#kind of all over the place with this one but that's billions for you!
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also you know what really pisses me off (especially in the light of the youtube stuff about james somerton). there's a couple popular and really phenomenally bad videos about sexuality in greece and rome by right wing youtubers and people just. blindly believe what they say despite the fact that they use either extremely bad sources or just. make shit up/misinterpret evidence. and badmouth Actual historians like they're part of some Evil Liberal Conspiracy to get you to think that... ancient greeks and romans weren't 2023 modern style homophobic
#they also wildly misinterpret the arguments and viewpoints of scholars too but. there's about 10 billion problems with all of these videos#honestly in general there's a huge lack of decent classics stuff on youtube its either this kind of freak shit or sensationalist made up#nonsense or it's biased or weird in other ways#but i just realized i finally have a place to talk about these videos which have been pissing me off so much for months#i thought about making a response to one of them but i don't have a youtube following so no one will see it. i did start writing one but#then i got busy though#but yeah don't watch those unless you want to get progressively more pissed off for like over an hour tbh#&also these do get aggressively recommended to you if youve ever watched or searched for anything abt ancient greece/rome on youtube#that's how i found them in the first place
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» XO, Miss Decelis
pairings! rich kids!hyung line x fem!reader, choi yeonjun x fem!reader briefly synopsis! perfection used to be all you strove for, keeping everything that didn't fit the image a secret from the world, but an accident that nearly took your life made you reconsider what kind of person you truly wanted to be... warnings! smut (mdni! 18+), mentions of bullying, joking about past trauma to cope, angst, jealousy etc. (warnings will be added) taglist! open a/n! never thought i'd be back to writing fanfic on tumblr but here we are... i guess even 6 years later, i'm still the same person i was when i was 15... just btw, the pairings can change as i write more since right now, i have only officially written the first sooo... don't take it for granted
RESOLUTION 1: actually enjoy a party... (Lee Heeseung x Reader)
synopsis! lee heeseung has known you your whole life. he has always kept you at an arm’s length due to his childhood pettiness after being forced to spend time with you as kids. but now that you were back in town, going to school again, he finds his resolve to dislike you at all costs crumbling between his fingers. as if it hadn’t always been chipping away throughout the years.
word count! 5.4k
read here!
RESOLUTION 2: not be a virgin anymore... (Sim Jake x Reader)
synopsis! sim jake has always liked you, but as heeseung’s best friend, he felt weird trying to talk to you. now, with the rules around you loosening, jake refuses to miss his chance to win you over.
word count! 8.4k
read here!
RESOLUTION 3: become popular at school (Park Jay x Reader)
synopsis! park jay always thought of you as the annoying little miss perfect who could do no wrong in the eyes of his, yours and heeseung’s parents. he wasn’t fond of you in the slightest for that very reason. but when you dropped the act after your perfect image had shattered in front of everyone, he can’t help but feel drawn to you. when he discovers another one of your secrets, he thinks he might truly have to ruin you for the whole world to know how far from perfect you truly are.
word count! 12k
read here!
RESOLUTION 4: maybe get a boyfriend? (Park Sunghoon x Reader)
synopsis! park sunghoon always preferred admiring you from afar. because to him, you were untouchable. as the daughter of his career’s biggest sponsor, he was scared that the smallest slight upon your person could make your father withdraw. but you were not the fragile pretty flower sunghoon thought you to be. it was only his luck that you ran right into his arms when you didn’t know what to do about the rest of his friends.
word count! 15k
read here!
Good morning, Decelis! Guess who’s back?
And no, I’m not talking about myself at the moment, but rather, a princess of a successful empire, and our beloved black sheep of the school. It’s quite ironic, isn’t it? In a place where money is power, she has none despite the billions she’s meant to inherit. Poor girl, wouldn’t you say?
But rumours have it that our princess is back from her prolonged summer break abroad, and she’s different than we remember.
It seems that the good girl image has been thrown to the wolves, and the princess is back with a bite of her own.
I’m most definitely looking forward to what this year brings us.
XO, Miss Decelis
#is this how you do this?#it's been way too long#i feel like a boomer#enhypen#enhypen fic#enhypen ff#enhypen x reader#lee heeseung fic#lee heeseung ff#lee heeseung x reader#park jay fic#park jay ff#park jay x reader#sim jake x reader#sim jake fic#sim jake ff#park sunghoon fic#park sunghoon ff#park sunghoon x reader#haia writes
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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
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Hi I was wondering if you if you could Billie is angry at us and yells and ignores us and we are nervous and scared of if she doesn’t want to be with us anymore I love your angst ones with Billie because in the end there are so sweet and I feel like a lot of people and myself can relate to wanting someone to understand and love us
☞☞☞☞Love Is Pain☜☜☜☜
summary: Words, which were not meant to be said, thrown at each other angrily. Words which cut deep and made you doubt close to everything. But love was a pain you were ready to bare.
warnings: panic attack, angst, fight, mentions of past trauma (kinda), little fluff at the end. !ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE!
A/N: Hii, anon! it's my first request, so pls be kind. I am not sure if this is exactly what you wanted but I did what I could!
You sat on your couch in the shared apartment you and your girlfriend of 6 months had. Said apartment was silent, you could hear a pin drop if it were to be dropped. Earlier that night, you and Billie had been at a small friendly gathering at a mutual friend’s house, and everything was going great. You and Billie were by one another’s side most of the time, making conversations and such. Well that was until that loving mutual friend sat down next to the two of you on the couch and started talking to Billie about something that happened when you weren’t there.
It would have been fine, you were a busy person so of course there would be some times and memories of Billie’s that you are not part of, but the way Billie unwrapped her arm from around your waist and turned her whole body towards the other girl, her eyes shining with interest as the other girl told the story, the way your friend placed her hand on your girlfriend’s arm as she spoke, shifting closer and closer until their legs were pressed together, Billie’s arm now resting on the back of the couch behind your friend.
Maybe you were overreacting, or maybe you were rightfully upset, but nonetheless, you told your girlfriend you weren’t feeling well in hopes to just escape and go back home together. But no. She had barely turned her attention to you and waved you off with not even as much as a ‘See ya’.
It made your heart ache and your stomach drop. But you didn’t let it show as you left the house, deciding to leave Billie’s car for her and instead took an uber home.
It has been hours. And you had seen no sign of a text or call, or her in general. True, you should have been at least a little bit worried but you just couldn’t get that careless response out of your head. It was like you were just like every other person she meets everyday.
And it stung.
Like a bitch.
So, no surprise, when you finally heard the front door open, heavy footsteps approaching the living room through the hallway, you stood up with an angry expression, watching as your girlfriend walked into the living room.
“I didn’t know you left”
You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest at her words. “I told you, but you seemed all too interested in what Amanda had to say…”
Billie’s eyebrows furrowed and her hand dropped her cap down on the dresser next to her. “What? What are you implying, baby?” She asked, disbelief clear in her voice.
You shook your head, pressing your lips together before a dry chuckle escaped your lips. “Come on, now you’re gonna pretend you didn’t ignore me, or better said, waved me off, when I asked if we could leave?”
Billie’s jaw clenched as she sighed. “Fine, okay. I’m sorry. Happy?” She held out her arms as she approached you, standing face-to-face with you in front of the dark gray L-shaped couch.
A short breath came out of your mouth as you scoffed once more, your tongue swiping across your front teeth. “No. You-You treated me like I was just one of the Billion people on earth”
Billie sighed and rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you?”
Your mouth hung open at her response, a sharp pain shooting through your chest when she said that. You blinked multiple times, your throat tightening up before you cleared it. “What..?” The words were barely above a whisper as your shoulders slumped.
Billie groans and scoffs. “I don’t have the energy for this, man. Why do you have to be so sensitive?” It seems as though Billie is not aware of what she’s saying. Or well, maybe she was. But you didn’t want to think that. No. That would hurt more. To know she’d knowingly say those words to you.
“Billie, I’m trying to-”
Your words were cut off by another roll of Billie’s eyes and her looking away. “No. You are being such a baby about this. I was just interested in what Amanda had to say”
You swallowed hard and took in a deep breath. “I…that would have been fine if you didn’t ignore me.” You couldn’t help but feel a pang of shame shoot through you. She’s right. You were being dramatic.
“Oh my God!” Her voice was loud and it made you flinch a little as she threw her hands up. “Why are you being like this? I already told you I was sorry!”
You bit your lip, looking down for a moment, tears welling in your eyes before you blinked them back and shook your head. “I’m just saying, that you shouldn’t have-..”
“And I don’t care! I’m tired as shit!” She exclaimed and you took a step back. “I don’t have the time or the energy to deal with your bullshit right now!” Her voice was harsh, ringing loudly in your ears and through the apartment. She ran a hand through her dark hair and let out a deep breath.
“Billie…-”
She shook her head and pushed past you, your shoulders bumping harshly as she walked away. “Come to me when you’re less of a whiny baby!” She called out before shutting your bedroom door behind her, leaving you standing in your living room, defeated and belittled.
You didn’t go to bed that night. Just laid on the couch, knees up to your chest as the fight ran through your head over and over again. It hurt. A lot. But of all the questions running around your head, the biggest one of them all was ‘why?’.
Billie has never been mean to you. Ever. True, the two of you had minor fights before but in the end one of the two of you always apologized. This didn’t feel like that. It felt big. Heavy. Like there will be no apology. No hug in the morning with an ‘I’m so sorry, baby’ whispered into your ear. No sweet nothings.
It was only around 3Am when the tears had finally stopped flowing, your breathing calmed. But your thoughts didn’t. And neither did the pain in your chest fade. Or the tight knot in your stomach loosen. You wondered if she had fallen asleep, or if she had been in the same state as you. Restless. Head spinning with loud thoughts. Afraid.
Early in the morning, your arms had gone numb being tucked under your chest while lying down. So, you decided to get up, walk around the apartment until you got bored of it and just sat down by the kitchen table. Your head was in your hands, hair clutched between your fingers while your teeth bit the inside of your cheek.
This fight brought back things you thought you had buried deep. Into the back of your mind where they wouldn’t resurface again. The thoughts which were now once again coming back, ones you thought you’d never have to hear again. It was like you were drowning, and you weren’t exactly unfamiliar with the feeling. No. But it had been years since you felt it, and it came back 10x stronger. Your hearing was muffled, your heart beating in your ears loudly and your breathing grew hurried, taking breath after breath at a fast pace as you felt like your lungs were being squeezed tightly, like you were being choked by something.
And although in the past you knew how to do this, to deal with it, you never could do it alone, so there was always someone helping, assuring you. Not this time. No, you were alone and the worst part was, you deserved it. Well, no. Not exactly, but everything in your head was telling you so, and who were you to deny? To think; ‘No, you don’t. And you’re not alone, you have Billie’. But did you…?
It felt like you were losing your grip on reality. Everything was a blur as time ticked by with you sitting on the wooden chair by the kitchen table, chest heaving and eyes squeezed shut. Your breath was taken away from you, the air not going in or coming out of your lungs and you felt light-headed. But the sweet escape didn’t come. You didn’t fall down to the floor, unconscious. You stayed upright, fighting an inner battle with yourself, and you were very much losing.
You could hear Billie’s harsh and loud voice echoing in the back of your head with every attempt to breathe. And soon those salty tears were falling down on your face again, your fingers grasping your hair into your fists. Your head hurt, but you couldn’t tell if it was from you pulling your own hair or the lack of air, or the crying.
When Billie woke up from her restless slumber, her chest hurt. Like something wasn’t right. And something in fact wasn’t. Because when she opened her eyes, her arms moved to wrap around your body, but there was nothing, no one. She sat up abruptly and looked around for a moment before the memories came flooding back and she cursed, throwing the blanket off of her body and standing so fast her head spun.
She had no explanation. No excuse for her behavior last night and it pained her.
She only wasted a couple of moments before rushing towards the closed bedroom door, ripping it open and stepping out. Her expression was one of worry and regret. She frantically looked around for you, everywhere with her breathing increasing in speed with every empty room.
Finally, when she found you, slumped against the kitchen table, your breathing fast and ragged, her worry didn’t ease. It was only the guilt that increased as she approached you.
You didn’t seem aware of her presence at all as she paused by your side, her hand in the air, ready to place a comforting hand on your back but she hesitated. She was mean. To you. And she couldn’t take it back.
It was only when a sob ripped through your chest that she placed her hand on your back, her finger bunching the fabric of your shirt gently as she leaned down, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath before speaking.
“Baby?”
Your head shot up when an outside voice rang through your head. Red, tear-filled eyes looking up into Billie’s. You saw her hold back from looking away. The obvious pain and conflict in your eyes and expression hurting her. She couldn’t even imagine what was going on inside your head.
When you tried to speak, only a cry and a short-lived breath came out. Billie immediately stood, shaking her head. “Sh, sh, sh, baby. It’s okay. Don’t speak.” Her hand left your back and moved to cup your face, wiping away the tears. “Breathe with me. Come on. I know you can” Her voice was gentle as she spoke. She took a deep, slow breath in and you tired following but failed, more tears falling down at your failure.
Billie sighed, feeling her own tears spilling before she blinked and wiped them with her free hand. She nodded. “Okay. It’s alright. One more time, yeah?” You nodded shortly at her words. “Mhm, okay, In..” She took a deep breath in and you followed suit, inhaling shakily. “And out” She exhaled slowly and you did the same. Her other hand came up to wipe away the strands of hair stuck to your sweat littered forehead as she repeated with you a couple more times.
“Yes, that’s it. You’re doing amazing, pretty girl” She murmurs, leaning down to press her lips on the top of your head. “Breathe” Her hand strokes your hair gently. It’s shaking the slightest bit, her heart aching horribly at the sight in front of her.
When your breathing finally calms, the thoughts stop and the world doesn’t spin anymore. You’re no longer drowning.
Billie feels you calm down and she pulls back, swallowing hard. Her icy blue eyes studying your face for a moment. There was a long moment of silence between the two of you before Billie reluctantly took a step back. Guilt eating away at her, like her heart got caught in a bear-trap.
She clenches her jaw, steadying herself before speaking. “I’m…I’m sorry” You stare at her, your feelings a mess as you took in her words. “Look-...I have,” She shook her head, her lips pressing together, forming a thin line. “I have no excuse…for how I-...”
You stand on shaky legs and take an unsure step towards her. “Wait. Can-...Can I talk first?” Your voice was small and hoarse as you spoke. Billie nodded her head, her words dying in her throat. “What you said…it hurt” You took a deep breath. “And how you acted hurt more.” Your words each felt like a push on the bear-trap around her heart. “And-...I was scared.” Your voice broke and you shut your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t think you…” You paused, gaze falling to the ground as your nails dug into your palms. “I didn’t know if you’d stay” It was a whisper, barely audible but Billie heard. And her tears fell as she shook her head.
She took a step forward, too. “No, no. Don’t say that” Her face crumbled and she cupped your cheeks once more, swallowing down her sobs. “This was all on me. I shouldn’t have said those things” When your mouth opened to speak, she shushed you again. “And I am so fucking sorry” She dropped her hands and looked away. “God, love, I don’t think I was even thinking…”
It was your turn to shake your head, reaching for her warm hands, holding them in yours. You sighed. “I…I know, baby.” You whispered softly, your hands giving hers a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry, too. Because it is not all your fault, okay?”
Billie nodded her head and let go of your hands, reaching behind you and putting them on the small of you back as she pulled you into her. Your arms wrapped around her shoulders. “I made you have a panic attack” She whispered and you paused before hugging her tighter.
“It’s not-..”
“Yes.” She nods against your shoulder. “It is. Just-...” One of her hands came up to rest on the back of your head. “Talk to me. Okay? Don’t let me treat you like that ever again, baby.”
You sighed and nodded, closing your eyes. “You won’t”
The two of you stayed there a while. Just in each other’s arms. You both knew this was not going to be your last fight. But, looking at it differently, maybe that’s a good thing.
A/N: ughh, the ending is shit. sorry. I kinda made this in a little rush but hope its satisfactory. Btw! I have never had a panic attack before! Or at least I think. But I tried my best to write it!
#billie eilish x reader#billie eilish fanfiction#billie eilish#billie eilish fluff#billie eilish x you#request#reqs open
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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
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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
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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
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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??
oh
OH
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.
#daryl dixion x reader#daryl x reader#rick grimes#walking dead#daryl dixon#twd daryl#twd fanfic#the walking dead#twd fanfiction#daryl dixon smut#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon fic#daryl dixon fanfic#twd#x reader#female reader#reader insert#the walking dead fanfic#daryl dixon x reader#daryl smut#fanfiction#fanfic#rosita espinosa#rosita twd#rick grimes twd#x reader smut#smut fic#rick twd
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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, ��а (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 !!
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My kind of love -Keegan P. Russ
Based on a request:
Just a thought : Keegan strikes me as the guy who would hold wife! reader close to him when they sleep in their bed. Or he'd carry her when he finds her asleep on the couch. ---- F!Reader, fluff/romance, established!relationship, boyfriend!keegan, cuddling ----
A/N: thanking Bon Iver and Niall Horan for this fluff🙏
It's four in the morning, Keegan comes home after nearly ten months of deployment, his duffle bag placed on the floor. Steps soft to not wake you up, after all, he is meant to surprise you with his early arrival. As he was about to go and check on the dog, who slept by the sofa, he noticed a blanket, your blanket. He approaches you, his gaze softens the second he watches his beautiful sleeping. You look so peaceful, so calm and in this moment when things for months went so wrong, this view is all he can adore.
"My love, I'm home," Keegan whispers, in his arms, he carries you to bed. They say people have a certain amount of luck and you are proof of that. Maybe out there in the cruel world, he doesn't have much luck but in this place, a warm, cosy and safe place he calls home, he knows luck is there. No one can say they are lucky because they don't have you and he does. A million men can say your name, a million more can watch you but just one gets to come home to you. One man in a sea of billions gets to kiss you, to listen to your ramble about crazy theories, to listen to you hum a tune and to love you and be loved back.
That man is him and in this precise moment, he knows why he proudly waited day and night to hide that ring in his pocket. If he wasn't a romantic, he would propose to you right here right now but he wants that moment to be magical because his precious girl deserves it. "Keegan, it's you," your voice so soft. Fuck, why must you make his heart melt like this? Why must you- damn you! Why do you love him? Why do you see what others don't and why must you make him blush just from the sound of your voice? Couldn't you be any less cruel to his weakened heart? Oh but he loves it, he loves that voice, that touch and stare, he loves the kisses and the 'Did your job go well? Are you hurt? Did you miss me?' he loves it all.
"Of course, it's me, darling," he sets you down on the bed and covers you with the sheets. "I'll be back," his lips touched your soft skin before leaving to take a short shower. You lay in bed, not being able to sleep without him anymore, you wait for him. Once he snuggles to you, you can feel his fresh skin, how his embrace wraps you with love and with care. "Did everything go to plan?" you ask as you nuzzle your face on his chest, a low chuckle escapes his lips as he brushes your hair. "It did, which is surprising," he kisses the top of your head and drapes his leg over yours.
In a warm bed, you and he lie, legs intertwined like they are the perfect match. Your back to his chest, soft breathing filling the room. As you close your eyes, he finds himself admiring your beauty from his angle. His arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close for the rest of the night as the other arm caresses your head. His fingers brush through the hair, and slowly, they make their way to your forehead, where he slowly catches himself falling asleep.
Until morning and maybe even after being awake, he keeps you in his hold and under those warm bed sheets. "I love you to the moon and back- no, let's keep going beyond the moon," he whispers as he keeps holding you close. If only he dared to propose already and make you his missus. But only the brave wait for the exact right moment.
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Caution: Universe Work Ahead 🚧
We only have one universe. That’s usually plenty – it’s pretty big after all! But there are some things scientists can’t do with our real universe that they can do if they build new ones using computers.
The universes they create aren’t real, but they’re important tools to help us understand the cosmos. Two teams of scientists recently created a couple of these simulations to help us learn how our Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope sets out to unveil the universe’s distant past and give us a glimpse of possible futures.
Caution: you are now entering a cosmic construction zone (no hard hat required)!
This simulated Roman deep field image, containing hundreds of thousands of galaxies, represents just 1.3 percent of the synthetic survey, which is itself just one percent of Roman's planned survey. The full simulation is available here. The galaxies are color coded – redder ones are farther away, and whiter ones are nearer. The simulation showcases Roman’s power to conduct large, deep surveys and study the universe statistically in ways that aren’t possible with current telescopes.
One Roman simulation is helping scientists plan how to study cosmic evolution by teaming up with other telescopes, like the Vera C. Rubin Observatory. It’s based on galaxy and dark matter models combined with real data from other telescopes. It envisions a big patch of the sky Roman will survey when it launches by 2027. Scientists are exploring the simulation to make observation plans so Roman will help us learn as much as possible. It’s a sneak peek at what we could figure out about how and why our universe has changed dramatically across cosmic epochs.
youtube
This video begins by showing the most distant galaxies in the simulated deep field image in red. As it zooms out, layers of nearer (yellow and white) galaxies are added to the frame. By studying different cosmic epochs, Roman will be able to trace the universe's expansion history, study how galaxies developed over time, and much more.
As part of the real future survey, Roman will study the structure and evolution of the universe, map dark matter – an invisible substance detectable only by seeing its gravitational effects on visible matter – and discern between the leading theories that attempt to explain why the expansion of the universe is speeding up. It will do it by traveling back in time…well, sort of.
Seeing into the past
Looking way out into space is kind of like using a time machine. That’s because the light emitted by distant galaxies takes longer to reach us than light from ones that are nearby. When we look at farther galaxies, we see the universe as it was when their light was emitted. That can help us see billions of years into the past. Comparing what the universe was like at different ages will help astronomers piece together the way it has transformed over time.
This animation shows the type of science that astronomers will be able to do with future Roman deep field observations. The gravity of intervening galaxy clusters and dark matter can lens the light from farther objects, warping their appearance as shown in the animation. By studying the distorted light, astronomers can study elusive dark matter, which can only be measured indirectly through its gravitational effects on visible matter. As a bonus, this lensing also makes it easier to see the most distant galaxies whose light they magnify.
The simulation demonstrates how Roman will see even farther back in time thanks to natural magnifying glasses in space. Huge clusters of galaxies are so massive that they warp the fabric of space-time, kind of like how a bowling ball creates a well when placed on a trampoline. When light from more distant galaxies passes close to a galaxy cluster, it follows the curved space-time and bends around the cluster. That lenses the light, producing brighter, distorted images of the farther galaxies.
Roman will be sensitive enough to use this phenomenon to see how even small masses, like clumps of dark matter, warp the appearance of distant galaxies. That will help narrow down the candidates for what dark matter could be made of.
In this simulated view of the deep cosmos, each dot represents a galaxy. The three small squares show Hubble's field of view, and each reveals a different region of the synthetic universe. Roman will be able to quickly survey an area as large as the whole zoomed-out image, which will give us a glimpse of the universe’s largest structures.
Constructing the cosmos over billions of years
A separate simulation shows what Roman might expect to see across more than 10 billion years of cosmic history. It’s based on a galaxy formation model that represents our current understanding of how the universe works. That means that Roman can put that model to the test when it delivers real observations, since astronomers can compare what they expected to see with what’s really out there.
In this side view of the simulated universe, each dot represents a galaxy whose size and brightness corresponds to its mass. Slices from different epochs illustrate how Roman will be able to view the universe across cosmic history. Astronomers will use such observations to piece together how cosmic evolution led to the web-like structure we see today.
This simulation also shows how Roman will help us learn how extremely large structures in the cosmos were constructed over time. For hundreds of millions of years after the universe was born, it was filled with a sea of charged particles that was almost completely uniform. Today, billions of years later, there are galaxies and galaxy clusters glowing in clumps along invisible threads of dark matter that extend hundreds of millions of light-years. Vast “cosmic voids” are found in between all the shining strands.
Astronomers have connected some of the dots between the universe’s early days and today, but it’s been difficult to see the big picture. Roman’s broad view of space will help us quickly see the universe’s web-like structure for the first time. That’s something that would take Hubble or Webb decades to do! Scientists will also use Roman to view different slices of the universe and piece together all the snapshots in time. We’re looking forward to learning how the cosmos grew and developed to its present state and finding clues about its ultimate fate.
This image, containing millions of simulated galaxies strewn across space and time, shows the areas Hubble (white) and Roman (yellow) can capture in a single snapshot. It would take Hubble about 85 years to map the entire region shown in the image at the same depth, but Roman could do it in just 63 days. Roman’s larger view and fast survey speeds will unveil the evolving universe in ways that have never been possible before.
Roman will explore the cosmos as no telescope ever has before, combining a panoramic view of the universe with a vantage point in space. Each picture it sends back will let us see areas that are at least a hundred times larger than our Hubble or James Webb space telescopes can see at one time. Astronomers will study them to learn more about how galaxies were constructed, dark matter, and much more.
The simulations are much more than just pretty pictures – they’re important stepping stones that forecast what we can expect to see with Roman. We’ve never had a view like Roman’s before, so having a preview helps make sure we can make the most of this incredible mission when it launches.
Learn more about the exciting science this mission will investigate on Twitter and Facebook.
Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!
#NASA#astronomy#telescope#Roman Space Telescope#dark matter#galaxies#cosmology#astrophysics#stars#galaxy#Hubble#Webb#spaceblr
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now you’re allowed to write again, this is a formal request for the smut pls 🤝🏼😌
okay so, im bringing back bet!joe for you, because part of your brand is privately requesting specific smut, so our double or nothing boy's back with a new bet! (lil tw: it's.... it's right there, in the request, 18+) Wordcount: 2.4K
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All The Aces
part one - part two - part three - part four - part five
“You’re wrong.”
He was wrong.
“Am I?” Joe smirked before he threw his head back to catch a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
“Izzy, please tell him he’s wrong.”
He was so, so wrong.
The flake of popcorn he then threw over that got stuck in your hair went vocally ignored – you just fished it out and threw it back, watched how Joe was chewing an open mouthful of his own, smugly smiling at your bad aim.
That flake landed on the floor about two feet away from him. Izzy picked it up as she walked past, already annoyed with the two of you before she’d even sat down.
Him visibly enjoying her disdain wasn’t exactly helping his case.
“Don’t get me involved in whatever you two do to get each other off.” Izzy commented as she sat down next to you to which you audibly gasped.
You were pressed into the corner of your sofa with a little bowl of crisps balanced on the side – your own one, because neither Joe or Izzy wanted any crisps. They wanted popcorn, so they got to share the big bowl.
With your flatmate slash best friend next to you, your legs pretty much filled out the entire sofa, leaving Joe sit by himself in the armchair and thus placing Izzy in between the two of you, right in line of your crossfire.
“We don’t–” you started, but the dropped jaw you’d had on show for a second too long had prompted Joe to chuck a whole handful of popcorn at you.
None actually made it into your mouth.
“I genuinely don’t need to hear about what does or doesn’t get you off.” Izzy raised her voice slightly as she looked at Joe, telling him off for throwing food. He immediately stopped his laughter and apologised by handing the bowl over to her before he sat back, giving you the opportunity to pick and drop all thrown flakes back into the bowl.
“Just, just take it from me that he’s– you’re wrong.” you urged, and Joe just laughed.
Izzy shook her head as she took a deep breath in through flared nostrils.
Joe took that to mean more than just sheer annoyance at being dragged into whatever childish fight you had going.
“Izzy knows what’s up,” Joe held up a hand, ready to high five her, absolutely willing her refusal to get into this argument with you as an agreement to him being right.
Which, he very much wasn’t.
Izzy ignored him though, left him hanging like a loser, which made you chuckle.
“Will you just, hear me out? Did you hear what he said just now?” you sat up a little, legs crossing in front of you as you turned to Izzy who was now finding whatever she said she wanted to watch on the TV, remote in hand, eyes trained on the screen.
“She did hear me, which is why she won’t.” Joe simply said, leaning back in his chair all relaxed, hands behind his head, legs crossing at the ankles as he placed them on the coffee table.
“No, but, listen. Joe said–”
“I don’t care what Joe said,” Izzy deadpanned. “These lovers quarrels ain’t it. I know you live here so I can’t just kick you out, but…” Izzy’s eyes flicked to Joe, which made him scoff in mock-shock before he let his face turn kind.
Sarcastically kind.
“No, she’s right. It’s okay. I’m wrong. I’m wrong. I’m just a man, and what do I really know, right? You know, besides the fact that you have like, a billion more nerve endings than we do, which arguably should mean I’m right, just by the science and biology of everything, but, fine. I’ll be wrong if that makes you feel better. I accept my defeat.”
As Joe finished his small monologue, you were both frowning at him - for different reasons.
You, because he was being a little shit.
Izzy, because she was slowly trying to puzzle together what the fuck he was on about.
She then slowly turned her head towards you, eyes squinted in thought, and you sighed as you looked at her. You pretended Joe wasn’t able to hear you when you said, “Maybe you should kick him out, I’m not–”
“It’s 8000.” ��She interrupted you sort of casually.
“What?”
“If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about, it’s 8000 nerve endings for you,” Izzy nodded at you, and then turned to Joe to nod at him, “And 4000 for you.”
Joe raised his eyebrows in slight surprise as he smiled, reaching for another hand of popcorn with one hand whilst pointing the other at you.
“See? Double! That’s double the pleasure!”
“What do you mean, see? Like that proves you’re right?”
“Are you forgetting that we’re talking about something I am witness to? You can’t make such wild claims when I literally know how you–”
“Oh, my God. Stop!”
Izzy rapidly turned her head a few times between the two of you, trying to follow along, before she muted the TV and sat back a little.
“All right, I’m too invested now. What the fuck is the problem…”
“She said women don’t care for orgasms.”
“That’s not what I said, you– No, Izzy,” you had to laugh at the vile facial expression she gave you. “That’s not what I said! I said that for me–”
“No, no no. You said for women.” Joe was quick to correct you, wagging a complacent finger at you.
“Sure, yes. Fine. For women, sex isn’t just about the orgasm at the end. Like, that’s not the most important thing. It’s not all about that.”
Izzy’s face dropped as she blinked slowly, and you saw how Joe was studying her face as he did his very best to keep his own laughter inside of his body.
“Don’t you agree there’s so many other things–”
“Shh shh,” Joe held up a hand, “Let her think.”
You obliged with an eye roll.
Joe was wrong.
“I don’t…” Izzy seemed at a fucking loss. What the fuck was this conversation she’d just accepted herself into? It was bad enough that these were sometimes the type of discussions held within your group of friends, wild accusations thrown over a table that you all got far too passionate about. It was a whole other thing to have two of those said friends now together, as a couple, having the debate in Izzy’s living room where the issue was wholly personal and, worst of all, inescapable.
She sighed as she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers.
“Sex isn’t just about the orgasm, right?” you tried, speaking softly, praying she’d at least sort of agree with you. You knew she did, but didn’t know if she’s vocalise it in the moment because you also understood she thought you and Joe were being fucking ridiculous.
She just wanted to watch her favourite show on TV.
Have a quiet night in.
And yet, here you were.
Talking about if orgasms mattered or not.
“Oh, then what is it about?” Joe couldn’t help spatting out as he went for another handful of popcorn from the bowl Izzy had now placed on the table in front of him.
“Um,” you sat up more, now borderline sitting on your knees and nearly knocking off the small bowl of crisps behind you, holding both hands up, ready to count on your fingers.
“Foreplay, intimacy, being close, feeling connected–” you saw Joe slump back into his seat, pushing his chin up as he sarcastically nodded at you with squinted eyes and a deep frown.
It was stupid how that made you laugh whilst you also tried your best at raising your voice to make sure he was hearing what you were saying. To convey you weren’t lying. Which, you truly weren’t!
You continued, “Doing a fun activity together, it’s like quality time, isn’t it?” you tried, nudging Izzy, but not waiting for an answer as you quickly carried on with, “The attention, being appreciated– giving appreciation! Learning about each other! All of these things go both ways, Joe, there’s just… there’s so many things.”
You looked at him a second whilst he seemed to think it over. Just when his facial expression seemed to give way with a raised eyebrow and a small cock to the side of his head, you sternly demanded, “Admit you’re wrong.” which was exactly the wrong thing to say.
“I’ll admit those things are nice, sure.”
Joe threw back his handful of popcorn and wiped his hands, giving himself a moment to think of how he was going to phrase what he was about to say.
You and Izzy waited expectantly, both sets of eyes on Joe who seemed far too relaxed for a single guy sat opposite two women, making wild claims that he somehow would know more about sex from a woman’s perspective than they would.
He truly did believe that to be the case, though.
So wrong.
“But, if we’re not crossing the finish line, what’s the point?”
“Did you not listen to the whole list of things I just gave you?”
“I’m not wrong.”
“You absolutely are wrong.”
“I’m not only not wrong. I am also, right.”
Izzy, who had been quiet for a bit, stared into the space in front of her as she suddenly loudly scoffed.
“He’s wrong right?” you pushed just slightly, desperately needing your best friend to be on your side for this one.
“Listen,” Izzy started, holding up a hand. “I’ve…” she faltered, and you made eye contact with Joe, a little panicked, a little confused.
What if she was going to tell you that you were wrong?
Oh no.
Best friend betrayal.
If Izzy disagreed with you, she could be an adult about it and pretend, just for the sake of it, that you were right and then tell you about her real feelings later, outside of Joe’s earshot.
Bros before hoes and all that.
“The finish line is important…”
Yes.
You smiled as smugly as you could and saw Joe’s slowly fade.
Izzy was a bro.
Yes.
You could just feel how she was about to side with you on this before she’d even said the words.
“But if it’s between all that she said and just, as you put it, crossing the finish line... she wins. She’s right.”
There.
End of discussion.
You didn’t cheer, or high five your best friend, or point at Joe to shriek at him that he was an idiot. You just accepted Izzy’s answer and gave a small shrug that quietly said, “See?”
Izzy reached for the remote she’d put down, unmuted the TV, and Joe watched as the two of you got comfortable on the sofa together. How you sat back and reached for snacks and laid the throw blankets across your laps just right.
It was a little suspicious how long he stayed quiet, but you knew it would only be a moment for him to try and argue his case once more.
There was no point, you knew, but you also knew Joe had an ego that was fragile, like all men had egos that were fragile.
Male egos couldn’t just take hits like this one, even if he was outnumbered.
You were chewing on a crisp when, from the corner of your eye, you saw Joe’s finger wag from left to right, pointing at the two of you before he spoke.
“You can’t actually be serious…”
“Oh yea.” Izzy didn’t even look at him as she answered, and it was hard to hide your smile. “So serious.”
“So, you’re saying…” Joe sat up, both elbows on his knees, whilst neither of you moved. “You’d rather have sex and not come–”
“Half the time, that’s just life,” Izzy complained, and you both laughed.
Joe didn’t.
Your moment of haha-men-suck that had its feet stuck in truths had you laughing louder when you saw how Joe definitely wasn’t in on the joke.
When Izzy saw, she snapped her head towards you and stage whispered, “Uh oh…” through her giggles.
Joe scooted forward even further and doubled down, “You would rather have sex and not orgasm, than have an orgasm? Is that what you are saying?”
He needed to hear you say it.
“Joe… please accept that you’re wrong and let it rest.” You were very much trying to be the bigger person, which was easy when your friend had just helped you win the argument.
But then Izzy grabbed hold of your arm as she looked at your boyfriend.
“Careful...” she warned alarmingly. “I’ve seen that face before.”
“Tell me you mean that. What I just said. Say that you would rather have sex without an orgasm than one with one...” Joe ignored Izzy, dark eyes locked right onto yours, facial expression made of stone.
“No, that’s not...” you sighed, looked at Izzy, said, “He doesn’t get it.”
“He doesn’t get it.” Izzy echoed.
You were still making fun, unable to stop your giggles.
“Say what you mean, then.” Joe was still leant forward, was still staring you down, all serious and urgent.
“Can we just watch TV now, please?” Izzy interupted, increasing the volume of the TV slightly.
Joe didn’t falter in this weird staring contest he’d started, one you weren’t participating in.
You looked down at your bowl of crisps as you fished out another one.
You bit it in half and saw how Joe grew a little impatient as his eyes followed your hand as you fed yourself.
Then, you finally answered, “Sex isn’t about the orgasm.” And Joe immediately clapped his hands together loudly, making both you and Izzy jump slightly. He seemed incredibly pleased as he sat back in the armchair, rubbing his hands together before he pointed a quick finger at you.
“I’m going to prove you wrong.”
A startled laugh escaped you as you and Izzy shared a look.
“All right, good luck mate.”
This time, it was Joe’s turn to scoff, and that smug little smile from before made its return.
“Won’t need it. You just wait.”
You looked at each other for a moment, and you didn’t trust his confident bearing one bit, but were too stubborn to let your own satisfied smile fade.
“Fine.” you said challengingly.
Joe was wrong.
“Fine.” Joe copied.
So wrong.
---
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my life is changing every day, in every possible way
“She’s a cranberry,” he exaggerates his pronunciation of the word for extra emphasis, “Has Ocean Spray become a relic around here?” or It's Halloween, Bradley has a precocious eleven-month-old daughter, and he might be in love with her impromptu babysitter.
A/N: soooo here's a halloween thing that i kind of just threw together? i'm OBSESSED with bradley being a girl dad and just love this little girl i came up with (@gretagerwigsmuse knows that we love quincy in this household). anywho, enjoy some poorly written dadley and this super pointless halloween drabble? hope y'all had a good holiday and am sooo looking forward to writing more of this daddy/daughter duo !
“Whatever it is, Bradshaw, you’re not excused this time.”
Jake Seresin slams his locker shut and shoves his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. The heel of his boot is kicked up, making a soft “thud” on the hollow metal as he leans his back against it. He crosses his arms to lie in front of his chest and adjusts his watch.
The small wooden bench screwed into the linoleum tile perches Bradley Bradshaw, who sits with his elbows digging into the tops of his thighs and his back aching something awful. He softly grunts before he turns to release some of the pressure there. The resounding crack it makes causes Jake to grimace a little before his face returns to the snarky default position it always seems to have.
“I’m sorry I’m an adult? And have responsibilities?” Bradley rolls his eyes and traces his index finger around a watermark on the wood next to him.
He notices his Nalgene water bottle sweating and subconsciously picks it up, using the bottom of his t-shirt to dry the wet spots it left in its wake. Jake and Natasha watch him without his knowledge and share a knowing look with each other, but remain silent. Sometimes it’s hard to determine if Bradley’s behavior is because he’s in a vastly different life stage than they are, or if it’s just a Bradley thing.
Trying to figure it out makes everyone’s brains hurt so they often just let it be.
The blonde groans again. “You say it like flying a billion-dollar aircraft every single day isn’t a huge responsibility,” he licks his lips before throwing his head back, “Can you take that huge stick out of your ass for once and let yourself have fun?”
“I have a baby, shithead. I can’t just stop being a dad to go to a Halloween party.”
Javy slams his locker shut and prances over to Jake and Natasha. A wrinkle in his eyebrows starts to form as he thinks over Bradley’s statement. He finds himself standing next to Jake; his stance is identical and his bargaining skills are tuned and ready to be used.
“It’s hardly a party at all, man. It’s a costume, a couple of beers at Pen’s place, and maybe one other bar for like an hour,” he speaks and pats Bradley’s shoulder, “Live a little.”
Bradley sighs; the puff of air housing a hint of playfulness and a hint of annoyance. He knows he’s already lost and that there is absolutely no way he’s getting out of it this time. And so help him God, he can’t believe he’s thinking this, but maybe what Jake and Javy are saying doesn’t sound like too bad of a plan.
It would be good for him. It would be good them. It would be good for Quincy, and if any of the parenting magazine articles (that he’s kind of ashamed to have budgeted for paying for the subscriptions, if he’s being honest) had anything to say about it, children thrive when their parents are thriving.
Besides, Penny and Mav have kinda been on his ass about it. Because yeah, she goes to daycare during the day and yes, she’s technically been around other kids and for sure has had her share of being around adults, but she’s one anxious biting attack away from being kicked out of daycare and all the people Bradley trusts (outside of Miss Charlene at the daycare who is a friend of Penny’s and was his babysitter when he was small) are up in the sky so he’s really running himself dry with options.
Natasha calls it separation anxiety but Bradley calls it a bond. Which is true, Nat had agreed, but it wasn’t just about Quincy being attached. It was also about Bradley being just as attached, if not more.
In the eleven months that Quincy Elaine Bradshaw had been on this Earth, Bradley hadn’t left her side for longer than four hours at a time.
And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s never really had anyone to call his own before or if it’s a “Papa Bear” thing or if there’s some unexplained biological phenomena that won’t allow him to be away from his daughter without spiraling, but he hardly thinks its a problem. . . .
Except when he leaves on his lunch break to go see her at daycare and she’s in a fit of hysterics whenever his hour break is up and he has to return to work. Or when she’s eleven months old and has never slept by herself in her own room before (which is why his back is so fucked, but he’ll never admit it). Or when she’s biting kids and teachers because she’s so anxious she doesn’t know what to do with herself.
So, yeah. Maybe it is a problem and maybe the root of it all is guilt.
He can’t let his daughter out of his sight because he can’t help but feel guilty for raising her the same way he was and giving her a ghost that she never asked for – a parent whose approval she will always seek despite never knowing who that person truly is.
Something about that makes him feel like he has to make up time for two as a punishment for only being one, and being the one who can’t provide her everything she’ll ever need as a growing girl and eventually as a woman.
“I don’t know,” he says lamely. He wraps his finger around the loose thread on his t-shirt and pulls it in one fell swoop.
“Okay, fuck. You need to get out. What do you need?” Natasha pipes up, rolling her eyes before sitting down next to him.
He raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth to answer but she cuts him off before he can. “What’s it gonna take? Do you need a sitter? A lobotomy? You need to live a little, dude.”
“Well, we know the sitter’s not the issue. The kid’s cute as shit,” Jake speaks up and Bradley scoffs.
“She’s so fucking cute,” Javy agrees and Bradley has to hide his grin despite being annoyed.
He helped make the cutest baby ever. Who wouldn’t be obnoxiously proud about that?
“Absolutely adorable. People are lining up to babysit her,” Reuben Fitch interrupts and joins the group of aviators which further puts a pin in Bradley’s desire to decline the invitation. Rueben doesn’t involve himself in Jake or Javy’s bullshit very often, but when he does, it’s evident that the idea isn’t absolutely batshit crazy.
Bradley gives him a playful middle finger before straightening his posture and coming to the realization that maybe Jake was right for once.
“Yeah.” Holy fucking shit. “Rueben’s wife would put her in her pocket and take her home if you let her.”
And the golden rule is that if Bob is game for something, then everyone else should be. So now he really has no excuse to not go out on Halloween night because he has the Southern Californian equivalent of the fucking Pope giving his two cents on to why he needs to go.
Fuck you, Bob Floyd for always being the voice of reason.
“See? Everyone agrees. You’re the odd one out so it’s only fair,” Jake taunts again. Everyone around Bradley seems to be shaking their head in agreement to which he realizes that he’s stuck and there’s no way he won’t be in attendance to the group’s Halloween plans.
“But it’s her first Halloween,” he tries to reason, “I can’t leave her alone on her first one.”
Javy sighs. “She’s not even gonna remember it. Yeah it’s a holiday but she’s not missing out on much. She doesn’t even have teeth yet.”
Jake laughs sarcastically. “Q-dawg’s been chompin’ away on all of her little daycare friends. Haven’t you heard?”
Bradley narrows his eyes. “Fuck you! I thought you left the room when I was on the phone with the daycare.”
“Her business is our business now, Bradshaw. Aren’t we allowed uncle duties?” Reuben teases. Natasha clears her throat to interrupt him. “And aunt duties?”
“Auntie Nat reigns superior and we all know it, but holy shit. She’s biting people? How is she more badass than her dad?” Nat goads and shoves the back of Bradley’s head playfully. She chuckles at how slow his head pops back up and he mocks her laugh and sticks out his tongue at her.
“Guys, c’mon. I can’t leave her with a sitter on her first Halloween.” Although he knows he sounds silly (and he feels silly saying it, too), his daughter is his best friend in some ways. Despite her not being able to walk yet and only having a vocabulary of a few words, he can’t help but know how deeply he loves her, and how much everything about her matters to him.
“Then don’t,” Bob says, “Just bring her to Hard Deck for like an hour and then you can run home, meet the sitter, and then meet us wherever else we decide to go.”
And sometimes Bradley hates how much sense Bob tends to make and wishes that he was wrong. That no, the Hard Deck isn’t a suitable place for a baby, and no, there’s absolutely no way Quincy would keep her cool while being there during one of the busiest nights of the year.
But he knows it’s a lie because her grandparents are the owners, everyone loves her and fights over having their turn to hold her or even catch a glimpse of a baby smile directed at them, and the fact that Quincy has been to the Hard Deck enough to have developed an affinity for diluted cranberry juice over the Mott’s Tots apple juice sitting in his pantry.
“Fuck, fine. But you’re finding me a fucking babysitter,” he speaks, pointing a finger between Jake and Natasha before standing up abruptly. He turns on his heel and makes his way toward the door, knowing the only way he can make sense of the predicament he’s put himself in can be solved by seeing his joyous baby girl.
The sounds of muffled chuckles and shoes squeaking on the ground fill the silence of Bradley’s absence; all of their eyes flitting to each other to decipher if they actually made the most stubborn man alive give into their bidding with minimal effort.
“Did we just make Rooster. . .cave?” Reuben speaks, his arms coming up to cross in front of his chest. His thumb rolls his wedding band around on his ring finger as he waits for someone else to speak up.
“Huh,” Jake huffs, “I think we did.”
“So I’m guessing the lobotomy is out of the question,” Mickey ponders out loud, “Y’all better know a damn good babysitter.”
Natasha and Jake’s eyes widen in realization. They better find a damn good babysitter soon.
Carrying a baby is harder than it looks.
Bradley swears that his daughter is an eighty-year-old woman trapped in the body of a drooly and overly excitable eleven-month-old.
It's not the worst thing in the world, he figures.
But God, is she giving his arms a workout from the amount of times she’s tried to contort her small body to get a good look at all the ruckus and excitement going on around her. It’s when Bradley feels a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck that he realizes the costume he’s picked may not have been the smartest move; especially when no one seems to get what he’s supposed to be.
Secreting sweat by the gallon seems like an unfair exchange to be dressed in what he thinks is the greatest daddy-daughter costume of all time. The flannel shirt he has on and the overwhelmingly hot coveralls to go with it was a good idea in theory (that theory being how frigid the Halloweens he used to spend in northern Virginia were when he was a little kid).
He finally makes it to the saloon-style doors of the bar and is met with “Thriller” by Michael Jackson playing from the overhead speakers above him. Every surface seems to be decked out in cobwebs and dark purple and neon green spiders, and Quincy stares in awe at all the patrons meddling about around her before making grabby hands at the faux snakes dangling around the jukebox.
She almost slips out of Bradley’s grasp before being wrangled back to a stable position by her chunky rolled arms.
“Jesus, girl,” he gasps, swallowing the lump in his throat while Quincy giggles in his face. “You tryna kill me here?”
“Well look who it is!” Penny’s teasing voice sounds in his ears.
Quincy’s little eyes catch the figure of her faux grandma and she begins to squeal in her father’s ear before reaching her arms as far out as they can go; reaching and moving so frantically it looks as if she’s attempting to swim in midair.
Penny moves closer to them and raises her eyebrows. Her arms instinctively reach out and she grabs Quincy from Bradley. Her fingers trace the burgundy felt of her costume before she tickles the baby. Quincy erupts in a fit of laughs.
“What has your crazy daddy got you dressed as?” she teases, her elbow coming out to knock Bradley in his ribs playfully. “Are you an. . .apple?”
Bradley huffs and rolls his eyes. His gaze instinctively lands on his daughter who clasps her hands on Penny’s face and traces her chubby (and insanely sticky) baby fingers across her red lips. She puckers her lips and chuckles to herself at Quincy’s amazement of red lipstick.
“She’s a cranberry,” he exaggerates his pronunciation of the word for extra emphasis, “Has Ocean Spray become a relic around here?”
Penny’s eyes flicker between Bradley and the baby she holds in her arms. The splotchy rosy cheeks and honeyed hazel eyes tells the tale of twins, and she’s reminded of the little boy she used to casually see around Fightertown all those years ago dressed in different variants of the same dinosaur on Halloween.
“Sweetheart, you’re saying it like it was the most obvious thing in the world,” she starts, simultaneously giving her attention to Quincy and the million and one different things going on around her, “I almost thought she was one of the cement balls outside of Target but realized the red was too dark.”
He groans, his eyebrows furrowing together and a slight scowl forming on his face. Penny’s heart is warmed because his daughter has a propensity to make the same face when she’s frustrated.
A beat absent of dialouge passes. Hoots and hollers fill the silence as well as strangers stopping by to coo at Quincy before being on their way to the pool table of their desire. Quincy babbles and talks as if she’s a lawyer prosecuting a case and Bradley’s heart softens at how animated she is.
Her awkward tongue pushes out more saliva than what would be socially acceptable and the drool begins to gather on her face. He reaches out and wipes her mouth with the sleeve of his flannel while she flops like a dead fish away from the makeshift napkin in protest.
God, this girl is so dramatic.
“I handmade it,” he says softly. He runs a dry part of his sleeve across her lips more firmly to ensure he had gotten all the wetness.
Penny hums in acknowledgement. “And you did good.”
And he doesn’t know why he’s expecting it; why he’s waiting on Penny (of all people) to see him picking a scab and rub more salt in the wound. He knows that she would never do that and he knows that most of the people (if not all of the people who he considers close to him) see him that way. He knows that people know he’s trying his best and that he’s doing everything he can.
Bradley knows but he just can’t make himself feel it, and he can never figure out why.
Maybe it’s because he’s a single dad. Maybe it’s because he’s a single dad without a “real” mom or dad to show him the way. Maybe it’s because he’s finally gotten used to having someone around who relies on him and needs him and loves him unconditionally, and he’s terrified of doing something that will make her sit on a couch in a therapist office and say the words that he’s trying his best to avoid: “My dad doesn’t love me enough.”
Bradley knows what it feels like to not be loved enough. Bradley knows what it feels like to not be liked enough. But Bradley doesn’t know what it feels like to not try hard enough, and that is something he is determined to never stop doing when it comes to his baby.
“You’re saying it like I didn’t though.”
Penny’s face falls and she shifts her gaze from Bradley’s daughter to him.
“Oh, Bradley,” she sighs, her open palm coming up to cup his face, “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re an amazing dad and you’re doing a fantastic job.”
He grabs her hand with his and gives her a weak smile in return.
“Doesn’t feel like it, though.”
He’s usually not one for feeling sorry for himself. He’s never been too keen on throwing pity parties and inviting everyone he knows to them, and in all actuality, he doesn’t know why this bid for reassurance that he’s serving Penny is even coming up.
“No. Stop it. No,” she playfully chides, tickling Quincy to make her erupt into a ball of silent baby chuckles. “You’re an amazing dad and everyone knows it. You’re her world and that’s all that matters.”
Bradley opens his mouth to respond but can’t find the words to accept her compliment. He simply nods his head before the already loud noise of the bar is split by an even louder whistle.
His neck cranes around to see his group of friends waving him over to the pool table and the anchored weight of doom starts to sink in his stomach. He remains frozen with his hands in his pockets and his body emitting heat from his personal heater of rubber waders. He feels like a seven year old at the park again; his mother standing before him and wordlessly encouraging him to go play and make friends.
The high pitched scream of his daughter is heard as Maverick approaches. Both Penny and Bradley wince more and watch as his daughter mindlessly babbles and almost flies out of Penny’s grasp in favor of him.
Pete smiles to himself before grabbing her from Penny. She rolls her eyes at him and he playfully sticks out his tongue.
“Like father, like daughter,” he says, “M’never not a Bradshaw kid’s favorite.” Quincy sticks her chubby fingers near Maverick’s mouth and squeals as he pretends to bite them.
“Did the past fifteen years just. . .not happen?” Bradley quips. In the past, the snarky comment would have made Maverick freeze on the spot but since they’ve repaired their relationship, (and Quincy’s frequent stays at Nana Pen and Papa Mav’s on the weekends) the insult rolls off Maverick’s shoulders into oblivion.
“You’re making fun of the old timer, but I’ve been havin’ myself a grand ole time and you’re in the corner pouting like you’re in timeout,” he comments back, “Don’t you have friends or something?”
“I’m just – taking my time to get over there.” They all look as Jake lets out an obnoxiously loud holler after hitting the eight ball into the pocket to win his pool game. “M’trying to choose joy tonight.”
“And choosing bad costumes too.” Maverick holds his granddaughter out in front of him to get a full fledged look at her costume. She kicks her legs in the air gleefully before he pulls her back to his chest. “Who makes their kid the…Target balls?”
Bradley lets out a groan and rubs at his temples. “Oh my God! She’s a cranberry!”
“Love you to pieces, kid but I think you need your vision checked. You can’t put a kid inside a red sphere and call it a cranberry,” his finger comes out to poke his granddaughter and he’s met with a giggle, “A quack doesn’t always mean duck.”
“Aren’t you, like, 5’4 –”
Penny interrupts the conversation with her hands and quickly grabs Quincy from Maverick’s hold. He flashes her a small pout and is met with the ice cold glare of his girlfriend.
“Bradley, go talk to your friends, babe. We’ll bring her over in a second,” she says, squeezing Pete’s bicep to drag him with her to the bar.
“But –” they both begin to complain in unison. Penny gives them a pointed look that immediately shuts them both up.
“Let’s go get some cranberry juice! How does that sound?” she asks Quincy who begins to smile and clap her hands in approval. Penny turns on her heel to head to the back while Maverick stands frozen in front of his nephew.
“Do you really think I’m only 5’4?” he meekly asks, genuine concern covering his face.
Bradley shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. The paper “Ocean Spray” label he’s taped onto his waders bends and he mentally cringes at the crease he knows will probably be there.
“I mean, sometimes when you turn to the side it’s hard to imagine that you’re actually 5’7.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I said, let’s go get some juice!” Penny’s yells, annoyance dripping off her tone. Maverick claps Bradley on the shoulder before retreating to go accompany Penny in getting Quincy copious amounts of diluted cranberry juice.
With Maverick’s departure, Bradley realizes that he actually has to go interact with his friends. After all, they’re the reason that he’s here. But when he takes in the swell and dip of the loudness that is contingent on the World Series playing on the televisions around him, he wonders if he’s made the wrong choice tonight.
He imagines that he would’ve taken Quincy up the street to trick or treat at a few houses before her impatience and curiosity made her lose interest in the activity. They would have abandoned trick or treating and ended up on the couch where she would be cuddled up beside him with her feet tucked somewhere in between his ribs (because she seems to have a talent for finding the most tender spots on his body to lay) and stroking the tip of his mustache with her perpetually sticky fingers as she begins to doze off. They would be probably watching It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown before her bedtime came, and she would be read three books, tucked in, and off to sleep before he caved and pulled her from her crib and let her sleep with him in his bed.
While it’s mundane and certainly not what he would have considered the epitome of “fun” even two years ago, he feels a weird ache in his chest knowing that he’s missing out on that reality. But he has to snap out of it if he doesn’t want to be miserable and ruin everyone’s night.
Besides, Jake and Nat promised him free drinks all night and they already found him a babysitter and paid her for him. He’s in too deep to back out now.
Bradley takes a deep breath before approaching his friends and tries to ignore the ringing in his ears as Jake and Mickey scream as the Texas Rangers score their first homerun of the game.
“Look who finally decided to show up!” Reuben teases, forcing a beer into his hand that had been on standby until Bradley’s arrival.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too excited,” he deadpans before moving around the group and telling everyone hello.
He’s met with joy and little jabs about graduating to “old timer” status that he playfully ignores. Bradley knows that they’re all just joking with him and that they mean no harm by their comments. Even he’s slightly surprised that he went through with coming out tonight; not to mention coming out while wearing a costume.
His eyes catch Jake slyly handing over a twenty dollar bill to Javy accompanied by a middle finger before he turns his attention to Bradley.
He can already sense the half-assed greeting he’s about to get from him before Jake even begins to speak.
“Got a lot of questions for you but I’ll start with this one,” Jake begins and Bradley rolls his eyes before he finishes his statement, “What the fuck are you supposed to be?”
He groans before pointing to the crumpled “Ocean Spray” label taped to his front. “Fucking Christ. Does no one know where the fuck cranberry juice comes from?”
Jake laughs before taking a long swig of his beer. His ridiculous belt buckle and cowboy boots tell Bradley exactly what he’s supposed to be. Well, that and the fact that for as long as he’s known Jake, he’s always the same thing every year for Halloween.
Leave the Texan to always be a cowboy.
“My first guess was one of the guys from “Deadliest Catch” but since you wanna be a diva about it. . .I’ll just pretend like the Ocean Spray farmer was beyond fuckin’ obvious” he takes a long swig from the beer bottle he has in his hand, “But that’s not important. Where’s our girl?”
Bradley sighs and looks around near the back of the bar where he knows his baby is being given the spotlight by all the older Hard Deck patrons that can’t believe that, “Little Bradley Bradshaw has a baby now!” He’s known that he’s always had a knack for attention, but his daughter lives for the limelight. He’s never known anyone in his life to be so incredibly outgoing, nevermind the fact that Quincy is already the life of the party and she can’t even speak coherently yet.
“Pen and Mav took her to get cranberry juice,” he emphasizes the word and Jake rolls his eyes at him this time instead of the reverse, “They’re gonna bring her by in a bit.”
Natasha makes her way over to the two men; extra smiley and smelling like she had bathed in tequila. Natasha always parties hard but never lets it keep her down. Her ability to drink liquor like a fish and be perfectly fine the next morning has always been a mystery to Bradley. She’s called Phoenix for a reason, he knows.
“Bradley!” she cheers. Her dark hair is hidden by a copper colored wig and he almost wouldn’t recognize her if he hadn’t known her face so well. The green eye makeup and the plastic vines wrapped around her shoulders and legs cue him into the fact that she’s dressed up as Poison Ivy.
“Hey!” he cheers back, matching her enthusiasm.
“You’re the fisher guys from “Deadliest Catch”! That’s so clever!”
Bradley’s face drops and Jake begins to lose his composure beside him. Natasha’s eyes immediately soften with worry and she starts to search for the words to profusely apologize.
“No I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings! I swear it! I was just – I thought — I think that it’s really cool and the overall thingies look great on you! I’m so sorry,” she word vomits and Jake continues to laugh hysterically.
“Nat, it’s okay. I’m not mad,” he speaks gently, “Just calm down a little.”
She takes a deep breath and Bradley can physically see her brain wipe the incident away as if it had never happened. He’s been her best friend for years and knows what she looks like when she’s close to being black out drunk. There’s maybe a thirty-five percent chance she even remembers this interaction at all. She blinks blankly at him before getting distracted by the baseball game and almost topples over with how fast she turned her head.
Jake lightly smacks Bradley’s chest with the back of his hand. “I’m gonna go grab her a water. You want anything?” he asks, gently. He doesn’t want Natasha to overhear him because they both know that she’ll refuse his help no matter what state she’s in.
He shakes his head “no” before hearing the clunk of his boots carrying him to the bar, leaving him and Natsaha alone in the pocket of the bar that their friend group has claimed as their own.
Natasha’s eyes follow Jake’s path to the bar and Bradley has to hide his grin and hold his tongue to not set her off while she’s so vulnerable. Natasha has always been the tiniest bit sweet on Jake but is too stubborn to admit it. Even with all the logical circuits in her brain turned off, she refuses to let herself ponder on this fact for longer than a few seconds. She catches herself staring at the blonde in a half-assed Halloween costume before she returns her attention to Bradley.
And just as expected, she changes the subject as if their earlier conversation had never even happened.
“Where’s Quincy Wincey?” she asks and Bradley chuckles.
Even with no coherent thoughts in mind, Natasha still loves his daughter and wants nothing more than to see her.
“She’s behind the bar with Pen and Mav. She’ll be here shortly.”
Natasha nods before opening her mouth again. “You know, you’re a great dad, B.”
Her sudden revelation takes the words out of Bradley’s mouth. He’s known Natasha Trace for nearly fifteen years and he has never known her to give out genuine compliments half-assed. He has half the mind to ask her what she means by it, but knows that it’s no use given the state she’s in.
All that matters is that she really means it, so he settles for a simple “Thank you” instead.
Jake announces his return by forcing a cup of ice water into Natasha’s hand which she gripes about but begins to drink anyway.
“Your daughter’s back there chummin’ it up, by the way,” Jake states simply and Bradley pauses.
“What do you mean?” His hands come out to rest on his hips.
“Well, for starters,” he begins, unwrapping a toothpick and putting it in his mouth, “She’s got people handing her candy and peanuts into a little paper bag. She’s being pretty efficient about it if I say so myself. Had half the mind to grab her from Mav while I was up there cause I wanna see her, but I didn’t wanna get in the way of her business efforts.”
“She’s what?”
“Paper bag. Candy. Peanuts,” Jake lists, “C’mon, man. Keep up!”
Bradley stalks toward the bar to go get his daughter. He’s not angry, in any sense of the word, but kind of disappointed given that she’s technically trick or treating for the first time and he’s not there to witness it. Part of him is starting to feel restless at his lack of interaction with her and wants her back in his arms immediately.
“Hey, don’t insert yourself in her business endeavors! Be happy your daughter is likable. We all know she doesn’t get it from you,” Jake shouts before returning his attention to the World Series playing out in front of him.
By the time Bradley arrives to the bar top, he takes note of exactly what Jake had seen upon his visit. There is his daughter with ruddy cheeks and a toothy grin absolutely hamming up her cuteness at some captains and their wives with Maverick holding her up so she can stand semi-confidently on the table. Her little fist holds a brown paper bag that Penny uses for her peanuts and is full with candy and crinkled due to her lack of a proper graspar reflex.
His daughter is a world class charmer and she has an equally charming grandpa to help her do her bidding.
“Bradley!” Maverick cheers, turning Quincy his direction so that she can have eyes on her dad.
Like magic, she abandons the little bag she was holding in favor of the arms of her father. He grabs her without hesitation and she glues herself to his side as if it’s her permanent position.
“You better not be making my baby a con artist, Mav,” he weakly threatens. He coos at Quincy and marvels in the way she lays her head on his shoulder.
“Hardly. She’s a people magnet, kid. Everyone would be happy to do anything she wanted them to do.”
Bradley sighs, knowing that he’s missed one of her milestones. This is the price he’ll have to pay forever with being a more than single parent with the kind of job he has. He swallows the disappointment down and saves it for later. He knows that it’ll come up another time anyway, so why even bother with addressing it now?
“You’re treating my kid like a Kennedy, Mav. Don’t get any ideas on how to sneak her onto base to get you out of trouble.”
Pete laughs and holds up his hands in defeat. “Can’t make any promises,” he simply says, “Don’t you have to go meet the sitter soon?”
Bradley groans at the gentle reminder his uncle is giving him. Maverick doesn’t know what it’s like to be a parent in the slightest, but he knows what good parenting looks like. He had seen it with Goose and how much he had cared for Bradley in the very short amount of time he was given, there’s no doubt in his mind that Bradley is the best dad that Quincy could ever ask for.
But what he also knows is how perfectionistic and borderline obsessive his nephew can be. He deserves a break and a break Maverick knows will be spent in good company with people who love him.
Bradley deserves this, and he knows that Mav’s gentle reminder is more of an order telling him to be kind to himself.
He looks down at his watch and sees the little hand inching towards the eight. “Yeah. We need to get going.”
Pete leans over and gives Quincy a kiss on the head as a “goodbye” before shoving the paper bag of candy into her father’s hand.
He closes his hand around Bradley’s fist and gives it a firm shake. “Have fun tonight. You deserve it.”
Bradley nods before bidding goodbye to Penny who is beyond excited at the idea of Bradley finally going out, baby free, for the first time since he found out he was going to be a father.
And when his daughter incoherently hums along to “The Girl is Mine” by Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney in the backseat, Bradley knows how hard leaving her alone tonight is truly going to be.
She shouts at him which he knows is her trying to get his attention to sing along with her.
“You ready, babe?” he asks, eyes flitting up to peek at her in his rearview mirror, “Because, the doggone girl is mine.”
Quincy bursts into a fit of baby giggles as he tries to ignore the feeling of impending doom brewing in his chest. He grabs a piece of chalky bubble gum from her candy bag and pops it in his mouth. He cringes as he chews.
Who the fuck gives gum to a baby?
Bradley doesn’t know why his heart is pounding out of his chest.
He knows that he’ll only be gone for two hours maximum and that Quincy will probably sleep the entire time anyway. She may be precocious and charming, but she loves bedtime more than anything, and from the active night she’s had, he’d be surprised if she even made it fifteen minutes before passing out somewhere on the living room floor.
He trusts Natasha’s judgement (and Jake’s, he’ll begrudantly admit) and he knows the sitter they found for him is nothing less than amazing. You’re a childhood friend of Natasha’s that had recently moved to the area and had been Jake’s date one time to the Navy Ball six years ago (which he had learned from an Instagram post dated from 2017).
And Bradley will say he doesn’t know much about you (outside of his deep dive stalk that he had done days before, but that remains beside the point, he thinks) but that would be a big fat lie. He feels a little pathetic to admit that he had created a faux LinkedIn profile to be able to look you up and see your credentials as well as finding every mutual follower you had amassed between Natasha, Jake, Javy, and Bob.
And it’s a little creepy, he admits, but he’s only just looking out for the safety of his daughter! Just because you know his friends doesn’t mean that he knows you (which he knows is wildly untrue given the overwhelming amount of Internet stalking he had done on you in the past week).
Bradley is burning a hole into his living room floor by pacing back and forth with his daughter in his arms. As anticipated, she’s started to doze off and he chuckles to himself. Quincy loves bedtime and that remains uncontested by the way her little lips are pursed and she lets out light snores.
The sound of a car door opening and shutting keys him into being aware of your presence and he scares you half to death because he opens the door before you can knock; your knuckles almost coming into contact with his chin had you not been paying attention.
“Oh,” you mummer, “Ummm. You’re Bradley, right?”
And you’ve never felt as dumb as you do now because of course he’s Bradley. You know what he looks like and the baby asleep on his shoulder and the last name “Bradshaw” printed on the doormat outside should be enough for you to deductively reason that that’s him right in front of you.
Not to mention, you’ve been Internet stalking him and know what he looks like for a fact because of the amount of photos Natasha has of him on her Instagram and in her story highlights. You had always found him attractive whenever your eyes graced those pictures, but that’s all it was; a fleeting thought that was never watered and was gone as soon as it was there.
But now that he’s in front of you, now that you’re getting a really good look at him holding a precious baby on his hip and somehow making rubber waders look amazing, your mouth starts to get dry and your heartbeat starts to quicken.
“You must be the sitter,” he declares and he mentally kicks himself for how cold he’s coming off. His nerves have a tendency to put him into fight or flight and the pressure of being in your presence merely adds to that.
He clears his throat when he notices your lips forming a thin line and rejection teeming from your body language.
Fuck. Why do I always do this?
“Oh! Uh – Come in,” he steps aside and closes the door behind you as you walk in.
From what you know about Bradley, you know that he’s a single dad who had a less than stellar record for wanting female companionship. When Nat would come to Williamsburg to visit you all those years ago when you were fresh out of undergrad and working as a TA, barely scraping enough money to pay your rent, she would lay on your floor and crone about how she had a friend who never seemed to be able to keep a girlfriend.
But he was amazing, she would insist, and he’s such an awesome person, she would say. Somehow though, Bradley always seemed to be heartbroken and searching for the next way to smash what little he had left of it into unsalvageable pieces.
Even though that was close to a decade ago, you know that the fact remains true when you peer across the pictures in his living room. Photos of a blonde couple and a dark haird little boy that you know are his parents. Photos of him with the infamous and insane Maverick. Photos of him with his daughter, but no photos of him and his daughter’s mother; let alone a girlfriend of any kind.
“So she’ll probably sleep the entire time. Don’t put her in her crib because she’ll scream bloody murder and not calm down for a long time so you’re free to keep her on the couch or put her in my bed,” he lays her down in the corner of his couch and puts the large blanket laying there on her lower half, “She’s allergic to strawberries but I don’t think she’s gonna be eating anything while you’re here and I don’t have strawberries in the house.”
He pauses, wracking his brain for more information to tell you that wouldn’t just be him retelling his daughter’s entire life story. “Oh! This is kind of weird, but if she wakes up and won’t go back to sleep, just play “The Girl is Mine” –”
“The Paul McCartney song?” you question. Your eyes search his face and are full of amusement. He can’t help but feel his chest flutter at the little glimmer they give off.
Focus. You can’t flirt with the babysitter. What’s wrong with you?
“Well, it’s Michael Jackson’s song featuring Paul McCartney but yeah. It usually calms her right down and she’ll settle enough to doze back off.”
He knows that his daughter is more than quirky. Sometimes he settles for the word “particular,” but he knows quirky is the right one to use.
You start to laugh a little. “That’s so –”
“Weird?” he inserts, “Yeah, I know. I’m raising a sixty-year-old but there could be worse songs. Be grateful she’s phased out of only wanting to listen to “Break Free” because there’s nothing worse than listening to EDM on a loop at three AM because she won’t fall asleep unless it’s playing.”
You shake your head and agree. “Well, I promise that we’ll behave ourselves and not get into anything too crazy. She’s adorable, you know, so if she asks, I don’t know if I can stand it to say no.”
You can’t flirt with her dad. You can’t be the babysitter that’s trying to get banged by the dad. What’s wrong with you?
He chuckles and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll see to that. Her sitter is pretty cute too so I think I’d be pretty forgiving.”
And fuck. Is he, is he flirting with you?
You’re left speechless before his phone rings and he rolls his eyes before grabbing it off the entryway table.
“Hang on a sec,” he says before swiping across the screen to answer. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Jake. I’m on the way.”
He grabs his keys and starts heading toward the door, his cell phone wedged between his shoulder and ear and you have to stop yourself from drooling. “Calm the fuck down, dude. I’m leaving like right now. . .Yes, I’m literally walking out the door – Can you chill? I’ll be there when I get there?”
He bids you goodbye with a simple wave before shutting the door and running to his car. The sound of the front door closing instantly wakes Quincy who shoots her head up and frantically swivels it around in pursuit of her father. When she can’t spot him, her bottom lip droops and starts to wobble.
He bids you goodbye with a simple wave before shutting the door and running to his car. The sound of the front door closing instantly wakes Quincy who shoots her head up and frantically swivels it around in pursuit of her father. When she can’t spot him, her bottom lip droops and starts to wobble.
She spots you and immediately lifts her arms up, telling you that she wants to be held. You graciously comply and coo softly to her and marvel in the way she instantly koalas to your side as if she had always had a spot there and had always known you.
Part of you thinks that it’s fate. That in some way, you’re meant to be in her life and meant to stick around but you know that this silly schoolgirl thinking will only get your heart smashed to pieces. You decide to ignore it.
Besides, Natasha would kill you if you ever expressed to her how hot you found her other best friend.
Some things just aren’t meant to be.
Bradley jogs into the next bar that his friends had decided to go to with a slight smile on his face. He scans the crowd and spots Jake and Bob trying to hold up a beyond inebriated Natasha.
“You’re awful happ — Oh dear God. Don’t tell me you screwed the sitter,” Jake greets and Bob looks away bashfully once the statement leaves Jake’s mouth.
Bradley mocks him before helping them guide Natasha to a booth.
“Can you ever just say "hello" like a normal person? Do you always have to be bitchy?” he remarks.
Jake lets Natasha rest her head on his shoulder and looks down to check on her. “It was just a comment. You know we picked her because we wanna set you guys up, right?”
Bradley’s world stops. He raises his eyebrows and feels his mouth go dry.
“You what?”
“I mean, she’s cute. She’s smart. She loves kids and she obviously didn’t vom on you from getting a look at your face, so I assume it went well,” he starts listing his reasonings on his fingers, “You also bounced in here like you have a can of jumping beans shoved up your ass so you’re giddy about something.”
Bradley scoffs. “I do not have anything shoved up my a– Why do you care so much about who I’m seeing?”
Jake looks at Bob who starts to shrink a little in his seat. He instantly knows that the set up wasn’t all just Jake and Nat. It was probably the entire squadron.
“We want you to be happy, dude. I mean, this is a good opportunity for you and for Quincy,” Bob starts and Bradley knows that he needs to listen and take it into actual consideration if he knows what’s good for him.
Jake and Natasha are class A meddlers, but everyone else getting involved shows how much this matters to him.
“You’re doing great and I know for a fact I’m not half the man you are, but you also gotta cut yourself some slack. You have to let yourself be happy, too. Life isn’t all just about sacrifice, you know?”
“And we made a reservation for you both at that one rooftop restaurant downtown. There’s a $250 cancellation fee so you kinda have to go,” Jake adds and Bob facepalms himself at their friend’s lack of tact.
“You did what?”
“Also she thinks you’re hot. She texted Nat about you ten minutes ago and she’s way too drunk to respond so we did for her and as of now, “He totes thinks you’re hot too. Make a move when he gets back.””
Bradley’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to find the words to say.
“Thank us when you’re getting us together about the proposal.”
There’s something about the way that life flashes before your eyes and there’s never anything you can do about it.
You can take photos or collect trivial keepsakes. You can talk about the events in past tense and have the story change slightly every single time the words leave your mouth. You can dream about it in watercolor memory and try to make sense of it all.
But no one ever tells you what it means when you’re standing before your daughter, a dark haired beauty with such elegance and spunk that it’s impossible to put a label on it, as she embarks on a journey to truly be her own person.
No one ever tells you how to cry so you don’t smudge your mascara. No one ever tells you the hole in your heart this day will give you but the rainbow of joy that supersedes it when it’s all said and done. No one ever tells you how all the times she had a nightmare or scraped her knees or needed you sit at the forefront of your brain.
And when you stand before your daughter dressed in a white dress and getting married to the love of her life, you can’t help but recall the night that you fell in love with her and remember the little baby she was all those years ago.
So around all the orchids and wedding guests and happy tears, you settle to retell this moment in the only way you know how.
“The first time I met my daughter, she was dressed as a cranberry.”
And somehow, that statement is all you need to explain the love between the two of you.
#when am i ever on time for posting#but happy late halloween and happy meeting bradley's daughter day!!!#patiently waiting for quincy to become more iconic than bradley on this blog tbh#anyway#i can talk about bradley being a girl dad for ages so best believe more of this duo is in the works#bradley bradshaw#rooster bradshaw#rooster x reader#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster top gun#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#rooster#rooster x you#top gun#top gun maverick#rooster bradshaw fic#rooster bradshaw fanfic#bradley bradshaw fic#dadley dadshaw if we're being completely honest
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