#kind of all over the place with this one but that's billions for you! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

phantomrose96 · 8 months ago

Text

Sham Sacrifice: Chapter 2

(Sham Sacrifice: Chapter 1)

Chapter 2, because @ciestess voiced an idea that absolutely consumed my entire mind and I could not rest until I made this

...

Danny’s eyes tracked the swing of gunfire raining bullets across the horizon. Tucker reloaded, crouched, dodged left and pivoted, another blast of bullet confetti launched through a gaggle of zombie heads. He tossed the magazine and reloaded. Click. Ching. Danny flinched when a zombie smashed a hammer clean through Tucker’s head.

“God. Fucking…” Tucker pulled out of his hunch. He unclamped his fingers from his controller like bug legs unfurling. He extended the controller to Danny, bouncing it in his grip. “Your turn.”

“Huh?” Danny asked, as if he hadn’t been watching Tucker’s game the whole time.

“You. You’re up. I died.”

Danny accepted the controller, reloaded the screen, and jogged about a hundred feet forward before the first horde of zombies took him out football-style from the left. The death screen rolled.

“Oops,” Danny said.

“Not your best work.” And Tucker took the controller back. Tucker shot a few spare glances to Danny while the level restart loaded in. “Is it Vlad?”

“No. Well, yes,” Danny answered, flopping back into his normal position on the Foley attic armchair. Tucker’s mom had planned to toss it ages ago, before it became Danny’s chair. “But at least he left when my parents went all zombie mode into the basement.” Danny picked absently at the scabs of leather flaking from the armrest. “It was just weird.”

“I don’t mean this as an insult, but it’s definitely not the first time your dad’s gotten some math wrong,” Tucker said. “He blows up like three things a week doesn’t he?”

“He does. But he doesn’t care when he gets that math wrong. This one was like I broke something important.” Danny’s expression soured, and he picked a leather flake clean off the chair. “Vlad did, I mean.”

“Does any of the math actually work?” Sam offered from Tucker’s desk. She leaned an elbow around the back of his chair, head tilted to Danny. A pencil dangled from her loose fingers, nib-half worn to the History of an Invention report she was actually working on. Tucker had half-assed his earlier in the day about the palm pilot. Danny had not done his. “Like, it’s all crackpot theory, right? Do ghosts even follow math?”

“I think they follow some math. It’s not magic that makes the ecto-bazookas work, or the Fenton-phones work, or—well the thermos DIDN’T work—until I made it work.”

The unspoken thing Danny had been not-quite-saying hung in the air. He said it this time.

“So I’m wondering if I did it. Like the Fenton thermos. And now maybe they’re gonna do the math all over and realize the missing piece of the equation is one half-ghost son.”

“Well the order is backwards, for starters,” Sam said. “Thermos worked because you pumped ghost-energy into it. How would you have done that to the portal? You were human when you walked in.”

“Sam’s right. What do you think you brought to the table exactly? Button-slapping abilities?” Tucker loaded up the next level. “It was their portal, and their math, and it worked. There’s a million-billion kinds of math and they probably just forgot one thing.”

Tucker took a headshot and died. Mechanically, he handed the controller back to Danny.

“Yeah, probably.”

“Ask Vlad. He’s got a portal.”

“Like Vlad’s gonna tell me.”

“Just promise to be his diligent little son minion or whatever. He’s easy. Wait, let me do the next level. You know I like the cyberpunk levels.”

“It’s not your turn,” Danny said, reeling the controller just out of Tucker’s wiggling grasp.

“I’ll let you do two in a row for your next turn.”

Danny knocked Tucker away, distracted just long enough for a zombie cyberbeam to launch from the horizon and take him out through the head.

The screen washed sepia. Danny stared at it. You died.

…

Danny hadn’t really meant to stay the night at Tucker’s place. They’d just gotten really far in Man vs. Zombie, and Sam had gone home, and Danny was just resting his eyes between his turns with the controller.

So when he woke to the bright strip of sunlight beaming into his eyes through the attic skylight, his first thought was Fuck.

He was awake, here, morning, school. Fuck he had not actually done his History of Invention report, despite the stupid amount of grief it had already caused him this weekend. He pulled his face out of the armrest, now pineapple-patterned from the decaying leather, and pawed for his phone fallen on the floor. If it was still early enough, he could maybe still afford to desperately half-ass something before sixth period science.

He flipped his phone open. A text from Jazz. “Don’t come home. Make up an excuse.”

“…Fuck,” Danny whispered, through the sensation of his heart launching itself into his throat.

He scrambled upright, whole body shaking at the mercy of adrenaline shock so soon after being pulled from dead sleep. His mouth was dry, teeth unbrushed, wearing his old clothes from yesterday, report not done, Don’t come home, Don’t come home, Don’t come home.

They knew. He’d fucked it up. Somehow they knew. The math. Something. And it had to be with guns blazing, because Jazz would not send that text if they’d taken the “We accept you” angle.

Were they coming for him? On their way here? Tracking by his phone? Did they like Mrs. Foley enough to not SWAT-slam her against the wall when she opened the door for them so they could come capture the ghost pretending to be their son?

Fuck.

Danny was upright. Danny was standing. Danny was shaking. Danny wasn’t actually sure what the next thing was he was supposed to do.

Tucker’s ball of blankets rustled from the couch. “Mmph?” he asked, articulately.

“I have to. Go deal with my parents, I think,” Danny said, because any plan felt a little better than no plan. “I think they know.”

Danny was a ghost. Danny was gone. Tucker sat upright, alone, blinking himself awake. He was staring at the You Died sepia screen still displayed on monitor, now burnt into the plasma of the tv.

…

Danny paused with his human hand slick on the Fenton front door. The gears in his mind turned as his plan quickly unraveled into no-plan. He had no plan, right? What was his plan? Handle this Man vs Zombie style—open the front door ready to dodge wide, because both zombies and parents liked to camp behind closed doors with bazookas at the ready?

“—absolutely absurd, and entirely unscientific, with no probability of being true. It goes against everything we know about neurology.”

Oh, Jazz. Was Jazz enough of a bazooka-deterrent? Probably not. Knowing his parents.

Danny turned the knob. His heart hammered. If bazookas, dodge left.

The first thing he noticed was in fact the no-bazookas. It was what he was most looking for. And so it was Jazz’s expression he did not notice until second—whites of her eyes wide, snapped to Danny, with a look that would be accusatory if worry hadn’t won that battle. Her cheeks were pale. Her hair was unbrushed.

He noticed his parents third. Compulsively, he rocked back onto his right foot, still outside the doorway, still outside the threshold of the Fenton family household.

Seeing his parents tired was of absolutely no shock-value to Danny. It was at least a twice-per-month tradition to see them haul themselves up from the basement sweaty and glaze-eyed at 7am, babbling excitement about some new ecto-spectral-hoozy-whatsits whose concept had shimmed into their minds at 8pm and now existed, fully operational, 11 nonstop hours later.

So it wasn’t the exhaustion on their face. It wasn’t the stagnant smell of sweat or the paleness of their faces or the stains on their clothes.

It was the way they looked at him. Like their whole world had fallen apart with his foot passing over the doorstep.

“Danny,” Jazz said, choked, a break in the silence. “Things are…! A little weird here. So maybe, if you wanna just get to school, I’ll finish clearing up—there’s a misunderstanding Mom and Dad have with their math. I am state finalist in Math League and have been studying college-level calculus in preparation for school applications so I’ve offered to help them fix their math, or prove to them—”

“Danny,” Maddie said, an echo of Jazz, but it felt worse. Danny scanned her hands for anything pointed enough to be a weapon. They were empty. “Danny can I just ask you something honestly, just quickly? Jazz is right. I’m just trying to clear up an issue with our math. And I won’t be mad. Whatever the answer is, I won’t be mad. I just want an honest answer.”

She stepped closer. Danny fought the urge to match her with a step backwards. Her eyes roved over him in a starved way, looking for something.

“Were you there when the portal turned on?” she asked.

“No, I wasn’t,” Danny answered. He wasn’t sure what to do with his face to make it look convincing. “It just. It needed some time to boot up, or something, right? That’s what you two said.”

“That was our guess ,but we don’t really know. The security tapes are wiped. We tried to make them EMF-resilient but a very, very strong blast of EMF could still corrupt them.”

“Yeah. I mean the portal’s gonna do that, right? When it turned on? Ripping open the Ghost Zone that’s—gotta be huge EMF.” Danny’s focus bounced between his mother’s eyes. “Just a guess. I really don’t know. I was in bed, already, whenever the portal started working.”

Left eye. Right eye. Why was she looking at him like that? Like she was sad. Was this part a trick? Make Danny let his guard down, go hey Mom need a hug? and that’s when the bazooka-whipping starts? It made his ribs feel scratchy. Stop looking at me like that.

“Have you felt anything weird at all, since the portal started working? Any gaps in your memory? Any parts of you that don’t feel right? Is there any part of you that feels like it’s changed in a way you can’t explain?”

She reached a hand out. Danny instinctively recoiled.

“Uh, yeah. They taught us about this in health class. They call it ‘puberty’ there.”

“Danny,” Jack said, and his voice was scratchy from disuse, from a long and uncharacteristic amount of time spent not speaking. “Did you die in the machine?”

A beat. A moment. Like when the zombie sends a hammer through your head.

“I’M alive!” Danny declared with a crack in his voice, with hands slammed to his chest. “Look at me. What are you talking about?”

“It’s the only math that works,” Jack continued, his words like chalk, his voice too dead. He looked too much at Danny. “If one of you two walked into the portal, and died in it. And I don’t think it was Jazz.”

This was bad. This was weird. Danny had ghost powers, sure. ‘They can’t kill me I’m already dead,’ was a funny joke sometimes. But it was funny as a joke. He was a ghost sham, really. A faker, a LARPer, whatever Tucker had called it. He was a human who was just kind of a freak now. More of a freak than he already was. He looked dead, for someone who was super-duper still alive.

He’d buried that worry, already. They weren’t allowed to bring it back.

“Look… at me!” Danny continued, mouth dry. He threw his arms wide. “Look how super alive I am! I’m awake! Using energy! Eating food and sleeping with my human body. I’ve got flesh and blood and bones and stuff! I’m not a ghost-expert but ghosts don’t have that.”

This was weird. This made Danny feel like something was scratching to get free from inside his rib cage. It twisted his entrails. Sure Tucker and Sam had thought he was dead, for those first horrible few minutes, but then he changed back to a human and the nightmare ended there. Jazz never called him dead. The ghosts called him freak and halfa and whelp, but never ‘one of them.’ That was his whole thing: being different from the ghosts who became ghosts by something so normal as dying.

He was not dead.

“If you died in the portal, your ghost wouldn’t have been ripped out of your body. It would have been allowed to stay, and then you’d be…” Jack hesitated. “I don’t know what you’d be, but you wouldn’t be alive.”

“Dad,” Jazz said, and she stood herself bodily between Danny and Jack. “What an absolutely messed up out-of-line thing to say to your son! You don’t know that! Dad you’re tired, and just because you weren’t able to solve your math problem in one night doesn’t mean you get to treat Danny like this! I said I’d help you with your math! Now apologize to Danny.”

Jazz looked over her shoulder to Danny, her expression falling at the sight of Danny’s face.

Danny backed up over the door threshold. He shook his head. “I’m not comfortable with this. This is weird. I’m gonna go to school now.”

“Danny, I promise they’re just—”

Danny turned on heel. No backpack, no change of clothes. He took to the street without a single school supply and moved, and moved.

It was supposed to be guns-blazing. Molecule by molecule. Headshot you died. He’d prepared for that this whole time, in the shower, in his dreams, in his daydreams in class. He’d duck and dodge and explain himself over and over until they understood him.

Danny wasn’t sure he was capable of explaining himself anymore.

…

Danny knocked the heavy iron knocker. He was in ghost form, as a threat. He wondered if he still smelled like yesterday’s sweat now that he wasn’t wearing yesterday’s clothes. Now he was wearing the clothes he died in.

No one answered the door. Danny phased himself in.

“Vlad!” he called, and his words echoed along the slope of the two elaborate winding staircases that twirled and met at the top like caduceus. Gold-plated banisters. A security camera buried somewhere in the ceiling, no doubt.

Danny phased into the library. His eyes roved the three stories of bookshelves wrapping the perimeter like a sheath. Gaudy. Audacious. Like Vlad would ever read that much. Danny racked his brain because some something in here was the secret to opening Vlad’s laboratory. Jazz had told him. Some gold something to be touched, and pressed down, or pushed up? Or it opened to a button. Or a keypad, maybe.

Danny spat a curse. He was being stupid. He was frazzled. He wasn’t thinking straight.

He dove into the floor below. Intangibility was the only key he needed.

The sheetrock was cold, even when he wasn’t touching it. The darkness was so piercing it made static jump in his vision, some weird trick of the brain Jazz had explained where, in the absence of all light, the brain hallucinates its own. It came with a sensation of pressure against his eyeballs, and a complete disorientation of direction, and he simply just kept going down.

Danny emerged into a wash of cold air. Cold like metal was cold. The low lights of dials and clicking machines were bright to his eyes previously dunked into the pitchest nothing. He drank it in, eyes grateful for light no matter how little, inner ear grateful for orientation that had left his head swimming and his stomach tight.

His feet tapped down to the stone ground, and the air that breezed past him was chilled.

“Vlad!” Danny called again.

Nothing.

He moved by the floor lighting, which ran in trim along the perimeter of the laboratory rooms. It lit things from beneath, made machines gaunt and specimens into sharp geometries of darkness and flesh. It made the Fenton lab feel warm in a way Danny had never considered it warm.

His feet clacked. His breath puffed.

“Vlad!”

He followed light, followed a wash of green miasma percolating from some far room and catching on the particulate of water and dust that disturbed with the air currents. Danny disturbed it too, walking through, wearing its shade of green which his shadow robbed from the wall behind him.

“Vlad. I swear to god Vlad.”

He crossed the threshold of the portal room, where the dusting of green ambience became a medallion wash of golden-green coating, painting every surface of the room. The Fenton lab was one single expansive room, portal anchored into the far wall and facing all the dead and empty air in front of it. This was different. A much smaller room, walled on all sides save for the simple doorway, and each surface reflected the color back deeper and heavier. It was like a fishtank in the wall of an aquarium lit radiant aqua-blue by all the lights within, but green instead, pure ecto-green.

Danny approached the open portal. He stared into its placid swirls, mesmerized, and scared of it, in a way he hadn’t previously felt about the portal in the Fenton basement.

“Ah, seems the cat is a good mouser after all, it dragged you in my boy.” The words came sing-song. They came spine-shivering for Danny, who felt them like hot breath on his shoulder and reeled back, pivoted, fire crackling to life in his palms.

Vlad stood at the doorway, a solid 20 steps from Danny.

“Vlad.”

“So I’ve been hearing.”

“I need you to explain the portal.”

“Ah, I see you’ve spoken to your parents.” Vlad stepped in, washed in the ecto-green which muddied his ruby red eyes. He held his hands behind his back, cape trailing, a smirk on his fanged face. “Last I heard they weren’t taking the news very well.”

“What news. What did you tell them?”

“Me? Nothing. In fact, very kindly for your sake I even tried to drive them away from the answer but… We know how stubborn your parents can be.”

“What answer?”

“That you’re dead, Daniel.”

Shock washed like ice down Danny’s spine. It sent prickles like spider legs across his skin.

“Well, I suppose there’s still chance for some doubt. It could be Jazz. She could take the fall for you, if there’s any benefit to that at all.”

“I’m a halfa. We are halfas,” Danny said.

“A silly made up word by a silly child,” Vlad mused, and the light smile left his lips. “We are dead.”

“I’m not dead,” and Danny’s words were small, and they were childish.

“You are. I am. Embrace it. It’s nicer this way.” Vlad took a few steps closer, lionously tall in his saunter, feet clacking the ground. “It’s very freeing. After you’ve died already what is there left to fear?”

“I’m alive.”

“You’re a dead body with its soul still stuffed inside it like a Christmas goose. A lot of things in your body don’t work anymore, but ghosts don’t work right anyway and it is, for all its defiance of nature, a perfectly symbiotic relationship.” Vlad’s smile brushed his lips again, warm. “It’s nice to share this with you. Isn’t it nice to share things with people?”

Danny’s heart was beating too fast in his chest, and it was a human heart, a human beat. “I’m not dead,” he declared.

“Your wounds heal quickly because the ghost piloting you only needs to remember form. It stacks cells back into place and calls it good. You’ll endure fatal injuries as you no doubt have many times in your fights, but they’re trivial because physical trauma is not what kills a ghost. It’s what creates one. You’ll necrotize in places but it’s okay, because you’ll carry on, and it will bother you only if you let it bother you, if you’re too sentimental about the puppet you’re still inside.” Vlad closed in closer, neck craning to appraise Danny. “Ghosts love a facsimile of life so you will keep your heart pumping, your lungs breathing. You’ll eat and you’ll sleep but you’ll find you won’t perish if you don’t. It just won’t be a good time if you want to keep occupying your flesh form. Take better care of it. You won’t get another.”

“You’re psychotic. And you’re wrong.”

“I have all the math to prove it.” Vlad leered from over Danny’s shoulder. He circled the boy, knocking Danny’s balance, who still on a hair trigger stood ready to fight. The light from the ghost portal painted Vlad’s face like the phases of the moon as he moved. “Did your parents explain that part to you properly?”

“No, because they didn’t get the math right.”

“Oh they’ve gotten it right. This time. It only took them two decades longer than it took me.” The portal rolled like static, and its fizzling pattern crashed like an ocean wave across Vlad’s cape. “No amount of man-made power is sufficient to drag the entire fabric of the Ghost Zone up against our own, tear a hole through it, and anchor it to a stable frame. It requires something with a pull on the Ghost Zone, a strong pull, and that thing is a human life at the moment of an extraordinarily violent death.”

Danny backed a step away from the portal, from Vlad, but the walls boxed him in. He swam in its green light.

“You stepped in and you turned the portal on, that’s what you thought, right, Daniel? Pressed a careless button on the inside and now here we are. Silly parents for not finding that button first.” Vlad’s face hardened. “No. Jack and Maddie knew about the button. Maddie explained it to me over the phone. What engineer designing and building their own portal would forget the location of the on button? They’d pressed it from the outside. It didn’t work. And so you pressing the button was not the important part. It was you dying to the electrocution that clicked everything right into place. And while your ghost should have been torn from your lifeless corpse and pulled to the Ghost Zone you instead pulled the Ghost Zone here. Your ghost got to stay put. You opened the portal. You became the undead freak you are. And now we’re here.”

Danny’s eyes bounced between Vlad’s. His cheeks felt hot, like he was enduring an accusation of wrongdoing. And he had none of the knowledge to refute what was being said.

“You’re messing with me. You’re wrong,” Danny shot back. He thrust an arm out, drenched in the fog of the portal. “If the portal needs a person to die in it then explain your portal! Are you so casual about it? You killed someone? You’re admitting to murder and you think I won’t do anything about it?”

Anger flashed like a storm across Vlad’s face. His aura swelled, pressing down with a pressure on Danny as Vlad halted and cast his shadow clear across Danny, coating the back wall. “The killing of other people with the wanton carelessness of half-baked machines is the domain of Jack and Jack alone. I’ve brought no such harm onto anyone else.”

“Then how do you have this portal?”

“This portal? This portal that I’ve had for 20 years? Which I opened when I solved the piece of Jack’s broken math that he was never able to solve until this morning?” Vlad stalked closer, hunched, imposing. Danny stepped back. “My boy Daniel you’ve had it so easy. You had it so simple. A truly clean break. So clean so lucky. A single lethal dose of electricity and it was already over. I’m jealous. You never even suffered.”

Vlad stepped closer, striking distance, arm extended. Danny flinched, but Vlad only swept his cape around, clenched in his fist, and pivoted to approach the portal.

“Put out of your misery before it even started.” Vlad slammed his fist against the portal rim, and the explosive metallic clang bounced through the rooms. His laugh belted out. “I should have been so lucky.”

19. Vlad Masters was 19. A sophomore in college. A man actively in the midst of sabotaging his social life to chase a woman who was already deeply in love with Vlad’s best friend who he hated more every day. He wasn’t sure what he ever enjoyed about Jack’s bumbling ineptitude, or his loudness, his brashness, his poor social skills, his bad breath, his mullet. Maybe Vlad had gravitated to Jack because deep down he loved how superior it made him feel to surround himself with the likes of Jack Fenton… And now, he hated how enraged it made him to watch Maddie’s eyes skip past his to focus on Jack Fucking Fenton again and again and again and again.

But surely there was hope still. Surely it was a matter of time before the rose-tinted glasses fell away and Maddie saw bumbling and inept and every such word in the basket when she looked at Jack. There’d come the day she tested the waters with Vlad to complain about one of Jack’s little quirks, and they’d find solace together in all the things Vlad was that Jack wasn’t, and all the things Vlad had that Jack didn’t. And he’d be gone, back to bumble elsewhere, and it would be just them.

The day didn’t come. It wouldn’t come. And maybe Vlad needed to change himself for Maddie. If he listened to her and Jack’s ghost ramblings, if he could put Jack in his place and solve the things Maddie couldn’t, it would show her. She’d understand.

Because that was the thing about Jack. His math was never right. Enduring Calculus 1 with Jack was all it took to prove this to Vlad. How many times he’d caught a single error on a single line for Jack, like a dropped stitch that would unravel the whole sweater. Every problem, without exception. Jack only passed on his homework grade with Vlad’s help. On his tests, he failed.

So Vlad was staring at Jack’s equation, full of bogus math, which Vlad knew was wrong because Jack had penned it, and Vlad had not yet fixed it himself.

“I’m telling you Jack, it won’t work.”

“Bogus V-man it totally will!”

It wouldn’t. But Vlad wouldn’t fix it for him. Not yet. Vlad would let Jack embarrass himself first, fully in front of Maddie, watching on, judging. Vlad would solve it for her. After. Once Jack had made a fool of himself for the hundredth time since college began.

He leaned in to study the portal frame. The gears were turning in his head already. He didn’t hear the whir of the power source catch.

…

19. Vlad Masters was 19. A tube ran down his nose and into his lungs, supplying oxygen for lungs which were failed by a diaphragm sloughing itself away. He was poisoned from the outside-in. Irradiated by ecto-energy none of the nurses or doctors could fully understand. It damaged his DNA. First obvious in the skin of his face where the blisters of his ecto-acne drained and sloughed. “Acne” was the wrong word. An unkind word. They were boils where the blast had cooked his skin, microwaved his cells. The skin on his body blackened over time. Organs decayed. Vlad Master read a lot about radiation sickness. He knew everything he had to expect.

Jack and Maddie had stopped visiting. They were dating now. It was on their last visit they’d told him, and Vlad hadn’t taken it well, and he’d perhaps burned a few bridges with the words he chose. It was deserved. Considering what Jack did to him.

He’d found the error in Jack’s math, by the way. Errors, but all the rest paled in impact compared to the lambda. The ecto-energy. The necessary ecto-potential to pull the Ghost Zone here. How stupid. How idiotic. For Vlad to die to a machine so botched in its construction.

When Vlad was released from the hospital, it was not because they’d cured him. It had been because there is a certain cruelty in making a 19-year-old live the last of his days bedded down in a white-walled room with just his books, his equations, and no one coming to visit anymore.

He was released with bedrest instructions. Vlad did not heed them. In his beater car, every cell of his body aching, he drove. At the materials lab, he disconnected his oxygen tank and moved through the lab space with the tube dangling loose from his nostril. No one was Vlad Masters’ friend. No one cared to stare long at his ugly boil-ridden face. No one stopped him as he hauled sheet metal, and supports, and bolts and wiring and resistors and power tools, checked out with a valid student ID, from the lab. The lab inventory room would not be seeing these back.

It was a prep bunker, buried beneath a vast lot of empty Wisconsin land, that Vlad hauled his materials. He and Jack had discovered it as freshmen. Poked through its bowels with flashlights and quipped and laughed over how eerie it was. Deep beneath the sheetrock, boxy rooms carved out of walls of stone. Shelf upon shelf of dusty canned foods, and shotguns sealed in cases fastened to the walls. The locks had rusted with water damage.

His arms ached until they throbbed, dragging beams of metal across the stone floor, scratching chalk-mark stains into the ground. His skin sloughed, inflamed, burning to the touch. Vlad didn’t bother to rest, because these injuries would never heal anyway. He hauled, and welded, and wired up his circuitry and resistors with a care and caution Jack would never have bothered to practice. He checked it against his math by flashlight. He took naps on the cold stone floor and woke with deep purple bruises on every part of his body that had pressed against the ground.

His appetite left him. His lungs filled with mucus. The boils on his face had spread down to his chest, his shoulders. The touch of his shirt chafed them, so he worked without one, a figure of skeletal rib ridges jutting from tight skin that bloomed with the projection of his shadow against stone walls.

He knew why Jack’s math was wrong.

A silly mistake. A stupid mistake. Anyone with half a mind for the paranormal should have realized the Ghost Zone was not so easily at your beck and call. Not without chumming the water with something it would rise to feast on.

And in that violent death, what would happen to the ghost? It would stay, wouldn’t it? If it successfully anchored the Ghost Zone to the portal it stood inside, then by definition the ghost would stay?

And was that death? Yes, in a way. But it was a death one would get to keep living. As opposed to the death Vlad was headed for, whose coldness and finality scared Vlad more than anything he could put to words.

He’d fixed the oxygen tank back to himself. He couldn’t work without it, hauling it about on a little dolly with him, back and forth, while he fetched and affixed the last of the plating he needed to craft the frame of his silent soulless portal.

He’d stolen a generator from the sports storage shed. It was meant to be enough to power the portable stadium lights they hauled onto the fields for late games, an absolute obelisk meant to cast light across an entire football field.

Surely, it contained enough power to kill one simple human.

Vlad fixed the last bolt in place. Jumper cables clamped generator to portal wiring. It was a pure skeleton. A paltry thing, like the bones of something already picked clean. Built in haste, sloppy, by a 19-year-old whose fingers were too inflamed to clutch a wrench any longer.

He could have asked Jack for help. Maddie. But he wouldn’t let them have this. They had to solve the portal on their own. They didn’t get to know his hard work. They did not get to save him.

Vlad would save himself.

A ghost anchored to a body. What was that? What monster was that?

Vlad moved. He coughed mucus from his lungs. It made it hard to breathe. So he moved slowly, and crouched, bony jutting angles, painted blotchy purple, all bruises and skin, sloughing away.

He crouched, because the portal he’d constructed was not large enough to hold him standing up. He bowed inside it, a small thing, a pathetic man of little life. He wheezed. He hurt. His eyes burned.

And he held in his hands the remote to flip the generator switch, and connect the circuit, and bring to life the math Vlad had so kindly corrected out from under Jack’s grip.

Vlad did not. Because throwing the switch would kill him.

Deep in his animal brain, his dying brain, he knew this intimately. It filled him with a drowning fear like paralysis. He did not want to die.

He would die if he did nothing.

It would be this one throwing of the switch which could save him. Which would burst the portal to life right through his heart. Electrocute it out of its rhythm, slaughter him like a pig on spot and… maybe… hopefully… drag the Ghost Zone here. And whatever he was, dead, would stay.

And whatever he was, dead, would be better than this.

Vlad held the remote in his clammy hands.

And from within the humming skeleton of his portal, his fingers caressed the on button.

…

The portal sung its happy contentment, mused in its healthy green aura, staining all the slabs of rock wall. Danny swiveled his head, recognizing now the bunker this had been before it had been a laboratory.

“I’ve harmed no one, Daniel,” Vlad concluded, his voice too measured for the horrors it had spilled forth. Too calm against the blossoming terror its words had wrought across Danny’s face. “I opened the portal to save myself. You’re lucky, Daniel. It was because of my fast thinking that your father is not a murderer. I took that honor from him.” Vlad’s head tilted to the side, suddenly sympathetic. “Although, you’ve maybe made the title whole for him.”

Vlad reached out, Danny shot away.

“Dad didn’t kill me,” he choked. “I did this to myself.”

“How lucky Jack is, to always dodge responsibility for his actions.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Of course you don’t. If you believed me, you’d have to accept you’re not wriggling out of this. There’s no denial you can bring home to your parents. If you believe me, then this is reality.” Vlad smiled, a playful glint to his fangs. “I suppose I should have more sympathy. I quite like being this way. It is so much nicer than wasting away to death, like I was. But you. You were healthy before this. This killed you, and it didn’t save you from anything.” Vlad cocked his head. “Such tragic fates, both of us, due to the carelessness of Jack Fenton.”

Danny shook his head. His heart beat—his human heart beat—all too fast in his throat. It made him sick. It made him feel like the walls were closing in around him. This was Vlad’s doing. Vlad’s trap. Vlad’s prison he’d been forced to join.

"That's not true. I'm not like you."

“Of course not,” Vlad said, sweetly. “How sweet denial is. Deny it if you like. Call me a liar. But if you ever want to come to terms with what your father did to you, consider coming to me. I understand you in a way no one else will.”

Danny gave no response. He gave no acknowledgement of Vlad’s words. He took to the air, phased himself up through the sheetrock that had been packed atop the doomsday prepper bunker. Up through the mansion, which had been built atop the portal beneath it, and not the other way around. Into the open sky, he breathed fresh air not stagnant and damp beneath the ground, bathed in light pure white from the sun and not tainted green like the bowels underneath him.

And he flew back toward the portal that made him, leaving Vlad with the portal from which he’d made himself.

...

(inspiration post from @ciestess)

#sham sacrifice #danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #vlad masters #danny fenton #YELLS AND THROWS THIS AT YOU #ive been spinning around like a top on this idea #tw: suicidal ideation

964 notes · View notes

ohhgingersnaps · 2 years ago

Text

I'm seeing some frustration over fandom creatives expressing anger or distress over people feeding their work into ChatGPT. I'm not responding to OP directly because I don't want to derail their post (their intent was to provide perspective on how these models actually work, and reduce undue panic, which is all coming from a good place!), but reassurances that the addition of our work will have a negligible impact on the model (which is true at this point) does kind of miss the point? Speaking for myself, my distress is less about the practical ramifications of feeding my fic into ChatGPT, and more about the principle of someone taking my work and deliberately adding it to the dataset.

Like, I fully realize that my work is a drop in the bucket of ChatGPT's several-billion-token training set! It will not make a demonstrable practical difference in the output of the model! That doesn't change the fact that I do not want my work to be part of the set of data that the ChatGPT devs use for training.

According to their FAQ, ChatGPT can and will use user input to train itself. The terms and conditions explicitly state that they save your chats to help train and improve their models. (You can opt-out, but sharing is the default.) So if you're feeding a fic into ChatGPT, unless you've explicitly opted out, you are handing it to the ChatGPT team and giving them permission to use it for training, whether or not that was your intent.

Now, will one fic make a demonstrable difference in the output of the model? No! But as the person who spent a year and a handful of months laboring over my fic, it makes a difference to me whether my fic, specifically, is being used in the dataset. If authors are allowed to have a problem with the ChatGPT devs for scraping millions of fics without permission, they're also allowed to have a problem with folks handing their individual fics over via the chat interface.

I do want to add that if you've done this to a fic, please don't take this as me being upset with you personally! Folks are still learning new information and puzzling out what "good" vs. "bad" use is, from an ethical standpoint. (Heck, my own perspective on this is deeply based on my own subjective feelings!) And we certainly shouldn't act like one person feeding a fic into ChatGPT has the same practical negative impact, on a broad societal scale, as a team using a web crawler to scrape five billion pieces of artwork for Stable Diffusion.

The point is that fundamentally, an ethical dataset should be obtained with the consent of those providing the data. Just because it's normalized for our data to be scraped without consent doesn't make it ethical, and this is why ChatGPT gives users the option to not share data— there is actually a standardized way (robots.txt) for website servers to set policies for how bots/crawlers can interact with them, for exactly this reason— and I think fandom artists and authors are well within their rights to express a desire for opting out to be the socially-respected default within the fandom community.

#maybe this is an ice cold take but i've been meaning to go off about datasets for a while so here we are i guess #i can respect what op's frustrations were and what they were trying to get at! but also i do not want my fic in chatgpt's dataset #regardless of whether it will make a practical difference #and again i don't think the people doing this are necessarily bad actors or having a huge negative social impact #chatgpt #chat gpt #ai #fandom #negative #(possibly! i'm trying not to be!! especially because this is very feelings-based and there are many things i am not considering)#the model may not demonstrably change because of your fic. but it does have your fic now and that does matter maybe idk

2K notes · View notes

thinking-emoji · 15 days ago

Text

RNZ interview mirror - the original file is exactly 700 kb too big for tumblr so I had to compress it slightly 🙃

Transcript under the cut!

YouTube megastars Dan and Phil will be coming to Aotearoa next week with a live show full of scandalous stories. For those who don't know them, these two Brits invented being internet famous. Coming to stardom in 2009, the pair have amassed a media empire with over 40 million combined followers, 2 billion views on YouTube, as well as a handful of best-selling books. Dan and Phil went on hiatus in 2018, with each coming out as gay soon after. This is their first tour together since then. The show is called Terrible Influence and it's coming to Auckland's Kiri Te Kanawa Theatre next Thursday, the 19th of December. I caught up with Dan and Phil earlier on the line from Australia.

DnP: Hello.

(Interviewer laughs)

D: Sorry, was that a weird stereo hello there? That must have been disturbing.

I: That's exactly how I wanted you to answer the call.

P: Yes, that's how we speak all the time. D: We share one braincell.

I: You speak in unison.

P: Yes. (laughs)

I: Because you two have lived together for quite some time, haven't you? D: We have. I: Not only working together for many years.

D: Yeah, like imagine like being really fed up with your co-worker and then you want to come home and you want to be like, God, this guy, I can't stand him. Like, what are we doing here, people?

P: Then he's in your house.

I: How long have you lived together for?

D: Errr, fourteen- P: No. D: No, thirteen- twel- P: Twelve years. I want to say twelve years. D: Twelve years, but it feels like 2000. Do you know what I mean? P: Time is not real. We don't know what's going on. D: At this point, we're like, you know, when you go to a zoo and there's two elderly tortoises that are about 400 years old. P: Yeah. D: That's how we feel. P: Yeah.

I: I'm glad that you've decided to, you know, take air travel to get to New Zealand.

D: It's literally the furthest place from home we could ever. So we get some tweets from people that are like, Dan and Phil, thank you for coming to New Zealand because, by golly, you've travelled a bit of a way. But hey, we're happy to be there. New Zealand is a beautiful country. P: Yes. D: And so are the people.

P: Whenever I come to New Zealand, I just want to move to New Zealand. I'm like, why am I in London when I could be in this beautiful, verdant land?

D: A lot of people do abandon for New Zealand and we understand why.

I: Yeah. Yeah. I'm glad that you do understand that. And it's your first big tour back since coming out in 2018. D: It is. I: The show is kind of a little bit like a gossip session. Is that right? Setting some things straight?

D: Absolutely. We're people that have been on the internet for a very long time and people have talked a lot of smack about us over the years, as a lot of people do with anyone with a lot of followers. And we're like, you know what? We all deserve to look back at our past. We all deserve to be roasted for the things that we did and said. That includes us being embarrassing and what our audience were like when they were all teenagers on the internet. But if we have a bit of a therapy session slash Catholic confession, we can end it with a bit of a hug and a pat on the back and go, it's okay. We survived. Here we are now in 2024. So it's like a roast and a healing session at the same time.

I: That must be quite an interesting thing because, you know, you both grew up on the internet and made so much content. You have this huge following that you've built. And so many people work really hard to kind of erase their former selves online. And that's probably something that you cannot do.

D: Oh, no. I would love to. It's too late. P: That's the thing as well. Sometimes our audience know us better than we know ourselves because they watch these videos so much. I never watch my videos back ever. So they'll come up to us at a meet and greet like, remember that thing you did in 2014? I'm like, no. D: No, I don't. P: I don't know what I said or did. D: But Phil, you love this ice cream flavour. P: Yeah. Speaking of ice cream, I'm excited for the Hokey Pokey ice cream. That was the thing I remember in New Zealand. I: It is good.

D: Yeah. Someone said, hey, you're excited to have it again. I was like, what was that? P: We don't have that. D: Don't you remember the time that you had it? P: No. D: Here, I've got this photo on my phone. P: Yeah. I'm going to have some more when I get there for sure.

D: That is not the main reason why we made the travel, but it will help with the jet lag.

P: It's 80% of the reason, I'll be honest.

I: Why is the show called Terrible Influence?

D: I think there's this idea that everyone on the internet, all these creators, all these TikTokers and podcasters are just horrible people that are trying to sell you some kind of crypto scam. And the truth is 90% of them are. And the question that we're asking is, were we terrible? What did we do to all these young people that watch it? Maybe the other question is, what did they do to us? Is what we do inherently bad? Is it a two-way street? Well, maybe we can answer that question and along the way just giggle so much that we kind of forgive and forget.

I: I'm sure you have a pretty good idea of the extent of your influence. But being in high school in New Zealand when Dan and Phil were first starting out, it was almost like a code word. (Dan laughs) It was how weirdos, kind of, identified with each other.

P: I think we've always been happy to kind of have representation for the slightly alternative people of the world.

D: Yeah, we like to joke that it's for the goths, the girls, the gays and the geeks. Any type of person that feels like on any level, they may not be completely mainstream. They may not be vanilla. They might feel other in any kind of way. We have an audience and we look out now because you understand when all these people were 14, it kind of looked like they were all teenagers. Now that they're all adults, some people are coming up to us, they're like, hi, Dan and Phil, meet my child. (laughs) But all these people have been in such different journeys in life. But it's knowing that, you know, back in the day, there was a place where no matter what kind of person they are, they felt like, you know what? Here in this comment section with these guys, I can just be myself and that makes me happy. I think whether that is something that we did do intentionally or it's an accidental byproduct of our influence, we'll take it.

P: And a lot of them have grown up with us as well. That's the lovely thing. So we're meeting people now that are just much older, but they're still watching the videos because we've- we've grown up and they've grown up as well.

I: Absolutely. And you took this hiatus, you know, from the internet. How long was that hiatus for and what was the impetus for it? And for coming back?

D: It was five dark years. P: Five years. D: And there was no Dan and Phil in the world until one day, like Jesus, we returned and here we are now.

P: We did. I think it's always a good thing to kind of have a moment where you're like, what's going on in life? Have a reset. And and I think we're kind of back now.

D: You know, like when everyone, you know, there was a pandemic and then they were like, you know what? My relationship, my job, you have decided it's not for me. I think we were trendsetters there. We did that early, voluntarily style, because we'd been going nonstop since 2009. And I was like, I just need to hit the brakes and look around for a little bit. And then I came back and I was like, hi, guys, I'm gay now. And they were like, ah, yes, that makes sense. But sometimes you have to hit the brake in life in order to take the space, look around you, take stock of things, make decisions. And ultimately, when you come back, it'll be healthier and happier.

P: And we didn't know this Dan and Phil thing- Like when we came back, we're like, do you guys still want these videos? And then, like, the reaction has been incredible, like, so many people watching the gaming channel. D: To the extent people thought Dan and Phil, you need to go on a tour right now. You need to get your butts all the way to Auckland (laughs) because I've been waiting for you to come back and we need to have a good night together. P: Yeah.

I: Yeah. And get out from behind the screen and kind of just interact face to face. You two are hugely into gaming and it's been quite a good pivot from YouTube to kind of try and be more successful, I guess. It's incredible how popular you are on these platforms. Can you tell me a little bit more about how that works and how you kind of make a career out of this?

D: Well, Phil's been doing it so long that he did it before YouTube could even monetize videos. He was doing it purely out of boredom and passion for the craft. P: Yeah. D: That's terrifying.

P: I'm a YouTube dinosaur. But I think with the gaming, we've got a Sims series, which we've got- how many episodes now? Like- D: Oh a hundred or so. P: A hundred episodes. And I think people follow along the journey with us playing the games. And it's like, I guess it's like when you were a little kid and you're watching your big brother play a video game. It's kind of that thing. You're just like watching along, having the bants. So I think what the people come to our videos for is more of the personality and us having a laugh rather than getting really into gaming.

D: Yeah! I mean, gaming is just the topic. It's like any type of TV or radio talk or commentary show, it could be about football, it could be about music and pop culture or the news, you just want to see people that you relate to, that you find entertaining, doing something that you find interesting and then you pair it together, and for lots of people they go: yeah! This is what i want to see P: Yeah.

I: Phil, how have you noticed the kind of gaming culture change over time, and was that something you're a little bit hesitant about, you know coming out as gay in that kind of domain, because we know generally that - you know, over the last decade-

D: The gamers are the worst demographic in the world absolutely- I: Things have changed. D: We’ve been on the internet since the ancient times and it's hard to say, like in a way obviously the internet these days, it feels like it's more terrible than ever, but in a sense it is a lot less toxic and a lot more wholesome and inclusive than it used to be.

P: Yeah, I'd say coming out on the internet is always going to be a scary thing, when you're saying that and being kind of vulnerable in front of so many people. Thankfully we've got such a great audience that the reaction was incredible, I would say.

D: And i think that what's great about the internet is that people can find their own communities, so even within spaces that you might think, oh they're dominated by this type of person – any subculture, any type of person that feels like, I want this space for myself – you can find it. If you want to order you know a ping pong club for girls with ginger hair called Susan that drink wine on a Tuesday, you can start that discord server, people will love it.

I: And I think it's nice to have those pocket on the internet where people can feel safe and can kind of commune together. You will be playing the Kiri Te Kanawa Theatre in Tāmaki Makaurau, Auckland, on December the 19th. What about people who didn't grow up watching you, who think you might be quite funny right now. Like what could you say to them if you want them to come to your show?

P: I'd say, well luckily for you we have got a whole section of the start of the show which is the complete history of Dan and Phil in five minutes, so if you might have just slightly known who we are and be like, what's going on with these guys? We're going to catch you up in no time.

D: A lot of people drag their boyfriends, their sisters, sometimes like that mum that you need to drive you so you can have a couple of cocktails to the show, and we're like we need something for these people, we're going to catch them up, we're going to get them on our side, and if we have a spot- there's like a grumpy dad folding his arms in row three, I'm like, I'm going to crack you P: but- D: My mission for the night is you're going to be belly laughing by the end. P: They're always smiling at the end though. That's the thing, we do. We do crack them.

I: Oh and this will be your last show before a well deserved Christmas break, then back into the new year. What will Christmas look like for both of you?

P: I mean we're going to try and get home for Christmas. D: Yeah, yeah the question is, can we get back from Auckland on the 21st of December? P: Twenty- yeah. I think it's gonna be a challenge to get all the way home, but then I'm probably just gonna be asleep on my mum's sofa with jet lag, hoping to drink a lot of cocktails. D: I'm gonna slip into a nice coma.

I: I'm really glad to hear you are back together again.

D: Oh, well thank you! We really, really appreciate it and we're so excited for the show, so thank you New Zealand. P: Nice speaking to you!

@dnp-described

#dan and phil #phan #shoutout to tumblr for crashing while i proofread the transcript #daniel howell #amazingphil

192 notes · View notes

verloonati · 5 months ago

Text

Clara Oswald and the doctor who's relationship is the funniest thing ever. Like imagine you're a fuckboy. Then your bestie who is also your mother in law who idolize you get stranded in an unreachable (for no good reasons) place and now you are a sad fuckboy. So you obsess over this one girl but not in a rebound kind of way and more in the "I'm gonna objectify her as an object of mystery so I have something to keep me going" kind of way. And then you learn she took a huge risk to save all of your lives. And you become more her friend. Then you show up naked to her family Christmas dinner, go to a village, refuse to elaborate, try do die of old age but instead die of a big fuck you laser.

And now, you are older, even more traumatized and you find yourself jealous af of her actual boyfriend, and form a bond so strong that the moment something bad happens to her, you reject your name and everything you stand for, you subsist FOUR BILLION YEARS in a time loop by just evoking her memory to yourself and then when you finally have everything you've been yearning for your past five lives and the sense of belonging you were deprived of by the worst tragedy you experienced, you just reject it, spit in the face of the founding figure of your culture, a man who is treated as a god, just so you can save her, for you.

#i am a little mentally ill about their dynamic #altough i do not ship it #that is not romance bitch it's far more intimate #also hate how we get to see clara in twice upon a time really cheapens the impact of hell bent imo #doctor who #twelfth doctor #clara oswald #twelveclara

304 notes · View notes

queensunshinee · 3 months ago

Text

His favorite toy- Part 4 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex), our favorite toxic relationship is back.

Word Count: 6.1k

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

This one can stand on its own, but I recommend reading the rest :)

His favorite toy- Part 4:

"What are you doing here?" I tried to sound composed. My heart couldn't stop racing at a speed I never wanted it to beat again. A speed reserved for one person only. And no matter how many years passed or how out of place he would seem in my world, Art Donaldson entered my life like he was the boss. Like he was paying my salary. With exaggerated confidence and an aura that made me blush. A smile that made my lips tremble.

I was painfully aware that my mascara was smudged after a too-long day, and that I had taken my shirt out of my skirt after lunch. Painfully aware that I had taken off my shoes an hour ago because pacing around the room in heels made it hard to think. Painfully aware that he was seeing me in all my flaws now. Years after the last time we met, and he was just as smug.

"I was in the area, and Patrick mentioned something about you working around here..." he said, as if everything in that sentence made sense. As if the fact that I stayed in touch with Patrick made sense. I nodded, trying to somehow control this ridiculous situation. I'm not supposed to react this chaotically to Art Donaldson. I'm 28. I'm not a 19-year-old girl. I do morning meditations. I drink green smoothies and ginger shots. I'm a fucking queen. But I don't feel particularly royal when I remember the coffee stain on my shirt, or the half-eaten avocado sandwich I bought from the café downstairs. It was awful. Both the sandwich and the café. I’m pretty sure the regular barista hates me because once I corrected one of my orders. Ever since, he's been out to get me. It’s a nightmare. I've considered changing jobs more times than I'd like to admit because of it.

"That sounds... completely normal," I mumbled, and he chuckled in response. One of his legs found its natural place over the other, and his fingers played with one of his billion rings in a disturbingly nonchalant way. "Is a tennis player supposed to have that many rings?" I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, knowing how stupid it sounded. Hating myself a little for how stupid it sounded. "I don’t play with them, and they’re beautiful," he shrugged. "They’re ridiculous," I rolled my eyes, trying to recover from this topic of conversation. "Yours is ridiculous," he shot back playfully, looking directly at my ring. At the small diamond (Art probably thinks it’s too small- well, fuck him).

"Oh, this?" I asked, and now we were both looking at it. I liked it until about three seconds ago. Until he walked into the room and stared at it like it was filled with snake venom. It felt like it weighed as much as my entire body. It felt like it was burning my hand from the inside. My blood boiled beneath it, reminding me that all my plans just went to hell. A reminder that I was crazy to even try making plans. "It’s pretty, delicate," I could hear the mockery in his tone. No matter how many years passed, I would always recognize every nuance in his voice. Every rise and fall in octaves. Every unnecessary affectation. He smiled the way he did when he tried to get under my skin—five minutes hadn’t passed, and he’d already succeeded. How embarrassing. What a failure as a person. A failure as a woman. A failure to feminism. Sitting in my office with a coffee stain on my shirt, while my ex from college critiques my choices like some kind of fraudulent fortune-teller. Like God sent him to help me make some life-changing decision.

"Why are you here?" I asked again, trying to maintain control and not snap at him. After all, we hadn’t spoken in nearly a decade. What good would it do to lash out at him? What would it accomplish to tell him about the therapy sessions, about the years I didn’t believe anything good was coming my way at all? About the fact that because of him, I didn’t believe I could ever be anyone’s first choice. "Why did you stay in touch with Patrick?" he asked, and for a moment, it sounded like his tough mask cracked. Like his defenses crumbled and his heart was laid bare. Like we were 20 again, and he was holding my face, explaining how scared he was to let me go.

"He insisted," I shrugged. The day after that party, Tashi's accident happened. Some would call it karma, but I’d say it was just bad luck. Because even though she hurt me without even knowing my name, I never wanted her career to end before it even began. And everyone was sad that day—Patrick, because he felt guilty, Tashi, because her knee twisted in the air, and Art, because he lost a friend and the girl who forgave him for all his bullshit. Aka me. But he won what really mattered. He got Tashi. Patrick found me that day in the library, refusing to wallow in my own misery, and somehow, he managed to entwine his miserable life with mine. He managed to secure a spot on my couch from time to time. He managed to impress me with lame jokes about his pathetic life, or maybe about mine.

And life didn’t turn out the way I planned. I didn’t discover a cure for cancer or make it to space by age 25. My apartment was crappy. So fucking crappy. But there were funny moments, and I only occasionally followed Art’s career. I only followed his love life when his face and Tashi’s were plastered on billboards. That could never have been me. It would never have worked. It wasn’t meant to be, I’d tell myself every time I was filled with self-pity. Every time I worked a temporary job selling skincare products or transcribing lectures for students. Every time I felt lost. I knew he wouldn’t have settled for someone like me in the long run.

He and Patrick made up two years ago, which was ironic. Because what’s the point of maintaining my friendship with Patrick if not to have at least one person in my life who understands the pain of knowing Art Donaldson? Of knowing that once, he was a part of your life, and it felt amazing. Almost unreal. Almost spiritual. But they made up, and Patrick promised me he wouldn’t talk about me with the smug bastard sitting in front of me right now. He promised and didn’t keep it. Well, here’s someone who’s never eating pasta at the restaurant near my place on my dime ever again.

"He insisted?" Art looked amused, and I just shrugged again in response. I knew he wanted more details, but I wanted him to take a headfirst dive into a volcano. Desires are ridiculous. "He insisted," I repeated, and this time he laughed. Actually laughed. "It's like you two have a contract not to tell me anything. How am I supposed to work with that?" He spoke as if we’d been friends for years. As if there hadn’t been a rupture, a break, and devastation. As if I didn’t have the image of him leaving me at that party seared into my brain. As if my heart hadn’t shattered into pieces because of him more times than I could count.

"I want you to handle my money," he suddenly said. "Excuse me?" I raised an eyebrow, looking at him as if he'd lost a lobe of his brain. "You're a financial advisor, right? Be my financial advisor," he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, all while glancing at the pathetic office I was sitting in. "You don’t want me to be your financial advisor, Art," I almost snorted in disbelief. "You haven’t spoken to me in ten years, and now you know what I want?" he asked, allowing himself to raise an eyebrow in return. "This is a big firm; I can recommend someone who’d be happy to take you on," I tried to fake a smile. "I'll go to your boss and tell him I’m willing to let only you handle my account, and that you’re refusing. I’m sure he’d be thrilled. I Googled him—Albert looks like a guy who’d love to lose a wealthy client," and I saw that spark in his eyes. Challenging. Almost childish. The kind that said, 'Let’s see what you do. You’ll lose.'

"That’s a terrible idea," I declared. "Keeping in touch with Patrick and not me is a terrible idea. Managing my investments will give you some good money," he said, gesturing with his hands, and for the first time, I realized how big his hands were. "Are you bored with your life, Donaldson?" I asked, trying to figure out what I was dealing with here. "Come on, Peaches, you have to admit you missed me, at least a little." And for a change, his smile was genuine. He looked like every word I said could hurt him. "Like I miss my appendix," I rolled my eyes, and he laughed. "I’m looking forward to working with you." He suddenly stood up and extended his hand for a handshake, as if that wasn’t utterly ridiculous. "I’m looking forward to it like a deer looks forward to being eaten by a lion. It’s on my wish list," I said, and he just laughed again. A laugh that was too real. The kind that made tears gather in his eyes.

An hour after he left my dingy office, my heart was still racing at an unreasonable pace. The kind that made me wonder if there was a defibrillator in the building. I tried to remember if I shook his hand at the end of the meeting. I couldn’t. . . . As he left your office, Art felt like he does after a long tennis match. One that he won. A thought detached from reality, but he allowed himself those kinds of thoughts now. He was a new person. He believed in victories before they even happened. And seeing you after so many years in real life, not in blurry Facebook pictures, felt like a victory. You hadn’t changed much. The years had even given you a more sophisticated look—subtle yet full of curves. Your eyes still looked at him with that same spark. With a glimmer of something he could never quite put his finger on. But he wanted to conquer it. He wanted to win.

When Patrick and he reconnected, it was alongside the problems that only began in his relationship with Tashi. Alongside Lily’s birth, alongside the intrusive thoughts that had plagued him all his life, he wondered if it was a mistake. But Patrick was Patrick, and when he insisted on something, he got his way. And for Patrick, he and Art had to reconnect. So they did. Slowly, gradually. He wasn’t his best friend anymore, of course. But sometimes Art thought he was his only friend. Which was strange, because he was always surrounded by people. Tashi was supposed to be his best friend, but she never was. She made it clear more than once that it was a ridiculous notion.

One night, as he and Patrick were having beers at some sketchy bar, Patrick casually mentioned that you and he were good friends. Art looked at him as if he’d fallen from the moon. He wanted to punch him. He hadn’t expected that. It felt like someone had punched him in the chest and knocked all the air out of his lungs. Patrick got over Tashi and settled for you? You weren’t supposed to be a compromise. Art wouldn’t allow that. He’d go to war if he had to. He had no grounds for such a war, but you were too good to settle for Patrick. You were too good to settle for anyone, really.

He quickly realized that things between you and Patrick were platonic. Or at least that’s what the guy sitting across from him kept repeating, but Art wasn’t fully convinced. Everything was too mysterious. Patrick kept too much information to himself. He didn’t share anything with Art about your life, and the more Patrick kept things hidden, the more obsessed Art became.

And it wasn’t weird that he checked if you’d posted a new status on Facebook almost as often as he checked if his infant daughter needed anything. It wasn’t weird that he searched for you on Instagram. It wasn’t weird that he looked through the profiles of all 67 people you followed and hated most of them. Because you didn’t follow him, and millions of people did. You could have followed, and he wouldn’t have even noticed—allegedly.

"She got engaged," Patrick said one day, throwing it into the air as if he were talking about his grocery list. Art stared at him, blinking, trying to process the information. Who’s the person responsible for this? Who’s the person who took you away, and why do you think he deserves forever with you? What kind of thought is that—that someone else deserves forever with you? That someone gets to have a picnic in the park with you. To pick you up for dates. To share a house with you. There’s someone who’s going to be the father of your kids. Who picked out a ring for you. Who’s going to make sure your dreams come true. Art doesn’t know what your dreams are. But he doesn’t want to think about it.

"Is he a good guy?" Art knew that was what he was supposed to ask. That’s what social norms demanded. "I’ve sat with them a few times when they were together. He’s kind and funny, and I think he loves her," Patrick shrugged, as if that’s all it takes to be with you. "Well, I’m happy for her," Art took a gulp of whiskey, too big, letting the drink burn its way down his throat. Patrick looked at him like he didn’t believe him. His problem, Art thought. Let him believe whatever he wants.

That night, Art opened your Instagram while Tashi was asleep. There wasn’t a picture of a ring or a tag of some guy. Tashi got annoyed because of the phone light. Art apologized.

That was almost six months ago. Since then, his life had changed because he and Tashi decided to keep their relationship strictly professional. It was for both of their benefit, though he wasn’t entirely sure how much it benefited him. He was still learning how to function without her. He was still learning how to communicate effectively. He was still trying to bridge the dissonance that came with going home to an empty house, yet navigating press conferences as if he were happily married.

In two weeks, even that charade would end. And he wasn’t sure what he was even fighting for. Because they weren’t truly happy. And you were in his thoughts enough for it to count as emotional cheating if he were married. So he let Tashi go. He was much less broken than he had imagined he would be without her.

'I’m looking forward to working with you.' -Art- He couldn’t resist sending the message. Maybe ten at night was too late. Maybe you were already asleep. Maybe your fiancé was with you, trying to love you. Maybe Art was intruding.

He didn’t particularly care if he was. . . . "I’m going to kill you," I said into the phone, hearing Patrick's rolling laughter. "You're exaggerating—" he began, trying to save his ass. "We had one rule! Just one, Patrick!" I found myself pacing the bedroom while Alec worked in the living room. This was the day after the meeting with Art Donaldson. "He lives in New York and he’s divorced. I felt like a jerk not telling him where you work when he asked so nicely," Patrick’s voice sounded genuine. "He's not divorced," I rolled my eyes. I would know if Art were divorced. His and Tashi's faces are plastered all over this stinking city.

"They’re finalizing things in about a week and a half. There will be a press conference and everything. It’s going to be a big deal," he said, as if it were common knowledge. As if I should already know this. "Sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up. That wasn’t cool," he added, and I could hear him biting into something, probably an apple. "We’re supposed to be a team. You can’t prioritize Art Donaldson’s interests over mine. I fed you when you were half-homeless," I declared. "I still prioritize your interests, drama queen," he continued speaking lightly, as if I had no reason to feel like my world was crumbling. "How is this prioritizing my interests? I’m going to manage his money. I’m going to handle his investments, Patrick. I’m going to see his stupid face every time he wants, as part of my job. Because of you! This is your fault!" I found myself stopping for a moment in the room, almost stomping my foot in frustration. Years of self-work going down the drain.

"Everything okay, Bunny?" I heard Alec's voice from the living room. "Yeah, I’m just talking to Patrick," I replied, steadying my voice into something more composed and responsible. So he’d keep thinking I had my life together. "Tell him 'hi,'" Alec said, and I could only guess he’d put his headphones back on. "Well, hi," I rolled my eyes, returning to the conversation with the chief idiot. "I’m sorry," Patrick mumbled after a few seconds of silence, and I hung up, sprawling on the bed like a starfish. He didn’t sound sorry.

I sat down next to Alec on the couch, wearing just my bra and panties with an open button-down shirt over it. Sexy enough for any stranger peeking through the window. A teenage boy's wet dream. I’m on fire. He kept staring at his screen, ignoring my existence. I started placing small kisses along his neck, trying to set the mood. Trying to seal the deal. Trying not to think about the one-who-shall-not-be-named. Trying to be a good woman. Trying to conquer feminism with mediocre sex, just like Alec and I know how to deliver. "I really have to finish this, Bunny," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably, making me sigh, lean back, and roll my eyes. "How long will it take?" I asked. "You’ll probably be asleep by then. Watch an episode of your favorite show instead," he said without looking at me. "Can we talk about the wedding?" I tried another angle. "If I don’t have time to make love to you, I definitely don’t have time to plan the wedding," he said, slipping those hideous—massive—headphones back on, ending the conversation. I kind of hated that he never said "fuck" or "have sex" or even used the word "sex" in general. He always treated it like I was Princess Diana. I am clearly not Princess Diana. Sometimes I wonder if he even wants to marry me at all. It’s been over six months since he proposed, and he’s been dodging setting a date since practically the same day. It’s very frustrating. I need to meditate.

"Bunny," he suddenly said, and I looked at him expectantly while he removed his headphones after I’d already started heading to the bedroom, "you have a stain on your shirt." He quickly put his headphones back on, eyes glued to the screen. At least the soup I had for lunch managed to fuck me today. . . . "You can't just show up here," I said as I tried to finish chewing the terrible sandwich I’d chosen today. I think it had mold. "If you had answered my messages, we could’ve scheduled something without me showing up at your office." Art looked good. So fucking good. It was frustrating. Today was the day I decided to skip the contacts and wear glasses. God hates me. But on the other hand, God was trying to help me—making sure Art Donaldson never gets attracted to me. God is on my side. I knew she was a feminist.

"What do you want?" I mumbled in surrender, knowing he wouldn’t leave until he said whatever he came to say so we could all move on with our lives. "To talk business," he smiled from ear to ear. "I'm eating right now, come back in half an hour," I replied, "or better yet, schedule a meeting like a rational human being." I continued pressing my point. "Better idea, let's go grab lunch and talk business over food." He looked at me like a dad who just told his little girl what her next hour is going to look like. "Sorry, I can't—" "Art Donaldson! When I got your email, I couldn't believe it," Albert burst into my office excitedly. Sure, let’s invite everyone. Apparently, there’s free cookies being handed out. All are welcome.

Art kept wearing his unbearable poster smile while Albert went on and on about tennis and how much he loved Rafael Nadal. Albert is clearly a man with vast general knowledge. "She treating you right?" Albert asked Art as if they were best friends, and now they both stared at me while all I wanted was to finish my food-poisoning sandwich in peace. "She just agreed to join me for lunch to talk about my money," Art said, and if looks could kill, Art Donaldson would’ve had a stroke right there and disappeared from our lives as suddenly as he appeared. But no, looks don’t kill, and feminist God apparently isn’t on my side anymore because now I’m sitting across from this asshole at a diner. I ordered a burger because I knew he’d never allow himself to eat one and would whine for hours about how he wants to eat a burger every day but can’t.

"I hope that's okay," I smiled one of the fakest smiles I could muster, blinking as I took a bite of the slab of meat in front of me. "Mmm, it's amazing," I sighed, watching for a moment as he stared at me, mouth half-open, eyes sparkling. "You're cruel," he stated after shaking his head, as if shaking off urges. He looked different with short hair. I always told him he needed to cut it because it kept falling into his eyes, but his curls had a youthful playfulness that was clearly missing now. He looked defeated.

"So, what did you want to talk about? What are you looking to invest in?" I tried to focus on the reason behind this ridiculous meal while Art stole a fry from my plate and picked at the sad grilled chicken he had ordered. Maybe I should stop making those satisfied sounds when I eat. "You," he said, biting his lip like a kid who let a curse word slip in front of his mom. Testing boundaries. Watching as I rolled my eyes. "I'm not going to let you waste my time, Donaldson," and we both knew I wasn’t just talking about business. Because honestly? Fuck business. Art didn’t seem like someone who was planning to disappear from my life anytime soon. He had shown up too determined for that to happen. "I have no intention of wasting your time, Peaches," he smiled, leaning back, relaxing a little after we established this basic ground rule. He continued stealing my food.

"So, tell me about him," he suddenly said after insisting I order an enormous ice cream that was supposed to be just for me. Every time his spoon got closer, mine heroically fought it off. "Who?" I asked, taking a spoonful of ice cream and leaving it in my mouth for a few seconds. His gaze immediately locked on my ring. "We're not that kind of friends, Donaldson," I said, watching as he inched his spoon toward my ice cream, and I quickly blocked him. No chance. "So what kind of friends are we?" he asked, smiling, looking half at me and half at our spoons, still battling each other. "I don't know," I sighed a little, finally lowering my spoon in defeat. There’s no point in fighting. It’s truly a lost cause.

The more Art Donaldson entered my life, the more Alec distanced himself from it. Art did it in a quiet way, almost eerily so. It started with deep conversations about financial investments he wanted to make. About charity events he wanted to be part of. A foundation he wanted to establish. He talked about his money as if it made sense to be this rich at his age. As if he and I were on the same level in terms of lifestyle. He never once acted condescending about it, even though I expected him to. Even though I had prepared arguments in advance. He never once asked why I didn’t continue in academia or why I gave up on medicine. He didn’t poke at that wound. Even though he could have. Even though it would’ve been easy.

It continued with stupid messages in the middle of the day about how he was hungry, tired, or wanted to go home. Messages about seeing a guy dressed as a bear in the middle of the street. Fucking New York. He’d ask questions about my day. Ask what I ate. If I ate. If I was drinking enough water. Never anything too deep. Never out of nosy curiosity. If I forgot who he was, I might’ve thought he cared about me. I know, it’s unbelievable.

One time, he called me at seven in the evening, talking such nonsense that I wondered if he was drunk. I wondered out loud, of course, because I’m not 19, and I’m not afraid to tell Art Donaldson what I think. He wasn’t drunk. He made dinner and decided to call. He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Said it, and then went on about his day. About Lily. About how she was adjusting to splitting her time between his place and Tashi’s. He talked about Patrick and told me what he was cooking. It was domestic. Like I was a part of his life. Weird.

Alec and I were in the middle of a fight that made me wonder if I was mentally strong enough not to throw the vase that was sitting on the dresser. Not at him. I’m not violent. On the floor, to make a point. “Do you even want to marry me?” I suddenly asked. Because at that point, I no longer knew what was happening. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening. “Of course I wa-” “To who the hell is it obvious? Do you know how embarrassing it is when people ask me about a wedding date almost a year later, and I change the subject?!” I cut him off. “Every time I try to bring it up, you’d rather talk about light fixtures or that time we randomly had an hour-long conversation about types of doors.” I reminded him of some of the truly bizarre moments we’ve had recently. “We do need to replace the door.” I shot him a look that should’ve made it clear that if he kept going with that sentence, I was breaking the vase on the floor.

“Why don’t you want to fuck me anymore?” I suddenly asked. Almost defeated after too much yelling. “What? Bunny-” he blushed. The question was too brutal for him. Too raw for his delicate soul, which couldn’t handle talking about sex. “I can count on one hand how many times we’ve fucked since you proposed,” I said it as bluntly as I could, enjoying his discomfort. “We don’t have to make love every day,” he mumbled. Last time I checked, to make love, there has to be love. I threw the vase. Alec left the house. . . . ‘You’re not at work.’ – A –

‘How is it that we’re back to you not answering me?’ – A –

‘Did you secretly get married over the weekend?’ – A –

‘Seriously, get back to me. It’s about the charity event.’ – A –

The bitter truth was that I was busy wallowing in the current failure of my life- Alec. I binge-watched all the seasons of The O.C. in three days and ate more ice cream than should be legal. But I didn’t feel the pain in my bones the way you’re supposed to when ending what was supposed to be the relationship. I’d once hurt more over losing someone who loved me less.

‘Are you okay? You’ve got our mutual friend worried.’ – P – He talked about Art like he was a spy. ‘Hey, could you stop being an idiot for a second and just answer to say you’re alive?’ – P –

‘I’m calling the fire department to check your apartment.’ – P –

‘This is concerning.’ – P –

‘I’ll call your mom. She’d love to hear from me after that time I burped in her face.’ – P –

‘I broke up with Alec.’ – (Y/N)–

‘You’re not going to die alone.’ – P –

‘I know you think you will, but you won’t.’ – P –

‘You can’t know that.’ – (Y/N) –

‘You’re an idiot.’ – P –

‘Are you okay?’ – P –

‘I mean, obviously you’re not okay, but... are you okay?’ – P –

‘I’m okay.’ –(Y/N)–

When I walked into the hall where Art Donaldson’s charity event for kids with muscular dystrophy, was being held, eyes didn’t turn toward me like they do in the movies. Everyone was too busy with their conversations and stroking each other’s egos. From the side, it almost looked homoerotic—the gentle touches on shoulders and the occasional pats. Almost sexy. Maybe I was seeing sex in things that weren’t sexy because my ex refused to touch me with more resolve than an ant carrying food that weighed more than its body. “You made it,” Art’s voice came from behind me. “You’re sharp,” I shot back as I turned to him, taking one of the champagne glasses he offered. “Is Patrick here too?” I asked. “No, he couldn’t come. He signed up for a Challenger in Malibu,” he replied, his eyes unapologetically scanning me. I felt completely exposed under his penetrating gaze. “So random,” I mumbled. Art’s hand gently pulled me by the waist, bringing me close to him while keeping his hand exactly where it was. I almost let confusion show on my face, but he introduced me to the man who had come over to talk to him, never taking his eyes—or his hand—off me. Not during the next conversation, or the next one, either. He presented us as a strange package deal. If someone wanted to talk to him, they had to talk to me too. Maybe he hoped it would drive people away. It didn’t. "Want to step outside for some air?" he whispered in my ear. After spending most of the evening standing so close to each other, it felt strange to pull away now that no one else was around. "Sure, why not." I shrugged, acting like it wasn’t a big deal. Before stepping out, we each grabbed a glass of wine. "You raised a lot of money," I remarked, trying to break the ice. "You disappeared on me," he shot back, not bothering with small talk. "I’ve been busy." I shrugged again. "Where’s your ring?" he asked. "You’re obsessed with my hands, Donaldson," I said, unsure how to respond to this level of bluntness after being in a relationship with someone who was too scared to talk to me for years. "It’s not relevant anymore," I added, as his gaze didn’t allow me to dodge the question. "Good, it was ugly," he stated, stopping in his tracks, making me stop too and turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow. His expression was challenging again, with that playful spark, inviting a debate. "It wasn’t ugly," I rolled my eyes. "It was pathetic, Peaches. You know you deserve better," he declared, leaving no room for argument.

And somehow, he was so close. Close enough that his breath, smelling of mint gum and wine, blended with mine. "I’m not looking for a rebound," I murmured. "Neither am I," his usual smug smile was gone. There was no trace of it. He looked hazy. Almost captive. "What are you looking for?" I dared to ask. "You," he replied. It was a good answer.

After an excruciatingly long hour and twenty minutes, during which I had two more glasses of wine, and Art spoke into the microphone—stopping me from downing a third—we arrived at his house. It looked a bit like a modern palace. "How is it that you live here?" I mused aloud, and his mouth found my neck as he chuckled. "What, this old thing?" he mumbled, his kisses as sharp as his words. "Don’t leave marks, Donaldson. We’re adults," I managed to say as I kicked off my heels, and he unzipped my dress.

"I want to do this from the moment you walked into the room today. Fuck, you’re so hot," he growled. It was throaty and masculine, almost animalistic. His eyes scanned me like a smoke detector picking up a cigarette. Within seconds, I found myself on the most comfortable couch I had ever been on. His lips traveled over me as if he was painting a map, as if he remembered all the sensitive points on my body. "I missed her," he said, giving a small bite to my right nipple, glancing at my face as I let out a moan. "her too," he added, moving to the left one. "Art, I need you." I tried to make it clear to him that I couldn't handle the teasing right now. That he should save it for another time. For someone else. For something else. I need him inside me.

"Peaches, have some patien—" he started, continuing to place deadly kisses on various areas of my body. "Art, just fuck me. Okay?" I almost pleaded, my voice lower than usual, filled with an inexplicable need. He looked at me for half a minute and nodded. "Okay baby, I got you," he said. And within seconds, his boxers were on the floor, and my panties disappeared too. He was inside me as if this was his home, as if he belonged there. "Fuck. Art. Thank you, there," I felt stupid, but I couldn't control it. I needed him so badly. I needed someone to fill the empty space. That Art Donaldson would fill the empty space.

He moved at a chaotic pace, almost as if he was trying to prove he could give me exactly what I wanted. What I needed. And he was right. I came after a few minutes, during which his cock filled me perfectly, and his lips found mine and refused to let go. He wrapped me from every direction and came right after I did.

"It's like we're teenagers," I muttered, and he laughed. "I usually last longer," he stated, not getting up, his body weight feeling almost comfortable on top of me. It was almost nice to breathe heavily. "So do I," I retorted. His hand drew little shapes on my shoulder. "Let's go to sleep," he decided, standing up slowly, reaching out his hand and pulling me toward him. Not forgetting to give me another kiss on the lips, a small one. As if it had happened a million times before. As if it were a routine.

"Your bed should be illegal, Donaldson," I said after he tossed a soft T-shirt he had in his closet over me. He lay down beside me, laughing. "I can't believe you're here. I was afraid it wouldn't happen," he said, with a seriousness that felt profound. "How long have you been thinking about this?" I tried to sound amused. "Since the moment I stepped into your office," his honesty was both terrifying and comforting. No one had talked to me so openly in a while. "probably before that" he added. "You can't waste my time, Art," I replied, looking up to catch his gaze. . . . Art took a moment to nod. He already had a ring for you. Even before you broke up with that idiot, he had bought the ring. He didn't know where life would lead you. He just knew he was going to spend every free moment proving to you that he loved you enough not to waste your time. Not when you were his favorite person.

How are we doing guys?!?!?!?! Can't wait to hear from you. That's my chance to remind y'all that English is not my first language and I might have some grammar issues. love you all, hope it was a good addition to the story <3

taglist: @lalalandofive @wild-rose-35 @theynothem @angelism13

#challengers fic #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #challengers #art donaldson smut #his favorite toy

264 notes · View notes

tinachristeen · 2 years ago

Text

Photos of You

Fem!Reader x Subbish!Daryl Dixon

word count: 20,498 (I hope)

NSFW.

Warnings: Explicit, full of horny, Minors DNI. Pillow humping, Sexual photographs, Vaginal sex, Oral sex, Talks of alcohol, vague talks of Daryl's child abuse. That's pretty much it, can't think of any more trigger warnings.

"Hey, look what I found!"

Daryl turned his head away from what he was currently occupied with, a box full of abandoned books in the corner of the room.

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

Rick had sent you and Daryl to scavenge for, well, anything useful actually. The children needed new books to read, The pantry could always use more food, And you can never have too many medical supplies in an apocalypse. you and Daryl had thought you hit the jackpot when you came across an old, rather large, thrift shop with enough clothing and books to keep Alexandria stocked for a while. Daryl even found a recliner he seemed to like. Unfortunately, the universe has decided to make your lives a billion times more difficult ( as usual) by sending a decent-sized herd in your direction. you both made it out fine, with only a few bruises and at least 50 of the undead bastards still on your tail, so you both decided to look for a place to wait them out until morning. and like a beacon of light shining in the cold, damp night air, you both stumbled across a dilapidated shack with a set of metal doors protruding from the ground beside it. thinking it was your best chance at a safe shelter for the night, Daryl quietly opened the doors and moved down the stairs to scan the room for potential threats. Once he gave the all-clear, you shut the doors tightly and not even five minutes later, heard the shifting and shambling of the rotting undead above your heads.

turning on your flashlight, you scanned the room to take in your surroundings. it looked to be a makeshift bunker of some kind. It was pretty large, walls made from some kind of metal. In the left corner of the room, there was a bunk bed with gray sheets, colorful quilts, and rather comfy looking pillows. In the right corner, a little kitchenette with various appliances and cabinets for storage. In the middle of the room there was a wooden table with two folding chairs, cards and other assorted items strewn about the surface. you had to admit, besides how cold it was

"Do you think anybody lives here?" you asked Daryl as he started rummaging through cabinets to look for spare supplies. You watched as he brought two fingers down and gave the counter a quick swipe.

"Nah. S' a lotta dust"

You moved further into the room towards the table, where a storm lantern sat, untouched for months or even years. you pulled out your metal zippo lighter and palmed it fondly for a second. Daryl had given this to you months ago and it was one of your prized possessions to date. You recalled a time when you thought he would never give you a gift, or even talk to you for that matter. When you two first met, he wouldn't even look at you and only threw you the occasional snarl, and now he was one of your closest friends. He had really grown as a person since Atlanta... And you had grown fond of him.

Snapping back to reality, you tried to focus on the task at hand, lighting the lantern. with a single flick, the lighter produced a perfect flame. The damn thing was always reliable. The lantern roared to life and gave the room a soft orange glow. You moved around the room, lighting the other three lanterns that were meticulously hung for optimal lighting. You glanced over to ask Daryl a question, but it died on your lips as your eyes found him. From where you were standing, you had a perfect side view of his face. The light hit him as it danced in flickering shadows across his features. He knelt over a chest filled with blankets on the floor, concentration painted on his knitted brow. He looked pretty like this, his bangs falling lightly over his eyes while he moved about. He stuck his tongue out in concentration, one of his many admirable idiosyncrasies, like when he fidgets with something in his fingertips, or rubs his chin with the back of his hand.

You break from your thoughts again, mentally scolding yourself for once again getting side-tracked thinking about Daryl. You decide to at least try and look around for things that could be useful, focusing on a nightstand next to the bunk beds. It was a shoddy thing, looked like it was built out of a pallet and nailed together by a blind child. It had a drawer though, so that was a start. opening it, you find quite a few... interesting things. A chain of at least 15 condoms, a really expensive looking vibrator, a polaroid camera, a few boxes of film, and some already taken photos. Upon closer inspection, the photos revealed a couple in some very compromising positions. One photo in particular was a view of a woman laid out on a bed, sweaty and tense, breasts on display for the camera with her back to the sheets. You immediately begin striding over towards where Daryl was hunched over a box with an amused look on your face.

"Hey, look what I found!"

Daryl turned his head away from what he was currently occupied with, a box full of books in the corner of the room.

"whatcha got there?"

You lower your hand, silently offering the pictures to him. He flicks his head to the side, effectively moving his bangs from his eyes for a better look. His cheeks fired up as he flipped through each picture and felt the embarrassment welling up in his chest.

"These too," you said lightly as you held up the chain of condoms and the vibrator with an amused look in your eye.

Daryl's blush spread from his cheeks to his shoulders, and his ears were comparable to the color of a ripe strawberry at that point.

"Some couple back a' Alexandria gon' enjoy 'em," He managed to utter. But oh, how he wished it was the two of you putting them to use instead.

"Oh hell no! this bad boy is mine!" you said, holding up the vibrator, "They can have the condoms though."

Daryl did NOT need that image in his head right now. Of you all laid out, that thing going between your legs, your moans filling his ears, maybe his name spilling from your lips...

The truth is, Daryl had been harboring a crush on you since the prison. He had to admit, the beginning of your relationship with him had a rough start. He was mean to you for no reason other than he was too scared to get close to you. Wasn't any easier with Merle in his ear all the time, "Tha' girl ain' gon' wantchu baby brother. you're just a lowlife." But after Merle was gone, Daryl had slowly realized that he hurt you over time. You avoided him around camp and used every excuse in the book to prevent spending any time with him. When Hershel's farm burned down and the group was on the run, Daryl would ask Rick to give him as many watch shifts as he could with you. And when the group found the prison, He did the same thing. Taking shifts with you up in the guard towers, bringing extra snacks he found on runs with him so you two could eat. Eventually, Rick started pairing the two of you up on runs, and you two made a flawless team. you both maneuvered expertly, like you were fine tuned to each other's movements and reactions. You both worked on the same brain wave, which came in handy when you needed to make quick decisions on an impulse. And eventually, the archer began to develop feelings for you. At first, he would find himself looking at you, admiring how your body moved when you took out walkers on the fence. Then he started thinking about you, finding little things on runs that reminded him of you and pondering o if you would like them or not. He didn't usually bring them back though, Merle still in his head telling him that it didn't matter how many gifts he gave you, you still would never see him like that. Eventually, the thoughts wandered. They progressed, and sometimes even followed him into the confines of his cell late at night, swirling in his head like a catchy song.

click.

The sudden sound caught him off guard. He looked up to see you chuckling to yourself with that bright smile he adored. He would do anything to see you smile like that, even if it killed him. He watched you with adoring eyes as you pulled the freshly taken picture from the slit in the camera and shook it back and forth. He felt embarrassment creeping up his neck again when you took a look at the photo and smiled. He took a deep breath to compose himself and choked out, "ya gon' lemme see the damn picture r' wha'?." He's trying his hardest to sound nonchalant, but deep down he was nervous, and sweat forming on his palms was certainly showing it.

You hand him the picture, and he replies with a scoff. "tch! I look ridiculous," He remarked while throwing the picture down on the floor.

"No, I think you look great."

He stiffened at that. Fuck! one more thing he's going to think about later when he's alone. He could already feel himself growing in his pants as he groans just low enough so you can't hear. 'Really? jus' a compliment 's giving ya' a hard on? c'mon man,' He reprimanded himself in thought. The silence thickened, as you shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot with a sad-ish look on your face. 'Oh shit, she thinks she made ya' upset. respond asshol-"

"Well, I guess we should eat," you said, cutting off his thought process.

'fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,' "Sure." 'you fucking coward'.

After that, you both sat down to eat your glamorous dinner of canned pork and beans. The uncomfortable energy had faded at that point, which was another thing Daryl loved about you so much. You never dwelled on anything longer than necessary, and you always knew how to make the mood right. When you got up to go get something from the kitchenette, Daryl couldn't help but replay what you said in his mind. 'You look great,' what did you mean by that? maybe he imagined the whole thing. Yeah, that must be it. His eyes drifted down to the legs of your now empty chair in thought, where your backpack was propped. And maybe he was imagining this too, but he could swear he saw the corner of a polaroid picture sticking out of the front pocket...

That night he laid down on the bottom bunk of the bed in quiet thought, agonizing over his lack of response earlier, thinking about the picture. He wondered if you would silently resent him now because of it, or even more, he wondered if you wouldn't take his picture again. He always hated having his picture taken as a child. Once in a while, his mother would pretend to give a shit and try to take family photos to hang on the walls. He hated the pictures she took because his bruises were always visible, almost as if to taunt and humiliate him when he'd walk by the frames in the hallway. He's been sour towards pictures ever since, avoiding them like the plague. That was, until about an hour ago. He found himself hoping you would take pictures of him, even with him maybe. God, he would let you do anything to him as long as it made you smile.

His thoughts wandered again, making his cock stiffen in the tight confines on his jeans. Fuck! He couldn't do this now, you were asleep right above him! The thought of you catching him made the burning feeling in his core worse somehow, as his pants became uncomfortably snug. He flipped over on his stomach in an attempt to diffuse the situation that had been building since the two of you entered this godforsaken bunker, but failed miserably when his sensitive tip brushed against the mattress, causing him to hiss out in pleasure. Fuck, he was a goner. Just then, he noticed the flannel shirt you had left on the floor next to the bunks. He felt shame at the idea that flashed across his mind, but convinced himself that it wouldn't hurt. He was about to do something he hadn't done since he was a horny highschooler. He pulled your flannel up onto the bed by the sleeve and brought it to his nose, taking a big whiff of the area around the neckline. He groaned in satisfaction and flipped on his back as he pushed his pillow on top of his hips and placed your shirt over his face. He reached down, lifting his hips off the bed just enough so he could free his red, throbbing, cock and push it against the surface of the pillow. The contact made him dizzy with anticipation as he thought about what he was going to do. He started moving his hips up in a thrusting, grinding motion slowly so as to not wake you up, moaning a little with each pull and push.

He thought of you as he chased his pleasure, as he always did. He thought of your hips and how they swayed when you walked. He thought of your hands, and how they felt that one day you grabbed his arm to show him something. He thought about that time you insisted on putting his hair in a ponytail, and how was he going to deny you when you looked all sweet and happy? The feeling of your fingers pulling at his hair to get it in the hair tie will be forever engraved into his brain. He thought about you on top of him, riding him while he holds that vibrator to your clit and brings you to your climax.

He whimpered a little bit, pushing the shirt into his face to envelope himself in your scent. you smelled so good to him, like that lavender soap you loved and leather books. The best goddamn smell in the world, or at least he thought so. His hips started to speed up as he became dangerously close to his high. The stark contrast in temperature between his hot, twitching dick and the cool, soft pillow sent shivers down his spine. The friction, The thought of you, Your smell, Your hands, Your mouth. It was slowly becoming too much for him to handle. He needed to cum. He needed to cum to you, FOR you. Then a thought hit him, what if you kept the polaroid because you were attracted to him? what if you kept it because you wanted to... use it. What if you thought about him like this, all sweaty and desperate for you??

That was it, That thought is what made his nerve endings light up all over. His climax came in white hot flashes of pure pleasure, His thick cock spurting long streams of warm cum all over his pillow and bare stomach. He moaned wildly into your shirt as he bit down on the collar, riding out the waves of his orgasm with reckless abandon and no concern for noise.

He laid there slick with sweat and semen, his hair stuck to his face and neck, breathing heavily as he shivered through the post orgasm cooldown. He stayed there for a good minute, still giving little thrusts that made him whine with sensitivity from the overstimulation. Ridiculing himself in shame over what had just happened, He slowly placed your flannel back on the floor where it had previously been and tucked himself back into his pants. He would just clean himself later. However, When he pulled his pillow back up to his head, he realized his mistake. in all his horny desperation, he had forgotten about the fact he had just cum on his pillow with no way to clean it. 'Way ta go dumbass, ya' ruined yer only pillow.' He shook his head as he threw the pillow under the bed and laid back down. Only one slightly embarrassing thought still crossed his mind before he fell asleep, 'I wonder if she'll take more pictures of me.'

Little did he know, that's exactly what would happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning came, and aside from the shame Daryl felt deep in his gut, the day went pretty well. You returned to the store you two were at the previous day, loading everything you could fit into the storage truck (especially Daryl's chair) and heading for home. The ride home had an awkward air to it, even though you tried your best to lighten the mood with jokes and gossip about the people of Alexandria. Daryl just couldn't keep the conversation going, too busy thinking about last night.

He lit a cigarette and opened the window to get some fresh air. You took notice of how the afternoon sun made his skin shine, and how his lips wrapped around the damn thing perfectly.

click

Daryl turned to you, watching you shake out the film again and giving it a good look.

"S' this gon' be a thing now?"

"Oh, absolutely."

He let a small smirk grace his lips and heard another click to his right.

"What? I rarely see you smile," You said, defending against his scrutinizing look. You gave the photo in your hand another studious glance. God, he was pretty. from the long, brown hair that graced his forehead, down to the stubble on his chin you dreamed about rubbing on your thighs. What would it feel like to have those angular lips drag across your body with need and desire? What sensations would those rough, callused hands make you feel? You bet he's rather dexterous on account of all the whittling he does with those arrows, and the pure skill his fingers use to expertly skin a deer. You bet he's really good at applying pressure in all the right places...

"Hey! Daryl, what the hell?"

Your attention is gripped by Daryl grabbing the camera from your lap with one hand and bringing it up to his face in one swift motion. He snaps a picture of you and glances at the road while he waits for it to print.

"'S my turn, sunshine."

Was he... Trying to be playful right now? The only other time he was playful was that night when you were both up in the guard tower and you challenged him to a game of knife throwing, to which he responded with a competitive grin and a, 'You're on.' You both threw your knives at a very well made target you had drawn yourself that was taped to the pole in the middle of the tower. The rules were simple, First person to hit the bullseye would emerge victorious. After three or four throws, you landed the shot perfectly, causing Daryl to sarcastically accuse you of cheating. Those nights in the tower were some of your favorite memories. Snacks shared over mutual silence, just enjoying each other's company and occasionally talking about random stuff. Such a simpler time.

"Are you gonna let me see the damn picture or what?" You remark, mocking him about the comment last night.

"Nah, don' think so." He retorted, taking a drag from his cigarette and puffing it in your direction.

You faked an offended look, watching him stuff the picture into his back pocket. You think nothing of it as you both make your last turn towards home...

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

A week later, Rick took it upon himself to throw a party for the new group that had arrived at the gates. You had to hand it to Him, The idea to put signs up on the major roads and train tracks had been a huge success. Alexandria had gained quite a few new members since then, most of which were actually decent people, which was hard to come by these days.

You invited Rosita over so you two could pick out clothes and do makeup together. You enjoyed quality girl time since You didn't have any sisters growing up. Rosita always helped you piece together outfits for these events, she was the self-proclaimed best stylist in Alexandria, not that you would disagree.

You stood in front of the mirror, Feeling the fabric of the dress between your fingertips. It was cute, a red sun dress that hugged your hips and showed off a considerable amount of cleavage. She paired it with a set of black strappy heels that accentuated your calves nicely. She also insisted on you keeping your hair up with two strands down in the front to, "make your collarbones and cheeks really stick out," or whatever.

"Damn mama, You look sexy as hell in that dress, I'm jealous. Daryl's going to love it."

You threw her a sour look.

"What? you know I'm right."

Deep down, you knew she was. "I just don't think he likes me like that Rosa," You said with a sigh. You gave yourself another look in the mirror with a droopy expression.

"That's a lie. Anyone would take the chance to be with you. If I swung the other way, I would sleep with you the minute I saw you, hermosa. And I KNOW Tara would too, That girl has a looking problem."

"Rosita!" You turn back to her with a shocked laugh.

She just shrugged and continued on, "What about that thing you told me about?"

" 'Sita..."

"You saw that man on the bottom bunk of that bed, Masturbating, right underneath you! And you still don't think he has a thing for you?"

You started to feel flushed, "That probably wasn't because of me."

"you're oblivious. Wait! was it big?"

"Oh. My. God. Stop."

Rosita cocked an eyebrow at you, expecting an answer.

"I- I didn't get a good look. It was dark and I didn't want to invade his privacy like that, so I just popped my head back up."

You remembered hearing him breathing heavily and dropping your head over the side to see if he was okay, Only to be met with the sounds of moans and whines and his face covered in some sort of cloth. probably to keep himself quiet so he didn't wake you... It definitely didn't work. You hate to admit it, but you listened to him carry on for another few minutes. Hearing him whine and moan so close to you had your underwear soaked and your legs rubbing together. When he reached his climax, it took everything you had not to make any noise. He was so vocal, and you were just aching for any kind of relief.

You couldn't help but touch yourself after you were sure he had fallen asleep.

"Bor-ring." Rosita said with a disappointed look, followed by her ushering you to come closer so she could start on your makeup. "Next time, Hop down there and assist him."

You chuckled, "Unfortunately, Rosi, I don't think there will be a next time. Now hurry up so I can start on you!"

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

Daryl heard a knock on his front door and shuffled off his new chair and up the stairs to answer it. He was not at all surprised to see Rick on his front stoop, holding a bag in his hand.

"What'd Ya want? M' not goin' to tha' damn party, so ya' might as well stop tryin'."

Rick knew Daryl hated these parties, but had to attempt to sway him to come anyway. When Daryl walked back into the house, Rick followed in hot pursuit all the way to his room in the basement.

"Come on, brother. Just give it a chance, you might enjoy yourself," Rick said as he stepped through the doorway.

Daryl flopped down on the wooden chair that he had pulled out from his workbench to face Rick, " 'S not gon' happen."

Rick had seen the way Daryl looked at you, like a desperate puppy who couldn't breathe unless in your presence. He was about to play dirty, but this was his last resort.

"Y/N is gonna be there."

For a split fraction of a second, Rick saw a hint of excitement in his eyes. But just as quickly as it was there, it was gone.

"an' why's tha' matter?"

Rick walked towards Daryl with the bag still in hand, lowering his voice a bit.

"Wouldn't you like to look at her in person instead of staring at that picture you like so much?"

Daryl stayed silent. He couldn't trust his voice not to come out shakey.

"Here, I brought you some clothes and some other stuff."

Rick tossed the bag in Daryl's lap. Daryl opened the bag to find a pair of charcoal dress pants and a dark green button up shirt, along with what looked like hair gel.

" 'M not wearin' this shit." He said with a disgusted look on his face. "Don't even know how ta'."

"I can help you, And she'd like it. you know I'm right."

Daryl grunted in response, embarrassment welling up in his chest.

"Fine."

"Good. Now take a shower and put those on and I'll help with the rest." Rick said as he walked out of the room. "I'll be waiting out here.

Daryl drug his feet to the bathroom that was connected to his bedroom and started stripping layers. As the water started to run, he got lost in thought. If Rick could tell he liked you, did you know too? What if you saw him and laughed at him because he looked dumb? Rick better know what he's talking about. He picked up his bar of soap and got to work on his legs, scrubbing vigorously until his skin had a pink tint to it. Now he was getting a little self conscious, trying to make sure his skin and hair was clean for you. He really would do anything to see you smile.

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

"I look ridiculous."

"No you don't, now sit down and hand me the comb."

Rick was a persistent son of a bitch, Daryl had to give him that.

Rick ran the comb through Daryl's wet hair, slicking it all back and adding in some gel as he went.

"Alright, looks good! Oh, just one more thing." He unbuttoned the first two buttons on Daryl's shirt, causing him to let out an uncomfortable groan.

"Never leave the top two buttoned, Girls love to see a little chest."

Daryl threw the comb in Rick's direction as Rick dodged it and laughed. "I used to do this for my little cousin, He was a few years younger than me and he loved it."

"ya well 'm glad ya had yer fun, playin' dress up like I'm a damned doll."

Rick just chuckled in response and exchanged goodbyes so he could go get dressed and ready himself.

Daryl looked in the bathroom mirror, His nerves were getting the better of him. What was he doing? pretending like he wasn't redneck trash and dressing like an idiot. If Merle could see him now, he'd be having a field day with this. How was he even going to talk to you like this? You'd probably be too busy laughing to talk.

Well, at least he would see you smiling.

He shook the thoughts away and mentally prepared himself for the shitshow this was about to be.

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

Rick smiled to himself as he entered his room to change.

He was happy to help his brother with any lady issues.

He was even happier that Rosita had come to him with this idea.

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

You slowly approached the front door to the party, silently wishing Rosita had never talked you into this. "Damn Rosita! And damn rick and his stupid parties." You thought to yourself as you took a deep breath in and closed your fingers around the chilled door knob. With a deep breath, you opened the door and stepped inside.

The smell is what hit you first. Warm, home-cooked food and alcohol. A soft, upbeat tune played from somewhere deeper into the house. Before you could even process what was happening, Maggie had walked up to you, grabbed you by the hand, and pulled you into a circle of people to chat, muttering something about needing to introduce you to the new people. You met a few new folks, Including some new guy named Mitch who was an architect before the world fell apart. you two got to talking, but in all honesty, you were only half paying attention once you realized Daryl wasn't there.

As if the universe listened to your thoughts, the door slowly creaked open and in came Rick and Daryl. And he looked... wow. All thoughts escaped you as you looked him up and down. He cleaned up well, His hair slicked back and that tight-fitting shirt made your head swirl with desire. The two buttons had been popped open at the top, giving you an excellent view of his collar bones and upper chest. Then his eyes met yours, and it was like there was no one else in the room. Quite a few people turned to stare, mostly from your group, probably in surprise at how clean he was. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest and decided to throw him a little wave and a smile.

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

Daryl left his house and started his stride to the party in the brisk, cold night air. "Ya really let Rick talk ya inta this huh? ya stupid bastard, she's gon' laugh atcha when she sees ya like this. swear ta god im gon' kick Rick's ass later." He approached the front door of the event, hearing the music and laughter buzz through the door. He considered going home and changing out of the stupid outfit to save himself the embarrassment, just sitting in his new chair all night and reading one of the books he found on that run last week. He had only been out for ten minutes and already missed the warmth of his bed and the comfort of his old ratty shirt. Just then, he felt a hand on his shoulder and spun around to find Rick smiling at him.

'fuck, too late now. The bastard caught me.'

"You'll be fine."

Daryl just offered a grunt in response as Rick opened the door and led them both inside.

The first thing Daryl noticed was you, it was always you. No matter if you were wearing the dirtiest rags you could find, or the most beautiful thing you owned, he would always be able to pick you out of a crowd. No matter what. The second thing he noticed was what you were wearing, and he would be damned if his heart was still beating after. He raked his eyes over every inch of you he could, taking in every agonizing detail. The black heels made your legs look strong yet delicate at the same time. his hands itched to run his fingers over your thighs while you sat on his lap, taking the pleasure you wanted from him. He longed to leave that red dress that showed the delicious swell of your breast on the floor of his room. When his eyes lifted to yours, he swore the world went quiet. your eyelashes fluttered as if you were trying to figure something out.

'Here it comes.'

But it never did. You only smiled at him and offered a small wave. And he offered one back.

Only then did he realize people were staring at him and he shrunk back into himself. He tore his eyes away from you and started walking towards the kitchen.

'Where's the alcohol?'

He made a B-line for the open liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Bourbon that would be his best friend for the night. He already felt sweaty and was thankful that cologne rick had let him borrow. He was still going to kill him later though.

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

Rosita swiftly walked towards you and you were already rolling your eyes before she ushered you to an unused corner of the room.

"Tell me you just saw what I saw, because I think I just had a stroke Y/N."

"Stop."

"Girl, that man showered and dressed up for you. His hair is out of his eyes, this may be a marriage proposal."

You had to admit, you were having less than pure thoughts about him right now, specifically his chest, which you thought about on a nightly basis at this point. That shirt brought out his ocean colored eyes perfectly, and you often wondered if you dove deep enough into them, would you ever be able to swim back to the surface? Did you even want to? How would they look closed tightly underneath you in an expression of pleasure? How would his mouth look pleading for more? How would that hair of his look spread out on the floor around his head like a chocolate colored halo?

"I have to admit, He does look rather handsome in that shirt." And you meant it. you REALLY meant it.

"Oh my god! You were totally just having a sex fantasy weren't you?" She said when she saw the ever so slight tint to your cheeks.

"Keep your voice down!"

Rosita gave you a knowing look and smile before you walked away and headed for the kitchen to get a glass of water. Lord knows you could use a cooldown right now. Once at the sink, you pulled a red party cup from the stack on the counter and filled it up with the tap. Turning around, you find Daryl in the corner, sipping a glass of amber liquid.

"Hey."

He looked at you and nodded in response.

Fuck it, why not bite the bullet?

"You look nice. That shirt is a pretty color."

All right. this time his heart might have actually stopped. His body tensed and the room suddenly shot up a few degrees.

'Oh no, no this again. say sum dumbass, tell 'er she looks good'

"Ya- mm," He choked up a bit and lifted the glass in his hand to his lips to take a sip of liquid courage. "Ya look great too. 'S a nice dress."

"Thank you, Rosita lent it to me for the night, along with this tacky purse."

You gestured to the oddly shaped handbag that was draped around your shoulder. The thing was sort of ugly-cute, but it was the only bag large enough to hold the things you wanted to bring tonight. Oh! That reminded you. Somehow without Daryl noticing, you pulled your beloved polaroid camera out and prepared it for a picture. Luckily, Daryl was staring straightforward and lifting his glass for yet another sip, making it the perfect opportunity for a photo.

click

Daryl recognized the sound all too quickly and made an annoyed face. You had been terrorizing him with that camera for the past week. Snapping pictures of him while he was working on his bike or checking the snares outside the wall. You had to have at least 7 of them by now.

He shifted his eyes between you and the camera before you finally lifted the picture to your eyes and smiled.

There was that warm feeling in his chest again.

Your gaze moved from the picture, to him, and back to the picture.

"This one is definitely a keeper."

"pfft, I look ridiculous."

"You look handsome." You have absolutely no idea what just possessed you to say that. you were sure Daryl was going to leave and never come back. Why would you say some stupid shit like that? Why wasn't he saying anything back?

Well, the truth was Daryl was in shock. He must be hallucinating, because He could have sworn you just called him handsome. Were you flirting with him or just being friendly? He tried to come up with something witty to say, but all he came up with was, "Stop."

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

The night moved like molasses in January. You talked with a few other people about upcoming events, future runs, and guard shift schedules. You introduced some of the new people to long time residents of Alexandria you thought they would get along with.

Rick approached Daryl at some point in the night and attempted to get a conversation out of him. Deciding he had enough of Rick's shit for one day, He started towards the porch to have a smoke. Grabbing the bottle of Bourbon, he stumbled a little when he took a few steps and almost fell into the door. Shit, was he really that wasted? Whatever, a little more couldn't hurt. It was a party right?

You noticed him leave the room out the corner of your eye and contemplated following him to make sure he was alright. You felt ridiculous for even thinking like that. Daryl was a grown man who could take care of himself, he didn't need you bothering him all the time. But maybe he would like some company? He never seemed to mind spending time with you, sometimes it seemed like he would even seek it out.

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

The air outside was a nice change from the stuffy atmosphere in the house. Stepping out on the porch, you immediately noticed Daryl leaning on the railing, a cigarette between his lips and a bottle of alcohol to his left. You cleared your throat to alert him of your presence and prevent him from getting startled. The moment he saw you, His face broke into a dorky grin and he dropped the cigarette into the ashtray on the banister.

"Hey, 'S you"

Was he drunk?

"Ya here ta see me?" He looked around for other people you could be there to see.

He was so drunk.

"D'ya want sum?" He slurred as he lifted the bottle towards you.

He was wasted.

His eyes looked so happy as he offered you the bottle. You had never seen him like this, it was uncharted territory in your friendship. You realized he was waiting for a response so you just smiled and shook your head no.

"How much have you had?" You said as you approached the banister and leaned on it with one arm.

He lifted the bottle and squinted his eyes at it like he was trying with all his power to see, then brought his thumb and pointer finger to the side. He looked like he was trying, and somewhat failing to measure how much had been taken from the bottle. When he was satisfied with his measurement, he held the two fingers up in your direction.

"'Bout tha' much."

You thought this was the most adorable thing you had ever seen, besides that time Judith had chocolate cake all over her face and threw some at Carl. You sat there admiring Daryl with a smirk as he picked up his cigarette and took a drag, a swig of Bourbon followed closely after.

"Daryl Dixon, you are the pinnacle of health, you know that?"

" 'anks, Got it from ma dad."

Your face drooped a little at that. You remember Daryl telling you stories about his family on one of your late-night guard tower talks. He didn't outright tell you his dad was abusive, but he gave you enough pieces to build a very depressing puzzle. It wasn't a very happy puzzle either. You recalled the story about his 13th birthday. His mom forgot what day it was and His dad passed out on the couch watching old black and white movies. But Merle? Merle tried his best to give his little brother a good day. He bought Daryl a little cake from the convenience store in town and presented it to him at the local park. Daryl always said that Merle could be mean, but he still cared for Daryl as best as he could. As best as he knew how.

You took your camera out of your bag again and Daryl looked at you in sad confusion.

"why ya' always tak'n pictures o' me?"

You sighed and began piecing together your explanation. He probably wouldn't remember any of this anyway, so why not?

"Because you are Beautiful, Everything about you is. You are strong, and capable, and when the light hits you at the right angle, it's impossible to resist saving the moment. Your facial expressions are so unique and rare that it makes me want to capture them all and hang them up for everyone to admire. I would paint murals of you if I could find enough wall space to do so."

You hesitated for a split second before bringing your fingers up to his chin.

"You are the most amazing man I have ever met and you don't even know it, do you?"

He stood perfectly still, but not tense this time. He narrowed his eyes in focus like he was trying to sober up to remember this moment.

"y-ya really think tha'?"

Instead of responding, you just moved to his side and brought the camera up to put you both in frame. You got a little closer to him so your head was almost resting on his arm

"Of course I do."

...

Click

...

You brought the camera back down, Grabbing the fresh film and shaking it to cool it down. You turned over the photo, only to realize Daryl had been staring down at you instead of into the camera. You chuckled as you turned towards him to show him the picture.

"Hey big guy, you were supposed to look a the ca-"

You stopped your sentence when you met his eyes. He was still looking down at you. It felt like he was staring into your soul with puppy eyes and nestling his way into your heart with each passing second.

In all your months of friendship, nothing could have prepared you for what happened next. You felt two arms snake around your back and a head rest on your shoulder before you realized. Daryl Dixon was hugging you. And... sniffling?

"Daryl, are you alright?" You asked, worried you might have hurt him in some way.

No response.

You pulled away from him and saw that his eyes were a little wet, so you brought your thumb up to wipe them away. Normally, you wouldn't even think about being this close because he hated when people touched him. But right now, He looked like he needed it. It hurt you to see his beautiful eyes filled with tears, no one this sweet should cry.

"No ones ever said tha' 'bout me."

Your heart broke just a little bit more.

"Well it's true. Now, I'm going to tell Rick I'm calling it a night. Wait right here so I can walk you home."

Just as you walked away, Daryl grabbed your wrist to get your attention.

"Ya don't have ta leave 'cause of me."

Even when he was drunk, he was still as considerate as ever.

"Honestly, I'm getting sick of being here. It's too hot and my feet are starting to hurt from these damn shoes." You offered with a light-hearted laugh. "I'll only be a second."

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

"Leaving so soon?"

You loved Rick, but sometimes you were really sick of his shit.

"Yeah. I'm taking Daryl home."

He raised a playful eyebrow at you. The asshole.

You sighed with annoyance, "He drank too much and I want to make sure he gets back okay."

"Well, that's very nice of you."

"Shut up rick."

He laughed that annoying laugh and gave you the go ahead to leave while Rosita gave you a look. You swore to yourself at that moment you would never show up to one of these parties ever again for as long as you lived.

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

"Alright, come on." You motioned for Daryl to follow you.

He silently obliged.

"Alright, now give me your arm so I can keep you from falling down the steps."

He held his arm out for you and you wrapped your own around it. When touched him, his skin buzzed from the contact. He had never been this close to you, and his drunk brain questioned why he hadn't tried to sooner.

You successfully led him down the front deck steps and towards the road with few complications. He was still stumbling like a child trying to walk for the first time, and you found it pretty adorable how he put his hands out a little when he felt unstable. You both walked for a few moments in silence until Daryl lost his balance over a curb and fell into you, grabbing you for support, almost sending you barreling over.

“'M sorry. ya shouldn' have ta take care o' me like this.”

"I already told you, I don't mind it sweetheart."

He flushed at the pet name as he straightened up. Those goddamn pants Rick gave him were already too tight, but it was even more so now.

"Do you have your keys?"

"Hmm?"

"Your house keys bub. Do you have them? The door is locked," You asked him in as clear a voice as you could. He fumbled through his pockets as you waited patiently for him to produce them. He checked his last pocket and felt something jingle. Pulling them out, he placed them in your hand and watched you search the key ring for the correct one.

When you slotted the key into the door, you felt Daryl wrapping his arms around your waist from the back. You froze as he buried his head into the hair that fell against your neck. You heard him take in a large breath, like he was trying to smell something.

"Ya smell so good."

A heat grew in between your legs and you couldn't move. It was wrong to be turned on by Daryl when he wasn't in the right state of mind, but the way his body felt pressed against yours had your cheeks warm and your eyelids feeling heavy. You almost collapsed when his embrace got tighter.

"D-Daryl, honey, you have to get off so I can open the door."

"Mmm." He reluctantly let go of you and you shakily turned the key and opened the door.

"Can you make it from here?"

"Huh?"

"Nevermind, that answered my question." You chuckled and stepped inside.

"ya have such a nice smile. Makes me happy ta see it."

"Thank you. I'm almost upset you won't remember any of this. come on big guy, let's get you settled and in bed."

By pure luck, you somehow managed to conquer the stairs to the basement with Daryl in tow. You opened the door to his room and ushered him inside to sit him on the bed.

"Hold on, I'll be right back. Change your clothes while I'm gone." The thought of him naked briefly made its way across your mind, but you shook it off and focused on getting him something to drink and eat. You entered the kitchen and made a mental note of things you would need. First off, water. You grabbed a bottle from the fridge and set it down on the counter. Next you needed something easy on the stomach. Looking in the pantry, you spotted a pack of saltine crackers. Perfect! That's what you used to eat when you had the flu. If it could work for sick ass you, it could work for drunk ass Daryl. You figured he would need something for the inevitable headache. The medicine cabinet was just over the refrigerator, you remembered from when Abraham needed antacid and the only person who had some was Daryl. It was a struggle to reach, but ultimately a small hurdle to clear. You mentally patted yourself on the back for a successful and bountiful expedition, and headed back down the stairs. You knocked on the door and heard an affirmative grunt from the other side.

"Alright, I have some water for you, some food too. and ibuprofen for the headache. Don't drink too much, you're gonna be thirsty in the morning."

Looking over at him, you noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt. Now, you knew Daryl had been through a lot during the end of the world, and most of it left scars. But some of the scars littering his torso looked old, really old. You deduced that these were most likely marks left by his father, and most of them looked like healing came rather hard. How could anyone do this to a child? Especially someone as sweet as daryl?

You realized he was looking at you, waiting for you to continue.

"I brought you some crackers too, Eat them in small amounts or you will regret it."

He stared at you as you walked towards his nightstand and placed the items there.

Months of watching you. Months of hearing your sweet voice. Months of watching your thighs peek out from your shorts, and Daryl had enough.

You were startled as you felt a rough force pulling you downwards and it took you a second to realize where you had landed. Daryl wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him, His warm lips found their way to your neck.

"D-mm." Your words were interrupted by Daryl moving his hips upward. You could feel how hard he was and it made you cry out with pleasure. He was holding on to you with pure desperation, Every inch of your body felt like it was burning up.

He moved his lips away from your neck to speak, "I need ya', please Y/N. I need ya ta take me. Y-Ya can h-have me any way ya want. I need ta feel ya." He punctuated the sentence with a thrust upwards that left your head empty and your mouth unable to function. "I-I want ya so much, sunshine. Want ya ta hold me down an-...an`." His hips bucked up wildly and He let out a grunt as his hands left trails of fire down your shoulders and arms.

"Daryl, w-we can't."

He grunted in frustration and looked up at you with big, sad eyes.

"Why? You don't want ta? With me?"

His voice wavered on the last two words and you felt terrible, but he was under the influence and you were worried he didn't really want this. You just didn't want to take advantage of him...

"You're drunk Daryl. I don't want you to regret doing this," You motioned between the two of you, "With me. You might not even remember."

"S-so ya do want ta?"

You leaned down to place your lips on his forehead.

"More than anything."

You took his hands in yours and spoke.

"I'll tell you what, If you remember this in the morning and you still want it, you come find me."

You couldn't help but frown a little as he looked at you with those beautiful blue eyes full of sadness. You brought your finger up to his forehead and ran it over his brow bone, then down his cheek and on to his bottom lip. He kissed your fingertip and you smiled.

"Tomorrow, imma come find ya."

"I'll hold you to that, love."

Daryl sighed as you wiggled out of his lap, already missing the warmth of you against him. He flopped backwards on the bed and grabbed his pillow, shoving it under his head.

You padded your way back to the front door where you had left your heels and purse, all the while thinking about what just happened a few moments ago. Daryl fucking Dixon was kissing and begging for you to take him, and you felt him... All of him. You wanted nothing more than to rip off the layers of clothes that separated the two of you to feel him even more. Tonight's events got you thinking, what if Rosita was right? What if that night in the bunker, he was thinking about you? You shouldn't get your hopes up, he was most likely just drunk and horny. You've never seen him show any sexual interest in anyone, so he was probably as pent up as could be and just relieving a little bit of the pressure. As unlikely as it was, you hoped he wanted you like you wanted him. His words were like fireworks in your mind, bright and explosive with sparks of color.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

After such a long night, your bed felt like a toasty marshmallow. Your feet were aching, your thoughts were racing, and your body was at its limit. You needed a day of rest and at least three ibuprofen, but a glass of milk and 6 hours of sleep would have to do.

Before heading to bed, you pulled out your leather bound journal and added your new pictures from that night to the pages of your choosing, along with descriptions of each. This was a new thing you started doing after the day you found the camera. You got a few of Glenn and Eugene talking about video games, one of Carl stuffing his face with cupcakes, which was definitely a keeper. Your fingers stopped when they reached the pictures you took of Daryl earlier, especially the one of him looking at you. You decided to keep them out of the book and put them in your nightstand, along with your camera, for safekeeping.

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

The first thing Daryl noticed was the jackhammer someone let loose in his skull. The second thing Daryl noticed was the unbearable amount of light seeping through his basement window. Seriously, who gave the sun the right to be that fucking bright? He sat up and rubbed his eyes to try and rid himself of the mount Everest sized migraine, effectively making it worse. Great, a wonderful start to the day. He figured he might as well brush his teeth to get rid of alcohol breath. He noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A bottle of water, some pills that looked suspiciously like ibuprofen and... Were those crackers? No way he would have gotten these for himself, he's never done that before, just came straight home and passed out. which means someone brought him home. Someone very considerate.

He took the ibuprofen and washed it down with some water, then ate some crackers to settle the unease in his gut. He tried to desperately remember what the hell had happened last night. He got to the party with Rick and... drank. Ah, that explained the memory loss. He remembered you, and that dress. You took a picture of him, he remembered the camera lens pointing at him, but nothing else. He felt the gel Rick had lent him still stiff in his hair, which meant he had to wash it out. No way in hell he was taking another shower, so a quick wash in the sink would work good enough. He dipped his head down and turned the water on. If he saw Rick today, He made a mental note to hit him.

He lifted his head to stare into the mirror, and his hair was back to its normal self. Perfect! time for toothpaste. He thought about you and tried to recall if he even talked with you. After all, even though he would never admit it to Rick, he DID come to that party for you. He hoped he wasn't an asshole to you, he had a habit of being like that after enough to drink. He needed to figure out what happened, and he knew that someone at that party would have answers.

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

"yes?"

Rosita looked tired when she answered the door, eyes droopy and face turned down in a frown. Her face changed when she saw who was on her front stoop. "Well, if it isn't Romeo. Tell me, what can I do for you at 'way too early for this o' clock."

"Wha' happened a' Rick's dumb party last nigh'?"

"Straight to the point then." She motioned for Daryl to come inside, but he shook his head no.

"Jus' tell me."

"Other than you showing up looking like Al Capone? You drank a lot and Y/N... Took you home." Rosita gave him a suggestive look and if he was being honest with himself, he was shitting bricks. Did something happen with you last night? He would remember if you two... Wouldn't he? Of course he would, it was you, and you were unforgettable. His stomach was churning nonetheless though.

"Ya' didn't hear anythin' else?

"Well...''

"Jesus, jus' fuckin' tell me."

"Alright, Alright."

And she told him everything. She told him about the conversation she overheard on the porch, or at least the little portion of it she heard before she gave you two some privacy. She didn't have to say anything else though, Daryl started remembering a little. And then he remembered a lot. Then he remembered all of it. Everything.

He needed to find you.

He needed to find you NOW.

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

The knocking on your door grew quicker and louder with each passing second. Who the fuck woke you up and what the fuck did they want. You swore on your mother's grave that if it was Rick, you were going to beat him with your slipper.

"Y/N, are ya home?"

You cut him off mid-knock by opening the door.

"Daryl, are you okay? Is someone hurt?"

The look on your face almost broke him in two before he remembered why he was there.

"Can I come in?"

You opened the door and made a mock butler stance, bowing your head and gesturing towards inside. He walked inside and shut the door behind him rather quickly.

"Jesus, somebody is antsy-"

He got close to you, close enough that you could smell the scent of that cologne still radiating off him in waves.

"Did ya mean it? please tell me ya meant it! tell me ya want ta and we- I-. 'Ve been thinkin' 'bout this forever. dreamin'."

You looked at him in confusion, studying his hopeful features. To be fair, you had just woken up and were not firing on all cylinders. You usually needed a cup of coffee and some food in order to even see correctly. Then it hit you.

oh.

That's what he was here for.

"Yes, I meant it." You DEFINITELY meant it. You wanted him more than anything.

"Good," Was all he said before attacking your lips with his in desperation, as if you would vanish when he stopped to take a breath. His lips were surprisingly soft and warm, like a fresh meal just waiting to be devoured. Your hands threaded through his messy hair, tugging just a little. He groaned and you pulled him down so his head was level with your mouth.

"Any way I want?" You asked, mimicking his words from the previous night.

You heard his breathing stop suddenly for a moment.

"A-any way ya want."

"Follow me, beautiful."

He obeyed and trailed after you, hand in hand, up the stairs towards your room. His nerves were starting to catch up to him and he wished he was as confident as drunk ass Daryl right now. What if you didn't want to be with him and you only wanted to satisfy an urge? This time he didn't let what Merle said, or even his own overthinking, get to him though. You wanted him, you really wanted him, and nothing else in the world mattered to him right now except that. Even if you only wanted him for pleasure, he could learn to live with it. As long as he got to be close to you. He told himself that multiple times as you led him down the hall, and the truth was, it was a lie. He wanted to be with you in every sense of the word. He wanted to wrap his arms around you at night, and confide in you about his worries, and take pictures of him, and put his hair in a fucking ponytails every day so he could see the smile that lit a campfire under his heart.

You opened the door to your room and led him inside. "Everybody crashed somewhere else for the night, so don't worry about being loud. Although, you really didn't seem to care when we were in your room." You shot him a sarcastic grin but stopped when you turned to look at him. He had an embarrassed aura about him and his eyes were diverted to the left. You put your arms around the back of his neck and spoke in a low, suggestive tone, "Your little noises made me so wet, sweetheart. Couldn't stop thinking about them all night."

His cock jumped a little at your words. He was growing in his jeans, and you seemed to take notice. You turned around in a brisk stride towards your bed, and swayed your hips with each step. Daryl was quick to follow as you sat down on the edge and beckoned him.

"Undress yourself for me, sexy."

He stood in stunned shock as he tried to process what you just said. Y-you wanted him to strip for you? He'd never done that before. Well, he had never done much of anything before actually. He wasn't technically a virgin, but just barely. Despite his nerves, he was aching at the thought of being on display for you, so he slowly shucked off his vest and started working at the top button of his sleeveless flannel. No matter how hard he wanted to be sexy and keep eye contact, his brain failed him and his eyes drifted down to focus on his hands. He managed to get two buttons undone before pausing.

You knew immediately what was wrong and you stood up to take his hands in yours.

"I-"

"It's alright Daryl, I uh- I already saw last night, remember? You don't have to continue if you don't want to. You can keep your shirt on, or we can stop if that's what you want. No pressure, all you have to do is tell me. But I want you to know that you are the most breath-taking man I have ever met, and nothing can ever change that."

You rubbed his hands with your thumbs and smiled up at him, trying to tell him how much he meant to you without uttering a single word. His eyes almost welled up in tears from the onslaught of emotions you made him feel. You dropped his hands and softly grabbed his chin, waiting for his answer.

He somehow mustered up the words in his chest and spoke, "I don't want ta stop. P-please."

His little beg went straight to your core. "Then don't," You said as you sat down and leaned back on your forearms.

With each button that came undone, more of his toned chest was exposed to the chilled air in your room. He looked up to see your expression as he reached the last button, your expression looked... hungry. No one had ever stared at him like that before. He weirdly liked it. He watched your eyes rake over his torso as he shrugged out of his shirt and let it fall to the floor. He was so hot right now, so completely turned on while he stood in front of you, as vulnerable as could be. 'Slow down ya dumbass...'f she wants a show 'en giver 'er a show,' He thought to himself as he reached for his belt. He got the buckle free and pushed his hips forward ever so slightly as he slowly pulled the belt out in one tug. He felt stupid for the attempt until he saw you rub your legs together the slightest bit in arousal. He pulled his jeans down over his hips and ass, making his erection slightly more visible to you, and he saw you lick your bottom lip and pull it between your teeth. That meant you liked what you saw, right?

Sensing his question in the air, you spoke, "You are doing so good Daryl, you look amazing for me. Such a god boy."

Your words spurred a sudden confidence and arousal through him. He turned his head to he side, shutting his eyes tightly as he hooked both his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers. He hissed as he dragged the boxers down his legs, making sure his cock was pushed down until the elastic caught on the rim of his sensitive head. He stayed there for a second, making sure you got a full view of his heaving chest and veiny shaft.

"Daryl. stop."

Fuck! Fuck! you didn't like it. You thought this was stupid and he was trying too hard. You decided you didn't want to do this with him-

"Can I take a picture of you? Like this?"

Y-you wanted a picture of him? Like this? T-to keep? God, his cock was throbbing at that thought and he couldn't form words right now, so he just weakly nodded his head.

"Don't move. you look perfect just like this." The praise was making his head weak and his skin glossy with sweat.

You reached into your nightstand and pulled out the camera which was, thankfully, pre-loaded with quite a bit of film. He watched you lift the camera to your eye and speak, "Look at that, so beautiful." You could see the effect your words were having on him. "Look at that sexy chest, and that thick shaft. I bet you are going to feel amazing buried inside me Daryl." He whined a bit and moved his head to the side, most likely to hide his embarrassed flush.

*click*

"Look at me, sweet boy."

He obeyed.

*click*

"F-fuck. Y-ya love takin' pictures, don't ya?" You could hear how horny he was by his speech, and it was really starting to get you going.

"How can I resist when you look so damn tempting. I'm gonna stare at these when I miss you and get myself off to he thought of your hands on me Daryl."

"Ahhhh," He moaned as he lowered the boxers enough to let his hard cock spring upwards and bounce a bit. He just needed relief, just a little relief. He was big, bigger than average, and you knew it.

"I want it in my mouth baby, only for a second, will you let me?" He nodded furiously and already walked towards where you sat on the bed.

" 'Ve never had s-someone- not with their-"

"I'll make it feel good for you sweetheart, I promise. Just enjoy the way it feels." You said as you brought a hand to his pink tip and lightly ran it over his slit.

"G- ahh." He started whimpering lightly.

"I've barely touched you yet angel, and you're already singing for me. Are you sure you can handle more?"

He nodded in response and you closed your hand around his length and started slowly stroking. His hips were shaking a little, this poor man was so pent up it wasn't even funny. You then leaned your head down a bit and opened your mouth to drop his tip on your tongue, and his knees started to wobble when you took him into your mouth fully. Your throat was like heaven around him, hot and wet and tight, so tight. You kept eye contact with him as you worked at his cock, smiling a little when you saw his head throw back in pleasure. Your tongue traced every vein on his girthy meat until you were satisfied you had memorized and mapped out every single one, and by the time you were done, Daryl was panting for air in between moans.

"Now, what was it you told me you wanted me to do? Hold you down and..?"

The sound of his dirty words leaving your lips was the most erotic thing he had ever heard.

"Come on, big guy, use your words."

"H-hold me down an- an f-fuck me 'ntill I can' T-take it." His words were failing him and he felt stupid for not being able to say a single dumb little sentence. He wanted nothing more than to be underneath you while you used him for your pleasure, as long as he got to touch you.

"Lay down then honey,” you said, pulling his arm towards you.

He still couldn’t believe what was happening, even though it was unfolding before his eyes. All the months spent telling himself hell would freeze over before you considered him an option, and here he was, laying on your bed waiting for you to have your way with him. He watched in awe as you started removing your shirt.

“Do you want to help?” You asked him and he nodded in response. “Words baby.”

“Y-yes.”

He went to put his hands on your stomach where your shirt ended, but stopped before he could touch you.

“Are you okay Daryl?”

The genuine concern in your voice toyed with his heart strings in the worst way possible, and he was reminded of how much he actually adored you. You were so caring, understanding, and thoughtful. How was he going to tell you he didn’t know what to do? How was he going to tell you he was nervous to touch you and mess up? Luckily, you spoke up.

"You're overthinking Daryl, I can practically hear the racing thoughts. tell me what's going on in there." You lift your pointer finger and tap at his forehead.

Here goes nothing.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Daryl shakily spoke,

" 'v Jus' never done this before really with anyone and I-I jus' don' want ta mess this up because I r-remember tha' time at the prison when y-you and Rick were in the garden... t-talking 'bout your high-school days an' all the guys ya've... and..." His eyes lower from yours, and his voice softens to a whisper, "Ya' just have so much more e-experience 'an me when it comes to ta'... this."

Oh, that's what he's worried about?

You open your mouth slightly to begin your reassurance, to let him know it didn't matter to you and you want him no matter what, but he hurriedly started up again.

"I jus' want to make ya' feel good Y/N, I-I think about it all the time. when 'm alone a-at night, touching myself ta' the thought of ya'. the thought of bein' b-buried inside of ya'... I d-don't deserve ya'"

The fire that has been lit by Daryl is now burning with reckless abandon, only stroked by his breathless, heartfelt confession.

"Daryl, look at me."

His face doesn't move, still pointing towards the left of the room somewhere, obviously embarrassed.

"Look. at. me." You grab his chin softly, resting your thumb under his lip, and tilt his head towards you. When his eyes meet yours, your breath stops. You have never seen a man look more lost and full of need in your life, and it breaks your heart to see him like this.

"Daryl Dixon, there is not another man that has, is, or ever will be on this planet that I will want more than I want you." You lean down to his ear and lower your voice, "There is no man I would rather have buried inside me, experienced or not."

He moans lightly, and you feel his cock twitch under you.

"T-tell me what ta' do Y/N. T-tell what ta' do ta' make ya' F-feel good an' I'll do it. Please. I'd do anything ta' please ya'."

"Fuck, Daryl, I can't handle it when you beg like that."

"D-do ya' like it when I beg?" He looks uncertain, and you reassure him with a soft kiss on his nose. The sweet and seemingly innocent gesture makes his face warm.

"Yes, very much. Take off my shirt for me."

He obeys, hands shaking, but only slightly. His gaze burns trails of heat up and down your abdomen as he reaches out a thumb and places it over your naval, rubbing at the skin softly. He looks up at you, assumedly for permission, which you hastily grant with a controlled nod. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Daryl's hands trail up your stomach and towards your back, moving ever closer to your bra clasps.

His fingers work at the little hooks for a few moments before he turns a whole new shade of red and drops his hands to your lower back in defeat.

"Need help?" You ask quizzically.

"Y-yes... please. 'm not sure how ta' yet."

You giggle a little bit but immediately stop when you hear him groan in frustration. Oh no, you hadn't meant to make him upset. He wasn't used to a little playfulness in between the sheets. You pull the clasps of your bra and slide it down your shoulders ever so slightly, you want to leave him the pleasure of removing the garment himself. You grab his hands and pull each of them up to the bra straps hung low on your shoulders. As he pulled the bra free from your chest with a muted gasp, his eyes widened in awe. You both stayed there a moment as he studied every hill and valley on your chest. His eyes met yours in a desperate yet silent plea.

"You can touch me Daryl, go on pretty boy."

The nickname makes him involuntarily move his hips in a wave of unexpected pleasure. You take note of this and decide to stow that information away for later. Led bravely by your words, he reached his palm up and cupped it over your right breast, testing the weight of it in his large, warm palm.

"Shit, 's so...soft," he grunted, experimentally pinching your stiff nipple in between his thumb and forefinger. The sensation shot electric currents through your nerve endings and earned him a short but sharp inhale of breath from your lips. His eyes widened in horror as his hands recoiled from your skin. "S-Shit Y/N, Fuck! 'm sorry, did I hurt ya'? I told ya' I weren't no good a' this-"

Sensing the panic in his voice you cut him off without letting him finish his ramblings. "NO! No! Daryl that felt great. do it again, please. Your hands feel amazing on me." You waste no time in pulling his hands back to your chest and using his fingers to pinch your nipple again. All reluctance vanished from his features when he heard you moan in pleasure and press your still very clothed core against his very naked cock.

"Fuck Daryl. Good job, Good boy."

His cock twitches once again and he knows you felt it for sure this time. He turned his head and buried the side of his face into the pillow beneath him.

"Oh you like that, don't you? Do you like being my good boy Daryl?"

No response. He just closes his eyes tightly.

"Talk to me, sweet thing. I like it when you're vocal, It's hot."

Upon hearing you liked it, he spoke up.

"Y-Yeah. I do like it. I like being-... I like being your good boy Y/N."

You don't think his face can get any redder and the blush is now appearing over his shoulders and chest, as if his system is so overloaded it doesn't know what exactly to do.

"Don't move, keep your face right there, angel."

When the bed shifts he becomes a little suspicious but doesn't dare move after you told him to stay. He wants to be good for you. He wants to be your good boy. Daryl doesn't have to guess what you are doing for long, as you return and he notices the outline of the camera in your grasp. Fuck, you want more pictures of him.

Why does that thought turn him on so much every time?

He lifts his hands to the side of his head, gently tugging at the pillow... posing for you. He'd pose any way you wanted him to just to make you happy. He'd let you take a million photos if that's what it took.

"Somebody's eager. Do you like being my model angel? You like having yourself on display all desperate and horny for me?"

"Yes. L-Love being under ya Y/N. Love b-being yours ta look at. Never thought ya'd W-want ta-... see me like this...T-Take all the pictures ya want. P-please. Never stop. Please never S-stop."

*click*

You wiggle your hips a bit against his erection and his mouth opens as his back arches off the bed. He whines as his chest lifts towards the sky.

*click*

"So pretty. you look so good in these pictures Daryl. I may just have to put one in my wallet to carry around."

You still liked to carry your wallet around from before the world went to shit. It makes you feel normal, like it's just another work day where you forget your keys and spill coffee in your lap. You could think of no better place for some of these photos than in your back pocket, tucked away in between the leather folds...

"Ya'd really do tha?" He looks surprised.

"Oh, absolutely. Now, what do you say about getting these sweatpants off of me?"

He offered no verbal response, just the hasty movement of his once nimble fingers, now clumsy as he fiddles with the knot on the drawstring of your pants. You internally laugh a little. You had witnessed Daryl's dexterous fingers build hundreds of arrows and carve a multitude of sticks. and yet here he was, fumbling with a simple knot that, quite frankly, wasn't very tight.

It made you beam with pride that you could reduce him to this.

"What was it like, your first time?" You inquired incredulously. You were filled with curiosity as you remembered his flustered statement from earlier.

After finally loosening the knot from your pants, and resting his hands on your hips, he answered, "was alright I guess." His expression became sheepish and you knew he was being stingy with details on purpose.

"You don't have to talk about it, But I'm not not going to judge you."

He contemplated for a split second.

'welp, here goes'

"Must'a been 'bout sixteen 'n Merle, He t-took me ta some druggie's house. Druggie's sister was a' least five years older 'n me. She did some... Work on the side. Merle thought it'd be good for me, "It'll make ya a man," 's what he said. S-she-"

He paused for a second, looking up to you for what you assumed was reassurance. You had never seen him look so vulnerable. You placed your hand on his chest, just under his left collar bone. He breathed a bit and continued.

"She took me ta one of the spare rooms an' I told her I'd never done anythin' like tha' before. She told me it wouldn' be an issue and we continued... I- uh, I didn' even finish. She never breathed a word ta Merle and 'm thankful for it."

He looked uncomfortable, and you felt terrible for him. You were the first person to admit that your first time wasn't the best, when you impulsively slept with your lab partner in sophomore year and faked an orgasm to get out of there, but this was definitely worse.

"And you never tried again?"

"N-nah... never wanted ta... 'till now," He replied with a wavering tone.

At least you've had some good experiences. He hasn't had any, and that thought just made you want to give him some.

"So you've never cum inside someone before?"

He weakly shook his head.

"Well then, we'll have to fix that then, won't we pretty boy? Now, I know for a fact you can cum..." You leaned down to his ear and whispered, "especially on pillows." You felt him stiffen below you.

"Fuck! Y-ya saw tha'?"

"I saw it and heard it, sweet thing, made me so horny. I just had to touch myself that night." You punctuate your sentence with a brisk roll of your hips that Daryl mewled at. "What were you thinking about?"

"Y-you."

Your suspicions were confirmed, and it gave you a rush of confidence.

"What were you thinking about me?" You wanted to hear him stumble over his words. you wanted to hear his shameful, dirty thoughts formulate on his tongue.

"Jesus fucking s-shit y/n. I was thinking about you and how ya sound 'n s-smell. I- fuck I love tha way ya smell c-couldn't help myself from..."

Your ears perked up, "from?

He tried to look away from you, but you wouldn't let him. Raising an eyebrow, you offer him a silent challenge to defy you.

His mind was racing now, afraid you might be disgusted with his confession. He needed to learn how to keep his big fat mouth shut. He just couldn't help himself though, he wanted to tell you everything. He wanted to tell you anything you wanted to know about him. He would do anything for you.

He would do anything for you...

He loved you.

In the next few microseconds, Daryl moved that word around in his head over and over again. It felt so right. Like the word had been on the tip of his tongue for a long time, just waiting to be spoken.

He figured now wasn't the best time to tell you though. Instead, he quieted his self deprecating thoughts and opened his now red, plush lips to answer you. He wouldn't let Merle's voice fill his head when he had your sweet one to do it instead.

A sudden wave of confidence rolled over him in ripples.

"Your shirt. Tha' green flannel tha' hugs yer chest like it was made for ya. had it pressed up against m-my face so I could smell ya all around me when I finished. Imagined if ya thought of me when ya t-touched yerself too. Wondered if maybe ya... used tha' picture ya took of me for... other things."

The smile on your face could be considered sinister from an outside perspective. "You have no fucking IDEA how hot that is Daryl. No idea at all. Jesus, Fuck, that just made me so wet. I think about you all the time when I pleasure myself, does that make you happy? Does it turn you on that I did look at that picture of you when I had three fingers stuffed inside myself to mimic two of yours?" You punctuated that sentence with a cock of your eyebrow.

Your voice almost sounded mocking.

It made your words even more erotic to him.

That was the single most arousing thing he had ever heard with his own ears. He didn't know if it was because of the current sexual context, or if it was just because they came from you.

He decided it was a combination of both, leaning more towards the latter.

You were overwhelming him and he loved every single second of it. All he smelled was you. All he saw was you. All he heard was your voice and your breathing. Everything was you. Just you. You. You. You. He needed to have you with every fiber of his being. He needed to be surrounded by you even more.

"Fuck me Y/N please. please please pleasepleaseplease. Can't- Can't stand not being inside ya anymore." He whined out the whole thing and it was almost incomprehensible.

"Whatever my good boy wants."

And with that, you put your hands on his and guided them back to the elastic at your waistline. Something about his hands in yours felt absolutely perfect, like they were made for it. That idea mixed with the feeling of his rough fingers brought a familiar swell in your chest that you often felt when you were in Daryl's presence. However, this time it was much stronger and much more warming. You wondered if it was because of the sexual contact or if it was just because of him.

You decided it was a combination of both, leaning more towards the latter.

You lifted your hips for his for a moment so Daryl could remove your sweatpants from the upper part of your waistline more easily. You pulled them the rest of the way down and removed them completely, along with your red silk panties.

Daryl's brain short circuited when your bare ass and pussy sat down just above his throbbing cock. He could feel your wetness leaking onto his stomach and the thought of tasting it crossed his mind. 'Later' he said to himself. He'd pleasure you with his mouth later if you would let him. And even though he had never eaten a girl out before, he would damn sure make up for it with enthusiasm to do so.

You looked at the soft panties in your hand and then back to Daryl, who had his eyes fixated on where your sex met his skin. He was so deep in thought he didn't even notice what you were doing right now. You could practically read his mind at this point, so you called out to him and held out your soaked panties towards his face.

"Go ahead baby. I know you want to."

He wasted no time in bringing the garment to his nose and giving a big, unashamed whiff... Then brought them to his tongue and licked a long strip of the crotch while keeping eye contact. The look on his face was like a starved man being fed a feast for four. His eyes darkened and he let out a moan of pure satisfaction before tossing them to join the other discarded clothes in the room.

You reached over to the drawer in your nightstand and pulled out a condom that you guessed was his size. Taking the wrapper between your teeth, you ripped the foil in half and pulled the condom out.

A memory from highschool flashed behind your eyes and you got a wicked idea. You made an "O" shape with your lips and suctioned the condom on them. You lowered your head to his cock and started slowly rolling the condom down the head and over the shaft, using your tongue as assistance.

You guessed by the little throb that pulsed inside your mouth that he liked it.

"Fuckin' Fuck!"

You giggled, "So eloquent."

"S-Shut up."

A Little amused sigh was shared between both of you.

This moment was so perfect, and it was about to get even better.

"Are you ready?" You asked genuinely, even though you knew the answer. You just wanted to make sure.

"Jesus Fuckin' Christ yes Y/N. F-fuck me already."

That definitely sounded like consent to you.

You gripped his shaft lightly as you positioned your hips over his in a kneeling stance, the head of his cock just barely beneath your entrance. Without warning, you started sinking him into your warm, wet heat.

Two things happened at that moment. You were overcome with pleasure and nearly collapsed all the way on top of him due to your wobbling knees, and Daryl let out a moan that could only be described as pure fucking bliss. If you were feeling pleasure, he must have been feeling heaven given the sheer volume and force the noise from his lips possessed. You didn't know if Daryl's neighbors could hear him right now, and quite frankly? You didn't give a single fuck. You wanted everyone in this whole godforsaken community to hear how good Daryl was feeling. How good you made him feel. You wanted that asshole Rick and Rosita to know that they got their wish and you were both enjoying every second of it. This spurred you even more, and despite your knees protest, you sunk down on him even slower to prolong the moment. Your eyes rolled back and you whimpered deeply as his meaty dick hit bottom and stretched you out sinfully. As soon as his cock was fully sheathed inside you, His moans turned to whines.

As his body fought for control over itself, he shivered and his hands became restless. At that moment he decided, somewhere deep down in his subconscious, that he was going to spend every second he had buried inside your wet, tight cunt. He was never going to waste another second without the feeling of you around him, whether it be your arms or your sweet pussy. The rest of his days were going to be spent with you. Of course, he didn't voice any of these thoughts. His mouth was too busy telling you how good you made him feel, even if it wasn't with words. He managed to open his eyes only to meet your piercing gaze, full of what appeared to be admiration. And if he wasn't buried inside of you, he could probably cry at your sincerity. He realized you actually cared. He realized you wanted him to enjoy himself. His whole life, no one had ever looked at him like that before you, like he was something to care for. After a moment, Daryl realized you were also searching his face for any signs of discomfort, and his heart melted at the sentiment. He gave you a slight nod and a soft, somewhat awkward smile.

A smile looked foreign on his face, given that he always seemed to be annoyed at one thing or the other. His frown was well known and well joked about between you and the other members of the group, especially Carol. You have very rarely seen even a ghost of a smirk flash across his face. While it was strange to see the happy expression on the mostly angry man, it was not unwelcome. A smile suited him, and you were determined to see it more often.

Agonizingly slowly, you lifted your hips and dropped them back down, the feeling it left resembled fire on your trembling walls. Daryl was laying back with a blissed-out look on his face like a man high on the most exquisite drug money could buy. That's what you felt like to him, a drug, Intoxicating to the point of suffocation, and he could overdose on you at any second. You altered his senses in the best ways possible until he couldn't form a single cohesive thought. Every movement of your insides that was awarded to him sent a jolt of electricity and pleasure up his spine, and he knew his right hand could never compare to this. With every passing second he spent buried inside you, he knew exactly how much you had ruined him.

Nothing could ever make him want it any other way.

You had never felt like this before with anyone.

No man had ever made you feel as empowered as Daryl was right now. Sex with most guys you knew just consisted of them trying to take what they needed from you, and then making up some lame excuse to leave. It always felt like a task for you, leaving you unsatisfied. Daryl was different in every way possible, he gave you everything. At this moment, he bared his entire soul to you, every vulnerability and insecurity on display, a sign of his complete trust. Even though he was a bit out of it, he still ran his hand up and down your back and chest, delicately pinching and caressing your breasts with fervor.

This was more than just sex to you, and it was more than just sex to him. The rhythm, the matching movements, the energy that was radiating in the air, all of it formed itself into the most delicately perfect dance, a waltz of two lovers. You couldn't imagine a better dance partner. Daryl was a masterpiece to you, an awe-striking painting that was made with billions of perfect brush strokes and a quality of paint that only true master artists possessed. He deserved to be admired. He deserved to be recognized. You wanted to paint murals of him and write songs about him, you wanted to capture his every expression in photos and fill the empty spaces of your existence with them. You wanted to be full of him in every way you could be because the laws of imperfection didn't apply to him in your eyes.

You mustered the strength in your arms to pick the camera back up from where it was resting, and bring it to your eye. You wanted to remember this moment forever, and you were going to snap as many photos as it would take for that to happen.

*click*

Daryl whimpered and bucked his hips.

Before you could realize what was happening, Daryl had a surge of coherence and used it to flip you over, keeping up the pace without a hiccup. You were surprised at how fluidly he managed the motion like he had done it a thousand times, even though you know he hadn't. You would be proud if you could muster up a thought that wasn't laced with lust and wanting, however, the rhythm of his snapping hips wouldn't allow that at the moment.

You opened your eyes to take in the sight above you, the camera still in hand. This gorgeous man's woodland brown hair was hanging from his head and swaying in the air with every thrust, and his eyes were strained shut with concentration. There was just enough space between you for you to bring the camera in front of you comfortably and snap a quick picture. His strong shoulders and forearms were flexing deliciously as he held himself above you, and the camera flash made the sweat on them sheen like he was glowing.

That one was going to look great later when you could focus.

You dropped the camera to your side and reached out your hands and placed them on his face, rubbing them over his brow bone and cupping his cheeks in your fingers. His facial tension dissipated the moment your skin came into contact with his, and he opened his eyes to greet the image below him.

"It's okay to go slow, my love. There's no rush. Just feel it. Just feel me." You stated in a husky, almost whispered voice.

He exhaled in response, and the sheer length of the breath served as a reminder of how much smaller than him you actually were.

"Wan' ya to feel good." He informed you, sounding mildly timid, yet still as confident as ever. He smirked at you and punctuated his sentence with a rather cocky roll of his hips that momentarily left you breathless.

"I feel fucking fantastic," you sighed, "I feel like you are wrapped around every piece of Me Daryl. I can feel you in my nerve endings, I can sense you in my lungs. Please don't stop. You make me feel like I am dying in the best way possible." You meant every word and so much more.

Daryl's expression changed from confident to loving in an instant, and he experimentally rolled his hips slower and softer, studying the movement of your face. He spent so long with his eyes shut from the pleasure that he barely got to see what you looked like when he buried himself inside you, and he could kick himself for wasting that time. You looked like a dream with your eyes fixed on his, that pure sexual expression painted on your features. Your hair spread itself out over your charcoal gray pillows and sheets like you were floating in a pool of water. He took notice of how your breasts were warm and sweet like softened butter, the small amount of light in the room cast shadows that contoured your figure perfectly. You looked like a goddess below him, chest heaving and long, feminine lashes blinking. Somewhere along the way, the comforter had been discarded from the bed to the floor, and the sheets had become rustled. They shaped themselves around the outline of you like a renaissance painting of a noble queen, the kind that would have men bowing at her feet.

It was his turn to take a picture.

Daryl leaned back on the balls of his feet and grabbed your thighs so he could pull your hips to meet his once again, letting his touch linger for a moment or two before grabbing that camera that you loved so damn much and charging the flash.

"Stay still." You hear him grumble out under his breath.

You gave him your best sexy pout and felt his cock jump a little inside you.

"F-Fuck," You heard him grunt out once again, "Fuck, you are so- such a-." He pulled the photo from the camera and studied it, shuddering out a breath as you clenched around him slightly. "B-Beautiful."

He dropped the camera down somewhere gently, and honestly, you couldn't care less about the fucking thing right now. All you wanted was to feel him moving inside you again. You didn't have to wait long, because he was back on top of you again in an instant, but this time it was different.

Daryl lowered himself onto his forearms and knees, making sure to bury his head in your neck and hair, keeping his chest connected to yours to the point where you could feel his heartbeat. He wanted to be able to smell your scent all around him when he finished, just like he did with your shirt in that bunker. He wanted to be surrounded by you as much as possible. He wanted to be totally overwhelmed by you. This new position allowed him access to places you didn't know someone could reach, and his moans and whines were bringing you ever closer to your end.

"Close." You struggled the words out, both a warning and a promise.

"Tell me. T-tell me where yer-." He was interrupted by an involuntary moan escaping from his throat, "Tell me where ta T-touch you. Want to help ya. Please I-I'll be good. Promise. Please please please," He trailed off.

He definitely knew how to get what he wanted.

You grabbed his hand and guided it slowly between your legs until the rough pads of his fingers found your clit and you cried out. He began carefully rubbing circles over that spot as he picked up the pace. This was absolutely devastating for you, the feeling of his fingers and his cock working in perfect tandem had you practically crying for him. Daryl's moans were becoming needier by the second. Every time he pressed down on your clit, you clenched around him tighter. You felt like wet velvet. Wet, hot velvet.

"P-Please cum fer me Y/N, want ta know 'M makin' ya feel good. 'M so c-close fer ya. Please let me feel ya cum 'round me." His voice was almost unrecognizable, filled with need. And it sent you over the edge.

Your legs wrapped around his lower back, and your fingernails dug into the flesh of his shoulders, leaving streaks of red in their path. The wave of your orgasm came crashing down around you, clouding all of your senses and making your vision go white. All you could feel is pure pleasure, and Daryl's hair in your fists. He wasn't too far behind.

Your legs constricted around him like a snake ready to strike, but if this is what being poisoned felt like, then he would gladly die right here, like this. The only pain he had ever felt was filled with hate and malice, but as your fingernails raked down his back, the fire he felt made him dizzy. The pleasurable pain spurred him on even more. Your scent surrounded him as he desperately pressed open-mouthed kisses wherever he could reach on your neck and jaw before he felt your sweet pussy pulse around him. The final straw was the feeling of your fingers pulling at his hair, and the coil inside his stomach snapped. He came in thick, hot spurts that forced a small scream from his throat as he humped into you needily. He melded completely into you, and you were so close at that moment, that you didn't even feel like two people, you felt like one.

The scene looked like something out of a movie. The sheets were misplaced and wrinkled, and clothes littered the floor, thrown off in the throes of passion. Countless polaroid pictures were spread out around the bed, surrounding you and Daryl, the camera long forgotten on the floor. You both came down from your high breathing heavily, slick skin now comfortable and chilled in contrast to how feverish you both were a moment ago.

And you just lay there, reveling in each other, in the feeling of one another's presence. Your skin vibrated with the feeling of your afterglow, and you both silently agreed to spend a few moments relaxing.

....

You felt him slowly gain control of his limbs and leave some soft kisses behind your ear. If anyone told you that Daryl fucking Dixon would be so soft and emotional after sex, you would have called them crazy. But right now, as he starts to trail the kisses up your jaw and cheek, making his way to your lips, you would believe anything. When his lips finally do meet yours, it's the sweetest kiss you think you could ever receive. He's so gentle and you can tell that he poured everything he was feeling into it, that way you could feel it too.

The silence was broken by him pulling out of you slowly, and you shuddered at just how empty you felt without him. You both groaned when he left you, and he noticed how you shivered.

"Are ya cold?." He asked, and he looked genuinely concerned.

The sentiment warmed your heart.

"I-," You went to speak but he cut you off.

"Cuz I can get ya a blanket, er I could turn up the heat. Here." With that, he lifted himself off the bed in search of the comforter, covering you with it when he found it.

"Thank you, Daryl, bu-."

"Or I can get ya some food if yer hungry, sumthin ta drink?"

"No no, I'm good baby. I really appreciate it, I do. but jus' want you to come lay with me. please? Hold me? If you want to, that is." You slurred out the words due to exhaustion

"Y-yeah alrigh'."

He went to take off the condom, probably to tie it off and dispose of it, but you couldn't have that. You've been dying to know what he tasted like for way too long.

"No, stop. Let me." You demanded as you sat up, the comforter falling to your lap. "Come here, please."

He complied, walking to the edge of the bed, waiting for you. You reached out and grabbed the tip of the rubber, working it off of his softened shaft slowly.

"Ya better hurry up, or imma get hard again real soon.''

The condom came off and you held it by the top as you opened your mouth, making sure to keep heavy eye contact with Daryl. His cum flowed out of the condom in thick, creamy globs, landing on your tongue in a sizable puddle.

"Fuuucck girl, yer gonna fuckin' kill me," Daryl spoke in his delicious southern drawl.

You fully expected him to stand there and watch you until the condom was empty, but instead, he grabbed your face and pressed your warm lips to his. This utters a noise of surprise from you until you feel his tongue enter your mouth and mingle with yours.

Oh, he wanted to taste himself with you.

That was bringing some familiar feelings bubbling up in your stomach.

You returned the kiss with equal amounts of passion and an eager tongue. The kiss left you both breathless as Daryl pulled away and you drug him down to bed with you. You both laughed lightly when he landed on top of you with an 'oof'. He rolled over on his back and looked at you, waiting for you to cuddle up next to him like you promised you would.

Eventually, you got the hint and made your way under his arm, laying your head on his chest.

Even though Daryl hadn't really cuddled before, it felt natural with you, like breathing. His mind wandered a bit, wondering if you enjoyed your time with him. 'Of course she did, you retard, she was screaming underneath you a few minutes ago.' At least his internal voice was actually helpful for once. He couldn't help but wonder though... Thankfully, he didn't have to.

"I can see your mind moving, sweetheart. Ask what you want to ask."

He was really thankful you could read his mind sometimes.

"Did- Did ya... Enjoy urself?" His reluctance was obvious.

He sounded small when he spoke. You didn't like it.

"Daryl Dixon, I want you to listen to me very closely. That was the best sex I have ever had. You are the best man I have ever been with, and I would definitely like to do it again. With you. In my bed. Or maybe yours. Possibly your new recliner. Your workbench. Maybe against the bike..."

"Alright, Alright. I get it," He let out a low chuckle, his mind put at ease.

The room was silent for a little while as you just enjoyed the silence that was so rare in a world filled with the shambling dead.

...

"So the bike, huh?" Daryl asked, laced with humor.

You looked up and met his gaze, smiling deviously.

"If you like that, you would love some of my other ideas."

His interest peaked. "hmm? Tell me all 'bout 'em."

You both chuckled.

"Well, I've seen you flipping that combat knife around..."

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

You woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtain-covered window, it danced across the hardwood floor smoothly. Right away you noticed three things. First, Daryl isn't next to you, which made you feel a bit sad at first. Second, You smelled something absolutely delicious, and you wanted to track down the source of the scent. You noticed the third thing as you were searching for your clothes, Daryl's shirt draped across the nightstand by the bed, which meant he was probably still there. You put it on, along with your discarded sweats from the previous night, and made your way downstairs. The smell got stronger and stronger until you entered the kitchen, the source of the odor. And there he was, standing in front of the stove in a pair of pants and no shirt. Suddenly, the smell wasn't the only thing that was delicious.

Daryl was dishing out pancakes when you walked in, a plate of bacon, and a cup of black coffee sitting next to him. He noticed you immediately and smiled softly. You walked up behind him while he was pouring more coffee from the pot into a second mug, and wrapped your arms around his torso. You noticed the scratches you left on him from the night before, and leaned your cheek on his back, feeling a sense of pride.

"What's all this?" You feigned ignorance.

"'S breakfast. for us." He looked very proud of himself.

If he got any sweeter, you don't think you could handle it.

"This looks delicious, Daryl. You did an amazing job," And you meant it, "You Look pretty damn delicious too."

He chuckled and you could feel his shoulders shake with the action.

"Tell ya what, finish yer greens, and ya can have dessert.'' The last word was a little heavier than the rest of the sentence, and you understood the implications. Who knew Daryl Dixon was so playful?

Having you in such close proximity was driving him wild all over again. He had never been touched so much by someone in such a short amount of time, and feeling your warm skin on his in a domestic environment was making him hotter by the second. He peeked over his shoulder to look at you and when your eyes made contact, he felt that electric spark all over again. You were a sweet little thing, pressing your lips softly against his back and touching his chest like this. He could feel the love radiating between you two, and it was laced with a barely tamed lust.

Were you wearing his shirt?

He might just have to fulfill the promise he made to himself the night before, and get a taste of you for breakfast instead.

How would he even initiate that though? He didn't really know what to do exactly because he was still new to this, but he did know that he wanted his tongue buried inside your moist heat until he couldn't feel it anymore. Do you even like that sort of thing? Would you want that from him? No. No, he wasn't going to let himself overthink this. You liked eager, right? Well, then he was going to be eager for you. He decided that what he lacked in experience when it came to this, he was going to make up for in his desire to make you feel good.

"Daryl, are you ready to eat?"

"Hell yes, I am." He replied to you under his breath.

"What was that bab- Ooh!" The wind was taken from your lungs in surprise as he swiftly turned around, picked you up by your thighs, and set you down on a nearby countertop. The shock factor soon wore off and faded into excited giggles.

"The food is going to get cold," You whined as his palm covered your sex, catching you off guard again.

His mouth came to your ear and you shivered, feeling his breath tickle the skin there.

"Food feels warm ta me." He really hoped you would find this sexy and not stupid. Just in case, he made sure to deepen the tone of his voice just a bit.

You found it very sexy.

He pulled away and made direct eye contact.

Was he really serious about this? Did he actually want to put his mouth on you, or was he playing around? You wondered that for a moment, his eyes bore into you like a needle in some fabric.

And then he slowly sank to his knees...

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Still keeping that intense eye contact, Daryl moved forward on his knees and pulled you to the edge of the counter by your thighs, then started working on the drawstring of your sweatpants.

You had to admit, your brain was short-circuiting a little. Was this really about to happen, or were you dreaming that Daryl Dixon was pulling your pants down from the ankles? The latter was very likely, considering you had dreamed about scenarios like this before, In this kitchen, With him. And he was about to make that dream come true, whether he knew it or not.

He made quick work of discarding your sweats, and you were thankful you had decided to forgo wearing panties today. The shaky nervousness from the previous night had obviously dissipated, and you were definitely glad for it. His gaze had moved from your face down to your cunt, greedily taking in the sight of you, almost as if he was memorizing everything perfectly. You were practically soaked already, and he felt a wave of pride wash over him.

At least he knew you liked this so far.

You grabbed a handful of his hair, forcing his eyes up to look at yours. The feeling of your fingers yanking the roots of his hair was something he could get used to.

"Please Y/N, please let me eat ya out. Ya like when I beg right? 'll be good. Promise. Please? Been dreamin' 'bout how ya taste fer a long time. P-Please use me, use my face, pretty girl."

His admission made you gush. You gripped his hair tighter.

Your tone dropped lower, and your eyes became lustful.

"Open your mouth," You commanded, and he obeyed.

You pushed your hips out, presenting yourself like a five-course meal just waiting to be devoured, and pulled his head forward until his now outstretched tongue rested against your folds. You moaned softly, eyes rolling in the back of your head. His mouth was devilish, lapping up your juices like they were the best thing he had ever tasted. To him, they were.

Daryl was feeling beyond amazing, you had the most exquisite flavor he could imagine, nothing could compare. He sped up his tongue, licking from the bottom of your sweetness, all the way to the top, then flattening over your clit. Your noises got louder, and your fingers pulled him closer by his hair. You chased your pleasure by jutting out your hips, practically grinding yourself on his face. He lifted your legs over his shoulders to give you a better angle on him, to make himself more accessible to use. Every sound you uttered made him swell with even more pride, letting him know he was touching you like you needed. He pushed his tongue inside of you, wiggling it around slowly in experimentation. He noticed you gripped his hair more when he angled it up, so that's what he did. Your thighs sandwiched his head in their pillowy warmth, and it was his turn to groan, although it was muffled by the flesh of your sex. He knew what Merle meant now about eating pussy, This was fucking fantastic.

You fed off of each other's noises and touches, each becoming more eager every time. You were getting close, and Daryl could feel it in how hard your thighs clenched around his head with every movement of his tongue. It was now or never.

Daryl brought his fingers to your entrance and moved his tongue to your clit, slipping two of them inside and curling them upwards slightly like he did before. It was like he had pressed a button when he stroked that spot inside of you, and it made you see stars. Your orgasm hit you so powerfully that you almost went limp when the first wave hit. You spasmed around Daryl's fingers like you had never cum before, your vision went white momentarily and you felt something else coming from inside of you. His fingers continued their motions inside of you, coaxing you through your release. You felt yourself getting wetter, Impossibly so.

Oh shit. Did you just-?

Looking down after you gained control confirmed what you suspected.

"Fuckfuck, Y/N. Wha' the fuck was tha'?" Daryl looked mesmerized, staring down at his now-soaked arm and chest, glistening in the kitchen light.

You were still a little light-headed, so your response was staggered.

"That was-... It's called squirting. It- It happens when a woman gets really aroused." You were still a little out of breath, so all you could do was lightly run your fingers through Daryl's hair, massaging his scalp with your nails. "It means you did a very good job." You closed your eyes for a second and spoke again, "Sorry for not warning you."

...

Daryl's lack of response mildly concerned you until you looked down and he was staring at his hand in what looked like awe. His hand moved closer to his mouth and he was... tasting it? He was sucking on his fingers like his life depended on it, taking as much of your juices in as he could.

"Mmm, fuck. Ya taste better 'n ice cream," He spoke, his words muffled by his fingers.

You responded with an amused chuckle, pulling him back up to stand in between your legs. Deciding it was your turn to taste yourself in his mouth, you pulled him in for a soft kiss, tongues mingling affectionately.

"We should probably clean up a little and eat," You suggested, remembering the food that was probably ice cold by now.

Daryl offered a satisfied grunt and kissed you quickly before wandering off to look for a towel.

You couldn't be happier.

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

The food was, in fact, ice cold by the time you got around to it. However, considering the fact that your legs wobbled a bit when you walked, you couldn't care less about how warm breakfast was. You would do it all over again.

You both talked about what the plans were for this week. Runs, weapons training, and the box of motorcycle parts Daryl found a few days ago in an old auto body shop. Somewhere during the conversation, you realized just how domestic this was, like you two were a married couple spending the morning together.

You liked it.

You loved it.

You loved him.

You both made it about halfway through your meal before you were ever so rudely interrupted by a slight knock at the front door. With an annoyed sigh, you padded your way there across the hardwood floor and unlocked the knob while twisting it. When you opened the door, Rick was standing on the porch, hands resting by his sides.

Rick took notice of your choice of clothing, specifically Daryl's shirt. He decided to play dumb anyway. He knew damn well that Daryl went to see you after he talked to Rosita because Rosita told him so.

"Can I help you with something, Rick?" You sounded mildly annoyed, which made him smile a bit.

"Have you seen Daryl 'round? 've been lookin' for 'im. Wonderin' if he maybe went out without tellin' someone again."

Before you could answer, you felt the presence of warm hands on your sides and a chin resting on your head.

"Ya found me," Daryl sounded annoyed too, "Ya need sum?"

You melted into Daryl's touch a little and cocked a questioning eyebrow at Rick. You could tell that Daryl's PDA put him off track for a second or two before that shitty grin of his returned even stronger. God, you wanted to punch him.

"I was jus' lookin' for you so we could go over the plans for the supply run in a few days," His words were filled with smarm, "But it can wait for later."

Daryl spoke before you had the chance to.

"Good, See ya later," Daryl closed the door before Rick could spout more bullshit, pulling you closer to him and sniffing your hair.

Who was this affectionate man and what had he done with the hardass you knew?

You both could hear Rick laughing as he walked off the porch, and Daryl groaned into your neck.

"'M gonna beat 'is ass later. can' believe he talked me inta goin' ta tha' damn party."

You laughed a little. "As much as I hate to say it, you should probably be thanking him. I mean. some good definitely came of it."

"Oh my god, you're right," He spoke sarcastically, fake shock playing in the undertones of his voice.

You stood there for a minute, laughing in his arms and reveling in the attention he was giving you. You had never seen him like this, so happy and loving, He seemed like a completely different person right now. Somewhere deep down, you knew this side of him would be reserved for only you, and it made the moment all the more special to you.

In truth, Daryl had never felt like this before. Of course, he felt love towards the group, but it was a familial kind of love, This was different somehow. He wanted to be your partner, your best friend, and your backup in dangerous situations. He wanted to patch up your cuts, share a beer with you, and protect you when you needed it. But most of all, he wanted to give you everything you could ever want from him. Whether that was a life of fighting and hunting or a white picket fence with a few kids, It didn't matter to him as long as it was with you.

Daryl picked you up by your legs, still giggling, and carried you deeper into the house to spend as much time as he could with you before you both had to face the life that waited for you both outside.

Neither you nor Daryl would have ever guessed that the dead would rise up and bring the apocalypse,

Neither of you ever thought you would find a family from a group along the way,

And neither of you ever guessed you would find love in a world where it was lacking.

And honestly?

Neither of you would want it any other way.

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

"That was a genius idea, I have to admit," Rick spoke with playful admiration.

"I told you it would work, that girl has a serious thing for formal wear... and for Daryl," Rosita stated with a hint of smarm in her voice.

Rosita, tired of her best friend's shit, came to Rick a few weeks ago and they devised a plan. Rick's job was to throw a bullshit party for the newcomers and get Daryl to shower and wear normal clothes, Which Rosita knew would be easy once he mentioned you, then all they had to do was push you two towards each other all night. The outcome of that evening may not have been what they expected, but regardless, the result was still the same. At least now Rick didn't have to witness Daryl pine for you from afar, and Rosita didn't have to deal with you talking about him all the time and never doing anything. And what better entertainment was there than matchmaking during the end of the world.

Rick, who had placed a bet that Rosita's plan wouldn't work, pulled out her winnings from his jacket pocket, placing the chocolate bar in her hand, which she received with a smug smile. He really thought it would take Daryl a bit longer to lock this down, but this is what he gets for doubting his brother, and Rosita's matchmaking skills.

"As promised," He uttered in his southern drawl. "A bet well won."

"Thank youuuu Grimes," Rosita remarked sarcastically while tearing open the wrapper.

A few short seconds of comfortable silence passed before Rick spoke up with a genuine smile instead of his usual grin.

"It's nice to see them happy, they deserve it."

Rosita finished chewing her mouthful and swallowed to reply.

"Yeah. they do.... and so do you."

"Oh no, I know where this is going." If Rosita brought up Michonne one more time, he swore to God.

"Soooooo.... Michonne?"

"Goodbye Rosita." Rick had enough of this.

"Aww, c'mon! hear me out! So, she has been complaining about the lack of toothpaste, and I was thinking..."

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

A/N

sorry this took so long to write, School sucks, and yadda yadda. To be honest, I just lost the motivation to write for a long time. I have shit grammar and my spelling is a hit or miss. English is IN FACT my first language, although you wouldn't be able to tell that from my writing. No amount of Grammarly can help me at this point, Fuck formatting anyway. No beta, we die like the show's ratings after season 7. Please enjoy and be sure to point out any mistakes in the comments so I can fix them.

5K notes · View notes

madelynraemunson · 4 months ago

Text

pass the salt pt. 2 • e.m smut

part one here.

OLDER!DAD’S BEST FRIEND!EDDIE x FEM!READER

summary: dad’s having a bbq for labor day weekend and you heard through the grapevine that a certain friend of his is going to be there.

author’s note: let’s revisit the popsicle ordeal, shall we? 🍦

CW: porn with plot, oral (m-receiving), degrading kink, but also a praise kink bc i’m both and don’t know how that can possibly be, face fucking, cum eating, eddie eats his own cum if you squint heheheheheh, deep throating, cheating; for context, eddie is in his late 30s, reader early 20s and in college. dividers: @benkeibear @bucciniexe

WC: 2.3k words

Eddie never called.

He couldn’t possibly be that old and forgetful.

Before parting ways, the 39 year old promised he’d let you know when he got home safely. So you stayed up all night waiting for a text, a call. And while it was evident he did make it back (he was playing games with your dad all night a couple days later), you couldn’t help but feel forgotten about.

Also, it’s West Memphis. What’s so interesting about the boonies that made Eddie forget about you so easily?

But now classes are back in session and Eddie, too, was becoming easy to forget. Easy to forget, that is, until conversations about your father’s annual Labor Day Weekend barbecue comes up.

"Eddie will be there, you remember him right?"

DO you?

Your thighs clench in place as you attempt to tame your excitement. Suddenly, your upper divisions are being ignored and you’re searching your closet for the shortest of short shorts to wear.

“Try forgetting about me NOW, Eddie,” you think to yourself.

LABOR DAY WEEKEND

You just about checked your appearance a billion times in the mirror before making your way downstairs.

This afternoon you’re dressed in skin-tight denim shorts and a light top with puffy sleeves.

Your eye makeup? Specifically designed for destruction. And your lips? Cheeks? Both the same innocent, peachy pink. It’s sure to drive Eddie insane.

You could hardly contain your excitement. The thought of your fantasies being fulfilled within the next couple of days has you in tumultuous heat.

Being bent over the kitchen counter. Folded up atop the wash. Getting railed to bits in the guest room in the middle of the night while the TV drowns out your pretty little noises. But most of all, you couldn’t wait to be with Eddie. There was so much to talk to him about since he left.

After one last pep talk, you down your water like it’s a shot before going over to greet everyone.

———

When you get to the backyard, you offer the sea of guests polite smiles and pleasantries. Your dad is at the grill, doing what he does best with a big smile on his face. When you scoot past him, you see Lucas Sinclair and his wife, Maxine. You nod to Dustin Henderson. And Steve Harrington, the business guy.

Then you see him.

But it is to your absolute shock — and horror — that he happens to be manspread atop a lawn chair, laughing into the crook of a random woman's neck as she's perched on his lap.

Well this is awkward.

You watch as they laugh like teenagers in love, the woman leaning into Eddie the closer he reels her in. You watch him call her his "baby", as she runs her delicate fingers through his wavy brown hair. His cheeks turn a flattered rose when she kisses his nose with hers. But when his gaze drifts from her to you, it’s shifts to a different kind of red. An "oh shit" kind of red. An "I'm caught" kind of red. You swallow hard.

It's no wonder anymore why Eddie didn’t call. He found someone new.

"Sunshine!" your dad calls you over. "You know my buddies, Gareth and Grant. Mike, Will, and Jonathan?”

“Yes!” you attempt to remain collected, giving all the guys a gracious smile hello. “Hi, nice to see you again.”

When you make your way over to Eddie, you notice that he begins to sulk into his seat, avoiding any form of eye contact with you.

“And of course you know Eddie.”

Your dad’s best friend gives you a tight-lipped smile.

“How ya doing, sweetheart?”

“Long time no see…” is all you can say.

“And this is his girlfriend of three years, Sophie."

Your stomach is in knots now. THREE YEARS?!

Suddenly, your gaze goes from surprised to angry. Horrified. Nauseated.

Sophie wasn’t the other woman. It was you.

Meanwhile Eddie doesn’t seem to have a guilty bone in his body. When your eyes finally meet, you see that his are dark, piercing into you with such an intensity that you nearly stumble backwards.

"Aww Jeff," Sophie pouts. "Your daughter is so cute!"

"Isn't she?" Eddie coos.

It’s hard for you to comprehend anything, so you go mute shortly after the interaction. And for a while, you linger, as to not appear suspicious or upset. In the meantime, Eddie watches you while you talk to the other guests and help yourself to a couple pieces of fruit, curious as to why and how you haven’t caused a scene yet.

But you’re about to if you stay any longer.

Storming into the house now, you tilt your chin upwards to stop the inevitable down-flow of waterworks. And it’s when you think you’re all alone that a pair of gruff hands grab you by the wrists, shifting your back promptly against the wall.

Your breath hitches in response, as anyone's would if their body was being refrained by a tall, husky, and intoxicated silhouette.

"The nerve you have wearing those shorts around me," he breathes onto you.

You shove him back aggressively.

"Fuck off, Eddie," you spit. "You have a girlfriend?! You had one this whole time?!"

"Hey now—”

"After everything, you couldn’t even bother to tell me you’re already spoken for? Really?!" your voice is at an aggressive whisper now.

"I never said I was perfect."

"Clearly you aren't."

Eddie backs away for a second to let your anger simmer, his resigned hands creating a fair amount of distance between you two. But seeing you all angry and frazzled made his cock twitch, the only thing stopping him from fucking some forgiveness out of you being the thought of people standing right outside.

"I waited for you to call, Eddie. And you forgot all about me."

"Wanna make me remember then?"

You feel his erection through his strained denim jeans as Eddie tauntingly rubs himself against you.

"Make me remember how good I fucked you that one night?" he questions you rhetorically. "How pretty those moans sounded getting drowned out by my pillow? How you begged me to rail you dumb while you came hard all over my cock?"

Your lip quivers as his hot breath tickles your neck. You bite down in attempts to make it less obvious.

"How I corrupted Daddy's Little Girl?” he cockily adds.

"Ha!" you manage to scoff at him. "You really think you turned me, huh? You cannot be more wrong, Eddie. You haven't influenced me a bit.”

"Then what's all this about?"

He motions towards your outfit.

The taunting lace frills. The scant length with no built-in spandex underneath. Your outfit sculpted your body so nice, in every possible way. And as much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you did do all of it for Eddie. And his influence is very prominent. Your face flushes red as Eddie searches for your gaze.

"Not foolin' anybody, darling," your dad’s friend issues you a sinister smirk. "Like I said before, I used to be your age."

“I can’t even look at you right now.” you mutter.

“You don’t have to.”

He grabs your hand and you let him, tracing the outline of his stiff cock as he grunts against you.

“In fact,” Eddie says as he shakes his head. “…you don’t have to speak at all. Would be hard for you to anyways with me in your mouth.”

Your breathing quickens the closer Eddie gets, and you find it impossible to pull away when he starts kissing down your neck — his breaths hot — the way his soft lips suction against your temple... even hotter — and the spearmint that danced with the nic at the back of his throat, expelling a shaky hum out of you that you tirelessly fought to keep inside.

"Eddie," you whimper. "I'm yours."

Eddie issues you a rough smack across your ass.

"I know that. On your knees."

There was no going back now. Before you know it, your knees meet the cold wooden floor, face practically already buried at the base of Eddie’s crotch before he could even strip himself down.

You sit patiently while Eddie grabs a chair, sitting down and teasingly palming himself while he lines himself up with you. You hungrily watch as he slides his jeans down, stroking his incredible length and girth a few times, before slapping the head of his leaking cock against the matching gloss of your lips.

"Missed it?"

You crumble.

"So much," you pout.

Eddie motions you forward and you place your lips on his throbbing head, sucking him in place before spiraling your tongue seductively down his shaft.

“Fuuuck,” he whispers. “There she is. There’s my girl.”

His praise causes you to melt into him, clinging to his waist and taking him deep as he holds you in place, the back of your head fitting his calloused palm like a glove.

“Mmhmm??” Eddie grunts as he studies every fervid bob of your head. “Mmhmm?? — Ohhh, fuck. Good girl.” He moves your hair out of the way. “That’s a good girl.”

Eddie cranes his neck towards the door leading outside, keeping watch of anybody who might be coming in.

But even when on the lookout, Eddie continues to mindfully thrust, slowly when people near but compensating with direct blows the moment they walk away.

Fucking hell.

He's a challenge in every possible way. Your tear-strung eyes trail up at Eddie as he watches you suck, slouching in his seat…rolling his hips… thrusting into your gaping mouth slightly past the point of resistance. And you were being so brave, that is until he unexpectedly plunges himself into you, causing you to gag and push hard against his warm thighs to catch your breath.

"Need some air, baby?"

"I—” you cough. “I — hate you.”

You spit back down onto his throbbing cock, showcasing to Eddie his salty string of pre-cum as he strokes your temple in consolation.

"I’m sure you do..." Eddie chuckles, offering you a menacing, adulterous pout in return. “I’m sure you fucking do.”

He knees the base of your core lightly and you immediately, obediently fold your hands behind your back. With his available hand, Eddie grazes your ass, venturing his fingers around your wet slit causing you to moan as your throat is jabbed repeatedly.

Eddie goes just far enough to hear more of your angelic, reactive gags. Pleasure-saturated tears roll uncontrollably down your cheeks. Amused, Eddie shakes his head as you desperately gargle him dry, his arousal spewing recklessly against your palate.

"She hates Eddie, she hates Eddie,” it’s almost like he’s singing it. Eddie chants sarcastically as he watches your makeup run out of pure lust. "Bet that filthy mouth LOVES him though, doesn't it, sweetheart?"

You nod again. Without the slightest bit of mercy, Eddie is practically ramming into you now. But you’re beyond the point of caring. You want him to obliterate you. More than he already has.

You knew better. But your dad’s best friend knew better than you.

“That filthy mouth loves how Eddie tastes?” he quips again as you nod up at him bitterly. “Hm?”

And as he finishes inside your mouth, salty seed soothing the back of your bruised throat, Eddie grabs you by the jaw to lock you in place. The twisted fucker wants you to savor every drop of his load, his ego oozing into you while his thick groans pollute the kitchen air. And when he finds the courage to finally look you in the eyes, your gaze pierces into him as you swallow him down.

And just as menacingly, Eddie grins down at you. You bat your lashes innocently as he gives your hollowed cheek a few delicate smacks with his large palm, followed by adorn praises for swallowing every drop he issued you.

“My pretty baby,” Eddie fawns, as his stiff cock finally grows flaccid. He grabs your chin to give it a sloppy kiss, and your eyes follow intently as he wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb. He licks the evidence off with his teasing tongue. “You gonna be my pretty lil baby on the low?”

“As long as you don’t forget to call this time,” you issue a playful frown.

“Don’t worry darlin’,” Eddie assures you. “After what you just did to me right now, I’m never leaving you alone.”

When you both finish cleaning up, Eddie follows your lead as you two head outside. He goes back towards his friends at one corner of the backyard while you walk over to the nearest cooler for a popsicle. And as the party draws on, you two mingle around, talk, and party with all the others... as if nothing happened.

And even though you're able to play it off like it's no big deal, Eddie's words were all you could think about for the rest of the day.

“You gonna be my pretty lil baby on the low?”

Crying over spilled milk is almost never worth it. Sometimes it’s best swallowed with your pride.

tagging who seemed interested 🎀 : @tracymbcm @eiightysixbaby @katethetank @mikalovesmusic @munsonscharm @wonderlandwalker @mayaluvzyou @skrzydlak @buckybarnsishot @eddiesxangel @xxbimbobunnyxx @justmeinadaze @nailbatanddungeon @mediocredreams @littlexdeaths

thank you so much for tuning in :)

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson headcannon #eddie munson headcannons #older!eddie munson smut #older!eddie smut #older!eddie munson x reader #older!eddie x reader #dad’s best friend!eddie #dad’s best friend!eddie x reader

364 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

Text

When Facebook came for your battery, feudal security failed

When George Hayward was working as a Facebook data-scientist, his bosses ordered him to run a “negative test,” updating Facebook Messenger to deliberately drain users’ batteries, in order to determine how power-hungry various parts of the apps were. Hayward refused, and Facebook fired him, and he sued:

https://nypost.com/2023/01/28/facebook-fires-worker-who-refused-to-do-negative-testing-awsuit/

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/05/battery-vampire/#drained

Hayward balked because he knew that among the 1.3 billion people who use Messenger, some would be placed in harm’s way if Facebook deliberately drained their batteries — physically stranded, unable to communicate with loved ones experiencing emergencies, or locked out of their identification, payment method, and all the other functions filled by mobile phones.

As Hayward told Kathianne Boniello at the New York Post, “Any data scientist worth his or her salt will know, ‘Don’t hurt people…’ I refused to do this test. It turns out if you tell your boss, ‘No, that’s illegal,’ it doesn’t go over very well.”

Negative testing is standard practice at Facebook, and Hayward was given a document called “How to run thoughtful negative tests” regarding which he said, “I have never seen a more horrible document in my career.”

We don’t know much else, because Hayward’s employment contract included a non-negotiable binding arbitration waiver, which means that he surrendered his right to seek legal redress from his former employer. Instead, his claim will be heard by an arbitrator — that is, a fake corporate judge who is paid by Facebook to decide if Facebook was wrong. Even if he finds in Hayward’s favor — something that arbitrators do far less frequently than real judges do — the judgment, and all the information that led up to it, will be confidential, meaning we won’t get to find out more:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/12/hot-coffee/#mcgeico

One significant element of this story is that the malicious code was inserted into Facebook’s app. Apps, we’re told, are more secure than real software. Under the “curated computing” model, you forfeit your right to decide what programs run on your devices, and the manufacturer keeps you safe. But in practice, apps are just software, only worse:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/23/peek-a-boo/#attack-helicopter-parenting

Apps are part what Bruce Schneier calls “feudal security.” In this model, we defend ourselves against the bandits who roam the internet by moving into a warlord’s fortress. So long as we do what the warlord tells us to do, his hired mercenaries will keep us safe from the bandits:

https://locusmag.com/2021/01/cory-doctorow-neofeudalism-and-the-digital-manor/

But in practice, the mercenaries aren’t all that good at their jobs. They let all kinds of badware into the fortress, like the “pig butchering” apps that snuck into the two major mobile app stores:

https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2023/02/pig-butchering-scam-apps-sneak-into-apples-app-store-and-google-play/

It’s not merely that the app stores’ masters make mistakes — it’s that when they screw up, we have no recourse. You can’t switch to an app store that pays closer attention, or that lets you install low-level software that monitors and overrides the apps you download.

Indeed, Apple’s Developer Agreement bans apps that violate other services’ terms of service, and they’ve blocked apps like OG App that block Facebook’s surveillance and other enshittification measures, siding with Facebook against Apple device owners who assert the right to control how they interact with the company:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/10/e2e/#the-censors-pen

When a company insists that you must be rendered helpless as a condition of protecting you, it sets itself up for ghastly failures. Apple’s decision to prevent every one of its Chinese users from overriding its decisions led inevitably and foreseeably to the Chinese government ordering Apple to spy on those users:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/11/foreseeable-consequences/#airdropped

Apple isn’t shy about thwarting Facebook’s business plans, but Apple uses that power selectively — they blocked Facebook from spying on Iphone users (yay!) and Apple covertly spied on its customers in exactly the same way as Facebook, for exactly the same purpose, and lied about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

The ultimately, irresolvable problem of Feudal Security is that the warlord’s mercenaries will protect you against anyone — except the warlord who pays them. When Apple or Google or Facebook decides to attack its users, the company’s security experts will bend their efforts to preventing those users from defending themselves, turning the fortress into a prison:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/20/benevolent-dictators/#felony-contempt-of-business-model

Feudal security leaves us at the mercy of giant corporations — fallible and just as vulnerable to temptation as any of us. Both binding arbitration and feudal security assume that the benevolent dictator will always be benevolent, and never make a mistake. Time and again, these assumptions are proven to be nonsense.

Image: Anthony Quintano (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mark_Zuckerberg_F8_2018_Keynote_%2841118890174%29.jpg

CC BY 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[Image ID: A painting depicting the Roman sacking of Jerusalem. The Roman leader's head has been replaced with Mark Zuckerberg's head. The wall has Apple's 'Think Different' wordmark and an Ios 'low battery' icon.]

Next week (Feb 8-17), I'll be in Australia, touring my book *Chokepoint Capitalism* with my co-author, Rebecca Giblin. We'll be in Brisbane on Feb 8, and then we're doing a remote event for NZ on Feb 9. Next is Melbourne, Sydney and Canberra. I hope to see you!

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

#pluralistic #manorial security #feudal security #apple #mobile #apps #security through obscurity #binding arbitration #arbitration waivers #transparency #danegeld #surveillance lag

4K notes · View notes

valley-of-headcanons · 1 year ago

Note

Heyy! So I just found your stuff and it’s all super cute I love this kind of thing 😊 feel free to decline but do you think you could do a little fluffy one shot type thing where you’re just gaming with Sebastian and then whoops you both fall in love 😳

best gamer of all time || sebastian x reader oneshot

hanging out with your friends is always fun, but gaming alone with him may be your new favorite thing <3

warnings: fluff fluff fluff fluff oh my god, you may suck at this game but you do NOT suck at winning his heart

requested by: @juleboo , this is such an adorable request! i'm sorry this took like forty billion years, life has decided to kick me off my feet, but im doing a lot better so yippeeeee. i hope you enjoy, hopefully it was worth the long wait 🙏

Hanging out on a Saturday night was a ritual for you, Sebastian, Abigail, and Sam. You all rotate on who's place you hang out at, and tonight was Sebastian's. Abigail was laid out on the couch, Sebastian sitting on his bed, and you and Sam were on the floor. After a very intense game of Jackbox, with a lot of chaotic answers and laughter, it was nearing midnight.

“I cannot believe you put that! That was a direct jab at me and you know it!” Sam said towards Abigail's direction, obviously not actually upset.

“Then clean up the fuckin' pizza boxes in your room! That rat would've become your best friend if your mom didn't find him- wait- what time is it? ... oh shit, my dad is gonna kick my ass!” Abigail said, jumping up at lightning speed and grabbing her bag. “Sorry to kill the party, love you guys, if I get lectured one more time this week I am going to pull out my hair. Bye bye!”

And off she goes, leaving just as chaotic as she came. Sounds about right. The remaining three of you laughed, before Sam stood up and grabbed his things as well. “For some reason Mom wants me to come to church in the morning, she saw some lyrics to one of our songs and she kind of flipped her shit. Soooo, gotta atone for my sins. Have fun you two,” he said, sending a small wink Sebastian's way before making his way up the stairs.

You saw the wink, it definitely caught you off guard. You immediately snapped your head towards Sebastian. “What was that for?” you said with a smirk, which wasn't held for long. It slipped into a smile, moving from the floor to the now empty couch.

Sebastian's expression remained neutral, rolling his eyes. “Sam is always up to something, ignore him. Do you wanna stay and hang for a little while? I don't have anything to do tomorrow,” he said, looking towards the cabinet of games that sat beside his gaming console. He never asked anyone to stay later, especially when it's his night to host. He usually wants everyone out, Sebastian cherishes his alone time.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach when he asked you this, he actually wanted to spend more time with you? You felt so honored and special, of course you were going to stay. “Yeah, what did you wanna do?”

“I bought a game, it's co-op. Wanna try it out? It's a platformer, it seems pretty easy,” he said, walking over to the cabinet and grabbing the case. He made his way back over to you, showing you the back of the case, carefully studying your features. He wanted to make sure you were actually interested, and when your face lit up, he couldn't hold back a smile. It was rare for him, but it was perfect.

“Hell yeah, let's pop this bad boy in!” you said, sitting up excitedly and scooting over so that you two could share the couch. After 'popping that bad boy in', he sat next to you and handed you the controller.

Sebastian put on the tutorial before beginning to show you the controls. He described what to do, but due to your drowsiness from working all day, you just couldn't grasp what the controls were. “Here,” he mumbled, thinking for a moment before carefully putting his hands over yours.

“Alright, shoot with this button, alright?” he said, making sure not to get too close to you. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable, but these little touches were really nice ... he could get used to this.

“Mhm ...” you hummed, although your brain was short-circuiting. Every single thought in your brain was rendered useless in that moment, every place where you two touched felt like it was on fire. You clumsily tried to recreate his movements, shooting when he asked and jumping when he instructed. You learned the controls, but barely.

“Got it?” he said simply, slowly beginning to let go of you. He didn't really want to, but he didn't want to overstep your boundaries. He really cared about you, he didn't want to jeopardize that.

With a hesitant nod of confirmation, you two began the game. It was a mess, you definitely did not grasp the controls whatsoever. However, he enjoyed seeing what kind of trouble you got yourself into. How could you even get up there?

“Okay- when you jump, press the trigger to latch on to that cliff, and do NOT let go-” he tried to explain as you jumped with all of your might ... just to not even touch the cliff. Your body hit the floor with a splat, and you both sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at each other. Small snickers turned into full blown laughter, falling down onto the couch as you both held your faces.

“How the hell am I so stupid?? That was so easy! How the hell did I miss that??” you cackled, wiping the tears that began to fall from your eyes.

“I have no idea but it was one of the best things I've ever seen,” Sebastian's laughter began to quiet as he sat up, his gaze making its way down to you. You looked so perfect in the soft light of the television, so happy from the laughter that was encasing the both of you. He could not stop smiling.

“What?” you said softly, a gigantic grin on your face. You couldn't move, you just wanted to stay in this moment forever.

“... nothing. Just ... capturing this moment,” Sebastian said in a gentle tone, taking a deep breath before looking back at the screen. “You're a ghost now, but you can still help me and eventually I can revive you.”

You slowly sat up, but you had an idea. You slid a little closer to him than you were before, your legs touching. “Alright, I'll be the best fuckin' ghost in town,” you laughed, knowing you were bound to fuck it up but you had no care in the world. This was too fun.

He looked over at your legs touching, smiling even wider before continuing the game. He would ask you to do things as a ghost as you did ... with enough trial and error. He did notice that you kept adjusting and scooting closer and closer. He really liked this.

“Do you know how to freeze someone?" he asked, which you shook your head to. “Let me see this-” he mumbled, wrapping his arm around you, definitely just wanting to help you see the controls. You were essentially sitting in his lap at this point, a soft pink blush creeping onto both of your faces.

His face was so close, pressed almost right up against yours ... you wanted to stay here forever, but you didn't want to say anything that would ruin the moment. Nervous silence held you two for a moment, before he did something that both of you wanted more than anything. He carefully kissed your cheek, before going back to the game as if nothing ever happened.

Your brain melted, a feeling of bliss overtaking your body. You've been waiting for that for ages. You slowly leaned back into his chest as he laid down his controller for a moment. He wrapped his arms around your waist for a moment, giving you a careful squeeze. You reached your arms up around his neck, hugging him back. Neither of you cared about the game anymore.

“Stay here tonight. If you want to,” Sebastian muttered softly, holding your body close to his. He didn't dare let go, and neither did you.

You stayed there that night, you stayed wrapped up in his arms until the daylight and you had to work on your farm. But you hoped one day, you could wake up next to him everyday. Maybe someday, but for now, you had many Saturday nights where you stayed over later than everybody else.

#stardew valley #sdv #sdv headcanons #stardew valley headcanons #sdv farmer #stardew valley farmer #sdv sebastian #stardew valley sebastian #sdv sebastian x farmer #stardew valley sebastian x farmer #sdv sebastian x reader #stardew valley sebastian x reader #stardew sebastian #stardew sebastian x reader #stardew sebastian x farmer #sdv oneshots

1K notes · View notes

silverzoomies · 11 months ago

Text

Turkish Delight

peter maximoff x reader smut

chapter 1: sweet talkin'

link to chapter 2: here

warnings: shameless smut, porn without plot, phone sex, mutual masturbation, best friends, dirty talk

word count: 6,368

a/n: hiyaaa !! i'm back with more filth !! peter speaks russian in this one. i've seen people use russian in place of sokovian language before. and since i've been learning russian for a while, i thought i'd give it a shot !! if you're familiar with the language and anything seems off, please let know asap !! as usual, apologies if peter seems ooc, or if my writing isn't up to par !!

tag list (if i forgot you, please remind me !!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

Chillaxing on the sofa in his mom’s basement, Peter drew out a sigh. His hooded eyes gaped at the TV screen. As he channel surfed, his thumb tapped lazily on the remote. Peter stopped to check each channel in abrupt intervals. Afternoon cable was boring as hell today. It failed to grasp his short lived attention span.

Seinfeld reruns? He saw just about all of ‘em. Soap Operas? Those were more his mom’s thing. Huge pass. Nature documentaries? Could be cool. Guess it depended on which one, though.

Oh. It was the one about the polar bear’s great journey across the arctic! Nifty enough. Except, Peter saw that one three or four times already now. Скучный (boring). Так скучно (So boring).

‘Kay, soooo…TV was kind of a no-go. Instead, Peter popped on the PS1 and settled for a game of Metal Gear Solid. The game’s opening intro was a little too slow for his liking, but Peter forced himself to focus. It sucked he was so antsy today, so fidgety and impatient. He needed some kind of distraction. Any distraction. And he needed one fast.

Peter bounced a leg, half invested in the game’s dialogue. His fingers absentmindedly flicked the controller buttons. Not even five minutes into playing, he found himself frustrated and bored again. This time around, he figured some company might ease his ennui.

He darted across the arm of the couch to a side table. Over a stack of comic books and empty cans of soda, he snatched the receiver to a Garfield phone. Peter dialed a number in less than a second. Too fast, at first. The phone didn’t even register his request. Rolling his eyes, he dialed the number again. Slower this time.

Peter kept the vibrant hunk of orange plastic between his cheek and shoulder. Buzzy ringing echoed on the other end of the line, as he waited for the recipient to pick up. The time it took for a voice to finally respond felt like fifty billion years. Your voice. One of Peter’s closest comrades. The pal he shared most, if not all, of his free time with.

There were days when you visited, and you laid back on the sofa with him. With your legs stretched over his lap and a magazine in your hands, you relaxed. Peter would always do his usual, playing whatever game he ‘bought’ from the local K-Mart. Every time he cursed himself for making a misstep, you giggled. You knew how frustrating it was for him, if he wasn't a hundred leaps ahead of everything. And just to get back at you - but also to hear you laugh again - he’d reach over and dig his fingers into your belly.

He loved that it took such minimal effort to make you laugh. You always had an easygoing warmth about you. And maybe you were also pretty cute too. Sometimes, the crook of your smile made him blush. Oh, and you didn't mind duking it out in Mario Kart sometimes. That was also kinda cool. What more could a lonesome guy ask for? Просто друзья. Ничего больше (Just friends. Nothing more). Yeah. He could be content with that. No problem.

Ten minutes into conversation with you, Peter breathed a yawn into the receiver.

“You know, I’m surprised you have the patience for talking on the phone.” You joked.

The speakers roared with a soft buzz in his ear. Peter didn’t register your words at first. Blinking lazily, he tapped the PS1 controller buttons at rapid speed. In the game, Snake fought off an onslaught of bad guys. Peter faked his offense with a scoff.

“Seriously? Man, what’s up with that? It’s like everyone thinks I can’t do stuff at normal speed without goin’ berserk.” He said, cursing under his breath as Snake got gunned down again.

A small part of him wished you were there, with your legs over his lap, cracking jokes at his expense. Over the phone, you emitted a gentle laugh.

“Because you have? Multiple times, dude!” You said.

Surely you could hear Peter’s eyes roll in his skull.

“Oh, yeah? Name five.” he pressed.

The fast paced clicking of the buttons echoed like a trill in the basement. He overheard the sound of rustling as you shifted in place. If Peter had to guess, he’d bet his left foot you were still lazing around in bed. It was a Saturday, after all. With the hour tipping on the edge of late afternoon. You always moved at the slowest of speeds on your off days.

“I’m just saying! I totally get it. Even I don’t have the patience for chats on the phone sometimes.” You said, and a squeaky yawn followed.

More rustles scuffed from your end, as if you moved to stretch. Keeping his gaze fixed on the flickering, CRT screen; Peter followed flashes of light from each grunt’s gun. His reaction time proved effortless as always. His methods, not so much.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Peter mumbled after a beat, “Doesn’t bother me much if I’m talkin’ to you. You’re not boring, first of all. And on the off chance I do get bored, I can just say - hey, babe, I’m gonna hang up. And you won’t get-uhhh…” He lingered on his next thought, distracted with gunning down more masked baddies, “You won’t get, like, butt hurt over it."

“Why would I?” You laughed, “Did someone seriously get offended by that?”

“My aunt did once. She got mad pissed ‘cuz I told her I was ‘kinda bored’ on the phone. She made me pass it to my mom, so she could rat me out. Said I showed a ‘lack of consideration'; ‘er whatever.” Peter paused, brows furrowed. In Metal Gear, Snake perished yet again. Peter rolled his eyes once more, “She’s kinda mental, though. это возмутительно (it’s outrageous).”

Your only response was a quiet hum of acknowledgement. Peter broke the silence that followed.

“Hey, you’re not busy today, are you? Wanna do somethin’ later?” He asked, knowing full well you had jack shit to do.

“I don’t know. I’m feeling soooooo lazy today.” You playfully teased.

The soft pattern of your breathing sent electric tingles down Peter’s neck. Shuddering, he shook off those unexpected chills. Another beat, and Peter groaned, as Snake perished over a low poly landscape. You gotta take it slow and stealthy, man - Peter reminded himself.

“Хорошо (okay)? So? Come be lazy over here then.” He replied, “Tell you what. If you do, I’ll go ‘n snag some of those Turkish delights you like. The same ones my mom gotcha for your birthday. Remember? From Sokovia?”

Your voice perked up instantly, bringing a cheesy smile to his face. Homely fondness simmered in his chest, and Peter felt himself blush. He pulled his lip between his teeth, pausing his game to focus more on conversation. Leaving Snake stranded in the middle of the snow.

“Oh my gosh!! No way?? I haven’t had those in forever! Seriously, the ones from Sokovia?” You chimed.

“Hell yeah! But you gotta get outta bed first, dingus. C’monnnn.” Peter whined, “I’m so bored here, babe. Oh! I totally forgot. I finally got my hands on a Gameboy Color too. Swear on my life I paid for it this time. You could come over ‘n try it ouuuuuut.” He teased in a sing-song voice, wiggling his brows.

“Gameboys and Turkish delights? You’re spoiling me today, Peter! What’s the occasion?” You joked over the line.

He shrugged, forgetting you couldn’t see him, “Bored outta my friggin’ skull. That’s what.” After a beat, he awkwardly added, “And maybe I like hangin’ with you? Do I even need a reason?”

“Well, I gotta admit…you had me at Turkish delights.” You feigned a dreamy tone.

Peter chuckled again. Under his breath, he muttered softly, “ Это все, что тебе нужно, да (That’s all you need, huh)?”

“Huh?” You asked, oblivious to his comment, “What’d you say? I didn’t catch that last part.”

Peter ran a hand through his silver locks, leaving his hair loose and messy. Cradling the phone in his other hand, he knitted his lips to one side.

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You want me to come get you? ‘Cuz I can.” He checked his digital watch, decked out in a Star Wars theme, “I can right now, if you-”

“It’s fine. I love going out with you, but I really don’t wanna deal with motion sickness today. I just had lunch too. No offense!” Another yawn rang over the phone, hitching into a squeal at the end. Peter didn’t realize he was smiling so big until his cheeks started to hurt, “I’ll just drive over. Sound good?”

Peter rolled his eyes, sarcastically groaning. He threw his head back into the sofa cushions, playing up his fake frustrations.

“Auuuuuuugh! But that’ll take years.” He dragged a hand down his face, pulling his cheeks under his fingertips, “Is this ‘cuz you blew chunks last time?? You know that doesn’t bother me, right? Everyone does it, babe.”

You made a noise of disgust. Something like an eugh , “Please, don’t remind me. That sucked so much. Yeah, no, I’d rather not. I really need a break from it.” You sighed again. Kind of a bummer, but he could deal.

“It’s whatever you want, I guess. So, when are you gonna head out?” Peter asked, sitting up on the sofa and putting the controller aside.

He bounced a leg at rapid speed, his knee moving in a flesh tone blur of motion. Less from agitation, more due to anticipation.

“I’ll leave soon. Just give me a few minutes. Think you can wait?” You chuckled in that sweet, quirky way again. The melody gave Peter butterflies. Ignoring the fluttering in his belly, he pushed himself off the couch. Grabbing the base of the Garfield phone, Peter cradled the lil guy in an arm. He figured he may as well get dressed, and freshen up before you arrived, “It’s so cold today. I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet! I’m still bundled up in my undies. Got your jacket on too. You left a Game n Watch in the pocket, by the way. I didn’t even know they still made those!”

“Yeah. I totally called that one. Get up already, ya slacker.” Peter joked trapping the phone between his cheek and shoulder again. He scratched his bare chest. His fingertips grazed the sparse covering of white hairs there. Yawning, he nodded, “Okay. Okay. Okay. Sure, just-”

Something about your last statement finally clicked in Peter’s brain. He rapidly blinked, shaking his head fast enough to give himself whiplash. Peter did a quadruple take.

“Подожди (wait)! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, waiiiiiit …hold on a sec.” He narrowed his eyes, “Say that again?”

“Say what again? The part about the Game n Watch?” You asked, and Peter’s brows furrowed.

“N-Nah. The…did you just…have you been lyin’ around in your underwear this whole time?”

“Uh, yeah? Why? Is this revolutionary information?” You chuckled.

“In my jacket? Like, I didn’t hear that wrong? What’d you like…sleep in it ‘er somethin’?” Peter arched a silver brow, pressing the phone handset closer to his cheek. As if doing so might somehow help him hear you more clearly.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal either way. You borrowed his jackets all the time. Peter never thought anything of it before this conversation. Aside from the fact that - when you did return them, he loved the sweet scent you left behind. The smell of your perfume, with the added bonus of your natural pheromones…

Ебать (Fuck)! Why was he even thinking about this? The two of you had such a casual thing goin’ on. But now, Peter thought of you in a different light. Something friskier. Not that he meant to. Maybe killer boredom + cute friend = horny speedster. Or perhaps the planets aligned in some totally off-the-wall way.

Whatever the case, Peter’s mind raced on autopilot. He pictured the way you might look right now. In your room, spread across your bed in nothing but your underwear and - Ебена мать (Holy shit) - his jacket. With your long legs bare, your knees bumping together as you squeezed your thighs shut. Tummy exposed. And your tits-

Woooooooah there! Slow down, casanova! Peter shouldn’t be…nah, he really shouldn’t be wondering what your breasts looked like. Ppfffbbbbt …’kay, so, maybe in the past he thought about it once or twice. But what dude wouldn't contemplate the hidden mystery of a pal's titties sometimes, ah?

“Well, so what if I did? That doesn’t weird you out, does it?” You asked, a careful waver in your voice.

“Uhhhh…nahhh, babe. Just…” Peter shifted in place, rerouting his thoughts, “Just…got one hell of an image in my head. Might’ve pictured you like that for no particular reason at all.”

Lucky for him, you didn’t seem to think anything of his confession.

“Not much to imagine…” You replied. Сомнительно (Doubtful).

“I mean…pffbbbttt…sure, yeah. Maybe not.” Peter awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of his neck. His voice dropped, a little more hushed, “Unless…you’re wearin’ some really cute panties over there.” Again, he laughed, rushing out a quick, “I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m totally messin’. Just bustin’ your balls, babe.”

Except…he sorta wasn’t. Peter found himself oh-so curious. Twisting the phone's orange wire around his finger, he anticipated your reaction. Anxious you might think him weird for pushing things too far. Never had the two of you charted this kind of territory. It was a minefield, with a 95% chance neither one would make it out unscathed.

“I guess? I think they’re kind of cute.” You added, innocent as ever. Awesome. You weren’t peeved at him, at least. Peter brought the phone to his chest, exhaling an anxious breath to calm his racing heart. When he put the phone to his ear again, he figured you’d moved on. But your cadence shifted. To test the boundaries of your friendship, you teased, “They’re pretty small on me, though.”

Ah. Ah. Интересно. Очень интересно (Interesting. Very interesting). What an unexpected but totally wicked development. Peter lowered himself slowly onto the couch, setting the phone's base on the side table. He eased backwards into the cushions, and tightened his twisting of the phone wire. Swallowing hard, Peter found he had difficulty focusing. Especially with his imagination running so goddamn wild.

“Yeah? …How small is pretty small?” He dared to ask.

Long seconds of silence ticked by at the pace of a narcoleptic sloth. If Peter weren’t so eager to hear what you had to say, he may have torn his hair out. Over the line, you laughed.

“Small enough they barely cover my ass? Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” You cooed.

Peter fluttered his inky eyes, nibbling chapped skin on his lip. Fuzzy pink swarmed the rest of his face, as his mind conjured images of you so effortlessly. Clear as day. Heat stirred to life in his groin, and Peter pictured the way your plush cheeks might hold in tight painties. His breath hitched.

“I-uh…” Peter felt the heat in his cheeks creep down his neck, flustered at lightspeed, “Just thinkin’...maybe you should do somethin’ about that?” He gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. What a lame response, “Черт возьми (damn it)!” He huffed under his breath, too quiet for you to hear.

Toying with this newly discovered sexual tension, Peter humorously asked-

“Sooooooo…what color?”

You giggled into the receiver, airy and light. His body registered the noise somewhere , down south of his belly. He wondered if you were as flustered as him. And the visual of your bashful face and shy smile had his heartbeat ramping up to mach 10.

“What? A-Are you for real asking me…oh my god, dude!” Your giggles turned into goofy snorts. Which he found so endearing. Once you composed yourself, you spoke again. Though, your tone came off as more flirtatious, “If you really wanna know so bad…then fine. They’re black. Lacy. With a little bow on the front.”

Дерьмо (Shit)...

His silver brows soared high, disappearing under his bangs. Paying little attention to his instinctive actions, Peter guided his free hand between his thighs. Inwardly, he told himself he was only adjusting his uncomfortable hard-on. ‘Cuz it’d be totally weird if he did anything else…right? Best to ignore the movement of his thumb, as it absentmindedly circled his bulge.

“Huh…that’s so…” Peter blinked, clearing his throat and masking his nerves with a chuckle, “‘Kay, I’ll be up front with you, babe. That sounds cute as hell. Very nice.”

“Really? Oh, please, Peter. They’d be cute on anybody.” You scoffed.

“Uh huh…” He smirked, dropping his tone even lower, “‘Cept, now that I’m really thinkin’ about it? I’m bettin’ they look criminally cute on you.” Peter lazily smirked.

You laughed, breathless like you ran a thousand miles, “Wh-...what are we even doing right now? Seriously, why am I talking to you about my-” The uneasiness in your voice bled through the line.

Your concern was for good reason. Nevertheless, Peter interrupted you mid-sentence.

“Easy there, chuckles. We’re just chatting. Nothin’ too unusual, right? We’ve had some seriously raunchy conversations before. Remember? That time I got laid on a golf course? You told me about that time some dude shot a load in your eye. What’s the difference, anyway?” Peter grimaced, as he recalled your story from eons ago.

You giggled yet again, “Peter, you know damn well what the difference is!” You clarified with a sigh, still playful. The phone wire went slack around his finger, as Peter second guessed himself. He parted his lips, on the cusp of apologizing. Bringing one hand up to the phone, he held it loosely. Your sugary voice chimed again, “I’m kinda wondering, though…what would you think if I told you I’m topless right now?”

His grip compressed around the handset.

“Topless, huh?” Peter cast a quick glance at his hard-on, twitching painfully under his boxers. His mind jumped straight to sinful places again. Peter thought about what your tits probably look like, embraced in his jacket. Nipples hard, grazing the inner-lining. He swallowed, “What’re you tryna tell me? You gonna drive over here in nothin’ but that?” Peter quipped.

A more sultry laugh melted through the receiver. Peter trembled, as your smooth voice coaxed him like a tempting song. His free palm squeezed his bulge, putting pressure to his length over fabric. Peter’s brows turned inward, and he fluttered his eyes shut.

“I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, if it wasn’t so cold outside. It’s freezing today. I don’t know how you can run as fast as you do when the weather’s like this.” Your tone disguised itself with lighthearted innocence again, “It’s not any warmer in my room either. My nipples could cut glass. They’re, like, soooo hard.”

Peter adjusted himself on the sofa, giving the swell of his bulge another teasing squeeze.

“ Ты маленькая соблазнительница (you little temptress)...” His hot breath fanned the phone.

“I love it when you talk like that…” You replied, “Even if I have no idea what you’re saying. It sounds really hot, to be totally honest.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peter teased his lip with his teeth, speaking in a more flirtatious voice; buttery smooth, “ Я забыл вынести мусор (I forgot to take out the trash)...” For added effect - just to embarrass you more - he tacked on a husky moan.

Peter made himself blush, as the sound came out far more pornagraphic than he intended. The rasp of his voice scraped through the line in a hushed, “ Oh, yeah, baby. ”

The erotic tension you felt from his teasing was palpable, even over the phone. Peter could sense the shift in the way you gasped. So faint, so shy, so cute.

“Oh…oh, wow...uhm…” You tried concealing your bashfulness with more of those candy coated giggles. But Peter could practically hear the blood racing to your cheeks, “What’s that mean? Something good, I hope.”

Peter bit his tongue, lips turning in a cheeky grin.

“It means you’re really turnin’ me on…”

Another hesitant pause fell between the two of you, before you scoffed.

“Oh my god, no it doesn’t! I can hear you laughing!” You griped, snickering along with Peter. A few more tension heavy beats pulsed over the line. You spoke again, “Hey…I’m sorry. Can I put things on pause for a sec? I just wanted to ask…are you okay with this?”

“Are you?” Peter gently asked, giving you ample time to think about it.

“I don’t know…maybe…” You whispered, “Isn’t this, like, super weird for you?”

“I mean…suuuuuuure. It’s totally weird. If you kept goin', I wouldn't be into it...at all...” He bullied you with a playful edge, hoping you could read the flirtatious undertone in his voice.

“Ohhhhh…you wouldn't be?” Judging by the saucy lilt in your voice, you most definitely caught on, “You know what would be even weirder?”

Peter adjusted on the sofa again. Getting comfortable, he laid on his back. His taut legs stretched across the cushions, and Peter propped his head on the couch’s arm.

“Whazzat? Enlighten me, babe. I’m listenin’. You got my full attention.” He teased.

“Your full attention, huh? I must be doing something right.” You snickered, “So…you know how I said I love it when you talk…like that?” Your voice wavered, “What I really meant was-uhm…when you do that on the phone…it makes me kind of horny.”

His brown hues burst open, wider than ever. Peter’s pupils dilated, expanding as far as the universe itself. He swallowed again, his mouth falling open. Your filthy confession set his arousal ablaze, making his dick twitch. As heated desire took over, Peter couldn’t restrain himself. He snuck his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, fingertips gliding over silver hairs. A small piece of him almost felt guilty for doing so.

“It does, huh? Хорошо знать (Good to know).” Peter whispered, tenderly grasping his shaft.

You made a naughty squeak of a noise in response, “Y-Yeah, Peter, I’m serious. You really have to stop doing that.”

“Почему (Why)? Are you soakin’ yourself over it? Gettin’ a lil wet? It’s cool. You can tell me…” Peter heckled, expelling a breath as he gave his dick a single tug.

“Oh, I bet you wanna know all about that, huh? You’re so bad, Quickie...” You teased, clicking your tongue.

Peter’s ears burned, turning pink as he took in the coquettish nature of your voice. Scoffing, he feigned his indignance.

“What?! Hey, nah nah nah! You started this! Это несправедливо, черт возьми (it’s not fair. Dammit)!” Peter laughed, carefree with you as always, “You can’t seriously drop a bombshell like that and expect me not to-”

“Not to come running?” You hummed, sweet tempered, “I’m just messing with you, baby. But since we’re on the topic…I made such a mess of these little panties. Just from listening to your voice.”

Peter couldn’t even pretend he didn’t like the sound of ‘baby’ on your tongue.

“Oh, man…anything but the panties…” He joked, “You should-uh…you should save yourself some trouble. Y’know…take ‘em off, maybe? Might be more comfortable.” Peter hinted, playing nonchalant, “Just tryna be a good friend. Give you some advice. You should for sure take it.”

“But I’m already so cold…” You whimpered, “Your jacket’s so warm. Smells good too. Really good. But it’s not enough to keep me covered.” You spoke with flirtatious innocence, and Peter played along.

“No harm done, принцесса (princess). I’ll warm you up if you need me to.” He reassured, sweet talking you over the phone, “Ты думаешь, что я не позабочусь о тебе? (Do you think I won't take care of you)?" Peter mumbled again. He listened to your sickly sweet laughs, before asking, “So…do you get like this every time we talk on the phone?”

“Mmmm…maybe.” You hummed, “What if I said yes?” You shuffled around again, and Peter’s mind jumped elsewhere. He imagined you shed yourself of damp, black lace. Leaving you wanton and needy in nothing but his jacket, “You know…we’ve been talking about me a lot this whole time. You wanna tell me what you’re wearing? I don’t really have a visual.”

“Oh…me?” Your request caught Peter off guard.

“Yeah, you. Who else, blockhead?” You playfully quipped, smoothing your voice to say, “You don’t have to be shy. I just wanna know, so I can think about taking it off of you.”

Peter didn’t know he could blush this much. Puffing a bashful laugh, he looked down at his body. Mostly nude and toned enough. He had his x-gene to thank for his pecs and hard abs. A fluffy bouquet of silver hairs peeked out from his boxers. Underneath, his dick throbbed, pressing eagerly into fabric.

“Uhm…I’m not wearin’ a lot? Nothin’ special. Just some black, boxer briefs, I guess. Wait, no-” Peter lifted a foot, his lips curling in a goofy smile, “Got my Star Wars socks on too.”

A sensual moan graced his ears, “That’s so hot.” You softly whined, “Star Wars socks? Peter, just take me now.”

Despite the fact you were totally messing with him, that playful comment made his chest tight.

“Nothing else though?” You pressed.

“Nnnnnnnnnnope.” He drew out the word, popping the P, “Just the-uh…yeah. Boxers ‘n sexy socks. Not much to take off.”

“And you’re pretty fit, aren’t you? You always looked really jacked to me, so-” You said.

Peter cocked a brow, snickering to cover his embarrassment.

“Wooooahhh…you been checkin’ me out, babe?” He asked, darting his dark hues across his athletic bod. Peter flexed an arm, “Sure, I guess I’m in decent shape.” He found he couldn’t dismiss your compliments. Peter looked good, and he knew it. But he preferred hearing it from you, “Hey, you wanna know somethin’, like, way crazy?”

“This? What we’re doing right now is so crazy, right?” You laughed, sounding as bashful as him.

Peter snickered, “True. Truuuue. But, uh…” He shrank in his spot on the couch, pressing the vibrant handset closer into his cheek. Pre-cum seeped through his boxers, as Peter tugged his dick steady and slow. Careful not to stimulate himself too much yet. He dropped his voice to a hushed rasp, “I’m kinda in the same spot you are right now. If you-uh…if you catch my drift.”

The two of you knew each other for a long time. Several years, in fact. But never once did Peter think he’d hear his closest pal say-

“Ohhhh. Are you hard right now, baby?”

Oh. Yeah, this buddy-buddy friendship was in major trouble. Doomed to crash and burn. As soon as the words fell from your lips, spoken in your honeyed voice; Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. He sank his teeth so hard into his lip, he almost broke skin.

“Y-Yeah. Since you-uh…started talkin’ about your panties. I’m sorry, babe. Just been kinda bored and worked up all day.” He sheepishly chuckled.

“You poor baby…” You coddled him over the phone. And while he should’ve been embarrassed, Peter had no problem with you talking like that, “Can I ask how big you are?”

Peter stalled for a moment, before pulling the front of his boxers down. His hardness flopped against his belly, pulsating and ruddy from his teasing. Taking his aching length in his hand, he rubbed the underside with his thumb.

“You mean my dick? It’s-uhhhh…like six, maybe seven inches almost?” He squeezed his cock, milking beads of pre-cum, “But size doesn’t matter, yeah? It’s the motion of the ocean, babe.”

“Noooooo, baby. You’re so perfect. Wish I could see how good you look like that…” You cooed over the phone.

Your kindly words and airy tone made the veins in his dick throb with electric heat. Peter clutched his cock tight, pumping the velvet skin a touch faster. Giving himself just a simple taste of relief. His stomach clenched, hardening his abs.

“Не так идеально, как ты выглядишь (Not as perfect as you look)...” Peter muttered, drawing in a shallow breath, “Babe, I gotta tell ya, I’m really feelin’ this. I’m so into you right now. W-Want you to keep talkin’ like-uh...”

His imagination took his depravity to the next level. Now, Peter thought about joining you in your room. He wondered how soft and smooth your skin would feel. Supple and hot under his fingertips. What might you look like writhing under him, whimpering as he played with you? As he teased you? Man, you were both so screwed.

“Never thought dirty talking with me would turn you on so much…” You giggled.

Peter secured the handset between his cheek and shoulder. With both hands free, he raised his palm to his lips. He drew a long stripe with his tongue, bringing his damp hand to his cock. The slick lubrication pulled a gentle moan from his throat.

“M-Maybe a little bit. Ебать (Fuck), maybe a lot.” Peter groaned, labored in his breathing, “Can you - Ебать (fuck) - you wanna do somethin’ for me? Just a little favor between friends? S’all I’m askin’, baby.”

“Anything you want, Peter.” You mewled.

“Can you- mmmmohgod -” Peter choked up. He almost chickened out, but pushed himself to ask, “Can you touch yourself for me? Please? Пожалуйста, моя маленькая принцесса (Please, my little princess)...” His foreign whispers weaved pretty whimpers from your lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, if you want me to. But you have to do the same for me too. It’s only fair, right? Equal exchange?” You whispered, acting playful again.

Peter breathed a guilty chuckle, “Uhm…yeahhhhh…about that…”

You softly gasped, “Have you been-”

“Playin’ with my dick this whole time? Maybe.” Peter admitted. His thumb caught another pearl of pre, spreading the slickness over his sensitive head, “But I’m not, like, totally jerkin’ it yet…” He lied, pressing you to encourage him.

“Oh, you’re not, huh? What are you doing then?” You asked, “Are you being a bad boy, Pietro?” The abrupt drop of his given name shocked him into silence.

Peter felt his groin tighten, and an exhilarating rush electrified his nerves. For the thousandth time, you giggled. And for the thousandth time, Peter’s heart leapt. Dumbfounded, he gathered his composure and played along again.

“Y-Yeah. So bad. You gotta help me, babe. I’m just-...I’m so hard. Don’t think I can stop myself if you keep talkin’ like that.”

Through the receiver, Peter’s ears caught wind of a needy mewl. He gripped his cock hard, guiding his fist in firmer strokes. His legs quivered, and the heels of his Star Wars socks slid across the couch.

“Does it feel good when you touch your pretty cock like that, sweetheart?” You cooed.

Peter almost went straight into cardiac arrest. He jolted in place, feeling his cock stiffen in his grasp.

“Святой трах (Holy fuck)..." Peter suffocated on his own groans. For an instant, his words failed him, “Uhmmm…hah…wow-uh…Ебать (fuck). Feels good, yeah. Don’t think it’s enough. I need-...uhm…I want-uh…”

“Yeah? What do you want, baby. It’s okay.” You spoke so sugary sweet again.

“I-...Я просто хочу увидеть тебя (I just want to see you)...” Peter’s veins tingled under his touch, as he tugged his dick with more urgency, “Shit! I-...how come I never knew you could be like this-” And to Peter’s ultimate humiliation, he whimpered your name. Along with another whiny, “ Ебать (Fuck). ”

“Like what?” Your coy voice teased him over the line.

“I dunno…so-uh…so damn nasty.” He joked, and even through the phone; he knew he had you flustered again.

“I guess we all have our secrets, hmm? Tell me more, Pietro. When you touch yourself like that. With those big, strong hands…how’s it feel?” You asked, driving him to keep going.

Peter snorted a laugh, “Strong hands? What??” His endearing playfulness took a backseat, as he grunted into the receiver, “God…feels like my strong hand’s not enough. Мне реально тебе нужно прямо сейчас. Нужна так сильно (I really need you right now. I need you so much).” His voice fell to a whisper. Pumping his slick, crimson cock through his fist, he breathlessly pleaded, “Talk to me, baby. Please. Tell me-ohhh…tell me what you’re doin’ over there.”

You squealed a sultry giggle, further igniting Peter’s pleasured frenzy. He squirmed in his spot on the sofa, forcing himself to stay put. Battling the forces of the universe, it was all Peter could do not to race to your room. Just to spread your legs and hump you like a speedy bunny.

“Mmmm…I’m just doing what you asked me to…I’m being so good for you right now.” You whimpered.

“Oh. Okay…uhm…far out. Uh…wanna gimme the steamy details?” He heckled again, fumbling his words in his nervousness, “Please, don’t hold off on me, baby.”

“I’m…” Your precious voice wavered, teeming with awkwardness as your confidence dwindled, “I’m playing with my little pussy. Just for you. And I’m so wet. I can’t stop thinking about your hands…so big…”

“Боже мой (my god).” Peter muttered. Combating impatience brought upon by his genes, he willed himself to take things slow. His strokes became steady and teasing, as he edged his aching cock, “Holy shit, babe. Yeah? Keep goin’...”

You moaned soft squeals into the receiver, “I want you so bad, Quickie. Please, baby, don’t make me beg. Can you touch this little pussy for me? Please? Your fingers are so big. I don’t think they’d fit all at once. It’s been a while, and I’m so tight.” Your naughty voice pleaded.

“God, I wanna touch you so bad. Я хочу прикоснуться к этой сладкой киске (I want to touch that sweet pussy).” Peter’s impatience got the better of him, and he quickly gave in. He grasped his cock hard, wringing himself fast enough to make his balls bounce. Creasing his brows, he groaned, “Ohhh..What’re you tryna to do to me, babe? Talkin’ about how tight you are…Ебать…”

“But I ammmm.” You whined again, “I’m squeezing my tiny fingers so tight. It’s so soft and hot for you. Bet it’d feel really good if you stretched me. With your fingers, with your cock - fuck, Pietro. I just need you, baby.”

“Please, baby, oh, please? Wanna be inside you. Wanna feel you. I promise I won’t go too fast. Я обещаю (I promise).” Peter whimpered. But as you mewled again, another forceful wave of carnal heat crashed over Peter. In a quieter tone, he choked, “Нет, я могу. Я пойду так быстро (No, I can. I’ll go so fast).”

“Pietro, you can go as fast as you want, baby. I won’t stop you.” You pleaded, your broken voice so kittenish and wanton, “F-Fuck. I’m rubbing my clit. So sensitive. Thinking about you. Thinking about your mouth on me.”

“Ебать!!” Peter moaned through clenched teeth. His self control rapidly abandoned him. Speedily rutting his sore cock through the squeeze of his fist, his body refused to slow down, “Говоря о скорости (Speaking of speed)...” Peter craned his neck back, raising a hand to keep the handset to his ear, “You gotta stop makin’ all those cute noises, baby. Please…I can’t-”

As surges of horny pleasure circulated through his body, Peter thought of you again. He imagined you on your bed, caged under him between his arms. In his daydreams, he kissed you intimately, touching your pretty, naked body. Peter wanted to feel how wet you were for himself. And hell, the danger of pushing your friendship past its limits made you more tempting. Such a lewd, risky thought pushed him closer to the edge of something righteous.

“Baby, I wanna see you. Can I? Can I see you stroke that thick cock? Would you let me? Ohh, fuck, Pietro.” You whimpered. And your noises were so shamelessly lecherous, you could’ve made a pornstar blush, “Can I kiss it, please? Can I kiss your big cock?” You whimpered.

“О боже мой, пожалуйста (Oh my god, please)!” Peter choked, every word hitching in his throat, “Baby…babe, you can’t do this. Ya really can’t be-” He laughed lazily, his dark eyes falling half lidded. His cock throbbed, bright red and turning purple at the tip. He rutted in a speedy blur, “Stop. Stop. Stop. I’m gonna…babe, I’m gonna bust-” He slurred.

You squealed his name as loudly as your hushed voice would allow. And Peter swore he could hear the slick sound of your fingers. As they played with your pretty, little cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Please cum with me. Please? Pietro, OH~!”

“я кончаю, я кончаю (I’m cumming, I’m cumming)! ‘M Gonna-” Peter’s moans seeped through the receiver, his wet lips parting and mouth hanging open.

His swollen cock erupted in white-hot jets, coating his pecs and belly. With all his muscles tensed, Peter’s legs trembled. He rode out those lusty waves in tandem with you. The pleasure of orgasm sounded leagues more intense on your side. You took longer to cruise through it, whimpering and moaning Peter’s name. As you did, Peter basked in his momentary afterglow. Keeping the phone pressed to his ear, his head resting on the arm of the sofa; he listened to you with a smirk on his lips. At the end of your journey in ecstasy, your moans turned into flustered giggles.

Peter's thoughts reeled him in again. Imagining you, looking so sheepish and fine in his jacket. Now, he desperately wanted the real deal. To see you in all your post-nut glory. Mere seconds later, his sore cock pulsed to life again. As his hardness squirmed on his belly, Peter breathed another sigh.

On his end, you heard nothing but silence. You kept calling his name, your tired voice infused with anxiety.

“Uhm…Peter? Hey…are you there?” You asked.

And he didn't say a single word more.

#peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #txt #im terrified this is like...not as decent as my usual but whatever !!

862 notes · View notes