#something tells me he wasn’t. if anything he probably cut deeper than he needed to on purpose

[vampcaprisun]

recovering from top surgery and starting scar care has really given me a new appreciation for how fucked up astarion’s back must be from those scars. like excuse me sir get over here and let me give you a massage bc i KNOW that skin doesn’t move the way it should anymore

[blackcatnip]

The prison is my head and the realm is my soul

Gojo angst post Prison Realm

He came back different.

That’s the first thing everyone talked about when Satoru would be mentioned. He isn’t the same. ‘I heard him talking to the wall’ ‘He walked past me like I wasn’t even there.’ ‘Did he use his technique since he came back?’

But they didn’t know. They couldn’t sense how his mind was going wildfire. Too much information, just too much. He never thought he would crave for the nothingness of the prison realm, but he did, and that terrified him.

Because how could he crave for something so intangible? They said he was there for a month, it felt like years, or minutes, or days, he couldn’t tell.

“You are the talk of the town.” Suguru says amused as they pass another group of sorcerers whispering about him.

“And you aren’t helping.”

He walks past him. He needed to see Shoko, but what would he say? She probably already thought he was weak.

His technique felt off, too much time without use. His limbs were slower, he forgot how to use them after the years days months? spent immobile. He wasn't himself, he came back different.

“Are you even listening?” Shoko tried to reach his shoulder and he yanked back startled.

“What? Yeah, I killed the curse.”

“I was asking if you were sleeping.”

He looked at her, no he wasn’t, but it didn't matter, he didn't sleep there too, nothing new.

“Just have a lot to do.”

She sighs and looks at him with saddened eyes. “It’s like you are stuck in your head all the time. You got out, Gojo, it’s time for you to start living again.”

He wished it was that simple.

Days blurred into weeks, and weeks into months. Shoko tried to reach for him. He always backed away. Until one day, when he fucked up big time in a mission, she shoved him in her office and demanded an explanation.

“You are gonna end up dead! Getting distracted fighting a special grade! Why did you drop Infinity?!” She shakes her arms desperately. “Please, talk to me, I can’t lose you too”

And it was the crack in her voice that made his defenses crumble.

“I keep seeing him.” Instantly he feels shame crawling into his body.

“What do you mean?” She says, brows furrowing.

“Of course you are seeing me, I am right here.” Suguru deadpans from where he is sitting on the desk, bouncing his feets.

Satoru looks up, lips trembling, there was a time he would do anything to be able to see him again, but not like this.

“You are not real.” And that cuts deeper than anything he could have ever said. He craved the prison realm because there he could pretend, he could surrender to his crazy head trying to bring him comfort, and just accept as a truth that Suguru was alive in front of him.

But he got out, and he has shit to do, and hallucinating about Suguru will not help him achieve those things.

Seconds pass and Shoko is as still as a stone analyzing him with careful eyes. He catches the moment that Suguru’s face falls. Dropping the façade.

“I was here to help.” Suguru looks defeated, and Satoru wants nothing more than to go to him and hug him until all their sorrows disappear.

“I know.” He looks down and pulls his hair, already feeling the tears falling. “But I am fine now, you should go.”

“It’s not me who decides that, you have to let me go.”

“I know.”

And they just stay there, none of them moving. Because even though Satoru got out, the prison realm stayed within. And he isn’t ready yet to be alone again.

[merwgue]

"My name....." SIDE A

Summary: during interrogation, Keir, former Lord of the Hewn City, reflects on the pain and injustice that shaped his life, revealing the darkness that turned him into the villain he's become.

A/N: villain week!! I've been thinking of this fic idea for ages, now I finally made it happen. Its probably going to flop but I'm just happy I managed to make my dream fic a reality😭

Interview Transcript: Keir, Lord of the Hewn City

---

Interviewer: “State your name for the record.”

Keir: “Keir. That’s all you need.”

Interviewer: “Fine. Tell me, Keir—what led you to this? To where you are now?”

---

For a moment, I stare at him. This pompous little scribe, ink-stained hands that never held anything heavier than a quill, sitting here as though he could possibly understand. He wants a story. The tragedy of a villain. Fine. I’ll give it to him.

“I’ll start with my father,” I say, my voice a low rasp. “Since that’s where it all began.”

He nods, quill poised to write, and the memories flood back, hitting me like a storm.

“I was born in darkness. Not just the literal kind—the caves of Hewn City are always in shadow—but the kind that clings to your soul, suffocates any chance of light before it even reaches you.”

My father was the High Lord’s favorite. I was meant to be his heir, his legacy. But he didn’t pass down a kingdom—no, what he gave me was the kind of lessons a man learns with his fists.

He’d come home smelling of blood, sweat, and iron. His eyes cold, harder than steel. There wasn’t a day when I wasn’t walking on the edge of his temper, waiting for the crack of his hand across my face, the boot to my ribs. He called it teaching, training me to be strong. But what he was really doing—what he enjoyed—was beating the weakness out of me before I even had the chance to show it.

“I learned early that love was a weapon,” I murmur, the words thick in my throat. “Something you could use to bend people to your will, to control them. My mother—gods, she tried to show me something different. She would whisper to me at night, tell me stories of places with sunlight, with peace. But that was all they were—stories.”

I swallow, the memories cutting deeper now, tearing at old wounds.

---

“Do you know what it’s like,” I ask the scribe, my voice tightening, “to watch your mother die in front of you? Not just once, but over and over again? Every time she stepped between my father and me, every time she tried to stop him from hurting me, he turned his rage on her. And I had to stand there and watch, powerless, knowing that it was my fault.”

The scribe’s quill slows, his eyes flicking up to meet mine. There’s a glimmer of pity in them, and I hate him for it. I don’t need his pity. I don’t need anyone’s.

---

“When she finally died,” I continue, voice raw, “it wasn’t in some grand act of heroism. No. She died quietly, in her sleep, because her heart couldn’t take it anymore. And I—I couldn’t even grieve. I had to act like I didn’t care, like her death didn’t break something inside of me, because if I showed weakness, my father would have killed me too.”

The scribe’s face pales, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. The words keep tumbling out, each one more bitter than the last.

“My father expected me to be just like him. Cold, cruel, ruthless. And for a time, I was. I thought it was the only way to survive in this world. I became his shadow, carrying out his commands, doing things that still haunt me.”

---

The memories flood back—so much blood, so much pain. I was barely a boy, maybe sixteen when my father first sent me to “take care of” one of his rivals. I’ll never forget the sound of the man’s screams, the way his eyes bulged as I slit his throat.

I tell myself it was for survival. But the truth? A part of me enjoyed it. The power. The fear in his eyes. I had become everything my father wanted, and I hated it—hated myself.

---

“And then there was Morrigan.”

The name feels like a wound in my mouth, like a piece of glass I can’t spit out. I close my eyes, trying to block out the memories, but they come anyway.

“She was… different. I thought—hoped—maybe she could be my way out. My salvation.”

I laugh bitterly. Salvation. What a lie. I didn’t want to save her. I wanted to own her, to possess her the way my father possessed my mother. To make her mine, to carve out a piece of her light for myself.

“But she was never mine,” I whisper. “She was always his. Rhysand. And when I realized that, when I saw the way she looked at him, I knew there was no saving me. I was my father’s son. Broken. Twisted. Unworthy.”

---

The scribe shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. I can feel his unease, his desire to get this over with. But I’m not done yet. Not even close.

“I tried to protect my court,” I say, my voice rising with anger. “I tried to hold onto the little power I had left. But Rhysand—he took everything from me. He waltzed into Hewn City, into my life, and made me a puppet. He made me bend the knee, made me grovel before him like I was nothing.”

I slam my fist on the table, the chains rattling as the guards step forward. But I don’t care. Let them. Let them hear the fury in my voice, the anger that has burned inside me for decades.

“Do you know what that does to a man?” I shout, leaning forward, my eyes blazing. “Do you know what it’s like to have your life stolen from you, to be made a pawn in someone else’s game? Rhysand, with his pretty words and his false promises—he’s no better than my father. He took everything I had left.”

---

The room falls silent, the air thick with tension. I can see the scribe’s hand trembling, his quill hovering over the parchment as if he doesn’t know what to write next.

I lean back in my chair, the chains pulling tight, and close my eyes.

“I never wanted to be this,” I murmur, more to myself than to him. “I never wanted to be a monster. But this world—it doesn’t give you a choice. Not if you want to survive.”

---

When I open my eyes again, the scribe is staring at me, his face pale, his eyes wide. He thought he’d hear the story of a villain. But what he got—what he needed to understand—is that villains aren’t born. They’re made.

And in Hewn City, we’re made from blood and darkness, forged in pain and fear. The world twists us, breaks us, and we become what we must to survive.

“Anything else?” I ask, my voice flat.

The scribe shakes his head, quickly packing up his things, eager to leave. But before he can stand, I speak again, my voice low, dangerous.

“Tell Rhysand,” I say, eyes hardening, “that his day will come. And when it does, I’ll be there. Waiting.”

---

The door creaks open, and I’m pulled to my feet, chains rattling as the guards drag me back to my cell. But this time, I don’t feel the weight of them. This time, I feel something else. Something sharp and bitter.

Hope.

Because I know one thing for sure:

No one stays in power forever.

@sjmvillainweek ..... okay I may be a bit too obsessed with law BUT COME ON ITS GOOD SHUT UP

[ddarker-dreams]

Us and Them.

Daryl Dixon x F Reader.

Tags: Not SFW, follow up to Hierarchy of Needs, takes place from Daryl's POV. Simping o'clock. Some typical TWD horror elements. Word count: 11.5k.

It takes a great deal to crack Daryl’s focus. 

The life he’s led up until this point necessitated the fact. To ensure he’d hit his mark or continue tracking the elusive fauna hiding in the thickets, he needed to block the rest of the world out and hone in on his objective. This tendency bled into the other aspects of his day-to-day existence as well. It’s made him notoriously reliable, a reality he doesn’t take pride in, for he’s just doing what he thinks anyone should do. Shaking this cornerstone of his identity is no easy task. 

Unless you’re thrown into the mix, that is. 

Then it’s as if every functioning brain cell he has decides to jump ship in favor of seeking you out, no matter how detrimental it may be to him. Truth be told, he can’t even bring himself to mind half the time. You’re a distraction he’d hold the door open for. That being said, as much as he’d love to entertain thoughts of you 24/7, it’s an unrealistic dream. There’s work to be done and he can’t take up residence in la-la land. He’ll be forcibly evicted most of the time, should he not leave of his own volition. 

His present predicament does well to remind him of this. 

“You with me, Daryl?” 

Rick’s voice is a scythe cutting through the overgrown verdure of his mind. Daryl grunts, probably agreeing to something he should’ve been paying closer attention to. It’s too late for him to play it off, he can tell by Rick’s expression alone. He’s giving that raised eyebrow, head tilted look you once theorized to be the byproduct of being a sheriff for years. Officer Friendly’s changed a lot since they first met, but that look has remained reliably consistent. 

“That so? Mind telling me what I just said then?” Rick challenges. 

Daryl doesn’t even bother to entertain the charade. He knows when to cut his losses. “Sorry. Wasn’t listening.” 

“Mhm,” Rick nods his head in the direction Daryl’s been staring. “Let me guess. It got anything to do with our social butterfly over there?” 

Daryl doesn’t know why Rick’s asking when he likely already knows the answer to the question. Indeed, Daryl’s been keeping an eye on you while Rick discussed various happenings. You were reading Frankenstein beneath a gazebo for a whopping five minutes before an interloper made himself known. One of Deanna’s sons — Daryl can barely tell them apart, they leave so little of an impression — decided to strike up a conversation with you. The complete and utter disregard for your personal time has him fuming. You’ve been so busy shadowing Deanna that you’ve barely had a moment’s respite, you deserve to read your damn book in peace. 

He knows you’ve been working yourself to the bone. Alexandria is important to you, you’ve been doing everything possible to guarantee a future for your tight-knit group here. It helps that Deanna’s taken a shine to you; the opportunities this granted have been paramount. You’re slowly winning over the skeptical residents and explaining away any errant behavior from your group. Whatever tale you're spinning, he figures it must be working. He can at least walk around without being gawked at. Regardless, you confided to him that there's still much to do. Tensions are brewing faster than you can reconcile them. 

“Hardly see ‘er no more,” Daryl scoffs. “Yuppies are takin’ up all her damn time.” 

Rick gives a thoughtful hum. “It’s good, what she’s doing. Building up trust. Might help us if things are headed the way I think they are.” 

What was no doubt intended to lift Daryl’s spirits does the opposite, plunging them down into a deeper depth. He feels he’s deceiving you somehow by not mentioning Rick and Carol’s ‘backup plan’ should the Alexandria inhabitants prove beyond help. He also knows you loathe feeling used — a vulnerable confession owing to a drink too many — and that’s what this feels like. Using the good graces you’ve painstakingly established for an ulterior motive. 

Daryl keeps quiet. Fortunately, Rick is quick to catch on and changes the subject. 

“You know,” he starts, looking away from you to focus on Daryl, “I’ve noticed something’s different between you two. Ever since the night of that welcoming party.” 

Daryl assumes a poker face. He knew he should expect this line of questioning at some point, because things did change between you, in a way that exceeded his wildest dreams. Still, the way Rick’s sizing him up makes him feel like a teenager being greeted by your dad at the front door before your first date. He doesn’t know how to deal with this shit. The only person close to Daryl in terms of their protectiveness over you is Rick. Is this some type of test? That can’t be right; Rick’s been trying to convince him to shoot his shot with you since the prison. He probably just wants to know everything’s fine. Ever the worrier, holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“She, uh,” Daryl focuses on his scuffed boots, before finally managing to look Rick in the eye. “She knows.”

Rick’s countenance betrays his disbelief. “You told her?” 

Well, it’d be more accurate to say you told him by kissing him silly and putting his many doubts to rest, but he isn’t about to go around announcing that. He’ll hold this near and dear to his heart. 

“Yeah.” 

“And?” Rick presses, borderline impatient for the information Daryl’s so stingy on handing over. “What’d she say?” 

Daryl can’t stop his lips from quirking into a closed-mouth smile. “Feels the same.” 

Unlike Daryl, Rick doesn’t bother trying to hide his grin. “What’d I tell you, huh? That’s— that’s great. I’m happy for you. For both of you. It’s about time you both stopped dancing around things.” 

Daryl wants to grumble over Rick giving him a hard time, but he can’t bring himself to, because the man’s right. While it may not have been love back at the quarry, even then he thought you were the prettiest damn woman he’d ever had the blessing to lay eyes on. His attachment to you only grew from there. By his estimation, that’d place it somewhere around two years of having the hots for you without ever making a serious move. While he doesn’t regret the time dedicated to deepening your friendship, it would’ve saved him a lot of grief if he knew you reciprocated his affections. He’d lost track of the nights spent tossing and turning, contemplating just how out of his league you are. 

“While we’re on the subject, Glenn’s got some condoms on him, should you need any.” 

Daryl coughs into his hand to hide the wicked blush rising to his cheeks. “The hell, man?” 

“Just sayin’,” Rick puts his hands up in defense. “It’s best to be proactive. Sometimes you look at the girl like you’re ready to pounce.” 

He fights back a groan at the new ammunition Rick has to tease him with. It is good knowledge to have, though, so he makes a note of it. You had only slept together once on that fateful night roughly two weeks ago. Daryl was mistaken in thinking getting a taste of you would calm the raging flames of desire that burn him from the inside out. If anything, it’s as if they’ve been doused with gasoline. Every little thing you do nearly drives him mad with need. When you chew on your bottom lip in contemplation, bend over to grab something, or make those cute little noises when you stretch, the list goes on and on. You’re making it a damn challenge to think with his head and not his dick. 

How can he not, when he’s experienced how exhilarating it is to become one with the person he loves most? The sights and sounds of that night play on a loop in his mind constantly. The teasing banter, the taste of chocolate on your lips, the mind-numbing pleasure that exceeds anything he’d felt in his life… it’s got to be a special kind of torture to know he can have that with you, if he only he could get you alone. He swears every force in the universe is working against him. You’re living in a house packed like sardines, your schedules don’t line up (he’s an early riser, you love ‘your beauty sleep’), and you’ve been busy as a bee. 

In your benevolence, you’ve treated him to some fleeting kisses and hugs, which, while he treasures those more than the air in his lungs, can’t satisfy the excruciating need he has for your body. He has to stop himself from undressing you with his eyes the few times of day you’re around. You’re just so gorgeous, so exuberant, lighting up the room in the way only you can and leaving a cold emptiness inside him when you’re gone. 

He used to harp on lovesick fools for gushing over their ‘other half’, but now he gets it, he truly does. Going without you for any length of time is a unique agony that twists his guts into a knot. 

Glancing back over your way, his blood freezes over at the sight he’s greeted with. 

The prick had the audacity to put his hand on your lower back while Daryl was preoccupied. His eye twitches and his nostrils flare, hands balling into fists by his side. Rick senses the change in demeanor and follows Daryl’s line of sight to identify the reason, instantly piecing together the problem. Right before Daryl can charge over and rip the asshole’s slimy hand off you, Rick steps in, motioning for him to slow down. 

“Hey, hey, look at me—” 

“He’s fuckin’ touching her,” Daryl seethes, barely able to hear anything over the sound of his heart thumping in his ears. “She’s uncomfortable, I’m gonna—” 

This time, it’s Rick who interrupts him. “I get it, I really do, but we can’t afford to go makin’ a scene over something like this. [First] wouldn’t want that. You know she wouldn’t. So let’s take a moment and calm down.” 

“The hell do you know ‘bout what she wants?” Daryl challenges, his voice raising enough to attract some nearby attention. He juts his shoulder out of the way when Rick tries to lay his hand on it. “We both know why you’re letting ‘er play nice.” 

Rick’s eyebrows furrow, hurt at the insinuation. “Daryl…” 

He turns on his heel and storms off. 

Rick calls out to him a few more times, but he makes a point of ignoring him, along with the stares his outburst garnered. A quiet, reasonable voice whispers to him that he’s blowing things out of proportion. This sensible counsel is overpowered by his Dixon blood yelling otherwise. He’s always been quick to default to anger, it’s an emotion he can make the most sense of when everything’s confusing. Rage is all-consuming and familiar. It gives him an easy target to release his pent-up negative emotions. 

There’s just too much for him to work through. The gnawing insecurity, that in this stable environment, you could do so much better than him and he wouldn't have the slightest clue how to stop it. He’s not a smooth talker, can’t excuse confidence in spades. Hell, he couldn’t even confess to you first, you had to come to him. Who in their right mind would want a man like that? A man like him? 

His jaw feels like it could snap from how hard he’s grinding his teeth together. 

When he gets back to the group’s shared residence, he slings his crossbow into place and makes for Alexandria’s gates. He’s got to get away from here before he pulls an even dumber stunt he’ll surely regret later. The lone guard stationed there looks about ready to give him a difficult time until he sees the grave expression on Daryl’s face. That’s enough for him to wordlessly grant passage to the outside world. 

Daryl opts for using his knife to take out the walkers prowling past the entrance. Adrenaline pumps throughout his body as the blade breaches a skull, then another, the bodies sagging to the ground with a satisfying thump. He cleans the gore off his knife and sets out for the woods, grateful to leave the oppressive community he’ll never fully fit into behind him. 

Out here, he’s in his element. Weaving in and out of paths he’s already started to memorize, hearing the coos of mourning doves and shrill chirps of cardinals. He isn’t meant to fraternize with some hoity-toity folks who still think carrying a gun around inside the walls is excessive. His previous anger simmers down into frustration with each step he takes. In his haste, he hadn’t grabbed that many arrows. He knows he shouldn’t be out here for long. 

However, the alternative is just as undesirable. He’ll man up and give Rick the apology he’s owed, but there’s no doubt his stunt today hurt what you’ve been trying to build. The folks wearing their polo shirts and khakis will probably go back to staring at him like he’s some sort of bogeyman come to life. He scoffs quietly to himself at the thought, bending over to inspect some fresh-looking tracks in the dirt. A deer must’ve come through here not long ago. Snagging a catch like that would do wonders for lifting his dampened mood. It’s tangible proof that he belongs, that he isn’t some freak like his brother would have him believe. 

It’s strange to care about what he’s gone his entire life ignoring. When you have a reputation like the Dixon’s did in the town he grew up in, ostracization was to be expected. He’d lost count of the times he’d have to bail Merle’s ass out of the county jail only for the process to start back up a few months down the line. They might as well have kept a parking spot with his name written on it, as often as he stopped by the place. The stares, the whispers. They followed him everywhere he went. He learned to stop caring, he didn’t really have any better alternatives. 

He thinks of you — how quick you are to fit in — how wide the chasm is that separates you. It’s been a while since he’s had to grapple with these misgivings, the farm must’ve been the last time. Daryl knows it’s shameful, but he likes when he’s the one providing for you. Not so he could lord it over you, he wouldn’t dream of that. It’s more so how it justifies him being in your orbit. Solidifies his place by your side. 

No one else can take it if it’s carved out in his shape. 

The sun begins its lull in the sky. Shades of brilliant amber and gold trickle in through the interstices of the trees overhead, cascading like embers. Daryl mulls over what you might be doing now as he gulps down water from his canteen. Are you having dinner with Reg and Deanna? Or are you back at home, encouraging Judith to eat her veggies and trying to convince Carl there are more things to read than comics? Have you noticed his absence? Or are you too preoccupied to realize he’s gone? 

His heart plummets down to his stomach.

Daryl crouches over, inspecting some flowers that have been chewed down to the stem. It’s still glistening with saliva. A deer’s doing, no doubt. This paired with the tracks he’s been following promises that he’s getting closer. Any other day, personal qualms would be the last thing on his mind when he’s about to land a deer, but you’re an apparition that won’t stop haunting him. He misses you. He sees you every day, yet it isn’t enough. He misses hearing your lame jokes that you laugh at (and he laughs at too, occasionally), the weird thoughts that occupy your pretty little head (seriously, who ponders over the origin of the phrase ‘elephant in the room’?), arguing over if Back in Black or The Dark Side of the Moon is the better album (he caught you humming Time to Judith once, trying to indoctrinate her early, no doubt). 

He misses you so badly it makes him physically ache. 

The crackling of foliage ahead temporarily releases him from his bitter rumination. 

He fastens his crossbow into place, mindful of his every step. He makes his way through a clearing. It’s the scent he notices first, the miasma of rot. Then there’s the sound of flies buzzing and wet, vicious squelching. Ripping and tearing. Daryl knows what he’s destined to see before he even lays eyes on it. A group of voracious walkers gorge themselves upon the fallen deer, too preoccupied with devouring the viscera to notice his presence. Rigor mortis hadn’t even set in yet, he’d just barely missed his window. 

It’s one of those days, he supposes. 

The trek back to Alexandria is noticeably devoid of thought. He gladly welcomes the reprieve, wanting nothing more than for his head to hit the pillow so he can sleep today’s events off. Alexandria’s walls loom in front of him soon enough. He calls over to be let back in. Without delay, the gate creaks to the side, revealing the last figure he expected to be greeted with upon his return. 

You. 

You stand a few paces ahead, relief visible on your features when you establish eye contact. You’re wearing a yellow gingham blouse, white denim jeans, and those sneakers from what he’d consider the best day of his life. Your hair that you’ve been complaining is too long is tied up in a high ponytail, revealing that neck he longs to smother in kisses again. You’re so fucking radiant it should be illegal. Intelligent thought flies out the window, though luckily for him, you almost never run out of things to say. 

“Are you alright?” Is what you decide upon, your voice sweeter than candy. He’d eat it up if he could. 

He nods, his body recalling how to do basic motor functions after a sizable delay. You secure the gate behind you, muttering some gratitude to the guard Daryl scowled into submission earlier, then jog to catch up with him. He swears he could distinguish the sounds of your footsteps in his sleep. As much as he’d love to, he doesn’t look at you, choosing to fixate on the road ahead. After the events of the day, he doesn't trust himself not to pull anything stupid. 

“Daryl, hello hello,” you say with a singsong lilt, “You do notice me, right? I’m not that short.” 

“Tired, s’all,” he murmurs. 

“Have you not been sleeping well?” 

He shrugs. “Guess not.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Unable to bear it, he turns toward you, immediately noting the uncharacteristic frown on your features. A deep pang resonates inside him at the sight. He knows he’s worrying you, causing extra strife you most certainly don’t deserve to deal with, but he can’t think straight. The culmination of two weeks’ worth of navigating foreign feelings he’s never experienced before is taking a toll on him. You mentioned having an ex-boyfriend to Maggie in the past — a notion he’s hardly surprised by, considering you got him of all people falling head over heels — so this must be familiar territory for you. 

“When I asked if you were fine earlier, I didn’t just mean physically,” you nudge him playfully with your elbow, although your expression is serious. “Is something up?” 

“Jesus, I’m fine, woman,” Daryl huffs. The tone he takes has you pursing your lips. He no longer hears your footsteps struggling to keep up, you must’ve stopped. He does too. Turning himself to face you is no easy task, yet he somehow manages. What remains of the sunset basks your features in a gentle glow. He can make out each fleck of color in your iris’, finding the distinct splash of color to be his favorite. You have every right to be annoyed with him, you should be, honestly — and still, there are no traces of irritation. That alone melts his heart. 

You’re just looking at him, trying to piece together what’s brought him to this point. You never assume the worst of him, you never have. Instead, you choose to carefully comb through the information available to understand what he barely understands himself. This is one of your strengths he’s always admired. 

When he once asked you why you gave others the benefit of the doubt, you compared it to his tracking process. 

“There’s more going on than what’s visible at first glance, right?” You reasoned. “You have to stop, slow down. Take time to inspect things a little closer. If you don’t, you risk missing what’s truly important.” 

Waves of guilt crash over him like the roaring ocean upon the shore. You’re so good — the epitome of everything worth preserving in this decaying world. 

“... ‘m sorry,” Daryl swallows thickly. “Just… bad day, is all.”

Your visage softens. “Hey, it’s okay.” 

He flinches. You’re far too quick to forgive. 

“Nah, it ain’t. I shouldn’t take it out on ya.” 

“Would you like to talk about it?” You offer, still refusing to hold Daryl’s shortcomings over his head. “I, um, actually had something I wanted to show you. It’s somewhere quiet. It’d just be us there.” 

He parts his lips, ready to reinforce the fact you should be upset with him, when he sees your smile. This is the kind you’ve only ever graced him with. There’s this innate understanding in your eyes, a compassion to the curve of your lips. A look of pure love. He’s committed every facet of you he can to memory, he knows no one else is the recipient of this specific tenderness. It’s reserved solely for him. 

There’s a gravitational pull around you that draws him close and refuses to let him go. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. Positive.” 

You hold your hand out. 

He hesitates, wondering if he deserves to take it. 

When he does, the way your smile grows tells him he made the right choice. 

It’s him following you now. There’s a pep in your step, he can feel the excitement radiating off of you. A few Alexandrians he hasn’t bothered learning the names of yet give a wave upon spotting you, an act you gladly reciprocate. You haven’t the slightest ounce of shame about the rugged man trailing behind you. An insecure part of him that stubbornly refuses to die suggested that as you integrate into the community, you might leave him behind. Find a man that fits in here rather than sticking out like a sore thumb as he does. 

He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

The guilt returns, slithering its tendrils around his person and preparing to bite down hard. He’s been weaving falsehoods about you because of his own problems. You aren’t that type of person. He needs to get out of his own head and accept that maybe, just maybe, this’ll be his shot at happiness. The concept is so surreal that his body has been rejecting it like it were a foreign invader. He doesn’t want to fall prey to his natural tendencies anymore, he has to fight it. 

He imagines it’ll be a slow and tedious process, uprooting the thorny vines he’s grown to protect himself. You’re worth the effort, reckons. You always have been. 

Suburbia surrounds you on both sides. This must be another residential area of Alexandria, one that is vacant from what he can tell. You pause in front of one of the homes, nestled toward the end of the street. It’s the picture-perfect representation of the upper-middle-class ideal. A two-story high house styled like the others, with beige siding and a light gray roof. After letting him take it in for a second, you pull a set of keys from your back pocket, then grin. 

“I bought us a house,” you twirl the jingling keys on your pointer finger. “My credit wasn’t the best, and we’ll probably have to do a reverse mortgage in a decade, but it’s ours.” 

Daryl squints, trying to deduce how much of what you’re saying is in jest. 

“I’ve been working with Deanna to get our group more settled in, since this looks permanent. We finished ironing out the details today, and, uh, yeah. We get a house all for ourselves.” 

Your voice grows smaller toward the end of your sentence, almost tentative. You’re gauging him just as much as he is you. 

“Ya wanna,” he takes a moment to find the right words, “Ya wanna live with me?” 

You shrink into yourself. “I do. O-Only if you want to, of course! If this is weird, or, I’m uh, being too forward, then just— oof!” 

You’re never given the chance to finish your sheepish ramblings, for he lifts you in the air, spinning you once then wrapping you in a tight embrace. You give him a breathless laugh and return his affection in kind. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, breathing in the familiar scent of cocoa butter and shea. In any other circumstance, he’d shy away from such a bold display in public, but he’s too damn ecstatic to care. Let anyone who happens by watch. See for themselves that you’re his and he’d sooner keel over than let you go. 

“I take it that’s a yes, then?” You hum as he carefully puts you down, treating you like you were made of glass. 

“Yeah,” he reassures. He huffs in amusement at the stars that are practically glittering in your eyes. “Guess that means the others’ll know ‘bout us.” 

You’re quick to fall back into your usual demeanor, now that you know he wasn’t put off. “Are you embarrassed of me, Mr. Dixon?” 

He rolls his eyes at your theatrics, replying lightheartedly, “Stop.” 

“I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure the others already know,” you say. “Well, some of them, at least. Women have a sixth sense for these things.” 

Daryl raises an eyebrow. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I mostly plead the fifth. Rosita and Maggie keep smirking at me though. I think we developed some sort of witch coven-level bond while out on the road.” 

He lets out a ‘pfft’ at the phraseology that’s so distinctly you. He’s always loved hearing you talk, he swears you could make an instruction manual on how to set up a dresser entertaining. Aside from how unfairly pretty you are, your mannerisms are what caught his eye. You have this way of creating a comfortable atmosphere. Back at the quarry, you stubbornly worked to peel back his layers, one at a time. You somehow knew what conversations to broach and which to steer clear of. Before he knew what was happening, you became his favorite person to spend time with, and he actively sought you out; ignoring Merle’s disparaging remarks along the way. 

The rest is history, as they say. 

You both walk up to the porch, taking in every last detail. The spacious front yard, bushes that Daryl makes a mental note to trim later, and the little stone pathway which leads up to the steps. A soft breeze passes through, encouraging the rustle of towering tree branches. The scent of daisies and honeysuckle wafts in the cool evening air and he deeply inhales nature’s aromatic perfume. You trace the porch’s white pillar with your fingertips, seemingly entranced, disbelief written over your features. 

“From a prison cell to this,” you shake your head. “I’m not dreaming, am I?” 

“Nah. You ain’t.” 

You point at the closed garage. “You can park your bike there, turn it into a workshop or something.”  

Next, the empty garden. 

“And— and we can plant carrots, peas, zucchini… maybe find a blueberry bush. Flowers too. Oh, I love hydrangeas, they can be tricky though. We should also plant a fruit tree. What about apple? Yeah, let’s do that. The kids’ll love it. Apple pie, apple cider… did you know Carl’s never had apple cider? How is that even possible?” 

There’s a glossy tint to your eyes as you ramble on, so taken by the idea of a future that you don’t know what to do with yourself. He has to fight against a lump threatening to form in his throat. Daryl hugs you from behind, holding you against him as if you’d disappear like sand through his fingers should he let go. You feel so good in his arms. So right.

“We have to make this work, Daryl,” your voice is tight. “We have to. No matter what.” 

This serious declaration takes him back weeks prior, to the day your fates became permanently intertwined. You’ve been pushing yourself to fulfill what you said then and now. He’s sure you’d much rather spend time with your group, your family, but you’ve been building the groundwork for a future. The very same groundwork he’s been undermining by plotting outside the walls with Rick and Carol, well-intentioned as it may be. 

“I gotta tell ya something,” he murmurs, placing a chaste kiss atop your head. Your hair smells heavenly. “Has to do with earlier.” 

After feeling you nod, he continues, albeit hesitantly. 

“Me, Rick n’ Carol have been talking. ‘Bout Alexandria. What we should do here. They’re thinkin’ we might hafta take over, if worse comes to worst. These people… they’re weak. Don’t know a damn thing ‘bout what’s happenin’ outside them walls.” 

He loosens his grip as you twist around to face him. Once again, he braces himself for heavy rebuke; a confirmation that you’ll be as upset as he imagined upon learning about this. You place both your hands on the railing behind you while looking up, your head tilting to the side. 

“I already knew about that.” 

Daryl knits his eyebrows together, incredulous. “You— what?” 

“Not the specifics, maybe, but I got the gist of things,” you confirm. This further reinforces his belief that you’re perceptive to a freaky degree. “I mean… I get where you guys are coming from. What we’ve been through… what we’ve seen… God… I never let myself think about it for long. I can’t. I push that shit down as deep as it’ll go. Lock it up and throw away the key.” 

You sigh and give him a weary smile that tugs on his heartstrings. “I’m not going to say that you’re in the wrong, because honestly, I haven’t the faintest clue. I wish I did, but I don’t. All I know is that it doesn’t hurt to try. What’s that adage Rick is so fond of…? Ah, yes, let’s ‘see what we see’. If you do, and still think they’re a lost cause, then… I’ll trust your judgment. I always have. Always will, too. There’s no one I trust more in this world than you, Daryl. Not even myself.” 

You’ve stolen the air from his lungs and words from his mouth, it’s like he’s been sucker-punched. He tries and fails to string together a coherent sentence. It shouldn’t be too difficult, the assembly of vowels and consonants, yet every word in the English language slips his mind. He’s long since held the belief that you’re an angel incarnate — you might as well be, given your beauty — but thinking that way is ultimately doing you a disservice. 

You’re scared, you’re confused, you’re human. Blood pumps through your heart, not ichor. 

Daryl takes your pretty face into his hands, wishing he could smooth away the lines of worry. “I’ll try. Promise.” 

You kiss his inner palm. “That’s all I could ask for.” 

“What you said… ‘bout not trustin’ yourself…” he trails off, almost wincing at hearing the words spoken aloud again, “You should. Trust yourself, I mean. You're smart. Crafty. Made some damn good calls I never woulda thought to.” 

“Are you buttering me up, Daryl?” You teasingly suggest. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me.” 

He grunts. There you go with your tendency to keep things light-hearted when they get uncomfortably personal again. 

“... Really, though, thank you,” the inflection of your voice reverts back to sincere in record time. You almost give him whiplash with the ease in which you shift moods. “We probably should’ve had this talk sooner, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m sorry ‘bout that. I wanted… wanted to surprise you, and I got so swept up in that, I missed what’s really important.” 

Daryl feels his lips twitching into a smile at your subconscious elision — Carol once pointed out that you sometimes talk like him, and vice versa. She said you guys hang out together so often, it’s to be expected. He’s picked up your favorite idioms and rubbed off his tendency to curse on you, even if you don’t do it anywhere near as often as him. To think that two years ago, his preppy princess went from having the cleanest mouth around to dropping expletives without batting an eyelash. 

“‘S fine. Still don’t think ya did anything wrong.” 

“You’re a bit biased, don’t you think?” 

“Mm. Maybe.” 

You laugh at his candidness. “It just occurred to me that all our best conversations happen on porches. Is that why you lived out on the porch for our first few days here?” 

“Nah. Had to keep ya safe,” Daryl runs the pad of his thumb over your cheekbones. “Can’t let anything happen to ya, butterfly.” 

You preen at the personal touch to your infamous nickname, evidently liking it as much as he does. “I told you, I’m more of a caterpillar for the time being.” 

He snorts. “Coulda fooled me.” 

“Hm… a cocoon, then? Agree to disagree?” 

“Ain’t calling ya a fuckin’ cocoon, woman.” 

“Oh, but if it’s your voice saying it, I’ll get all hot and bothered,” you lean forward, pressing the swell of your chest against his. He swears he can feel his blood rushing south. “You could make anything sound good. Even… hm… let me think… the word foible.” 

Daryl scrunches up his nose. “The hell? That’s a word?” 

“Sure is. It might be the only one that hasn’t found its way into Eugene’s impressive lexicon yet.” 

“You couldn’t pay me ‘nough to say that.” 

“It’s a good thing the economy is in shambles then,” you wink. Then you stifle a laugh with your hand. “Huh. I really need to get better at flirting. I’m rusty… way out of practice. Mind helping me out with that, Dixon? If not, Maggie’s gonna get stuck dealing with the brunt of it.” 

The look he gives has you showing your palms in surrender. “I told you! It’s witch coven level stuff between us now. I’m waiting with bated breath for someone to suggest a blood oath.” 

“Don’t need no practice, all ya do is flirt with me, damn vixen.” 

He pinches your cheek, content to see how they’ve filled back out after two weeks of eating regularly. 

“Took you long enough to notice.” 

You guide his hands to your hips and he’s more than happy to place them there. Next, you secure your arms around his neck, then start swaying side to side. Everything about you is so magnetic. God, that expression is nearly lethal. You’re gazing up at him through lidded eyes, worrying your lower lip beneath your teeth. He feels his cock twitching to life. You barely need to do a damn thing and he’s ready to fall to the ground and worship you. 

Daryl has to fight off a debauched noise as you stand on your tiptoes, your tongue poking out to coat your lips in an enticing sheen. He feels your hot breath fan against his face and tightens his grip on you to keep himself steady. You pause, content to stay where you are, so close to where he wants you yet cruelly far away. You breathe in one another’s air for a few, agonizing seconds, your noses touching. Then you’re moving again. Right when he thinks he’s going to be treated to your taste, frustration boils within when you kiss the corner of his mouth instead. He could take whatever he wants from you — his immense strength speaks to that — yet there’s something so undeniably charming about letting you think you’re in control. 

He figures he can play along a while longer. 

“Do me a favor, sweetheart,” you whisper, the huskiness of your voice causing goosebumps to erupt all over his skin, “Grab what’s in my back left pocket.” 

Curious, he does just that. His fingers come into contact with a plastic serrated edge. He knows what it is before he even pulls it out. 

“This time, I can’t say I didn’t plan things in advance,” you take pride in admitting. 

He frowns. “Just have these on you?” 

Despite knowing it’s entirely unreasonable, he can’t suppress a sting of jealousy. He silently hopes you haven’t been carrying these things around for long. Not if you wanted to use them with someone else. 

“Mhm. I had some at the farm, then the prison,” if you notice how his expression darkens, you don’t mention it. “There’s this guy who caught my eye, you see, a very handsome one. I’ve wanted him to have his way with me for ages. Couldn’t work up the courage to admit that for the life of me, though. Until very recently.” 

He mentally sighs at the reassurance no one’s gotten to touch you while he was stuck silently yearning from afar. There were a few panic-inducing moments that drove him crazier than he’d ever admit, due largely in part to your friendly personality. You’re touchy-feely with those you care about. While he reaped the benefits of this, it’s a double-edged sword. You hug your friends, fall asleep on their shoulder, and dote over them at every chance. He once mistakenly snapped one of his arrows in half when he saw you run and jump to embrace Rick. 

Daryl knew it was wrong to feel possessive over a grown woman who he wasn’t in a romantic relationship with, yet his heart refused to listen to his brain. People were drawn in by your wit and charm, there wasn’t much to do about it. It wasn’t like he could station himself by your side every waking hour to scare off any asshole who thought they had a shot at you. 

… He has considered the idea, though. 

“That right?” He asks, maintaining eye contact while his hands go to give your ass a squeeze. He’s never felt the most confident when it came to flirting, yet you make him feel wanted, like you’re into him as much as he’s into you. 

“Right as rain,” you give him those doe eyes that make him weak in the knees. “It made me have to settle for the next best thing.” 

Daryl’s entirely under your spell and he wouldn’t want it any other way. “What’d that be, princess?” 

He bites back a knowing smirk at the way you shiver, your eyes glazing over with lust. Learning your little thing for hearing him call you princess was a piece of knowledge he fully intended on making good use of. 

“My hands,” you murmur. He knew what you were implying, but hearing you say it out loud almost makes him lose his fucking mind. “I’d think about how strong he was, how good he’d make me feel. I was always scheming, y’know. Wearing short shorts, low cut shirts. Think it may have caught his attention?” 

Oh, so that’s how it was, huh? He’d always get caught between feeling grateful for seeing so much of you and possessive when he realized everyone else got the same privilege. A few men and women back at the prison let their eyes linger far longer than he would’ve preferred. He’d spend balmy nights tucked away on his lonesome, wrestling his belt and pants down so he could relieve himself to the thought of you. Guilt would rear its head when he saw you the next day, running over to excitedly greet him, oblivious to how he objectified you in his mind hours prior. 

It comes as a mild relief to know that was what you intended. 

“Don’t needta think. Know for a fact it did.” 

You pout, upping his urge to kiss you by a hundred percent. “Are you sure? He hasn’t tried to touch me lately. It’s starting to hurt my feelings.” 

“Hard to touch a woman who ain’t there,” Daryl huffs, indignant. 

“Well, I’m here now,” you reassure. “Maybe you should make the best of it, hm?” 

You don’t need to tell him twice. 

He snatches the keys and wastes no time unlocking the front door, motioning for you to go in first. He enters immediately after. The lock is redone in anticipation of what’ll come next, you’ll both be needing your privacy. Daryl loves your little group, would die for them in a heartbeat, but he’s been waiting what feels like eons to get you alone again. He’s surprised with the amount of self-control he’s exercising, the urge to rip your clothes off and take you against the closest available surface is overwhelming. You bring out this animalistic side to him he never knew existed. 

You start making your way upstairs after leaving your shoes by the door. From this angle, he’s treated to a lovely angle of your hips and shapely ass. His nerves are set aflame by the mere thought of seeing you bare again. He damn near sprints to catch up with you, not caring to hide his desperation in the slightest. He scoops you up bridal style along the way — he really might have a thing for manhandling you, although he’s never rough — the ease in which he can maneuver your body just feels right. Satisfies what little ego he has when it comes to romantic endeavors. 

“I never have to use my legs when you’re around,” you giggle. 

“That’s the goal.” 

In more ways than one, he hopes. 

Daryl brings you into the first bedroom he sees. You’re gently laid down atop the plush comforter, while he gets to work ridding himself of his clothes. The condom from earlier is placed on the bed’s edge. He pulls his angel wing vest over his head, kicks off his boots, then his jeans. The weight of your gaze on him is tangible, you look at him as if he were a piece of art. He’s unsure if he should feel embarrassed or prideful by your unabashed staring. A blush dusts his cheeks when he catches you rubbing your thighs together, causing him to lean toward the former.

He freezes when he gets to his black button-up shirt. The last time you were intimate, it was dark enough that he didn’t feel entirely exposed. As much as he loves seeing you painted in warm hues of orange and red, that means he’ll be fully visible too. Every inch of his body and its testament to a life of hardships. You’d seen the scars on his back when tending to his injuries back on the farm, yet you didn’t dare to make a comment. The way he flinched and shrunk away told you everything you needed to know. 

Sensing his hesitation, you stand to your feet and approach him. Your fingers settle on the top button, though you make no movement past that. He can practically hear the cogs turning in your head. 

“If you don’t want—”

“I do,” he cuts you off, knowing what you intend to say. “I trust ya. Just…”

“Just…?” 

He shrugs, the tips of his ears burning. “Want ya to like what ya see.”

“Oh, darling,” you croon, the unexpected pet name makes his blush infinitely stronger, “Maggie used to call me out for drooling over you when you wore those sleeveless shirts. Made me wish I had a pair of opera glasses. You’re handsome. Unbelievably so.”

He doesn’t know what to say, caught in a swirl of embarrassment and delight over the praise you wholeheartedly offer. 

You undo the first button, then stop, looking up to check with him again. When he nods, you keep going, revealing the skin that closely hugs his defined muscles. You don’t recoil in disgust or give him pity-filled glances when spotting his scars, instead, you look mesmerized. He can hear your breathing pick up and see the way your pupils dilate. 

Daryl thought he was too old to get butterflies in his stomach, but there’s nothing you’re better at than revealing parts of himself he didn’t know existed. 

You smooth your palms over his pecs. “I really am going to start drooling.” 

He huffs and shrugs off his shirt, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. “Lay your ass back down, girl.”

You give a dorky double thumbs up and do just that. 

He joins you not long after, both his arms caging you against the bed. 

Daryl nods toward your still-clothed body and quirks his head to the side. 

“What? You don’t wanna be the one to undress me? I’m sure you’ve thought about it.” You provoke. His hands almost start trembling from the sheer excitement the prospect stirs up in him. You’re such a coquettish little thing, playing dirty whenever you’re presented with the choice. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it, though. You know how to rile him up. 

“Once or twice,” he replies, nimble fingers finding the hem of your shirt and lifting. You raise an eyebrow, challenging his purposefully low estimation. He gives a throaty chuckle, soothing your ire by kissing you on the forehead. “A day.” 

You look pleased with the revelation. “There. Much better.” 

He greedily takes in every inch of skin that’s revealed to him as he lifts your shirt. Heaven itself couldn’t compare to the beauty that is your body, he almost forgets how to breathe when he sees the start of your chest. His heartbeat rises in a crescendo as he slowly pulls the fabric upward. Finally, he gets an unobstructed view of your tits, wrapped up nice and pretty in a black bra. He wets his lips and bites back a groan. His large, calloused hands immediately set to work on kneading the supple flesh. There’s nothing he loves the feel of more.

“Ya really did plan this,” Daryl has to stop himself from rutting against the bed like an animal, the desperation you instill in him is unreal. “Wanted to drive me fuckin’ crazy, huh?” 

“Maybe a little.” 

He pinches your nipples then, earning a gasp so lovely from you that a guttural growl leaves his throat. He’s just as obsessed with your voice as you are with his. There’s a sweetness to it that tickles his ears just right. Whether you’re laughing, moaning, or simply saying his name in that way only you can, there’s this lilt that has him hooked. Nicotine be damned, you’re an addiction that surpasses all else. 

His fingers make their way to your back, undoing the clasp of your bra. “A little, hm?” 

You nod after a moment’s hesitation. 

“Ya never were a good liar,” Daryl muses. He’s always found this positively adorable about you. Once he taught you the rules of poker and you joined in on some game nights, it became clear that wasn’t your area of expertise. You’d squirm in your seat, glare or beam at your cards, your intentions practically announced for the whole world by your transparent body language. He’d lost count of the number of times he had to bite back a smile when watching you. 

He wraps his mouth around your nipple, alternating between suckling and licking it with his tongue. If given the chance, he’d sit here and do this for ages.  

“Is that— mm— a bad thing?” 

He pulls back from his important task long enough to reply, “Nah. Love that ‘bout ya.” 

While he contents himself by playing with your tits, you grow adorably impatient, wriggling in an attempt to get some friction where you want it most. He grabs your hips and holds you still to stop your indulgence, eliciting an irritated huff from you. He hadn’t anticipated this brattier side of you, but there’s something about it that gets him going. Electricity crackles between you, filling the atmosphere with thick tension.  

“There somethin’ you want, girl?” He teases, attention flittering between the coat of his saliva on your chest and the depraved curve of your countenance. He can feel precum leaking from his tip when you try to grind on him again, your frustration fucking delicious. 

Your eyes widen when he pulls away, much to his amusement. “Asked ya a question, butterfly. You best be answerin’ it.” 

“What do you think I want, Daryl?” The little whine you accentuate your words with works wonders on him. 

He shrugs, playing ignorant. “Dunno. A nap, maybe. Ya act all pissy if ya don’t get your eight hours.” 

“I told you, my beauty sleep is important,” you huff, directing a halfhearted glare his way. He exhales sharply, betraying his bemusement. You’re about as intimidating as a bunny rabbit to him. “Admittedly, while the prospect of a nap is tempting, I’d rather you fuck me until my brain is scrambled.” 

This vulgar side of you is a damn treat he’ll never tire of devouring. 

“That so, princess?” 

“Cross my heart.” 

“Take them pants off then.” 

You oblige without protest. You hook your thumb on the waistband, maintaining smoldering eye contact as you drag it down oh so slowly. He palms at his hardened length while you put on your little show, the throb of his cock close to constant. His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when he spots your panties. They’re the same shade of black as your bra, the fabric next to scant, hugging your curves tightly. He can see the outline of your folds against it, your wetness seeping through. His tongue slips out to moisten his lips when he remembers how amazing you tasted. He’s brought back to the blissful experience, the softness of your thighs around his face, how you wriggled and squirmed so delightfully for him… 

“My eyes are up here, Mister,” you hum. Normally, he’d have a clever remark ready to match you, but he’s completely at a loss. You’ve rendered him speechless. 

You were wearing this all day, just for his viewing pleasure? 

Maybe there is a God after all — some higher power has got to be smiling down on him. You could make a zealot out of the most impious man. 

By the time he manages to break from his reverie, your pants have been tossed aside. It’s you who approaches first, crawling over to where he sits still as a statue, looking up at him through your eyelashes. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, completely and utterly smitten by you. Your breath hitches in your throat when you notice the prominent outline of his cock against his boxers. If that visceral reaction does something for his ego, he’ll never admit it. 

You settle onto his lap like it’s where you belong most — he’d argue until he was blue that it is — both of you releasing a content noise at finally having contact where you want it most. Your lips are on his in a feverish kiss. His hands start at the dimples on your back, then move down, cupping your ass and encouraging you to grind against him. You use his shoulders as leverage to better control your movements. He groans when your fingernails dig into his flesh, and you take the opportunity to sneak your tongue into his mouth, getting drunk on the taste of one another. Today, you taste like lemonade. The tart flavor is best when sampled from you. 

His mouth smothers your whimpers and soft moans of his name. When you pull back, he’s initially disappointed, until he realizes this grants him the perfect view of each twist of your face. You appear hazy with pleasure, your bare chest heaving and glossy lips parted. There’s a telltale tensing in your thighs that catches him off guard. 

“You gettin’ off on this?” Daryl asks, his voice heady with lust. “Grindin’ on me, making all them sweet lil noises?”

“Yes,” you whimper, your shame long forgotten. Not that you ever have much when it comes to him. 

This is better than anything he’d concocted in his wildest fantasies. You wanting him as much as he wants you, chasing after your high without reservation. He faithfully does his part to help you along. He follows the rhythm you set, his eyes never leaving your face, deriving unmatched satisfaction from knowing he’s the reason you’re like this. It’s him who knows how to fire you up and cool you down, him who you’re humping against like depravity is your natural element. 

You’re gripping him tighter, nails digging deep. He savors the slight ache, intending to wear your marks like a badge of honor. 

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice raspy. “C’mon. Show me how good ya feel. Wanna see it.” 

You’re nothing if not obedient, once in a blue moon. 

You come undone, throwing your head back, your eyes squeezed shut as you savor your release. He fixates upon the muscles of your neck, on display like a canvas ready to receive his designs. His lips hover over your racing pulse, the stubble of his beard against your skin prompting a fit of giggles. He mouths at your skin, humming low in appreciation at the saltiness coating it. You sure do get yourself all worked up over him. Knowing that does things for him, stokes the flames of an already raging fire. 

“God, I’m obsessed with you, Daryl Dixon,” you confess, moving your head aside so he can have better access to your neck. “You’re all I think about. We’re just— we were made for one another, weren’t we? You’re my best friend, my — I don’t know — does boyfriend sound kinda silly at this point, or is it just me?” 

Love blooms in his chest, temporarily overpowering his lust. Or perhaps the two are mixing to form an entirely new color. “I’ll be whatever ya like, so long as I get to see that again.” 

“Even my…?” You cut yourself off, and he pulls back, finding himself unable to read your countenance. That’s an exceedingly rare occurrence. 

“Your…?” He prompts, the both of you whispering like you’re exchanging precious secrets. 

“No, it’s—” you suck in a deep breath and shake your head. “Ahem. Too soon for that.” 

You try to distract him by pawing at his waistband. It is a clever move on your part, but he musters up the willpower to stop thinking with his dick for a few seconds. 

“Nah. Ya ain’t doin’ that. Finish the damn sentence, woman.” 

This is a rabbit hole he wants to explore. His intuition offers a suggestion that’d fill in the blank, yet he shrugs it off, scoffing internally. There’s no way you possibly meant that, his brain just isn’t working properly. No, a pretty thing like you couldn’t possibly want to marry an asshole redneck like him— 

“Marriage is off the table until we at least go on one date. Your treat. I’m ordering appetizers and a dessert, too.” 

Only you would essentially propose to him while throwing in a joke for good measure. Yeah, that’s the love of his life alright. A hot mess. Heavy emphasis on hot. Somewhat lighter emphasis on mess. 

“... Orgasm felt that good, huh?” 

You swat at his chest. “Shut up, I’m sleep deprived and not thinking clearly.” 

Daryl notices that you’re looking everywhere but at his face, embarrassment prominent. He props himself up some so that you’re able to pull his boxers off, his dick springing out of its restraints. There are about a million things he wants to say to you, some teasing, some entirely genuine, but when you wrap your soft hands around the base of his cock, he blanks. He pants your name as you start pumping him. Pearls of cum are quick to coat his length, making the process even easier for you. 

You bend forward, your tongue licking up everything that oozes from his flushed tip. Then your mouth starts taking him in. The warm wetness feels divine and he keens. The noise surprises you both, encouraging you to keep going. You hollow out your cheeks, then start sucking, all the while jerking off what isn’t in your mouth yet. Caving into instinct, his hands fly to either side of your head. He helps ease you up and down his length. 

Daryl wonders if he’s dreaming — he doesn’t want to pinch himself to find out, just in case that’d wake him up. 

The fact a girl as stunning as you is sucking his dick with unbridled enthusiasm simply doesn’t compute. His peak is growing more and more imminent. The tightness of your mouth, how you’re moaning against him like you’re the one being pleasured; it’s too much in the best of ways. He was already worked up to a frenzy after witnessing you come from grinding on him. 

Briefly, he entertains the thought of what it’d be like if he released his load in your mouth. He’d make sure you swallowed every last drop. Knowing you, however, you’d probably do so without his prompting, swallowing while looking him straight in the eye. You know what you do to him. That you have him wrapped around your pretty little finger. You know it and love it, maybe almost as much as he does. 

Daryl utilizes every last ounce of self-control in his body and pulls you off his weeping cock. 

A trail of saliva connects your lips to his tip, a sight he intends to burn into his memory forever. 

“Hey, I was enjoying myself,” you complain with an exaggerated sigh. 

“Me too.”

He reaches over to grab the condom from earlier. Ripping into it with his teeth, he rolls the plastic over his sensitive cock. Once it’s on, his hands go to your shoulder, gently pushing so that you’ll lay down for him. You pique his interest by shaking your head. You must have plans of your own, for you reclaim your spot on his lap. He’s plenty content to accommodate this apparent desire of yours and leans back. 

You line him up with one hand and tenderly cup his cheek with the other. 

Slowly, you sink down onto him, lulling your head back while you do so. He helps hold your hips in place so you can adjust to him at your pace. Instinct begs him to rut up into your accommodating warmth, but he values your comfort more than his own carnality. Your eyelashes flutter shut whereas he keeps himself trained on you. When you’re halfway down, he kisses your inner wrist, grateful for the pulse beneath your skin. 

“You’re takin’ me in well,” he praises. If there were ever a man capable of penning hymns dedicated to you, it’d be him. “Just like that. Nice n’ easy.”

A high-pitched whine leaves your lips when he’s fully inside you. 

“That’s it, good girl.”

You reopen your eyes, granting him the sight of what’s become his favorite color ever since he met you. 

“You’re spoiling me with all these compliments.” 

Your hands run over his jaw, then the tensing tendons of his neck, finally settling on his sun-kissed shoulders. 

“Ya deserve it,” Daryl murmurs. “Beautiful woman.”

Dizzying pleasure thrums throughout him when your walls clench, his words hitting your sweet spot. Sweat coats both your bodies in a light sheen. You rotate your hips, allowing him to stretch you out, the slight friction far from enough yet tantalizing nonetheless. Finally, after what feels like an excruciating wait, you lift yourself off him and come back down. The decadent pleasure builds and builds with each repeat of the motion. He’s close, painfully so, but letting you take what you want from him is given top priority. The sinful sounds pouring from your lips with increasing urgency hint that you might not last long either. 

Calloused fingers work to rub messy circles against your clit. This added layer of stimulation has you moaning incoherently near his ear, half-legible sentiments tumbling out. 

“Feels so good,” you whimper, almost delirious. “I wanna be yours. Please.” 

You’re growing increasingly erratic as your second high looms on the horizon. The telltale tensing of your muscles has him picking up momentum. One hand guides you up and down his cock, the other pleasuring you where you need it most. Your declaration envelops him, making him feel impossibly warmer. How you vacillate between uttering the naughtiest and sweetest things is a mystery to him he won’t bother solving. All he knows is that his adoration for you won’t ever stop growing, no; this is where a new chapter of it begins. 

“You are. Always ‘ave been.” 

Daryl knew it couldn’t have just been his imagination, the once-in-a-lifetime connection that formed soon after your paths crossed. It strung you both together. Whenever one wandered too far from the other, the rope would go taut, forcing you to stumble back where you belonged. 

Your walls tighten around him and you snap, back arching, pressing those perfect tits against his chest. 

He grunts at the sensation of you coming on his cock, thrusting upward to meet your stuttering hips. He loses himself in the aroma of sex and you. You go partially limp when you’ve come down from your high, which allows him to maneuver your body with greater ease. The release he denied himself minutes prior threatens to consume him once again. How could it not, when he got to witness your blissed-out face, hear the sounds of your gratification? 

Daryl’s hands latch into the soft flesh of your waist hard. He slams into you a few more times, the sound of skin slapping skin reverberating throughout the room. His cum spurts out into the condom’s plastic confines, filling you with his warmth. He faintly registers that you’re lavishing his neck in sloppy kisses as he basks in his high. 

Both your chests heave as you pant, greedily taking in the air you willingly deprived yourselves of during the act. 

Your shaky fingers comb through the mess that is his bangs. Daryl lets you do as you please, too busy admiring every inch of your face to care about anything else. You press a chaste kiss against his forehead, then his nose, and finally, his awaiting lips. He chases after yours when you pull away, an action that makes you laugh. He huffs at the return of your brattiness. When he sees how wide you’re smiling, however, it becomes difficult for him to maintain his disgruntled facade. Your joy is contagious. 

“Plannin’ on stayin’ there all night?” He nods at the junction where your bodies remain connected. His cock has gone soft and you’ve made no sign of getting off him yet, not that he’s complaining. He knows you’re real fussy about cleanliness (a concept that eludes his understanding, since it’s the damn apocalypse), so he’s pleasantly surprised you haven’t run off to wipe yourself down. 

“Would you be opposed if I said yes?” 

“‘Course not.” 

However much you’d both love to live in this little slice of reality, you know it isn’t meant to last. People will come looking if you’re both gone too long. He sighs when you climb off him, already missing the feeling of being inside you. You both get to work on making yourselves presentable, you more so than him. You smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes and fight with your hair while he perches himself on the side of the bed, lost in thought. 

“Did ya mean it?” Daryl breaks the silence. 

“Hm?” You glance over your shoulder, blinking rapidly. “Mean what?” 

He fights the urge to roll his eyes at you for acting innocent; you’re too smart to not know what he’s talking about. 

Although, when he struggles to get the two-syllable word out himself, he can sympathize with your efforts. 

“... Marriage,” he drawls, heat flooding across his face. He feels better when he sees you’re similarly embarrassed. You pad quietly against the hardwood floor (he’s always marveled over how silent your footsteps are, perfect for joining him on hunts), and sit beside him. Your arms come to wrap around his bicep. Taking a deep breath, you rest your head on his shoulder, as you’ve done multiple times prior. On the road especially. 

He pulls you in closer and lays his head against yours.

“It kinda feels like we already are,” you admit. He can hear the fond smile in your voice. “You’re my home. The person I depend on most, someone I can’t do without.” 

Your grip on him tightens. “However much life ahead of me I have… I want to spend it with you. If that’s alright.” 

Daryl feels so light he thinks he might be floating. 

There’s an underlying melancholy — the uncertainty which comes as a consequence to the world you now inhabit — yet you never let that stay the focus. You always find ways to plant seeds of tentative hope in what appears to be corrupt soil. Maybe it’s for the reason you said earlier, that you can’t let yourself dwell on the bad in fear of what it’d reduce you to, but he can’t bring himself to mind should that be the case. 

What matters is that you shine bright to illuminate him when he thinks darkness is all he’ll ever know. 

“‘If that’s alright’?” He repeats, incredulous. “I ain’t ever lettin’ ya go, butterfly.” 

You relax, knowing Daryl’s nothing if not a man of his word.

“You’d really wanna be my husband?” 

He looks at you like you have three heads. “Shouldn’t I be askin’ why the hell you wanna be my wife?” 

“Because I have good taste. Also, I’m secretly aiming for your assets. We’re not getting a prenup just for that reason alone.” 

Daryl snorts and shakes his head. Assets, this woman says. As if he had any in this world or the last. 

“Fine by me,” he kisses your temple. “You know I’d give ya anything ya asked for.” 

“... Even your crossbow?” 

“Last I recall, ya could only hold it for ‘bout ten minutes ‘fore complainin’ your ‘muscles were shriveling up.’”

“You make it look so easy!” You complain, lightly hitting him on the chest. He smirks at the roundabout compliment. Your fingers linger, splaying out and making their way over to where his heart steadily beats. “Hm… can I have this, then?” 

“Already do.” 

He’s certain you’re well aware of the fact. After all, you are his freakishly perceptive woman. 

Regardless, no matter how many times you may ask, he’ll gladly remind you, each and every time. 

Ah, the things you do for the ones you love. 

“We should probably head back to HQ before Rick sends a search party out for us, huh?” 

Daryl’s muscles go taut at the mention of Rick. You wriggle free from beneath his arm so you can examine his face, inquisitive as ever.  

“Didn’t part on the best terms with ‘im,” Daryl reveals. He takes another moment to collect his thoughts. “Kinda what started this whole thing today. Saw that Monroe kid touchin’ ya, it got me all riled up. Was aboutta make a scene til Rick stepped in. He said… said ya wouldn’t ‘ave wanted that. Thought ‘bout how he was letting ya cozy up to the folks ‘ere, knowin’ full well he planned on usin’ it to his advantage. I dunno. Made me see red.”

Your eyes hold an indescribable softness for him. “Thank you.” 

“For what? Makin’ an ass of myself?” He scoffs. 

“Always having my best interest in mind,” your way of wording things always sounds better. “It’s okay, though. Like I said earlier, I get why Rick’s doing what he’s doing, even if I don’t fully agree. Ultimately, we’re all on the same team.” 

Daryl shakes his head. “... You’re too forgivin’, butterfly.” 

You shrug. “Hafta be with family. Holding onto things never does any good in the long run. Which is why I’m sure it’ll be fine, once you talk with him.” 

He doubts he’ll have a lengthy heart-to-heart like whatever you’re envisioning, but he keeps the thought to himself. 

“Let’s get going, okay?” You stand and start pulling on his hands. He gets up with some reluctance, not entirely willing to leave this little world where just you and him exist. “Carol made this delicious lemonade, it’s to die for. Metaphorically.” 

He gives a crooked grin. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Oh? How’s that?” 

Daryl tugs you back to him in a mess of surprised exclamations and tumbling limbs. He secures you on his lap, fully intending to savor you a little while longer. It doesn’t take you long to relax. Not when he’s the one touching you. 

“Ya already gave me a taste.”

[centralperkchenford]

Can you do a don’t tell Tim now

Can you do a don’t tell Tim now

Never wanted this, never wanna see you hurt

This is all my fault Lucy thinks as she lays on the ground clutching her side. If she hadn’t gotten in the middle of a knife fight she wouldn’t be laying on the ground cut up and her ribs broken. Aaron is by her side mumbling something under his breath and Lucy doesn’t have to look at him to know he is probably looking a little sick. And not because of her injuries but because of Tim who would most likely come for Aaron’s head when he finds out.

“Don’t tell Tim.” She mutters as she hears the sirens in the distance. “He doesn’t need to know right now.”

“Oh no.” Says Aaron loudly. “There’s no way in hell I’m keeping this from him.” Lucy reaches out to grabs his arm wincing at the movement.

“Don’t tell Tim, Aaron.” She growls. “He’s on a case right now and I’m going to have him injured because I’m hurt.”

She manages to look up at Aaron and he still looks hesitant but he nods. “Okay. But you better speak at my funeral when he kills me.” He says a dry laugh coming out.

“Oh come on he’s not that scary.” Lucy says rolling her eyes at Aaron. Aaron stared at her in disbelief.

“He is scary when it comes to you. You are his wife so of course he’s not going to seem scary but you haven’t seen him. He will tear apart limbs if he knows you are in danger.” Aaron says shaking his head.

Lucy bites her tongue from saying anything. They are both protective of each other and when either one of them gets hurt or is in danger they would go to the end of the world for each other. Every single time.

Lucy feels herself being lifted onto the gurney and loaded into the ambulance. She glared at Aaron.

“Aaron I swear to god if you get my husband injured or worse I will have your head.” She says. Aaron swallows and nods. She can still see hesitation in his eyes but hopefully he keeps his word.

Lucy gets to the hospital and is admitted right away. She’s cleaned up and given some pain killers for her ribs and then she’s told to rest, she mutters something about not telling Tim but then she’s out before she can get confirmation.

***

Tim walks into the station looking for Lucy at her desk but it’s empty. Aaron is at his and his head is hung low as he works on something.

“Thorsen!” He calls. Aaron looks up at his voice and turns around in his chair. And Tim swears it looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Where’s Lucy?” Aaron fidgets with the pen he’s holding as he stands up,

“Um.” He says and Tim’s blood freezes and his heart starts pounding. “Are you done with your case?”

Tim nods stiffly as he walks towards the younger man. His fists clenched at his sides. “Where’s Lucy?” He repeats. Aaron doesn’t answer but instead looks away from Tim. Tim steps closer his movements unsteady.

But before he can say anything else Aaron speaks his voice shaky. “She got hurt.” He says and winces when Tim frowns deeper. “She uh stepped in the middle of a knife fight and got kicked around a little.” Tim feels like he is going to be sick, he hates that Lucy is injured more than anything. But why wasn’t he notified?

“Why didn’t anyone tell me right away?” He demands. Aaron swallows and plays with the pen.

“Your wife is really scary sometimes.” He says a dry laugh coming out. “She threatened me. She didn’t want you hurt on the job.”

Tim shakes his head at his wife’s stubbornness and pushes past Aaron to get to the front doors. He is at his truck and driving off within three minutes and he’s at the hospital within 15. He rushes into the emergency room and he has to stop himself for demanding they take him to see Lucy.

“We were about to call you Mr. Bradford.” The nurse says. “She should be waking up soon.” Tim nods and follows the nurse back to a room. Lucy is sleeping soundly and Tim let’s out a relieved breath.

He hurries over and grabs her hand a squeezes it gently. He’s upset she told Aaron not to tell him but at the same time he doesn’t even think that important. He’s just glad she is okay. As if on cue, as if she can sense his presence she opens one eye and then the other.

“Tim?” She mutters. “What are you doing here?” Tim sighs but kisses her forehead.

“Don’t worry Aaron didn’t tell me until I got back to the station.” He says. “And I pulled it out of him. Baby, why didn’t you want me to know?”

“The same reason you didn’t want me to know when you got injured.” She says. “I am not going to have you getting hurt because of me.”

“Okay.” He says. “I get that Luce. But we really need to stop hiding this kind of stuff from each other. It’s going to make us go crazy.”

Lucy sighs but she nods. “I know it was stupid but I just..” she trails off and Tim leans down to kiss her. He knows this feeling all too well.

“How about we promise that we start telling each other when we are hurt? No holding back.” He says.

Lucy nods her head in agreement and then motions him down. “Come here. I’m sorry.” She says. Tim presses his forehead to hers breathing her in knowing she’s all he every wanted and he has her for the rest of his life. He lifts her hand up and kisses where her wedding ring is, a steady reminder of what they promised that day.

“I love you.” He says. “So much. Sometimes it’s hard to breathe. And when you are hurt? It feels like I can’t breathe.”

Lucy moves over so he can join her in bed. He does and she curls into his side the best she can. “I feel the same way.” She says. “About you.”

Tim kisses her neck breathing her in. “I love you.” He says again.

“I love you too.” She says. Tim keeps his nose in her neck as she drifts back to sleep. He holds her tightly against thanking to god he doesn’t believe in that Lucy is here with him and safe because at the moment that’s all that matters.

[avvail-whumps]

‘guns for hire’ — step closer #32

previous · masterlist · next

content warnings: intimate whumper, conditioned whumpee, whumpee referred to as “kid” but they’re an adult, dub-con kissing (the same spiel), stockholm syndrome, injury recovery

“This is a fucking disaster.”

Detective Sharpe glanced up from his desk, weary eyes narrowing in on his partner with a small scowl. She was pacing the office with thundering footsteps, frantically running a hand through her disheveled hair.

Sharpe huffed, slumping back in his seat. “Stop pacing, would you? Jesus, you’re starting to piss me off.”

She shot him a dark glare, and continued pacing just to spite him. “Our only lead led us to nothing. Fuck, Steven, this kid might as well be on the other side of the world at this rate.”

It was safe to say that the investigation leading into Leo Whitlock’s mysterious disappearance had hit a complete roadblock. Sharpe had vigoursly looked into Leo’s background, life, personal details, as well as the nature of the company he was working for. They’d managed to gain a lead on the man who hired the mercenary, but found he’d been taken care of.

A bullet in the head, taken care of.

“Maybe this goes deeper than a mercenary,” his partner spoke, making Sharpe reach for a cigerette. “Kid could of been trafficked by now. There’s no way we could find him. Besides, whoever took him is clearly being protected by something big. We could be getting into something real dangerous.”

“I’m not giving up on him,” the man snapped angrily, causing his partner to stop pacing with a curt scoff. She looked frustrated for a brief moment, before shaking her head sharply.

“I’m not saying that,” she argued.

“It sounds like you’re ready to give up.”

“I’m not—” She cut herself off, slowly approaching his desk. “Look, Steven. It’s been months. I’m trying to be realistic.”

Sharpe took a long, much needed drag of his cigerette, letting her words flow over him. His jaw tightened in irritation, but he didn’t say anything. There was the possibility Leo had been trafficked, possibly already murdered in a ditch somewhere, and their efforts were pointless. Even so, over the gruelling months looking for this kid, Sharpe wasn’t so eager to abandon him. He was still clinging onto the inevitable hope that he was alive, and he could find him.

“This might be a good thing,” he murmured, staring at all of the unorganised and haphazard papers sprawled out onto his desk. “Could give us something, whoever killed the client. Look into connections. Come on, Summers, it ain’t over.”

The woman bristled. “You’re running on two hours sleep and hard whiskey right now. We all are. We’re not much use to this kid half dead.”

Sharpe grunted, but didn’t say anything.

“Listen,” Summers sighed. “We’ll investigate this murder further. See if we can find anything. You don’t reckon it’s local mafia?”

“Nah,” he waved a hand sharply. “Too big of an operation. We would have found him dead by now. It’s smaller, close knit, probably a tight circle.”

She scoffed.

“A tight circle, yet one of them works as a mercenary? Taking violinists of their own volition? Doesn’t make any sense.”

Sharpe’s brow furrowed. “No, it doesn’t. But maybe that’s just what we need, eh?” He rose to his feet, hopping over boxes scattered on the ground, before jerking one off the shelf by the door. It was heavy under his arm, and Summers offered him a weary look as he slammed it down on his desk. “We ain’t got many mercenaries round here. Not high profile ones, anyway.”

“What does that matter?” Summers challenged. “They go wherever their client needs them. I don’t think staying local matters to them.”

“No, maybe not,” Sharpe grinned. “Leo hasn’t been taken out of the country though. And something tells me this little sod of ours is staying right under our nose.”

Summers narrowed her eyes.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, I think you’re reaching,” she grumbled, moving to slip her coat on. She took a sip of her abandoned whiskey, grunting softly. “It’s gonna be hard to single them out, regardless of whoever’s protection they might be under.”

Sharpe popped the lid off the box, setting it down. He began digging through a multitude of papers, lip curved into a subtle smirk. “You go stick your nose in the investigation for the clients murder. Say hi to Barry for me.”

“It’s Harry,” she corrected. “You know it is.”

He waved a hand. “That’s what I said.”

She sighed curtly, buttoning up her coat. The man was focused solely on the wads of paper he was bringing out, narrowed eyes scanning the photos and information thoroughly, cigarette still clamped between his lips. A thin layer of smoke flowed through the room, clearing out slightly once Summers yanked open the door. She turned to face him with a tight smile. 

“Don’t work your ass off too hard,” she reprimanded, before promptly leaving and shutting the door behind her. Sharpe hummed under his breath, a knowing smirk spreading across his lips as he eyed a blurry photo and the paper of information stapled haphazardly behind it. 

“Roy Gatlin” the detective drawled under his breath, tapping the page lightly. “Well, that’s a start.”

. . .

From that moment, weeks must have passed. Well, Leo assumed it had been weeks, anyway. Time wasn’t his strong suit when he didn’t exactly have access to a phone or anything of the sort, and the road to recovery for his injuries was a slow, gruelling process. Still, Leo didn’t really mind. Once he was strong enough to stand on his own two feet, he was more than just eager to get better. 

He wanted to play the violin again. That was his greatest incentive urging him on right now, to feel the bow vibrating through his fingers and filling the air with sorrowful chords. Now that he’d received a simple taste of it, it was like torture having to wait again. 

Roy managed to do a particularly good job at keeping his mind off of things. Although his mind had been somewhat of a warped mess, clinging onto any little scrap of sanity he had, the man was cunning with his words and actions, subtle little things that nudged those deeply rooted seeds in his mind. Depending on the man during his recovery had rubbed off on Leo in a way he didn’t want to admit. The fact that he liked being tended to, cared for, that there was somebody to wipe the sweat off his clammy forehead when he was sick, or help him eat when his hands were of no use to him. 

Even when he could do most things himself, Leo didn’t mind playing his injuries up a little if it meant Roy would keep him close and sooth a comforting hand through his hair. It had been hard to think of home for a long while; whenever he did, he envisioned the conversation he had had with the mercenary, and a swell of pain stabbed at his heart. Leo would shake it off, tell himself to forget about it, and go back to the complacent routine. Now that the other mercenaries were gone, the house felt a little bit more like home. 

It was strange to admit. Part of Leo hated it, but once he thought about it, it was difficult not to believe it. 

The stitches on his side had dissolved after only a couple weeks, and Leo had been nothing but pleased over the fact that he felt like he was going back to normal. The only remnants that remained were the long, rigid scars on his back that Roy still often checked just in case, and the horrible state of his hands. Even though his broken fingers were still in the process of healing, the nails that Rafi had embedded into his palms had made his hands stiff and difficult to even move. Leo had become stricken with constant anxiety at the thought of never being able to use his hands again. The mercenary wasn’t a doctor, and although he seemed to have extensive knowledge on taking care of all of his wounds, he still couldn’t push down that irrevocable fear. 

Sometimes, when he was on his feet for too long, his ankle would throb lightly. Although it had been a while since Roy had first broken his ankle in the basement, he could still feel the effects of the break, even after so much time had passed. The mercenary had been insistent that Leo join him for walks outside, almost daily. He had to admit that when it was warm, he loved being outside. 

There was a small path in the forest at the back of the house that was just lit up by the sun, and it trailed around through the forest, and back to the house. Roy would keep a comforting, snug grip around his waist with his arm, keeping him pressed into his side, and Leo had eventually found the courage to lean his head on his shoulder, just so he could take in the natural sounds and the gentle breeze on his face. He’d once seen the forest as a horrible, daunting obstacle in his escape, but now he looked forward to any time he could take a leisurely walk through them with Roy by his side. 

With his hands the last thing out of commision, the mercenary had indulged him on his idea to help out with the cooking. Somehow, Roy was a lot worse than he’d ever expected him to be. The man had no sense of multitasking, thoroughly burning whatever it was he was told to keep in the oven for ten minutes, subsequently distracting them both from the stove. It was the most fun he’d had in a long while. 

Seeing the man struggling to do something as simple as cook was almost charming. To see Roy keep messing up and making horrendous mistakes; it made him appear so human. Whenever the man ended up with a shirt full of flour, or an egg cracked on his floor, Leo couldn’t stop the giggles from escaping him. The man would look at him with a disgruntled, but amused smile, and it made Leo’s ears flush pink. 

“You need a teaspoon,” he chuckled, motioning to the smaller untensil. “That one there.” 

Roy squinted at the draws. “Which one is the tablespoon? I thought that was the smaller one.” 

The secretary huffed softly, shaking his head. “It’s in the name, Roy. Teaspoon. For tea. You want a small spoon for your tea, don’t you?” 

The man scoffed, taking out the teaspoon. He poured the vanilla extract carefully onto it, before dumping it in the mixing bowl along with all the other ingredients. Leo peered into it, balancing Roy’s phone between his palms as his eyes scanned over the recipe. The mercenary had let him use his phone a multidude of times before, as if the idea wouldn’t have sent Leo into a frenzy when he was first here. The prospect of having access to a phone or technology of any kind would have got his mind racing with all sorts of possibilities. If he was obedient and earned his trust enough, he could call somebody. Call the police. Get himself out of here. 

The first time even a slither of those daunting thoughts crossed his mind, Roy would be there, sweeping him up into short, teasing kisses and telling him “I trust you” against his lips. Leo never thought about it again. 

“Let’s mix them,” Leo beamed, his eyes lighting up as he turned to the cupboards. “We need a mixer.” 

Roy’s brow raised, and although the secretary was more intent on finding where the mixer was, he had his eyes set completely on him. His hand gently eased along his back, tugging him closer. “I don’t think I have one.” 

Leo’s head tilted back, his brows furrowing. “You don’t have a mixer?” 

He felt his back hit the countertop, spine digging into the edge, and his belly suddenly swooped when the man trapped him in. He chuckled under his breath, tilting his head. 

“I don’t think five mercenaries are going to stand around baking cakes, are they, lion?” He drawled under his breath, and Leo winced when he began trailing kisses against his neck. He couldn’t even squirm away, since the man’s hips were flush against his. He could feel his heart pick up a rapid pace. 

“Mixers aren’t just for cake batter, you know,” he frowned, and Roy made a scoffing noise as he grabbed his jaw, like he wasn’t at all bothered about the uses of a mixer right now. He leaned forward and strung him up into a sloppy kiss, which Leo was more than happy to return just as, if not more, eagerly as him. The man quickly returned his attention back to his neck, and Leo tried to bite back the shuddery sigh on his wet lips, head tilting back for him. His eyes fluttered closed for a second, arms coming to wrap around his neck, wary of his hands. 

“Are you sure you don’t have a mixer?” Leo squeaked, his blood thrumming when he felt the mercenary’s kisses turn a little rougher against the column of his neck, littering little red marks. He seemed to pause, and the secretary got the message. “Okay. You’re going to have to use your hands then.” 

Roy finally lifted his head, a cheeky smirk and teasing look in his eyes as his hand slowly eased under his shirt. “Well, if you insist.” 

“For the batter!” Leo squeaked, squirming away from his touch. “You’re going to have to hand mix the batter.” 

He rumbled with amused laughter. “I hope this is worth it, lion.” 

“It will be,” he smiled, leaning forward to kiss him again. “I promise.”

They indulged each other for a little while, melting into the warmth of his lips on his own, before finally peeling away, and continuing with their disaster of a midnight snack. Leo felt a fuzzy giddiness cling to him as they continued to bake the cake, unable to stop his eyes from roaming to the mercenary when he wasn’t looking. He felt ridiculously infatuated, because when was the last time Leo had smiled until his cheeks hurt? Or laughed until his belly was sore? 

It was a strange feeling, and the more times he let the man kiss him and touch him, the harder he was falling into it.

tag list – @unorganisedalienrubbish @d-cs @rabidrabidme @sordayciega @burningkittypoet @whumpawink @mannerofwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @whatwasmyprevioususername @crilex29 @firefly017 @dutifullykrispyland @wibbly-wobbly-whump @there-will-always-be-blood @anonintrovert @justawhumpjunkie @whumptastic-world @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @whumpterful-beeeeee @anonymous1235 @sonder35 @unforgiven235 @whumpasaurus101 @mj-or-say10 @professional-idiocy @seaweed-is-cool @theelvishcowgirl @atomicsandwichprince @sunshiline-writes @peasandpotatos @pirefyrelight

[justagalwhowrites]

I'd love any director's commentary available for this bit from Beskar Doll chapter 2!!

“Did you bring food onto my ship?” He was trying to keep his voice even. “No,” you said, still defiant but looking a bit confused. “Why?” “Because,” he said, frustration seeping into his tone. “There was one ration pack missing for the week I was gone…” “I’ll…” you began but he cut you off. “I don’t care if rations aren’t up to your high standards,” he snapped. “I can’t bring you somewhere alive if you insist on starving yourself to death.” He thrust the ration pack into your chest. You glared at him but snatched it from him anyway. “Don’t do it again.” He turned to storm off but caught something out of the corner of his eye that made him stop. The second you seemed to think you were out of his line of sight, you deflated. Almost folding in on yourself, the ration pack limp in your hands. He glanced back over his shoulder. You hadn’t seemed to notice. He sighed, turning back to face you again and watched as you straightened back up, glaring at him with watery eyes. Din had assumed a lot about you. He was a bounty hunter and he wasn’t a fool - his assumptions were usually right. But with you, he seemed to keep assuming wrong. “Why didn’t you eat?” He asked, his voice calmer. You clutched the ration pack a little tighter. “I’m not going to yell again. Why didn’t you eat.” “You figured it out,” you said, bile on your tongue. “Your rations just aren’t up to my high standards, the doll is just too pampered to survive on her own in space. Congratulations.” “No,” he said. “Tell me the truth. Why didn’t you eat.” You watched him for a moment. It reminded him of when he had a quarry cornered and they were trying to tell if it was worth the risk to fight, if they had a chance. They never did. “You didn’t say I could,” you said quietly. Your head stayed high but your eyes drifted to the ground. “You seemed like the type to plan things out and I was serious when I said I know you’d kill me over less than stealing your ship. Cargo you don’t want - that you regret taking and already wish was dead - eating through rations you need? Seemed like a sure fire way to get myself on your shit list. And I have a feeling people on your shit list wind up dead an awful lot. So. I know how to get by on very little for a while. I’ll replace the ration next time we stop where there’s actual civilization…” “Rations are included in your transport,” he cut you off. “It’s going to be a long trip, eat the damned food.” He stalked off to his quarters, wanting to put as much space between you and him as he possibly could.

It clawed its way into my lungs from the first read and I still think about probably way more than is healthy <3

Love you!!

OOO BESTIE!!!

Can I just say that I love how you love Beskar Doll? It brings me so much joy, these two are my babies and I'm so glad someone else loves them, too.

COMMENTARY TIME :D

EEEEEE I LOVE THIS SCENE! It's one of the earliest indications of the cracks in the armor for both of them. They had some distance, the close call with the lightning, but they were in close quarters and very distrustful for a bit leading into that. They're still feeling each other out - both as predators themselves while realizing they may be the other's prey - but I feel like this is the first real indication we have of anything deeper emotionally going on.

Yeah, Din saved her from the lightning strike, but he wrote that off (because he's delulu) as necessary to fulfill the job he agreed to. Here, she's willing to be somewhat vulnerable with him by being honest about her motivations and he is a (to me) very Din blend of curious and concerned. Up until now she's not given him much to go off of but this is a far better window into who she is than anything else he's gotten and he almost compulsively chases it. He's so intrigued by her - and I think that's because it's her but it's also because he's so isolated and he's been around her longer than he's been around anyone else in so long that it's easy to become fascinated and invested in her - and likes the challenge of trying to piece her together. He knows she's not who she says she is but that's all he knows and the longer he's around her the more he wants to know.

On the flip side of that, she's apprehensive because of the armor but she's got light force sensitivity and she was a spy, she can read people and she can do it well. What she thinks of the armor doesn't line up with what she's getting from him otherwise which gives her the room to be honest, at least here and there.

I also love Doll's choices here as a bit of an exercise in control. Her whole life is very out of control right now. She knows where she's going - eventually - but not much about what she'll find when she gets there. She's leaving everything she knows in the form of her family, the job that she trained her entire life to do, the worlds she knows and she's with this man who she can tell is dangerous but isn't sure if he's dangerous to her. So she does what little she can to control what she can. On Crait, she minimizes the potential danger by 1) training so she can still fight and 2) reducing the risk of pissing off her travel companion. It's not much but it's what she has so she latches onto that. She branches out a bit on Hosnian Prime, feeling more secure in her relationship to Din, and trains in other areas, tracking and spying both to keep the skills up but to feel a sense of power over SOMETHING. Yes, she was never the queen (though she was a stand in) BUT she was in charge of the queen's safety and what she said went in those days. The lack of control here - especially during the Crait chapter - really gets to her.

Also, I love the tough protector character (which is both of them tbh but in this case, Din) going soft and caring. It just melts me lol and this was a fun excuse to do that.

Thank you for asking, Bestie!!! I hope this was interesting!!!

Love you!!

[fallingfavourites]

omg I only read the first sentence and I'm already so excited, I can't explain why but I love seeing ex threaten matt, omg waitwait RECOGNITION?? HES WAS PROBABLY THINKING OF EX WHEN HE HEARD HER SPEAK RUSSIAN OMGG, “You don’t get to talk to her like that.” Foggy said quietly, as if in disbelief that his friend would be so harsh. TELL HIM FOGGY, “This is the part where you apologize.” You said quietly, trying to hold back the tears. Something about that sentence cut you deeper than anything else Matt could’ve said.“No. This is the part where you leave.” Matt answered and you couldn’t feel any sort of regret for his last sentence. “It’s what you do best, isn’t it?” omg wait doctor strange reference🤭 but I've only just started this chapter and I've already wanted to punch Matt multiple times-, protective Foggy has my heart<3, YESS GET IT EX

a well deserved slap if you ask me, ruthless ex ruthless ex ruthless ex, omg I love the way you write her so muchh, wow wow wow wow the ex and dd fight scene is so good wow, I need more Foggy, Karen and ex interactions, I missed frank and ex , lawyer ex

the way even if they are on bad matt still cares about her so much

also it's so cool to learn more and see more of ex's powers each chapter, everytime matr and ex got a little closer together something happens and tears them apart

The ideology of the Red Room was carved into every fiber of your being. It was stitched into your clothes, burned into your skin. It lurked in every thought and every movement. It haunted your dreams and echoed in various voices. Dreykov, Melina, Natasha. It never stopped, never gave you a moment of peace. It was ingrained into your soul. And there was no way around it anymore. you are so insanely good at writing everytime you blow my mind I swear, listening to The Great War while reading this might not have been my best decision, “It is if it’s the right person.” He stepped closer and reached for your arm, pulling you closer. Reluctantly,  you gave in.“What makes you think it’s me?” You asked quietly. “The right person…” “I think it’s always been you.” He smiled slightly and put his hand on your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone. “And I think part of me has always known, just wasn’t ready to accept it.”

the day that their finally happy and together is the first day I will feel true peace

once again a 10/10 chapter, it was sososo good and heartbreaking and I loved every second of it!!

DEVIL ON MY SHOULDER - MATT MURDOCK

six- not my job anymore

tags: @ironprincessstranger @dusstory @americaarse @johnmurphys-sass // five // seven // masterlist

Pairing: Daredevil x Exodus (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Word Count: 9,717

Summary: The People v. Frank Castle hits the pinnacle and it seems to take down everything else in her life, too.

Keep reading

[judeswhore]

clueless; steve harrington

summary: steve is absolutely clueless when it comes to your period and in a panic he buys a bunch of products and hopes for the best

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

requested: yes

warnings: none

notes: feedback is appreciated! you can find my masterlist here.

"hey, stevie." your voice was slightly muffled when steve picked up his house phone, a little duller than usual, lacking it's normal perky tone and his lips pulled down into a concerned frown. he leant against the wall, wrapped the telephone wire around and around his finger as he pictured you. you were probably in your room, sprawled across your bed maybe, settled on your stomach with your feet in the air as you waited for him to arrive. you were lucky to have called when you had because another five minutes and he would have already been heading over to your house for your friday movie night.

"hey, trouble, was just about to come over. is everything okay?"

"everything's fine, s'just," you trailed of, voice dropping a little lower and it only made steve's frown a that much deeper. "can you run to the store for me?" he didn't miss the shy note to your voice, the way you dipped into a whisper. he leant against the wall, twirled his keys around his finger.

“was gonna run in anyway, i forgot to buy those chips you like. what do you need?” steve’s feet were still bare, his shoes on the door mat just to the right of where he was standing and he held the receiver between his ear and shoulder while trying to shove them on. he was bouncing a little on one foot but came to an abrupt stop when you started talking again.

“i got my period and i thought i still had tampons in from my last shop but i must have forgot to stock up and well, i don’t wanna go to the store in case i leak all over because that’s so humiliating. i know that you probably don’t wanna, like, why would you wanna go looking around the period aisle but it’s kinda urgent and i just thought-”

“baby, breathe.” steve cut your rambling off with a laugh, shaking his head despite the fact you couldn’t see him. he could picture your somewhat embarrassed expression, your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip the way you only did when you were flustered about something and he wanted to be there to kiss you until you stopped worrying. he wasn’t exactly sure why you sounded so hesitant about asking him to grab tampons, he was more than aware that you got periods, he’d spent a bunch of nights curled up with you, hand pressed to your lower stomach in attempts to dull the pain. and anyway, it’s not like he would say no, he’d do anything you asked of him.

“sorry.” it was a little breathless, slightly muffled and for some reason it tugged a little at his heart. his image of you changed, he knew you were probably curled up in bed right now, heating pad against your stomach and he wished he’d gotten to your house earlier.

“don’t be silly, you just need tampons or..?” he trailed off because he wasn’t exactly sure what else you would want and come to think of it he wasn’t entirely sure about the tampon situation. normally, if you wanted him to grab something and he was a bit clueless he’d have you tell him exactly what it was you needed but he didn’t want you to think he never paid attention to these things. they were tampons, it couldn’t be that difficult.

“yeah, just the tampons.”

“i’ll be about twenty minutes, okay?”

“okay, thank you, i-uh- you know the one’s right?” he didn’t but he’d seen the boxes in your bathroom and surely he’d be able to pick them out when he saw them on the shelves. he didn’t think there were that many different options.

“yeah, i know the ones. i’ll see you soon, i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

steve was wrong. there were an unnecessary amount of different options and now here he was, standing completely lost in the middle of the aisle containing sanitary products, feeling as though he'd been thrown into the ocean without a life jacket. the shelves were stocked with a variety of boxes, each one with different names and labels. they varied in size, regular boxes to jumbo ones, the products inside also varying in size. there were so many different options he wasn’t sure where to start. the only thing he was certain of was that yours came in blue packaging.

he swung the bag of chips back and forth, gaze sweeping the shelves, eyes bouncing from tampons to sanitary towels, mind reeling because why the hell did there need to be so many? surely one kind was good enough? the sizing options he kind of understood to a degree, he based his knowledge of those solely on the fact he could buy different size condoms so he figured it was kind of the same. but why did there have to be different types of products? didn’t they all work the same?

his nose crinkled ever so slightly, brows furrowing when he spotted a box of supposed sanitary towels which apparently had wings. steve had to pick the box up, lifting it to his face with a more than confused expression. “wings? what the fuck are wings?”

“do you need any help?” he startled, almost dropped the box and his cheeks flushed as he hid it behind his back. the girl raised her eyebrows, gaze darting to his hidden hands and almost immediately he wanted to hit his head against a wall because what on earth was he doing? shopping for sanitary products was completely normal, he wasn’t doing anything weird but hiding it made him look like he was. he flashed a sheepish grin, slowly brought the box around into view and shook it.

“nope, m’good, just grabbing some of these,” he was still waving the box and the employee was staring at him like he’d grown a second head. he felt even more embarrassed, turned and stuffed the box back on to the shelf. “not for me, i’m not- i’m just- y’know they’re for my girlfriend.”

“..right, you know what you’re looking for?”

“yeah, totally,” he laughed, nodded his head. “i’m like, a pro at this, i could find them with my eyes closed.” she only nodded and then made her way back down the aisle, leaving steve just as confused and ten times more embarrassed. he huffed out a sigh and turned back to the shelves, glaring at the rows of boxes. “how is this so fucking difficult?”

he supposed he could run outside and use a pay phone to call you, he remembered your number and he had a pocket full of change. but that would mean admitting that he didn’t pay enough attention and that he’d lied about knowing what he was doing. steve was a pleaser and he wanted to turn up to your house with everything you needed and pull you into his arms until you felt better. he spent another few minutes deliberating, debating whether or not to flip a coin and then with a dramatic sigh he grabbed four different blue boxes off the shelves, all with different labels and crossed his fingers as he paid that one of them would be right.

entering your bedroom, steve found you exactly as he thought he would have, curled up beneath your sheets, lips downturned in a pout, one of his old hoodies covering your upper body. his own lips twisted into a sympathetic pout and he dropped the plastic bag to the end of your bed, crouched down at the side so he was level with your face. his hand cupped your cheek, thumb softly stroking over your skin.

“hi, baby.” you blinked at him, grinned a little sleepily when he pressed a kiss to your forehead and he wondered if you’d been falling asleep as you waited for him. “tampons are in the bag, got you an extra bag of those chips you like and some ice cream, thought we could order pizza later instead of cooking?” on movie nights the two of you usually made a meal to eat together, more often than not making a mess of your kitchen, but he had a feeling you weren’t entirely in the mood for that today.

“sounds good.” you sat up, winced a little and steve squeezed your hand, lifting it to his mouth to graze light kisses over your knuckles. he spotted the heating pad laying beside your pillow and tugged it towards him.

“i’ll go sort this out and you can do what you need to do, yeah? i’ll get the movie sorted too.” you nodded but before steve could get up you leant in and kissed him, fingers light on his jaw as you dragged your lips lazily over his. it was a soft kiss, full of simple love and gratitude and it had steve humming, his heart squeezing in his chest. you brushed his hair back off his forehead and then kissed his cheek.

“thank you.”

“you don’t have to thank me.” he returned your kiss, light and fleeting and then pushed himself up, shaking his jacket off and draping it over the back of your chair. “you’ve got me wrapped right around your little finger, y’know.” your eye roll was obvious and it made steve grin, another kiss being dropped to the top of your head before he left you to fix the heating pad up. he watched you grab the plastic bag and his stomach flipped, face twisting into a hidden grimace as he hoped and prayed at least one of the four boxes were useful to you.

you were just coming out of the bathroom as steve came up the stairs, three blue boxes balanced in your hand and a baffled expression winding into your features. you met his gaze, cocked your head to the side and sent him a confused, hesitant smile.

“why’d you get three extra boxes of random tampons?” steve swallowed, glanced between you and the boxes, fiddled with the edge of the heating pad before shrugging.

“they had a deal going.”

“but they’re all different, i can’t use these ones.” again steve just shrugged, thankful at least one of the boxes was right and moved closer to you. he pressed his hand to your hip, nudged you in the direction of your room.

“we can put them in the trash or something, they were free anyway. i told the cashier i didn’t want them, i said it’d be a total waste because i know what kind my girl uses and those weren’t it but he insisted and just like, shoved them at me.” he threw the heating pad on to your bed and took the boxes from you, dropped them down on to your desk. “i’ll throw them out later, but now you gotta get into bed, i missed you.”

[primofate]

Hi there, can I request the boys seeing you got injured or being attacked, whichever is fine ^^

Hey anon! You didn’t specify how injured but I’ll just run with it hahaha :)

Shortfic

Scenario: You got injured Part 1

Part 2 with Zhongli

Part 3 with Xiao

Characters: gn! reader x Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, Childe

Warnings: angst, injury, no character death though

Masterlist

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

Taglist (Want to be notified when something new comes out? Sign up!):

https://forms.gle/VZmJXQssHcv7YzQc6

If you’d like to be extra sweet and donate, here’s my kofi link: 

https://ko-fi.com/primofate

Diluc

“Master Diluc, if I could just interrupt--” one of the caretakers in the winery walked up to his office and prepared for the assault of words that could be fired towards him, sure enough, Diluc interrupted. “What is it? I’m a little busy right now, make it quick,” he hadn’t turned his face to look at the grim expression weaving in and out through the caretaker. Hadn’t bothered to look up to check if there was anything amiss, but the caretaker continued quickly “It’s Y/N,” the caretaker had only paused for a moment but Diluc had already picked his head up at the mention of your name. It was here that he realises something must have gone wrong, the caretaker’s expression was not a pleasant one. He was up on his feet, eyes widening a fraction at the following words, “They came back to the mansion seconds ago and they’ve been injured past what Adelinde could fix so we called for a doctor—”

In Diluc’s hurry he had stumbled over his chair, it tripping behind him with a thud on the floor but he ignored it and fast runs towards your room. Dear Archons he should NOT have let you go on that commission by yourself. You could hold your own, yes, but things happened and he really should have thought that through first. He was berating himself for it as he swung the door open. “Y/N?!” 

The urgency in his voice tells you that he perhaps had the wrong idea of what was happening, it was really just a gash on your leg, although it was bleeding profusely, the cut must have been deeper than you thought. The maid had already placed a tourniquet to stop and slow the bleeding. You tried not to show it in your face, not wanting to alarm your lover any further, but it. hurt. like. hell. “Diluc, I’m fine, it’s just a gash,” 

The maid that was previously sitting on the chair next to your bed moves away, Diluc replacing her, his eyes didn’t tear away from the wound on your leg, his expression contorted to that of worry and nervousness, before finally turning to your face, reaching a hand out to cradle your cheek. “Stop lying. You’re pale, you’re sweating--” of course he sees through you, he knows the second you get upset, knows every crease on your forehead and every slight furrow of the brow. He had memorized every inch of his beautiful, beautiful treasure. “Your hands are trembling, you’ve lost too much blood, where’s the doctor?!” He grips your hand at the realization that you might actually be in a more dire situation than presented, and just on cue the doctor comes through the door, asking for some time alone with you to do his job. 

Diluc paces outside the door, unable to stay in one place for long. He kept thinking about how frail you looked. How, if you were unlucky, it wouldn’t have just been your leg. He shook his head at the thought. He didn’t know how he was going to let you out of his sight from then on. He knew full well it would annoy you to have him following you around everywhere but.... How could he not after this?

The doctor emerged half an hour later and explained that you just needed a bit of rest and that, with a little healing magic, you didn’t need the stitches at all. “Don’t let them use that leg for a day and they should be fine, it’s nothing life-threatening but they did lose a lot of blood and is going to need time to recuperate. They’re asleep at the moment,” 

Diluc takes note of everything and quietly slips into your room. They must have sedated you in the process and he sighs as he plops down on the chair that was still placed next to your bed. His eyes soften at the sight of you finally relaxed and less in pain, hand reaching out to brush off strands of stray hair that blocked his view of your face. “You’re the only one who can scare me this much,” he mutters under his breath, as if complaining and he swears that he sees a very small and light grin on your face, as if teasing him. He smiles a little, just happy that you’re stabilized and leans in to kiss your forehead, opting to stay by your side till you wake up.

----------

Kaeya

“What do you mean unconscious?”

“J-Just as we said, Captain. They were unconscious when we found them,” Kaeya sighs in slight exasperation. Normally he was a jolly camper but when the knight in front of him is unable to say how injured you are, Kaeya gets a little wordy. “I meant to say why were they unconscious? Were they hurt? Where are they now?”

Kaeya stands. He was in the middle of some Favonius paper work. “They were bleeding profusely from the head,” Kaeya stops as if lightning has struck him and stares pointedly at the knight. “These details should be said early on,” he thought that it had just been something less threatening. Perhaps you had somehow passed out, exhausted, on your bedroom floor. Or perhaps had just rolled from the bed and onto the floor. They said that they found you in the bedroom, and his blood froze when he realizes that someone went in there to attack you.

Kaeya doesn’t bother talking the other knight into giving better reports next time, he’d do that later. He could guess that you were probably taken into the Favonius infirmary. Sure enough, when he walks in there, face scrunched up into what could only be described as worry and anger mingling together, you were awake, head bandaged up and your eyes meet. His heart breaks at how you still smile at him despite the fact that he wasn’t there to protect you. He stands next to the infirmary bed and gingerly touches your cheek, peering into your eyes. “Y/N, what happened?” he asks, eyes scanning the bandages wrapped around you. “Who did this?” and there was that angry and cold undertone in his voice that you rarely heard, as if his cryo vision had taken over his whole being.

“I’m sorry, Kaeya, I-- I can’t quite remember,” You put a hand up to cover half of your eye, your head was still throbbing and in quick realization Kaeya eases up on you and gently pushes you on your back to rest. “It’s fine, sorry, I just--” he cuts his own speech off and takes a deep breath in. Focus on the good. He tells himself. “I’m glad you’re alright, take it easy, I’ll take care of things,” By that he means he might just slaughter whoever even had the guts to break into your house and attack you in the middle of the day. The break-in was reported by townspeople, and Kaeya was sure as hell he’d get every witness to describe that asshole’s face. 

“You’re staying with me for the moment,” he decides quite quickly, and you had no qualms with that whatsoever. Hearing that you had no protest at all, he grins and leans down to capture your lips in a soft kiss, afraid to hurt you. “No complaints? Perhaps this was your grand scheme all along to come live with me,” You can’t help but chuckle at how quick he bounces back. “Maybe, honey. Maybe,”

----------

Albedo

“Ow--” the knife clatters to the floor, as blood starts to pool around your finger. Albedo spins around at the meek sound you make, ignoring the knife on the floor and strides over to you just as you’ve turned on the sink and started running water on the small cut on your finger.

“Let me see,” You turn to him, blinking. His face was blank. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking but he was staring straight at you. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s just a small cut,” but he doesn’t waver and glances at the water running over your finger. “Let me see,” he tries again, this time rather forceful. That got you to obey. Turning the faucet off and awkwardly offering your hand to him.

He receives it and cradles it in his as if it was porcelain, upturning your hand to look at the small cut on your pointer finger. It was tiny. Really nothing compared to wounds that a knight might sustain. Albedo sighs and looks up at you, “Don’t go anywhere,” before stalking off, coming back a few seconds later with a first aid kit. “...Al, it’s alright, it’s not a big deal,” Albedo would only let one person give him a nickname. You. No one else. Frankly he thought the nickname was weird but if it danced on your lips, he didn’t mind it at all.

“Y/N, you’re mistaken if you think I’m going to take this lightly,” he takes out some ointment and a small roll of bandage, starting with the ointment. “Everything and anything that hurts you is a significant thing,” his gaze darkens, as if glowering at that microscopic cut. “Miniscule or massive, it doesn’t make a difference to me,” he starts wrapping your finger, “if it taints your skin, I cannot help but feel--” he doesn’t know the right word, but you do, judging from how his hold on your wrist tightens. 

A soft smile paints your features at how he was such a worry-wart. Sometimes he was so bad at navigating his own feelings but you could decipher them anyway, from his actions. You let him worry over you, and thank him once he’s done. He finishes his work by taking your hand, and pressing it to his lips, his eyes darting up to lock on yours. That made you blush every damn time. His green eyes were just so mesmerizing, and so was his heart.

----------

Childe

Dear mother of the Archons, perhaps whoever was responsible for your injuries had some type of death wish. Everyone should offer prayers for whoever had cut you up. Your arms and legs were littered with small scratches from trying to run away from the attackers, you thought going through the thick forest was a good idea. In essence, it had slowed the thieves down. They had managed to throw a fire bomb at you that severely burned your right hand, and the right side of your abdomen. 

Perhaps it was thanks to adrenaline running through you that you had actually managed to make it to the gates of Liyue, just before the bridge, but you’d crumpled down right then and there. The Millelith guards didn’t recognize you, but the three Fatui agents walking on the bridge did. “Someone had better tell him,” The group of Fatuis scrambled nearer to you, one of them picking you up, but glancing at the other who had just spoken up. “I’m not doing that, you do it,” it was slightly comical, seeing them pass off the duty of who was supposed to report to Childe about it. “You know how he gets when it comes to them, I’m not doing--” then one of them finally gets their bearings together.

“Shut up, get them to the healer first,” The tallest one shoves the one carrying you, urging him to go fast and off he went. Now it was just two Fatui agents looking at each other. Two Fatui agents who decided that they would just face his wrath together. “Sir,” one of them starts as Childe turns around to look at them. He actually had no tasks today and was just about to go off to find you. “About Y/N...” Childe’s eyebrows shoot up, what in the world could these agents have to say about you? “We’ve sent them to the healers, they collapsed at the entrance of Liyue, it... doesn’t look good...”

All hell descends upon Childe’s demeanor and poise. His face darkens, his eyes burning holes through the two agents and his fists closed up on his side. His bow appears and hovers behind him, the only thing that shone through his dark person. “The two of you--” he starts, “are going to find out who did it. I’m expecting a report by nightfall,”

Childe himself shows up at the healers quarters, and was told of your condition. “Their hand is going to scar,” keeps reverberating in his head. Like the sound that he imagines the skulls of those who dared touch you crunching under his feet, over and over again. Childe actually winces when he sees you. Small bandages on your arms and legs from the scratches, your right hand wrapped up adequately and, he couldn’t see it now, but he was sure your abdomen was wrapped too.

You cracked an eye open, feeling another presence in the room. Childe immediately appears next to you, leaning over the bed and watching your expression. “...It hurts, doesn’t it?” he asks, tracing over your bandaged hand. You remained quiet for a moment before nodding your head slowly. Just remembering it caused a blinding pain in your mind’s eye. You’d been given drugs to ease the pain now, but there were still traces of it lingering on your skin. “How dare they,” both your eyes snapped open at Childe’s nearly contorted voice, shadowed and overpowered by rage. 

You pick up your good hand and touch his arm with the tips of your fingers. You didn’t like it when he got like this. “Childe, it’s alright,” far from it, but it was the only reassurance you could offer. He catches your hand and brings it up to his face, pressing your hand to his cheek as if it was a lifeline. “It’s not. It’s not,” he repeats to himself, his anger also stemming from the fact that he wasn’t there to protect you. “They’ll regret even laying eyes on you,” You knew he wanted to go now, knew that he wanted to get to the bottom of it, but you yet again pull your hand away to grasp at his shirt, the fabric scrunching up under your hold. “...But stay with me for tonight? Please?” 

That got him. He would never say no. His form relaxes and he leans in to kiss your lips, gentle yet with a hidden hunger in them. “Of course,” he simply says, as if his previous agenda forgotten.

But he would never forget. He would never forget for as long as he could see that scar. 

Tomorrow, he would decimate each and every one of them.

[writer-akihiko]

Hi! If that's okay could i request some angst for the first years (+Grim, Crewel and Crowley? Platonic only for them)

MC/Yuu runs away from NRC due to all the shit they've been put through because of Crowley not doing his job, they do finally find them some days later but MC refuses to go back to NRC and tells Crowley that they despise him.

Reactions?

First Years + MC Running Away [+Plat!Crewel & Crowley]

I love the angst for this, and planning the emotions that they would feel! The dorm leaders also make a cameo in Crewel and Crowley's part. Cut for length.

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Emotional Manipulation, Curse Words, Wounds and Mild Violence. Please read at your own discretion.

"I'm not going back."

"Wh... What?" He was astonished. "YN... I've looked far and wide for you- please-"

No words left his mouth as you stepped away from him, tears in your eyes and you were going to make a run for it again.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek was in a dilemma. He wanted to go back to NRC because of Malleus, but you refused to. You still meant a lot to him of course, but he still wanted to stay in NRC. He reached out to you, holding you in place with his Fae strength.

"YN, we have to go back. Please don't be unreasonable," He begged. There was no way he wasn't going without you.

You shook your head, trying to tug against Sebek as much as possible. There was no way you could fight against him, and you wouldn't want to hurt him either. "Sebek... Sebek just let me go. I'm just a human and..."

The moment was ruined with Crowley showing up, yelling at Sebek to bring you back. You mustered as much of your voice as you could. "No! Don't take me back!" You screamed at Sebek, who was holding you in a lock. "I hate him! I hate him, don't do this to me Sebek!"

His grip almost loosened at you saying you hated Crowley. Actually, he thought it was directed at him. It took a lot of effort for Sebek not to cry because he knew. He knew how much you didn't deserve the things you faced. The Overblots, the treatment and sheer alienation from other students, Crowley's neglect... He knew.

He blamed himself for getting so caught up in what his Master was doing that he forgot to care about you. When he found out that you ran away, he felt as if he deserved it. He pulled you in, tucking you against his chest and allowing you to cry.

He didn't bring you closer to the others, neither did he bring you away. He kept you close to him, as your tears stained his perfect uniform. Not a word came from him when you cried into him. It was kept that way, as the half-Fae dared to growl at Crowley and anyone else that took a step closer to you.

"YN... You're safe with me, alright?"

Ace Trappola

He told himself that he wouldn't get mad, but your refusal just rubbed salt in wounds as he remembered the sleepless nights of trying to find you. Beneath all of it, he was scared. He was scared that he lost you to some one else. He was scared that this world never suited you, and you finally went to your own, leaving him alone.

"What do you mean you're not going back?! YN, stop screwing around with me!" He screamed, throwing his magic pen to the ground. At this point, he was pissed about anything relating to magic. Magic was useless when it came to finding you.

"I'm not going so leave me alone Ace..." You told him, tears nearing at your eyes. "I don't want to. I don't want to. I'm done with Crowley's shit and I'm done with NRC."

You took a running start, but Ace caught you, pushing you to the ground. His expression caught you off-guard. He was crying, eyes puffy and tired as his face was pale, as if he hadn't gotten enough sleep.

"You're done?! How could you... I..." He didn't know what to say. You were right. You had dealt with enough. You never deserved it... If it weren't for him and his troublemaking ways... Maybe you wouldn't have to suffer...

"I'm sorry..." He coughed out, his voice strained. He kept you pinned on the ground, as his tears flowed with yours. "I'm sorry for being an idiot. I'm sorry for dragging you into trouble. I know you don't deserve it but I'm an asshole that does anyway..."

"Ace..."

"But!..." He went on, his eyes glossing over as he admired you once again. Oh... you were beautiful to him, even if you were crying in his arms. "But I'm selfish. I didn't want to let you go so I went after you instead... So hit me if you want, scream or punch me... I don't care, just don't leave me."

He sat up, pulling you into his lap, his chin under your head. "I was so lonely without you YN..."

"Godammit I love you..." He choked out, his tears never-ending. You both sat there, hugging each other as if it were your last days. You didn't dare to let go of him this time.

Deuce Spade

He didn't know how to respond. All he knew was that he had to hold onto you before you ran away from him once again. "YN... Wait... Don't leave!"

He wondered if he even made the right choice to stay on the side of bringing you back. From just the look of you, he knew you were tired. He knew those responsibilities were never yours. Your suffering just proved to Deuce how powerless he was. Maybe that's why he wanted to bring you back... as proof that he could do something for you.

"YN... I'm sorry..." He said, holding you close to him. There wasn't a thing he could do for you. All you went through... It was Crowley's irresponsibility. He did this to you. Deuce's grip tightened on you, as he though of what it could've done to your psyche. "YN... YN... I'll make sure he doesn't touch you. I'll make sure that he never comes near you again... YN, you trust me right?"

For all the times he wasn't with you, he was determined to make up for it. Deuce wasn't going to let you suffer through this alone, even if it means he gets hurt. It was better for him to get hurt than you, even though he was so desperate to ask Crowley to find you.

You nodded, hiding into Deuce's chest. His heart was beating so fast, most likely from the never ending search for you. You never regretted running away, but you missed Deuce and your other friends, and Grim too. The one thing you regretted was accepting Crowley's offer to stay here.

"I don't care what you do to me," You told him. "Just don't take me back. I don't to go back. I don't want to go back to NRC..." Your body trembled at the thought of moving back to NRC, but all thoughts of it were abandoned as you saw Crowley approach you.

You screamed, but he never touched you. Deuce stood in the way, as he shielded you with his own body. He pushed you back, as he grabbed tightly onto his magic pen. Abandoning all morals of propriety, he glared hard at the principal.

"...Don't touch her."

Jack Howl

He wasn't going to let you run away this time. "Don't move."

Jack couldn't believe that he found you so quickly. No, that wasn't it. He couldn't believe that you were still here. Despite him having a scent on you, you could've been miles away without him knowing. He thought you went back to your own world. He thought you hated him, but by the way you hugged him, it reassured him of any thoughts he had.

There was not single part of you that did not tremble when Jack told you he wanted to take you back. Your sheer refusal turned into an argument quickly, as you listed all the sufferings you went through. It was confusing and agonising for Jack to listen to you. He knew you needed this, but some of the things you said sent shivers down his spine.

"I…"

"It's okay YN. You don't have to go back," He whispered to you. Jack's ears flattened as yours tears made your eyes puffy. He got flustered since he didn't know how to comfort you any further, busying himself with wiping away your tears instead.

Jack was sharp. He knew Crowley was out to get you, even if you didn't want to. He wanted the easy way out, but Jack wasn't going to give him the chance. There was no reason why Jack shouldn't help you… but he'd be lying if he weren't scared of what would happen if you both were caught.

You and Jack had the same train of thought, so you shook your head. "No Jack… I have to…" You told him, your voice raspy. "You already found me and there's no use. You… You can't outrun him with me…"

Jack growled, baring his teeth at the person who caused you such misery. His claws were out, as he hid you behind him. You didn't make a sound, paralysed by the very person that pulled you in this hell. You only met eyes with Crowley for a moment, as the world swirled around you.

"I know I can't… But I'm sure as hell am going to try…" Jack ran away from the principal, with you tightly in his arms as he made a run for it.

Epel Felmier

He was more than angry. He never understood why you and him but now it was evident. It was because both of you were stubborn. You both always tried to grasp what you wanted, and in the light of attaining it, you both always made a run for it. For him it was power… and for you, it was freedom.

"Damn it!..." He cursed underneath his breath, quickly removing his jacket and covering your head in it. You were probably hungry and tired. You were probably scared. What was he supposed to do?...

How did it come to this? He was supposed to be the one that supported your desires, no matter how big or small as you did the same to him. But now, with him using Crowley to get to you… What was he doing? This was hurting you, not helping you.

He moved away from you, ripping off the magical tracking device off of him. "You damn liar!" He screamed. "How dare you hurt her like this… Do you think I'm some stupid puppet?! Like hell you're gonna reach her with my help!"

Epel stomped and tore the device apart, grunting at every time the magic deflection hit him. He didn't stop, ripping further into the grass as he cried for your sake. He never meant to do this to you. He got up, taking you by the wrist and pulling you much deeper into the forest.

"YN… YN we have to go. They were tracking me and they- they might…"

You stopped in your tracks.

"YN?"

You hugged Epel, holding him tight. He snapped out of his delusions, turning to panic about your well-being. "Are you hurt? If you can't walk I'll carry you, but we have to get away-"

"Stop Epel," You said, taking his hands into yours. "Stop… It's okay… I'm okay… I can't make it any further and I don't blame you… I just… wanted it to not hurt for a bit."

He broke down in your arms, as you both collapsed to the ground. Filled with exhaustion, you could only grip to his hands weakly. Before your eyes darkened, you remembered his last words.

"I'm sorry…"

Divus Crewel

He's horrified at your state. All his emotions were bottled for the time being. There was no reason for a puppy like you to be exposed to such horrid emotions from him. He shrugs off his fluffy coat, covering you in the coat, as he carries you in the coat.

Dire was quick to catch up to him, but alas, all that Divus had for him was disappointment. Even from teacher to teacher, no… even from magician to magician… all respect for Dire that he had vanished. The dorm leaders caught up with the principal, and from the looks of it, they were horrified.

"For this puppy to end up like this…"

No, he couldn't get angry now. He had to be the example to other students. Rosehearts, Al-Asim and Ashengrotto were in tears, while Draconia and Kingscholar were murderous. If it weren't the difference of authority, Divus would bet those two would maul Dire where he stood.

"Draconia. Schoenheit. Take YN away and treat her wounds," He commanded. Still wrapped in his coat, Malleus brought you to the others, as Vil observed for any of your wounds. Divus signalled the other students away as he took off one of his gloves, glaring at Dire. "I need to talk with the principal."

Dire was still, as Divus delivered a clean punch across his face. There was no need for further violence. It'd be an insult to what you suffered. Divus grabbed Dire by the collar, almost sneering at him. "Did you realise what you've done to that puppy? She's scared, she's suffered all because of you."

He left Dire alone. It's what he deserved. There was nothing to be done. If he further pummeled the crow man, he might just kill him right then and there. Divus, for now, had to be by your side as your father figure and welcome you back safely to NRC as you were meant to be. Before leaving, he picked up his sullied glove from the floor, saying his last to Dire.

"You don't deserve to be her father."

Dire Crowley

He was ashamed to use his magic on you, but he had to prevent you from running. It was a necessary measure, but the real thorns were your words that pierced through his heart. You yelled insults, curses and cusses at him as if you were held at gunpoint, your lungs exhausted from the constant shrieking.

"No no! Let me go," You begged. "I hate you, I hate you I hate you!" You chanted it as if it were a spell. "I wish you never took me in. Don't touch me!"

The words were enough for the magic to weaken, granting you your escape. Dire was not swift enough, but the Dorm Leaders were. They heard everything, every complaint you threw at Dire and every insult you had for him. Malleus caught you, but as soon you knew it was him, you pushed him away.

"No… NO! I am NOT GOING BACK!" You cried, holding your head in your hands, crouching into a ball. Leona quickly knocked you out. If you went on, you would've hurt yourself and the injuries you sustained from running away was concerning enough.

Against all odds, those seven turned to the principal, with faces of betrayal. All you had been through… They did not realise what burden Dire, and subsequently, they placed on you.

"Crowley… you were never gracious."

Dire was hopeless. He couldn't comfort you, he knew he couldn't be forgiven. He stood in his place, accepting his fate at the moment. He couldn't ask for your mercy nor forgiveness, and perhaps that was his fate. To be cursed by whoever he neglected.

"Please, take care of her for now."

[vitaegratis]

scarednotscary​:

☾⋆ ‒‒‒‒‒  Chrissy didn’t see it as a privilege, but who was she to argue? To try and change his perception of her. He’d seen more sides of her than most people had and yet for some reason he was still here, still wanting to spend time with her and get to know her better. ❝ Well… there are people that are fake. Jason is most definitely one of them… I could tell you things about him which–❞ She pauses and looks towards Eddie. ❝ Actually, I don’t think you would be all that surprised by it. I’m not sure how you would react but I doubt surprise would be on the list. ❞ People knew that Jason could be mean, but what they didn’t know was that he wasn’t only mean when provoked. He had a lot of anger pent up inside of him and it was always ready to burst at any given moment. ❝ –I don’t think you’re weird, not even a little bit. Different, sure, but then… isn’t everyone different? Weird is just a matter of perception. ❞

She was also in the same boat as Eddie, she didn’t exactly do anything to change anyone’s perception of her, either. By now it was just easier not to rock the boat and row with the current instead of against it, and besides, she’d be away at college before long, away from Hawkins and all its preconceived notions of her. ❝ I think I’m more myself when I’m with you. I’m different with other people, there’s no point in lying about it, but with you? I feel like I can be myself… and for some reason you like me for it! ❞ She giggled at that, thinking how odd it was to realise someone liked her authentic self more than the persona she put out to the world. ❝ Thank you… for looking deeper, I mean. ❞

“I mean, to be fair. We’re still in high school, barely adults. We’re still figuring out who we really are, who we want to be. Who I am when I’m with you… it’s not fake, but it’s not my default. You being out a different side of me. I don’t know that it’s better… it’s not your job to make me my best self, but uh, I like it… and I do like you.” On the subject of Jason? Eddie visibly bit his tongue to keep from speaking. It was hardly like he was an unbiased party, knew him well enough to make an informed judgement. To most, he probably seemed like a clean cut stand up guy. The hometown hero. Who was Eddie to say that was fake? Yeah, he came across as arrogant, pretentious - but it was more that he was in his own little bubble. Most of his derisions weren’t unprovoked… if Eddie had just left him alone, he likely would have left him alone.

“You don’t need to thank me, but uh, thank you. For letting me look deeper, bringing down those walls. It’s not something that I take for granted.” || @scarednotscary

[kimnjss]

uncharted territory | kth

⤑  series: kinda hot

⤑ pairing: campus flirt!taehyung x sweet girl!reader

⤑ genre: lmao i don’t even know... angst? smut?

⤑ rating: explicit

⤑ word count: 7.5K // unedited.

⤑ warnings: use of alcohol and weed, cursing, dirty talk, slight hair pulling, over-the-shirt nipple play, dry humping, ruined orgasms.

⤑ A/N: hihihi! just here to remind you how much i appreciate all of you guys reading this story nd getting as invested as you are!! don’t hesitate to let me know what’s on your mind - no matter what it is ., feedback is my favorite!!

JANUARY 30TH, 2021 | 19:07

Hoseok is leaning handsomely against the side of his car when you're stepping out. Arms crossed over his chest as his teeth nibble on his lower lip, eyes seeming to sparkle when he's looking at you. The shine only getting brighter when the corners of his mouth lift into a smile. Body lifting from the side of the car to pull the passenger's door open, gesturing to it with his hand.

“Ooh, check out the gentleman,” You're teasing with a laugh, ducking into your seat as he rolls his eyes. Jogging around the front of the car until he's sinking into the spot beside you, taking another moment to let his eyes travel over your body.

Nodding slightly to himself before he's grinning, “You look hot,” His warm hand landing on your thigh to give it a little squeeze before he's pulling from his parking spot and onto the road.

Compliments from Hoseok came sparingly, wasn't really one to gush over your appearance with mere words. He was more of a show-er than a talker in that sense. So when he was paying you a compliment, it was never anything all that deep. Never once compared the brightness of your eyes to the sunlight or whatever Shakespearean shit he could muster up. He was just going with what he thought and you appreciated that.

It kept things from getting confusing between the two of you. If he was constantly dotting on you and telling you how amazing he thought you were (and you were amazing, no doubt about that), but if he was telling you.. it would definitely put a damper on your whole arrangement. You were a simple girl to be completely honest. Words got to you, you'd be head over heels in love if he was calling you beautiful every chance he got.

Hot was good. Hot was fine. Hot was safe. Because catching feelings for Hoseok? You'd be better off standing in the middle of the road waiting to be run over. And then getting the driver to put it in reverse. Hoseok was brutal when it came to girls and relationships, didn't waste time on feelings or the overly emotional.

A bit of an asshole, but that was why you liked him. He knew how to keep things fun and exciting, loved being surrounded by people. But he wouldn't hesitate to tell someone to fuck off if the circumstances called for it. He was cool. To put it simply. A very cool guy taking you out on a date. Anyone would be giddy about that, it was Jung Hoseok for crying out loud!

“What you got a taste for?” His eyes don't move from the road in front of him. One hand steering the wheel while the other keeps its hold on your thigh. Skin easily warming under his touch, you force yourself to focus on what he's saying.

Having to keep yourself from suggesting, (for the first time in person but the eighth(?) to him) skipping dinner and going back to your place to make proper use of your time. You bite that down. He wanted to take you out to eat, so you planned to humor him. Eat with him so he can eat you out. Simple.

“Anything, really. You like pasta. Should we just go to that Italian place?” With a slight nod, he's directing the car toward the restaurant. The smile on his face lets you know that he had been secretly hoping to get to eat there tonight. It was his favorite place to go, knew the menu like the back of his hand.

So he's pleased that you're suggesting it.

The car ride is filled with soft music and playful banter about whatever comes to mind. He's challenging you, saying things that he knows will get under your skin just to hear you argue why he's wrong. Laughing as you outline all the reasons why mints and chocolate should be far away from each other.

He keeps a gentle hand on the small of your back as he leads you into the restaurant. Still egging you on with why he thinks you're wrong, laughing at the way your face twists up at him. Pausing only briefly to get your table, but the debate is in full swing the moment the two of you are settled across from each other.

There's a subtle type of competitiveness in his tone, paired with the playful smile on his face. Not even a full hour here with him and you were starting to see what Jimin was talking about. Being out with Hoseok, talking beyond where you should do it next, was something you never considered. 

It's nice.

JANUARY 30TH, 2021 | 19:59

Conversation between the two of you doesn't die down even after your food is being set down in front of you. You're only now noticing that you never really talked to Hoseok before. You were friends, of course, that's what the 'F' in FWB stood for, but you were more like group friends.

Never really hung out alone until some months ago when you were starting this whole thing up. And fucking didn't really account for all that much talking. You knew nothing about him aside from the fact he was Taehyung's asshole womanizer roommate. No idea how witty, how animated, how attractive he could be.

It made you want him even more.

He's in the middle of explaining the King Henry VIII drama he had seen the other night, which is also surprising. He almost seemed 'too cool' to be this interested in a period piece starring Natalie Portman. But he's speaking so excitedly, that you can't help but hang on to every word from his lips. All until your phone is flashing on the table beside you, Taehyung's smiling face lighting up the screen.

The buzz steals both of your attention from the conversation, your brow furrowing slightly. A part of you knows that he's only calling for nonsense, probably in the midst of a fight with his girlfriend and he's calling for you to tell him he's right. It's hardly ever an emergency when he's calling you, so there should be no problem with letting his call go to voicemail.

Especially this close to the end of your date, you'd be heading back home with Hoseok in no time. Plus he could just text you if it was something important. There was no reason to answer, and yet, you can't keep your hand from reaching for the device. Shooting an apologetic smile over at Hoseok.

“He knows I'm with you... he wouldn't call if-,” The nod of Hoseok's head cuts you off, waving you away with a smile to take your call. And you're excusing yourself quickly, pressing the phone to your ear once you're far enough away from the table.

He better have his dick caught in a mousetrap or something to justify interrupting your dinner. “Tae. What's going on?” You listen, for any telling sounds of things being out of the ordinary. All you hear is the hum of the TV and his heavy breathing hitting the line.

“Yn, you've gotta get over here.” There's an urgency in his voice that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing. “Why? What's going on?” It's probably something stupid, it usually is when it comes to Taehyung. But curiosity has already set in and you find yourself thinking of how to tell Hoseok you have to go. 

“I can't just tell you... you have to come,”

Groaning into the phone, your hand lifts to pinch the base of your nose. A deep sigh leaving your lips. “Tae. I'm out right now. If this isn't urgent-”

He's quick to cut your words, “It really can't wait.” He almost sounds serious, which has the slight annoyance you feel melting away. “Okay, okay. I'll be there in a minute,” Quick to hang up the phone and head back over to the table.

Hoseok has his head bowed, full attention on the plate of lasagna as he shovels forkfuls into his mouth. Reaching for his glass as you slip back into your seat, gulping down his water. And you're two seconds from telling him that you have to go when he's reaching for his napkin, wiping the corner of his lips.

“Taehyung needs you to rush over?” How he was able to just guess that is beyond you, but you're nodding your head a sheepish smile taking over your features. “He says it's urgent,” You genuinely feel bad. Even though things between Hoseok weren't any deeper than hooking up, you still had agreed to come out with him. To stay out with him.

To leave in the middle of it (not to mention before you could wrap everything up and go back home) felt shitty. You were having a good time getting to know him, but if you didn't go see what was going on with Taehyung, you knew it would bother you for the rest of the night.

Despite everything, Hoseok seems to understand. Insisting you finish the rest of your risotto before he's paying the bill. He even keeps up with the bubbly conversation from earlier, enjoying the sound of your laughter all the way to the car. Guiding you in with a gentle hand on the small of your back.

He lets you choose the music and hums along with the songs you play. It's not long before he's pulling up in front of his house, car staying on as he steps on the brake. You wait for him to put the car in park and when he doesn't, you're shooting a confused look in his direction.

“You're not coming in?”

He's quick to shake his head, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “I'm gonna go see what's up with those girls in building E.” Oh. Right. You almost forgot for a second who you were dealing with. Jung Hoseok, notorious fuck boy. If he wasn't sleeping with you, then he'd just find someone else to do it with.

Feeling bad for cutting your date short was useless. “See you later, then.” He meets your words with a nod, waiting patiently for you to get out of his car. Spares a moment to lift his hand in a wave before he's speeding down the road.

JANUARY 30TH, 2021 | 20:21

Taehyung is sat on the couch when you enter the house. Hunched over a bowl with chopsticks in hand. Torso bare and hair falling in a ruffled mess around his face. He doesn't budge at the sound of the door, too focused on pushing long strings of spicy noodles into his mouth.

He could've at least put together a fake emergency if he was going to call you over like this. Pretended his arm was broken or something, instead of coolly sitting on the couch trying to gulp down his beer around the mouthful of Ramen.

“Hey! What's so urgent? Why are you half-naked?” Your loud voice startles him, droplets of beer falling from his lips and rolling down his chest. He swallows, reaching forward to grab up a napkin, using it to wipe at his well worked on pecs. 

Your eyes follow the movement of his hand, long fingers brushing the droplets from his tanned skin. It must be the anticipation of getting fucked tonight because you're finding it hard to tear your gaze from the ripples of his stomach. “I'm in from the gym,” He explains the no shirt, the tightness in his arms that have fallen victim to your greedy stare. Flexing obviously as he reaches for his drink again, taking a few sips before he's picking up his bowl. His chest tenses with the movement.

Has he always been this... wow? Quite literally staring in the middle of the room, greedily enjoying the sight of your best friend without his shirt on. Yet, it's not the first time you've seen him sans shirt. Countless sleepovers and pool parties, but his bare stomach seemed different now.

Seriously. Did he always have abs like that?

You're forcing yourself to look away, face grimacing at the loud burp he lets out. Enough to snap you from your thoughts, wherever they were going was uncharted territory. And you had no interest in exploring that, especially when you were supposed to be annoyed with him!

“What's the problem? Why'd you make me rush over?” Wearily, you step closer to him. Eyes scanning over his body in a less pervy way, trying to detect any sign of injury. Maybe even a paper cut a little too deep. “Are you okay?” Your face inches from his, still searching.

He's laughing, hand lifting to rest on your forehead, pushing your head back slightly. “I'm fine. Want some?” Taehyung lifts the bowl between the two of you. And your gaze drops to the spicy scent. And normally you'd be letting out an excited whoop, accepting his generous offer and plopping down beside him.

But right now, all you are is annoyed. Annoyed and frustrated. If it wasn't for him, no doubt you'd be off somewhere with Hoseok, minutes from having your eyes rolled back, nails scraping against his skin. Instead, you're here, no emergency in sight. You shaved for this! Matched your lingerie for this! What a waste.

“Are you fucking kidding me!? I was out with Hoseok, Taehyung.” As if he didn't know. And he had the audacity, to sit there, slurping his noodles as if he wasn't at fault for this annoying ache in the pit of your stomach. Something that would've been long taken care of if it wasn't for him.

His shoulders lift in an uninterested shrug, jaw falling slack as he shovels another mouthful into his mouth. “Well... now you're not. It's extra spicy. Your favorite,” He's offering more food up to you and all you do is roll your eyes, letting out a frustrated huff.

“You're fucking ridiculous,” You scoff, hands rummaging through the contents of your purse until your fingers are catching onto your phone. “I'm calling Hoseok,” You announce for no real reason, especially because he acts as if he hasn't heard your words. Attention back on the hot bowl in his lap.

He's being weird and you don't know what it is. Noticed it in doses these past few days and assumed it would just blow over... but he just seemed to be acting more and more out of character the more time passed. It confused you. And you hated being confused.

Part of you was convinced that it had something to do with him now knowing that you're sleeping with his roommate. The side comments, inadvertently trying to cock block, and now this being proof enough. But there was another part of you... a much smaller, poorly trained part, that was convinced these were the actions of a jealous man.

What would he have to be jealous of, right? It wasn't like he wanted to be the one sleeping with Hoseok. Well, debatable... but seriously, the way he's been acting lately has led you to believe that there was something else going on that he wasn't telling you. Tae's known the guys you've fucked around with before and never has he acted so... stiff?

Something changed. Something was different. And you can't help but wonder if the picture incident had something to do with it. Highly unlikely, as Joon said, he has probably already forgotten about it. But, nothing else made sense.

Hoseok doesn't answer. Not like you actually expected him to. He went to 'see what's up with the girls in Building E'. No doubt busy with that, why would he answer his phone? “Come on, Yn.” Taehyung is beside you now, you're not sure when he stood up, but you can smell the sweetness of his body spray. Even after the time, he spent in the gym.

“Listen, I'm sorry I interrupted you.” His hand is reaching to lower your phone, halting your request for an Uber. “...but you're here now. Just stay. Relax.” Flashing that breathtaking smile of his and it's becoming apparent how he gets away with so much. This boy knew how to use his looks to his advantage, there was no denying that.

But, you're not easily fooled. “You can't just interrupt my dates because you're lonely,” Some of the bite is gone from your tone. Not entirely sure how upset with him you really were. Of course, calling you out when he knew you were with someone else was shitty... but it was Taehyung!

A terrible reason, but the best one you could come up with. There was no way staying mad at him was an option, when he has done the reverse many times with you involved. He's smirking at you, picking up on the anger melting away from your features. “So it was a date. You told me it was just dinner,” He teases.

Not entirely pissed at him anymore, but that didn't mean you'd just let his stupidity slide. This was the second time he's interfered with your much needed Vitamin D and it was about time he heard something about it. “Just dinner. A date. A fucking square dance. Taehyung, you can't just cut in because you want.” He's looking at you funny, this dazed expression that you've never seen directed to you before. From him.

It makes your heart stutter, so you ignore it. “What if I did the same with you? If you were out with Ailee and I called you up with some stupid excuse?” He doesn't even hesitate, dark eyes glued to yours. A stare so intense, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks. “I'd come running,” The deepness of his voice and the seriousness of his tone has your breath hitching.

There was no way this was happening. You were used to flirty Taehyung, got pretty good at compartmentalizing your feelings when it came to the Taehyung that you dealt with on a day-to-day basis. But this... this was different. Uncharted territory, indeed. The way he was looking at you? Talking to you? Nothing like you've ever handled before when it came to him.

No idea how you were supposed to react, so you decide to just leave to keep from making a fool of yourself in front of him. “I'm leaving. Goodnight, Taehyung. Call your girlfriend.” A halfhearted request, you're really just reminding yourself that he has one. And while 'The Other Woman' was a great song, that wasn't you.

“She broke up with me like an hour ago,” Again? You want to say, feigning disbelief. Their routine breakups were far from surprising and they always ended up in the same way: them back together and holed up in Taehyung's room for days on end. Only to end in a pointless fight that would repeat the cycle.

They were always broken up, but that didn't mean they were done with each other. It never meant that. “Please, stay.” He's pouting obnoxiously, so you're confused why you find it so cute. Fingers laced with yours as he lightly shakes your arm. “I miss hanging out with you,” Puppy dog eyes aimed right at your heart.

He's not wrong. It's been a little while since the two of you just hung out. Lounged around in sweats, ate, and watched bad TV. And it was very unlikely that Hoseok would be returning your call. Jimin is surely busy with Jungkook or something. You'd just be going home to sit around and do exactly what you could do here.

“Fine.” Eyes rolling to exaggerate your annoyance. “Go make another packet while I change,” Soft hair bounces as he nods his head, turning to pick up his half-empty bowl from the coffee table, carrying it into the kitchen.

You're halfway up the stairs before he's calling out to you, smiling when he sees your head poke around the corner. “I'm really sorry I ruined your date. That was not cool,” There's sincerity in his tone and in his eyes, every last bit of annoyance or frustration you felt dissipating at the sight.

“It's fine,” The prettiest smile he's ever seen pushes onto your lips, nearly stealing his breath away. “I'll just have to text Hoseok and explain your issue with separation,” Giggling at your own lighthearted joke and he's matching the sound. 

Silently praying you hurry upstairs so he can get his heart in check. So he could think. Something he's been skipping out on that since the moment he picked up his phone and decided to call you.

JANUARY 30TH, 2021 | 21:43

You're wearing basketball shorts. His basketball shorts. Paired with a sports bra that you must've left here for one reason or another. It takes everything in him not to zero in on the jiggle of your ass as you pass him. The pebble of your nipples pushing against the fabric. You always complained about how cold his apartment was.

He tries not to stare as you stretch to pull a bowl from the cupboard, laughing out loud when you realize that he's already taken one down for you. Thanking him as you move to stand close. Your cheeks are red and irritated from the quick way you removed your makeup with the dried-out wipes you left in his bathroom. Hair let out of the tight ponytail, cascading down your back in pretty waves.

It's not until you're pinning him with a furrowed brow and an upturn of your upper lip, does he realize he's literally gawking at you. With this unmistakable love-struck look in eyes. “Why are looking at me like that?” Spoken while plucking a piece of meat from the pan and pushing it into your mouth.

Caught and he doesn't even think of trying to backtrack. With a shrug of his shoulders, he's turning his attention back to the food in front of him. “I don't know. You just look beautiful or whatever,” He can hardly look at you as the words leave his lips, afraid you'll catch the blush on his cheeks.

“Or whatever?” You joke with a laugh, ignoring the flip of your stomach at the compliment. Instead, you move to the fridge, retrieving a couple of eggs while chastising him on forgetting the best part. Not sure what was up with him, but you refuse to let yourself get carried away.

You've spent so long accepting that he has and only will see you as a friend. Best friend, even. And just because he was throwing a few compliments your way didn't mean that everything all of a sudden changed. Nothing has changed. The two of you were still in the same spot you had been two years ago.

 Taehyung serves you with a smile ten minutes later, fingers lingering on yours for a moment longer than normal. Not long enough to be weird, but definitely long enough to get the wheels turning in your brain. And then he's plopping down across from you like nothing, head ducked as he takes the first steamy bites of his food.

It takes everything in him not to profess his unclear feelings. Trying to limit how often he looks at you, censoring his thoughts as they teeter between mushy and cringe. It's hard with the way you're joking between bites the way you always do, he can't help but notice how pretty you are.

He felt lucky to have you like this. Even if it wasn't truly having you. Just the fact that you were comfortable enough around him to be like this. Even if it had been years, it felt different now somehow.

Everything felt different since he's started to notice little things about you that he failed to see all along. Your cute habit of flicking and tossing your hair as you spoke, more often with how animated you got. How your eyes lit up when you were excited. That tiny dimple at the corner of your mouth, which only made an appearance when you were laughing really hard.

On top of it all, he was noticing how obvious you were. Not exactly sure when it clicked in his mind and it could very well be his ego talking, but he was starting to feel like he wasn't the only one keeping a mental scrapbook. The more attention he paid to you and your little mannerisms, the more he picked up on the fact that you were doing the same.

Whenever he'd bite his lip, rest his cheek on his palm, angle his head in a certain way – your eyes would follow. And how could he forget the lust-filled look on your face as your eyes devoured him, it hadn't even been a full ten minutes since you got there and you were so obvious.

A wonder he didn't notice it before, but now that he thinks back... all of the signs were there. Everything that he missed has been screaming at him for the past-however-many years. And as much as he wanted to do something about it, he knew he had to be careful.

Extremely careful.

JANUARY 30TH, 2021 | 23:52

Right now, you had your legs in his lap – ankle inches from his junk, but that's the least of your concerns. You're more focused on tucking every last crumb of weed into the paper, eyes flickering between your fingers and the TV screen. 

“How is she this oblivious?” You're commenting with a wrinkle of your brow and Taehyung has to act like he's been following the plotline all along.

From what he was able to pick up with your brief summary of the plot and the way you talked over every scene with backstory, the main character was set the be married to a man with much more experience than her. In life. In the bedroom. The scene playing in front of you right now she was just finding out that he had been lying about not being able to have children.

You had suggested starting from episode one, but he denied the offer. There was something about watching you explain a show while getting frustrated about the scenes that played out before you that he found endearing. Not a new feeling, but holding a new meaning now.

He can hardly hear what's being said because you're in the middle of a rant on how there was no reason for her to be so clueless and sent into a marriage. And how her mother should've gone into the nitty-gritty before shipping her off. And how her husband was just a compliment douche bag for taking advantage of her ignorance.

Taehyung is positive he looks like you just agreed to go riding off in the sunset. Leaned back against the couch and watching you with this dazed-dopey expression that you sum up to him just being high. You were working on rolling the second joint you'd share.

His eyes follow as you lean forward, hovering over his lap as you reach for the lighter on his side. Not even thinking to ask him to pass it over, not that he's complaining about the closeness. Elbows holding your body up as you fiddle with the spark, bringing it toward you when it stays.

You catch his stare as you exhale, handing the joint off to him before moving back to your end of the couch, legs falling back in his lap. He doesn't pull his gaze from you, letting the weed burn out between his fingers. “What?” You're asking with a soft laugh. He's hissing out a breath, bringing the smoke to his lips and inhaling.

“You're fucking gorgeous, it's annoying.” He says with a shake of his head, a thick cloud of smoke leaving his lips. “You're always talking shit,” Speaking through a burst of laughter, but he doesn't entertain the thought any further. Extending his hand to pass it over, eyes flickering up to the screen.

There had been something that he had paid attention to when you first turned this show on. The conversation that was being had on the screen about best friends and getting married and falling in love. And how that's how you should do it. Marry your best friend and it would work out.

No matter how many porn-like sex scenes appeared after that, he was still stuck on that one conversation. And the thought that if you looked so pretty next to him right now, there was no telling how much prettier you'd look done up and dressed in white. He has to laugh at himself, though.

Blaming his raging thoughts on the half-empty bottle of liquor on the table and the green you're handing back over to him. Which is why he doesn't bother to stop the question that slips out next. “Do you think that's really the key?”

Half forgot that even though you never left his mind, you couldn't read it. So you have no idea what he's talking about. “Key to what?”

“Being happy in a relationship?”

He hardly ever really talked about his feelings being with Ailee. You just knew what he told you and that was very limited. She annoyed him, but she was sometimes funny and knew what she was doing. That was pretty much it.

So you're a little shocked that he all of a sudden was bringing this up as if you knew their relationship from a hole in the wall. “Are you not happy with Ailee?” Someone who fought with their significant other as much as Taehyung did, couldn't really be happy. But you could be wrong.

“I'm sure I could be happier,” He's looking at you with those eyes again, flicking the ash off with his finger before bringing the joint back to his lips. “Do you think falling n love with your best friend is the key to all that?” He pauses, the blurts the last part out like he's lost control of his tongue. “Like you and me,”

You're letting out a harsh cough that has nothing to do with the smoke cruising through your lungs. Eyes tearing up while your back shakes. “Me and you?” You manage, letting out a gasped breath. “Like me falling in love with you and you falling in love with me?” Finger used to point between the two of you, just to be sure.

Taehyung nods his head, unphased by your dramatic reaction. “Yes, that's exactly how that would work. A money-less transaction,” You're letting out a laugh and a shake of your head, pushing the thought from your head. He was only joking, talking shit for whatever reason.

“Yeah, no. That would never work out,”

His words chase yours, “Why not?” You don't miss the small pout of his lips, as if he's actually asking. Wondering why you thought the two of you together wouldn't work out.

“I know too much. You know too much,” Going with the first reason that pops in your head, one that you've used countless times with convincing yourself. “There's gotta be some mystery,”

Taehyung is rolling his eyes, “Oh, come on. We're not the Scooby-doo kids, Yn. Mystery is overrated.” He's really pushing for this and you're not sure why. Most likely entertaining the thoughts that pop into his foggy mind, so you don't allow yourself to think too hard on his words.

Or what they could mean. “It's perfect,” He continues. “You meet someone, become best friends, decide to fall in love and now you're married to your best friend. That's the dream,” He says with a grin. And you're not sure if he's actually talking about you or if he's just talking.

“That's lazy,” Either way, you attempt to get the race of your heart to slow down. No matter how much closer he was to you now, backs of your thighs pressed against his. You're nearly seated in his lap and you just now noticed the mindless way his fingers drag over your knee. “You can't pick off from your existing friends. You meet someone, fall for them and then you become best friends,”

His laugh rings through your ears, then your entire body. Just the sound has you feeling warm all over, something that you were sure you had gotten under control a long time ago. “You just said the same thing as me, except you changed the last two steps,”

“It makes a huge difference,” It did. One was the two of you and the other could be any two strangers on the street. For the sake of you, your version was the one you'd go with. Anything else and it would be hard to talk yourself out of it.

But Taehyung has been a lot more attention, putting the pieces together as they appear. And one thing he was always good at spotting (except when it came to you for some reason) was when someone was into him. And judging from the subtle changes in your demeanor throughout this entire conversation, you were so into him.

With caution on his mind, he's shifting focus. Hand lowering to discard the dead bit in the ashtray. Leveling you with a squinted eyes and a purse of his lips. “What's the real reason you didn't want me to know about Hoseok?” Sort of had an idea of what this might be, but he wanted to hear it from you.

“What do you mean? I already told you,” You're reaching for the bottle on the table, taking a swig to keep your hands busy. And to keep you from having to look at him, no doubt the unfiltered thoughts in your mind would be slipping out with one glance. 

He doesn't pull his gaze from you, though. “No, you said you didn't want things to get awkward. I think that was a lie,” His face is much closer to yours now, you can clearly see the faint beauty marks scattered against his skin.

Just a simple stretch of his leg and you're pushed further on to his lap. Back resting against his arm now that he has his hand is pressed against the armrest. He's close, but not suffocating, has left enough space for you to get up and move if you wanted to. But that's the farthest thing from your mind right now.

“Wanna know what I think it is?” Voice so low he might as well be mumbling. His eyes flicker down to your lips, noting how soft they look. And he finds himself wondering just how they'd feel pressed against his. “What?” You sound breathless like you had been thinking about the same exact thing.

He's smoothly moving his arm from you, guiding the way your back falls against the couch. “I think you're into me, like how I'm into you... and you didn't want me to know because of that,” The risk of fucking up your friendship takes the backseat because he knows he's right. Took his time and put the signs together.

“Yeah, right.” You laugh it off, but he's learned how obvious you are.

A grin spreads over his features, hand dropping to your hip. “You're making the face you do when you've been caught,” The heat of his palm spreading from your side to your entire body. And you've come to terms with the fact that you've lost control of your heart. Wrapped up in the moment where Taehyung, Kim Taehyung, your best friend and former crush revealed he was into you.

His head bows, nose nudging against yours. It's embarrassing the way your lips instantly pucker, eyes falling shut as you wait for the soft press. Eyes fluttering open after a moment of waiting and receiving nothing, catching the devious smirk on his lips. 

“You're into me, aren't you?” While he was sure, positive after seeing how ready you were to have him kiss you, he needed to hear it. Needed to be sure that he wasn't missing something, he's been doing a lot of that lately.

The nod of your head is answer enough, followed by your warm hand reaching to rest on the back of his neck. Not sure who moved first, if you were pulling him down or he was lowering himself and you really didn't care. 

A tiny moan escapes from your lips as he shifts above you, the sound being sent straight to his crotch. His mouth is pulling from yours, brows raised and eyes wide as he stares down at you – surprised by the fact that you could actually sound like that. Before he's given a chance to comment on it, you're pulling him back down.

Kissing you is everything he's imagined it to be and more. The soft push of your tongue paired with the deliberate scrap of teeth on his lip. Your hummed moans fill the room and stir him on, his grip falling from your hip to your thigh. Easily pulling your legs apart to slot himself between them.

Fingers tangled in his hair and heavy breath hitting his lips each time you pull away, only to dive right back in. Mouths moving over each other messily, Taehyung can barely ask the groans that die on your lips. Free hand pressed against his chest, you can feel the hammer of his heart.

Thighs squeezed to his hips, bodies so close the thinnest of papers wouldn't fit. So it's no wonder you feel it. The twitch of his cock hardening against you, so enticing you can't help the way your hips lift to meet his just as he's dropping down to press into you. A hissed moan falling from your lips at the contact.

“Fuck,” He's groaning, a switch seemingly turning on inside of him. Mouth breaking for yours and hand moving up the toward your chest. His thumb brushes over your hardened nipple through the fabric of your bra as he rolls his hips into yours.

Just the heat from pressing against you like this was enough to rile him up, mind reeling with thoughts of what it would be like to really fuck you. And the sounds you'd make. You sounded so pretty with the simple rolls of his hips, what if he was actually buried deep inside of you.

His head drops, mouth latching onto the crook of your neck to suckle at the skin there. Your senses are fogged with nothing but him. The smell of him, the feel, the taste. Still lingering on your lips and hitting your taste buds as you lick them. There's a definite heat growing between your legs with each drag of his covered cock, angled perfectly that he's just barely tapping your clit.

You want more. So much more and it's making you delirious. Needy. Hips rolling up to meet his and he's pushing you down every time. Teeth scraping against your skin and fingers pinching at your chest. “Taehyung,” It sounds more desperate than you intend it to. He's groaning back in response, face lifting from your skin to admire the red mark he's left behind.

Tongue dragging over it, soothing it with a simple swipe. Hands re-positioned on either side of your head, his gaze drops to watch the way your hips move in order to meet his, a smirk pressed on his lips. “Fuck, look at you... such a mess.” He's pushing forward, cock meeting your clit perfectly.

Strained whimper ripping through your throat as you brace your hands on his side, back arching into him. “Grinding that pretty pussy all over my cock, didn't even let me get undressed. You're so wet, huh?” Now you knew what the boys were on about when they clowned him for being mouthy. Had laughed along before, but having his words directed to you was no laughing matter.

You knew what you were doing. You could feel the effect of what you were doing but something about having him point it out in that breathy tone of his was hot. What you didn't expect was for him to want you to talk back, but the slow of his hips is quickly warning you of your role.

“Don't stop,” You're gasping, hands reaching out to him. “I could cum like this,” Your whispering, cheeks heating up at the admission. How embarrassing, losing it over dry humping, you half expect him to laugh it off as a joke.

But he doesn't, instead, he's lowering his body back onto yours, the movement of his hips picking up in speed. “Me too,” He breathes out, fingers tangling in your hair as his tongue teases against your covered lips. “Wrap your legs around me,”

His words are muffled, but you understand him enough to lift your legs, ankles locking behind his back. He drives into you like he's balls deep inside of you, pulling gasps and moans from your lips. Nails pressed into his skin as you beg him not to stop, chanting your near release. And just as you feel it bubble up in your stomach, his low pants of your name getting to you. Just as you're about to be knocked over the edge you've been teetering on, Jin's voice is breaking through.

His loud laughter bleeding through the door behind you, followed by the low grumble of Joon's voice. The jingle of his key is what snaps Tae out of it, body freezing as his head lifts to glare at the door.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You're quick to push him off, looking away as he adjusting the throbbing bulge in his pants – leaving you to wipe at the slobber-dampened mark on your chest. Jin and Joon are stepping in just as you're rushing upstairs for a shirt. Their laughter filling the downstairs as you rummage through drawers for something to pull on.

All while shoving your raging thoughts out of your mind. Still in shock that that actually happened... whatever that was. Taehyung was into you. He had said it and then kissed you. God, he kissed you. Would've been to be able to fully enjoy it if you weren't so damn greedy.

Just one taste and you were wanting the whole thing and from the look of it, he was willing to give it to you. But what if it had been a fluke. A one-off because of whatever happened to Ailee and the fact that you were there. Into you, but what did that really mean? Would that change anything?

You dare to hope, even though you're sure you're wrong. There was a lot going on tonight. Him fighting with Ailee, you being torn away from Hoseok before you can do anything properly. You were high! Still, high to be honest. Would he still be into you when he was sobering up?

Finding out is the last thing on your list. Fitting yourself as his best friend after your quiet crush was one thing. Doing that after he's taken back being into you was another. You didn't want to think about what a disaster that would be, you'd rather just go home and sleep.

Jin is turning to happily greet you as you make your way downstairs, while Joon makes room for you on the couch. Taehyung doesn't look up, cheeks flushed and eyes glued to his knees. You'd give everything to know what he's thinking.

“Yn! Tae said you were here. We're gonna open Monopoly, wanna play?” It's an invitation from Jin that you'd usually be jumping at. Claiming your designated money bag piece without a thought, so he's shocked when you're shaking your head. “Think I'm gonna just head home, turn in early.”

Tae looks up at the sound of your departure, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He had hoped you would want to stay, so he could have a chance to talk to you properly. Tell you how he was feeling even if he didn't fully understand it yet. He wanted to tell you that he liked you and he wanted to hear you say it back.

Let you know that he wanted to try to be good at relationships because he wanted to try with you. He's standing with that in mind, shrinking back when you're looking at him. There before did he feel nervous around you, but with all this weighing on his chest, he doesn't know how else to feel.

“Let me walk you home,” He offers, it's a twenty-minute walk across campus. Enough time for him to talk to you... or just be around you for longer.

You're shaking your head, though. Pushing an easy smile onto your lips. “It's fine. I texted Jimin,” It's a lie and he knows it is, but he doesn't call you on it. Obvious that you didn't want to be around him. Most likely regretting the whole thing.

Nodding as he plops back down beside Jin. He watches as you pull your shoes back on, throwing a quick goodbye over your shoulder before stepping out. Not even sparing a proper look in his direction. A huff leaves his lips as he sinks into the couch, hands tugging through his hair.

He really screwed up.

>> PART TWO COMING...SATURDAY.

— you’ve always been cute, soft, tiny in taehyung’s eyes. but that’s changing one night when you’re accidentally sending him a naughty picture. forcing him to realize, maybe his best friend is kinda… hot?

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[from-the-clouds]

Kiss Me More - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist | Part Two 

Summary: Reader works with Sam & Bucky and has a moment alone with Zemo upon their arrival in Riga. Loosely inspired by this song. 

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Kissing, heavy petting, minor TFATWS spoilers.

A/N: As if you couldn’t tell already when it comes to what characters I love to write for, I love a bad boy. This was meant to be a short, sweet fic and then I had to get all existential and invent an entire storyline around these two. I think there’s definitely room here for a multiple parts, if you’re interested. Let me know what you think!

----

“I’m going for a walk.”

Y/N didn’t argue with Bucky as he walked away stiffly. With anyone else, she would’ve been suspicious, but she knew Bucky well enough to know it was in her best interest to ignore any of his cryptic behavior. At the end of the day, she knew she could trust him. 

Zemo’s flat was spacious and beautiful, and she wasn’t surprised by the ostentatious but minimalist decorating. Zemo excused himself into the bathroom to shower and freshen up. Sam eyed him wearily, but didn’t seem too concerned. Y/N sat down on a couch she guessed cost thrice as much as she paid monthly in rent.

“I’m going to grab some grub, want anything?” Sam asked after only a few moments of pacing around the apartment, seemingly checking to see if they were being set up. 

Y/N shook her head no, the constant traveling over the past few days hadn’t been great for her appetite. 

“Will you keep an eye on him?” Sam said, flicking his eyes in the direction of the bathroom, where she heard the patter of the shower running steadily.

“Of course,” she answered. Zemo had a reputation, she’d seen it herself. But she didn’t know him to the same extent that Bucky and Sam did. So far, he’d only been polite to her so she wasn’t exactly scared or intimidated about any sort of confrontation.

Plus, she was only here as a favor to her friends. She was hardly talented or important enough to be an Avenger. Bucky and Sam knew they could call her if they were in a pinch. And right now, they were definitely in a pinch. 

Picking up a book of photography from the coffee table in front of her, she flipped through it absentmindedly, admiring the photos of ornate architecture and crowded city streets before the click of a doorknob caught her attention. Zemo emerged from the bathroom with damp hair in a bathrobe, slinging a towel over his shoulder and immediately making his way towards the kitchen.

Y/N heard the clink of glasses and ice, and she returned her attention to the book. All the traveling was catching up to her, as her eyelids began to feel heavy, and the quiet in the room allowed her body to finally settle.

“Have a drink with me,” she was startled when she realized Zemo was standing over her, a cocktail extended in her direction. Not a question, a command. 

“I’m alright, thank you,” she said flatly. 

“I have to celebrate.”

Sighing, and abandoning the book altogether she closed it, sitting it on the table and crossing her arms, looking up at him.

“Come on, It’s one drink,” he winked, and pressed the cocktail into her hands. Up close, she felt like she was seeing him for the first time, rather than just another means to an end for one of Bucky’s missions. Zemo was good-looking, there was no doubt there. Tall, Dark hair, handsome enough to turn heads, but not so chiseled to be unapproachable. She guessed he was maybe ten years her senior, and while she thought being locked up for so long might’ve taken a toll on anyone, there was no trace of it in his features.

Taking it reluctantly, but still not entirely sold, she raised an eyebrow as he slowly sat down next to her. “All right, what’s the occasion?” she asked.

He lifted his drink, and she sighed, shifting her weight so she was facing him, meeting his eyes and lifting her cocktail so it was level with his. “To being a free man.”

They clinked glasses and she took a sip, the bite of the liquor concealed by a sweet and smooth aftertaste. Whatever he’d made her, it was good. 

“Temporarily,” she added after a moment, watching him take another sip of his drink.

“What?” he asked, turning to face her. 

“You’re only a free man temporarily,” she said. 

“Touche,” he answered, one arm stretching over the back of the couch, his hand nearly touching her shoulder. He gave her a devilish grin. 

A surprising warmth fluttered in her stomach, and she turned away from him to sip her cocktail. She wasn’t ignorant. After all, she was the only woman in the group, she hadn’t missed his lingering glances and once-overs while they were partying in Madripoor. It would’ve been flattering, but she was probably the first woman he’d seen in years. 

They sat in silence for a moment as Zemo leaned back to survey the room. She supposed she hadn’t done a good enough job of appreciating it the first time around, high ceilings, natural light, but just enough privacy to feel cozy and inviting. Another steely sip of liquor passed her lips. She hadn’t had a drink in god only knew how long. 

“Tell me, doesn’t this work get exhausting?” his smooth, accented voice cut through the quiet. “Traveling all the time, getting beat up, the lack of sleep, or a routine, following orders…”

She shrugged, pondering a moment. “It’s not so bad. Plus, it’s not like I know anything else.” When she glanced over at him, his eyes were fixated intently on her, but he was unreadable. “I know you think I’m a monster, but I’m just doing what’s right.”

“What you think is right,” he corrected, and before she could bite back, finished his thought. “My people, my family. All gone because of what someone with too much power thought was right.” A sadness flickered across his visage, but disappeared as soon as she could register it. 

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, earnest. 

“And I don’t think you’re a monster,” Zemo said, shifting his weight so he was facing her dead on, tilting his head to the side and studying her. Something about his gaze felt sharp, like he could see through her. “You aren’t entirely sold on all this, I can see it in your eyes.”

His words cut deep, deeper than she was willing to admit to anyone, even herself. But what was normal? And could she ever be? “What makes you think that?”

“How often do you get to be selfish?” he asked. His robe gaped open a little at the top, revealing a dainty silver chain necklace clasped around his neck with a small charm dangling from it, pale skin and a smattering of chest hair. “When was the last time you got to sit down, relax, enjoy yourself?”

Glancing down at the drink in her hand, feeling slightly vulnerable, she felt a smiling playing at the edges of her lips. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m enjoying myself right now,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows. “What, can you blame me? Good whiskey, a beautiful woman by my side.”

Her jaw dropped slightly, holding back a smile. Warmth crept like vines up her neck, pooling in her cheeks. “You should be careful,” she warned. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

He leaned closer and she could smell the scent of his aftershave, smoke and musk, heat from the shower still radiating off his body. Maybe the whiskey was getting to her. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he lifted the drink to meet his lips, pitching his head back to finish off the liquor before discarding the empty glass on the table in front of them. 

“Would it be so bad if I was?”

Outside, the sun passed behind a cloud, and the room dimmed ever so slightly, casting shadows that caught along Zemo’s cheekbones, his jawline. The waning light made her all the more aware of how the energy in the room had shifted. 

“It’d be unprofessional,” she said, voice low, and he seemed much closer than he’d been before. But he wasn’t the only one closing the gap, she realized she was definitely, inadvertently, meeting him halfway. 

“Oh well,” he said, softly. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her eyes adjusted to the light, and up close, he was mesmerizing, deep brown eyes filled with longing. His gaze made her stomach turn, and she knew she should be disgusted but she just couldn’t bring herself to feel anything other than intrigue.

Shaking her head no, she couldn’t find the words to speak. Maybe because she wouldn’t believe any last attempts at protest. Better to save her breath.

The Baron’s hand, cool from the icy glass, rose to cup her cheek, so gentle and tender, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. Frozen, all she could do was breathe slowly as her heart raced. “Zemo-” she began weakly.

“Helmut,” he corrected. “Call me Helmut.”

Y/N gave no answer, unable to remember what she had been protesting when he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. 

Goosebumps rose along her arms, ears ringing, as he kissed her. The arm he’d been resting on the couch behind her pulled her closer, and her own free hand rose to his neck, letting him take control. 

Her lips parted and his tongue traced her bottom lip, deepening the kiss. He groaned into her mouth, the vibration raising every hair on her body. Oh, she knew it was bad, but she hadn’t felt so desired, so wanted in years. Wandering hands lazily slid down his neck, to his shoulders where her fingers pushed underneath the loose neckline of his robe, palms exploring the broad expanse of his chest. 

Her skin tingled, every exposed surface aching to be touched, explored by him, and maybe he could tell as his hand left her jaw to coast down her torso, all the way to hook behind her knee and pull her leg across his lap, an invitation to straddle him that didn’t go unnoticed, but she’d need time to decide whether or not she was willing to go that far. 

As for exploring, he wasted no time bringing his hand back up her stomach, to hover lightly over the curve of her breast, squeezing gently as to gauge her reaction, a request to continue, and her breath caught in her mouth, her body instinctively pressing against him. His thumb found the peak of her nipple even through the padding of her bra and thin t-shirt. 

Her lips parted from his to let out a breathless moan, and his mouth trailed down her neck as her fingers tangled in his hair. His tongue and teeth passed over a particularly sensitive spot, which he discovered when she let out a strangled gasp, and doubled down, sucking and grazing over and over until she finally couldn’t bare it any longer and she pulled away. 

Zemo’s face hovered inches from hers, and she wanted to give him some sort of excuse. That this was wrong, they shouldn’t be doing this, but she took in his equally unfastidious appearance and decided not to waste her words on something so cliche. He looked utterly breathtaking.

He didn’t move away, just smiled gently. “How does it feel...to do the bad thing?” he teased.

Y/N couldn’t help the giggle that passed her lips, feeling lightheaded and giddy. “Not so bad at all,” She should’ve been enraged, she should’ve wretched herself out of his arms, but she was engulfed in his scent and his comforting presence, unwilling to leave. It wasn’t so terrible to be selfish. It was her who closed the gap between them again.

He smiled against her lips, hand returning to hook behind her knee once more, and this time she obliged, shifting her weight so she could straddle his lap and his hands met both sides of her hips as she cupped his face, fingers in his hair on his shoulders, kissing him with unbridled passion. 

She could feel his excitement through the fabric of the robe, and knew she was getting carried away, but every nerve in her body smarted for contact. He was impossibly warm and she couldn’t get enough of it. Rolling her hips forward to tease him, he let out a groan and arched upward. “Oh, liebling, I wish we had more time.”

As if on cue, she heard the scratching of the key in the front doorway, and was immediately jolted from her reverie. Before she knew it she was off the couch and halfway across the room, just as Bucky entered, looking perturbed as always. 

“Hey,” she said, turning her back to him and pretending to look out the window, voice unsteady. She heard Helmut clear his throat and shift his weight on the couch. 

Busying herself in the kitchen, she let the curtain of her hair fall over the side of her face, hiding her clearly flustered appearance, her face was still impossibly warm, her skin sensitive, lips swollen. “How was your walk?” 

“Fine,” Bucky said, and she heard him walking towards her as she absentmindedly pretended to wipe down the countertops. When he brushed past her to use the sink she jumped, finally looking him in the eyes. Bucky frowned. “Are you all right?” he asked. 

Staring back at him for a moment she nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

“You just seem a little jumpy.”

“There was a spider,” the lie came out so easily, so quickly, that she was actually ashamed of it. “It was big and I….I don’t know where it went.”

Bucky snorted, and whether he believed her or not, didn’t respond. “Where’s Sam?” he asked. 

“Out getting dinner,” she said, feeling her heart rate begin to turn back to normal. Bucky washed his hands and shook the excess water off in the basin.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to lie down,” she said after a moment. “The jetlag is catching up to me.”

She turned around and left Bucky in the kitchen, returning to the lounge area where Zemo turned to look over his shoulder. “Allow me to show you to the guest bedroom,” he said, an ornery sparkle in his eyes. 

“Fine,” she said flatly, wondering what exactly he was planning and just intrigued enough to resist an argument.

The bedroom was just out of Bucky’s earshot, down a short hallway. As she stepped over the threshold to the awaiting large, inviting bed, a hand on her waist halted her in her tracks. 

“I’m not finished with you,” she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses once more. It took a great deal of control to pull herself away from him, as she turned around and grabbed the doorknob, dragging it towards her. “We’ll see about that,” she said quietly, shutting the door in his face and letting out an exhausted breath. She’d awakened a monster, and now she had no idea what to do about it.

---

PART II out now!

If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, please let me know!

[caramelxcarmen]

swizzcheese​:

♡

He could tell her that he’d always rather her be there than not… but she probably wouldn���t believe that, and he wasn’t in the mood to say it. It wasn’t fair to call her a buzzkill. He needed a buzzkill. He knew that she was only looking out for his best interest. But he didn’t care about his best interest. He only cared about the moment. He only cared about treating his emotions rather than facing them. He wasn’t worried about progress. And he wasn’t worried about making her proud. If he disappointed her she’d leave, then she’d stop getting hurt over his dumb decisions. And he’d be able to make them in peace. He felt his stomach drop when she exited the room, though, disappointed she was actually leaving. Listening to her make her way into the kitchen as he tried to figure out what I’ll play meant… then make her way back.

He stared at Carmen, both in awe and concern as she brought the bottle to her lips and emptied it. She was the calm one. He’d never seen her lose her temper quite like that. Sure, she could be impatient and snappy, but between the two of them, it was always him acting foolish. How far did he have to push her to get her to this point? Why couldn’t he jst keep his mouth shut? Despite the room still dizzying, he sobered up real quick, barely able to realize what she was doing before she was on his lap. His breath caught in his throat as her lips met his, falling into the kiss momentarily, unable to help himself — distracted by how it felt electric, she felt electric. He was left gasping for air when she broke the kiss to speak again, snapping him back to reality.

“Carmen, stop, fuck,” he whispered back, catching her hands in his. This wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want her feeling like this. Leaning back to take a good look at her face, Swizz felt his heart fall to his churning stomach. She looked ready to cry. He’d done this. Which was exactly why she shouldn’t be here. Why she shouldn’t check in with him. Why he should’ve let her leave when she threatened to, rather than pushing her buttons. Why he should’ve never let her get involved in the first place. “I’m sorry. I get it, okay? I’ll cut myself off.” Until she left. “I’m sorry.” 

This wasn’t one of her prouder moments. This felt extreme, even for her. It wasn’t like they hadn’t fought before. However Swizz was and continued to be stubborn. How could she reach him without doing something drastic like this? It felt wrong knowing she was doing it to spite him; to prove a cruel point. At the same time she wanted to keep kissing him, distract her from the deeper feelings that dwelled beneath the surface about him. That was what made her so insane--how deeply she cared for him. Just to watch him brave death everyday without a second thought. It was excruciating to watch from the sidelines. Carmen was beginning to lose herself as they kissed, almost toying with the idea that she could be like this. Be whatever he wanted, whatever he needed. It wasn’t fair for her, but in that moment she would’ve done anything to keep him. 

Snapping back to reality as he captured her wrists. The tears were evident now, something she wanted to avoid. Watching him with a dazed expression, as she tried to steady her breathing. God, if only Taura and Tiffany could see her now. They’d probably be disappointed. Letting her wrist go limp against his grip she couldn’t believe that he was apologizing. It was rare when he did say sorry, and this time she couldn’t even care to hear it.  An apology wasn’t what she wanted anymore, she didn’t even know what she really wanted now. “You don’t even have to tell me that, I don’t need your apologies Sterling, I don’t.” She cried softly, with a small shake of her head. “I just need you to know that I can’t sit by carelessly and watch you hurt yourself. You know I care about you. I could be like anyone else that you party with, or fill your bed with but at the end of the day you’re more than that to me. I’m sorry I can’t be like everyone else.”

[howaboutcastiel]

Dirty Talk (Jake x Layla)

Kinktober prompt 3 (Kinktober Masterlist)

A/N: guys listen don’t think about the plot for too long on this one. Porn is more important than plot. This one’s short because dirty talk makes me uncomfy. 

Word count: 2.3k

Content: dirty talk (...duh), smut, PIV in particular, choking, canon-typical violence (mild), probably improper use of Arabic swears

It was progressing just like every other mission.

Layla didn’t prefer to work with Jake, she preferred to work with Marc. Marc was her husband, her partner—Marc was the one that knew her best. She was happy to work with Steven when needed. He was kind to her, he was good at planning and plotting, and he seemed to have unlimited knowledge to pull from whenever the mission required something that Layla didn’t know. 

But when a mission required Jake? Layla was less than thrilled, to put it lightly. It wasn’t that she had a problem with him…no, maybe it was. Layla definitely had a problem with Jake, who had twice as much hubris as Marc and thought through his plans only half as much as Steven. Sure, he was charismatic, he was quick-witted, and he was more agile than any of the others, but he was arrogant. 

What was worse, though? He absolutely loved working with Layla. The feeling wasn’t mutual. 

They were infiltrating a drug-trafficking ring. Layla was undercover as a buyer—a wealthy buyer, and Jake was stationed about a half-block away on the roof of a hotel. He could see everything from a bird’s-eye view, talking Layla through her cover using an earpiece she had styled to look like an earring. Jake dawned his suit, ready to swoop down at Layla’s cue and take down the most heavily-armed of their targets. It was a straightforward mission and it was progressing perfectly. 

So much so that Jake decided he would have a little fun. 

“You see that table to your left?” He asked her, a soothing purr in his voice. Layla rolled her eyes, leaning away as to not alert her ‘dealer’ of her conversation. 

“Yes, 'ahmaq, I see it. What about it?” She was expecting him to tell her there was a gun taped underneath it, or perhaps an important document on top of it. It wasn’t pertinent either way—she had her target in front of her. 

“I’d do anything to bend you over that table. To watch your ass shake while I fuck you stupid. You’d look so fucking good.”

“What the hell, Jake?” Layla heard him chuckle over the line. It wasn’t uncommon for him, especially when he was confident that a mission was going to go well. “Cut it out. I almost have him.”

“I’d like to have you, once this is all done. Maybe in that alleyway over on your right.”

“Ayreh Feek, I don’t have time for this.” Layla hissed at him. She turned back to the dealer, brandishing an overly-seductive smile and batting her eyelashes. He moved to gather a rather large package of prescription opioids, as Layla had arranged, and she tried to ignore the gratingly confident voice in her ear. 

“Let’s make a little deal, huh? You get through the rest of this mission without blowing your cover, I take you out for dinner and drinks. You blow it? You have to blow me at our rendezvous spot.”

“Whatever. I never blow my cover.”

“Ah, you will.”

Layla didn’t know the parameters of the deal she had made, but she had a pretty good idea. The dealer prompted her to follow him deeper into the alley, no doubt to make the exchange with armed company ensuring his safety. And his money. Her earpiece hissed again as she started to move her feet. 

“Your mouth is gonna look so pretty around my cock, baby. I know you can take it all, too. You’re such a fucking slut, It’ll make you gag and you’ll still take it all. Gonna feel so good.”

She could hear Jake smiling on the other end of the line. Layla felt her face and chest heating up, but the man before her didn’t seem to notice. 

“Maybe I’ll tug on those curls of yours. Force you to take all of me. I might even hold you down, let you choke on my cock. God, you’d sound so pretty. You know that you’d love it. You’d be a good girl for me.”

“So, how again did you say you were going to distribute my product?” The dealer asked suspiciously. 

“I can assure you, you don’t have to worry about any cracks in my operation.” Layla felt her breath quicken a bit. She cleared her throat. “I don’t like to make noise.”

“Oh, hermosa, don’t lie to that poor man. You love to make noise. Those pretty little sounds, so desperate and loud. I bet I could make you scream tonight if I tried. I love to hear you scream for me.”

“Are we doing this or not?” There was just a little too much haste in her voice. The man scowled at her as he led her back to a dead-end alley with two other men, both bearing silenced firearms. 

“Wow, those are pretty big guns. You think they’re compensating for something?”

“You have the cash, I assume?” The man peered at Layla with a satisfied, greedy look and she nodded, reaching into her bag. The guard pointed their guns and she slowly pulled out a large wad of cash. All hundreds. 

“Alright, papi’s gonna light these fuckers up. You ready to summon your suit?” Jake asked, adding of course, “I love your light little ass in that suit.”

“Let’s get on with it, then.” Layla responded, both to the dealer and to her partner. She wouldn’t admit it, but a select few of those words had made their way down between her legs. It wasn’t enough to break her focus. 

Layla held her other hand out, proving to her onlookers that there were no sudden moves for her to make, as she slowly raised the other out to the man. He held out his package likewise and everyone seemed to relax a bit. Just a bit. The guards loosened their grips on their triggers, and it was more than enough. Layla summoned her suit. 

The movement disoriented them and by the time they had processed the apparition in front of them, Jake Lockley was quite literally descending from the sky. It didn’t take long to disarm all of them. Jake didn’t move like Marc—that is, like a boxer and an ex-marine—he practically danced around the men, confusing them so much that they never even got a good hit in. The suit didn’t have any bullets to absorb, as they could never train their eyes on him long enough to fire accurately. They were on the ground almost instantly. 

Layla had subdued the dealer herself, locked him in a chokehold and extended her wing to no doubt give him a nasty concussion. He would certainly live, though. Perhaps the same couldn’t be said for those Jake had manhandled. 

“Nice work, carino.” Jake cooed. “I’m disappointed, though. I really thought I was gonna win that one.”

Layla rolled her eyes as she started to walk away from him, cash still in hand. He followed her while vanishing his suit and pouting. 

“Ah, come on, doll. We finished the mission, right? Don’t be like that.”

He walked just a little bit faster than her, trying to catch up. Jake groaned and dragged his feet as she showed him no mind. He went to put his hand on her shoulder, willing her not to be pissed at him, and the very second his palm made contact with her shirt?

Jake was on the ground. 

Layla shouldn’t have been strong enough to overpower him with one hand, but he wasn’t expecting it. She flipped him onto his back, pinning her arm across his throat and baring her teeth. Jake’s eyes blew wide as she squinted at him. Another wave of energy went right to her cunt at the sight of his terrified face. 

“You wanted to make me mess up? You wanted me to blow my cover.” She scoffed at him as his face relaxed. “Why do you make things more difficult than they need to be?”

“Because it’s fun. I like to rile you up.”

She grunted frustratedly and pressed harder into his neck. The smile on Jake’s face only grew. He brought his hands up to cup her wrist, his breath labored from the pressure. 

“Well then,” Layla’s face darkened with decision. “You’ll get what you want from me.”

She loosened her grip and Jake wasted no time in flipping them over, smashing his lips into hers. Layla relaxed into the kiss, letting him part her mouth with his tongue and straddle her hips as he ground against her. She let out a soft moan. 

“Are you riled up, baby?” He murmured against her skin. “Decide against the wine and dine after all? I’ll make it worth your while. Be a good girl.”

“Oh,” she touted, “I will.”

Layla was already soaking her panties and Jake was more than half-hard himself. He continued to roll his hips against her, sucking and nipping at her neck delicately. Jake didn’t even notice her beginning to unbutton his shirt, her fingers trailing the fabric so lightly he couldn’t feel it at all.

“You want me to be a good girl for you, papi?” He hummed a low growl into her skin, right against the base of her throat. Layla started to trace his chest with the pads of her fingers, working up goosebumps in the wake of her manicured hand. “I’ll be good for you.”

She pushed Jake over so that she had all the leverage, now. He didn’t seem to mind it so much, groaning and throwing his head back as she pushed his shirt off of his shoulders. Layla’s hand trailed down past his waist, settling on the button of Jake’s pants. His chest shuddered as she snapped it open, snaking her hand underneath the hand of his briefs. 

“Dios mío,” he breathed. She chuckled into his skin, the hot air making the hairs on his neck stand up. Layla tilted his head back with her off hand, using the other to wrap around the base of his dick. As she forced his jaw upward, baring his throat to her, Jake choked a whimper that made her giggle once again. 

“Is this what you wanted?”

Layla batted her lashes, trailing her index finger down the center of Jake’s neck before wrapping her hand widely around his exposed throat. His eyes rolled back in his head as she started to apply pressure. Her other hand pumped his cock until she felt precum leaking onto her knuckles. Once she did, she tutted and withdrew her hand from his pants. He whined. 

“What’s that? I can’t hear you, papi. What do you need your good girl to do? Do you want me to…press harder?” Jake nodded furiously, deliriously. She loved to break his facade this way. His cheeky, confident grin that begged her to fear him, to revere him. She likes to watch it crumble beneath her touch. Layla squeezed him tighter, just a little, and he whimpered again blissfully. 

She used her free hand to pull off her leggings, careful to keep Jake’s head angled just right to watch her do it. His pupils were blown so wide, the thin layer of brown in his iris was barely there at all. He was covered in a thin layer of sweat, and his cock was aching. His whole body was aching for her. 

Layla was aching for him, too. 

Pulling her panties to the side and stilling her knees, she began to slowly sink down on him. The stretch made both of them forget how to breathe for a moment. Jake sputtered and coughed out a groan as Layla threw her head back. Her curls cascaded onto her shoulders, bouncing and shining and enamoring him as she started rocking herself up and down on his cock. Jake desperately wanted to keep his eyes open, but they snapped shut as she clamped down onto his throat once again. 

The pressure was too good, too much, and Jake couldn’t help himself but buck into her with all his strength. She giggled and tisked and pressed her hand into his belly, forcing him down. 

“Don’t tire yourself, papi. Let me be good for you. I’m being so good for you.”

Jake couldn’t last long with her voice in his ears. He wrapped his hand around her wrist, desperate to be closer to her, but not wanting the pressure to stop. Jake tried to run his hand along her still-clothed chest, to tug at her hair and feel her warmth. She grabbed his hand from where it sat atop her breast, kissing his knuckles and squeezing. 

That’s what put him over the edge. 

He gasped and he stilled and he spilled his load deep inside of her, his climax ripping through him hard enough to steal the strength from his limbs. Layla continued to roll her hips, cumming seconds later. Warmth crept over her body and electricity shot through her core. She all but collapsed on top of him, her hand still resting at the base of his throat. 

They laid in the alleyway for a minute or two, just panting for breath. Jake wrapped his arms around her, holding Layla tight to his chest and breathing in the scent of her shampoo as he tried desperately to regain control of himself. Layla lifted her head a brandished a wide, cheeky, devilish smile. 

“What?” He asked. 

“You still owe me dinner.”

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@theaussiedragon @ahookedheroespureheart @rmoonstoner @moonmoonboys