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dixons-sunshine · 8 months ago

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Hazelnut | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl didn’t know exactly what he expected when his group settled into Alexandria—maybe some snobby, incompetent inhabitants who couldn’t stand their ground if something were to happen or people who would turn on him and his group at any given moment, but definitely not a little girl who basically attached herself to his hip. And he definitely didn’t expect to find himself drawn to the mother of that little girl.

Genre: Fluff, angst but not a lot.

Era: Alexandria, pre Saviour war. (Timeline is kinda wonky. Saviours kinda don’t exist in this? I don’t really know.)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, child abandonment, mental abuse, mentions of drugs and alcohol, single parenthood, sexual content but not smut.

Word count: 8.1k.

A/n: This was such a cute idea that @louifaith had! I tried my best, but it honestly sucks. I’m not really happy with how this turned out, but I hope you like it! Also, definitely go check out @celtic-crossbow’s version! Pure perfection, honestly.

“You have to lighten up, Daryl. How do you expect to make any friends with that ‘leave me alone’ attitude of yours?”

Daryl grumbled to himself as he continued tinkering with his crossbow. The hot late afternoon sun was relentlessly beating down on the community as its inhabitants continued about their tasks. Daryl had silently been observing everyone from the porch steps he was sitting on, enjoying the moment of solitude he had, but Carol had other ideas.

“Daryl,” Carol started, crossing her arms as she descended down the steps. She turned around to face Daryl, her voice stern. “It would do you good to socialize a bit.”

“I talked to Tobin when we finished up with the construction of the new walls yesterday,” Daryl replied nonchalantly, keeping his eyes focused on his crossbow instead of the stern woman in front of him.

“That doesn’t count. That’s work talk. I'm talking about actual socialising. Like, striking up a conversation with someone that isn’t in our group or someone you have to talk to for work.”

“I dun’ need to. Y’all are the only company I need. Ain’t gon’ waste my time tryna make buddies with people who dun’ even like me,” Daryl responded with a sense of finality, gripping his crossbow and getting up. “Now get off my back, woman.”

“Where are you going?” Carol called after him, watching the archer walk away from the house.

“Somewhere,” he replied shortly, ending the conversation effectively.

Slightly irritated, Daryl walked with no particular destination in mind. He passed by some people who sent him friendly greetings and small waves, which he returned half-heartedly. After a while of mindlessly walking about, Daryl stopped in front of a makeshift park of sorts. It was a small area surrounded by grass and had a big tree towards the edge. He moved to sit on the grass underneath the shade of the tree. The few kids in the community loved to play in this area, but it was deserted for now; the perfect place for the archer to relax for a while.

Daryl went about sharpening his knife for a while. The mediocre task kept his mind busy, busy enough to ignore the parents and kids who arrived, busy enough to ignore the wary stares the parents threw his way. Daryl simply shook his head—even after two months, there were still people who were wary of him and the rest of his group. Even after everything they did and sacrificed to ensure the community's safety.

“Mistah lonely?”

Startled, Daryl’s head shot up and his eyes locked with those of a little girl who looked no older than three years old. The girl looked at him with curiosity written all over her young face, eyeing the knife in the archer’s hands with wonder. She tentatively reached forward to touch the knife, her fingertips close to making contact with the cold metal of the dangerous weapon.

Daryl jerked the knife away and out of reach of the young girl. “Dun’ touch that,” he barked coldly, standing up to keep the knife out of the young girl’s reach.

“Sharp mife?” the girl questioned, moving closer towards the archer. She reached up to grab his arm, trying to reach the knife.

Daryl frowned at the girl. He gently pried his arm away from the girl’s grasp and took a step back, unnerved by the soft touch of the child’s hands. That didn't seem to deter the girl, however.

“Mistah use sharp mife?”

“Scram, kid. Go back to yer mama.”

“Mama?” the girl asked, her eyes lighting up at the mere mention of her mother. “Mama! Get Mama!”

“What? No, that ain’t—” Daryl started, but was abruptly cut off when the girl took off and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, wobbling more like a penguin than anything else. Daryl raised his eyebrows as he watched the girl’s retreating figure, confused by the interaction he just had.

Well, he thought, at least that’s the end of that. However, as Daryl gathered his crossbow and sheathed his knife, he inwardly groaned at the sound of the little girl’s voice calling out to him.

“Mistah! Mama here!”

Daryl turned and looked at two approaching figures. The young girl was holding a woman’s hand, leading the woman over to him. The woman was laughing lightly, allowing herself to be pulled by the little girl.

“Come, Mama!” the little girl giggled, excitedly tugging your hand harder.

“Okay, okay! No need to rip my hand off,” you laughed, soon coming to a stop in front of Daryl.

Daryl looked at you with a frown, scowling slightly. His eyes darted between the excited little girl and you, slightly taken aback by the friendliness you radiated. Despite everything he had done for the community up until that point, only a few select Alexandrians—mainly Aaron and Eric—didn’t show him any contempt or wariness. Yet there you were, smiling up at him and looking as pretty as a picture.

“Mama,” the little girl excitedly told him, pointing up to you. She smiled at you, dimples forming on her chubby cheeks.

Well, the kid certainly knew how to follow orders. He had told her to go get her mama, and there you were.

“I'm Y/N. You must be Daryl?” You introduced yourself, extending your hand for a handshake.

Daryl looked at your hand, not moving to take it. However, just as you were about to lower your hand awkwardly at his dismissal, the little girl stepped forward.

“Like this, mistah,” she instructed, taking the archer’s hand and putting it in yours.

Daryl flinched at the contact and quickly withdrew his hand, looking at the little girl with a small frown. He looked back at you, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

This was the worst random social situation he’d ever been in.

“Sorry,” you apologized, giving him a sheepish smile before turning back to your daughter. “Hazel, we don’t touch people unless they say we can, alright?”

“Sorry, Mama,” Hazel apologized half-heartedly, not fully understanding what you were saying. She turned back to look at Daryl. “Sorry, Dar.”

“Daryl,” the archer corrected her with a gruff tone of voice, talking for the first time since you had approached him.

Hazel looked up at him in confusion. “Dar,” she repeated herself, a look of concentration on her face.

“No, ‘s—nevermind. Forget it,” Daryl grumbled, shifting his weight from his one leg to the other. He looked back to you again and noticed how awkward you looked, your lips pursed as you avoided his eyes.

“Sorry. She has trouble with pronouncing some words and names. I’m working on helping her with that,” you explained, your body language exuding a challenging aura, as if daring him to insult your daughter for something as miniscule as not being able to pronounce a name.

Daryl noticed the defensive tone in your voice and noticed your defensive stature, making him raise his eyebrows questioningly, yet he refrained from questioning why. “S’alrigh’,” he mumbled, awkwardly fiddling with his crossbow that was slung over his shoulder.

“Okay,” you said, gathering Hazel up into your arms. “Well, it was nice meeting you, but I have to get going. I have to get this gremlin ready for dinner. Sorry for bothering you.”

With that, you turned around and retreated back towards the houses, Hazel happily babbling in your arms. Daryl watched your retreating figure with a sense of uneasiness. In that short interaction, he found himself unexplainably drawn to you. He didn't know you, but some part of him wanted to get to know you.

However, as quickly as that thought entered his mind, he just as quickly disregarded it. He didn’t need to get attached to any more people, especially people who couldn’t protect themselves in this harsh world they were forced to live in. In the end, everyone he cared about died or left, so it was better to spare himself the inevitable pain and keep you and your daughter at an arm’s length.

Something told him that it would be easier said than done, however.

The next morning, Daryl found himself working alongside Aaron. The two of them were busy carrying large pieces of metal to the wall they were busy fortifying, Aaron making casual small talk while Daryl simply hummed in acknowledgement. Once the last piece of metal was added to the already existing pile, the two men wiped the sweat from their foreheads and took a drink of water, before walking over to Aaron’s house. Aaron took a seat on the porch steps while Daryl remained standing on the grass.

“So yeah, that’s how I met Eric,” Aaron told him, concluding his long and winded tale.

“Story straight out a damn romance novel,” Daryl replied sarcastically, eliciting a laugh from Aaron.

“Yeah, yeah. Make fun of it all you want. Everyone always does.”

“Nah, s’a good story. Pretty cliche with the whole spillin’ yer coffee on his shirt bit, but s’still a good story,” Daryl reassured him. “Now c’mon, didn’t ya say somethin’ ‘bout havin’ a part for my bike?”

“Dar!”

As if materializing out of thin air, Hazel excitedly bounded down the porch steps of Aaron’s home and threw herself against Daryl, clinging to his leg in a hug. Caught off guard, Daryl stumbled a bit but quickly regained his footing, his eyes darting down to look at Hazel. His eyebrows raised in surprise before he gently pried the girl from his legs, not used to any kid other than his little Asskicker clinging to him like that.

“Kid, what are ya doin’?” he questioned, taking a step back from her, but it was to no avail. Hazel simply smiled up at him before throwing herself at him again, clinging to his leg like a koala bear.

Aaron chuckled. “I see you’ve met Hazel. She’s quite the character, huh?”

“What’s she even doin’ here?”

“Eric asked to babysit her. He loves having her over, and her mom said yes.”

Hazel giggled against Daryl’s leg, turning her head to look at Aaron. “Hi, Rin!”

“Hey, Hazel,” Aaron chuckled fondly, sending the girl a small wave.

“Rin?” Daryl questioned, placing one of his big hands on the little girl’s head, accepting his fate of being clung to for the time being.

“She can’t say my name properly,” Aaron explained. “She has trouble with pronouncing things sometimes.”

“Yeah, her mama said somethin’ ‘bout that,” Daryl said without really thinking about it.

“So you’ve met her?” Aaron asked, leaning forward with slight interest. He had a small smirk on his face, one that Daryl couldn’t quite decipher.

“Briefly. Hazel practically dragged her over to meet me yesterday,” Daryl replied, looking down at Hazel when he felt her grip loosen on his leg.

Hazel looked up at him and raised her arms, looking at him expectantly. “Upsies,” she said, jumping slightly on her toes. “Dar, upsies!”

To his complete and utter surprise, Daryl found himself leaning down to pick her up. The act hadn’t even fully registered in his brain until the small girl was already in his arms, her small, chubby hands gripping at his shirt as she giggled. The small sound of her laughter made the archer’s heart fill with a sudden and unexpected fondness, completely taking him by surprise. It was the same type of fondness that filled his heart whenever he coaxed a laugh from little Judith, and yet it was completely different at the same time. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“She seems to like you, Daryl,” Aaron laughed, standing up from his position on the porch steps. “Not a lot of people can say that about her.”

“What do ya mean?” Daryl found himself questioning, confused entirely by the man’s revelation. From the limited interactions that the archer has had with the young girl up until that point, he naturally assumed that Hazel was that way with everyone. What would make him special enough to the little girl, who had just met him, to make her treat him differently than she would others?

Aaron motioned for Daryl to follow him into the house, and he obliged, silently entering the pristine house while still carrying Hazel in his arms. The girl took a great interest in his hair, playing with it to entertain herself.

“From what Y/N told us, she was with a group before she got here who treated her and Hazel horribly, and Hazel hasn’t fully regained her trust in adults yet,” Aaron explained.

Daryl frowned. “Badly, how?”

“She wouldn’t say, but it took forever for Eric and I to gain Hazel’s trust. We even tried to bribe her with candy but she wouldn’t budge. But she seems to trust you and you said you only met her yesterday?”

“Yeah. She approached me at that makeshift park the kids play at,” Daryl nodded, rubbing a hand over Hazel’s small back subconsciously, shifting her in his arms slightly.

“Then you’re definitely special, buddy. This kid doesn’t trust easily,” Aaron declared, sitting down on a chair in the dining room.

Daryl followed his lead, taking a seat across from him on a chair while still holding the small girl firmly in his arms. Hazel’s attention shifted from his hair to the loose threads on his sleeveless shirt, playing with them to keep herself occupied.

“They were with a group ‘fore this? How long have they been here?” Daryl questioned, interested in knowing more about you, although he didn’t know why.

“Yeah. Hazel and her mom haven’t been here all that long. I actually found them a couple of days, maybe a week, before I found you all. From what I know, Y/N and Hazel had been on their own for a while before I found them. Y/N almost killed me the first time we met. She thought I was gonna hurt them. It took me and Eric a while to convince her to come back with us, but even then she refused to let her guard down. She was kind of like Rick when we first met, except she didn't tie me up or force me to eat apple sauce.”

Daryl hummed, hissing slightly when he felt Hazel tug at his hair rather harshly. He brought one of his hands up to pry her hand away from his hair, subconsciously rubbing his thumb over her small fist. “That hurts,” he told her softly, surprising himself by the gentleness of his usually gruff voice.

“Sorry, Dar,” Hazel apologized half-heartedly. She yawned before laying her head down on his shoulder. She wrapped her small arms around his neck, nuzzling her head into the crook between his neck and shoulder.

Daryl felt his heart swell with fondness for the second time that day. He gently rubbed her back. From his experience with Judith, that small action could lull a small child into slumber, and he hoped that proved to be correct with Hazel.

“You’re good at that,” Aaron commented, a smile on his face as he watched that small interaction between the big, ‘scary’ man and the small, innocent child.

Daryl looked at him, confused by the look the man was sending him. “Good at what?” he inquired, genuinely curious.

“That,” Aaron repeated himself, motioning to Hazel. “Were you a dad before all of this?”

Daryl stiffened at the question. “Nah,” he shook his head, adjusting Hazel in his arms again. “Not the type’a guy who could’ve started a family back then.”

“And now?” Aaron asked, unaware of Daryl’s inner turmoil.

Daryl inhaled sharply. “To start a family, ya need a partner,” Daryl started, slightly rocking the small girl in his arms. “I ain’t got a partner, and there ain’t exactly women linin’ up to be with me, so kids ain’t somethin’ I see in my future.”

“It could still happen, you know? You might meet someone. Hell, you know what? I know you’ll meet someone.”

“A lot of confidence for somethin’ that most likely won’t ever happen,” Daryl grumbled.

“Never say never, Daryl,” Aaron replied, giving the man a small smirk. “Never say never.”

“Mama! Mama!” Hazel called through the house, excitement evident in her voice.

You smiled at the sound of your daughter’s voice, glad to be able to see her again after a whole day of being alone in your small house. The sun was setting, the stars starting to twinkle in the sky and you were almost done with dinner. Eric had told you that he would bring Hazel back before sunset and you were starting to get worried, but thankfully she seemed to be okay.

You walked into the living room and hunched down to pick up the small girl that ran into your arms, hugging her tightly to you as you placed kisses all over her face. She giggled at the sensation and pulled back, grabbing your hand and excitedly pointing towards the door.

“Mama, Dar here,” she said, smiling widely before turning towards the door.

You followed her line of sight and locked eyes with the archer. You stood up and gave him an awkward smile, painfully aware of the awkward encounter you had with the man the day before. Daryl seemed to mirror your unease; he nervously shifted his weight from one leg to the other, ducking his head to avoid your gaze.

“I see that, Sweetheart,” you replied, keeping your eyes locked on the man before you.

“I played with Rin and Eric. Dar played too!” Hazel happily exclaimed, clapping her hands together in excitement as she looked up at Daryl in awe.

“Did he, now?” you asked rhetorically, marvelling at the sudden and unexpected change of character for the quiet man. Just the day before, he had shrugged Hazel off and seemed to want nothing to do with her, yet now your daughter was claiming that the huntsman had spent time with her that day. It didn’t make any sense whatsoever.

“Yeah! So fun!” Hazel laughed happily, waddling over to Daryl to seemingly hug his leg again.

Daryl, who had been hugged multiple times by the toddler that day, instinctively crouched down to have her hug his side instead of his leg. Hazel wrapped her small arms around him and nuzzled her head into his neck, and Daryl couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face. One day had been more than enough for him to grow fond of the small girl, and he cursed himself for letting his guard down enough for that to happen, but the damage was already done; that little girl had already wormed her way into his heart.

“I'm glad you enjoyed yourself,” you smiled at her, watching the interaction between the archer and your baby girl. “Baby, why don't you go get changed into your blue PJ’s, huh? You're a big girl now, right? Think you can get changed without Mama’s help?”

“Yeah!” she exclaimed happily, pulling away from the hug and giving Daryl a smile, dimples on full display. “Bye, Dar!”

“Bye, Hazel,” Daryl greeted her quietly, watching the girl waddle to the stairs and begin to climb them carefully. He then hesitantly shifted his attention to you, but instead of seeing that wariness he’d grown accustomed to other parents giving him, one that he expected you to give him after his encounter with you the day before, there was a look of curiosity and wonder in your eyes.

“Thanks for bringing her home,” you thanked him, offering the archer a small smile.

Daryl ducked his head. “Ain’t nothin’,” he replied, shaking his head.

“So, you spent the day with her?” you started, looking at him questioningly. “By the way you looked uncomfortable around her yesterday, I figured you’d avoid her at all costs.”

“I was spendin’ the day helpin’ Aaron. He invited me to his place ‘cause he had a part I needed for my bike and Hazel was there. She wouldn’t let go of me after she saw me,” Daryl explained, fiddling with his hands.

“So she basically forced you into spending time with her?” you asked with a small laugh, your eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Pretty much,” Daryl joked, his lips involuntarily twitching into a small smile.

You laughed lightly and Daryl chuckled softly, admiring the way your eyes seemingly sparkled. The dim light of the living room gave you a golden glow, and Daryl found himself admiring your beauty. The unnerving thought struck him at full force and he tried to shake that thought from his mind—he couldn’t let his mind go there. He wouldn’t let his mind go there. He had to keep you at an arm’s length. It was bad enough that Hazel had broke through his barrier in one measly day, so he couldn’t allow her mom to do the same, too. More attachments definitely wasn’t something the archer needed.

“Well, Hazel seems happy. I think you’ve just became her best friend, whether you like it or not,” you told him playfully.

“I have a feeling that I ain’t got much say in the matter.

“Nope,” you laughed. “But thank you. She hasn’t looked that happy in a long time.”

“Glad I could help,” Daryl replied, a small smile on his face. “Sorry for bein’ a dick yesterday.”

“It’s fine. We shouldn't have bothered you.”

“Ya weren’t botherin’ me. I jus’... Weren’t in a good mood, s’all. M’sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” You gave him a sweet smile before turning around. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Daryl frowned in confusion but didn’t say anything. A few minutes passed until you reentered the living room, a lunchbox in your hand. You promptly handed it to him, and Daryl could feel the heat radiating off the bottom.

“What’s this?” he asked, giving you a questioning look.

“Stew. I made more than Hazel and I can finish, so I figured I’d give you some. And before you say anything, just take it. Consider it a thank you gift.”

Daryl pursed his lips but nodded, resisting the urge to deny your ‘gift’. “Thanks.”

“No problem at all,” you reassured him, looking up at him with a smile that made his heart flutter uncontrollably.

Daryl ducked his head, willing the blush on his face to go away. “I should get goin’,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

“I’ll walk you out,” you replied, making good of your promise by walking with him over to the door.

Daryl stepped out of your home and turned to you. He gave you a nod and turned to walk away, but stopped when he heard you speak up.

“I hope you realize that she isn’t gonna let you off the hook. You’re going to be stuck with her now. And my daughter and I are a package deal, so you’re going to be stuck with me, too.”

For some unknown reason, Daryl didn’t mind that thought at all.

“Easy, Hazelnut. Ya dun’ wanna hurt yerself, do ya?”

The toddler giggled, her small hands toying with the arrow in her hands. “Sorry, Dar.”

Daryl smiled at the small girl, bringing one of his hands up to ruffle her hair, successfully coaxing another laugh from her. “I know ya are. Jus’ try to be more careful, alright? I dun’ want ya gettin’ hurt.”

“No boo-boos. Boo-boos hurt,” Hazel replied, gingerly handing the arrow back to the archer.

“They do,” Daryl agreed, taking the arrow from the girl. “That’s why ya gotta be careful, alright? Dun’ want anythin’ to happen to someone as sweet as ya, Hazelnut.”

Hazel giggled and nodded. “No boo-boos.”

“No boo-boos,” Daryl repeated, smiling fondly at the young girl.

Two months had passed since Daryl had initially met you and Hazel. In those two months, Daryl had found himself becoming intertwined with your lives, a constant presence for you and your daughter.

The archer hadn’t asked you what had happened to Hazel’s father yet, and he wondered when he could be permitted to ask something as personal as that. However, Daryl knew that there could only be two plausible explanations; either he was dead, or he willingly left. The huntsman really hoped it wasn’t the latter. No person should be left to raise a kid on their own.

However, as Daryl’s love for the young girl grew, so did his feelings for you. It got to the point where he had started wishing that he was Hazel’s dad, that he could’ve been there during your pregnancy and watched your belly grow. He would’ve worshipped your body and been there for you every step of the way. However, as much as he wanted that, that was a dream that couldn’t be a reality, so he settled on being Hazel's best friend instead. At least it meant being able to both bond with the little girl and simultaneously have an excuse to see you.

“The two of you look like you’re having fun. Mind if I join?”

Daryl’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice. His eyes met yours and his heart skipped a beat, that sweet smile of yours making butterflies swarm around in his stomach.

“Mama!” Hazel exclaimed happily, hurrying down the porch steps to fling herself into your arms.

You laughed, picking her up and placing a kiss on her forehead. You looked at Daryl and sent him a smile. “Hey, Daryl.”

“Hey,” he greeted you quietly, fiddling with the arrow in his hands.

“Mama, play with us!” Hazel giggled, wiggling in your arms to be put down.

You lowered her to the ground, watching her climb up the porch steps and clamber into Daryl’s lap. Daryl lowered the arrow and wrapped his arms around her, placing a small kiss to the side of her head. You smiled at the interaction, your heart speeding up against your will.

“I know what I just said, but I actually can’t, Baby. It’s time to go home. It’s dinner time,” you told her.

Hazel frowned and nuzzled her head into Daryl’s neck, a whimper building up in her throat. Instinctively, Daryl started rocking her back and forth, rubbing her small back and shushing her quietly.

“S’alright, dun’ cry. Ya will see me again tomorrow, alright?” he whispered into her ear, his heart breaking at the sound of her sniffles. When he felt her nod, he placed one final kiss to the side of her head before placing her back down. “Why dun’ ya go say bye to Jude?”

Hazel looked at you expectantly, and you nodded. “Go ahead, Baby. I’ll wait for you.”

Hazel ran into the house, leaving you and Daryl alone on the porch. The archer stood up and walked down to meet you on the grass, pushing his hands into his pockets as he looked at you through his hair. As you looked at him, it took all of your willpower to resist the urge to brush his hair out of his face and cup his cheek. Not trusting your own hands, you crossed your arms and looked up at the huntsman, giving him a small smile.

“This is the first time ya’ve come to pick her up. I usually bring her home. S’somethin’ wrong?” Daryl inquired, searching your eyes for an answer.

You shook your head. “No, nothing’s wrong. I just figured that I could come pick her up for a change. Spare you the walk back to my place.”

“It ain’t that far,” Daryl pointed out, motioning down the street. “Jus’ a couple’a houses down.”

“Yeah, I know, but...” you trailed off, unsure if you should lay your problems onto him.

“But what?” he questioned, suddenly on edge. Had you changed your mind about him? About him being around you and your daughter? He really hoped not.

You hesitated for a moment. “It’s nothing. Just some moms around the community who like to be judgy.”

“What are they sayin’?”

“That I'm a bad mom for not taking the time out of my day to pick up my own daughter. That I’m dumping my responsibilities onto other people. Just thought I’d start proving them wrong.”

“Hey, yer not a bad mom. I like bringin’ Hazel home at the end of the day. That way I know she’s safe.” He also liked it because it meant he got to see you being all domestic, hugging your daughter tightly and sending him beautiful smiles, inviting him to stay for dinner each time. He always declined, not wanting to be a burden, but your offer never waned.

You smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Daryl instantly noticed it and placed one of his hands on your shoulder, taking you by surprise. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and your skin flushed where he touched you.

“Dun’ let ‘em convince ya that yer a bad mom. I ain’t never seen a better mom than ya. How many moms here can say that they kept their kid alive out there in the real world? That, despite everythin’, their kid came first and that they would kill for them?”

“How did you know I wasn’t here from the start?”

“Aaron told me he that found ya and Hazel on yer own not too long before he found us. The fact that ya kept her alive on yer own for that long proves to me that yer the best fuckin’ mom under the sun.”

You smiled at him and placed your hand over his that was still resting on your shoulder. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“No problem,” he replied, holding eye contact with you. His hand lingered on your shoulder for longer than necessary, and he gazed deep into your eyes.

Your heart sped up and stopped beating at the same time, noticing a shift in the archer’s emotions. However, before either of you could do anything else, Daryl snapped out of it and withdrew his hand, taking a step back.

You cleared your throat and ducked your head, your face heating up. Luckily, Hazel ran out at that moment and bounded down the stairs, throwing herself into Daryl’s side and clinging to his leg.

“Bye, Dar!”

Daryl pressed Hazel tightly to him. “Bye, Hazelnut.”

Hazel unwound her arms from around him and moved over to you, extending her arms to be picked up. You did just that, holding her tightly to you. You turned to Daryl and offered him a small smile.

“You know, my offer still stands. You could join us for dinner.”

Daryl was about to decline your offer again, but Hazel cut him off.

“Yes! Please, Dar!”

In that moment, Daryl found that he wouldn’t be able to say no this time around. He just would’t be able to. He gave you both a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

You smiled broadly. “Great! Come on, then.”

“Dun’ I need to change?”

“No, you’re fine, don’t worry. You can come as is.”

“Alright,” Daryl nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Could you maybe get Hazel settled into her highchair? I’ll be right out with the food.”

Daryl nodded and watched you retreat from the dining room into the kitchen before turning around. “Hazelnut!” he called, hearing the toddler’s footsteps come into the dining room.

Hazel stared up at the archer with a huge smile, her arms extended to be picked up. Daryl smiled softly at the girl and leaned down to pick her up, placing her in her highchair. Once he was sure that she was settled and wouldn’t fall out, he got settled in the chair next to her, listening to Hazel’s happy babbling.

Soon enough, you reentered the dining room with a pot of spaghetti and meatballs. The aroma of the meal made Daryl’s mouth practically water. The last time he’d eaten spaghetti was when Aaron had invited him, and that was a good couple of months ago at that point.

“It smells fuckin’ good,” Daryl complimented you without really thinking about his choice of words, and he instantly regretted not thinking about them beforehand.

“Fuck,” Hazel repeated happily, completely oblivious to the horrified look that spread over Daryl’s face, or the amused one that spread over yours.

“Nah, Hazelnut, dun’ say that. Dun’ ever say that,” he told her hurriedly, his heart beating faster at his mistake.

“Fuck,” Hazel giggled.

“No, I jus’ said—” Daryl started, shooting you a worried look. However, he calmed down when he saw your amused smile. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” you told him, laughing lightly while serving everyone some food. “Don’t look so worried. I’m not gonna bite your head off because of one little slip up. If I had a penny for every time I accidentally slipped up since she was born, I would’ve had enough money to be able to buy a yacht in the old world. You’re good, don’t worry.

“Okay, but we can’t have her goin’ ‘round sayin’ that, though,” Daryl replied, taking a deep breath to calm himself. You weren’t mad. Everything was fine.

“You’re right about that,” you started, turning to look at Hazel. “Baby, you can’t say fuck, okay? That word belongs to Daryl. Until he’s ready to share that word, you can’t say it, alright?”

“Okay, Mama,” Hazel replied, starting to eat her food rather messily.

Daryl chuckled softly at the girl before turning to his own food. He started eating as well, the flavours of the delicious meal melting on his tongue. He wanted to gulp it all down but he resisted the urge, instead eating with a delicacy he never knew existed in him.

The meal was mostly spent in silence, save for Hazel’s happy babbling and the occasional input from you or Daryl. Daryl did, however, sneak glances at you when you weren’t looking, admiring your beauty and the soft, loving, tender way you acknowledged your daughter and the tenderness you used when you wiped her face clean of the sauce.

Unbeknownst to the archer, you had also been sneaking glances at him. Admiring his gentleness with your daughter, the way his eyes softened and the quiet chuckles he would let out whenever Hazel did something amusing, or the small smiles he would send in your direction. It was amazing how important Daryl had become to you and Hazel in a span of a few months. The big, gruff, quiet man with a heart of gold, who had invaded your thoughts and your heart. It was both terrifying and thrilling to think about.

Your respective meals were soon finished. and Hazel’s eyes were beginning to droop. You noticed it and got up to take her out of her highchair. She instantly laid her head down onto your shoulder and closed her eyes, and you placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

“You tired, Baby?” you cooed, rubbing her back gently. When she simply responded by nuzzling her face deeper into your shoulder, you laughed fondly and turned to Daryl, sending him an apologetic look. “Sorry, I should probably get this little rascal to bed. You can stay here. I’ll be right back.”

However, as soon as you said that, Hazel interjected. “Dar tuck me in with Mama?” she asked innocently, lifting her head up to look at Daryl.

Daryl looked surprised. He locked eyes with you, his heart fluttering at the smile you sent him.

“If Daryl’s okay with it,” you whispered, looking at him through your eyelashes.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Daryl replied, nodding his head.

You motioned for him to follow you upstairs, and he obliged. Together, the two of you descended up the stairs and into Hazel’s bedroom. Daryl stopped in the doorway, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, but you had other ideas. You gently took his hand and led him into the room, only letting go of it to tuck your daughter into bed. Daryl subconsciously placed his hand on your shoulder instead, watching place your little girl into bed.

Hazel was already half asleep when you put her into her bed. She instantly curled up into her pillow and let out a big sigh, her eyes opening only slightly. In her view, she saw you, her mom, the woman who always protected her when the two of you were living on the road outside the walls, and always loved her despite her shenanigans. And Daryl, the man who at first had been kind of mean, but was now always there for both her and her mom. The man who undeniably had started to feel like a daddy to her.

“Night, Mama. Night, Daddy,” Hazel mumbled, her eyes closing and she drifted into slumber. In seconds, she was out cold.

Time froze for a moment. Daryl’s eyes widened and his heart practically pounded out of his chest. There was no way that he had heard it right. There was no way that Hazel had just called him dad. There was no way that Hazel trusted and loved him enough to see him as her father. She couldn’t, could she?

He turned to look at you and noticed the unreadable expression on your face. You didn’t address what she had just said, however, and Daryl was too nervous to bring it up himself.

“We should probably let her sleep,” you whispered to him, motioning towards the door.

“Yeah,” Daryl agreed and followed you out the door.

Together, the two of you descended down the stairs and back into the dining room. You turned to look at Daryl and motioned towards the living room.

“You can wait in the living room. I just wanna put the dishes in the sink and then I’ll join you.”

“Nah, let me help,” Daryl protested, moving over to grab all the dishes. Before you could protest, Daryl walked into the kitchen. You quickly followed behind him and watched him put the dishes in the sink, but before he could start washing them, you quickly stopped him.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll wash them tomorrow,” you assured him. “Do you want some wine?”

Daryl nodded and hummed, silently observing as you grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, as well as a bottle of wine. You placed the glasses on the counter before popping the the bottle open, pouring the two of you each a glass of wine. You handed him the glass and propped yourself onto the counter, letting your legs swing below you.

Daryl leaned against the counter and took a sip of his wine, humming in approval at the taste. “S’good. Thanks.”

“It’s nothing, really. I've been wanting a reason to open the bottle for a while now.”

“Ya can’t jus’ drink it whenever ya want?” Daryl questioned, taking another sip from the glass in his hand.

“I could, but I prefer not to. I don’t want to be like—” you started, but abruptly stopped. You hurriedly took a sip of your wine, welcoming the taste in your mouth.

“Like who?” Daryl asked, frowning at the uncomfortable look on your face.

You hesitated for a long moment, not sure if you should tell Daryl about your past problems. You were afraid that Daryl would look at you differently if you revealed anything. However, as you looked into his eyes, you only saw care and concern, so you found yourself confiding in him.

“Hazel’s father,” you revealed, pursing your lips at the thought of the man you hated more than anything in the world.

“What was he like?” Daryl asked, placing his glass down on the counter. He turned his full attention to you, his eyes trailing over your face for any shift in emotion.

“He was a fucking asshole,” you spat angrily, clenching your jaw in anger. “He was a raging alcoholic and a frequent drug user. He didn’t even stop when Hazel was born. If anything, it got worse. I tried so hard to get him sober, but nothing worked. He always yelled at me and threatened to hurt Hazel whenever I brought it up, but I stayed. I was too scared to leave. And then one day, when I woke up, he was just... Gone. No note, no phone call, nothing. Hazel was barely one year old.”

Daryl frowned deeply, anger bubbling inside him at the thought of someone hurting you and Hazel so badly. He clenched his fist and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He had no right to get angry. That wasn’t something that happened to him.

“Not too long after that, the world went to shit. His sister came to pick us up and took us to her camp, and that’s where I saw that asshole again. He treated Hazel so badly and got the other people in the camp to taunt and be mean to her. Hazel didn’t even do anything wrong, and I never even brought up the fact that she was his kid, but they all ganged up on her. Thankfully it never got physical, but I could tell that it really scarred her. It went on until the camp got overrun, and all of those fuckers got what they deserved. The only reason Hazel and I got out was because his sister helped us. She sacrificed herself for us. After that, Hazel and I were on our own for more than a year. I’m surprised that I managed to keep us alive for that long on my own, but I managed. And then Aaron and Eric found us, and the rest is history.”

Daryl was speechless. It angered him that someone would hurt you like that, would hurt little Hazel like that. And the fact that you had to survive on your own for that long... It amazed him. He wished that he could’ve found you earlier and have protected you and Hazel from all those horrors, but there was nothing he could do to change the past. He could only ensure that nothing ever touched you in the future.

“Yer a strong woman. The fact that ya went through all’a that and managed to keep Hazel alive and love her unconditionally proves that. Yer amazing and I hope ya know that.”

You were taken aback by the sudden confession, but a smile soon spread across your face. You hopped off the counter and stood in front of him, almost chest to chest. You looked up at him, your faces close enough to close the remaining distance between your lips. You didn’t even fully know why you did that. It was more than likely liquid courage, you figured.

“You’re amazing too. I don’t think you realize how much you mean to Hazel, how much you mean to me.”

With that, you closed the remaining distance between your lips. You pressed your lips against his softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. After a moment of shock, Daryl kissed you back feverishly, pulling you closer by your hips to have you flush against his body. You gasped against his lips, allowing Daryl to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moaned into his mouth and pressed yourself harder against him, eliciting a groan from the man.

As soon as you pulled away for air, you tugged Daryl by the lapel of his vest. “Wanna take this to my room?” you whispered, breathless from the ravenous kiss.

“What ‘bout Hazelnut? Won’t she wake up?” Daryl asked, pressing his forehead against yours.

“No. She’s out cold. The chances of her waking up are basically nonexistent.”

Daryl let out a deep breath and nodded, allowing you to pull him up the stairs. The two of you soon stumbled into your room, hurriedly closing the door and pawing at each other’s clothes. However, when you reached for Daryl’s shirt, he stopped you, a pained look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, a worried look on your face. “Did I do something wrong?”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah, ya didn’t do nothin’.”

“Then what’s wrong?” you asked him, gently cupping his cheek in your hand. “Talk to me. I promise I won’t judge.”

Daryl inhaled sharply. “I didn’t have a good childhood,” was all he offered before slowly removing his shirt.

Your eyes hungrily trailed over his body, your hands reaching forward to press against his chest. Sure, a few scars littered his chest, but they didn’t repulse you. You didn’t understand what Daryl was talking about until you got a glimpse of his back in the mirror in your room. The scars on his back were jagged and raised, and you instantly knew what they meant; someone had hurt this perfect man before you, and you felt so angry.

You walked behind him. “May I?” you whispered, your hands hovering over his back.

Daryl hesitantly nodded. You softly ran your fingers over his scars, your touch feathery light. The archer shivered involuntarily, closing his eyes at the feeling. Before meeting you, the only feeling that he ever associated with his back was pain from his father’s cruelty, yet there you were, tracing over his scars as if they were priceless paintings in a museum.

Soon your fingers were replaced with your lips, and Daryl’s eyes flew open. Your lips softly kissed over his scars, trailing down to the lowest scars on his lower back. When you were done, you turned him around to face you. You gently cupped his cheek, a small smile on your face.

“You're perfect to me, Daryl. You’re so sweet, kind and caring. Hell, my daughter called you dad. That says plenty.”

“M’perfect?”

“You're perfect.”

That was all you had to say for Daryl to pull you into another fiery kiss. The two of you soon toppled onto your bed, spending a night filled with passion together.

That next morning when Hazel woke up and walked into your room, she was pleasantly surprised to find Daryl sleeping there, holding you, her mama. She was, however, confused that when she woke the two of you up, you clutched the sheets to your bodies and refused to let her climb under them with you like you normally would do.

Two years later...

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Hazel. Happy birthday to you!”

You and Daryl cheered as Hazel blew out the candles on her homemade cake. Hazel laughed as she struggled to blow out the last one of the five candles on the cake, eliciting soft chuckles from you and Daryl. When she finally managed to extinguish it, you and Daryl each handed her a gift. She clapped her hands excitedly. She got up from her seat and ran to hug you and Daryl, which you both returned.

“Thank you, Mama. Thank you, Daddy,” she thanked with a big smile, eyeing the wrapped gifts on the table.

“Dun’ thank us yet, Hazelnut,” Daryl responded with a smile. “Go ahead and open ‘em.”

Hazel hurriedly opened each of the gifts and gasped with delight, holding up a colouring book, new crayons, and a new doll. She giggled in excitement at the gifts. “Can I go show these to Judith? We can colour and play dolls together now!”

You laughed and nodded. “Sure, Baby. Just be good for Auntie Michonne and Uncle Rick, okay?”

“Okay!” she agreed and took off in a run, throwing the front door open and disappearing out of it.

“I can’t believe she’s growin’ up so fast,” Daryl mumbled, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He rested his chin on the top of your head.

“I know, right? She’ll be moving away from home for college soon enough,” you joked.

“Hmm,” Daryl hummed, chuckling at your joke.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, turning around in the archer's arms. “I got something for you, too.”

“For me?” he asked in confusion, frowning slightly. “Why? It ain’t my birthday for another couple’a months.”

“I know, but this can’t wait that long. Here,” you told him, handing him a small box.

Daryl gingerly took the box from your hands and opened it. His eyes widened at the item inside, picking it up and looking at it. After examining it for a couple of moments, he confirmed that his mind indeed wasn’t playing a trick on him—it was a positive pregnancy test.

“Yer—Yer pregnant?” he asked, a smile spreading over his face.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, nodding your head. A laugh escaped you when Daryl picked you up and spun you around, before he placed you back on the ground and pulled you into a kiss.

When he pulled back, he leaned his forehead against yours. “Hazelnut’s gon’ have a baby sibling. We’re gon’ have another kid.”

“We are,” you agreed, closing your eyes. “I love you, Daryl.”

Daryl placed a gentle kiss against your forehead. “I love ya, too. And I already love that lil’ peanut in yer belly.”

“Hazelnut and Peanut, huh?”

“Yeah. Our two babies. Our own lil’ family,” Daryl told you wistfully, placing his hand on your stomach, over the life that was growing there.

“We have Hazel to thank for this. If she didn’t instantly like you back then, this might never have happened,” you told him, placing your hand over his.

“Remind me to thank her when she gets back later. But for now, let’s enjoy our alone time,” Daryl replied suggestively, tugging you with him as he walked backwards towards the stairs.

“I like that idea.”

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queers-gambit · 1 year ago

Text

And Let Me Love You Anyway [ part two of two ]

part one: Tell Me Every Terrible Thing

prompt: you embark on a secret but passionate affair with the Rogue Prince, and when his wife, Rhea Royce, passes away, he chooses you to wed next - a decision that angers his niece and changes history.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader -> hair color specified reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 6.3k+

note: what the fuck is this, Cherry? also two parts 'cause author gets carried away!

warnings: show spoilers, cursing, author has small bouts of feministic ideas, author also really likes the "little birds" storyline (let her live!), wonky brain is wonky, i think hurt and comfort, angst, very mild NSFW (female receiving oral), technically alternative timeline 'cause this goofy-ass author has an overactive imagination, #icanmakehimworse, another reader insert (this warning is for the fucking losers in my inbox).

"Alicent, we're late," you sighed with a frown, wiping your sweaty palms nervously as your necklace was latched in place and perfume spritzed on your pulse points. YES - that included your ankles.

"That's the point, sister, we're supposed to be late. It sends a message."

Your eyes rolled, snipping, "The King will not be pleased. I am not his wife, he can get angry at me, you know!"

"He'll manage," she snapped, glancing at Talya. She continued, "He dismissed Father for telling him a truth he would rather ignore. So much so, after years of service, he'd - "

"Yes, yes, the King removed Father as Hand, sent him back home," you nodded with understanding. "But we both know how he feels about his daughter, The Princess! The rumors circulating would cost him his life in the end, we are lucky he was only sent home!"

"Rumors! Rumors, sister, truly!? Tell me, do you think Father lied?"

"I know he didn't."

"Exactly why we're late to tonight's affair," she huffed, fixing her hair in the mirror again. "It's a statement, it's deliberate. We will stand out, prove we are not happy with the turn of events. Why offer Rhaenyra blind respect when she continues to do as she pleases - regardless of consequences."

You paused, sensing her anger brewing and trying to distract, "You know, Ser Lyonel Strong is not a bad replacement for Father."

"This is not about Ser Strong."

"Isn't it? Father's served long and faithfully, but perhaps it is time for a new guidance. Lyonel Strong is a smart man - qualified, even!"

"Yes," she agreed, turning to face you in a shimmering emerald gown. "But this is still an injustice to our family that I fear I cannot overlook any longer. It's been weeks..."

"Yes," you allotted, nodding with a sigh. "All right, yes, you are right, sweet sister. This is all just - it's a lot to take in, to try and digest. And we talk of playing a game with the Throne - I do not think we've the strength to endure alone."

"This is not about Lyonel Strong, sister! It's about Father and the disrespect the Crown continues to offer. Remember that," she advised softly.

You nodded, "I know, sister."

She frowned, "And remember... They aren't our kin. Despite previous displays of kindness, the Targaryens have made it clear that we are not family to them. They are not blood to us, sister; they will protect their own, not us. If we wish to survive, we will need to ally ourselves."

"I understand," you told your younger sister. "I am not arguing, I know what our reality is now - I merely implore to explore the routes that won't label us as traitors."

"I know, we have much to discuss going forward. But none of that for now," she took a long breath, smiling as she looked you up and down, complimenting, "you look stunning. Truly, you might outshine the bride tonight."

"Let's hope it doesn't come down to that, and that The Princess has a mature bone in her body - though I do not hold out hope." You smiled at her, "But enough about me, you look - you look like a Queen, sister-dearest. Gods, you're gorgeous, you look just like Mummy." The two of you shared an emotional, watery smile; embracing tightly as reality settled in your guts: it was you two Hightower Ladies against the whole of the Targaryen clan. "Come," you decided, taking a deep breath, "are we ready to go? Any later and I fear we might not get any cake."

"Oh, you and cake," she smirked, looking you over in a matching emerald, lighter-weight gown that had layers of thin fabrics clinging and dripping from your form. Golden jewelry was clasped around both your necks, wrists, tight around your fingers, and plugged into your ear piercings.

The Queen took your arm and left the dressing chambers you took refuge in, coming to a gasping halt when you were greeted by a well-groomed man in green velvet. "Father," Alicent exclaimed in shock.

"My daughters," he smiled, offering both arms, "I do believe we are now fashionably late. Hmm?"

"Exactly as we intended," you mused, taking his arm. "How is this possible? How are you here?"

"I was invited, if you believe that," Otto answered, the three of you walking slowly. "Though, I suspect your sister had something to do with that?"

"I only told Viserys I'd be deeply offended if you were ignored for this event," Alicent quipped.

"None the less, I am happy to escort my daughters to such a historic event," he spoke diplomatically, aware of the guards and servants milling around. Otto lead the way to the Throne Room - where you could hear King Viserys' echoing speech from the foyer.

None of you spoke, approaching the open doors and pausing to let everyone see the united Hightowers. Alicent wore her dark auburn locks pulled back from her face to cascade in thick ringlets down her back, your own Hightower-red hair left down around your face with the longer locks pinned off your neck. The entire room - the entire court - all wedding attendees and royal procession stared at you three in shock for entering during the King's speech. Your statement was clearly made.

Even from this distance, you could see how startled Rhaenyra was by your arrival, needing to fight off a smirk of amusement in order to keep your neutral façade.

You and Alicent walked arm-in-arm with your father, the once-Hand, down the stairs and up the aisle of banquet tables full of people, staring forward and giving no emotion away. The people buzzed in quiet gossip. The attending Hightowers of Oldtown, sitting closest to the royal banquet table because of their relation to the current Queen, stood first; everyone else following in a show of respect.

You and Alicent paused to let Otto sit with his relatives at the lower banquet table before joining arm-and-arm together. Over the muttering of the entire room, you whispered almost mutely, "Be kind, remain composed, we'll kill 'em with kindness."

Alicent gave a subtle flex to give indication she understood.

When you looked up at the table you approached under the King's heavy glare, you noticed there was an empty chair between Ser Strong and... Prince Daemon? Was that really him? When did he get here? Why was he back? It's only been a few weeks!

Your shock did not slow you, and as you approached the table reserved for the Royal Family, you saw Daemon smirking at your theatrics. Alicent did not let you part from her side as she greeted Princess Rhaenyra with a sickly-sweet voice, "Congratulations, stepdaughter. What a blessing this is for you."

She ignored any other reaction to let go of your arm, kiss her husband's cheek in greeting, stand beside him, in front of her chair, and stare forward with zero other emotion.

"Congratulations, Princess," you whispered, bowing your head. "Your Grace," you acknowledged, doing the same and taking the empty chair between Lord Hand and Rogue Prince only to stoically stare forward in silence. You did as Alicent did, not looking at any other, and just waiting for a pregnant moment that seemingly never ended.

"Please be seated," Viserys finally permitted, everyone sitting at his behest. He cleared his throat, whispering to Lyonel Strong, "Where was I?"

"The joining of the two Houses, Your Grace."

You swallowed when a warm hand laid on your right thigh, Viserys continuing his speech. You glanced at Daemon, seeing his smirk, and instead of throwing his hand off you, you laid your own over his to give a long squeeze. You had wrestled with the idea of his favorite whore, Mysaria, and the idea of whatever he did with Princess Rhaenyra for weeks. Then when you heard word that his wife, Lady Rhea Royce, had met her untimely end, you knew he was involved, yet said nothing. You could only think deeply about what it all meant - and how you fit into the equation that was Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Tell me every terrible thing you ever did...

All you could understand was the overwhelming affection you held for him. His shocked-wide-eyes found yours for a long moment, seeming communicating telepathically - you telling him you wanted him. His hand tightened to keep hold of yours, hidden from the public for the time being.

And let me love you anyway...

You tuned back into the King's speech in time to clap with the others, showing your support of the union you technically helped influence between Targaryen and Velaryon.

However, you caught the way Alicent glared at Rhaenyra, sighing to yourself; having heard through long private dinners what Alicent came to know and why this upset her so much. How strange to learn Ser Criston Cole admitted to Ali that he was coerced into soiling the Princess' purity - not her Uncle Daemon, like rumored. Yet none the less, the girl had sworn on her beloved, dearly departed mother to Alicent that she was still a maiden... A huge, glaring lie - that both you and Ali took personally.

You found all of this terribly interesting, yet did not let the distain show so boldly. After Daemon came to you in confession, you had yet to speak a word outside of public politeness to the Princess; feeling betrayed by what your lover had told you. He had been right: you were Rhaenyra's friend, she wasn't yours. So, you demoted yourself to create distance.

When the drums rumbled and the Princess took to the dance floor with her intended, you spared Daemon a look and muttered, "You do not have to look so annoyed."

"I'm not, sweet one."

"Nor so amused," you tacked on.

Daemon smirked at you, leaning in and pondering, "I am only wondering if you would care for a dance later, my Lady?"

You lied, speaking in a teasing tone, "I'm not one for dancing, my Prince."

"A single dance with me, then. Just one, pretty lady."

"You're pushy," you whispered, nudging him to keep quiet; but the grin on your lips assured him you were completely enraptured by his antics.

He sat back with a smirk, watching his niece and her fiancé dance. The entire courtroom clapped at the end, others flooding to the spaces around them. You glanced over as your sister stood from her seat, meeting your eyes and offering only a soft smile before descending from the table to approach your aunt and uncle from Oldtown - standing with your father on the side of the room. You sighed under your breath, your lover tightening his grip on your thigh.

Daemon made for a great distraction. "Did you hear the news?" He asked softly, reaching for his goblet of wine with his free hand.

"Which news would that be, my Prince?" You asked casually, pretending your heart wasn't hammering in your chest.

"Of my dear wife's passing."

"I did, actually," you fought off your smirk. "I am truly sorry to hear of it, I understand Lady Rhea was truly one of a kind. You shouldn't speak ill of the dead, love," you reminded in a whisper.

"Hmm. Don't be sorry, I'm not," he eased.

"You're not? Your wife died, Daemon..."

"I know," he met your gaze, "I'm not sorry because now it gives me vocation to follow my own desires."

You smirked, "Which desire will you follow first?"

His hand tightened to a bruising grip. He was not able to answer yet because your gaze was caught by movement, Rhea Royce's cousin approaching slowly, evidently a cup or two deep in the wine; making you remove Daemon's hand so you both could sit casually - without touching.

The man gruffly leered at Daemon, "In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes." Your lover spared you an exasperated look as he tacked on, "Even Targaryens."

"Who are you?" Daemon asked dully.

"This is Ser Gerold Royce, my Prince," you told him softly, "of Runestone."

Daemon perked his brow, asking sarcastically, "An excellent show of your knowledge, my sweet lady, but what does that matter to me?"

You didn't answer, Ser Lyoel Strong (who was listening in) didn't answer, because Ser Gerold was approaching the table by climbing the stairs. He growled at Daemon, "I am cousin to your late Lady wife."

"Ah, yes... Terrible thing," Daemon offered. "I'm positively bereft. Such a tragic accident."

"You know better than anyone, it was no accident."

Through a smirk, Daemon quipped, "Are you confessing some guilt, Ger Gerold?"

"I am making an accusation."

You shared a look with Lyonel to your left, catching sight of the King's turned head - showing he was listening, too. Daemon easily deflected, "Here, in King's Landing, men are made to answer for their slanders. Even old bronze cunts like you." This angered Ser Gerold visibly, the man stepping closer, but obviously restrained himself. Your lover continued, "The truth is I'm glad you've come. I wish to speak to you about my inheritance."

"What inheritance?" Ser Gerold demanded.

"Lady Rhea and I had no heirs. As her husband, whatever she was due now passes to me. She stood to inherit all of Runestone. Did she not?" Daemon had Ser Gerold pinned by legality, the man looking disturbed by his own realization. So, naturally, Daemon taunted, "After my niece's wedding, I plan to fly to the Eyrie and petition Lady Jeyne myself. Perhaps I'll see you there, Ser Gerold."

The man sheepishly walked away, his inebriated mind whirling with possibilities. You glared, pinching Daemon's arm so you could scold him when he turned to face you, "That wasn't very kind."

"And?"

"You don't truly care for Runestone," you snapped. "Now that man will fear for his home, fret over the laws, and that's not very nice."

He sighed, "What would you have me do, sweet one?"

"Leave House Royce to grieve and rearrange their succession without your pettiness."

Daemon smirked, "Whatever my Lady wants."

"You're dreadfully annoying tonight, do you know that?" You whined. "I'm going for a dance, and no, this is not an invitation to follow," you warned him - albeit playfully - before standing to excuse yourself.

"Sister," Alicent paused you before you could pass her by. "Are you well?"

"Yes, yes, just felt like dancing, too much energy to just sit. Come join - "

"No, no, I should sit. Eat," she smiled. "Perhaps tonight will be when you meet your match and we can plan another wedding."

"Perhaps," you mused, squeezing her hand. "You all right? What did Father and Uncle say?"

"Later," she whispered. "Go on, go."

You joined the stream of people dancing, instantly grinning when you were welcomed joyfully by different suitors. The band played a lively beat, the crowd cheering in rhythm; you being twirled around men and women with matching grins.

You heard your name being cheered through a small giggle.

"Hi, Princess," you greeted Rhaenyra as you both marched along to the beat. You reminded yourself this was all a game and if you wanted to survive, you'd have to play your part strategically. So, you quipped as you danced with Ser Arryn Blackwell, "Nice party you've got, huh?"

"Oh, you know how we Targaryens do," she teased. "Where've you been lately? I feel as if I've hardly seen you."

"Just busy with chores since Father was replaced as Hand," you answered, spinning under someone's arm.

Nyra didn't comment on that, instead, waiting a few moments before complimenting, "That's a beautiful dress, really goes with your hair!"

"That's what I hoped for," you gasped girlishly, deciding to play nice when she reached for your hands. You felt weak for a moment, but the truth was, you missed your friend... So, you might've giggled a bit when you joined hands, dancing together instead of with anyone else. With kindness, you offered, "You look gorgeous, as well, Princess, I love this dress - "

"Yes, yes, we all look fantastic," Daemon interrupted abruptly, crowding over you, asking quickly, "can I speak to you a moment, my Lady? The Princess won't mind, right, Rhaenyra?"

"Uh, no, I guess..." She eyed the two of you with suspicion as she stayed in-beat with the music.

"Daemon, not now - "

"We need to talk," he pulled you from where you danced, glancing back at the head banquet table as he took your hand, and lead you deeper into the crowd. He turned you to face him, pacing a small circle around you, demanding, "Do you still want to marry me?"

"What? Why are you asking now?"

"Because I just asked your father for permission," he seethed, pausing in front of you, "and he outright refused, saying he's negotiating with the fucking Lannisters. I need to know what you want."

"I was not aware what I wanted mattered to you, the man who views marriage as a political arrangement," you eyed him with a curled lip of annoyance.

"What arrangement could I want? Your sister is Queen, my family is bound to the Hightowers already. My political marriage is recently dissolved, I am free to do as I please, regardless of what others want or say - "

"Then tell me what you want. Tell me plainly what you want from me, Daemon, no more pretty words and veiled truths. Be plain."

"You said I had a year, and look - it's been weeks. Weeks, my love, how much more plain can I be? I'm here, now, free to marry, and I need to know if you still want to marry me. I'll marry you tomorrow - "

"Oh, please! Would you steal me away?" You mocked with a chuckle. "Take me to Dragonstone? Make me your little wife that you'll come to resent, too? Just as you did Rhea?"

He reached out to aggressively hold your cheek and jaw. "I had no choice in my first marriage, I could never come to resent you - you're all I've ever wanted. I'd do anything for you," Daemon snarled over your lips, "including risking your father's wrath. I'd do anything to make sure we end up together, you are my heart - do not forget that."

"Then pull out your sword, cut them all down," you purred, feeling his hand tighten, "and claim me as your own - do not let anyone stop us."

His lips hovered over yours, breathing the same air, and before he could respond or kiss you, a woman screamed shrilly from behind you. Daemon instantly latched onto your body as a crowd formed to your left and right, and when you both looked, you were shocked to see the commotion happening at your feet.

"Love - "

"Daemon," you paused him, shocked as Ser Criston Cole was engaged in a fist fight with some Velaryon knight before Ser Laenor Velaryon, the groom, was tackling him to the side. What an interesting display of protectiveness from Ser Laenor over his knight.

Daemon rushed in your ear, "Do not look - come away with me."

"Wait," you held his hands to your waist, letting him crowd into your back as Cole had punched Laenor to the side and straddled the blonde on the floor once more.

He landed one blow before the knight was brandishing a dagger; but the White Cloak caught his arm and easily snapped it broken, startling the crowd. Beyond your ring of spectators, other men were trading blows and engaged in their own fights; total chaos taking over the whole of the Throne Room. You flinched back into Daemon's embrace when Cole screamed like a wild man in the mountains, repeatedly pounding his fist into the knight's face; literally caving it in, creating a human minced meat pie.

Someone better contact Mrs. Lovett!

"No more," Daemon decided, Cole rearing himself back as Daemon stooped to heave you over his shoulder. He was able to find safe (enough) passage through the people, approaching the royal banquet table. "Hey, hey," he whispered, setting you down and taking your face in his hands, the wailing of Laenor Velaryon seeing his murdered knight echoing in the Throne Room. "You all right? You hurt? Look at me, love, are you hurt?"

"No, no, I'm okay," you whispered, swallowing unsurely; reaching up to hold his wrists. "I'm okay."

"Sure? You shouldn't have seen that - "

"It's all right," you assured, stroking his wrists. "I'm okay, Daemon, truly. Just... A little startled, maybe?"

"What's this then?" Harwin Strong smirked, panting lightly from his rescue mission as the Princess was attending her father, the King. "You two hit it off then, yeah? Is it me or are sparks flying?"

"Something like that," you whispered, trying to regulate your breathing after the adrenaline-inducing scrimmage.

"Easy does it, love," Daemon whispered, keeping you close as you didn't let go of his hands; wanting to stay connected. He told Harwin, giving a half-shrug, "They aren't sparks. She's everything to me."

"Perhaps your second wedding will go better than this one," Harwin sighed, hands on his hips.

"In some cultures, deaths at a wedding are considered good luck," you muttered, Daemon snorting lightly in amusement before running his thumbs over your cheekbones in soothing gestures.

"Didn't your wife just pass, Prince Daemon?" Your father demanded publicly with a heavy glare. "You'd offer insult to her memory by remarrying so quickly?"

"I've grieved Lady Rhea plenty, Ser Hightower, it's time to look to the future," Daemon declared, eyes daring your father to challenge him. "The Lady Hightower and I will wed. The sooner, the better, in truth."

And history would never be the same.

"What?" Rhaenyra demanded, whirling around at the news, making all others pause in confusion. "What did you say?"

"That I intend to marry the Lady Hightower."

"Her? Her? Fucking her - who is more prude than woman?!"

Well, that was mildly offensive...

"Rhaenyra - "

"What makes you think you're worthy?" She demanded of you, turning from her father to stalk across the platform. "Worthy of a man like Daemon, of a husband like Daemon? You've done nothing to - to deserve such a title! The title of Princess, of wife!"

You were honestly confused to your core.

"I deserve a man like he - not someone like you!" She continued, shocking the group as the Kingsguard cleared the Room of any lingering stragglers to keep this as private as possible. "You think I didn't see you on my tour? You were fawned over, all wanted to talk with you, but were forced to line up for me! You rejected them all on your own, and now I see why! You wanted to wait until the Lady Rhea passed, which makes me wonder - what part did you play in that?"

"Rhaenyra!" You gasped.

"What? Honestly, it would make sense - the day Daemon's banished, you weren't seen! I wouldn't be shocked if you were seen somewhere lurking in the Vale! You cannot have it all - you've always wanted my life, and now look! You have to have what I have, and now you've taken a liking to my uncle after our scandal! What? He wasn't interesting before? You heard rumors about us and decided you wanted him for yourself? Just because he was mine first? You just want to be me, you always have - you've always reeked of jealousy! This is all you wanted, to steal my family, and - "

"That's enough," Daemon tried. "You are out of turn here, Rhaenyra, do not make this worse."

"Why? Because little Lady Hightower's façade of being a respectable, pure woman is now tarnished?"

"We share one dance, albeit intimate, sit next to each other at a single dinner, shared some conversation, and you now think it's appropriate to call my virtue into question? What of your own, Princess? You just admitted to scandal with Daemon - but I wonder why the service of Moon Tea if your virtue was unimpeachable?" You demanded, feeling defensive on a new level. Even Alicent straightened up at your words.

However, Daemon rushed to add, "With all due respect, Princess, I don't want you, and you can't claim me as your own when you never had me. You might be angry, but it is no use to take it out on my intended, she is of rare stock and breed - she will not be questioned. Nor will my intentions with her."

Rhaenyra snarled, "Yeah? You don't want me? Well, you wanted me enough to try and fuck me at that whorehouse!"

There were gasps and murmurs all around, but Rhaenyra was glaring at you and Daemon, still standing together. His arms actually dropped to hold your waist, keeping you close as he snarled at his niece, "But I didn't. If memory serves right, I walked away!"

"You wanted me!" Rhaenyra raged. "You always were and always will be mine - regardless of the whores you bed in the meantime! And I want you, I am not yet married - "

"Yet I will not be who marries you, I am betrothed to another," Daemon reminded with a venomous tone. "There's nothing you offer that I want, Rhaenyra."

"I am not some inexperienced little girl anymore, I'm a woman grown, and I could do more for you than she ever could!"

"Rhaenyra!" Viserys roared.

Everyone knew she had gone too far and there was no coming back from any this. After a beat, Alicent stepped in as if questioning for the first time, "And yet, sister, you said the Princess was served Moon Tea? If Prince Daemon did not touch the Princess, does this mean she still," she scoffed as if the idea were absurd, "sullied her maidenhood? Before marriage?"

It should be noted that Ser Criston Cole was already gone from the hall at this time. In fact, he lingered just outside a side door, listening, in case his name came up. When Alicent spoke, he straightened up and started the slow trek to the Godswood.

"Ser Lyonel? Do I misunderstand?" Alicent pulled the Hand into the fray.

"Well, that's what that would sound like, Your Grace," he agreed begrudgingly. "Moon Tea is beneficial to prevent unwanted consequences outside of marriage."

"From what I understand, she was served by Grand Maester Mellos himself," you told Ali, minds strung together by a common thread. "The castle likes to gossip, you can learn a lot if you just listen."

"This is..." Viserys seethed, "Unacceptable."

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," you instantly apologized.

"No, no," he deflected, hand held up, "you have a duty to the Realm to flesh out any deception. And this," he directed his glare at his daughter, "is a grand deception that cannot be undone, unknown, covered-up, anymore, Rhaenyra!"

There was a meltdown. Everyone began yelling.

Viserys was enraged. Rhaenyra was desperately trying to plead with her father. Lord Corlys was demanding to know what the hell was about to happen with the impending marriage to "the future Queen". Ser Strong was trying to keep the people from each other's throats.

His sons stood to the side and just let them all fight.

Daemon kept you out of the line of fire, away from the action; sighing as you deflated into his chest. Over it all, Viserys' voice was angriest, and you heard, "You are no daughter of mine! The position you have put me in tonight - I cannot undo this, Rhaenyra! I should have never disinherited Daemon for you, breaking centuries of tradition because I wanted to see your mother in you! You have spat in my face around every bend, but this? This is unforgivable, we will not recover from this and I will no longer endure your insolence!"

"Father, please, let me - "

"No," he snarled, "I have had it with your disresepct the past several years, this is beyond any scale." You blinked up at Daemon, his lips curving down as his hands tightened around your form. And then, Viserys said the words, "I made a mistake naming you my heir. You may marry Ser Laenor, if you so choose to, but after that, you will reside on Driftmark with your husband - you will no longer inherit the Iron Throne after me."

"Father!"

"No," he snapped, "you've exhausted my patience, Rhaenyra!" Viserys roared. "And while Daemon might be unpredictable, the woman he wants to marry is not - and from where I am standing, she will make a far better Queen than you!"

It was quiet as everyone forgot their own selfish woes as father disinherited daughter.

"Your Grace," your father tried to step in, "with respect, why not place your son, Aegon, in line after you?"

"Oh, for the love of the Gods, Otto," Rhaenyra raged, rounding on your father, "give up this campaign, you get all you want and more! Your daughter is Queen now and your other daughter will be Queen after that, aren't you listening? Your grandchildren will still inherit the Throne!"

"That's it," Viserys breathed, needing to hold onto the banquet table for balance as all eyes turned to him again. "It's time to do what I should've done all along. Rhaenyra," he shook his head, "I can no longer have you as my heir, this type of behavior cannot stand. I will give you permission to marry Ser Laenor, and if he chooses not to, I will allow you to reside on Dragonstone until a match is made. Until then," his eyes shifted to where you and Daemon stood, "I name my brother, Prince Daemon Targaryen, as my Heir to the Iron Throne."

"You would not name your son?" Alicent asked in mild disbelief.

"No," Viserys told her, "no, I would see my brother as my heir. Should Aegon prove to live up to his namesake, we can talk about succession again, but I know my brother is capable... And though he might be overly wanting, he will learn patience, because I know the love of a good woman can change a man for the better."

You smiled, feeling emotional for a moment, but Daemon asked for you both, "Brother, do you mean to give your blessing?"

"Of course," he nodded once, "why waste a good wedding tourney? We shall announce on the morrow our new intentions - to crown Daemon as heir and marry him to the Lady Hightower. This matter," he panted, glaring at everyone, "is resolved, I will not hear more. Make the preparations!"

It happened in slow motion. Rhaenyra's rage flared to a temperamental height previously unknown; lunging to seize her father's Valyrian Steel, prophesy-engraved dagger, turn, and charge straight for you as the remaining audience shouted in panic. You felt Daemon try to push you behind him, but instead, your own temper flared and you stepped up to meet Rhaenyra; catching both her arms to hold her at bay.

Daemon was at your flank if you needed him, otherwise, he kept the Kingsguard away from you two - knowing this needed to happen now. Or else something worse would happen later...

"For fuck's sake, Princess! What is this? Jealousy? Huh?" You asked through your tears, struggling to hold your old friend's weight away from you. "What is this jealousy, Nyrie, hmm?"

"Don't call me that," she grit. You just sighed, pushing her back a little but not enough to overpower her; the girl's anger making her stronger than you would've previously guessed. "You've gone too far," she seethed through tears.

“I? What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the Kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you please! Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It’s trampled under your pretty foot again!"

"You think you finally get my life, huh?" She snarled. "You won't ever be accepted - not as Queen - not as part of this family! You've wanted this all along! Haven't you!?" She struggled against you, hands sweating. "You've always wanted my life, that's why you stuck around! Your mother died - so you tried to take a place in my family, make them yours - and now, look! You're nearly there! Pouncing on my uncle the moment he's widowed!" She snarled, bearing her teeth.

“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are, Nyrie," you whispered with a broad smirk.

"You aren't fit to play this part! To have my life! You'll never be accepted as their Princess!"

"I wager I'll do a better job than you ever could," you hissed. "There's not much to live up to, you don't leave a lot of room to fill."

She screamed when Ser Harwin's arms seized around her waist, but the momentum of him pulling her back and Rhaenyra's thrashing cause the Valyrian Steel dagger to slice your forearm. You yelped and reared back amongst the startled gasps and panicked murmurs from the crowd, Daemon catching you. The dagger clattered to the floor as Harwin backed up several paces to keep the belligerent girl at bay. You whimpered quietly at the sting, a pool of blood forming to the side you held your arm at.

"Fuck's sake," Daemon growled, "lemme see, lemme see, my love, c'mere," he winced, looking around before using his own belt to yank free and tourniquet around your lower elbow. "You're bleeding a good bit," he whispered, "you'll need stitches, sweet one."

You pouted at him, wincing again in pain when he tightened the belt.

Around you, the Kingsguard was ordered to escort Rhaenyra to her chambers, and the moment she was marched out of sight, Daemon was warning his brother that she knew about her secret passage door and parts of the tunnels.

Go stand watch," a personal guard was ordered by the King. "Someone go - go find Ser Cole - I want him posted in the Princess' passage, he's trusted to us."

Alicent slunk off to do exactly that, and she'd tell you later that Cole was found only moments from taking his own life. He was overjoyed to hear the King had requested him personally to stand guard for such a sensitive situation.

In the meantime, Lord Corlys Velaryon and his wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, thought it best their son not marry Rhaenyra; now that she had been disowned, she was less appealing. Viserys was free to offer her again later if Laenor was not married in that time and if she showed true change, but after tonight, nobody thought that possible.

Daemon tried helping your wound, your father approaching as he laid a clean cloth over the cut. Your lover tisked, "It's deeper than I thought. We should get this looked at."

"A moment," Otto prevented.

"If it would please you, this is not an injury I'd like to wait to attend to," Daemon sighed, nodding at your bloodied forearm that he held.

"I only meant to say, you have my blessing to marry, my Prince," Otto nodded at him. "Seeing the kindness you show my daughter, I feel... Content knowing she will be loved and cared for."

"Thank you," Daemon nodded.

"Yes, thank you, Father, but we really must be going, this doesn't feel very nice," you rushed to explain, watching him nod and eye your injury with worry.

"This way," He even instructed, a few handmaids rushing forward to help herd you away.

"Doing all right, love?" Daemon muttered as you walked.

"Bit shocked," you admitted.

"I'd say," he mused.

"It burns," you pouted at him.

"We'll get everything tended to, you'll feel better soon," he soothed.

You peaked up at his worried brow, pouted lips, darting eyes; whispering, "You're heir, again, Daemon."

"So it would seem," he deadpanned. "Can we not talk about it now?" He requested quietly, "I only wish to see to this wound of yours."

You nodded, and once in Mellos' chamber, you were left alone with your father - since Daemon was not yet your husband. Otto was silent as your forearm was stitched carefully; the bleeding staunched, herbs stuffed in the wound to prevent pain and promote healing. As you let Mellos wrap you in gauze, you glanced at your father.

"So... Your blessing, is it?"

"He's different with you already," he nodded stiffly. "And after his nieces' display tonight, I can think of no better future Queen."

"I do not wish to talk about future station, Father, but instead, that... That Daemon makes me happy and I am relieved you have given us your blessing. It would've felt very wrong to marry without my father in attendance."

Otto wasn't affectionate in the least bit, but he showed his love by doing his best to understand situations before passing judgement. It created a sense of trust and security between father and daughter. So, he asked earnestly, "And you will overlook what he did with Princess Rhaenyra?"

"He told me of it all the morning after it happened, I've had time to think, and I've had time away from him. I know what I want, Father, and while Viserys has changed history - again - tonight by naming Daemon heir, I know he is the man I want for the rest of my life."

"I see," he nodded. "Then... By all means, I will see this union happen."

"Thank you," you whispered, the Maester tying the gauze. "Thank you, Grand Maester," you spoke calmly.

"Of course, uh, um, Princess."

"I don't think I'll get used to hearing that," you whined, standing off his table. "Will you talk to Daemon for me, Father? I think you need to clear the air... I will not say the King will instill you as Hand again, but if I am to marry the Prince, I will need there to be peace between our families."

He nodded, opening the door for you, "It will be arranged, my daughter..."

As Otto took his leave, Daemon, pacing the hall, approached you. He took hold of your waist, asking, "Are you all right?" You let him hold your injured wrist in a soft grip, viewing the wrappings.

"Yes, Your Grace," you teased, watching his pale face flush.

"Don't start with that."

"Mellos just called me Princess."

"You are," he grinned. "And we will be married in less than a week's time."

"I can hardly wait," you whispered, letting his lips find yours in a searing show of rare public affection.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

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heyjwi · 7 months ago

Text

game over | pjs

no synopsis just sub nerdy gamer jwi

(i’m going insane bro. i came out of my coma after these pics dropped so enjoy <3) _________________________________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

it’s a known fact that if jisung was asked ‘games or you’ he’d pick games. he was addicted to sitting at home in front of a screen, wearing his nerdy little glasses and shouting curse words to his friends through his mic.

today , jisung looked way too fine to be left alone. his hair slightly damp from the shower he took a little while ago, and those thick rimmed glasses that suit his face so well. you quietly manoeuvred your way over to his desk and stared down at him blankly.

‘what do you want baby?’ , he whispered, averting his eyes to you then back to his pc. you didn’t speak a word, slowly moving to sit on the floor. jisung smiled awkwardly, oblivious to what would come next.

your hand made its way to rest on his thigh, but jisung just kept talking to his friends through his headset. it was annoying how he could just ignore your presence.

he looked down at you for a split second when he felt your hands rubbing his clothed cock. moving excruciatingly slow. with a soft moan, jisung leaned back into your touch, his cock hardening even more under your hands. his eyes never leave the screen as he focuses on the game.

you chuckled at how eager he was to keep playing, but one thing you do know is that he can never resist you. jisung stopped playing for a second to pull down his sweats, looking down at you before going back to the game.

jisung groaned softly, pushing the mic away from his plush lips as you began to stroke him. he can feel the sensations coursing through his veins, his hips moving rhythmically with your hand, seeking more pleasure.

his moans grow louder now as he reached to mute his mic, which he unknowingly misses since his first instinct was gripping the side of the chair instead. ‘baby go faster fuck.’ jisung breathes out between gasps for air. ‘nd don’t stop... please’, he begs, thrusting his hips forward into your hand when your fingers grip his cock tighter.

you increased the pace of your hands, feeling him shaking in his chair. jisungs hands find yours, guiding them up and down his length as he loses himself in the pleasure you're giving him. jisungs eyes are closed now, sweat trickling down his face from the intensity of the moment.

his headset had already fallen off when you start to hear his friends, the muffled yells and hushes made you chuckle a little.

‘you don’t wanna play anymore ji?’, you whispered, inching closer to him as spurs of cum started leaking out of him.

‘i cant even f-focus..’, he moaned out breathlessly. you moved to lick his leaking cock, looking up at his eyes, his specs now wonky and eyes filled with tears. jisung lets out a strangled cry as you take him into your mouth. his hips jerk upwards, trying to get more of himself to fit inside your warm mouth.

jisungs fingers sink into your hair, holding you close as he feels the head of his cock brushing against the back of your throat. his hips buck wildly, fucking your mouth in a desperate search for release. he whines and whimpers, feeling your tongue attacking his sensitive cock, but he just doesn’t want you to stop.

jisungs moans become louder, more desperate as you take him deeper. he feels himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his cock throbbing in your mouth, ‘gonna cum..’ he warns between gasps for air.

you gagged on his cock feeling his hand pushing on the back of your head. as his loud whimpers echo through the room, jisung releases his seed into your mouth. his cock throbs as he pumps hot, salty cum into your throat. he holds onto your hair tightly for support, his entire body shuddering with pleasure.

you pull away, wiping the remains of his cum off of your lips. jisung was slouched in his chair, specs hanging off of his face and his cheeks flushed in a bright pink.

the room fell silent, only sounds of jisungs breathing filling the air, until..

‘bro jisung defo just got the best head of his life’

followed with a few laughs was heard through his headset…

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 4 months ago

Note

dave mustaine realizing how strong he is compared to the reader, and always displays this during sex, especially while fucking her against the wall or using his big hands to do whatever he wants with her body

A/n: I can’t even count how many times I tried writing this and just couldn’t think of anything, I still feel like I could’ve written it better but I hope you like it nonetheless <3

Warnings: smut, size kink, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

It all started when you needed help opening a jar.

It was jam, the lid was stuck and you were tired. Dave was home so after a few seconds of trying you gave up and called him over for help. He opened it with ease and you moved on with your day, but Dave didn't.

He grew this obsession with proving how weak you were, or rather how strong he was. Can't reach the top shelf? Don't worry, Dave's right around the corner to lift you up. Need help carrying the groceries in? Not a problem, he can take them with ease, carrying more bags in fewer trips.

You didn't mind it, he was always looking for more ways to help you so why would it be a bad thing?

You were making dinner and Dave was sitting not far away watching you. He wasn't saying anything, not talking about his day or asking about yours. He was just staring at you with a wonky smile.

You were looking at the ingredients. "Hey, Dave, can you get the milk for me, please?" You asked, not taking your eyes off the cookbook.

Dave got up and got the milk, bringing it over to you, though he didn't go back to his seat. Instead he wrapped his arms around you and rested his head on your shoulder. "You're adorable, you know that?" He asked, placing a few soft kisses against your neck.

You paused for a moment and looked at him. "Yeah? Why's that?"

Dave gave your waist a gentle squeeze. He hid his face in the crook of your neck a moment, deeply inhaling your scent. “Your so tiny.” He said. “Could just pick you up and fuck you wherever I want.”

Your cheeks flushed a deep red and you tried to stay focused on the food.

A few minutes passed and Dave didn’t let go of you, still holding you close, kissing you occasionally.

“Think about it.” He said suddenly. “I could fold you in half right now, pin you against the wall and have my way with you.” You couldn’t deny the heat pooling at your cunt, the way your thighs pushed together in search of any amount of friction. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being used like my own fucktoy?”

You took a deep breath in an attempt to clear your mind. You took the knife off the counter and started cutting a carrot before Dave stopped you and took the knife from your hand. “Enough with the hypothetical.” You turned your head to look at him and in an instant his lips were on yours, kissing, biting, tongue slipping past your lips to explore your mouth.

He picked you up just like he said he would and carried you to the bedroom, ignoring your weak attempts to protest. He got you out of your clothes, quite literally ripping your panties off and tossing them off somewhere.

He kissed down your body, starting at your neck and working his way down, playing close attention to your reactions, which spots were most sensitive, what felt best for you.

You twitched and moaned underneath him, heavy breaths leaving you as his big hands trailed over you. He dwarfed you. Everything about him made you small. From his hands around your neck to that bulge in your gut every time he has you to himself.

He moved back over you, kissing you sweetly before getting out of his own clothes.

“You’re so perfect, sweetheart.” He said as he crawled back over you. “All hot and ready for me, hm?” You let out a soft whine and Dave took it as an invitation to spread your legs.

He had a hand on either of your knees, slowly moving them up to your chest. “Look at that.” He mused. “Don’t even need any prep, hm?” You smiled proudly up at him. "Good girl." He mused as he lined himself up and pushed into you.

You let out a drawn out moan at the feeling, how he stretched you out so good. He gave you a second to adjust to his girth before he started rolling his hips to meet yours.

"Oh, fuck, Dave, just like that." You moaned out. Your hands moved to his back, lightly clawing at his shoulders. He let out a low growl as his hips snapped into yours.

You couldn’t take your mind off of his dick and how each vein dragged against your gummy walls. “Fuck, you’re so small, so fucking tight.” He groaned, leaning down and biting your earlobe.

He sat back, holding your hips in place on his lap, your legs still hooked over his shoulders as he pounded into you.

Your eyes crossed and your tongue lulled out, your body bouncing up and down the bed with every thrust.

Dave’s hand came down hard on your ass and you squealed in pleasure. His hand moved from your hip to your abdomen, he pushed down and you gasped softly. “Look at that, sweetheart,” he mused, “can see just how big I am inside you.” You looked down, eyes narrowing on where a bulge came and went, showing just how deep he was hitting inside you.

He kept pushing on your stomach and your eyes rolled back, a loud moan ripping from your throat. “Oh, fuck, squeezing me so good.” His own head fell back.

Dave’s movements stopped for a moment and he wrapped his arms around you. He lifted you up and carried you off the bed. “Look at that, I can fuck my perfect doll just like this, huh?” He asked, still snapping his hips into your as he stood.

You clung to him like a koala, moaning out in his ear how good he made you feel. “Davie-! Ngh, Davie, please.” His hands gripped your hips, guiding you on his dick.

“Please, what, sweetheart? ‘Oh, please, daddy, make me cum on your big cock’?” He asked in a mocking tone.

“Yes, daddy, please!” You whined. Your mind was racing with his cock, the bulge it made. His big hands over your body, carrying most of your weight, the way he bounced you on his length.

“Be good for me then and cum.” You didn’t need to be told twice, his words resonating in your body and pushing you over the edge. “Oh-oh, fuck!” Dave groaned. “Oh, god, you feel so good when you cum.” With a few more thrusts he was spilling into you, groaning in your ear.

He sat back on the bed and lifted you off of him, watching his own cum drip out of you. “Hmph, fuck.” You breathed.

“Don’t think we’re done yet, do you?” You chuckled and shook your head. “Good girl,” Dave hummed, “not done until my doll can’t walk.” He pushed back into you, your mind racing all over again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I just wanted to show this bc I thought it was funny

#megadeth x reader #megadeth smut #megadeth imagines #megadeth fanfiction #megadeth #dave mustaine x reader #dave mustaine smut #dave mustaine imagines #dave mustaine fanfiction #dave mustaine

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whereforarthur · 2 months ago

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Poker Night Never Felt So Right

Pairing: ArthurTv x Reader x George Clarke x Chrismd

Summary: A game of strip poker with your friends, goes a little further than anyone expected...

Category: Mature (SMUT)

Word Count: 5k

*****

Let’s play strip poker

And they removed all their doubts

And their insecurities,

And finally made out,

They lay all naked with not a single secret left,

They were happy and kissed their fate for they meet. -Tiara

"Alright, lads and lady," Chris announced, glancing at the group and y/n, slapping a fresh deck of cards onto the worn-out kitchen table, "Poker night is in full swing."

The aroma of George's burnt lasagna filled the flat, a constant reminder of his culinary disasters that had become a tradition in their weekly gatherings. Arthur's eyes lit up as he pulled out his favorite chair, the one with the slightly wonky leg that made everyone else wobble but somehow suited him perfectly.

Y/n, the sole female in this sea of testosterone, rolled her eyes at their juvenile antics but couldn't help the smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips. She'd known these three since starting YouTube, and their friendship had endured through the chaos of their YouTube fame.

Chris shuffled the cards with a dexterity that suggested he'd had a bit too much practice, while George attempted to mimic his skill, earning a chuckle from Arthur. Y/n took a sip of her beer, the cool liquid cutting through the tension of the room.

"I've got an idea," George said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Since it's just us tonight, how about we spice things up a bit?"

Chris paused mid-shuffle, raising an eyebrow. "Spice it up how?"

George leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "Strip poker. You know, like they do in the movies."

The room went quiet for a beat before Arthur let out a hearty laugh, slapping his hand on the table. "You're joking, right?"

Y/n took another sip of her beer, eyeing George over the rim. "As if I'd agree to that."

Chris grinned, playing along. "Aw, come on, it'll be fun! Plus, you've got nothing to worry about, you're a pro at poker."

Y/n set her beer down, her expression unreadable. "Fine, but only if we all agree to keep it friendly. No funny business, got it?"

Chris and Arthur exchanged a look, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air. "Friendly, got it," Arthur said with a nod.

The game began, the shuffling of the cards and the clinking of beer bottles punctuating the occasional bursts of laughter. Y/n focused on her hand, trying to ignore the electric current of excitement that buzzed through her. The guys were her closest friends, but the thought of playing strip poker with them sent a thrill down her spine that she couldn't quite shake.

Arthur's luck, however, didn't seem to be in his favor tonight. His hand trembled slightly as he placed his bet, and when the cards were revealed, his face fell. "Bugger," he muttered, glancing at the table as he realized he'd lost the first round.

With a dramatic sigh, he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. "Alright, alright," he said, playing it cool as he pulled his shirt over his head. The room was a mix of cheers and good-natured laughter as he tossed it aside, revealing his bare chest. He sat back down, his cheeks flushing slightly as he tried to cover his modesty with his arms. "Remember, this is all in good fun," he said, his voice a bit shakier than he'd intended.

Y/n couldn't help but blush as she took in Arthur's abs. They were surprisingly defined, a testament to his gym routine, and boxing history. She quickly averted her gaze to her cards, hoping the flush on her cheeks would be attributed to the heat of the kitchen rather than her newfound appreciation for Arthur's physique.

The game continued, the tension ramping up with each new hand. Despite her initial confidence, y/n felt her heart racing as she tried to read the guys' faces for tells. Chris remained stoic, his poker face unwavering, while George's was as transparent as always, his eyes widening with every good card. Arthur, on the other hand, had become a closed book since his shirt came off, his focus solely on the game.

Y/n's luck took a nosedive, and she found herself holding a pathetic hand of cards. She bit her lip, contemplating her next move. The pot grew larger, and the stakes grew higher. She could feel the heat from the oven and the anticipation from her friends. With a deep breath, she called George's bet, hoping for a miracle. The cards flipped over, and George's smug grin told her everything she needed to know. She'd lost this round.

The room grew silent as she slowly stood up, her heart racing. She unzipped her hoodie, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath, she wore a simple black tank top that clung to her curves. She caught Arthur's eyes lingering on her for a moment too long, and she couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. She took a seat, trying to regain her composure.

"Looks like the tides are turning," Chris said with a smirk, his eyes never leaving her.

The boys' laughter filled the room as they joked about her losing streak. Y/n felt her cheeks heat up, but she shrugged it off, playing along with their banter. "Just a bad hand, that's all," she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

The next few rounds were a blur of cards and clinking bottle caps. Y/n managed to win a few hands, but her losses outweighed her victories. Her stack of clothes grew smaller, and she found herself down to her bra and jeans. She gulped, trying to ignore the way Arthur's gaze lingered on her when he thought she wasn't looking.

Chris's hand won again, and George's smug look was wiped clean as he had to remove his trousers, revealing his colorful boxers with cartoon characters on them. The room erupted in laughter, and George shot a playful glare at y/n. "You're enjoying this too much," he teased, but his cheeks were flushed, and she could see the excitement in his eyes.

The other boys were staring too, but not just at George. They couldn't help but sneak glances at y/n, their gazes lingering on her in a way that made her acutely aware of her dwindling clothing. She felt their eyes on her, and the air grew thicker, charged with a tension that was no longer just about the game. It was about the thrill of the reveal, the anticipation of what would come next.

Chris dealt the next hand, his eyes flicking up to meet y/n's. She couldn't read his expression, but she knew he was enjoying the game more than he let on. They all were. The stakes had changed, and the atmosphere in the room had shifted from friendly competition to something else entirely.

Y/n studied her cards, her heart racing. A full house stared back at her, and she couldn't help the smug smile that spread across her face. This was it, her chance to get back in the game. She raised the bet, watching as the boys' expressions grew serious. They had to know she had something good.

The bets went around the table, and the moment of truth arrived. Y/n laid her cards down with a flourish, her heart pounding in her chest. The room was silent as the boys revealed their hands. George had a pair of twos, and Arthur had a straight. But it was Chris who had the nerve to call her bluff. He laid down his cards with a wink, revealing a royal flush. The air whooshed out of her lungs, and she felt the blood drain from her face.

"Looks like it's your turn, love," Chris said, his voice thick with victory.

Y/n felt a bead of sweat trickle down her spine as she reached behind her back, fumbling with the clasp of her bra. She took a deep breath and let it fall away, feeling the cool air of the flat kiss her skin. She kept her eyes on the table, focusing on the cards as the fabric hit the floor. The room was so quiet she could almost hear her own heartbeat echoing off the walls.

The silence was palpable, thick and heavy, as if the very air in the room had turned to jelly. The boys didn't dare to look up, their eyes glued to their own cards or the beer bottles in their hands. They were her friends, her colleagues, but in this moment, they were also men, and she was very aware of it. The game had taken a turn she hadn't anticipated, and she felt vulnerable in a way she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Finally, she looked up, her gaze meeting Chris's. He held her stare for a beat too long, and she saw something in his eyes that made her pulse quicken. It wasn't just the thrill of the game anymore; it was something deeper, something she hadn't expected to find in a casual poker night.

"Good game," Arthur murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the room. His eyes flicked over her exposed skin before darting back to his cards, and she couldn't help but feel a flutter in her stomach.

Y/n cleared her throat, trying to ignore the sudden self-consciousness that had crept over her. "Alright, let's keep playing," she said, her voice a little too high.

George, ever the opportunist, leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming. "Someone's getting a bit flustered, aren't they?"

The room grew tense as George's comment hung in the air, unspoken feelings now laid bare. Y/n felt a blush creep up her neck, her hands clinching into fists at her sides. "It's just a game, George," she said through gritted teeth, trying to keep her cool.

"Fine, fine," he chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Let's keep it friendly, yeah?"

The game resumed, but the dynamics had shifted. The banter was less playful, the glances more intense. Y/n could feel the energy in the room pulsing with every card drawn, every piece of clothing removed. Her hands were trembling slightly as she dealt the next hand, her eyes avoiding the hungry stares of the boys. She focused on the game, trying to ignore the heat of their gazes on her bare skin.

*****

George's luck had run out, and he was just left in his boxers. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red as he realized loosing this hand, meant losing them. He met y/n's eyes, and she could see the nervous excitement in his gaze. She felt a strange sense of power, a thrill that was as intoxicating as it was alarming. She called his bet, her heart racing.

And of course that’s what happened George lost the hand, and lost his boxers. They were ridiculous, covered in cartoon characters that clashed with the seriousness of the moment. But as he stood up, the room's focus shifted from the ridiculousness of the situation to the very real and very attractive man in front of them. Y/n couldn't help but feel a flicker of attraction she'd never noticed before, not like this.

Chris cleared his throat, his eyes lingering on George's newly exposed skin before flicking back to his own cards. The air in the flat was charged, and the smell of George's aftershave filled the room, a scent that was at once familiar and entirely new in this context. Arthur's poker face remained unchanged, but his knuckles were white as he gripped his beer bottle, his eyes darting from George to y/n.

The next few rounds were a battle of wills, each player trying to maintain their composure as the clothes piled up on the floor. Y/n's jeans were the next to go, and she felt a shiver run down her spine as she stepped out of them, leaving her in just her panties. The guys' eyes darted up to meet hers, and she could see the struggle in their expressions as they tried to keep the game friendly.

But the game had taken on a life of its own, and the line between friendship and desire was blurring. The stakes were no longer just about winning; they were about power, attraction, and the thrill of the unknown. The tension grew with every card dealt, every article of clothing removed. It was no longer just a game of poker; it had become a dance of seduction, a silent negotiation of boundaries.

Chris's eyes never left y/n's, his gaze dark and intense. The air between them crackled with an energy that was impossible to ignore. As the rounds went on, the smiles and laughter grew forced, the room thick with the scent of pheromones and anticipation. Y/n felt a strange thrill at the thought of pushing the boundaries, of seeing how far they'd all go.

The next hand was dealt, and the tension grew palpable. Y/n studied her cards, feeling the heat of the guys' gazes on her bare legs. She knew that she had a good hand, but the game had become less about winning and more about the thrill of the risk. She raised the bet, watching as the other two exchanged glances. The silence stretched out, the only sound the crackling of the cards and the occasional clink of bottle caps.

Chris called her bluff, laying down his hand with a smug smile. George fully nude now. Both Chris and Arthur in their underwear, the fabric clinging to their growing arousal. Y/n felt a strange mix of nervousness and excitement, her heart racing as she took in the sight of her friends in such a vulnerable state. The room felt like it was closing in on her, the heat from the oven now a stark contrast to the coolness of her bare skin.

The next round began, and the stakes were higher than ever. Y/n's hand trembled as she placed her bet, watching as Chris and Arthur followed suit. She had nothing to lose now but her pride and the last shred of their friendship's innocence. The cards were flipped over, and she felt a jolt of victory as she revealed a full house. Arthur's face fell, and she knew she had him beat.

"Alright, Arthur," she said, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. "Looks like it's your turn."

Arthur swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He reached down to remove his underwear, and Y/n couldn't help but watch, her eyes widening slightly as he revealed himself. He was more than she'd ever allowed herself to imagine, and she felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks. The room was a cacophony of shuffling papers and shallow breaths, the only sound louder than her pounding heart.

Chris took a sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving hers. He leaned back in his chair, his own arousal evident, and she realized with a start that he was enjoying this game more than he'd ever let on. "Looks like we're all in this together now," he said, his voice low and gruff.

*****

The game had become about more than just poker; it was a silent dare, a push and pull of power and desire that none of them could ignore.

Chris collected the cards, shuffling them with a deliberate slowness that had y/n's stomach flipping. "Alright, lads," he said, his voice a low rumble, "whoever wins the next hand gets to ask y/n to do something for them."

Her heart skipped a beat, and she took a sip of her beer, trying to play it cool. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice betraying the slight tremble in her chest.

Chris leaned in, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Whatever we want, within reason. Just a little extra... entertainment."

Y/n felt a thrill of anticipation mixed with nerves. "As long as it's not too embarrassing," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Chris grinned, his eyes flicking over her body. "Oh, I think we're past the point of embarrassment."

The room was thick with tension as the final hand was dealt. Y/n picked up her cards, trying to focus on the game, but her mind was racing with the possibilities of what could happen next. She had a decent hand, but she knew that Chris was playing to win.

The bets were placed, and the air was electric as the cards were revealed. Y/n felt a surge of victory as she saw she had a full house again, beating Arthur's two pairs.

Y/n felt a mix of excitement and nerves, her eyes flicking to Chris, who was watching her with an intense gaze. She knew he'd won the round, but the real prize was in the daring request he was about to make.

Chris leaned in closer, his eyes dark with desire. "Alright, love," he said, his voice a low rumble, "it's time for your forfeit."

Y/n's heart raced as she took in the sight of Arthur and George, both fully exposed and equally as nervous. She had no idea what Chris had in mind, but she knew it would be something she'd never forget. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for his words.

Chris leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers. "I want you to kiss me," he said, his voice low and commanding.

The room froze, the only sound the erratic beating of her heart. She felt the color drain from her cheeks as she met his gaze, his eyes dark and hungry. For a moment, she couldn't breathe, the weight of his words sinking in. Then, with a slow nod, she leaned in, her heart racing.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if both of them were testing the waters. But as their lips met, something ignited between them, a spark that grew into a flame. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as the kiss deepened. Arthur and George watched, their own tension palpable, their eyes flickering between y/n and Chris, their friendship and their desires colliding in a way none of them had anticipated.

Chris's hands slid up her arms, pulling her closer, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. Y/n's body responded, arching into him as the kiss grew more urgent. The room was a blur of heat and need, the air thick with the scent of arousal and the faint scent of George's burnt lasagna.

When they finally broke apart, they were both panting, their eyes locked. The room was silent, the only sound the crackling of the oven and the thudding of their hearts. Arthur and George watched, their expressions a mix of shock and arousal. Y/n's cheeks were flushed, and she couldn't believe what had just happened.

"Fuck me," George murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "That was..."

"Hot," Arthur finished for him, his eyes glued to the sight of Chris and y/n tangled in a passionate kiss. The atmosphere in the room had shifted so dramatically, it was as if someone had flipped a switch, turning the innocent game of poker into an intense, erotic battleground.

Chris's hand slid down y/n's back, cupping her ass as he deepened the kiss. She gasped into his mouth, the heat of his touch sending a bolt of pleasure through her. The air was thick with the scent of their desire, and she could feel the warmth of Arthur and George's gazes on her exposed skin. The game had evolved into something she'd never expected, but the thrill of it was undeniable.

Breaking away from Chris, she turned to face Arthur, her eyes flicking to his evident arousal. "Looks like you're up," she said, her voice husky with desire. Arthur's cheeks reddened, but he met her gaze, his eyes smoldering.

"What's the forfeit?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n leaned in, her breasts brushing against his bare chest. "You get to kiss me too," she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.

Arthur's eyes widened, and for a moment, she thought he might refuse. But then, with a nod, he leaned in, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was just as fiery as Chris's. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer as their tongues danced together. The room spun around her, the lines between friendship and desire blurring into a haze of passion.

George, not to be left out, approached her from behind, his naked body pressing against her back. She could feel his erection against her, and she shivered with anticipation. "I guess it's only fair," he murmured, his hands sliding around her waist.

The kiss with Arthur grew more urgent, his hands exploring her body as George's lips found the sensitive skin of her neck. She moaned, the sensations overwhelming her. The three of them were entangled in a dance of lust, their friendship forever changed by this night.

As Arthur pulled away, George took his place, his lips brushing against hers. His kiss was gentle at first, but soon grew in intensity, his hands caressing her breasts. She felt a hand slide down her stomach, and she gasped as it reached the apex of her thighs. It was Chris, his fingers teasing her through her damp panties.

The room was a whirlwind of sensations, and y/n was lost in the moment. She couldn't tell where one kiss ended and another began, only knew that she was the center of their attention, the object of their desire. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once.

"Take them off," George murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Y/n's hands trembled as she slid her panties down her legs, stepping out of them. The cold floor sent a shiver through her body, and she felt more exposed than she ever had in her life. But the way the boys were looking at her, with a mix of awe and hunger, made her feel anything but vulnerable.

Chris's hand found her again, his fingers delving into her slick folds. She moaned into George's mouth, the pleasure building within her. Arthur watched, his eyes dark with need. The air was charged with a current of desire that had them all in its grip.

The poker game was forgotten, the kitchen a mess of cards and discarded clothing. The only thing that mattered was the heat between them, the unspoken promises in their eyes. The night had taken a wild turn, and as the three of them moved closer, y/n knew there was no going back. This was a new chapter in their friendship, one filled with passion and the thrill of the unknown.

And she was ready to play her hand.

*****

Chris's fingers worked their magic, sending waves of pleasure through her body. She moaned into George's mouth, her hips bucking against Chris's hand. The sensation was too much, and she felt her orgasm building. Arthur's hand joined the fray, his calloused fingers teasing her nipples, sending jolts of electricity straight to her core.

They were all in this together now, their friendship forever changed by this night of strip poker turned passionate frenzy. Y/n had never felt so desired, so wanted. The kisses grew deeper, more intense, as the three of them explored each other's bodies with an urgency that could no longer be contained.

George's hands roamed her body, his touch setting her skin on fire, while Arthur's kisses grew more demanding. She felt a hand slide down her back, reaching around to cup her ass, and she knew it was Arthur. The thrill of having both of them touch her at once was almost too much to bear.

Chris's touch grew more insistent, and she felt herself climbing towards the edge. She broke away from George's kiss, panting, her eyes meeting Arthur's. "Fuck me," she breathed, the words barely a whisper.

They didn't need any further encouragement. Arthur and George shared a look, and she could see the understanding in their eyes. They knew what she wanted, what they all needed. This was no longer a game; it was a declaration of desire that could no longer be ignored.

With a growl, Arthur picked her up, setting her on the edge of the kitchen table. She spread her legs, her heart racing as she watched him stroke his length. She felt a thrill of desire that made her knees wobble. George stepped aside, his own arousal evident, making room for Arthur to claim her.

Chris stepped back, watching with a hunger that made her insides quiver. "Take her," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Make her scream."

Arthur positioned himself between her thighs, his cock hard and ready. He leaned in, kissing her again, and she felt the tip of him at her entrance. With a gentle push, he slid inside, filling her completely. She gasped, her nails digging into the table as he began to move.

The sensation was exquisite, and she felt the room spin as the pleasure built. George's hands were on her breasts again, his mouth finding her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. The three of them moved together, a symphony of passion that she never wanted to end.

Chris stepped closer, his hand wrapping around his own erection as he watched the scene unfold. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So fucking beautiful."

Their eyes met, and she knew he was next. The thought of all three of them together was too much, and she felt her orgasm crest, her body tightening around Arthur. He groaned, his thrusts growing more urgent, and she knew he was close too.

With a final, deep kiss, Arthur pulled out, his hand guiding George to take his place. She moaned as George filled her, his grip on her hips tight. Arthur stepped back, watching with dark eyes as George began to move, his own hand stroking his shaft.

The room was a blur of sensation, the only sounds their panting breaths and the slap of skin against skin. Y/n felt like she was floating, lost in a sea of pleasure that she never wanted to escape from. This was a night that would change everything, a night that would be etched into their memories forever.

And as George's rhythm grew more frantic, as she felt him getting closer, she knew that she was ready for whatever came next. The world outside their flat had ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the heat between them, the passion that had been unleashed by a simple game of poker.

The climax hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her body and leaving her trembling. She cried out, her nails digging into George's shoulders as she came, her body shaking with the force of it. And as George followed suit, filling her with his release, she couldn't help but feel a sense of power and belonging she'd never experienced before.

Chris stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers as he stroked himself. "Your turn," she managed to gasp, her voice hoarse with need. He grinned, a wicked glint in his eye, and she felt a thrill of excitement as George pulled out, making way for Chris to take his place.

Their kiss was explosive, a culmination of all the tension that had been building through the night. She felt Chris's cock nudge against her, and she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer. He entered her with a groan, his movements more deliberate, more intense than the others. The sensation was almost too much, and she arched her back, her breasts pressing against his chest.

Their bodies moved in sync, the table rocking beneath them with every thrust. Arthur and George watched, their own desires reflected in their eyes as they stroked themselves, their gazes never leaving the erotic sight of their friend taking charge. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated passion, a moment that would forever change the dynamics of their friendship.

Chris's hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of her exposed skin, sending shivers down her spine. She could feel his need, his desire, and it only served to fuel her own. The room was a cacophony of gasps and moans, the air thick with the scent of sex.

And then, with a final, deep kiss, Chris reached his peak, his body tensing as he came inside her. They held each other for a moment, their breathing ragged, their hearts pounding in unison. It was a silent acknowledgment of the shift in their relationship, a moment of pure, unbridled connection.

As they pulled apart, the room was bathed in the soft glow of the kitchen lights, their bodies slick with sweat and desire. The poker night had turned into something none of them could have anticipated, a night that would be remembered for far more than just the game.

They stood there, panting, their eyes locked. The silence was deafening, filled only with the sound of their heavy breaths and the distant hum of London outside. They'd crossed a line, stepped into a new chapter of their friendship.

Y/n looked around the room, her eyes taking in the sight of her friends, naked and aroused, their friendship forever altered by this night of passion. But as she saw the hunger in their eyes, she knew it was a change she didn't regret. In fact, she was eager to see where this newfound intimacy would lead them.

The game had ended, but the night was far from over. They had each other, and as they moved closer, the whispers of desire grew louder, the kisses deeper. They were no longer just friends playing a game; they were lovers, ready to explore the depths of their desires

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23 @xxkatxgracexx @amz824

#imagines #george clarkey #british youtubers #smut #george clarke fics #arthur tv #arthurtv x reader #chrismd x reader #chrismd #george clarkey x reader

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bengals-barnesbabe · 2 months ago

Text

Off The Grid blurb

♡ WC: 932 ♡

─ -ˋ °. • ⚘ •. ° ˊ- ─

When dating a professional athlete/ prominent figure it’s easy to get lost in their looks and craft. At first, all you really see is the guy on the field, then as time goes on you get more and more of who they are as a person, and what their personality is, etc.

Looks don’t mean everything in a relationship, but they certainly get your hand in the door to build something more. So imagine after spending a few weeks apart from your beau and coming home to someone entirely different. And not personality-wise.

“Joe?” You called out while rolling your suitcase through the corridor into the living room. There wasn’t a verbal response from him but you could hear a door opening accompanied by heavy steps coming downstairs.

You’d just spent a month in the motherland with your extended family. No American TV, wonky internet access, and an essential break from social media meant you hadn’t seen your boyfriend clearly in about 30 days. It was just a month of reconnecting with a part of your being, so now you were very ready to reconnect with your favorite human being.

“Welcome back, mama.” A pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind. “How was your trip?”

Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into him, a gentle smile lifting your cheeks when his lips kiss the side of your neck and then settle in the crook of your neck.

“It was good, I missed you though.” Sighing as his arms strengthened their hold on you and his lips pecking the exposed skin around your bodysuit strap. “I missed you so much.”

“You have no idea how much I missed you.” He groans as you card your fingers through his grown out locks.

“I think I can make a pretty good guess.” You chuckled using your other hand to squeeze his wrist.

“Mm mm, I’m holding back from really welcoming you home right now.”

“Yea? Why’s that?” You tease sliding your fingers down the side of his face that’s not stuffed in your neck.

“Gotta feed my girl first, can’t have you passing out on me- unless that’s all my doing.” Your eyes slightly widen as you feel a light tickle along your cheek.

Turning around in his grasp, both of your hands admire the scruff aligning his jaw. “This is new.” You bite the side of your lip meeting his crystal blues.

His hands drop lower onto your hips still maintaining the pressure of their hold as a smirk buds on his pink lips. “You like it?”

You nod tracing the line up to his lips. “You don’t think it’s too itchy?”

“I’ve never seen you with this much facial hair before.” Ignoring his question and continuing your exploration of his facial adornment that’s strangely satisfying to the touch.

“Call it the off the grid look, it’s getting cooler out thought it was a good idea when you left. I meant to shave it this morning.”

“Don’t!” You blurt out before you can stop yourself.

“Oh I see, my girl really likes it. Don’t you mama?” He smirks backing you up against the counter.

All you can think about is how’d it feel against your lips and between your thighs. “I just, it’s just-

“I know, you were gone for a long time. I bet you weren’t even able to take care of her the whole time. Just counting the days until I could have you again.” In one swift motion, he lifts you up onto the counter and takes the space between your legs.

Even with the extra height that the counter gives, you still have to look up to meet his sultry gaze. "Hi." The breathy tone of your voice gives away just how much he's affecting you.

"Hey, there gorgeous. Wanna tell me why I'm being held hostage by your legs?" He asks with a coy smile, voice husky and low.

Looking down you realize you automatically wrapped your legs around him before he could say anything. "No, not really." Joe chuckles and rubs up and down your thighs.

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere mamas." He says lowering his body with a smirk. Your eyes widen realizing what he's intent on doing next.

"Wait no!" His brows shoot up as you pull him back up with the hood of his sweatshirt.

"Yes- His words get cut off by you pulling him forward and pressing your lips together in a long-awaited kiss. Joe hums against your lips and tilts his head to take full advantage of your soft plump lips igniting the love and connection you've built over the months of your relationship.

The kiss itself is gentle and slow, just two lovers enjoying the simplicity of being together without any kind of stressor present. Your arms locked around his neck, his big hands gripping your thighs, and his soft scruff gently rubbing against your lips as your head nods pecking the sides of his pink lips.

"Baby." You open your eyes to the beautiful blonde's smile as you peck his nose before one last kiss to his lips.

"Yes?" You smile back, he shakes his head and then pecks your forehead.

"We should've started with that." He chuckles, and you join in nodding.

"I agree." A calm sensual mood washes back over you as you slowly lean back and spread your legs. Then smirkingly you nod down.

Snickering Joe smirks and hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. "Your wish is my command." He winks sinking back down to his knees.

"Fuck you're perfect."

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Main Masterlist

#black reader #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #joe burrow bengals #cincinnati bengals #nfl imagine #scruffy #scruffy!joe #facial hair #off the grid #joe burrow fluff #fluff #appreciation post #bengals barnesbabe #joe burrow blurb #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow smut

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astroboots · 1 year ago

Text

Issue #6

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You and your unfriendly neighborhood Spiderman wind up far from your usual neighborhood and you need to find a way to leave before it's too late.

Word count: 2,600 words.

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Your home is gone.

Everything is gone.

All you can see is white. A vast, empty space surrounding you, blank and endless as far as the eye can see.

You suck in a surprised breath, already flinching because you expect a place so white and sterile to smell like sharp stinging disinfectant, but to your surprise it's the opposite. It smells of nothing in here.

“Mierda!”

You turn at the sound of his voice, and find Blue-Spiderman behind you.

“Shit!” he growls out. His hand comes up to his hair, fingers fisting into the poor strands as he starts tugging at them in frustration again. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“Wha– What happened?”

There was a helicopter, you think… darkness... a loud noise... the wall of your apartment exploding into a cloud of dust and rubble.

"Did... did a fucking helicopter just crash into my apartment!?"

He ignores your question, opting to fidget with his wristwatch instead, swearing and muttering to himself, while you try to make sense of what’s happening.

“And… And then…” And then the otherworldly light show. At the time, you thought you were dying, but you’re clearly not dead. You’re just… someplace else. “What is this place?”

“We weren’t supposed to end up here,” he says, ignoring your question once again. He smacks at his watch repeatedly before swearing again and then leaves the poor thing alone.

“Come on.” He unceremoniously grabs your arm and starts marching forward, dragging you along. He seems to have some destination in mind, though you don’t know how he can tell left from right in this expanse of nothingness, let alone where to go.

“Wait, wait,” you protest, “Where are we? What is this place?” Maybe if you repeat yourself enough he’ll finally give you an answer.

“We have to get out of here. We can’t waste time.” There is no pause in his steps, he marches on as if he’s expecting you to calmly accept the situation without further explanation.

"Can you please just stop for a second and tell me what’s going on?!" you say, digging your heels against his strength to try and stop him for even a second.

He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring with anger and irritation. “We’re in an interdimensional fabric where the interstitial domain emerges. It’s void of any discernible quantum fluctuations or energy-matter manifestations, constituting an absolute absence of existence or spatial-temporal coherency and–”

He’s still talking, throwing out a string of convoluted science terms, one after another in quick succession, but all you hear is an endless stream of jibberish.

His words seem strangely far away, like your ears are plugged or something. You raise a hand to rub at one of them, then at your forehead when that doesn't make the sound go back to normal.

Normal. Ha! Who even knows what "normal" is for this place anyway. Everything since you left your apartment has been so bizarre that you're not surprised your head feels a little wonky.

And there's something weird with your hand too. You pull it back from your forehead and hold it in front of your face, staring at it.

Strange. The tone of it seems off, somehow. Opaque and lighter in shade then you’re used to. Almost like it’s fading.

It's only when he moves to stand in front of you that you realize you can see the red and blue of his suit though your hand. The whole of your palm is turning translucent.

“Shit!” he spits out and steps forward, grabbing and yanking your hand towards him as he inspects your palm.

Whatever he sees clearly doesn’t make him happy. His mouth is at an angle of irritation you had not thought was physically possible before.

"What's your name?" he demands.

"You know my name!" You scowl, tired of keeping up this farce, you know he knows it, and you're not playing this game with him.

His annoyance seems to grow deeper. “Yes, I know your name. I'm asking if you remember it.”

What kind of stupid question is that!? Of course you remember your own name. What a condescending jerk! Does he get off on making everyone around him feel like an idiot?

Your name is… it’s... it's... uhm…

... huh.

The first syllable of your name is on the tip of your tongue. Your lips shape the sound, but nothing comes out because you don't remember what vowel comes next. Or what comes after that.

Your name... Why can't you remember your name?

“I–I don’t...” you hesitate, blinking in confusion. You don’t understand. How did you forget something so simple? “I don’t understand what’s happening. Where are we?”

“I just told you where we are,” he bursts out impatiently.

You wince at his words. God, he did explain, didn't he? You just... can't remember what he said. You know he used a lot of science-y words… Is that why you can't remember what he told you?

“Look, it’s been a rough day. Can you explain it to me again, please, but like you’re talking to a 5 year old?”

In front of you, his expression softens ever so slightly, and he takes another deep breath before continuing more calmly.

“We’re in a space between worlds,” he explains, this time in plain speech, thank god. “It’s a void. Nothing exists here. If we stay too long, we won’t either.”

“Okay, but what am I supposed to–”

“Think happy thoughts,” he orders with a testy bite, which is not at all very helpful in making you think of happy thoughts.

“What, like think of a joke or…?”

He scowls at your question, as if it wasn’t a perfectly reasonable question to ask in the circumstances.

“No. Close your eyes and think of a happy memory. Something important. And personal. It’ll keep you tethered to your physical body,” he says, and despite the terse snappiness that remains in this rude man’s voice, you don’t put up a protest.

You close your eyes, trading out white for the black behind your eyelids. You try to form a memory—any memory—but nothing comes to you.

“I can’t think of anything,” you say, as worry starts creeping into your chest. You don’t understand why something that should be simple is so hard to do all of a sudden.

Then you hear his voice in the darkness.

“Think of someone you love. A day you spent together, or if you can’t think of something, then just think of their smile, or the color of their eyes,” he continues, and with each quality he lists out to you, there's a warmth that leaks through the hardness of his voice.

In your mind’s eye, a memory unfolds pixel by pixel. One of your favorite childhood memories of going camping upstate with your family. You’re wearing a pink ball cap, and your parents are standing by the tent, watching as the family dog runs up to you with a soggy tennis ball in her mouth.

Your mom is smiling at you as she waves from afar, gentle and patient. Her eyes are squinting against the bright sunlight, but you can’t remember the color of them.

Gray hazy mist invades the edges of the memory, eating into the vivid colors, the picture distorts until the smiles of your parents morphs into a faceless blob.

Your eyes snap open, and you can’t keep the panic out of your voice. “What’s happening to me!?”

You don’t remember… You don’t remember what they look like. Who they were, you can’t–

“Hey, hey” his voice snaps you out of the fog, His warm palms come up to cup the apple of your cheeks, face mere inches from yours.

“Stay with me.”

And you're trying, you really are, but the panic is already here. Eating through your veins and crawling under your skin with an itch that won't go away.

“I– I can’t– I don’t–”

You can’t feel his hand anymore. Can’t feel your cheeks either. Can’t feel the clattering of your teeth from your trembling or the hard beating of your heart in your chest.

“I don’t remember her eyes.” Your fingers clutch onto his arms, but no matter how hard you dig in with your nails, it sinks into nothingness, “I don’t– My mom. I– I don’t remember her name, her face, her–”

Your feet seem to have fused to the spot you are standing on. They feel heavy and weightless at the same time. You try to move, but can't. Your body is no longer listening to you, and you’ve forgotten what it’s like to coordinate your feet, for the right foot to take a step forward and have the left one follow.

“Lyla,” he tells you, thumb smoothing over the apple of your cheeks, and you can feel the rasp of the rough calluses on it. “Your mom’s name was Lyla.”

The panic subsides at the familiar name.

Lyla.

Your mom's face comes flooding back, the way her eyes would crinkle at the corner when she laughed, the proud smile she wore at your high school graduation, the soft sound of her voice singing you quiet lullabies as you drifted off to sleep.

“She used to make the most disgusting mac ‘n’ cheese, and whenever you’re sad, it’s all you want to eat,” he reminds you and your mouth tingles at the memory of the thick layer of dripping cheap cheese, scalding hot on your tongue.

You adjust your grip on him, and you can feel the texture of his suit under your fingertips now. Your fingers aren’t as numb anymore, neither is your face.

“Food worked, huh?” The corner of his mouth tugs into a half smile, eyes soft as he gazes down at you. “Figures.”

He leans down, hunching over until his forehead rests against yours. “You know that pizza place down on Downing street that you always go to the day before payday? With the gross doughy crust and kimchi topping that you love so much? Think of that.”

You can picture it clearly. The brick brownhouses, the familiar waft of oven-baked dough, and hint of coal burning, and slowly but surely, your stomach warms at the thought of it.

“Think of those ugly pink fur slippers you wear constantly at home when it gets cold,” he says, and you do, gradually become aware of the soles of your feet and the weight of your own body being held up by them.

He goes on like that, listing off things about you. The way he talks about them is almost insulting, but there’s an undertone of fondness hidden underneath that you can’t make sense of. He describes your favorite cozy sweater, calling it “ratty”; your favorite corner of central park that he thinks reeks of piss; your favorite episode of Grey’s anatomy, the one where Cristina has to get cut out of her wedding dress, which you always watch when you need a good cry.

The sound of his voice seems to shiver through you, the warmth of it settling low in your belly.

The more he talks, the more you remember, memories bleeding back into your consciousness. The simplest things come first... The sensation of running your fingers through soft fabric. Stepping barefoot into grass on a summer day. What it feels like to want someone.

And, as he continues to talk, awareness of your body comes trickling back until you're acutely conscious of his forehead pressing against yours; his hands, big and gentle where they're wrapped around your upper arms; the heat radiating off his big body inches from yours as his deep voice lists off all sorts of intimate things about your life, things he has no business knowing.

Control of your body is returning to you. You can blink now, even if it requires conscious effort, and you blink up at him as he pulls back to look down at you.

“You back with me?” he asks softly, one big, warm hand rising to cup the back of your neck in a way that makes you lightheaded.

You tip your head ever so slightly until you catch sight of your hands, now totally opaque instead of that eerily ghostly sheen, and you nod back at him.

“I– I think so.”

“Good.”

You’re still a little bit frazzled. Disorientated by the whole experience that it takes you a while longer to gather your thoughts together.

You still don’t know where you are. You don’t know what the hell just happened. Or what this place is supposed to be. Calling it a ‘void’ doesn’t really explain as much as he seems to think it does. How on earth did you just lose control over your body like that? Why did your body literally start to disappear, fading into the nothingness?

A chill trickles down your spine as you recall the lack of sensation, and you grip his arm underneath your fingers just a little bit tighter to remind yourself that, yeah, he’s still here.

It makes you feel just the tiniest bit safer.

With one arm still wrapped around your shoulders, he brings his other wrist to his mouth and speaks into the watch. “Lyla, have you got a lock down?”

Huh? Lyla? What is he– You don’t understand. Wait, is he talking to your mom? What does he mean he’s locking down your mom!?

There’s a crackle of static in your ears, and the endless white gives way to a burst of color as reality reforms around the two of you. A wall of masonry appears brick by brick before you, nothing but blue clear skies above. There’s a crunch of gravel on the concrete tiles beneath your feet, and when you look down to your right, you see the New York skyline below you. The bird’s eye view of the city is familiar. It’s one you’ve seen many, many times before.

You’re on top of the Chrysler building.

For a second you panic at the height. You clutch onto the man who has once again saved your life, and he lets you, holding you steady, with one big palm resting on the small of your back.

“You’re okay,” he says, shushing you until you relax in his arms. “You’re okay.”

You stay like that for some time, held in the safety of his arms, until your heartbeat slows, until the pulse racing in your throat is no longer in a clustered lump and you feel like you can breathe and think again.

And now that you can think again, your brain is racing a mile a minute. All the things that have happened… All the things that this man said to you to bring you back to yourself.

Things that no one except for you would know about. It’s too personal and intimate. Even if he had somehow been stalking you, he wouldn’t know these things unless he has been stalking you from childhood. The things he knows about you only comes through years of being with a person. Your habits. Your likes. Your dislikes. The things that upset you. The things that make it better when everything else has gone wrong. He knows all these things about you that he really only should know if he’s known you for a lifetime.

"Who are you?" you ask him again, pulling back slightly to stare up into those blood red eyes inches away from your own, "Who are you really?"

"My name is Miguel O'Hara,” he says, holding your gaze, “and I’m Spiderman from another dimension."

~ Next

Dedication & Credits: To my sister clown in arms @thirstworldproblemss thank you for putting up with me since this series started, I have been bugging his poor woman every second of her waking day. Please give her all the love because I couldn't do this without her or even if I did, I wouldn't have 1/100000000000000000 of the fun I have now with her.

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