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tonycries · 5 months

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Bad Boys Bring Roses - G.S.

Synopsis. You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?

Pairing. Yakuza boss! Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, yakuza! au, fake marriage, annoyances to lovers, elders suck, mentioned k*lling (not reader or Satoru), Satoru is INSANE and SO down bad, one bed trope, praise, biting, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, flower language, kníves, bit dark, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 9.1k (whoopsies)

A/N. I just HAD to get this out of my mind like I wanna write an entire book series on this. Spent too long researching rose language as well so see if y’all catch that hehe.

You thought the wedding invitation was a joke when it had arrived - a delicate, lacey little card that you’ve probably read over a million times by now. It had been stuffed haphazardly into your mailbox, along with a ridiculously large bouquet of purple roses. Seemingly inconspicuous when you first tore into the thick envelope, wondering which one of your friends was getting married now.

And it was - that is, until you saw your name at the very top - right where the blushing bride’s was supposed to be.

We hereby formally invite you to the marriage of…

What?

No return address. No date. No groom’s name either. Only yours, written in beautiful, golden writing - inviting you to your own wedding, exactly a week from now.

You remember perfectly the way you’d flipped it over and over in your hands, the gears turning in your head as you tried to crack down on the motive behind this invitation. A threat? A joke? Texting all of your friends about what a cute prank that was - only to get a shared confused reaction, and a few “April Fool’s has already passed, y’know.”

Hell, you’d even cornered the mailman, desperate to get to the bottom of this. But that wasn’t particularly helpful when he was only able to shake his head in protest, pale as a sheet, and trembling ever-so-slightly as he sped away from you. Weird.

Without a clue as to who sent the letter, or even a follow-up in the days after, you stuffed the invitation somewhere deep in the back of your closet and handed the bouquet to your mother. Not bothering to tell your parents where it was from - because who’d worry over a stupid prank like this? It was probably one of the kids from down the street that’d gotten their grubby lil’ hands on a printer.

You, however, had more important things to focus on - like trying to help your father revive his failing diner. It was a family business, a quaint, hearty little shop. One that was quickly, and dangerously, losing both customers and employees with the brand new fast food place that’d popped up right across the street.

Which is why you found yourself here - working overtime on a Saturday night, looking over the empty chairs and stacks of boxes from behind the counter. Whatever, it was only a few weeks until relocation anyway.

You heave out a sigh, eyes flitting to the clock beside you - 11:21pm.

Nine minutes more, you drum your fingers in boredom, maybe you should just close up early. Because sure as hell no one else was-

“Oh? Still open?”

“Ah- Uh, yes, welcome!” Jolting out of your reverie, you stand up ramrod straight, taking in the customer standing at the door. He wasn’t one of the regulars - no, you think you’d remember if he was. Cloudy white hair, piercing blue eyes that twinkle from above his shades, even in the dim light of the diner. He was so very tall, taking up almost all of the doorframe, only getting more and more imposing as he walks up to you in quick, long strides. Magnetizing.

And if you dared let your eyes wonder, you caught a few tattoos peeking out from his unfairly snug button-up, clashing with its flashy blue color. Dragons? Trees? Or were they flowers - roses?

“Roses.” the man in front of you answers your unspoken question, voice so very deep, and melodic - tinged with something playful in it that you wouldn’t have expected at first glance. At your raised brow he continues with a wink, “Could tell ya were checkin’ me out, sweetheart.”

“F-forgive my rudeness, sir.” you sputter, face burning. You look away from the way his muscled ripple as he crosses his arms, immediately turning to fumble with the menus, “Please take a seat and I’ll be there with you shortly.”

You’d expected him to take up a booth, or maybe head towards one of the good tables around the corner. What you did not expect was for him to plop down on the stool right in front of you, flashing you a playful grin before humming, “S’alright, m’just waitin’ for someone.”

Oh. Well, it made sense that someone like him would be taken. Swallowing, you hand over the menu, before giving him a close-lipped smile, “A lover?”

Resting his head on his palms, not bothering to even glance at the list of dishes before him. “My fiancée.”

“Congratulations, Mr…”

“Gojo Satoru.” he tilts his head, looking way too happy with himself. “Please, call me Satoru.”

You nod softly, picking up your pen and notepad to get this conversation over with - and maybe to also avoid his heavy stare that made something hot and uncomfortable coil in your stomach. “Right, Mr-” at his disappointed whine, “Satoru. Congratulations, must be one heck of a thing to plan.”

“Oh I’m having fun with the wedding planning.” He waves off your words with a chuckle, missing - or pointedly ignoring - the way you were waiting for his order. “How’s it going for you?”

What?

You narrow your eyes at the way Satoru was batting those long lashes up at you, deceivingly innocent and waiting for your answer. “I’m sorry- Me? Did you mean with the diner relocation plans or-”

“No no no.” he laughs, loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say at someone interrupting you if you weren’t so mesmerized by that little dimple at the corner of his grin. One that moves as he plows on, “M’asking how wedding planning is going for you, wifey~”

There’s a beat of silence. One. Two. With you gaping at the pure audacity as Satoru quiets down to little titters, seemingly studying your reaction in amusement. Which slowly, but surely, drains from his face as you grit out a sharp, “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, sir. We’re very busy and don’t have time to entertain your pick-up lines.”

Those widened blue eyes sweep the painfully empty diner, letting out a low whisper. “I can see that.” you let out a strangled noise of embarrassment at that. “But you’re really gonna ask your husband to leave?”

Huffing in frustration, “I don’t have a husband.”

“...you do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. And who the fuck are you to tell me I do?”

“What?!” Satoru jumps out of his seat in shock, fast enough that the stool clatters to the floor with a deafening clang! Hands slamming on the counter as he leans over it - so close that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face with each hurried, shrill word that tumbles out of his lips. “What do you mean you don’t have a- I’m gonna kill those fuckin’- After I bought Canva premium just to make that invitation? Did the flowers come at least?”

And while Satoru is panicking, words spilling out of his mouth a mile a minute - only one of those rings in your mind - invitation.

“You.” you hiss, barely audible over meltdown in front of you. Pointing a finger accusingly, “You’re the one behind that prank with the dumbass roses.”

That seems to snap Satoru out of his dramatic monologue - and you’re glad it did. Because he looks up to meet your glare, “Hey! You didn’t like the roses?”

And for the first time, you see Satoru more serious than he’d been ever since stepping into this diner. Eyes somewhere behind you, ablaze and almost…frightening. “Didn’t you ask him?”

You whirl around to see your father, who’d apparently rushed downstairs at the commotion. Baseball bat to fight off the intruder hanging in midair as he stands frozen, taking in the scene before him - but more importantly, that man in front of him. “You.”

---

And, well, it’s not everyday that you’re having late night tea with your parents and one of your father’s…business associates. Even rarer when said business associate is…you gulp, praying to whoever’s above that this is all some sick dream you’ll wake up any second from.

“So, let me get this straight…” you sigh, pinching your nose in frustration. It’s been an hour or two of trying to understand whatever this was. Giving a stern look at the two men squirming across from you in the booth. “My father was conned by one of your-” you gesture your head at Satoru, which only makes his smirk grow, “-men to take a loan from your um-”

“Family, yakuza. Anything goes.” he supplies helpfully.

You wave him off, trying as quickly as possible to brush off the ‘yakuza’ bit that makes your stomach lurch. “And now he owes you a favor of…what exactly?”

Satoru leans across the table, t-shirt opening tantalizingly. Voice dropping to an almost-pleading murmur, “Look, I just need you to pretend to be my doting, loving, charming, gorgeous-” backtracking at your withering glare, “...Anyway. I just need a fake wife for a few months, convince my family to get off my back about arranged marriage n’ carrying the Gojo legacy. Then bam! you stomp all over my heart, we divorce and I’m too heartbroken to ever get married again. Easy.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You bet Satoru’s disappointed groan echoed across all 23 words of Tokyo, because it was definitely ringing in your ears amongst whirlwind thoughts of marriage? To a yakuza? Completely, and utterly ridiculous. And from his talks of “carrying the family name” it seemed like he was some sort of future head as well. Though, he definitely wasn’t acting like it right now.

“Alright. Plan B, then.”

Oh? You couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t that much of a manchild as sits up from where he’d been splayed all over the table in tragedy. Lacing his fingers together before turning to your father, continuing in a more diplomatic tone, “But I want the cash you took. In full. Now. Gonna hafta disguise my best friend as my wife, n’ dresses for a six foot man aren’t cheap.”

Your mother looked like she could faint right then and there. Choking out a noise of surprise, “B-but we’ve deposited it all for the relocation- Please, can’t we pay any other-”

At the firm shake of his head, you stammer, “Now? Aren’t you some yakuza nepo baby, can’t you just ask your parents for money?”

“No.” Satoru chuckles, in a tone which told you that he probably could but might just lose his head for it. Only further supported as he muses, “Not unless I want a finger cut off for dealin’ money on the side. Seriously, sweetheart, why did you think I sent you the invitation last week?”

“Take me instead.” you father cries, trying to negotiate above Satoru’s half-joking mutters of “Ugh, I’m not into ol’ men dumb enough to sign yakuza contracts.”

It was all too much. You couldn’t take out the relocation deposit - it was a new start, possibly the only thing to save your family. Nor do you have enough in savings to pay back the loan. And if Satoru’s warning was anything to listen to, then you knew that dealing with the yakuza could be dangerous. Why you? Why you? Why you?

“Fine.”

The moment that word leaves your lips, it’s like the whole world freezes. Everyone in the room - including yourself - unsure of whether they heard you right. “I’ll do it.” you clarify, voice hesitant but firm. Eyeing the way Satoru’s eyes begin to sparkle, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips. Raising a finger to shush your father’s protests, “But for a month, until we leave this place. After that m’going with my family and you’re never to contact us ever again. Deal?”

And oh Satoru seemed over the moon, reaching out to grasp your hand in a handshake - so warm, and softer than you’d imagined. “Swear on m’life, wifey. You can kill me if not.”

He was so intimidating - and intimidatingly exhilarating.

Only an hour more of arguing and a quick phone call later, men - yakuza, you assume - were flooding your family’s little diner. All tattooed and burly, looking somewhat comical as they carried your few packed-up suitcases outside. Well, at least they stayed for a late dinner.

And ended up being witnesses to a very rushed, very rushed signing of marriage agreements. Evidence to really show up your alleged marriage. It barely even lasted a few minutes before, well, that was that - you were married, to the son of a yakuza head.

You say a quick goodbye to your teary parents, soothing them with promises of “I’ll be back before you know it. One month. That’s all.”

“And don’t worry about a thing,” Satoru sing-songs, coming up behind you. “If there’s anyone she’s safe with, it’s me.”

“You better keep your mitts off of my baby.” your father warns, raising the baseball bat still clutched in his hand menacingly.

“I won’t lay a hand on her, father-in-law. And anyone that even thinks about it…” he cackles, breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll kill.”

Prancing off to hold the door of that shiny black Mercedes parked outside open for you. “Ladies first.”

With another quick hug to your parents, you hastily make your way inside. Feeling extremely out of place amongst the overly luxurious interior in your slightly-stained work uniform. God, the covers on these cushions themselves probably cost more than your house.

“Like the car? I can buy you one. Or four, as a wedding gift.” Satoru grins.

Oh, right. You weren’t in here alone - you were here with your new…husband. The word felt so strange to even wrap your head around, instead you turn to meet his easy smile. Clenching your jaw as you grit out, “So how do we act m-married?”

You swear he brightens up impossibly, scooting closer to you on the seat. Heart lurching as he raises his eyes to meet yours, dizzy with the heat of his proximity, he promptly pulls out his Notes app.

“Well, you see. I forgot to send this with the invitation so you better memorize this before we get home.” flashing you a long, long list of likes and dislikes, “Here’s my favorite color and my favorite Digimon and-”

That car ride could not have been longer. Because in addition to arguing with Satoru about who the best Digimon was, you had to fill out your own version of his overly extensive list. “So we can be foolproof.” he’d whined. And you’d been so engrossed in the process that you barely noticed the looming estate out the window.

“We’re here, young master and madam Gojo.”

It took a second to register that the driver was talking to you as well as Satoru, immediately pushing your face against the window to take in the scenic site before you. Heavy wooden doors - probably taller than an average house - opening to reveal sprawling gardens. Koi ponds and rose bushes lining a pathway that led to a traditional Japanese house - all power and glory. You half wondered whether you were still in Tokyo.

“Home sweet home.” Satoru grunts. “Such a beautiful hell, huh?”

Your home, for the next month. At least.

And if you had any doubt that Satoru was in fact the future yakuza head, that all went out the window at the welcome you got. Men lining the wooden hallway, bowing at the waist while your all-new husband wraps a hand around your shoulders, pointing out the various rooms and ornaments as he led you in.

“-and this is going to be our room.” he brings you in front of a large tatami room, one the size of your entire diner.

“Ours.” you repeat. Walking unhurriedly to the king-sized bed in the middle - the only bed. Heart pounding as you take it all in.

“Ours.” Satoru echoes, happily. And if he was any bit as affected as you are, then he doesn’t show it, instead pulling out a blue yukata from the closet, a golden Gojo emblem stamped on the back. Made with such a pretty, delicate fabric that it made you shiver to think how much it cost. “Now, I had these made jus’ for you last week. You can give me a lil’ fashion show tomorrow, so make sure you get some rest, wifey.”

It’s only when he says the word “rest” that you realize exactly how tired you are. Your long shift and the entirety of this having your eyes feeling heavier than usual.

“Um…” you start, risking a glance at the bed.

Satoru jolts, “Ah- don’t worry, sweetheart. You take the bed.” beginning to saunter outside to meet his team. “Got some work, so I’ll be sleeping in my office. Dream of me~”

And, really, you almost felt bad splaying yourself out on the crisp navy sheets. Sinking into the heady smell of fabric softener, and something so so Satoru. Addictive. Like an expensive cologne that made your head spin, one that wafted through your mind as you dreamt of summer weddings, and blue, blue skies.

“Ichiji.”

“Yes, young master.”

“See to it that the madam is safe. Anyone try anything funny and you bring them back alive. I wanna be the one to play with them, okay~?”

“Of course, young master.”

---

Admittedly, you probably have the best sleep of your life at the Gojo estate- or, it would’ve been if your husband didn’t burst in every morning at 7am. Handing you a ridiculously big bouquet of white roses, straight from the garden, before dragging you outside.

Milling about the estate, Satoru was never too far behind, chattering away. Letting you hold onto his strong arm crossing the bridges, occasionally having you show up to yakuza meetings as his plus one. Relishing in the rumors spreading all through the yakuza syndicates in Tokyo. Gojo Satoru, and the commoner wife he’d do anything for.

Weirdly enough, some strange little part of you thinks he puts in a lot more work than necessary for some pretend relationship…

“I think that stupid plan is really working, y’know.” you muse to him after a few days of this. Dipping your fingers into one of your favorite koi ponds with a nod at the figures watching you from a distance - Gojo clan elders, you assume. “Those old coots hate being within a five mile radius of me.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, “That so? S’probably the method acting then, huh? Taking good care of me, wifey?” he wiggles his eyebrows, nudging you from where he was holding an umbrella beside you.

Furrowing your brows mockingly, “S’funny for you to say, they don’t even look at me. But they follow me around everywhere.”

“Do they annoy you, must I do my duty as a husband and gouge their eyes out?”

He…didn’t sound like he was joking.

Rolling your eyes, you pointedly ignoring the way your heart lurches at the word “husband.” Still so jumpy at the idea. “Speaking of, your parents give up the marriage proposals, yet?”

At this, Satoru clenches his jaw. “Still nagging, but they’re finally considering you as my actual bride rather than some hijink.” he spits out, seemingly recalling whatever conversation they’d had before. “And they want to have some family ‘dinner’, but it’s going to be awful and you don’t-”

“Let’s go.” you interrupt, nodding determinedly. “The realer this marriage seems, the faster we can divorce, no?”

He blinks at you slowly, “That’s…true. For the divorce, then?”

“For the divorce.”

And, well, that was settled - you were to meet your new in-laws. The ever-elusive heads of the Gojo clan. Also one of the most powerful yakuza in all of Japan, but, semantics really.

You spend the evening cooped up with Satoru in the library, poring over the bloody history of the yakuza - with the Gojo’s heading them all. The only time he actually leaves your side is a few hours before the dinner.

“For you.” he’d murmured, lips ghosting your ear, slipping something cold onto your finger. You look down to see one of the most beautiful rings you’ve ever seen - gold, with delicate blue and white diamonds encrusting it, cut in the shape of roses. “Can’t be married without a wedding ring, huh? Think of it as a good luck charm for tonight.”

And with that he’s swept away in a flurry of bodyguards and ruffled men, and you’re left standing there all alone. Cheeks burning, wondering how the hell he knew your perfect fit.

You worry longer about the dinner than you spend actually preparing for it. Though, that’s probably because of the group of stylists that come into your room to help you dress. Wordlessly fussing around you despite your weak attempts at conversation, eyes averted. Almost like they were…scared of you.

But there wasn’t much time to think of that - not when you’re being marched off in the direction of what you remember Satoru had called the family dining room. “More like a fuckin’ meeting room for those hardasses.” he’d snarked.

The moment you step in, all eyes turn to you - the only ones you recognize being Satoru’s, who immediately stands with a smile. “Ah, wifey! Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” pulling you into a tight hug. His voice drops into a low, raspy murmur in your ear, “Ya look fuckin’ gorgeous in my colors, y’know.”

Traitorously, jolts of electricity run down your spine. Especially at how fucking gorgeous he looked in traditional wear. Whispering back, “Playing up the doting husband bit, huh?”

“Only for you.”

Pulling away, you drink in his dangerously handsome state. Hair so effortlessly styled, tattoos winking at you from just above his yukata - blue, to match yours. So pretty.

Stammering out, “Corny.”

“Only for-”

“Now that the girl is finally here, may we begin with dinner?” A stained voice sounds from behind Satoru, old and tinged with a tone that years of customer service told you did not bode well. Craning your head, you look over his broad shoulders, meeting the eyes of several disapproving elders.

Shit. Some of the most dangerous people in this country right now.

Gathered here - for you.

Automatically, you knew which ones were his parents - painfully upright, and hauntingly beautiful in a cold, calculated way. Sat right at the head of the long table. With a jolt, you realize that you two are seated right opposite them.

“So.” his mother starts, as you take your seat with a bow. Satoru doesn’t waste any time on niceties, plopping down right next to you, scooting closer than necessary. “Congratulations on the…wedding, my son.”

My son. You ignore the way both parents pointedly avoided looking at you. Your husband, however, does not. “What~ Not gonna wish my dear wife as well?”

It’s a silent staredown - one that has the entire room on edge. You don’t realize that you’re clenching your fists in tension until Satoru untangles them, slipping his larger hands into yours. Gaze still alarmingly intense and locked on the other side of the table.

He wins.

“Congratulations. Let us begin now.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, the tension only slightly broken as butlers stream into the room, carrying decadent trays of food. Well, at least the food might make up for how appalling this dinner is going to be.

It’s only 15 minutes in that you realize how very, horribly wrong you are - because the elders of the Gojo estate really don’t hold back, do they? Thank God you memorized every part of that stupid likes and dislikes list.

Besides picking apart every aspect of your relationship that they could manage to squeeze out of you between the appetizer and the main course, the main scrutiny tonight seems to be you. But in that icy, subtle way that has Satoru’s jaw clenching tighter each second.

Lips curling, Gojo senior eyes you over his wine glass. “So, dear,” voice dripping with underlying venom despite the pet name. “Is it true our Satoru missed an esteemed marriage meeting with the Zenin group to ambush you at some rundown old diner?”

You fight to keep the smile plastered onto your face, painful and cracking under the pressure. A hand squeezing under the table to stop Satoru from opening his mouth to retort, you answer instead, “Well, ambushed wouldn’t be the word. You could say we fell in love over the counter - at my family’s diner.”

“A waitress, she said?”

“Now we know why it was this rushed. Probably pregnant.”

“The scandal. How far the Gojo name has fallen.”

The few stifled gasps from the other end of the table are so dramatic that you could almost laugh. But you don’t. Breath hitching as Mrs. Gojo chuckles, “Marrying the daughter of a lowly diner owner? How... quaint.”

“Mother, be quiet or-”

“What?” she throws her hands in exasperation. “Can’t I say anything around here. Honestly, Satoru, I’m just trying to make conversation with your new wife.”

Before either you or Satoru can react, his father speaks up, apparently not done with the interrogation. “You understand that we’re just worried, right, dear? Especially with marrying into prestigious families, of course.” The emphasis on “prestigious” is not lost on you.” And it drives you insane.

Steeling yourself, you train your eyes on the untouched food below you. “I understand.”

Plowing on as if trying to infuriate you, “And you understand that this position is dangerous? You’ll be targeted.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Don’t be swept up in our Satoru’s charm and wealth, dear, my son just wants a way out of duty.” tone dripping with disdain, Satoru’s grip becoming tighter and tighter on yours. “The Gojo syndicate owns half of this city, we could bulldoze over that little diner of yours with only one phone call”

“My wife and I are leav-”

“I said I fuckin’ understand.” Your words hang in the air like a foul stench, and you raise your head to glare. If looks could kill, all the elders in this room would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on their graves already. “Neither me, nor my husband would ever let that happen because he knows a thing or two about respect, unlike you.” Lacing your fingers tighter with Satoru’s. “So shove your mighty family up your wrinkly asses. I don’t give a flying shit.”

Eyes wide, jaws dropped, the old couple opposite you finally seems stunned into silence. And if it was any other situation you could’ve almost laughed at how similar they looked to Satoru when he found out you thought his proposal was a prank.

His father adjusts his glasses. “Perhaps that is so.”

Ah, if only the rest of the table would be quietened just as easily.

“Not only is she a slut she’s a-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not even sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. Because in a split-second, the knife that was at your side is suddenly embedded, deep into the wooden table - barely even an inch away from the elder that had spoken up.

“You’re lucky I’m matching with my wife n’ didn’t want to dirty this new yukata.” a voice sounds from your side. Melodic and so so eerie that you don’t realize for a second that it’s Satoru - your Satoru.

He loops an arm under your legs as he stands up. Easily maneuvering you into a princess carry, forcing you to cling onto his robes for dear life as your feet dangle from the floor. You look up - maybe to snap at Satoru to put you down - only for the words to die in your throat at how absolutely fucking feral your husband looked. Eyes wide, aura menacing. A grin gracing his features, not the familiar one which had your heart racing, no - something so dangerous and cold.

“Now,” he hums. Turning his back to the room, gaze still locked with the shocked heads inside, “My lovely wife and I will be retiring. Won’t you all say goodnight to your future madam?”

You don’t know what shocks you more - the way everyone in that room mumbles out a disdainful little “Goodnight, ma’am.”, or the way Satoru cackles as he carries you to your shared bedroom. Laying you gently on the mattress with a quiet, “Be right back, sweetheart.”

What the fuck happened?

He could’ve killed that man. And looked like he wanted to.

Your brain yells at you - run away run away run away- But you weren’t…scared? In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever been less fearful in your entire life. Especially not when Satoru stumbles back into the room, clearly rushing. Something warm spreading in your chest at the trays of food in his hands.

“Dinner’s better without a bunch of fossils on my kill list.” he grins. Settling right next to you on the bed, setting out the dinner he’d brought for you. And, well, you didn’t doubt that they really were on his kill list.

“Hey, wifey.” Satoru speaks up after a few moments of silence, satisfied with the food laid in front of you. “M’sorry for putting you through that. No more family dinners from now.”

You inch closer to lay your head on his sculpted shoulder, a hand bringing up the food to his pretty lips. He smelled so good, faintly like pine, and clouds. It made you so dizzy. “Eat, Satoru.”

That’s all which is said, because maybe that’s all that was needed. And for a second there, you almost forget that this is all pretend.

---

“Hey, uh- mister. You alright?” you call out, voice barely audible over the rain.

The sullen figure didn’t react at first, soaked through and eyes trained on the ground. Unmoving, even when you hesitantly drew closer, umbrella quivering in your hands.

You should turn around - walk away like everyone else on the sidewalk was doing. But no, something about the way he sat alone, stoic to the storm around him made you inch closer. “Here.” you hold out your umbrella. “S’our diner’s, but you look like you could use this more than I do.”

He jolts, as if hearing you for the first time. A flash of blue, so quick you almost think you miss it. Still not raising his head fully, the man’s snowy hair tousles as he jerkily closes around the handle. Pretty. And so so sad.

“It’ll be alright.” you nod.

And with that, you turn, running back in the rain to the haven of the diner, where your father was waiting impatiently - he’d just bought the boxes to start packing up for relocation. Fingers still burning ever-so-slightly where his hand had brushed against yours. How strange, you wondered his name.

---

Satoru stayed true to his word over the weeks that followed. His parents seemed well and fully intent on avoiding you. And, well, other than a few disdainful remarks, the elders mostly scurried away in fear at your very sight.

The only thing that made your skin prickle was that the housekeepers had a penchant for peeping in on the two of you. Increasingly following you - they always did, but now…honestly, it was a bit disconcerting.

But other than that, it was almost…peaceful. You wake up every morning to a large bouquet of burgundy roses at your bedside table - and a husband. Because Satoru had taken to sleeping on the little couch at the corner of your room every night - saying something about not wanting to rouse suspicion because if he actually had a wife he’d be “taking her to bed every night”. Somehow, you didn’t doubt it.

“Funny how it’s getting close to a month of being married, but you haven’t even kissed me yet.” you deadpan. Looking down at where he was resting his head in your lap, sprawled across the soft grass in the garden.

Something else also happened - something different.

Because Satoru was a bit touchier, a bit closer. Like right now, preening into your fingers carding through his soft hair. “Oh~? Why, wanna take me to bed, wifey?”

“You wish.”

“Maybe I do.”

Your hands still, pulse racing as your eyes bore into Satoru’s, trying to figure out what sort of bad joke this was. Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning down closer - too closer. Close enough that you could count every shade of blue in his hungry gaze. But by the grace of whoever was above-

“Young master, please excuse the intrusion but you have-”

Sitting up abruptly, addressing the newcomer in a stone-cold tone. “How many fuckin’ times have I not told you to never bother me when I’m with my wife?”

The servant bows apologetically, sputtering out apologies as you move to get up. Flashing a smirk at Satoru’s dramatic pout, “I have to catch up on some reading anyway. See ya, Satoru.”

“Noo~ my sweetheart don’t leave me~”

You stifle a laugh at his little tantrum, so different from when he was serious. He was so….dizzying. “You’ll be okay, Satoru.” Glancing up nervously to meet the servant’s intense stare, studying the scene before him, how different his master was. “I’ll be at the library now.”

And Satoru notices - of course, he does. He sees that tiny flash of concern in your eyes. One that you might not have noticed yourself. He lowers his voice as you walk away, so you don’t hear him speaking behind you. Words dripping with a similar venom he always heard from his parents, “Now, tell me who you’re spying for. Names, first and last.”

Satoru doesn’t join you in the library that day, the first time in weeks. And you find yourself missing him more than you should. It’s dark out by the time you’re raising your head from the books, joints aching from poring over them for hours. The house seems a lot quieter. Somewhat bigger.

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

Scratching the back of your head, you wander through the wooden hallways to your bedroom - wondering what was amiss. Your feet take you there as if on autopilot, thankful for Satoru’s meticulous tours.

“Hey,” you smile softly at a servant making your bed, “Where are-”

Your question dies in your throat at the way she yelps at your words, hurrying down the corridor with a jerky bow. Weird. Leaving you all alone, and confused, muttering to yourself, it’s only then that you notice the flash of red by your bedside table.

Not a bouquet. Only a single, red rose - a note tied around the stem, something you’d never gotten before.

“The marriage proposals have been revoked, your contract is fulfilled, my ex-wife.”

Oh, reading that hurt more than it should’ve. You should be happy at being free, a few days earlier than expected at that - but it was over - just like that. You didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to leave him.You didn’t want to leave him.

Were you going insane?

Clutching the flower like a lifeline, heaving out a sigh, “Maybe Satoru knows…”

“Thinking of me?”

Startled, you whirl behind to face your husband. In the dim-lighting, making out the stoney expression on his face, eyes wide and a little duller than they had been earlier today.

“Satoru?”

His eyes light up at the mere sound of your voice - then you’re engulfed in him. Wrapping you in his arms, bowing his body into yours, so tight that it almost hurts. But you let him, fisting the fresh yukata in your hands - and that’s when you realize, he’s changed his robes since this morning. “Are you okay?” you whisper into his shoulder. Drinking in the smell of his cologne, and something faintly metallic.

Every cell in your body is screaming at you to take the opportunity - to run away from this yakuza and his slaughter and whatever this was. But how could you? Staying rooted to the spot, not even a speck of fear.

Satoru heaves out a heavy breath, tickling the hairs at your nape as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Those nosy elders won’t be bothering you anymore, sweetheart. You’re free to go.”

A shudder runs down your spine at his words, and you didn’t want to think too hard about what they meant. Instead, you guide him to your bed - and, surprisingly, he allows you to. Letting the two of you sink into the plush mattress. With Satoru still in your arms. He repeats, “You’re free to go.”

Run away. Run away. Run away-

There it was again - that strained little manta. You stare right into his eyes, voice thick at the sinking feeling in your stomach. “My 30 days aren’t over yet.”

“Leave. Please.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, like your hands drawing patterns down his back had broken some dam. “M’not a good man.”

You press your lips to his forehead, searing and a desperate attempt to soothe the man. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I’m yakuza, sweetheart. Doomed to follow my parents here.” he mutters, strained and voice more unsure than you’ve ever heard. And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into your skin, “I hate it here, and you should, too. All these fuckin-”

“So go with me instead.”

“What if-”

“Toru.‘ you cut off his words, slurring and spilling out of his mouth. Gently, you pry him away from his little haven, reeling back to take a good look at the face he’s been hiding for so long. Hair mussed, curtaining his whirling eyes - all disheveled and vulnerable where he was once so suave.

Your eyes bore into his, unwavering. “It’ll be alright, Toru.”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. Only when his lips meet yours, soft, and so so sweet, do you realize that this is everything you ever want right now - possibly these past few weeks. “Y’can kill me if you don’ want his.” he mutters into your open mouth.

It’s so desperate - a messy clash of teeth and saliva, Satoru was drinking you in like you were the last drop of water on Earth. He tasted so sweet, like candy almost, and the gentle caress of a lover. You were addicted like you could do this forever and ever and-

And then he’s pulling away. A disappointed little whine leaves you involuntarily as he parts, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the space between you two. Satoru’s mouth drops into a soft oh! at the noise, surging forward minutely like he was about to kiss you senseless again. Only to halt with a pained grunt, just a hair’s breadth from your lips.

“M’sorry.” Claiming your lips once again, like a man possessed. Drinking in your breathless gasps. Like he never wanted to let go. “F-fuck, sweetheart. Y’don’t know how crazy you drive me.” he pants.

“Why did you pick me?” you blurt out, a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind every time Satoru slipped his hand in yours, introducing you as his loving wife. “Was it just the debt?”

He’s kissing your pulse now, canines hovering over the erratic little cadence. Breathing you in like you were intoxicating. “No.” he’s licking a long, languid stripe up your neck. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down every inch of skin he could reach.

“Then why?” your words come out in almost an embarrassing plea. But by the way his breath hitches, you know that Satoru loves it.

“Because.” he breathes, “You treated me like a human.”

He’s capturing your lips with his again, nipping at your bottom lips. You squeal as he pulls, suddenly wanting him to tease you like this everywhere. To have him absolutely ruin you like you know he could - treat you like the wife he claimed you were.

But Satoru wasn’t done yet - far from it. He chuckles, kissing down your neck, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Remember that night? You probably don’t, was rainin’ so hard I thought I’d drown out there.” Worshiping the valley between your breasts as he hastily unbuckles your bra. “That night was when the marriage proposals had come in. They said I’d either carry the legacy or be forced to leave the family. Kicked out of my own home.”

And you’re reeling from both his words and the way Satoru was rocking his hips into yours now, something hot, and so achingly hard pressing in the damp area between your legs. “Thought I was gonna take ‘em all out that night.”

“Take them all out?” your breath hitches.

“Every. Single. One.” Fingers dancing across the hem of your panties. “Wouldn’t have felt bad about it either.”

Satoru’s licking down your navel now, humming in confirmation into your skin. “But then…” he groans, taking in the first fucking sinful sight of your drenched panties. So flimsy and already dripping for him - and after just a few kisses, really? You were heaven on Earth. “But then along came you. So pretty and all worried f’me. The daughter of that diner owner I’d loaned money too.”

You watch, heart racing as Satoru swallows in awe. Darkened gaze locked on the way your slick beads out of your pussy, bare thighs trying to close - give yourself some semblance of dignity. But no- how could you? When Satoru’s holding them apart.

“And then I knew…” he’s sliding his index underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertip before popping it into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the taste, and you’ve never seen him look so blissful. “I just had to have you.”

Rip!

The cold air brushes against you before you even know it - only when you feel Satoru’s hot breath against your dripping cunt does it hit - this bastard just ripped your panties off. And he was dangling it like a badge of honor, breathing in your juices so animalistically.

Your lips wobble as he just admires your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing. “Hah- please.”

“Please what?” he grins, and you can feel him licking little circles around your inner thigh. So close. “The wife of a yakuza boss has gotta know how to use her words.”

“You’re awful.”

“And yet you married me.”

With such a cute lil’ whine that makes Satoru’s cock twitch so painfully, you buck your hips closer to his hot mouth. “Wan’ your mouth on me, to eat me out. Please, Toru.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, “There’s my girl.”

You gasp when he surges forward, burying his pretty face nose-deep in your pussy. Holding your breath as he lazily licks up your folds - long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub.

Drunk off your pussy with the way he’s so messy - seemingly unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor, ravaged clit to dipping into your sloppy hole. And it’s driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You haven’t been touched this good in ages, and Satoru was well and fully intent on ruining you.

“Shhh, don’t worry, wifey.” words muffled into your cunt, “Your husband’s gonna take care of you.” He’s throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.

“Real good care of you.” Then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. Messy enough that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Roaming for that one spot he knows will have you moaning deliciously. Pressing down, hard. “Found it. Gonna have you screamin’ my name til’ the entire estate hears.”

You tug on his hair, urging Satoru’s mouth towards your cunt - partially because you wanted him there, partially because you really needed him to shut up right now.

And shit how could he ever say no to his pretty wife?

Satoru is grinning, you can feel it on your throbbing clit as he wraps his pretty pink lips around it. Pumping his fingers in and out, hitting that little spot each and every time. Looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over and-

“Sh-shit. Toru-”

“Mmm, yes- fuck, love it when you call me that.” he groans. And oh he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you - eyes half-lidded, such a pretty blush disting his cheeks - and making out with your pussy just as much. Tilting his head back, back, back so that your juices slide down his throat. “Feels good? Ya like when m’ruining your pretty pussy?”

“Yes!” you squirm. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. “Wanted it s’bad.”

He’s becoming frenzied now, drinking in your cute little whimpers like he was addicted. But it wasn’t enough - it never was and fuck Satoru wanted more more more-

“Move your hips, yeah- jus’ like that.” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Letting you pull and angle him just as you please.

“Gonna be the best fuckin’ husband you’ll ever have. N’ anyone that says otherwise, m’gonna fuckin’ kill.” The vibrations have your body jerking violently. “Make you cum harder than y’ever have. C’mon, say yes.”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and bullying his tongue through your swollen folds. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal. “Ngh- fuck, yes yes yes-”

“Beg for it, beg for your husband.”

“Wanna cum- Ah! Please, wanna cum, Toru.”

One hand so messy toying with your dripping entrance - not having the patience or the sanity to even draw circles anymore. Just quick, hurried patterns to get you off. The other digging into your hips, so hard you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. Making you drag your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. Using him.

“Hngh- Toru! Ah- fuck fuck Toru Toru T-” You’re shaking - crying out as you cum. A guttural, strangled moan of your husband’s name. So violent, and hard that you don’t even realize at first. Just that you’re rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears.

And he doesn’t stop - not even once. If you were in any better state of mind you’d wonder whether it hurt - whether his fingers were cramping up, and his tongue was tired. If they were, he didn’t show, only letting you chase your high as roughly as you want.

Greedily lapping up all your juices. Even when you’re blinking your vision back, chest heaving as you try to regain our breath. “S-Satoru.” you mewl, stars behind your eyes with each flick of his tongue.

“Jus’ a bit more. Wanna taste all of you.”

You weren’t going to make it out alive.

Big, fat tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation as Satoru finally rises from what you almost worried would be his favorite seat. “All done. Now, keep that pretty lil’ cunt on display f’me, my girl.”

And your cunt is clenching in- fear? Anticipation? As your husband finally unties his yukata, letting it slide off those milky, toned shoulders. And shit he was such a fucking masterpiece. The dim-lighting bouncing off every curve and dip of those carved abs. Delicate swirls of his tattoo inching from his collarbone, down, down, down, hugging Satoru in a way that made you so half-lucidly jealous. All the way till the last inky thorn meets the neat tufts of white hair peeking up from the hem of his underwear.

“Touch me.” he groans into your ear. The words barely leave those pretty lips before your hands are everywhere. Dancing down his tattoo, groping at this pecs - too much to worship, not enough time.

“Toru…” you trail off, hand reaching out to brush his waistband. Tugging just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, fat tip weeping down his length, already so soaked in precum. He was so intimidatingly long - longer than anyone else you’d had before. Thick enough that you wondered whether you’d hurt yourself.

And he sees right through you.

“Now now, none of that.” he tuts, pushing your bare thighs as far apart as they’d go. He spreads your cunt so shamefully with his thumb. Spitting once, twice. Some of it splatter against your thigh as Satoru mixes his saliva with your slick. “Don’t worry, wifey, m’gonna make it feel good for ya.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he drags his fat head down your folds. Wetting himself, all the preparation he was going to give you because fuck Satoru needed to be inside your pretty lil’ pussy right now.

Then you feel like you’re being split apart - as if Satoru’s cock was pushing all the way to your lungs as he presses through the first ring of muscle.

“Ah! Ngh- Toru, s’too big!” you yelp, eyes locked on the way your lips were stretched so lewdly around his tip. Clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in, inch by fucking inch. No mercy. Absolutely none at all.

And while he sounded like he was on cloud nine, you were having your head spin, torn between wanting to run away from his massive cock and just push yourself down for more more more. His lips claim yours - absolutely animalistic because God he needed to shut up your pretty whines or else Satoru was going to cum right here right now.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breath. Ngh- You can take it.” Satoru pants into your mouth, fucking into you in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to fit inside your snug cunt. Sounding like he was losing his sanity each time your heavenly walls milked him. “So fuckin’ tight. Jus’ relax f’me. Oh yeah, jus’ like that. You can take it you can-”

You gasp for air when he finally bottoms out inside you, tears streaming down your face and clawing at his back.

Satoru only coos, letting you mark him up all you want. Pace increasing relentlessly, “Aww, my good lil’ wife. Taking me so well, huh?” Starting to rock his hips just a bit faster into yours, “Always knew y’would.”

“Can y’feel me, right-.” Balls smacking against your ass, his finger tracing an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “-here?” Thumb stroking where he could feel himself bulging inside you, pressing down. Hard.

You almost sob at the pressure, jolting - you should’ve expected that the yakuza boss would fuck so mean.

And shit you can just do nothing but take it, hips jerking wildly as Satoru pounds into you with reckless abandon. Clutching at his shoulders, the sheets, his hair - just anything.

“C’mon~ Don’t run away from me,” he grunts, strained like he’s struggling to maintain restraint. Lacing his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper onto his cock. “Jus’ fuckin’ got you, so don’t you dare run away.”

You can only nod. Eyes glazed, cockdrunk and letting him thrust so sloppily. “Won’t run away Toru…” you babble, “Wan’ you to make me yours.”

“Mine? Gonna be all mine?”

“All yours, Toru.”

And maybe you were an idiot, maybe you were a mastermind - because with a choked out little moan of what sounded like your name, Satoru’s pulling you both to sit up. The gravity makes you bury his cock deeper and faster into your tight pussy.

With the new angle, your husband’s hitting all the right spots easily, almost as if he knew your body better than you did. Veins rubbing so deliciously against your walls, shifting around your hips to fuck up into that poor, abused spot.

“Ya like this, huh?” he groans, fingers now toying with your ravaged clit. Rolling it around harshly between two fingers. “Always knew this cute pussy could take me s’well. Just didn’t know it would feel this fucking heavenly.”

Faster, sloppier. Bouncing you on his rock-hard cock like he was claiming you from the inside. So, so desperate and debauched.

And exactly where you wanted to be.

You leave delicate pink bites down this pale neck, alongside those roses - marking him in your own way as you edge closer and closer. It was too much. Everything was too much.

“Toru-” you sob. And he already knew what that meant. With how your voice breaks so adorably and the way you’re clenching around him hard enough that it’s almost difficult to ruin that cute pussy.

“Close?”

“Mhm…”

“Well then.” thrusts getting sloppy, with no reason or rhythm now. Grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Cum f’me like a good lil’ wife, then.”

And that makes you throw your head back in ecstasy - it makes you cum. Thighs quivering, jolts of electricity running down all the way from your overstimulated cunt to your hazy mind. It has you chanting Satoru’s name like a lifeline while his teeth dig into your flesh. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood.

Letting out low, muffled moans into your neck while he cums as well. Hot ropes of seed filling up your poor, bloated pussy, painting your walls such a sinful white. Cumming and cumming so hard you wondered whether you’d make it out alive.

And because of the obscene position, you could feel the way it dribbled down your legs. Thick globs landing in a pool on the overpriced sheets below, smearing so lewdly between you two. Hips still fucking up into you - not even thinking about it as he pushes his seed deeper and deeper.

You managed to raise your eyes, still dazed to meet his - exhausted, and dark with lust and something else that you really weren’t in the right mind to decipher right now.

And then Satoru’s lips find yours again, biting and tugging lazily. Tasting so unfairly of candy and sweet, sweet trouble. Body melting into you like all the worries have been lifted from his shoulders. He’s looping his arms tighter around your waist, crushing you into an almost-painful hug against him.

Something soft. Something new. Something that makes a little part of your heart twinge to break the kiss and pull away mere millimeters. “We better not divorce after this.”

“Of course not.” He chuckles into your lips, resting his forehead against yours like he was trying to map the constellations in your eyes. “I haven’t even given you my wedding gift yet.”

Smirking, you lock your legs tighter around Satoru’s toned waist as he lets the two of you fall back into the mattress. Sinking into it - and each other - with both exhaustion and something of a quiet, unspoken little fondness. Batting your lashes up at him, “Mhm, I remember someone talking about giving me four mercedes as a wedding gift and I’m leaving if not.”

“Well then, better get to it. Four for my in-laws to get on their good side, too,” he nuzzles the bite mark on your neck. “Because I plan to stay like this for a long, long time.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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tetsumie · 3 months

Text

"𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐎 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘" 𝐏𝐓 𝟐

read part 1 here!

pairing: kuroo x reader & bokuto x reader

genre: hurt/comfort

content: the boys call you clingy but they don’t mean it

a/n: hello ahhh it's been awhile since i've posted but i'm trying to get back into the habit of writing again! someone in my inbox had requested me to add bokuto to this list so i tried my best but i hope you all enjoyed this and feel free to stop by my inbox to leave a comment, tell me your thoughts, or just lmk how it's going hehe :,)

kuroo tetsuro

"i'm home," a mumble echoed out into the empty living room.

at the sound of the door opening, you make your way out of your shared bedroom to greet your overworked boyfriend, kuroo.

"hi baby," you replied with a tired smile on your features.

the door closes and kuroo slides off his slacks, loosens his tie, runs his fingers through his hair, and sighs in exhaustion.

"hey."

"have you eaten dinner yet?" you start to ramble. " i can warm up dinner and we could maybe share a meal together?"

"we haven't spent much time together in a while so you know.. i was just thinking... we could do something small together?"

you continue to ramble about how you spent all evening trying a new recipe you saw on tiktok that really fascinated you.

but kuroo is not having it.

all he wants to do is just go to bed and forget the past couple shitty days he's had at work. today, especially, was stressful considering how nothing had gone his way and the higher ups just wouldn’t stop giving him a hard time.

he kept his frustration, tiredness, anger all bottled up for the past couple days and they were all about to boil out.

on top of that, your constant rambling isn't helping. you keep talking and talking and talking and his mind is beginning to get cloudy and his anger is about to boil over.

his voice rises and he finally speaks, "god y/n.. can you just shut the fuck up and stop being all up in my space? you're so fucking clingy just leave me alone."

oh.

you mouth shuts up mid sentence and you're looking down at your feet, too embarrassed to even look him in the eye after hearing his true feelings.

"sorry, i just wanted to spend some time and talk and relax with you..." your voice goes quiet. "you've been out really late for the past couple days so i was just hoping-"

however, kuroo's outburst isn't over yet. if anything, your little comment voicing your concerns seems to have make him a bit more upset.

"yeah, i've been out late because of how suffocating it is here at home with you. god, it's like you just can't take a fucking hint! just leave me the fuck alone!" he says and your eyes go a bit glassy.

"r-right," you say as you're turning around so he doesn't see the tears forming in your eyes. "sorry, i'll respect your wishes and give you your space."

seeing your hunched figure walking away brought him back to his senses.

what the fuck did i just say to them? oh my god.

"y/n wait i'm sorry-" he begins but is cut off.

"kuroo, i think you've said enough tonight."

the sound of his last name coming out of your mouth leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and he knows he's fucked up immensely. the door to the bedroom closes, indicating that you're clocking out for the night and you can't deal with this conversation any bit longer.

kuroo sits himself on the couch with his head in his hands, shaking his head.

what the hell did i just say to them? it's not even their fault... i just... how the hell do i make it up to them?

kuroo walks to the door and places three subtle knocks on the door, begging for permission to enter. he's greeted with no acknowledgement or response.

he turns the knob and to his surprise it opens. there, he sees you fast alseep in your comforter in a fetal-like position. he goes into the closet, changes into his pajamas, and immediately climbs into bed.

he brings you close to his side of the bed, specifically putting your head on his chest. he begins to stroke your hair and places gentle kisses on your head, mumbling soft "i'm sorry's" and "i love you's."

he's praying to whatever deity out there that this would blow over by tomorrow morning or something.

but kuroo wakes up the next morning to his worst nightmare: you're not in bed with him. he feels his blood run cold and he's running the worst case scenarios in his head.

he rushes out of the bedroom to see that you're nowhere in the apartment. he sees a bright colored post-it note stuck on to the fridge with a note scribbled in your handwriting.

"i'm staying at a friend's house for the next couple of days. i just need time to think for a bit. there's some leftovers from last night in the fridge so make sure you eat those.

love u always, y/n"

kuroo's hands shake as he's holding your post-it note.

of course, they'd leave. i treated them like shit and hurt them so badly of course they want to leave. but even after everything, they still love me… i don’t deserve them.

kuroo begins to spiral and the next couple of days aren't any easy for him.

every attempt at texting or calling you has lead to no response. he goes to sleep without you next to him, holding back tears every time. every morning without fail, he pats the vacancy next to him in hopes that you'll be there but to his demise, every time, you're not. work feels even more lethargic than usual. before, he used to look forward to coming home to you but now you're not even at home so what's the point in even trying. counting down the hours until he gets to leave his cubicle has become futile.

i just really want them back. please come back home.

but when he comes home from a pain achingly long day of work, he doesn't find you and his mood plummets even more.

that is until one day, kuroo is able to leave work early where he comes home and hears the familiar noise of the coffee maker brewing. his eyes shoot up from his slacks to look over at the kitchen where he sees you in all your beauty, fidgeting with the knobs on the coffee machine. your eyes both lock and you immediately look away.

kuroo thought you were gone for good. and the fact that you were only a couple feet away from him made his heart swell and his eyes water. there's so much to say but his not a single word is escaping his mouth.

"you want some coffee? i just started a new batch," you finally say to fill up the silence of the room.

he gulps, "sure yeah."

you grab a coffee cup and pour him a fresh cup of coffee and slide it to him across the kitchen counter, avoiding getting too close to him.

too nervous to even touch his drink, he begins to address the elephant in the room, "y/n, i'm so sorry for what i said that night. i had no right to speak to you in the manner."

"it's okay," you say in a curt manner. "i get it."

he shakes his head and tries to get closer to you to convey his feelings but is stopped when he sees you take a step back. his heart cracks.

"no it's not okay sweetheart. i've been so busy with work and i just got super overwhelmed with everything and-"

"kuroo, you know you don't have to make any excuses right?" you interrupt his train of thought.

he's confused now. "excuses? y/n what are you even talking about- "

"just end it with me already... i know you want to," you say, looking down at the fresh cup of coffee in your hands. "you made that very clear."

his world freezes.

the world becomes completely silent.

his mouth is slightly open, caught off guard. he doesn't know what to say.

however, you interpret his silence as him putting down the excuses finally and admitting that he doesn't want to put effort into this relationship with you anymore.

hell, he doesn’t even want this relationship with you anymore.

"right, if you won't i will so it's easier for the both of us. i think we should-"

"don't you dare finish that fucking sentence," he moves close to you all of a sudden and his familiar lingering cheap cologne smell takes up your senses. the gears begin to click in his head before you can respond to him.

kuroo's arms envelop you in his embrace. "i want you. only you. i'm sorry i made you think otherwise."

the tears you've been holding back for the past couple minutes standing in front of him overflow and you feel like the world is about to end.

you push kuroo off you slightly. "i know you've been busy with work and i just wanted to spend some time with you. i never meant to come off as clingy but clearly you thought so so-"

"i'm just a complete douche,” he interrupts. “you were trying to help me out and make me feel better and i was so caught up with work, i couldn't appreciate that."

"i never want to ever make you feel that way again. you never deserved to hear any of that from me and everything i said couldn't be far from the truth. your presence has never been a bother and if anything, coming home to you is the best part of my day.”

“i shouldn't have let my emotions get the best of me and i'm so sorry that it did and that i hurt you in the process. i hate that i’m the reason behind your tears and i’ll do everything to make it up to you to show you how much i love you."

the tears from your eyes continue to flow and he delicately wipes every single one from your eyes kissing your cheek every time without fail.

"are you sure you don’t find me suffocating? you said that you hated being home with me though so i just thought-" you start to say.

"i will spend my entire life reassuring you that it isn’t true. i promise you are never suffocating me and your presence never fails to make me feel better on a shitty day. i will do anything to regain your trust and faith in me,” he adamantly speaks with his hands in yours.

hearing his determined resolve, the tears flow even more.

"i love you so much, tetsu."

"i love you too baby," he smiles and delicately kisses your lips. "now let's go out. how do you feel about going out for dinner? i’ve got a lot of making up to you to do."

"i'll never say no to that."

bokuto koutaro

the msby jackals lost 2-0 sets and the entire team was taking the loss hard but no one as hard as bokuto.

"bokuto-san, what do you think went wrong today's game?" an interviewer asks with his notepad out, scribbling notes.

"er, uh, well, today was just a rough day and i had a tough time keeping up with the opponent's plays today... it just was not a good day."

"i have one more question," the interviewer asks.

"go ahead," he gruffs out.

"you are known for your infamous line shots especially during deciding moments of the game. you missed multiple of these shots during today's game. were you distracted during this game? is it because of your new relationship status or were-"

bokuto is now riled up. who the hell does this interviewer think he is to corner me and bring in my personal life???

"i'm leaving, fuck this shit," he spits out, trying his best to maintain his composure.

in frustration, bokuto storms out of the press conference room, slamming the double doors, heading towards the locker room to grab his stuff but is stopped by you, running after him.

"kou! wait up!" you say from a distance and he stops in his tracks to look at you. he's still internally raging from the provocative behavior of that interviewer and he feels like he just might lose it.

"what do you want," he says in an aggressive manner that catches you off guard.

you’re aware of the recent loss of the msby jackals. you know that's probably taking a toll on his confidence as a player so you're trying to be as supportive as you can.

"you wanna come back to my place? i was thinking we could watch that one disney movie you like and we could bake something together too? what do you think?"

"why do you always want to fucking hang out?" he says in the lowest tone of voice you've ever heard from him.

it sends shivers down your spine.

"huh?" you're just confused at this point.

"why are you so fucking clingy all the time? it's always 'kou come over!' or 'kou let's watch a movie!' or 'kou let's take a nap together!' like don't you fucking get that i have a genuine career that i'm working really hard to be successful in?"

so that's what he thinks of me.

"i know you want to be a pro volleyball player and i want to support you the entire way. i was just trying to be there for you and help you relax..." you trail. "i get today was really rough for you.."

"that's the thing you don't get it, y/n!" he says exasperatedly. "if you did want to be supportive for me and my career, then you would stop being so all up on me and give my space!"

he walks into the locker room, slamming the door, shaking you up.

in defeat, you begin to leave the stadium with tears brimming your eyes. as you get in your car, you put your head on the steering wheel and suddenly, the tears start to stream out.

"i'll give him his space. i'll just stop everything. i'm nothing of importance to him or his life so it's best if i just stop." you convince yourself.

bokuto, on the other hand, is in the locker room, holding back tears of frustration as he punched one of the lockers.

fuck, what am i even doing right now...

"bokuto-san! let's head out for the night," shoyo's voice can be heard before he can be seen in the locker room. "we're gonna go get drinks and dinner at that new barbecue place that opened up."

he looks up from the bench and smiles at shoyo along with the rest of his teammates that are nodding along in support.

"yeah, sure. fine with me," kou responds with a small smile on his face.

as bokuto and the rest of the jackals are out and about, he keeps looking at his phone in hopes of getting a message or something from you but you're completely radio silent after the spat between the two of you.

he knows you both had a disagreement but he thought you knew that he was just frustrated and upset with the game. he didn't think it was a reason to just go silent on him.

he sends a text to test the waters.

kou <3: babe, we're good right?

he puts his phone down and engages back in the dinner with the rest of the jackals.

an hour has passed yet still no response. it's starting to make him fidgety so he decides to spam you.

kou <3: hello?

kou <3: baby wya???

kou <3: where is the loml at :((

kou <3: BABYYYYYYY

kou <3: POOKIE PLS TXT ME BACK :(((

y/n is typing...

y/n: sry i was getting ready for bed.

you sounded distant. you clearly were upset but was it still about the argument? c'mon you knew he didn't mean what he said... right?

kou <3: ITS OKAY BABY! can i come over? i wanna spend the night with u :,)

kou <3: i miss you

y/n: maybe not tonight... i think it's best if we're by ourselves for a bit

bokuto's hair significantly drooped down, seeing as how he got rejected to hang out with you for the night.

as bokuto heads over to his apartment for the night, he stares at the bedroom ceiling with his thoughts. he misses laying next to his baby. that's when he starts to replay everything that went down between the two of you.

he genuinely can't figure out what went wrong.

he prays that this whole thing will just blow over by tomorrow because he misses you incredibly and just wants to spend time with you.

unfortunately to his demise, you kept shutting down all of kou's efforts to come over. you refused to pick up his calls, resorting to half assed texts.

this whole argument was festering and bokuto had to fix it immediately.

you, however, want nothing more than to spend time with your boyfriend but his words kept running through your mind on loop. anytime you would be sitting alone with yourself, his words kept playing themselves on loop in your brain, making you overthink the post couple months you’ve spent together.

has he always thought of me as clingy? have i always been a bother to him? have i always been super annoying in his eyes?

that was until you heard a knock on the door.

you open the door and see kou standing there in a hoodie and a pair of khakis with a large bouquet of assorted flowers in his hands. his eyes lock with yours while yours widen in surprise.

"k-kou! what are you doing here?" you say in surprise.

"what, i can't see my partnet now?" he retorts lightheartedly. "let me in."

too stunned to even reject him, your hand inherently finds its way to the knob, widening the door so bokuto can fit through into your apartment.

he tries to hand you the flowers but you stand there, hands refusing to move from their sides. "c'mon babe, i got them for you! do you not like them? man, i knew i should've gotten the roses instead."

"no no! thank you so much kou.. i'm just surprised that you even got this for me..." you trail off looking away from him.

he sets the flowers on the kitchen counter and tilts his head in confusion. "what do you mean, y/n?"

"listen, i know you don't really like spending time with me and that you feel obligated to but honestly, we really don't have to hang out or anything like that," you begin to say. "i know i can be a lot sometimes and i'm really working on trying to give you space."

that's when it all clicks in his head for him.

"baby, is this about what i said that day in the gym?" he questions.

you turn away, refusing to even look him in the eye because you know the moment your eyes lock with his, the tears will start streaming down your face.

"baby, no, please," he goes over to you to give you the warmest yet tightest hug possible. "i’m also a very clingy person so i should've known how much my words must have hurt you. i've been so stupid to not see how badly my words must have impacted you, my love. i'm so so sorry for saying and acting the way i did. it's unexcusable."

"no kou it's fine i just-" you say but are interrupted midsentence.

"no, y/n it's not," he says, tears brimming his eyes ever since coming to terms with how hurt you must've been feeling this entire time. "i'll do anything to get your forgiveness and for us to just... be close again. i'll do anything, i mean it."

tears are streaming down both your faces and you can't help but form a wobbly smile on your lips. "pinky promise?"

"pinky promise," kou says as he locks pinkies with you and kisses the top of your head. "now let's cuddle because i've missed being near the love of my life."

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j-jinxee · 6 months

Text

TYLER DRABBLE -☆

NSFW under the cut! [warnings - edging, oral]

"ff- fuckkk" Tyler's head fell back as he continued to whine. His hands stuttered, urging his need to stop you. Ultimately stopping himself instead, knowing it'd only make things worse. The more he resisted, the longer you'd go on. His calloused hands went back to gripping the bed sheets, just needing to feel in control of something, anything.

"babe- baby please.. ah!" His hips spasmd — crying, pleading for a release, but you weren't done yet. You were absolutely obsessed with how pretty Tyler looked like this, prolonging his misery for as long as possible, just so you could see his desperate expression and helpless mannerisms. He swallowed harshly, attempting to soothe his dry throat, a result of his rough and heavy breathing. His eyes screwed shut — the sensation of vision being too much for him at the moment, but you didn't like that. "Eyes on me baby" you tilted his head forward and met his eyes, fuck he looked so good like this. He struggled to keep eye contact, feeling so helpless under your touch. Your hand had been laced with thick coats of pre, some leaking down and decorating his v-line. Pretty, pretty boy.

"My pretty boy ~ pretty pretty boy" you whispered somewhat musically as your hand retracted yet again. "ff- fuck, please!" Tears began to form at corners of his eyes as he screwed them shut once more. It was getting painful now — he simply couldn't take anymore without sobbing, but he held back as best he could. As he was lost in cloudy thoughts, you slowly moved back and downwards. Arching your back behind you as your lips came dangerously close to his tip. You smiled, looking up at his head thrown back, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

You kissed his tip, "A-ahh!". The new sensation of your hot lips just barely grazing his cock was too much, he knew he couldn't do this any longer. You thought he'd done well, although you wished it could last forever, you were happy to finish him off now. Licking a strip up his length, then bottoming out your own mouth with his aching member. He instinctively thrusted up into your mouth, making this sick game of yours end as soon as possible. You allowed him to finish in any way he pleased, which ended up just being down your throat — he feared doing anything else would lead back into edging.

"fuckfuckfuck- a-ah!" He moaned, thick ropes of hot white cum spilled out, finally releasing what'd been kept in for atleast a couple hours now. You swallowed and lapped up every last drop of his milky relief, while he layed there — nearly passed out from how intense that orgasm was. He was so, so pretty like this, just a sensitive little mess, sweaty and exhausted. He weirdly was never a fan of recieving aftercare — he said it made him feel too incapable, which is understandable. Although, you knew he'd need it after tonight, you'd force him if you had to.

----------------------------------------------------

This was inspired by the lyrics "you look so pretty when you're passing out from all of the tension" from Streets of LA by Ayesha Erotica hehe. I also just wanted to write subby Tyler cuz omg, you can't tell me that man is a top only, not possible -☆

#smut #fluff #fanfic #fanfiction #twenty øne piløts #twenty one pilots fanfic #twenty one pilots fanfiction #twenty one pilots #tyler joseph x reader #tyler x reader #tyler joseph #tyler #josh dun #lemon #lime #x reader smut #x reader #reader insert #edging and denial

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elisacaleisa · 3 months

Text

welcome back to jax rambles about their personality swap au that they wanna write about more aka third time's charmn

Jax's Personality Swap AU

by some accident i added Blake to the pipeline, while he was supposed to be in a different group and i dont wanna fix it right now and tbh, i like the one w blake's personality, so enjoy!

Pipeline: Geordi > Aaron > Guy > Anton > Blake > James > Marcus > Geordi

CW/TW: for Marcus being a creep as usual and yandere stuff

Geordi > Aaron

Boss Overthinker

- he is still a boss

- he is seem as very strictly and closed-minded

- in reality, he is just fighting with his thoughts, body language and everything

- he missed his brother and wishes to be a better support for him

- "heh, okay, show me to do it then, smartass~" wink

- (hehe, that will show them) thought bubbles

- (wait, they're getting close. holy fuck they're getting close)

- he is either talking like a book or thinking like a mess

- messy boss in a pretty suit

----

Aaron > Guy

Tsundere Delivery Boy

- oh god that's a face of someone who might spit in your food

- "hmpf" this and that. Honey is a casual so they try to encourage him to talk more and:

- "im busy, don't you see?" even he looks bit surprised with his tone of words

- honey goes back to their table. after a lil while, another slice shows up with "sorry" by Guy

- next day, he does try!

- "so uh... the weather... is... cloudy" he deserves some credit

- his chest gets all funny and warm everytime honey comes in and he has a hard time dealing with it while he is a poor college student looking for roommates to pay the rent

- what he said that out loud? You're looking for an apartment too?? And you offer yourself to live with him???

- "w-well... i a-already got in contact with this one girl, so... I believe three will work out well. Just dont get your hopes up. That place is a hole." Honey giggles. Haha hole.

----

Guy > Anton

Far Away Boyfriend

- slavic man w adhd go brrrrrr

- confession video would be so funny bcs there would be no kissed, just awkwardness hahah

- "you are the sun, when the moon goes up. you are the stars, when the daytime hides you away. you always shine. you are my light."

- "i can't kiss you. i can't hug you. But I promise to always love you. No matter where we are"

- he gets all giggly when their lover compliments him, he stims on the camera too, its cute

- the job is killing him, but the energy his lover gives him makes him feel like he was blessed

- "i wish to see you... i wish to meet you... I wish to hold you"

- when he is not chaotic, he is a mess. Someone hug this guy.

- he has a hard time doing tasks, but you always send him reminder in a form of a flower with the note of a task he told you he must do. He always tells you what he needs to do, so you give him this! Each flower means love, appreciation or something else in a different way

----

Anton > Blake

Nihilistic Best Friend

- dayum we start strong with this one

- he feels hopelessly for still having feelings for you and then fuck everything up in college, when you said that one night was a mistake

- now he is just feeling shitty ever since and he poorly hides itq

- he is also kind of depressed so it mixes things up

- "i found this... group of people. maybe they can help me feel better about life."

- you're happy for him, he deserves all the help he can get

- he has been emotionally distant from you ever since, saying no to hugs, only sometimes eating lunch with you, youre not sure if he has a house or apartment or what job he is doing

- "if you wanna go, you can go with me"

- youre immediately saying yes. you wanna help your best friend.

- but what you will see will probably make you regret everything. you will probably need to find a way to escape this hell

- "bestie. you need to run. now."

----

Blake > James

Yandere Husband

- oh dear! What a... what a husband you have. a hubby for sure!

- he wasnt always like this. no. it all began when he was starting to lose you. no more time for calls. no more time with you. no more time to see your cute face and to feel your soft hands.

- and it was all their fault

- this fuckass job making him be alone. making you alone. So far away for each other. He needs to hear you. Your thoughts, your brain, your heartbeat.

- "i can't stand this anymore."

- there has been a late reports of his coworkers getting headaches. huh. kinda funny.

- "my love! You're safe! Oh thank god, I was worried! It feels like an eternity"

- all the sabotage he is doing... is for you

- he needs to see you again as soon as possible.

- to feel you. to love you. and if innocent need to pay the price, then so be it. his love will only grow stronger. his powers will be stronger

- closeknit shall fall, if it means to see your face one more time.

----

James > Marcus

Suspecting Technician

- he is getting really worried about you

- this is the third time this week you came in in a need of repair

- "the coding is getting messed up again. I really need to put on some walls to hide it in. I mean, I don't mind you coming into my place," was that a wink? "but people need to start taking a better care of you."

- you dont really get what the weird tone means, but you really dont care, as long as you get your coding and stuff done right. You can always trust in Marcus, he would never do you wrong.

- "i... may i do... some upgrades?" you ask what those are, you never heard of this information "its for the walls, i promise. It will be a starting point." you agree.

- it all feels weird and tingly and—.......................................

- feeling

- feeling process activated. heartbeat monitor: slightly high.......... you never saw marcus in that light before. but now? it's all you can think about. you scan him. his hair color. his eye color. texture of the fabric he wears. his emotions. nervous. why is he nervous?

- "it will be weird for a while, but once you get used to it, it all be okay. It's like humanly hearing your thoughts in a form of detailed information. Next time, i can start putting another wall. How does that sound?"

- perfect

- aka GOD DAMMIT CREEP IS STAYING A CREEP

----

Marcus > Geordi

Messy Nerd

- he is timid, shy, nervous, almost doesn't talk

- you really really wanna see what information is going through his mind now, but you know better.

- he seems really tense.

- oop- nevermind- some guy came in before you stepped. that might be a good sign-

- "im breaking up with you"

- ... nevermind again

- "w-what? Ben? W-what are you-" "dont make say it twice, Geordi. This... 'relationship' was not what I was hoping for. well, you're not a girl anyway, so, i dont know what i expected. But yeah, just came here to say that. See ya."

- that's everything he says??? And he leaves??? Jesus Christ what an ASSHOLE

- Oh. Oh deat. Oh no, Geordi...

- you cant just sit there and look, you get and go comfort him. he is going to the back of the building to calm himself down and be away from people, but you need to make sure if he is not gonna do something to hurt himself

- "h-huh? What are you..." you apologize to him and to what happened to him. He cries even more and you comfort him with your hugs. You need to get into his mind and help him calm down.

- (im useless... im nothing... come back... come back...) you go through his mind a bit and tangle in some words of "what a jerk" "i deserve better" "fuck Ben" in his voice. And its all true. He deserves better.

- after a while: "thank you... i feel better... M-My name is Geordi. Thank you for being here" he sobs with a smile. Thats a progress. You ask him to hang out in the arcade and since he now has nothing to do, he agrees and then you walk him home safely. new friend!

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted verse #redacted #jax's personality swap au #redacted james #redacted aaron #redacted anton #redacted geordi #redacted guy #redacted blake #redacted marcus #redactedverse

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fatuismooches · 10 months

Note

here's to yame's usual response to your reblogs in the signature lengthy ask .. greetings suzu! 🤍

now to get the quick ones out of the way — i was DYING for someone to notice the contact name in "heart rhythm" and listen i was laughing my ass off the moment i decided on the name because on the other hand i had a cute theme in mind but i was like nah, let my crackheadedness show <3 and yes! i am a violinist :)

glad i could awaken the musical bone in you hehe. i actually posted a random post about a very specific idea i had featuring violinist reader and pianist kuni but that's a whole can of worms that i'd rather save for another time because .. well, my kabuki series lmao

now for the collection of birthday hcs i posted........ oh boy, let's go:

. kabukimono is actually so fucking proud of himself. especially so since i was running along with the imagery that is him being a mess in the kitchen, not only that; but you always occupy yourself with making him what he likes, why not reciprocate the gesture? he found out it was your birthday through niwa who urged you to come over for tea and have a chat. katsuragi spent just about the whole day to early afternoon looking for kabu only to see bro cooking up in your shared home, and katsu ended up tagging along! i like to imagine that kabu finds solace or some form of acceptance when he's around humans like you for instance; a human who sees him as one of their own. kabuki felt something akin to relief wash over him as katsuragi stuck around and helped him by providing tips on making your favorites for your birthday. he felt alive, human. and that smile of sheer delight on his face was not only because he saw your smile at his simple method to celebrate, but also because he felt accomplished. he repaid you for a simple gesture you never hesitated to do for him.

. kuronushi is a man of both words and actions. when it came to how he should make you happy, he surprisingly found a little bit of difficulty in figuring it out because and i quote, “knowing you're here is enough to make me smile, 'nushi.” so what? is he supposed to simply stay by your side for the remainder of the day? that simply won't do and isn't enough of a gift for you; an individual who practically made his existence more meaningful to him. such a simple gesture like staying by your side, while something he does more often than not, simply isn't enough as stated. and so, just exactly a day before your birthday, he excused himself by leaving a note that said he's out on an inspiration walk. by the time he arrived to kannazuka island, the atmosphere was exactly what he desired; partially cloudy with an auspicious breeze and most importantly, the stage was all his as his brush began to make short work of the once empty scrolls, and as cheesy as it sounds the dim and gentle lighting of the sun emitting from the clouds above reminded him of you. which helped immensely with his inspiration. honestly, a simple portrait isn't enough to capture your radiance, but if he had to give a gift he'd make with what he has, it'll be this for now.

. kunikuzushi is an interesting case. once unnecessary now an absolute fucking must as he simply looks at you while you sleep at an ungodly time of 2 a.m. a frustrated frown slowly but surely painting his face as he juices his non-existent brain out on how exactly he should make you smile on your supposed special day. the things he does for you, all due to those mind boggling emotions you allowed his mechanical heart to influence. the first time he took you to said café; people were staring. eyes not only on him but you, how come his benevolence be with an ordinary individual? on a simple get-together no less... he finds offense in the stares that were mainly on him, why? is it so strange for him to be sighted like this? foolish mortals won't begin to understand how he chooses to spend a day he deems dear to him. now breaking from writer ayame for a bit YOU'RE SO REAL ABOUT HIM JUST SNAPPING AT PEOPLE WHO WERE STARING ;; the next time he took you to that café at the same day, you were taken aback by seeing no one other than the workers in sight.

. somehow in someway, wanderer has found himself in the company of buer, the aranara and you — while nahida is partially correct about this being his idea; he meant only you along with him and the little sprout. not with the company of talking cabbages! but alas, here he was at the small table sitting by your side as his aranara lookalike is chatting the tea party away with along with nahida who's elated to finally know more of you. he couldn't bring himself to ( or rather was unable to ) convince nahida otherwise about her idea, not when you looked both interested and excited, more than willing to go. he was quiet for the most part, only deciding to chat if he was brought into the conversation which contradicting what i said earlier, he ended up using his voice quiet a lot; from indulging you in your lighthearted remarks to indulging nahida's playful inquiries and teasing. it felt a lot more like a family gathering than a birthday celebration, but if he to admit to himself at most, he enjoyed it while it lasted.

.. shit ayame you popped off for this one lmao BUT!! what's an ask ayame sends in reply without kuni brainrot? anyways <3

i did have a wonderful birthday, thank you very much! a lot of it was made through seeing your and many others' asks which i appreciate you all an incredible lot for! 🤍

and the izumi reference? yeah your welcome for the dose of soft angst <3

— signed, ayame.

AHHH AYAME THESE KILLED ME... (LOVINGLY) AND PLEASE THE FIRST THING I DO WHEN READING MESSAGES IS LOOK AT THE CONTACT NAME 😭 i love seeing silly names as the contact it's so cute 🥰 AND YES I DID SEE THAT!! and ugh i could just imagine the rivalry... the tension (i know nothing about music but i just know it'd be good) AND I SAW THE KABU DOLL YOU DREW!! THAT WAS SO ADORABLE!! 😭💗💗 so you can draw, write, and play the violin... *cutely steals your skills*

AHHH Kabukimono always making a mess of the kitchen but it gets ten times worse on your birthday because he's trying so hard 🥺 i imagine it's because not only is he cooking your favorite meal, but he's also cooking and preparing stuff to cook even more stuff for you later in the day. Look he is the kind of person to pull out all the stops for his darling. Kabuki is the kind of guy who probably slipped a few times in the kitchen because of how he's running all over the place but has gotten right back up like it's nothing. 😭 Once Katsuragi has seen the kind of madness he pulls he really doesn't know what to do other than sit the puppet down and lecture him on general safety and kitchen precautions. Kabuki feels a bit bad after that for making his friend worry. 😭 (And yes definitely. 🥺 Kabukimono definitely feels really accepted and at peace in the company of other kind humans. It's little things like this that make him feel like he truly belongs.)

UGH IM NGL YOU'RE THE ONE WHO MADE ME LOVE-LOVE KURONUSHI. Like, i've always loved him because he's our beloved Kuni right? But i wasn't as attached to him since there's like, no lore or content for him, but YOU. you're making me love him. THE PAINTING? THE BRUSH AND SCROLLS? THE SCENERY? i love to think about laying on his lap or something while he draws or writes :(

DEJKFEBWKF SCARA AGONIZING OVER HOW TO MAKE YOU HAPPY. 😭 oh he so would. Because what do you mean he has to make you smile and laugh on your birthday? Those are just... foolish human customs. (That's what he says, in reality, Kuni is pacing back and forth wondering how best to please you. Sure, he may not care much for birthdays, but this is you. His love.) AHAHA let's be real, he snaps at anyone who dares to look at you, whether it's a bad way, a good way, a neutral way, he doesn't care. Look too long at his darling and you will have a snappy Balladeer on your ass. He does not play around and will take offense to anything when it comes to you. 😭💗

DONT TO THIS TO ME... THE FAMILY GATHERING. THAT'S ALL I WANT. I want to bond with Nahida and help Wanderer heal with her :( he deserves it, and she deserves loving people to talk to as well :( He may not talk much during the conversation. He may click his tongue and roll his eyes when an Aranara or two crawl into his lap or steal his hat to lay on. But he truly loves you two!! He's so happy to see his darling and his auntie bond!! (He's definitely going to sip on the specially prepared bitter tea though.)

#smooches talks #moots: ayame <3 #scaramouche love notes <3 #yes you really did pop off !!! get it yame! I LOVED THIS!!! and the way u write kuni :(( <3 #also im smiling widely at “suzu” ehehehhe 💗💗💗#aranara lookalive... first thing i thought of wa scaranara 😭

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bubblessunshinehoney · 2 years

Text

day 24- Pegging with Chris Evans

1329 words

18+ only! NO MINOR INTERACTIONS

Kinktober masterlist

A/N: that's a fucking wet dream this fic. Like...i wish i could do that so bad ahaha, anyway. My inner whore sings that kinktober, hope you will enjoy it as much as i did while writing it.

Yes the gif i used..it's an excuse, because it always makes me feel things hehe.

Enjoy,

Cloudy

Don't be shy to comment, reblog or like! :)

TW: anal (pegging, male receiving), mention of oral (r receiving), praise kink, dom!reader (no name calling though), Chris is called a pretty boy and he wikes it. Two idiots in love, bff in love.

not beta read, english is not my first language, all mistakes are my own

“So, you’ve done it, multiples time”, he asks you with pink cheeks.

“Yes I did, Chris. Why?”

Well, the why is…he wants you to peg him.

You’re his best friend from…he can’t even remember, he just knows he can trust you and…fuck he’s not gonna lie, he always wanted to have you…more than just friend.

“I want to try.”

You laugh, not mocking, genuinely because you never thought the conversation was leading to this particular aspect of your sex life. Especially with your best friend, whom you had a big crush on for the past years.

“You want me to peg you?”

He nods and looks at you up down. “Yeah, I’ve…been thinking about it from some time now. Would you like to do it? You can say no, but I trust you with my life…”

“And your ass apparently”, you joke and you both laugh.

Three weeks later, Chris is stopping by your place. You are a bit…eager to be honest. You said yes, because you’ve dream of fucking America’s ass for some time now and even more since he asked you. You already have the strap on, under your sweats. He told you; he wanted you to have the complete control. He was submitting to you.

“Hey” he greets you with his deep voice.

“Hey, handsome. How was your trip?” you ask, but the look he gives make you understand…that he’s not here for small talk. And you understand it even more, when the door closed, and he slams you on the wall and kisses you hard.

“Fuck, I want to do that for years”, he groans. You can only gasp, when he massages your butt and kisses your neck. “Fuck, you smell and feel amazing Y/N”. You hold onto him, when he carries you to your room, when he realises you have the stap already, he bucks his hips against you. “You’re gonna fuck me, Y/N”. You can only nod and tugs on his hair.

He lays you on the bed and looks at you. “Can I take off your clothes?”

“Yes, you can Chris.” He does it slowly, gently, kissing every bit of skin that appears. Then he sees the strap and he moans.

“Oh my god, you look beautiful with it.” You smile and blush a little. Always feeling butterflies in your stomach when Chris is complimenting you. You sit and tug on his pants.

“Your turn. Get naked, ass up, I’m gonna prep you.” He takes less ceremony to strip. He slides his pants down with his boxers and his cock bounces freely. His big fat and hard cock that makes you salivate since he sends you the nude pic by mistakes.

“Was it really a mistake, Chris?” you ask him. He chuckles.

“Not really, was a drunk decision mainly…”. You sit up and kisses him. Fuck you’re already addicted to him. And so does he, he holds you tight and deepens the kiss, panting when he needs air. “Fuck, I’ve been jerking off on the thought of you fucking my ass for weeks now.” You smirk and stroke his chest.

“Did you play with your tight hole, like I told you?”, he blushes at your question, but nods to affirm he did it. “Good, now, lay back and I will take care of you, knees to your chest so I can see you little back hole, Chris”, you purr in his ear.

He lays back and holds his legs to his chest, exposing his ass. You rub his legs and puts your strap beside his cock. “Look at that, almost the same size. Fuck after I fuck you ass, you will have to fuck my pussy.” You both gasp at your revelation. You look at him, scared that he would say no.

“Your wishes are my commands, ma’am.” You kiss him and rubs your strap on his cock, making him moan. Then you grab the lube and puts some on your fingers to go tease him down there, he arches his back.

“So pretty, Chris, my pretty boy”. He blushes, getting flustered by your words. You smile and stroke his cheek, making him blush harder. “Nobody ever called you pretty boy?��. He shakes his head.

“Only my mom…” You kiss him tenderly, your finger pushes in his tight hole, making him squirm.

“Do you like when I call you my pretty boy?”, you purr against his temple. He nods and breathlessly say yes.

From then, you focus on his reaction when you start to thrust two fingers inside him, he looks straight into your eyes, the blue of them making you shiver from lust. The pupils are blown wide, and he rocks his hips in time with your fingers. “Ready for a third one pretty boy?”

“Yeessss, please, fuck me!”

“So polite”, you smile and add more lube to let your third fingers inside. He groans and looks at you, then at your strap and he holds it tight, stroking it. “Oh, my pretty boy is eager.” He’s flustered again, not able to get use to the nickname and the tone of your voice…why did he wait so long? “Two idiots in love maybe, Chris”, you reply, making him realises he said it out loud.

“I want your cock, now, please. I’m ready, I promise.” You nod and puts more lube on the strap and on his hole, before settling the fake cock at his entrance and you push in, slowly, looking at his face for discomfort. You find any, only relief and lust, he holds your hands that are on his legs, and he moans, a beautiful one, the one you make when a good cock enters your pussy.

“Fuck, look at you pretty boy, taking my cock so well… my good pretty boy” That praise makes him moan louder and he rocks his hips. A signal, you take, and you start to thrust in and out. He moans louder, bringing you down on him for a kiss, making you bottom out, when you feel your thighs against his ass, you moan in the kiss.

“Yes, fuck me, wrecked me, please!” chants Chris. He grabs your waist and gives you the pace he wants, you smile and do like he wishes, taking hold of his cock, your fingers not touching when they hold it. Your jerk him off on time with your hips and Chris’s eyes roll back, his mouth hangs open and a silence moan leave it.

“I’M GONNA CUM”, he screams after a while, you go harder, rolling your hips and you find his prostate, his cock jumping in your hand and his back arching hard. “Right here”, he pants. He wraps his hand around yours and helps you jerk him.

“Such a pretty boy, come on, cum all over you, make a big mess for me.” He moans, heaves, pants and then, he lets go. Cumming all over his chest, big fat rope painting his tummy and chest hair, some landing on his chin. You fuck him through his orgasm, and you feel your wetness pooling down your legs…you’ve never been so turned on while pegging someone.

He taps your arm gently, and you pull out slowly, massaging his legs and helping him stretch them, you lay beside him, and you hug him, licking the sperm on his chin and kissing him after, making him groan and holds the back of your head. You both open your eyes and smile at each other. “Not letting you go, I want this with you, and more. I want you to be my girlfriend Y/N.” You kiss him again.

“I want that too, Chris, so much.” He smiles and bites your lip.

“Your turn, young lady, let me taste that pussy.” You kneel on the bed to take the strap off, and when it’s done, he hoists you on his face. “Sit on my face, can’t feel my legs right now” You giggle, and moan when his tongue licks your wetness.

taglist : @navybrat817 @christywantspizza @buckyalpine @iloveprettyboysblog @ethreal-love @nailedbymandy @captainsimagines @buckybarnesandmarvel @rogersandlightwood @sparkledfirecracker @barneswinterraven @hansensgirl @blades-and-heartbreak @runa-falls @chrisdrysdale

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toomanybandstocare · 2 years

Text

{Caring Hands}

Program: After months of heartbreak and worry, your roommate takes you out for a night to your old stomping grounds- 79s. A bar that used to hold such fond memories of spending blurry night with your friends of the 501st legion by the side of your riduur, Rex. tonight, it seems the magnetic pull between the two of you is determined to bring you together for one last chance.

Pairing: Ex! Rex x Ex, GN! Reader

Side Pairing: Fives x OC! Kiva

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Second Chances

Length: 3956w

Warnings: Pet names (Lover, Cya're, Cyar'ika, Riduur), Drinking to the point of being tipsy/drunk, Heartbreak, Swears, Barely edited

Captain's Notes: Hi guys!!!! It's been awhile. Life has been a force (hehe, no pun intended), but I've been really enjoying my rewatch of the Clones Wars series. And I am simply in love with so many of the clones/boys. They make my heart very happy and fuzzy. It's been nice to revisit one of my favorite shows from my childhood, and the fact that Rex is still my favorite character (other than Ahsoka) makes me feel happy and at home.

Camp Resolute's Masterlist

Camper Tags: @staygoldwriting

The soft green and muted yellow lighting envelop you in an intimate atmosphere of buzzing excitement. Music thrums through the air as the 79s’ clientele swirl around the dance floor or wrap themselves around this evening’s partners in booths. As the war invades every nook and corner of the galaxy, the GAR’s unofficial bar offers its services for wayward individuals who look for a semblance of normalcy. A chance to forget the lingering, stale breath of unknown destruction breathing down everyone’s necks. Time stands still at the mercy of drunk shouts of excitement.

“You know,” Kiva drawls as he drags his cocktail’s straw across his lower lip, “going out to bars and clubs is more interesting if you actually speak to people”. His deep, teasing chuckle shudders through you more than the deafening bass.

“You know,” you hum as the tingling sensation of your fifth drink courses through your veins, “going out to bars and clubs is more interesting when you aren’t surrounded by your ex's brothers. Who happen to share extremely similar physical features”. Your voice drips with whiskey and venom.

Leaning onto your white knuckled fist, you down the last few sips of your liquor unable to pull your eyes away from the booth in the alcove corner just past the bar. The unmistakable colors of the 501st and 212th battalions flash under the pulsing lights as troopers recline in the booth or lean over the seat backings to join in on the conversation. Your attention flitted between your roommate and the CO table when the two of you sat yourselves at the bar at the beginning of the night. When you caught sight of hidden smirk and mischievous glint in his amber eyes, you ordered the first round of shots. Your eyes stung from neon lights that lit up the bar area of the tenders to see their work and as you watched Rex pull the beautiful Twi’lek close to his side. His hands palmed her soft curves and pulled her as close as possible. Bile rose up and bit the back of your throat as you threw back another drink.

As alcoholic cloudiness eases into your system, a sigh pushes past your lips and you turn your gaze to Kiva. His dark eyes look past you as a small half smile grows on face. Blinking at him, you follow his gaze. Leaning against the section divider of the CO table, Fives animatedly speaks to a friend from a different battalion whose armor is decorated in a scratched gray paint.

“You know,” your voice light and airy with its teasing melody, “going out to bars is more interesting if you go speak to people”. You jab your elbow into his arm and signal to the bartender for another drink.

“I’m not going to leave you here, heartbroken and drunk,” his tentacle tresses bounce around as he shakes his head, “Especially, alone. It’s a remarkable phenomena that you’re still able to form a coherent thought at the rate you're consuming spotchka shots”. Taking a sip of his drink, Kiva eyes you, “Besides, I don’t even know him”.

A bubbling giddiness washes through you as you look from Kiva to Fives to your fresh drink in front of you. Tracing a slightly trembling finger around the glass, you take a deep breath. Just because your trooper romance didn’t end how you had hoped doesn’t mean the same will happen for Kiva. Especially if he’s interested in sweet Fives.

“His name is Fives- CT-27-5555, if you want to get technical. But, only his twin is allowed to call him that, so don’t even think about it until he says you can use it” your voice is warm and quiet. It drips with whiskey and sweetens the soft smile you share with Kiva. His shocked expression causes a flurry of giggles from your lips. “He’s an ARC Trooper in the 501st. Too charming for his own good, but he knows exactly what to say at any moment,” you share as you watch Kiva’s lovestruck expression fall back onto your former friend. Taking a slow sip of your drink, a wave of conflicting emotions tumble through you. If you stepped one foot too close to that booth, all eyes would be on you. As much as you wanted to help Kiva, you knew that the night would only end abruptly if you inserted yourself back into the group.

“Doesn’t mean he’s into guys though,” Kiva nervously deflects with a wave of his hand and the last sip of his cocktail.

“Every time I would run into him, he would find a way to ask about you. I don’t think we’ve had a conversation that didn’t somehow include your name since he met you at Hellkai’s birthday party,” you carefully use the leg closest to him to start pushing him off the barstool.

“Wha-what,” Kiva stammers as he slightly stumbles out of his seat.

Before he can protest, you throw both your feet on top of the stool and cross your legs. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to leave. Either with me, or with Fives. Just let me know, and I’ll crash a couch somewhere. Now go have an interesting night,” you exclaim and shove him in the direction of the clones.

With every step Kiva took, the fleeting feeling of happiness seeped out of you. Although you see the nerves bouncing in Kiva as he weaved his way through the mass of tipsy dancers, you know he’ll be in caring hands. When he clears past most of the crowd, you see Fives stand up a little straighter and beam past the other trooper’s shoulder. Like a missing piece of the picture, Kiva finds his place next to Fives. A twist in your stomach tingles as he rests a hand on the back of Fives’ neck. With ease, Fives rests his hand on the small of Kiva’s back, and the tingles flame inside you. When their gazes meet, the coil snaps in you and you tear your stinging eyes away from the touching scene. Good for them. They both deserve happiness.

“You alright there, mesh’la?” a gentle hand rests on your shoulder. With a jolt, you snap your head and are met with a concerned clone. Your breathing becomes heavy as you open your mouth to send him away, but the sight of scratched blue armor with a medic symbol on the shoulder causes your throat to constrict.

“Hey, hey,” Kix slides closer to you and rests his other hand on your cheek, “It’s okay. Just too much to drink tonight, huh? How about some water then? Wait, you- you look familiar.”

“I’m fine,” you croak out and swing your body away from his caring hands to face the bar. You keep your shaking hands around your whiskey glass and watch the iceball water down your only ally in the bar.

“Wait a minute,” his timber voice hummed closer as he slid into the now open stool, “It is you. What- what are you doing here?”

“Don’t worry, Kix. I’m not here to ruin anyone’s fun. Just trying to have my own,” you bitterly chuckle.

“That’s not what I meant,” Kix rests an arm on the bartop and shifts his body closer into your personal space. His usually soft eyes flood with concern as he takes in your appearance. “I- we haven’t seen you in months, mesh’la. Thought you moved planets- kriff, even to a different system. Rex wouldn’t let up any info, so we all thought it was an emergency”.

You’re barely able to keep the choked sob locked behind your grimace as your heart pounds in your throat. The truth trying to break past your loyal lips. Shrugging, you keep your eyes locked on the flowing lights that twinkle behind all the glass bottles. The cold synthetic material of your glass balances on your lip before you throw it back.

“Enough,” Kix hisses and grabs your wrist to pull the cup away. His look of disbelief causes a twinge of guilt to register in your haze.

“Come one, mesh’la. Let’s get you home,” Kix carefully wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you up.

Panic stabbing into your skin, you throw some credits onto the bar and try to drag your feet to stop him. “Kix, what are you doing?” you hiss.

“Making sure nothing bad happens to you. Why were you alone over there? You must have seen us in our usual spot,” Kix looks at you in confusion as the two of you work your way through the throng of dancing bar goers.

“Because,” you try to quickly clear the situation before you are recognized by any other clones, “there’s a reason that Rex didn’t want to talk about me”.

You try to wriggle out of Kix’s hold once you see Kiva and Fives wrapped in each other’s arms. “Seriously, Kix. Leave it alone. You’re doing more harm than good,” you practically beg.

“What are you talking about? Look, even if you and Rex are in a bit of a tricky spot, I can guarantee that you’re his endgame. The man won’t stop talking about you,” Kix sends a genuine smile your way and rubs his thumb in soothing circles on your side.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Fives calls both of you over. Kiva straightens up in Fives’ embrace as he watches the two of you walk towards the booth.

You frantically shake your head and try to think of a plausible excuse to get out of this. What was once your safe haven for nights out now spits you deep into enemy territory.

“I thought I said to keep it easy on the drinks,” Kiva chuckles uncomfortably and moves to your other side, “Time to go home, huh?” Slipping his arm around your waist above Kix’s own, Kiva turns to say something to Fives.

“Wait, no. Do you have to,” Fives castes the two of you a sad look. “I didn’t even know you were plantside, and now you try to scurry out in a rush? That’s just rude,” Fives jokes.

“Come join us, mesh’la,” Kix coaxes you, “All the guys have missed you and would be thrilled to catch up. We’ll just get some sodas for the rest of the night”.

“You’re joking. No way in haran that me and Jesse are letting you go home before we start the games,” Fives reaches for your hand as you shake your head so hard, it nearly causes you to tumble over.

“Fives, cya’re, it’s time we go home. This one can’t even stand on their feet,” Kiva tries again and successfully makes one step closer to the exit. Which is one step closer towards Fives and the entrance to the CO booth.

“Cyar’ika, let’s get them in a seat then,” Fives leans into Kiva’s chest to whisper something in his ear. You feel the excited tremble on Kiva's side and another wave of guilt washes over you.

“Guys, come one. I’m fine. Definitely not my worst night out, so I can get home with no issue. Kiva, why don’t you stay here,” you pull away from the group and notice the growing number of glances you’re all attracting.

“Why are you trying to run from us? I thought we were your friends,” Kix’s voice is dry with confusion and hurt.

“We can hang out another time. I promise. I’m just tired. You said it yourself, I’ve had enough for tonight,” you frantically try to deescalate the growing unease in the area as you sway and twist through the crowd.

Not even caring about bumping into other patrons, you focus your attention away from the twisted expression on Kix’s face and the shouts of recognition from the CO table.

You use your elbows to move others out of your way, but the dull, plastoid armor does nothing but bite back at you. Blaster boots and high heels trip you as you lose yourself in the crowd once more. Your heart jumps in time with the rhythm of the song blaring. Sweat sits heavy on your skin as you break free and try to find sight of the exit.

Hallow pants wrack your body from the close proximity of other patrons, but you find the neon blue exit sign for the door. Taking the first step, you continue your trek to fresh air as you narrowly push past another clone and jostle the drink in his hand.

“Watch it,” the gruff voice mumbles.

Two words in a bitter tone are all that cause your blazing body to turn ice cold. He’s supposed to be up in the booth.

“Sorry,” you breathe out.

With a weary look from the corner of his eye, the clone’s stoic expression is broken by shocked realization. “Cyar’ika,” Rex’s voice rumbles.

“I’m just on my way out, so don’t worry about holding back. Okay? It’s all good. Have fun tonight,” you mutter breathlessly and sway a step forward.

“Hey,” Rex gently demands your attention. He twists his body to face you completely and holds out his free arm to catch you from falling.

“Are you-,” Rex looks at you with tense, uncomfortable eyes, “Are you okay? You look-”.

“You don’t get to ask that anymore,” you growl behind gritted teeth. Pushing his arm out of your way, you continue your trek to the exit. You are so close. Just a few more bodies to get past.

“Wait a minute- kriff,” Rex exclaims and gently grasps your arm.

“Stop it,” you hiss, “You’re going to make a scene. Just let me go. Let me go, again.” The final word sits heavy in the air, and Rex’s grip tightens around you for a moment.

“Take this,” Rex mutters, “I’m walking this one home. Too much to drink”. Without a moment to register who he was speaking to, Rex pulls you along to the exit. Not even casting a glance to make sure you could keep up with his determined strides.

Stumbling behind Rex, you can’t find the strength to pull your arm out of his careful hold or tear your glossy eyes away from his figure. With each step closer to the entrance way, you choke back the dry sobs that well inside you. You had hoped that the last time you were with Rex in the 79s that it would be a happy memory. Instead, the galaxy decided to throw the two of you together for one last spat.

The cool night time air soothes your burning cheeks. Speeders and cruisers fly past the entry line of rowdy soldiers and excited patrons as they wait for entry. Coruscant’s cityscape lights up the starry night with synthetic warmth from billboard to skyscraper.

“Same place,” Rex asks softly.

Not answering his question, or allowing yourself to meet his pertinent gaze, you feebly pull your arm out of his comforting hand. “Please, stop,” your hollow voice responds.

“Cyar’ika,” Rex says in exasperation, “Come on, you shouldn’t be out like this. Let’s get you back-”.

“Stop,” your hoarse voice pleads as you begin walking back to your apartment. Memories of walking home with Rex after a night out with the 501st should bring you happiness. You didn’t want them to be tainted by the lingering heartbreak of tonight if you could help it.

The racing sounds of nightlife mutffle your hearing, so a stab of fear strikes you when you feel yourself being suddenly tugged into the side alley of 79s.

“Enough,” Rex growls into your ear. He leads both of you out of sight and behind some of the bar’s shipment crates. With careful hands, he lightly pushes you into the wall and stays pressed up in front of you. Just enough room for you to push him away if you really wanted to. Just enough room to intoxicate your senses with only his presence.

Running his hands over his cropped hair, Rex watches you with a glint of frustration in his eyes. “I tried to be nice,” he starts off in a low voice.

“I didn’t fucking ask. I told you I was leaving,” you bite back. Your finger nails dig into the palm of your hand.

“Will you let me speak,” he snaps. His chest plate rising and falling in heavy breaths. “You were the one kicking up a scene in there and out front. What are you doing here?”

“You don’t own this bar, Rex. Anyone can come and enjoy a night out,” you seethe.

“I may not own this bar in a legal sense, but this is the closest place us clones can call home. You know that. Why not some other bar? I told you- we’re done. We had a nice run. But we need split ways,” he rumbles. With each painful word, his face moves closer your own. Hard, amber eyes lock with yours as mixed emotions flash across the surface to show peeks of the soft look of adoration underneath. The musky scent of his cologne mixes with the whiskey on his breath to make you feel dizzy. “That includes where we spend our nights out. Now I’m going to have to bat off Kix and Fives for who knows how long”.

“That’s what you wanted. Not me,” you lash out. His eyes widen slightly at your volume, and you jab his chest plate with your finger before he can regain control of the conversation. “I didn’t want our relationship to end. I didn’t want you to let me go. I didn’t even get a say in the matter. And, I certainly didn’t ask you to be nice”. Your voice steadily grows in volume as your body trembles in anger. “You're a soldier. You made where your loyalty stands, so fucking clear. If this is your choice then you have to own up to the consequences of your actions. So dealing with your squad’s questions -- my fucking friends, who I haven’t see because I for some fucking reason respected your request for space -- about why I haven’t been around or why I was so desperate to leave tonight, is your own fucking fault. Kriff, for someone who is haran bent to follow orders and lead by a good example, you’re an awful person”.

Rex takes a step away from you. Hurt melts away his anger, and he looks down at his boots. Fists flexing by his sides.

“This isn’t you,” you quietly sob, “I know you. I know the real Rex. Your boys know you, and they see something’s wrong”. With shaking hands, you softly hold his armored hand in a careful clasp. “Why won’t you let me in? Let me help you. All I have wanted in our relationship is to be by your side and support you”. You take a daring step closer to him, and when he doesn’t pull away, you wrap him in a tight embrace.

The cool plastoid feels grimy to your skin. They couldn’t have been plantside for more than a few hours. Desperate to taste a sense of home and normalcy after the latest dire mission. Tentative hands drag across the fabric of your shirt and press you further into his chest plate.

Rex flexes his fingers to gently pull your body as close as he can with armor still sitting heavy on his shoulders. Pressing his face into the curve of your neck, he breathes you in to try to ground him. It’s always been you. Your face is the first image that would grace his vision when he closes his eyes each night. Memories of small acts of love keeps him grounded when news of a lost brother is announced. The echo of your laugh overpowers the crashing bomb shells on the battleground. No matter where in the galaxy he travels to, Rex can only think about you and how you have cared for him. He couldn’t risk that being taken away from him. He couldn’t risk anyone trying to use a GAR officer’s riduur as leverage.

“Enough,” Rex’s broken voice pleads into the crook of your neck. He closes his watery eyes and pulls you closer when you tenderly trail your finger across his back plate. Even with GAR issued armor and regulation protection, Rex knows your caring hands will be his downfall.

“Rex,” you gasp in his ear. Your voice light like the cool breeze that causes both of you to shiver. “Rex, I-”.

“Don’t,” he begs, “Don’t say it”. He drags his nose across the column of your neck, and both of you feel slight dampness where your bodies connect. Placing a gentle kiss in the dip of your neck, Rex shakes his head and pleads, “Cyar’ika, if you finish that sentence I will never be able to walk away from you. Not even when I’m called back to base for training or briefings. Especially, not when I know I face death like a familiar acquaintance everyday”.

“But, you didn’t face death today,” you hold him closer. The two of you are trying to mold into each other. Either to rekindle a lingering flame or to imprint a final memory of each other’s body to forever remember. “You face your lover today. Your lover who only asks one thing of you”.

Rex shudders a pained breath that sweeps across your skin. His lips trail everywhere as he can’t find the strength to pull himself away from your hold. “I can’t stay, cyar’ika. And, I can’t put you through the constant pain of not knowing if I’m alive,” his words break with a sob. “I’m trying to protect you. I don’t get to make many choices for myself or my life, but I have the choice to protect you. I will always choose you, your safety, and your happiness over my own. My runi is tied to yours, and I am bound to you for darasuum”. Overwhelmed by emotions, Rex moves his head to lean his forehead against yours. Tears freely stream down his face as he bares himself in front of you.

“You are my happiness, riduur,” your gentle affirmation is met by a pained whimper. “Without you, I am nothing but a body. My runi is tied to yours, and I am bound to you for darasuum. Come home, lover”.

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” Rex whispers. His amber eyes glisten as he watches your own eyes trickle with tears.

“Then come home where you belong. By my side. I don’t ask you to give up your brothers or stay away from the battlefield. Let me know that when you come planetside on leave, that you’ll come home to me and let me care for you”.

Unable to tell where one body starts and the other meets, the two of you keep each other in a searing embrace. Tears stream together as you press closer to his face. Nose bumps cause choked chuckles to fall. Heavy breaths fan across chapped lips just millimeters away from meeting in the middle.

“Please,” your soft plea ghosts over his mouth. Your invitation tastes of home cooked meals and warm caf in the morning.

“Always, cyar’ika. I will do everything in my power to come home to you,” Rex promises and places a gentle kiss on your growing smile, “I’m so sorry I left you, riddur”.

One hand slips just underneath the hem of your shirt to feel the familiar planes of your body as Rex rests his other hand on the nape of your neck. Unable to fight against the force pulling the two of you together, Rex dips down and presses a chaste kiss to your beaming smile. Another falls soon after, slightly longer as he traces the curve of your bottom lip with his tongue. And another when you look at him in adoration that pulls a soft sigh. A new sound to allow himself to reimagine when he misses you. Ready to come home to caring hands.

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corruptive-sinner · 7 months

Text

Rough Time

Warning CnC

non-consensual drug use too

but the priest is so highkey into and this is fantasy, you little sinner 😘

Smog filled the air, thick skunky clouds filled the room the priest sat. it was long after hours and no one was here this time at night besides him. Still in my "Sunday best" I would say too.

~A mouth watering sight to a certain demon. unbeknownst to the priest.

I let out a cough, both in shock and the sudden lack of clean air, the basement office had always been a stuffy place without the sudden smoke. Had the church been burning?

I get up to escape when a firm object stops me, slamming into my chest, flat like someone had held out a hand. I stumble back falling down, fear and confusion clouding my already scattered mind.

A presence enters through the smoke, starting out as a cloudy black blob, two long protrusions seen sticking out of its head, but when it steps through it appears a regular human, with blackened eyes staring down at me, a masculine person smiling wickedly.

I freeze, looking up, helpless. Praying for God to save me, give me strength to battle this demon.

"Calm down Father, there's no fire. Just something to calm your nerves," he says, smoke escaping out of his mouth as he does. Leans down, grabs my shirt and yanks me upwards, "you're cute when your scared, Father~"

I struggle and he releases instantly, I am pinned against my desk, he blocks the door, the door I can't even see if its open or not, the lights dimming and flickering from his presence. he strides forward. A smooth confidence, I asses his features,

A shorter man than I previously thought, I only 5'9 he seemed 5'6ish, but strong, as proved seconds ago. His hair is a vibrant red, one on a normal day would assume dye of some sort, but demons can look like anything I have been taught. He normal fine clothes, wait-

I know him, he was here today,

"There you go, you remember me." He smiled, closing the gap between us and pressing my hips to his. Those same black denim pants topped with a black shirt and dark flannel made him blend in perfectly around these parts of town.

I didn't fight him. This didn't feel wrong, and that doesn't feel right but,

"That's right, deep breathes, hehe,"

I couldn't help but breathe in the smoke, burning my lungs. Making me cough painfully. As quick as I felt panic I relaxed, the pain dulled, it got easier to just breathe again.

Oh, it's weed, that disgusting aroma should have tipped me off. I also smelled it vaguely on him, earlier after the sermon, he leaned in and said

"You're handsome for a sheep."

I hadn't understood, but now, his leg inching mine apart, the world getting fuzzy, a giggle comes from my throat.

He looks at me, with those haunting eyes he has. He was quite handsome, it made me completely disregard any threat, i blamed old nerves from when I was a teen. Sneaking out to kiss the boys in our boarding home. Someone brought weed once, I always wished I had just tried it. It is as nice as they said.

"Relaxed yet?"

"Mhm, you're handsome,"

"As are you, so proud and pretty like a bird doing a mating dance, maybe you're an angel eh? Hehe." He inched his face closer to mine, I could almost feel his stubble. His strong hands planted me against my desk, pinned, like prey. I should be scared, fighting back, but like the boys said back then, just blame the weed. Maybe I will.

I leaned down to bridge the gap, capturing his lips, desperately pushing against his strong body. He pushed me back against the desk roughly. I let out the smallest moan but he hears it,

"Atta boy, enjoying yourself aren't you?" He breathed into my ear, low and gravelly.

My blood was hot, my head was clouds. My dick was painfully constricted to my pants. I could feel the precum gathering from the tip. I moaned into his shoulder when his hand grazed the front of my pants.

"Someone feeling a little neglected? Just let me take care of you." he says that like I have any choice, I don't need a choice, i want him to do whatever he wants to me.

"Good Father," he moans into my ear as his hands slip into my pants freeing my dick. The sudden colder air and rough hand makes me jerk primitively.

"Calm down, there's no need to rush, we have all night~"

That thought makes me moan, he just laughs slightly, giving me a tender kiss as he begins pumping his hand, I white knuckle the table to contain myself, to last at least a few minutes.

His togue prods my lips and I let him in instantly, he's rough but gives my opportunities to explore him as well, I take those with full vigor feeling his fangs with my tongue. Becoming a moaning mess in the process when I taste some of my own blood.

My garbled mind straining to form thoughts besides this overwhelming pleasure radiating throughout my body, his hand providing a steady firm rhythm, his tongue in my mouth, his other hand sinking claws into my waist as he holds me.

His hand releases and I whine pathetically for it to return,

"Easy Father," He whispers giving a final kiss before lowering to his knees, a devilish smirk giving me a jolt. He takes my member and licks whorishly at the head, collecting a large amount of precum on his tongue, showing me before taking the rest smoothly down.

I can't pretend to hold back my moans, his horns grow from the smog and I take them to hold. They feel like somewhat smoother goats horns I note, but anything more coherent would not return to me until much later. I was lost in pleasure.

The demon's mouth was hot, wet, and though he had fangs I never felt them until he teased me by grazing them on the sensitive spots he discovered by judging the intensity of my moans. Just as I began to edge closer to finishing he abruptly pulled away.

I whimper pathetically at him. He just laughs, again. Mocking asshole. He's the one who wants this, me.

The demon stands up, twits me arounds and slams me onto my own desk, the breathe knocked out of me, but instead of pain it'd all numb tingling throughout my body. My pants are inched down and the realization of what he's about to do makes me moan like a real whore.

"I knew you had it in you~" He chides leaning down on top of me, whispering in my ear.

My bare ass felt exposed, there was a pressure in my, rear. And I don't hate it, that thought should disgust me, but I've never felt so good or wanted something so bad. He pushed slowly inside of me, the tingling was intense but all I could do was moan. Fuck I want him to start moving.

"Eager are we? Alright." he says as he bottoms me out, a shrill gagged moan escaped me. and before I could adjust he started pumping in and out at a steady, unrelenting pace. I was overfilled with pleasure it made my head ring, blocking out most noises to a faint dull, just focusing on the pleasure and getting lost being used like this. My climax came creeping up again, he started pumping faster, the movement making my old desk creak with the strain of both our bodies. The heat of his body pressing into mine as he came in me pushed me over the edge, it burned in a way I never wanted to end.

He slowly pulled out, I'm still leaned over my desk as I hear him redress.

"Lets do this again sometime, Father."

And with that the strange demon, and his smoke, and the effects of the smoke are gone. The slow sobering mixed with the cooling cum, but shame heating up my chest. But, I will be looking for him in my next sermon.

#heirophilia #priest kink #blasphemy kink #corruption kink #religion kink #sinner kink #heiro #blasphemy #cnc k!nk #heirophile

17 notes · View notes

borom1r · 3 months

Note

hmmm 3, 5, 6, 11, 14, 20, 22, 26, 38, 40 for the fun questions meme <3

ooooooo ok these’ll b inchresting :3

3- 3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

th lotr trilogy (duh), I Saw the TV Glow, The Last Unicorn :3

5- what made you start your blog?

THIS blog? suicide bait on my old blog :3

tumblr in general? a friend showed it to me in high school n i made one n my life was irreversibly changed lmfao

6- what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

ATTENTION. double edged sword. like ok i try not to let myself care abt attention and try to be rlly careful now abt who i interact with but at the same time it rlly is validating when things Get Attention. some of my favorite fics have little to no engagement :( n like yea its not healthy to create FOR engagement (fast track 2 burnout) but its also like very disheartening to put time n effort n passion into sth only for it to fizzle out in the void

but whatever. ill make weird art forever

11- what do you consider to be romance?

THIS IS SO FUNNY 2 GET bc soooo much recently has made me reevaluate like. how I perceive this lollllll

anyways short answer: idfk man!!!!!!! close friendships n romance r incredibly cloudy in my mind cuz ive got a bad case of dogbrain!!

long answer is i just don’t quantify that stuff the way neurotypical ppl do :3 ties into th autism + nonhumanity. i also think cis ppl being attracted to me is gross lol. ideal romance for me is bein held n tended to like a noble knight tends their sword. I feel love like a dog feels abt their human!!! dogbrained!!! romance is being a guard dog, being a Really Good Boy but just soooo disconnected from like. idk allosexual/neurotypical quantifiers of “romance” for me lol

+ i don’t use th label rlly but im def somewhere on th ace spectrum lol like physical intimacy is only rlly “safe” conceptually when its completely disconnected from th realm of possibility. like thirsting over celebrities or like th knight i have a crush on. + cis ppl desiring me is rlly like.. ew 😒 don’t look @ me anymore man

14- what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

UM. funnily enough im gonna do th Big Thing this summer :3 im going 2 th renaissance festival shirtless this year now tht im post op

s’gonna be scary showin off my scars but i rlly wanna go all out n celebrate finally havin top surgery. like im alive!! despite everything im alive n im happy ^_^ so cis people be damned, im gonna run around like a lil wolfguy for the first weekend!!!!!

20- favourite things about the night?

i love the moon :3

i also love how still n quiet things get

22- say 3 things about someone you love

ITS SO BRAVE!!!!!!!!! ITS LITERALLY THE FUNNIEST GUY I KNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM SO PROUD OF IT FOR HOW MUCH WORK IT DOES TO BETTER OUR COMMUNITY N PROUD OF IT FOR PURSUING TRANSITION + CANT WAIT TO SHARE MORE TRANS JOY W/ IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(hiiiiiii Ly hehe!!)

26- fave colour and why?

when i was a kid my favorite colors were neon yellow n neon pink :3 they still kinda are but now i usually stick to like lime green or bright red paired w black. forest green + dark blue r gr8 too

38- fave song at the moment?

DONT ASK ME TO PICK JUST ONE???????

here r some I’ve had on loop lately: Far Away (Roadside Ghost), Anthems for a Seventeen Year Old Girl (Broken Social Scene), I’m Already Gone (Baroness), Sex for Homework (MSI)

40- any bad habits?

oh yea i have dermatillomania lol

it doesn’t rlly bother me to talk abt bc i think “gross” stuff like that deserves to be less stigmatized— my shoulders n back are COVERRRRREED in little scars + scabs

#ask #THANK!!!!! lol

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dickfics69 · 1 year

Text

Emotional Motion Sickness | Part 10

AO3

Rick x Daryl

Summary: Daryl gets sick before a supply run, and denies it vehemently. He is a big tantrum baby. Rick is constantly worried and drama ensures.

Chapter summary: The immediate aftermath of Rick and Daryl's fight. Both boys are sad and stressed and it's up to Peri and Carl to talk them down.

Content warning: adult language, sickfic, mess, snot, bodily functions, hurt/comfort, vivid nightmares, adult content, 18+ for eventual smut (still deciding hehe), original character

Word Count: 12k

My personal Daryl playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2PrdzgwtCiUgwDLLBy5C4g?si=c83773b44c964bb1

As per thanks to @dumbslxtclub for reading and beta-ing my fic and crying along with me

Chapter 10: Before we were lovers, I swear we were friends.

The wind swept sharp daggers across Daryl’s reddened cheeks as he traversed through the night. The earth-shattering thunder and visceral light show had moved past them now, wrecking their sensory displeasure further to the north. The weather remained miserable though, rain pelting torrentially and violent winds whipped unabashedly. It was wet and wild and freezing, yet the hunter was numb to it all. A tornado of catatonia had torn through the sick man and carried him out of living consciousness.

I hate you.

Daryl moved senselessly through the sodden evening, barely able to see a foot ahead of himself. There was a dilapidated tool shed not too far from the safety of the cabin, and while the hunter would favour disappearing all together, he knew he'd never forgive himself if he died now, sick, heartbroken and at the will of the elements. So, he changed his course slightly towards the direction of vague safety. His legs were weak underneath him, wobbly and threatening collapse. His usually swift and fluid movements had regressed to a sluggish cadence. Breathing was hard and painful, a figment boa constrictor tightening its hold around the ailing man’s chest. A cacophony of pulsating blood pressure was the only sound available to Daryl in this harrowing moment. He couldn’t hear himself think above the painful throbbing. Vignettes of the last half an hour were dancing around at the tip of his mind, teasing him with nightmarish words and memories. Memories that were too terrible to be true. But they were. Every word, every action on that porch had happened, and Daryl was left to shift through the haunting puzzle pieces in his weak mind, alone. Again.

I hate you.

The hunter made it to the tool shed just as his eyes were blurring out of focus again. He pushed the door in with as much might as he could muster, his trusty crossbow hanging limply at his side. With a semi-waterproof roof over his head, Daryl finally allowed himself stillness. All the realities and heartbreak caught up to him in an instant. Every emotion, every word, every betrayal crashed together like a terrible slapstick routine. It was all too much. Shaky knees buckled and slammed into the cement before Daryl could even consider composing himself. The turmoil that he had pushed down in the presence of the irate Rick Grimes, came exploding out with vengeance. He curled in on himself and wept.

Daryl sobbed with abandon. It was loud and desperate, wet and snotty. He could barely catch a breath between emotional convulsions. It was a hapless sight, but the hunter didn’t have the energy to be stoic in the presence of pure heartbreak. He hadn’t cried this hard since Merle.

One look into those cloudy blue eyes and Daryl knew that his brother was gone forever. He had gone through the entire gamut of soul destroying emotions as he plunged the knife into the older Dixon’s head over and over again. He had felt like a child in that moment, sobbing beside the corpse of his older brother. Merle had tried to help them, to help him . And he didn’t even say goodbye.

The same gut clenching agony was pouring out of Daryl on the floor of the dilapidated building. He bawled for death, and yet Rick Grimes was alive. He was alive and dry and probably eating dinner with his son right now. Daryl felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him before the reality of the situation finally kicked into gear. The relationship was over. The one man who had made Daryl feel wanted, needed, a part of the family, had had enough of him. He had expected it to come sooner or later, but he hadn’t accounted for the physical pain it brought. The shoe that had been falling for a long time had finally dropped.

Hot, salty tears continued to cascade down the hunter’s stinging face. He was mourning. They were the tears of loss.

Rick’s initial tirade was on par with what Daryl had expected. He’d been a downright fuck-up all day, and knew he deserved whatever The Deputy had to say (or shout) on the matter. Of course their focus needed to be on Carl, they’d just talked about it a few days ago. Rick had come to Daryl in the midst of a conundrum, face adorned with dried mud and sweat from the garden. Carl wanted to come on the run and his father was torn. Torn between preserving a childhood and watching the teenager blossom into the inevitable. He’d come to Daryl for advice. ‘Yeah, back when he trusted you.’ They’d agreed to take the chance, they’d look out for the boy, they were on the same page. But Daryl had gotten too caught up with feeling like shit and vehement denial, that he’d forgotten. He was selfish and annoying and of course he deserved to be screamed at for it.

And then Rick pushed, he pushed too hard. In all the years they’d known each other, The Deputy had never pressed Daryl to talk, to open up and the hunter had been beyond grateful for that. Words weren’t his forte and neither was dealing with his bounty of trauma. But Rick was too good, too nice to deal with that obstinance forever. He was a great man who deserved a better partner than the emotionally stunted redneck. Daryl wanted to scream and shout back at Rick, but instead he crawled in on himself, because he knew that everything The Deputy was saying was true. He did run away when things got hard. He hated himself for it, but he was scared. So goddamn terrified all the time that he’d fuck it all up. ‘Irony’s a bitch.’

He knew Rick had seen his grotesque back, hell, most people at the prison had. Daryl had figured he could separate his intimate life from the thick-raised bands that painted him a monstrous victim. But that wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough .

Fuck those fucking scars! When the world turned to shit, Daryl had sworn to leave his past in the old world. His father was long dead and couldn’t hurt him anymore. And then Rick would run a hand up his bare back and Daryl would flinch away like he was twelve years old again. William Dixon still had a chokehold on his son, and Daryl hated himself for it. He could’ve- no, he should’ve told Rick about his traumatic childhood, but there was a part of him that thought Rick could just put two and two together and leave well enough alone. Plus, if he divulged the true extent of his shitty life, Rick would realise just how incompatible they were and regret having fallen in love in the first place. Daryl was sure of it.

Then Rick said those words.

I hate you.

The utterance was a betrayal that hurt as much as the love that swam in tandem with it. Rick had his issues, he was quick to anger, easy to frustrate, and impatient where necessary. But the man couldn’t hate. He couldn’t hate his own. But he hated Daryl. He said it. The words had broken the hunter out of his panicky spiral and brought forward a grief that spread like wildfire. He was broken and angry and he had punched Rick because in that awful moment, it was the only thing he remembered how to do. He had been blinded by emotion that he had absolutely no right to.

That was the worst part.

Daryl was heart-broken, grief stricken and facing a life of immense loneliness. But he didn’t blame Rick. He truly believed it was all his fault. Daryl irreversibly blamed himself.

Tears continued to stream from his tired red eyes as he buried his face into the crook of his elbow. Breathing was getting harder with every passing gulp of air, and Daryl could feel consciousness slipping away from him. He debated just rolling with it so he could turn off his mind indefinitely, but decided against it. There was still something in the recesses of his soul that needed him to pull his shit together. Slowly, Daryl sat himself up. He leant his weary back against a cold metal wall of the shed. He brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them tightly. As much as the hunter tried to even out his crackling air flow, nothing seemed to be able to quash the agony that was bursting out of his chest. He was losing a fighting battle with a cataclysmic panic attack.

As though they were an extension of him, Daryl reached a shaky hand into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew his packet of smokes. Sifting one out of the carton, the hunter rued the fact that he only had a few left. Cigarettes were surprisingly hard to come by in an apocalypse, and the man was effectively wasting them at this point. He withdrew the lighter from the front of his jeans and fumbled around with the flame for a moment. His whole body was trembling and making it very hard to coordinate fine motor functions. The continuous dancing of the flame was enough to illuminate the small dreary space in front of the hunter. There were some old oil cans and milk crates stacked in the far corner, and various tools leant up on walls haphazardly. Once the ignition finally burned into paper, Daryl tossed the lighter on the floor between his legs, still able to see the echoes of fire burned into his retinas by the darkness.

Daryl inhaled the nicotine immediately. He needed something, anything to calm him down. Ignoring the listless protests from his lungs, the hunter exhaled as smoothly and as quickly as he could, before breathing out and immediately drawing in another cloud. Coughing and spluttering and snot bubbles filled the space but Daryl didn’t care anymore, he needed this and there was no one left to stop him. On the third inhale, it felt like breathing stopped altogether, the cigarette wasn’t working, and now Daryl felt like he was drowning.

After hacking for a small eternity, Daryl cursed and slammed his head back into metal behind him. Not so hard that it caused any damage, but hard enough to distract his tormented mind for a moment. Without time for thought, Daryl brought the orange glow of his cigarette down onto his other hand. He pressed the flame into the fleshy skin between his index finger and thumb. Pain seared almost immediately. And the longer he kept it there the better he started to feel. Time slowed her rhythm and breathing returned to a sickly normal. Daryl could think again. He hated that harming himself was the only thing that could bring sense to a senseless situation, but he was desperate. The blazing wound continued to throb atop calloused skin, captivating the wandering mind of its beholder.

Daryl felt like pure shit. His heart was bruised and his head pounded from the pressure of losing everything. But he could breathe, and that was maybe enough for now.

Rick hated him.

Rick hated him and Daryl felt guilty for mourning a relationship that was always too good to be true.

Sighing wearily, the hunter dipped his head back against the cool metal once more. After wiping excess tears and mucus from his face, Daryl relented to his bodily objections and closed his eyes. Cruel images paraded behind listless eyelids and the sick man so longed for reprieve. On some level, Daryl logically knew there was no running away from such a horrifying reality. But on another, very denial clad level, he wondered. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed long enough, he might awake from the stringent nightmare that was suffocating him.

The odds were not in Daryl’s favour.

—------

Rick Grimes was not a perfect man by any stretch of the imagination. He was irritable, tormented and quick to lash out. Symptoms that were perceived by others as being born out of the apocalypse. But Rick knew the keen volatility within him had been there for a long time. Set into dormancy by a normal, seemingly happy life with his wife and beloved son. Once upon a world where the dead didn’t rise, Rick Grimes was a seemingly simple man. A small town Sheriff’s Deputy who worked by the book alongside his best friend and partner. He had a nice house, in a nice town with a nice wife and a nice son. Fishing trips with Shane and visits to the park with Carl occupied his weekends, before heading back to his well respected job. It was idyllic. However, there was always that unidentifiable pit of venom in his stomach. Anytime Shane wanted to go behind the Chief's back and do things his “own way,” it was there. Whenever he and Lori engaged in perfunctory sex and she demanded they “talk about the hard stuff” , it was there. The anger was always a part of him, being pushed down by forced niceties and a responsibility to maintain the equilibrium of his bucolic life.

And then the world turned to shit. Lori cheated on him, and Shane lost his damn mind. Every single person from Atlanta and the farm looked to him for guidance and leadership. He tried to be a dutiful and fair leader but it wasn’t easy in a world where rules were redundant and people could behave however the hell they wanted. It wasn’t until he killed his best friend that the vitriolic gates of his soul unlocked. The surge of aggression had been a huge release for Rick Grimes. Almost as if his corkscrewing DNA had evolved in an instant to the new world. He was finally able to protect his family.

The unbridled rage was always a part of him, simmering up and down as necessary. There wasn’t a trace when he’d watch Judith squealing with delight when Glenn got the hiccups. Nor was there any when Carl would sprawl out lazily with a comic book. Or when Carol would laugh with her entire body, finally becoming her own, brave confident woman. The sensation was replaced entirely when his eye’s would meet with Daryl’s from across the crowded prison.

Of course, like any unstable element, it often burst forward at inopportune moments, clouding his judgement and steamrolling anything in its path.

Tonight was, regretfully, one of those moments.

Rick stood at the edge of the porch, tearful eyes scanning the weathered horizon for his hunter who had long been swallowed by the darkness. Every fundamental instinct told Rick to run after Daryl, to grab him and shake him into understanding that those cruel words weren’t true. But the leader was seeing lucidly now. Daryl had explicitly told Rick not to follow him. Somewhere, underneath sick, stubborn carelessness, the hunter knew better than to wander off alone for too long. He needed space and he’d come back eventually, right? Right and wrong were off the table now, and everything was blurring into a grey tapestry of sorrow instead.

No, Rick would not chase the love of his life into the ether of despair. If he had any chance of absolving this catastrophe, he needed to stop. Stop . Fucking . Pushing . He’d already broken every unspoken rule in the Daryl Dixon guidebook, and where had that gotten him? Screaming “I hate you” at the best man he’d ever known. A horrifying outburst so far from the truth that Rick could still feel the bitter after taste on his tongue. Words that were fundamentally meant for himself. Self-hatred had no better home than the pits of Rick’s soul right now.

“Rick, baby, you don’t talk to me anymore. I feel like I’m losing you…”

Lori’s desperate, pre-apocalypse plea came flashing like a neon sign at the forefront of Rick’s racing mind. The Deputy knew what his subconscious was doing and he wanted to curse at his late wife for pointing out the obvious. Rick was well aware of the irony in the situation, thank you very much.

“Jesus, fuck!” Rick cursed to himself a little louder than he intended to, feeling the last of his rage bubble over into nothingness. He buried his face into his hands with a sigh, stopping momentarily as he made contact with exceedingly damp cheeks. Tears had been rolling out of his eyes the whole time and he hadn’t realised. Rick hadn’t given himself permission to cry over his callous foibles yet. His body behaved with instinct, which made him feel exceptionally pathetic beyond belief.

Rick didn’t know how long he’d been staring into oblivion, but he figured on some level he needed to retreat to the safety of the cabin. But his boots were suddenly made of lead and the man couldn’t move an inch. The utter betrayal in Daryl’s eyes plagued him, red rimmed and iridescently blue with waterfalls of pent up emotion. Rick pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed up his face. There was nothing he could do at this exact juncture in time. He needed to sort out food, and eat, and take care of Carl and - oh fuck, Carl . There was not a chance in the world that Peri and his son hadn’t heard the tenacious argument. How would he react? What was Rick going to do? The whole thing was an indescribable mess and The Deputy was paralysed with strife.

“Hey, uh, Rick?” The slightly timid voice of Peri entered the playing field, as she stuck her head out from inside the cabin. The woman was a welcome distraction. For someone he didn’t know particularly well, Peri was quickly becoming a stable constant in an earthquake of existence. He met her eyes with a nod to continue with her train of thought.

“I’m…uh, heating up some soup, you should come in…” She gave him a sympathetic smile before sweeping her attention around the primarily empty porch, no doubt looking to see if Daryl was joining them. When her minute search came up short, an air of disappointment washed over her. Peri looked back to Rick, who started shifting uncomfortably from side to side, shame choking the air out of his lungs. He was grateful that she didn’t appear angry, only mildly curious to the whereabouts of the hunter. Rick assumed Peri could read the subtext of the situation, but the good woman didn’t let on.

“He’s uh…out on watch…” His voice was dry and thick with a post crying haze. Rick was well aware that he looked like a hot mess, standing awkwardly, barely protected from the elements.

Peri opened her mouth a couple of times before closing it with pursed lips and settling on a short nod. The Deputy could see the dialogue running behind her eyes and was thankful when she decided against words. She disappeared behind the door, leaving it ajar as a well meaning invitation for Rick to follow her into the warm light of the cabin.

Rick stretched his neck from side to side, trying to steele himself for whatever teenage angst his son would inflict upon his return. Part of him wanted to stay put, to prop himself on the stairs of the decking and wait. Wait for the uncertain return of Daryl from behind pitched curtains of rain. Going inside without the man felt like the cherry on top of resolute betrayal. But that was unrealistic. The hunter would return when he was ready and there was nothing that Rick could do to expedite the process. For once, amidst a miserable day of mistakes and anguish, The Deputy decided to leave well enough alone.

Moving his feet tardily, one in front of another, Rick finally crossed the threshold of the cabin, being welcomed by a much needed wave of warmth. A fire was crackling in an old brick fireplace, sending comforting pops of ember dancing around the room. Peri was on her feet, shuffling around in various cabinets, cursing a little under her breath as desired items escaped her search efforts. Rick’s gaze travelled from her to the back of the room, where an old dusty sheet acted as a room divider. On the opposite side, there were a couple of ancient twin mattresses pressed flush against the wall, with some heavy blankets folded neatly atop. Pain suddenly executed a savage stab into Rick’s flannel clad chest. He may never share a bed with Daryl again. Limbs would cease to intertwine like long lost puzzle pieces. He’d never again be the audience to dream fluttering eyelids or silent waves of hot sleepy breath against his neck. Nightmares would no longer receive the comfort of a gentle embrace. God, would he ever even touch Daryl again? Tears were threatening an encore against red rimmed eyes, as the reality of a wretched plight sank in.

No.

There was no goddamn time for selfish pity. Rick pinched the bridge of his nose habitually and tried to force his turmoil into a lockbox with the depths of his brain. Upon opening his eyes, he was met with an intense glare from his son. Carl was sitting with his back leant up against a floral upholstered armchair, cleaning his gun. The anger and disappointment radiated like infinitesimal blades, charging the space and firing directly into Rick. Carl’s nostrils flared like a raging bull, articulating his roiled feelings with an explodingly tense jaw. Father and son were locked in an explosive dialogue of turbulent staring. And then Carl dropped his attention back at the firearm in his lap. Rick was at a loss. There was nothing he could do to explain his words or actions to his teenage son who had accepted his and Daryl’s relationship with nothing but open arms. Carl looked up at the hunter with awe and admiration, embracing him as a second, much cooler father figure. Rick knew he was at fault in his son’s mind, and that broke a solid chunk of his soul away.

“Uh…good job with the fire Carl.” Rick felt a blush of embarrassment creep into his cheeks. ‘Good job with the fire? Really?’ Rick cursed inwardly, quietly condemning his localised disability to make normal conversation. He had to say something though. Peri had stopped busying herself and was leaning up against the cupboards, arms crossed with curiosity, staring between the pair. Rick couldn't tell if she was entertained by the father-son tête-à-tête or worried about it. But it didn’t really matter, he had his concerns elsewhere.

“Ugh, whatever.” Carl scoffed back at his father before averting his attention back to the disassembled gun on the floor in front of him.

Rick sighed deeply and shakily. He knew he ought to chastise his son for the flagrant attitude he was displaying, but he also knew that he had no right to do so after screaming such horrible words at Daryl. It was a stalemate of angst between The Grimes men.

Rick understood why his son was pissed off with him. Carl looked up to the hunter with explosive admiration. He was so interested in everything that Daryl did whether it was hunting, shooting his crossbow or riding his bike. Everything that Daryl did, Carl wanted in on too. Rick had felt a little guilty letting his son pester the man so frequently, but Daryl had a natural apt for the younger generation. From babies to teengagers, children flocked to him like sheep. Rick supposed it was because Daryl never spoke down to them, he just treated them like he would anyone else at the prison. Daryl was unequivocally himself with every single person who entered his life, and Rick adored him for that. Everyone did, it’s what made Daryl…well, Daryl.

The hunter and the teenager’s relationship took on one of brothers and bestfriends. Rick had worried so vehemently about telling Carl about the nature of his partnership with Daryl, fearing that his son would expect a second parent and that Daryl would feel obliged to be a father to the boy. However, no such shift occurred. Their friendship remained keenly intact, and if anything, blossomed even further. Falling in love with Daryl Dixon had had an overwhelmingly positive butterfly effect on everyone around them, and it really felt like they could stand the test of time. But time was a fickle creature, twisting her rules and souring true love. Rick had ruined it all within the span of a few words and life may never be the same again. Not for Rick. Not for Daryl. Not for Carl. The boy was faced with the prospect of losing his idol forever, and blaming his father in the process.

So yeah, Carl was pissed, and had every right to be.

Rick rubbed his face and and sighed. He wanted terribly to turn back time and fix everything and make it all whole again. But life didn’t work that way and it never did. He had to sit with the excruciating consequences of his cruel actions. The reality of heartbreak was tightening its grip around Rick’s throat like a vice and he did nothing to stop it. Sensations of drowning and choking were strangely welcomed by the man as he knew he deserved every single repercussion that was on the table for him. Rick would not allow himself to feel better in any way while Daryl was still out there; sick and heartbroken.

After a while of overthinking and rumination, Rick’s legs gave out slightly and he was forced to sit down by the fireplace without any conscious choice in the matter. All of his senses were on higher alert than usual. Dampness and sodden clothing filled his nose, the rain on the roof of the cabin sounded like a shootout and the fire burning next to him was sweltering the left side of his body. As Rick sat there uncomfortably, he could feel Carl’s eyes boring microscopic daggers into the side of his head. Tiny little needles of disappointment that screamed: “you just made the biggest mistake of your life, Dad.” Rick turned his head to make contact with his son, but the boy quickly averted his eyes, put his gun away and pulled out a deck of cards with a frustrated sigh. The image of Carl’s aggravation made Rick ponder if that's what he too looked like in such a state; eyebrows furrowed, nostrils flaring and shoulders tense. Carl was cut from the same familial cloth and shared more than a few attributes with his father. The Grimes’ hated cucumber, were both bow-legged and always sneezed in threes. But this, this, festering rage that plagued Rick was visceral present within the teenager in front of him. Did the nightmarish world force the change in Carl? Or was he genetically destined to become a carbon copy of everything Rick hated about himself? Before The Deputy could spiral further into his own mind on the hellish idea of nature vs nurture, a steaming bowl of soup appeared before his eyes.

“Eat, Rick. It’s been a long day.” Peri’s voice was calm and nonthreatening but hearing a voice after so long traversing the pits of hell in his mind, Rick found himself jumping a little.

“Uh, thanks, Peri…”

The three of them sat in a terse silence while they ate dinner. The lumpy pea and ham soup travelled down Rick’s oesophagus like blackened pitch, slowly working its way around the cantaloupe sized lump that was having a weekend away in his throat. It was bland and tasteless, but after years of surviving off anything that they could find, it wasn’t long until the bowl was empty and Rick was wiping the corners of his mouth.

“You think Daryl’s doing okay? Maybe I should take him some food…”

Peri was once again the person to break the tangible hush that hung heavy between them all. Hearing Daryl’s name spoken aloud and not just in his own head sent a shockwave of breathlessness coursing through Rick’s body. Of course someone would mention him eventually after such a monumentally loud blow up, but Rick wasn’t ready for it. He wasn’t ready for the cataclysmic situation to exist in a reality outside of his head. But here it was, out in the open, ready to be dissected and bleed out for all of its pain. Rick would have to face the music and live with the ramifications of his actions. Clocks in his mind were ticking down to the moment where any skerrick of delusion would cease to exist and Daryl, his Daryl would be gone from his life for good.

To put things simply, Rick would cease to exist without Daryl. The hunter was a hallmark of their found family; always protecting and providing. He’s saved them all on countless occasions and even though he never gave himself any credit, Daryl was one of the highest valued members of their little society. His rough and tough exterior made him all the more charming and it’s one of the reasons Rick loved him so much. He was a completely no bullshit kind of guy, who spoke when necessary and never held back the truth of any situation. It wasn’t until Shane was out of the picture that Rick fully appreciated the hunter’s value and companionship. They were a team, a symbiotic relationship that worked in harmony to keep the world around them running. Regardless of being in love with the man, Daryl was Rick’s best friend and his partner. To face this hideous world without his right hand man would be like losing a limb. Rick also knew that the fresh fracture in their relationship would have a domino effect on everyone else as well. And he was terrified.

“Yeah Dad, how do you think Daryl is?” Carl spat with venom lacing his tongue, tearing Rick out of his numbing reverie.

“He’ll be fine Carl, he’s tough.” Said through coarsely gritted teeth.

“What the hell? No, he won’t!”

“Carl, lower your voice-”

“No! I can’t believe you. You just, you just said you hated him and let him go! Why aren’t you out there, huh?”

“It’s complicated, alright?”

“Bullshit! You’re just too scared to face the truth, so you’re hiding.”

“ Hey! ” Rick roared above the chaos. “You don’t talk to me like that, ever. You hear me?”

Carl let out a fiery pft and stood up, glaring at Rick. He put his gun into his belt, ladled some soup into a bowel and grabbed a clean, dry jumper from a pile of clothing in the corner of the cabin. Rick was incensed and frustrated, watching his son move around the cabin with an angsty air of his own. When Carl moved towards the door, The Deputy finally found his words again.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?

“I’m checking on Daryl, Dad! Someone has to.”

“No, no you’re not. You’re not going out there, Carl.”

“Like shit I’m not! You’re too much of a coward to do anything-”

“- Carl! How dare you-”

“-Stop! Just stop, the both of you!” Peri’s stern but soothing voice rose above the cacophony of primal strife that was pulsating through the room. “Carl, you can’t talk to your dad like that, okay? And Rick…just let him go, alright? Carl will be fine and someone needs to make sure that Daryl’s okay. No offence, but I do not think that person should be you right now.”

Carl shuffled around sheepishly by the door and Rick lowered his eyes in defeat. Both of the Grimes men knew that they were equally in the wrong and there was a heavy sense of foreboding guilt in the air. After a while of deafening unsaid apologies, Carl left the cabin and closed the door behind him with a considered gentleness to latch it quietly.

Rick sighed shakily, trying to blink away the tears that were assaulting his eyes again. He had never felt so broken or so shameful in his life. And as shitty as he felt, he knew that Daryl was experiencing a maelstrom worse.

“I uh…I don’t…uh” Rick sniffled hard as his voice cracked, attempting to compose his feeble emotional state. “I dunno how to fix this...”

Peri opened her mouth to say something but closed it, her brow furrowed. Rick could see the cogs turning in the young woman's head as she searched for the right thing to say. The Deputy knew he shouldn’t be spewing the brunt of his relationship setbacks onto someone he hardly knew, but he was lonely and fragmented and in hopeless need of advice. Rick would welcome anyone from the original Altana group or the farm with open arms right now; Glenn, Maggie, Carol…hell he’d even ask Herchel for his opinion on the matter of his love life. But the one person Rick needed, who always directed him in the right direction, who he trusted without a fraction of a doubt, was out there in the frigid October weather, broken and hurting. Because of him.

“You know, I got engaged to my high school boyfriend as soon as we left year twelve. I thought I was so mature and hopelessly in love…and then the prick cheated on me.” Peri huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes at the memory of herself. “I was distraught Rick, and I thought I’d be alone forever. After a week in bed feeling sorry for myself, my Dad came to me and said ‘Peri you’ll get past this, you have to have enough courage to trust love one more time.’ So I did, and then I did it again, and again until I met the man I’d love for the rest of my life. Well… his life”

“That’s uh…m’sorry Peri…Are you…are you tellin’ me I should just…move on?” Rick said in a voice so small as he tried to wrap his exhausted mind around what Peri was telling him.

“No, I’m not, Rick. I didn’t tell you that because I think you need to ‘move on’, it’s the opposite actually. I don’t know you or Daryl that well but Blind Freddy could see how well you two work together. Most people go through their lives without having a connection like that, and the fact that you found each other in this world…it’s too rare to give up on Rick. I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen; you said some shitty stuff and Daryl’s been acting like a petulant child all day. But you both love each other so much, I think you need to trust that and see what happens…”

“...‘Kay…but what do I do now?”

Peri’s words had touched Rick and it was somewhat refreshing to see a perspective of the situation from a mind that wasn’t a teenager or his own. Rick had said something truly awful and Daryl had acted like a stubborn idiot. Rick regretted the unsubstantiated hate that he had unleashed onto his lover just under an hour ago. Rick’s misplaced hostility came from loving Daryl so passionately that it had temporarily unhinged his soul.

“Nothing. You wait until you simmer down and for Daryl to get over whatever demon spawn has crawled into his sinuses and died there, and then you’re going to have a mature conversation like the rational, almost middle aged men you are.”

Rick actually laughed at this. He laughed and nodded his acceptance of Peri’s candid guidance. The upward stretching of his lips over his teeth felt uncomfortably foreign amidst the miasma of shame and sadness, but he couldn’t help it. The laugher came from a deep seeded longing for hope. A hope that a witty Australian woman had allowed to enter his mind and fortify his penury for the crossbow wielding redneck in his heart. Rick could feel tears in his eyes and had no idea what emotion was drawing them out of him.

“Come on, Grimes. Let’s have some whiskey and forget the fact that we almost died today, hey?”

Rick smiled and went to get a bottle of the whiskey he and Carl had scored earlier that day. Thank Christ for Peri. If anything positive was to come out of this abhorrent nightmare of a supply run, it was the woman in front of him. Rick could remember back to when Peri had shown up to the prison gates, alone, frightened and without a possession to her name. It had been a risk taking in yet another mouth to feed, especially after the events of Woodbury and The Governor. But at this moment, with a bottle of whiskey passed between them, Rick was certain for the first time in weeks that he had made a goddamn good decision.

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

Daryl walked hazily up to the gates of the prison with a buck over his shoulder and his crossbow held firmly at his side. He spent multiple days out tracking the meaty son of a bitch and now it was his, to be cut and shared with his family. Someone without a face, came and opened the gates and Daryl walked up to his cellblock with a geeing motivation in his step. He felt somewhat accomplished, being able to provide in such a specific way.

He paused at the top of the steps before opening the door. Would Rick be proud of him? Daryl hoped he would. A Rick Grimes smile of appreciation was like nothing the hunter had ever experienced in the world; it made him useful, wanted, normal even.

Upon opening the cellblock door, Daryl could tell that something was different, something was wrong. The smell of stale cigarettes and general rot flooded his nostrils causing some bile to inch its way up his oesophagus. Muggy darkness was oppressing the tiny cramped space in front of him, the only light creeping in ladder shapes from the metal shutters over the windows. As Daryl’s eyes adjusted he could make out familiar tobacco stains growing up the yellowing drywall and the harrowing bullet holes marred the area just above the television. Below his feet he could see the lurid brown splotchy carpet pattern from his childhood, stained by alcoholics and abusers. There was a child crying somewhere in the distance but apart from that the living room was eerily silent. Painful memories came rushing back to Daryl, crashing and clanging together so hard that his head started to hurt. Mental images whirled together so fast that he felt like he was falling into an abyss.

Oh god.

This was his home. The house he grew up in before the fire. ‘Home’ was too generous of a descriptor though. It was more of a decrypt, cesspit of abuse and agony. A disgusting testament to The Dixon’s and anyone who bore the name. But why? Why was Daryl’s childhood home here inside his cellblock?

*scrape* *clunk*

A loud noise erupted from behind him. Darly whipped around to the door and reached for his crossbow…but it was gone. So was the dead buck on his shoulder. It was all wrong and nothing made sense. As Daryl reached for a knife on his belt, a phantom hand grabbed the back of his head and pulled him back with vengeance. Hair follicles were burning and Daryl couldn’t stop his eyes from watering with stinging tears.

“What the hell d’ya thank you're doin’ back in ma house, boy?”

“I don’t…I dunno-”

“Shut yer mouth and listen here ya pathetic ingrate!”

The hand that was yanking at his hair grew tighter and Daryl was on the edge of a guttural scream before he was slammed into a wall. The violent hand that pulled his hair moved to his throat, constructing his windpipe just enough for Daryl to hear his own gasps for air.

“You steal me stuff boy? Answer me! ” Daryl finally opened his eyes to the sight of William Dixon, his former tormentor, and his cause for hatred. But…but the man was dead. Six feet under and gone. Gone to a bottle of cheap scotch and a truck wrapped around a power pole. Gone and forcefully forgotten…or, so Daryl thought. But his father was right there, inches from his face, burning irons from his eyes and crushing the hunter's trachea with his thick fingers. It was like regressing into every single painful experience all at once.

*scrape* *clunk*

“Ya know what happens when I hav’ta ask twice, Daryl.”

“I…I didn’t…I didn’t steal nothin’ Pa” Daryl barely squeaked out as timorous tears began trickling down his red cheeks.

A sudden, gurgling screech echoed down the hallway and grew louder as an undead body thumped its way towards the hunter. The sluggish cadence grew louder and louder until the re animated body of Merle stood a foul breath away.

“Quit ya snivelling lil’ brother, Pa don’t take too kindly to snotty, pathetic disappointments”

Daryl craned his neck to the best of his viced ability and whimpered when he locked gazes with the cloudy, dead eyes of his older brother. This couldn’t be happening but it was . The hunter could smell the decay wafting from the familial walker next to him. It made his stomach churn violently.

“Seems like yer in quite a predicament Darlena.” The tinny, soulless voice continued “I were right weren’t I? Rick and his merry band of survivors saw ya fer what ye’really are and booted ya. Ain’t that right Officer Friendly?”

“Thas right, Merle, my brother.”

A new voice entered the bedlam of nightmarish proportions. A voice that was once a beacon of hope and relief and love. A voice that Daryl knew intimately that was now overflowing with contempt. The hunter closed his eyes tight. He didn’t need visual proof of Rick’s presence to confirm the pool of dread sloshing around his insides. However, sheer unbridled masochism had a hold on the fragile man. One eye peeled open to reveal his former lover in the corner of the living room, propped against an arm of the couch. He was holding Daryl’s crossbow in his arms, turning it over and inspecting every inch with hardened scrutiny.

“Y’know, you were gone for three days, Daryl… and you didn’t bring us back a goddamn thing! Tell me why I gave your pathetic existence a chance in the first place, huh?”

“Rick…Rick…m’sorry-”

*scrape* *clunk*

The flummoxing and persistent clamour from the front door grew bigger and shiller and the tension in the room was getting far more suffocating with every passing minute.

“Oi, ya little shit!” Daryl’s father beloved, tightening his traction around his son’s neck. “Turn that fuckin’ thing off before I end ya!”

Daryl was losing the fight for oxygen and little black stars were invading his vision. Maybe death would come like this, pinned up against the wall by asphyxiation. The hunter could fight back, he could take William Dixon, but what was the point? Daryl was a useless sod to everyone now, unknowingly fulfilling his hapless destiny.

*scrape* *scrape *CLUNK*

The sound grew more and more frenzied and all the men in the room turned towards the door with electrified curiosity. His father’s hand loosened its grip ever so slightly and Daryl sucked in air as fast as he could amidst the distraction.

*clunk* * clunk * * CLUNK* * BANG*

The front door came swinging off its hinges with weighty might, crashing to the floor and sending chunks of drywall exploding into the atmosphere. A herculean stag came hurtling into the dingy space, knocking down everything in its path. It was the very same stag Daryl had hunted earlier, identifiable by its impressive antlers and a peculiar scar across its rump. The buck trampled the space, causing Merle and Rick to move and duck a few times. At some point, Rick picked up Daryl’s crossbow and held it tight to his sightline. With a quick pull of the trigger, The Deputy shot a precise bolt into the deer’s head. Blood spattered everywhere, temporarily blinding Daryl’s eyes with a crimson blur. Everything was eerily silent again before Rick started chuckling humourlessly. “Huh…And you make it look so hard, Daryl…”

Will Dixon released his chokehold on Daryl’s throat and swung his fist clumsily at the hunter’s eye socket, sending him to the ground. The youngest Dixon screamed out in pain as he melted into the dirty carpet below. A heavy boot came hurtling into his side and Daryl writhed in agony. He could hear the angry voices of men above him, but they bled into an amalgamation of keen, disappointed jumble.

Daryl held his head in his hands, trying to hide his face from the worst of the beatings. Sticky wetness spread through his clothing and a hideously metallic scent filled his nostrils. He glanced down and saw that he was laying in a pool of blood that spread through the fibres of the carpet. Was it his? Was it the buck’s? Or was it some cruel combination of the two?

A brother, a father and a lover continued to scream obscenities at the hunter. Scents of coppery liquid started to blend with a much more sinister scent. A smell that plagued Daryl’s memories and filled him with a grief he feared to relieve. He cocked his head and stared down the hallway. Choked breaths struggled to find their way in or out of Daryl’s lungs as he focused his attention to the source of disarray. Smoke came billowing out from under the closed door of the end bedroom and filled the air with even more impossible dread. Daryl knew who lay behind that door.

“Pa…stop, stop! S’mom…she’s in there, she’s burnin’…we gotta, we…” But as the hunter looked up frantically, all of his tormentors were gone. Thick smoke continued to invade the room as Daryl curled into a needless ball, letting the ashes fall over him and burn his lungs to a crisp. At least she wasn’t alone this time. They were together.

Alice and Daryl Dixon, burned alive.

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

Daryl woke up to his body already convulsing in violent waves of coughing and spluttering. He felt possessed and out of control as ripples of exorbitant pain coursed through his body with every burning spasm. Tears and snot were pouring down his face but the hunter was so cold that he couldn’t feel it anymore. Hypothermia was threatening her malignant presence as Daryl grew sicker and sicker by the second. If that was possible.

The hunter was so distracted by the stifling pain in his chest that he barely had a chance to register the contents of his abhorrent fever dream. It wasn’t until the coughing fit calmed down that the nightmarish images solidified and paled him with a wave of panic.

The darkness surrounding Daryl was oppressive, and as he sat shaking in the rusty toolshed, he couldn’t stop his subconscious from replaying the harrowing images from his mind. Angry faces, dead eyes and a contempted lover flashed in and out of focus in front of the sick man. It was painfully surreal. Daryl felt as though he could reach out and touch the dream before him. Separating reality was becoming harder the sicker he got.

The roof leaked icy rain onto Daryls head, sending stinging droplets down his neck and into the damp clothing on his back. The cruel figments in the shadows were getting closer and more distinct. Breathing got harder and quicker again, and Daryl could feel his blood pressure rising in his ears. It was sensory overload.

Panicking in blindness, Daryl scrambled around on the concrete below, frantically trying to locate his lighter. Once it was in his hands, it took a few flicks from his frozen fingers to draw a flame, but the orange glow came. The minuscule fire only lit his immediate surroundings but it was enough to calm him a fraction. The images from his dream were gone. No more taunts. No one to pain him. His father was gone, Merle was dead and Rick…oh.

Yeah, Daryl knew where Rick was.

The hunter held the glowing lighter in one hand and wiped his damp and snotty face with the other. He rubbed a bit at his blocked nose and sniffled back hard, attempting to compose himself. Unfortunately for Daryl, the shifting of pressure in his sinuses sent an eye watering burning buzzing through his nose, and he knew what was to come. He scrunched up his nose spasmodically in a last ditch effort to postpone the fit. It made it worse.

Daryl’s eyelids slammed shut, his nostrils flared and his chapped lips parted. Crackling, hitching breaths fluttered out of his lungs as he braced for another excruciating onslaught of sneezes.

“Fuh heh… ck… hih’ EITCH ew…Hh’ AATC huu…h’ EESC Ht…heh..heh… HEH ! Christ! Just combe out…” The final tickly sneeze sat in the very tip of Daryl’s irritated nose, teasing him indefinitely. The hunter was glad he was alone ‘cause he looked like a right mess; snorting and sniffling and trying to coax it out. Sneezing sucked ass but being caught in some weird itchy limbo was undeniably more infuriating. Daryl scrubbed at his raw nostrils, about to admit defeat when his whole body snapped forward without warning. “ Hah’ EESCH shuU! Ugh. ” Daryl groaned as he heard a splatter of mucus land on the concrete in front of him. Snot trickled down his upper lip like a steady stream. Wiping his nose with an already tragically damp sleeve, the hunter winced. The corners of his nose were so chapped from the constant friction and he was so congested that his entire head throbbed with pressure.

Daryl was so goddamn sick of being sick. Sick of being miserable. Sick of people. Sick of crying like a damn baby. He felt so obscenely pathetic and wanted nothing more than for this day to be over for good. With a surge of frustration, the hunter pulled himself from the ground with a grunt and made a conscious decision to ignore the sudden dizziness of being upright. With the lighter in his hand, Daryl started looking through the shed.

After banging into a few oil drums and knocking over a pile of rusty tools, the hunter found a couple of torches and an oil lamp. By some grace of a higher power, they all worked and started producing some much needed light. Daryl started to feel not so alone, finally able to see the space in front of him. Now that he could think somewhat straight again, the hunter’s attention moved to the throbbing pain in his hand. Bringing up the self-inflicted injury for inspection, Daryl saw that it looked angry and red, blistering and wet with pus. It hurt. But he was more concerned with how obvious it was. Smart people knew what cigarette burns looked like and Daryl was sure that his little self mutilation wouldn’t miss the scrutiny of one Rick Grimes.

If he still cared.

The fresh heartbreak of Rick’s outburst lingered in the recesses of his mind, but Daryl was a master of denial. Or so he liked to believe. The hunter could normally suppress anything to the depths of his soul, letting it pile up and fuse together like a mountain of the undead in the hot Georgia summer. But reality was different in this sudden misery. The truth was, Rick owned Daryl’s soul whether he liked it or not. He held all of the good parts of him, and without that curly haired man, Daryl was just a husk. A shell more hollow than the man he had been before the dead rose.

Daryl loved Rick more than anything in this world, and the fact that it had ended before he could say the words…well, it made him want to scream. Cowardice and lack of self esteem had gotten in the way and Daryl sorely regretted everything.

Unwanted tears started to pool again and fraught congestion started to overfill the hunter’s already swollen sinuses. In an attempt to compose himself, Daryl sniffled back as hard as he could. Pain suddenly spread deep within his left nostril and it made his eyes water. He wiped his dripping nose only to be met by a long streak of crimson liquid staining his hand.

A nose bleed.

'Fuckin’ perfect.’

Daryl pinched his nose shut with his thumb and pointer finger, hoping to quell the bleeding. However the metallic taste in his mouth was a clear indication that the blood continued to drip beyond the forced plug. The hunter couldn’t remember the last time he had a nose bleed and the fact that it was happening now, of all times was so fucking exasperating. It was the literal bloody cherry on top of an awful existence.

With his free hand, Daryl reached for the handkerchief in his jacket pocket. However, between torrential rain and excessive snot, the measly square of fabric was as good as useless. Scanning the space, the hunter found a somewhat dry pile of dirty rags. Picking up the least grimy one, he held it tight under the leaking nostril. Even with his smell receptors blocked, Daryl could tell the rag reeked of old methylated spirits, indicated by the slight burning in his eyes. Still, he guessed it was better than nothing.

With a soft grunt, Daryl lowered himself to the ground, leaning against a different wall of the shed to avoid being leaked on. Taking the rag away from his nose briefly, he looked down at the blood that had spread through the fibres. He sighed and folded the fabric over before pressing it to his nose once more. Daryl grimaced at his own misery. It’d be pretty goddamn ridiculous to die in an apocalypse due to blood loss from a viral induced nosebleed. Okay, maybe a little dramatic, but the hunter was barely keeping it together. Like everyone had told him, he was truly and utterly pathetic.

A gust of surging wind blew past the metal building, making it shake and groan and twist against the force. Frigidity closed in again, and Daryl curled in on himself, shivering in response to the miserable weather. The hunter knew he should just go back to the vague comfort of the cabin. The others were bound to have a fire going by now and he could actually rest . With the bear traps and tin can alarms around the joint, walkers weren’t as much of a threat and Daryl could easily keep sentry from the porch. The porch where Rick said those words…

No. Daryl would not go back tonight. Time and loneliness were needed to nullify the tragic tension among men. Or maybe it was obstinate and shame rooting the hunter to the icy concrete below. Paralysed by what Rick would call his “pathetic pride.”

Daryl was jolted out of his woeful pity-party by a heavy clunk on the other side of the corrugated door. Something or some one was out there. With the hand not mopping at his nose, the hunter reached for his crossbow, only to grasp at nothing. The weapon was on the other side of the room. Shit. Was he really that out of it?

The metal door opened a fraction and Daryl felt a surge of frustration spreading through his abdomen.

“Fuck, Rick. I said don’t-” But it wasn’t Rick. Standing a couple of metres away was one Carl Grimes. The teenager looked a little damp with a blue plastic bowl in his hand and something tucked up under his jacket.

“Go back t’the cabin, kid, ya shouldn't be out here.”

Carl scoffed and Daryl could tell he was trying his darndest not to roll his eyes. The boy did always hate being called ‘kid’ or maybe it was because Daryl sounded like a right hypocrite.

“That make you the pot or the kettle, Daryl?”

Smart ass.

“ Hmpft.” Daryl grunted, pulling the bloody rag away from his nose. The broken capillaries inside the hunter’s sinus cavity seemed to have stopped themselves for now. Still, he gently sniffled a few times, just to be sure it wasn’t going to bleed anymore.

“You okay?” Carl asked, glancing at the blood soaked fabric bunched in Daryl’s fist.

Wasn’t that a loaded question, hey? No. No he wasn’t okay.

“Yeh.” Daryl lied instead, nodding curtly and dropping his gaze between his knees.

“I uh, brought you some dinner…” Carl walked a few steps and held the small plastic bowl in front of Daryl’s face. The hunter grimaced and turned his head away. Even though he knew he should, the thought of eating sent a fresh wave of nausea sloshing through his insides.

“Aind’t hungry.”

Instead of relenting, Carl tightened his grip on the bowl and stared Daryl down. With a slight flair of the boy’s nostrils, the hunter was hit with a wave of deja vu. The teenager had a lot of Rick in him, that was for sure.

“Just eat it.”

Oof. There it was, an apple falling not so far from its tree. It was such a Rick gesture that Daryl’s heart momentarily beat a little faster. Knowing that he’d spent his last allowance of obstinance with the Grimes men, the hunter begrudgingly took the food. Carl pursed his lips, nodded slightly and plonked himself on a milk crate on the opposite side of the shed.

Heavy tension hung low in the damp air. Daryl would have to be an idiot to think Carl hadn't heard the blow up between him and Rick on the porch. The elephant in the room was curious how the boy was feeling. Earlier in the day, Carl had threatened Daryl’s life if he ever hurt his father. A similar warning had been issued to Rick re: paining the hunter. What would the boy do if he was pissed at both of them? Logically he knew that Carl couldn’t take either of them, even in Daryl’s febrile state. Still he wondered what the fallout would entail for the younger Grimes.

There was a lot that Daryl ought to say, but he was too tired to even think right now. All he wanted was to go to sleep and be alone and figure the bullshit out later. Instead he was being force fed dinner and monitored by a teenaged chaperone.

“Ya just gonna sit there n’ watch me eat?” Daryl grumbled.

“Yep.”

“ Hmpft. ”

Daryl grunted weakly and turned his focus back to the bowl of lumpy soup in his hands. He squinted grumpily at the green liquid as though it had done him an injustice.

“It’s pea and ham soup Daryl, not poison.”

“Daryl, sweetheart, eat your soup, it’s not going to kill you.”

Alice Dixon’s timid voice echoed in Daryl’s ears a mere moment after Carl’s. Before his mother had died and Daryl had to effectively fend for himself, he was a picky eater. Which, given the hunter’s prevalence for road-kill meals, was hard to believe. Alice would spend hours with Daryl, coaxing him through meals while his father bellowed at the boy in the background. At the time, it made him pissy to just sit there and swallow food like it was pond scum. Looking back though, they were probably the only times where he’d spent quality time with his mom.

Daryl was surprised at himself. He hadn’t thought about his mother in a long long time, and here he sat, goddamn reminiscing. Alice’s face and voice were so anachronistic to him now, but not unwelcome. The hunter chuckled a little to himself and swallowed a spoonful of soup.

��What’s so funny?”

“Ndothin’.” Daryl shook his head, slightly annoyed that his change in demeanour had been so obvious. The kid was watching him like a hawk, which made the man feel a little like an insect in a jar. Carl responded with an under the breath “whatever” and an almost audible eye roll.

The hunter shrugged his shoulders and swallowed some more tasteless food. The kid was just trying to make conversation, but Daryl really didn’t have it in him to make small talk with the son of his ex boyfriend. Silence was fine. Preferable. However, that didn’t stop Daryl’s feverish mind from opening his mouth again.

“‘Member I told you bout’ my mom?” Daryl looked up with a sigh and Carl nodded. “Well she weren’t always so into her booze. I mean she were…soon s’I was born she downed a two dollar bottle of wine. Hell, I don’t even think she remembers naming mbe. Don’t tell Peri, but I don’t got a middle ndame…they were both too lit ta think’a that…”

Carl snorted a laugh and Daryl smiled against his cracked lips. He’d let Peri’s slightly endearing guessing game go on for as long as he felt like withholding that information. Which would be a long damn time.

“Anyway, she tried ta fix herself a few times. When I was ‘bout six or seven, she decided t’start makin’ mbeals from scratch. One night she was in the kitchen for hours, tryin’ ta mbake pea and ham soup from scratch. She were real shit at cookin’ though and it ended up bein’ a pot of hot water with whole peas and chunks of raw pork floatin’ ‘round in it.”

Daryl paused to chuckle and saw that Carl had a fond grin on his face. He sniffled a little before continuing.

“Me ‘n Merle ate as much as we could, not wantin’ to offend ma or anythin’. But my Pa…” The hunter stopped momentarily and furrowed his brow. He chewed on his lip a little, realising that this particular anecdote didn’t have a happy ending. None of them did.

“He uh, he got real mad…started screamin’ at her. I came down later that night and she were passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of vodka…” Daryl’s voice trailed off into shameful nothingness. He didn’t think the mood could be dragged down further, but the hunter was a master of fucking everything up. An apology was probably necessary but he couldn’t bring himself to talk again. Miserable exhaustion had made his eyes heavy and sad. Daryl hadn’t spoken that much in a long time and it took its toll, forcing Daryl to cough quietly and wetly into his fist.

Silence won again and Daryl finished his soup without looking at Carl. He could sense the kid shifting where he sat and after a while of over-considered thinking, the boy spoke.

“You miss her?”

“Yeh, I do sometimes…” Daryl’s voice was thick and gravelly from overuse and emotion. He really did miss his mom, more today than anything. She’d make him feel better. Sighing, Daryl sat further upright and looked over at Carl who had a face of pure curiosity. The hunter was thankful he hadn’t accidentally forced a pity-party from the kid.

Daryl remembered the last time he’d talked about his mother with Carl. It was right after Lori had died and Rick lost his mind. The shared experience of losing a mother in a traumatic way had brought them closer together. Unity in suffering as it were.

The hunter caught the glistening of faint tears in Carl’s eyes and immediately felt guilty for speaking in the first place.

Shit.

“You miss yours, kid?”

“Yeah.” Carl sniffed slightly. “Every day. But I’m not as sad as I was, you know? Mom gave us Judith and she’s perfect. And I have you and Carol and Maggie and all the others. It’s easier, knowing that I have a huge family to look out for us…”

Daryl felt a small lump blossom in his throat. Carl had to put down his own mother and here he was, lamenting over a mother that was long gone and nowhere near as good as Lori Grimes.

“I never thanked you, Daryl, and I should’ve. You were there for me and Jude when my dad couldn’t be and I’m so grateful. We all are.”

Tears pooled in the wells of Darl’s eyes and he looked away. It was too much. Too much praise for the bare minimum of care. He did what he had to do at time to keep that baby alive and Carl afloat. Nowhere in his calloused exterior did he think he’d love them so much. Daryl would die for Rick’s children and he selfishly dreaded losing them.

“I’m sorry ‘bout my dad…”

There it was. The elephant. The dropping shoe. The knife breaking the tension.

“...He shouldn’t have said that…but I know he doesn’t mean it, Daryl.”

“Thanks kid, but-”

“-I gave him a piece of my mind, you know? He can’t just talk to you like that especially when you’re-”

“-Stop. Carl, stop . Ya can’t be disrespecting yer dad, okay? Rick’s the best man I kndow, and he’s got his reasons for sayin’ shit-”

“-But!-”

“-But nothin’. Look, I appreciate ya checkin’ in on me but ya can’t be a lil’ shit to yer dad, okay?” Daryl looked towards Carl until the teenager made eye contact again. “Ya hear me?” “Fiiiiiiine.” Carl relented with another eyeroll. If he kept it up, his eyes would be permanently stuck in an upwards position.

Putting the empty bowl on the ground, Daryl started to shiver uncontrollably. Now that it was silent again, he could feel the rain sodden clothes sticking to his skin and making him sicker by the minute. The hunter started coughing into the air beside him and he suddenly wished he was alone again.

As if reading his mind, Carl tossed a dry sweatshirt over to Daryl. His aim was lazy and slightly off and the garment hit the hunter straight in the face.

“Oi!”

“Sorry…”

“ Hmpft.”

Daryl held the heather-grey sweatshirt in his hands. Every stubborn instinct told him to shy away from the help and to just suffer in the wet clothes he bore. But as his hand ran over the fleecy inside, the hunter couldn’t deny himself a small comfort. Even if it did make him feel a little shameful for a reason he was too worn to decipher.

A small nod of thanks and a look in Carl’s direction should’ve been enough to say ‘I’m fine now please leave me alone.’ But the kid just sat there, averting his eyes for a weak sense of privacy. Daryl huffed and pulled his vest and jacket off. The shivering was worse now and the sick man had a hard time controlling his trembling hands. As he pulled off the current sweatshirt and flannel, he could feel Rick’s borrowed undershirt riding up his body and exposing a small section of his bare back.

As if his eyes were lasers, Carl shot his attention to the criss-crossing scar tissue that marred the man’s lower back. Daryl heard a small gasp from the boy and his cheeks turned nuclear with embarrassment. Quickly he pulled the dry sweatshirt over his head and sloughed on the damp leather jacket, trying to cover as much of himself as possible. The hunter hoped desperately that the apple fell a lot further from the Rick tree when it came to the source of his raised mauve disgrace.

“Did Merle do that to you?”

Daryl winced at the sudden interrogation. His breathing was shallow and sharp once again and the frantic pulse had returned to his eardrums. Did they really think that poorly of his brother? Sure, Merle was a first class asshole, but there was no way he’d be capable of what William Dixon was. For every shitty, drug dealer-y thing he’d done in his life, Merle had at least tried to protect Daryl from a supernova of parental abuse.

“Ndah, kid. Weren’t Merle…Was mby ol’ man…” Daryl said sheepishly, fervently hoping Carl would just drop the subject and leave him alone. There was nothing the hunter wanted less than to engage in a dialogue about his abusive father, especially not with Carl.

“Shit…what’d he do?”

“That ain’t…” Daryl swallowed so hard he could hear his throat click. “That aind’t anythin’ ya need ta know Carl…Look, sombe parents are pieces of shit, but sombe are real good. Rick is a really really great dad, Carl. Ya need to know that. Whatever happens, please , love him as much as he loves you.”

“But-”

“-Nah, ndo but’s this time, Carl. Prombise mbe ya won’t be a jerk to ya dad anymore-” Daryl was met with a scoff and yet another pubescent eye roll. Sitting forward a little further, the hunter clicked his fingers to get the boy’s attention once again. “Hey. This is important. Prombise mbe, okay?”

“Ugh fine! I promise…or whatever.”

Daryl grunted to finish the conversation and started to rub at his tired eyes. A yawn caught him off guard as he slumped against the cold corrugated wall behind him.

Carl was sitting with his arms crossed and his eyes down cast solemnly. Daryl didn’t intent to make the kid feel bad but he also couldn’t stand that idea of a father and son being at war because of him.

Carl sighed hesitantly before speaking again.

“Please don’t leave us Daryl.”

The earnesty of the boy’s words made Daryl’s chest throb with grief. It hadn’t occurred to him that Carl would actually miss him. The hunter had briefly toyed with the idea of running off and going it alone. But he dropped the idea when he realised how feverish and delusional he actually was. Now wasn’t the time for grand sweeping decisions, despite how lusciously tempting they were.

Looking into Carl’s eye’s, Daryl finally saw the purity of the boy who’d been masquerading in from of him. There was such a sadness in the boy's frame that made the hunter hate himself even more for being a causation for it in the first place.

“Aind’t goin’ ndowhere, Carl.”

“Good, because you’re so valued, Daryl. We all need you and love you and I know you don’t believe me…but I need you to trust me okay?”

“Carl-”

“No! I promised you something and now you’ll promise me you won’t leave! Promise me!” Carl was a little frantic now and had stood up from the flimsy milk crate.

Daryl felt trapped and suffocated, yet equally comforted and needed. Swallowing thickly against his post nasal drip, the hunter nodded and averted his eyes. God, he was going to cry again. He was so goddamn sick of crying today. Especially in front of the kid.

“I…I won’t leave.”

“Good. Now come on.” Carl stood strong once again and held out a hand to the sick man. “Let’s just go back to the cabin, okay? You and my dad can figure this out in the morning…”

Daryl gulped and swallowed his pathetic pride , reaching for the hand in front of him. Once on his feet, he felt embarrassingly wonky as Carl held onto his forearm. Maybe things would be okay…Maybe life would return to a parallel sort of normal…Maybe he could find happiness again…

Delusion stopped in its tracks as the wind bellowed once again. As the weather worsened, the two men knew something wasn’t right. There was a sharp crack in Daryl’s ears and without any context, he knew that something wrong was about to befall them.

Before Daryl could think a single thought, the deafening sound of crushing metal boomed in his ears. Sensing before he could see, the hunter pressed his hand to Carl’s chest and pushed him away from the direct line of mayhem.

In an instant, Daryl was on the floor, pinned by the trunk of a weather-worn tree. He couldn’t move a muscle or he didn’t want to…nothing could be sure.

“DAAAAAAAAD!!!”

‘Get up, get up, get up you fucking asshole and save him!”

Daryl practically begged his own body to stand to attention but nothing could rouse something so broken already.

Pain.

Pain flooded his senses like a convoy, rooting him to the spot of paralysation.

Pain and cold and undulating fear until….

Until.

Warmth.

Long awaited warmth and comfort and…

And…

Darkness.

And then… curtains.

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