts from one of happiness to something darker, full of lust and excitement for your new reality of open honesty with him.

“By finally letting me see you.” You whisper, leaning in to rub your nose against his, feel his shuddering breath as he inhales the intoxicating scent of you.

“Whatever you want. I’ll give you the world, if you asked for it.” He mumbles softly, pulling you against him until you rest in his lap before rising, already taking you to the bedroom. You press a kiss against his throat, rubbing yourself against the hardness of his stomach, unable to swallow down the moan that crawls up.

“All I’m asking for is for you to fuck me the way I know you’ve been wanting it since you met me.” You whisper sultrily, tugging at the hair on his nape, grinning against his throat at the groan that escapes him.

“Fuck yes,” he whispers softly before devouring you before you could even blink.

You’re on your bed in seconds, your clothes ripped from your skin in a familiar dance that you no longer question when Izuku begins to shed his own. You watch from the center of your bed as he stands before you, his eyes glued to your own gaze as he pulls his shirt from over his head with precise movement. You feel your mouth water at the sight of his exposed stomach, the ink that curls along his breastbone, red and white and intricate.

He slides his sweats down thick thighs, even more ink decorating the skin, his cock thick and heavy where it bobs when released from its confines. He’s a work of art; gorgeously tanned skin, freckles covering more parts of him than you even thought possible, his muscles there but bulging deliciously when he flexes absentmindedly under your watchful and intent gaze. He’s gorgeous, more so than you could have ever imagined, and it makes your mouth water even more that he’s finally, finally, bared himself to you.

“Let me touch you,” you whisper, inviting him over with a crook of your finger. Izuku obeys, crawling on the bed toward you until he’s laid against your pillows, his body elongated and exposed like a statue made of some greater god. You can only salivate at the sight of him, press a kiss to his mouth until you work your way down, down, down with nips and licks, your teeth sharp and stinging, your tongue soothing and gentle. Izuku breathes a shaky moan of your name when you finally make your way to his thick cock, heavy and red at the tip, leaking precum with every breath you pass against it.

You hold his thickness in your palm, kissing the leaking head with soft lips, making him groan underneath his breath. He can only watch you, carding a hand through your hair until he cups the base of your skull, guiding his cock ever so gently into your mouth. You welcome him in, lips pursed to suck the precum from his leaking tip, mouth suckled tight over the thickness of him. He fills your mouth perfectly, your head slowly bobbing down until his tip tickles the back of your throat.

You moan at his taste, one hand holding his base as you work your spit where your mouth can’t reach, the other hand reaching up to cradle his heavy balls in your palm. Izuku’s hips jerk at that with a groan, his head tilting back, although he refuses to take his eyes off of you. The way your naked body fits so seamlessly against his inked one, how the fatness of his cock creates a lewd bulge against your cheek, how your eyes water when you try to swallow him even deeper.

You pop off of his cock with a breath, jerking him using the mixture of your saliva and his precum, ducking your head underneath his heavy length to lap at his sac. Izuku’s stomach caves in from his gasp, his eyes rolling momentarily into his head as he jerks his hips, before he finds it in himself to meet your gaze again. You smile around the fullness of one of his balls in your mouth, the other hand jerking his cock in slow, languid motions.

“Wanna cum inside you,” Izuku says in a gasp, tugging at your head to pull you off of him. You come off with a wet pop, crawling up his body with his firm yet gently grip on your skull, smiling when he drops open his mouth when you meet him. You fill his mouth with your spit and his precum, a moan bubbling up in his throat as he presses you against him, kissing you with such fervor that you feel like you’re being consumed whole. Izuku grinds his cock against the bottom half of your stomach, pulling you tight against him as he rolls the both of you to your sides.

Without breaking away from your kiss, Izuku hikes your leg over his hip until he’s slotted perfectly between you, gliding his cock between your soft lips. He presses in, pushing and pushing as you gasp and whine into his mouth, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders as he holds you firm against him, your bodies slotted perfectly together. With a heavy thrust does Izuku finally bury the fullness of his cock inside of you, his pubes brushing against your clit, his thick hand resting on your lower back to keep you pressed against him.

“You never said you loved me back earlier,” he says softly against your mouth, lazily kissing you as you trace the scars on his back and shoulders. You grin against him, rolling your hips ever so slightly, gasping when Izuku can’t help the cant of his hips to press his cock even deeper inside of your slick hole.

“I love you,” you whisper, tongue lolling against his own as Izuku slowly starts to rock his hips against you, filling you up over and over again until the bed creaks minutely. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Izuku only rubs your clit with thick fingers as you repeat yourself, tucking your face into his throat as you tremble all over, reaching your climax before you can even process it. Izuku only keeps the same pace, never letting you fully come down from your high as he holds you so tight to him, that your skin melds with his own, that your sins become his, that your flesh is one. And when he cums inside of you with a shaky gasp, your walls fluttering around him from another orgasm, does he finally release the breath he’s been holding since the moment he realized he loved you. Which, frankly, was the moment he first laid eyes on you.

thank you all for reading! and a special thanks to @katsukikitten for supporting me so much over these past few years. likes/comments/reblogs are so greatly appreciated! <3

#—new treat in the streets! 🍫#Izuku treats! 🍬

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