#this is really just self indulgence at its finest

[kindred-spirit-93]

polites be upon ye ft. baby duckling

what should i name le duck?

thank you to me for the idea. now stop procrastinating >:I

[magicislikelove]

I need this stupid viking. I'm going mad.

[hero-deserves-to-be-happy]

Under The Weather (A Hero-Centric Sick Fic)

When Hero has to cancel his visit home due to illness, Kel gets worried and calls in some reinforcements to take care of him. Kel knows there is nothing that upsets his brother more than being fussed over and worried about, but maybe he'll let himself be taken care of just this once...

Genre: Sick Fic, Slice of Life and Hurt/Comfort. Friendship and Kel & Hero's Brotherly Love. Post-Good Ending. Self-Indulgent. Hero Deserves To Be Happy.

Characters: Hero (POV Character), Kel (POV Character), and Zoey (OC). Sally and the parents make brief appearances. Mari and Sunny are mentioned.

Relationships: Hero and Kel's Brotherly Bond. Kel and Zoey (OC) Friendship. Hero and Zoey (OC) Friendship [Could be Hero/OC if you really wanted, but this story take place mid-extremely slow burn so they'd swear they're just friends here]. Past Hero/Mari is implied, referenced, and mentioned.

Word Count: 11,886

Rating: G

Warnings: Some hurt/comfort. Some mentions of grief. Mentioned flu and flu-like symptoms. Sick Character. Referenced Canonical Character Death. OMORI SPOILERS. There is a little angst, but it wraps up with brotherly love and Hero actually being happy and taken care of after the good ending (who knew we'd live to see the day...)

⛅This story is part of the "When Sun Shines Again" universe & includes specific references to "Am I Ready For Love? Or Maybe Just A Best Friend" but it should stand-alone and make sense without reading any of that. 

A/N: It's my birthday and this is my (Acacia's) self-indulgent present to myself. 😁Thank you for indulging me!

Link to work on AO3. Full text below the cut.

Thank you for reading! 🧡💙☂️

Kel glanced over at the clock, watching as the second hand barely ticked away. He generally wasn’t this distracted or antsy at basketball practice, even when his coach called an emergency practice after school on a Friday when everyone was naturally jittery with anticipation for the weekend. But he couldn’t seem to focus on anything today—found himself zoning out until something collided with the back of his head.

“Ouch!” he yelped, rubbing his hand across the spot the basketball had just bounced off of him. That was definitely going to leave a mark. Some of his teammates snickered while a few offered shrugs of apologies. His coach huffed, crossing his arms clearly unamused.

“What is going on with you today?”

“Sorry, coach,” he mumbled sheepishly—scratching the back of his neck. “My brother’s coming home from college for the weekend, so I guess I’ve been a little distracted.”

His coach frowned. “Well you can run out that distraction by running laps around this gym. 10 laps—go!”

Kel sighed, but he sprinted off for his laps. If he was being perfectly honest, he didn’t mind. If he was lucky, maybe running laps would help time pass faster. He’d try anything that would help time pass faster. Hero was coming home, and he couldn’t wait to see him.

When practice finally wrapped up, he practically sprinted out to his car and, though it likely would have worried his mother, he sped home at, at least, a solid 10 mph above the speed limit. He hoped he hadn’t missed Hero’s arrival—though he knew he had a class this morning and wouldn’t have been able to leave until later in the day, then he had what was probably a 3-hour drive taking traffic into account, so maybe time was on his side.

When he pulled onto his street, he was relieved to see that Hero’s car was not in the driveway, and as he ran through the doorway into the house, he called, ��Have you heard from Hero at all?” Do you know what time he’s coming?”

With an affectionate chuckle, his mom looked up from the block structure she had been building with Sally. “Well, welcome home to you too, Kel. Did you have a good day at school? How was basketball practice?”

“It was fine,” he said with a shrug, trying to ignore that lump on the back of his head. “But have you—?”

“Wanna play ‘zoo,’ Kel?” Sally interrupted with a bright smile as she held up some of the colorful, plastic animals he and Hero had bought her for her birthday. “You can have any ammimals you want.” She stared up at him with wide, expectant eyes as she handed him an elephant. Kel smiled, patting his little sister on the head.

“Thanks, Sally. We’ll play in a minute, okay?” He paused, turning back to his mother. “Mom—”

“I haven’t heard from him since this morning. He was supposed to call before he left, but maybe he got busy or forgot,” she cut him off with a slight shake of her head. “I hope he’ll make it back in time for dinner.”

“I’ll call him,” exclaimed Kel reaching for the telephone receiver. As Kel began to dial the number he knew by heart, he stopped—wondering if it would be better to call Hero’s cell phone. They were all still adjusting to the fact that he had gotten one. It made their mother feel safer and more secure, knowing that Hero had a way to call for help in an emergency, but since he had limited, prepaid minutes, they all still usually communicated with him by calling the landline at the fraternity house where he lived. In this case, however, Kel was hoping that Hero was already on his way, in which case, his cell phone would be the best way to get ahold of him.

“What if he’s driving?” sighed Mom as Kel began to flip through the address book they kept near the phone. When he found the number, Kel shrugged.  

“Then he won’t answer, and I’ll just leave a message.”

“Tell him about my zoo,” giggled Sally, and Kel nodded. As he held the phone to his ear, the ringing of the telephone mingled with Sally’s best impression of a lion. A smile tugged at his mouth as he watched as his sister began to set her animal toys in the block zoo she had been building with their mother.

He was so distracted he almost didn’t hear the slow, heavy breath followed by a hoarse, groggy, “Hello?”

Kel’s brow furrowed. “Hero? Uh…it’s Kel…” He stumbled over his words, worried he had dialed the wrong number. The person on the other line barely sounded like his brother at all. There was more wheezy breathing as if Hero couldn’t catch his breath, followed by an audible gasp and a stumbling, almost panicky, “Kel? Oh my gosh—what time is it?”

“Um…around 6:00, I think.”

“I’m so sorry,” apologized Hero, sounding like himself again besides the hoarse breathiness of his voice. “I wasn’t feeling well so I lied down to take a nap before I left, and I must have completely lost track of time.” His voice cracked and hitched—raspy and wheezy before he finally burst into a fit of nasty, phlegmy coughing.

“You sound terrible. Are you sick?”

“He’s sick?” interjected their mother bustling around him in a fidgety panic. “What’s wrong? Did he see a doctor? Does he have a fever?”

“I don’t know, Mom,” huffed Kel, but he was promptly cut off by Hero.

“Mom’s there?” There was something concerned and guilty in his already weary voice. “Tell her not to worry. I’m fine. My friends have been passing this bug around. I’m the last one to catch it. I’ll probably be better in a couple days.”

Kel nodded before he realized his brother couldn’t see him; then, he turned to his mom giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “He says all his friends have had this bug. It only lasts a day or two. He’s gonna be fine.”

“Tell him to take medicine, get lots of rest, and drink plenty of water and to keep checking his temperature,” his mother began rambling. “If it reaches 103, he needs to call a doctor or go to urgent care.”

“Mom,” sighed Kel. “Hero’s gonna be a doctor. I’m sure he knows all that.”

“You can hand the phone off to Mom If you want. I’ll talk to her,” Hero weakly interjected before he started coughing again. “I’m really sorry I’ll have to postpone my visit, but I’m not well enough to drive and I wouldn’t want to get you sick.”

“It’s fine, okay? Don’t worry about it. Are you sure you’re alright? That’s a really nasty cough.” Kel bit his lip, trying not to sound nearly as concerned as he felt. His fingers trembled as they gripped onto the receiver. As he looked in his mother’s face, he knew she was worried too and likely for the same reason: Hero never got sick.

“I’m fine,” he insisted but his raspy voice and coughing fit seemed to imply otherwise. “Don’t worry about me. I’m probably just going to make some instant ramen and go to bed.”

“But you hate instant ramen…”

“He’s making instant ramen,” interjected their mother. “Tell him to try to eat something healthier—more hearty like soup.”

“Mom—” Kel began to protest before Hero cut him off with a weary sigh.

“I just didn’t have the energy to make anything else…” Hero’s voice trailed, and Kel swallowed hard.

“Is there someone there who can take care of you?” he asked, and Hero sighed again.

“I don’t want to bother anyone or get them sick. Besides they’re all heading out to this party tonight.” He paused, coughing again. “But it’s fine. I’m really okay, Kel, just a little under the weather.”

Kel sighed heavily. He wished he could believe him, but Hero had always had this way of deflecting and belittling his own problems because he didn’t want people to worry. This had gotten especially bad over the past couple of years. Ever since their fight, it seemed like Hero would never tell him that anything was wrong ever again. Kel’s chest ached. His brother could be dying right now, and he’d have no idea.

“Hero—” He stopped abruptly, unsure of what he even wanted to say. It would probably just be the wrong thing anyway, so it might be better if he just didn’t say anything at all.

“I’m okay, Kel,” Hero gently insisted again. “And I’m sorry…but we’ll see each other another time. Maybe next weekend or the weekend after? Whenever I’m not contagious anymore.”

Kel sighed, but he finally answered, “Yeah…You just take care, okay? Do you want me to put Mom on now?”

Hero hummed, and Kel handed the phone off to their mother who started blustering and prattling away about cold medicine, sponge baths, and electrolytes. Kel didn’t catch most of it, but he did clearly hear, “I wish you had someone up there to take care of you.” Kel let out a long, heavy sigh. He certainly felt the same way, but that definitely wasn’t going to happen. Hero hated asking for help more than he hated instant ramen.

“Is Hero gonna be, okay?” asked Sally, tugging on his arm. Kel gave her a reassuring smile.

“Yeah. He’s just a little sick right now, but he’ll be fine. Then he’ll come visit and see your zoo.” He took Sally’s hand and led her back to the blocks and toys. “Here, I’ll help you with it.”

Helping Sally with her zoo project did not distract Kel nearly as much as he hoped. He was constantly distracted by worries about Hero and how bad his health was—if he was really telling them the whole story. He didn’t usually get sick after all, and he sounded horrible. What if he had a flu or something and needed medical attention? He could at least use someone who could check in on him and make sure he was getting water and enough to eat that wasn’t instant ramen. But Kel wasn’t sure who that would even be. Unless…

Impulsively, Kel raced upstairs to his room to grab the notecard where he had written Hero’s friend Zoey’s phone number after she had offered to let him call her whenever he got stuck on his math homework. Kel had used to call Hero with all his homework trouble, but after Hero himself was stumped by a particularly difficult math problem, his brother had suggested they ask his friend who was an engineering major and, Hero insisted, a math genius. Best of all, she had just so happened to be hanging out with him when Kel had called. Zoey had quickly solved and walked him through the problem, then several others. Then she generously offered that he could call her with any other questions—which he had multiple times. Honestly, he’d probably be failing math right now if it wasn’t for her.

He talked to her all the time, sometimes it seemed, even more than Hero, though Kel often thought he probably got a more accurate account of how Hero was actually doing from her than if he had just asked his brother himself. He could only be told ‘I’m fine, just busy’ so many times before it started sounding automatic and rehearsed. Zoey at least told him the truth: he’s stressed about upcoming exams, busy cooking food for a party his fraternity was hosting, or groggy from staying up all night studying. Kel sighed. He understood if his brother wanted to keep a lot of his life private, but, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt a little to be cut off from his reality by dismissive ‘I’m fine’s. He knew Hero didn’t want him to worry and was likely just trying to protect him from that, but still…he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was his own fault. Hero probably didn’t want to tell him he was stressed out, overwhelmed, or sick because he was worried Kel would just say the wrong thing, just like he had when Hero had gotten so depressed after Mari had died.

Neither of them ever wanted that to happen again so they just didn’t really say much of anything anymore—at least not much of anything that mattered. Sure, they still talked—so much and so often that Kel knew the phone number to Hero’s fraternity house by heart, but it barely scratched the surface, never touched anything deep or meaningful. In a way, it felt hollow, distant—like Hero was only showing him a hazy impression of his life, enough to reassure Kel he was doing okay but not enough that he could feel like he actually knew him anymore, at least not like he had when they were younger and Hero had told him everything. It was getting better—had been over the past two years since they had learned the truth, but…Kel knew things would never go back to the way they were. He should probably be used to that by now. His brother was a very private person, and he probably always would be.

And by the time Kel had dialed the number and listened to two rings of the telephone, he realized with a somewhat sheepish sigh that he probably should have been a little more respectful of that. His hands began to tremble as he clutched onto the receiver—genuinely starting to worry he was crossing a line. Zoey was one of Hero’s best friends, and Hero might be embarrassed to know his younger brother had been calling her to ask if she’d check up on him.

Before he could even begin to consider hanging up, however, someone answered the phone with a “Hello?”

“Hey, uh, this is Kel. Is Zoey there?”

The young woman on the other line laughed. “Scotty, how are you?”  she asked, and Kel’s mouth curved into a bright smile. He knew immediately it was her. She was the only person in the world who called him ‘Scotty.’ Zoey had explained to him once it had to do with his talent for fixing things, just like “Scotty the Miracle Man,” a reference to some old tv show Zoey said she had used to watch with her dad. It didn’t bother Kel that he didn’t get the reference. He was honestly just kind of excited to have a nickname. After all, he had never really had one besides ‘Kel’ before and that was just a shortened version of his name. He had always kind of wanted one, just like Hero, but he had never told anyone that before.

“I’m good,” he replied with a chuckle. “You?”

Zoey hummed. “I’m doing okay—been kind of busy. You stuck on your math homework again?”

“Well yeah,” Kel admitted with a shrug. “But that wasn’t why I was calling. Is this a bad time?”

“Nope. Most of my sorority sisters are headed out to this party, so that’s probably what you’re hearing in the background.”

Kel’s brow furrowed. He heard some background chatter and rustling noises, but it was all kind of faint—nothing he would have thought was worth mentioning if Zoey hadn’t brought it up herself. “You’re not going to the party?”

“I have a project due next week, and honestly, parties aren’t really my scene. Don’t tell your brother, but I really don’t think I’d have a good time without him there anyway. We’re usually the only sober ones, and drunk company’s really not all it’s cracked up to be,” she replied dryly, and Kel laughed but shrugged his shoulders.

“Have you talked to Hero at all?”

“Not since yesterday. Did he make it home okay?”

Kel sighed. “He’s not coming. He’s sick.” Kel paused—sighing again and trying not to sound too disappointed. “He called like 45 minutes ago—has this terrible cough. He says he caught some bug or something and isn’t well enough to drive.”

“I knew this would happen,” huffed Zoey though she sounded more guilty than upset. “We’ve all been passing this flu around, and Hero’s been trying to take care of everyone so, of course, he got sick himself.”

“A flu?” interrupted Kel. He shook his head. So Hero had been underexaggerating again…? He should’ve known.

“I’m sure he’s going to be okay,” Zoey reassured him. “He has a really strong immune system—barely ever gets sick. It’s one of the reasons he’s going to be a great doctor. Don’t worry. I had this flu too—got over it in a couple days.”

“He got it from you?” teased Kel, and Zoey laughed.

“Probably from Kyle. They are roommates. But we’ve all had it. Hero’s the last one.” Zoey paused, sighed. “We really didn’t think he was going to get sick.”

“Yeah he uh…usually doesn’t, but he sounded pretty miserable when I talked to him earlier today. Said the only thing he could eat was instant ramen.”

“He hates instant ramen,” Zoey interjected, and Kel shook his head with a sigh.

“I know.” He paused thoughtfully then tried to ask as nonchalantly as he could manage, “Hey…uh…do you think you could bring him over some food or something? Just so he wouldn’t have to keep eating instant ramen. I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything, but since you already had it, maybe you could just drop it off and maybe check in to make sure he’s doing okay…?” His voice trailed, and he bit his lip as he waited for her answer.

“I’m not much of a cook, Scotty,” chuckled Zoey. “But I could stop by a restaurant or Other Mart to pick up a couple things and drop them off for him. You know it’s only going to make him feel guilty though. He’ll help anybody that needs him without batting an eye, but the minute you try to turn it around and return the favor, it’s suddenly a big deal.”

Shaking his head slightly, Kel sighed. “Yeah…that’s just Hero for you.”

When Zoey sighed herself, Kel imagined she was shaking her head with the same somewhat affectionate exasperation, but she hummed thoughtfully. “I’m sure he’s feeling pretty miserable right now, and not just because he’s sick. He’s been so excited to see you—talked about practically nothing else for the past couple weeks.”

“Really?” The question slipped out before Kel could stop it, and his face flushed. Luckily, she couldn’t see him.

“Yeah, of course,” Zoey chuckled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t know if I’ve ever known anyone who’s so excited to see his brother. I mean, I love my brother, but the way Hero talks about you—it’s like you’re the most important person in the whole world, his best friend.”

“I don’t think I’m his best friend anymore,” mumbled Kel without thinking.

“Hey…” Zoey’s tone of voice softened—something gentle and sympathetic in it. “If you’re talking about me or Kyle or Brandi, C.J., Lorraine, Tamra…yeah, we’re all Hero’s friends and we all care about him, but none of us are you. And we’re never going to be you, Scotty. You’ll always be number one.”

“I dunno,” sighed Kel. He was pretty sure he lost that spot when he was insensitive, said all the wrong things after Mari died—when he hurt his brother, broke him.

“I don’t really know if it’s my place to say but…” Zoey began tentatively, but she let out a conceding sigh. “You know the only time I ever really see Hero happy is when he talks about you—about how amazing you are and how proud he is. His face just lights up, and he smiles for real—it actually reaches his eyes.”

Kel’s face grew warm, but he stifled a chuckle. It was funny to hear her say that considering he would have said the exact same thing about her. They all would have. It was Sunny who had noticed it first, actually, on account of the fact he lived in the city and Hero often invited him to hang out with him and his friends. Kel would never forget how he had excitedly told him, Aubrey, and Basil all about what it had been like to see Hero smile again. They almost hadn’t believed him, but then Hero had come home on a break and told him about how he got caught in the rain with some friend of his, a spunky engineering major who thankfully had a red umbrella. In the middle of his story, Hero’s face had lit up and he had smiled just like Sunny had said, a real smile that actually reached his eyes. Kel’s chest ached just thinking about it—about how much he wished his brother would smile like that all time, about how much he wished he would be happy again.

Kel took a long, deep breath. Could it really be possible that Hero smiled like that when he talked about him too? He couldn’t really believe that. Not after everything that had happened.

“He really loves you, you know?” Zoey continued quietly, and Kel fidgeted. Could she read his mind or something? “If the situation was reversed and you were sick and he was hours away, he’d be calling your friends too—having Aubrey and Basil go check up on you and make sure you’re doing okay. He’d probably be calling your parents all the time for updates too. Everyone in Faraway Town would be keeping an eye on you for him.”

Something twisted in Kel’s chest, and his eyes fluttered closed as he took a deep breath. “Please don’t tell him I’m worried.” His voice hitched over his words—quiet, small, like he was that little boy cowering in the corner watching Hero break again.

“You can tell him yourself,” Zoey gently encouraged. “I’m sure he—”

“You know about our fight, right?” Kel interrupted without thinking. He swallowed hard—the only sound during the long, heavy pause which followed. It probably crossed a line to ask that. He didn’t even know if she knew, but Hero had told him he had told Zoey about Mari, had told her a lot of things that he didn’t think he’d ever tell anyone. It wouldn’t have surprised Kel if their fight was one of them.

“Yes,” Zoey finally admitted—quiet, matter-of-fact. “He told me.”

Kel huffed lightly, breathily almost a disbelieving laugh. “Then you know why I can’t just call him up and tell him I’m—” His voice hitched, and he stopped abruptly.  

“Kel—” she began to protest, but he cut her off.

“And you also know that it’s all my fault that we’re not—” He stopped abruptly—the words getting caught in the back of his throat. He shut his eyes tightly and swallowed hard.

“That’s not the story he told me.”

Something twisted in Kel’s chest. He couldn’t imagine what else his brother could have possibly said. Even if Hero had tried his best to protect him with his account and paint him in a better light so Zoey wouldn’t hate him, he couldn’t change the fact that it was his pushy and insensitive words that had broken him, right? He was the one who had made him feel guilty, made him feel like it was his fault he was so depressed, like he could just snap out of it somehow, like he wasn’t doing enough, and worst of all, like he was disrespecting Mari. He was the one who had said all the wrong things, who hadn’t been sensitive or kind enough like Hero himself would have been if the situation had been reversed. He was the one who said this wasn’t what Mari would have wanted, and he was the one who watched while those words broke his brother. He was the one who had broken him.

No version of the story Hero could have possibly told anyone could have changed that, but he supposed it was really none of his business.

“You know, Kel,” Zoey continued with a heavy sigh. “Sometimes we put up walls between ourselves and the people we love because we’re afraid of hurting them. It doesn’t mean we don’t love them—it just means we don’t know how.”

Kel’s chest ached, but he swallowed hard. “And you’re saying Hero’s like that?” He paused, and the words slipped out before he could stop them. “With you?”

“With everyone.” She hadn’t missed a beat. Kel supposed he admired that about her. She could be so honest but so kind too, and she knew Hero so well. Kel could tell that she cared about him and was a good friend. Both she and Hero vehemently insisted they were nothing more than that, and Kel believed them—which is why his question probably crossed a line, why Zoey felt compelled to add, “Not just me. You know that we’re not—”

“Yeah, sorry,” stumbled Kel interrupting as he shifted and fumbled around with the phone in his hands. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I just—”

“It’s okay,” she thankfully cut him off. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t getting the wrong idea. We get teased enough as it is by our friends—I can tell it bothers him. He won’t say, but I know it’s a touchy subject…”

“Do you think he’ll ever…uh…you know…?” he stumbled over the question, feeling guilty for even asking though he was desperate to hear another opinion that wasn’t the dismal ones he, Aubrey, Basil, and Sunny could generally come up with. Given the way he had tripped over his words, he wasn’t sure she’d even understand what he was trying to say, but she sighed.

“Honestly…I don’t know.” She paused thoughtfully. “But I do know that he’s not ready right now.”

Kel’s brow furrowed. That wasn’t exactly the answer he was expecting. “He told you that?” he asked before he could stop himself.

There was a long pause before Zoey answered, “Yes.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, pragmatic, and unreadable, but she sighed heavily. “Scotty, if you want to talk to Hero I feel like you should. He’s your brother. You should be hearing all this stuff from him—not me. It’s really none of my business.”

“He won’t talk to me.” Kel’s face flushed. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Zoey sighed.

“Kel…”

“It’s fine. It’s just…the way it is, you know?” he shrugged, swallowing hard. “He wouldn’t even tell me how sick he was.”

“He didn’t want you to worry.”

Kel huffed. “Well, I did anyway.”

“I’ll go check on him, okay?” Her voice softened—kind and sympathetic, almost reassuring. “But he’s going to be fine. Don’t worry. Then, I’ll call you later and tell you all about how he’s feeling better already.” She paused chuckling. “Okay?”

Kel sighed, but he shrugged his shoulders conceding, “Okay.”

“Good. Now what’s that math problem you’re stuck on?”

Kel snorted a laugh in spite of himself. “You think we have time for that?”

“Unless you want me to tell your brother you called specifically to ask me to check up on him, then yeah—I’m gonna have to actually help you with your homework,” she quipped dryly. “I think there’s a special place in hell for the kind of person who’d lie to Hero.”

Reaching for his math textbook, Kel laughed. “Alright…Well in that case, it’s another one of those functions…”

*-*-*

Wearily rubbing his eyes, Hero groaned. He was so exhausted it took all of his strength just to roll over onto his side so he could reach his bottle of water. He knew it was important for him to stay hydrated, even without his mother reminding him, and was truthfully desperate for something to drink given how hoarse and sore his throat was after he had just woken up.

Coughing, he managed to take a few sips before he sunk back down into his bed. Sunny had once rated it a 9 out of 10, but now Hero would probably rate it an 11, the most comfortable bed on earth. He never wanted to leave it ever, ever again—but that was probably just the flu talking.

Hero couldn’t remember the last time he had had the flu. He rarely ever got sick. Contracting what he had originally thought was a cold was a surprise enough, but he had just chalked it up to being a little under the weather and tried to push through it—until he had crashed that afternoon after a coughing fit—chilled, aching, and too tired to even move. By the time he woke up to answer Kel’s call, he was honestly miserable—phlegmy, wheezy, shivering, and so feverish he could barely put a sentence together. Even now, his head throbbed, and his thoughts were cloudy and muddled. He felt disoriented and too exhausted to even think too hard.

Hero sighed. He should probably take his temperature again—make sure it wasn’t too dangerously high. It barely took any time at all for the thermometer to ding—flashing a whopping 102.2 degrees Fahrenheit. Hero took a long, deep breath, or at least as deep as he could manage given his nasty cough. A fever that high certainly explained why he felt so crummy. He reached for some tissues and blew his nose before he coughed again. It would probably be best if he just went back to sleep.

His eyelids grew heavier and heavier until they finally started drooping closed, but Hero was distracted by rustling noises he heard downstairs. His brow furrowed. He thought his entire fraternity was out at a party. Had someone come back early?

The sound of footsteps walking up the stairs echoed through the hallway, followed by a knock on the door to his room.

“Uh…Come in…?” Hero mumbled unsurely in a hoarse voice before he coughed again. He tilted his head at the door as it swung open, and Zoey walked in with two bags—one paper, one plastic.

“You look terrible,” she teased dryly, but her freckled nose wrinkled as she smiled at him brightly enough that it reached her green eyes.

“Zoey?” Hero stumbled slowly, breathily. He rubbed his head—unsure if he was seeing things. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were sick so I brought you some soup and a Hero sandwich but I put that in the refrigerator since I thought you probably weren’t up for solid food yet.” She reached into the paper bag and took out a plastic spoon and a to-go container of soup from his favorite soup and sandwich place in the city.

“Thank you…” Hero’s voice trailed as he struggled to catch his breath.

“It was nothing, especially compared to the homemade soup you made me when I was sick.” With a thoughtful hum, she ran her hand through her short, red hair and began fumbling around in the plastic bag. “I’ve also got you some sports drinks, water, cough drops, tissues, tea, and VapoRub.”

 “You really didn’t have to do that…” Hero insisted in a raspy whisper. “How much do I owe you?”

Zoey waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my co-op semester so I’m basically rolling in money.” She chuckled lightly. “Plus, I wanted to do this for you. What are friends for, right? And I mean, I’m the reason you got sick.”

Hero shook his head weakly as he took a long breath. “No, you’re not.”

“Right. Sorry. It was all of us,” Zoey corrected with a lopsided twitch of her mouth. “And your lack of boundaries.”

Hero chuckled lightly in spite of himself, but it quickly turned into coughing. As Zoey scrambled to get him some water, he managed to choke out, “Sorry…”

Zoey tilted her head handing him the water to drink. “For what?”

Hero shrugged, but he took a few sips. “I don’t want to get you sick.”

“I’ve already had it. I’ll be fine.” She sighed with a pointed tilt of her head. “You take this ‘hero’ stuff way too seriously, you know? It’s not gonna kill you to let someone take care of you every once and awhile.” She pushed his desk chair next to his bedside and took a seat. “Now you just sit back, relax, and take easy, okay? Mama’s here.”

“I thought I was ‘Mama’,” he teased—dry and breathy. He wouldn’t have had the energy to argue with Zoey on the best day but especially not when he was so rundown and miserably ill like this, so instead he chose to banter. Mama was the nickname his roommate and Zoey’s long-time best friend Kyle had given him back in their freshman year, after all, so it seemed appropriate.

A smile tugged at Hero’s chapped lips as he watched Zoey laugh. Something warm spread through his aching chest knowing he had made her smile.

“Hey, I was ‘Mama’ before you were,” she bantered back. “But don’t worry I won’t tell Kyle.” She twisted her mouth to the side, but her expression softened as she reached out to take his hand. Frowning, she shook her head. “Your hands are so clammy.”

“Sorry…” mumbled Hero as she pushed some sweaty hair out of his face—pressing her palm to his forehead.

“You’re burning up. You have a thermometer?”

Hero nodded—then weaky motioned to his bedside table where his thermometer was sitting amongst a bunch of tissues. “I just took it. It’s 102.2.”

Zoey’s brow furrowed. “When do we call a doctor?”

Hero shrugged. “Probably if it’s over 103…” His breathy voice trailed wearily. “But there’s things you can try to bring it down before then.”

“Like a cold sponge bath like in a movie?” asked Zoey, her mouth quirking to the side. Hero shook his head.

“You want it lukewarm—not cold. If it’s cold, the blood vessels will constrict, and the body will hold onto heat…” He sighed then coughed into his elbow. After he managed to catch his breath, he added, “But tepid water is good. You can take a wet rag and use it to sponge the back of the neck or the forehead—the arms and torso would help too.”

“You want me to go get one?”

Hero’s face flushed, finally realizing what he had said and that it had come out in a way he hadn’t intended. “No, uh… I meant ‘you’ in the impersonal sense. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

Her mouth curved into a slight smile. “I’m happy to help.”

“I know,” he said, but he fidgeted, something almost bashful in his expression. “But I uh…I wouldn’t want you to have to see me…uh…”—his voice cracked and he mumbled—“shirtless.”

Zoey chuckled. “You’re adorable, you know that?” she teased. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. We’ve been to the beach how many times and you’re a lifeguard for goodness sakes. You can’t possibly be that self-conscious.”

“That’s different. That was the beach or the pool—this is…” He could feel his ears burning. “my room. We’re alone here, and—”

“And you’re sick. It’s all medical. Surely, I don’t need to explain that to you, future doctor.” She crossed her arms with a pointed look, before she clicked her tongue and bantered, “Yes, we all know you’re very attractive, Mr. Prince, but you kind of look like death warmed over right now. It’s nothing to get worked up over.”

Hero choked, then coughed repeatedly—phlegmy and guttural, definitely not attractive in the slightest. As he hacked and lurched forward, Zoey patted him on the back, firm but gentle before she rubbed her hand across his shoulders.

“Woah. Woah. Take it easy. I was just teasing you.” Her voice was soft and kind, and there was something so gentle in her eyes as she met his and apologized. “Sorry.”

Hero’s insides twisted. He could tell he had worried her, and he couldn’t stand it. He never wanted anyone to worry about him—especially not his friends.

“No. It’s okay,” he insisted when he finally caught his breath, but his words got jumbled and muddled in his foggy brain and scratchy throat. “I…I know you were... It’s just…that’s not what I meant. I was just…embarrassed. I mean you’ve already had to see me in my pajamas.” Hero stared down at his pajama shirt and pulled on the collar as his face burned and not just from the fever.

“Your grandpa pajamas?” Zoey teased dryly. His face flushed, but he nodded. Chuckling lightly, Zoey shook her head. “You do realize I’ve seen Kyle in his underwear more times than I’d care to admit, right? This is nothing. And besides, I’ve already seen them before.”

“You’ve”—Hero’s voice cracked—“seen my pajamas?”

“Well not in person, but Sunny drew me a picture of you in them.”

“Sunny drew you a picture of me in my pajamas?” Hero repeated incredulously in a disbelieving, hoarse voice.

Zoey shrugged but answered matter-of-factly. “He only draws you in your pajamas. He draws everybody in pajamas. You know, the last time I saw him he asked me about my pajamas so he could draw me in pajamas too.”

“Why—?” Hero’s voice hitched—cut off by an awkward laugh and wheezy coughing. “Why would he do that?”

“No idea. You tell me.” She paused, but Hero could only shrug his shoulders. Sunny was a talented artist, but Hero would be lying if he said he understood a lot of his abstract pieces or the reasoning behind them. Zoey’s guess as to why Sunny wanted to draw everyone in pajamas was as good as his, he supposed. “But I’m pretty sure he always draws you in these exact pajamas—long sleeves, button down shirt, stripes. I remember thinking ‘why does Sunny think Hero wears grandpa pajamas?’ but clearly it’s because you do.”

Hero chuckled lightly but tilted his head at her. “What’s wrong with my pajamas?”

“Nothing—if you’re over the age of 70,” bantered Zoey. “If you’re not, I don’t think anyone’s worn pajamas like these since the 1950s, but I guess you were always a Wally Cleaver type, huh?”

As his face burned, Hero sighed. “I don’t think I’m as charming as Wally Cleaver, and I’m definitely not as athletic as him. And he had all those girlfriends…”

“That’s a moot point,” Zoey interrupted, waving her hand at him. “Wally wanted all those girlfriends—you don’t. If you did, you absolutely could have them.”

“I’m sure that’s not—” Hero began as his blush deepened, but Zoey cut him off again.

“No, it is. Every girl in my sorority house would date you in a heartbeat,” she replied bluntly—pragmatic as if it was a well-known fact, but her mouth curved into a lopsided grin as she dryly teased. “You are Mr. Prince, after all.”

“Tamra has a boyfriend…” Hero protested—weak but somewhat playful.  

Zoey sighed, rolling her eyes. “Well okay…not Tamra then...”

“Or you,” he quietly added, but Zoey’s mouth twitched into a lopsided smile.

“I don’t know, Mr. Prince. If you were actually interested in me, I think I’d have to seriously consider it—especially now that I’ve seen you in your grandpa pajamas.” She beamed at him with a bright, teasing grin before she let out a short, playful whistle.

Hero blushed before he buried his burning face in his hands. “Zoey…”

Before either of them could say anything more, however, they were interrupted by a distant, shrill whistling sound.

“That’s the kettle,” said Zoey. “I’ll be right back with some tea for you.”

“You really don’t have to—” Hero began to weakly protest, but she cut him off with a pointed stare.

“I don’t want to hear it, Henry.”

Hero paused. It still caught him off guard every time she used his real name. It wasn’t too often that she did—only when she wanted to tell him to stop being a ‘hero.’ It was her way of reminding him to take care of himself, reminding him that it was okay if he was just ‘Henry’ for a while. If Hero was being honest, it meant a lot to him to know someone cared enough to tell him that. Zoey had been telling him that for years now, but she only started calling him ‘Henry’ to do it after he had told her about Mari.

To this day he wasn’t sure why exactly he had told her in the first place besides the fact she had sort of figured it out on her own, but he was grateful that he had told her the truth, had finally been able to share that with someone. He would never forget the way she had cried for him—held him, told him that she wished he and Mari had gotten their forever. He had been so stunned, so moved by her empathy and kindness, that he had just panicked—trying to apologize for making her sad, for making her cry. After a lot of back and forth of him apologizing profusely and her gentle reassurances that it was okay, she had finally just cut him off in that spunky little way of hers. “No. None of that, Henry,” she had said with a pointed emphasis on his real name, trying her best not to smile as she said it for possibly the first time. Even so, she had insisted, “I’m serious. I’m going to keep calling you that until you stop that. Stop being a ‘Hero’—stop worrying about everybody else for just a second. It won’t kill you to be a little selfish for once…and it’ll honestly make the rest of us look better.”

Hero chuckled lightly to himself just thinking about it. She certainly kept her word—pulled his real name out for that reason whenever she felt he needed reminding of that. There was always a certain warmth and a flutter in his chest whenever he heard her say it.

A smile tugged at his mouth as he stifled a laugh, and the way her lips twitched in the corners made him realize she was trying not to laugh now too. Could it be that even after all this time, it still felt a little unnatural, a little awkward for her to call him that? After all, she generally called him ‘Hero’ or if she was feeling playful or cheeky ‘Mr. Prince.’

Hero’s chuckling was soon drowned out by coughing again, and Zoey patted his back and handed him tissues, water, and a cough drop until he finally calmed again.

“Still think you don’t need me?” she quipped, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he admitted quietly.

Her smile widened before she gave him one final pat on the back then took off down the stairs. “I’ll be right back with the tea.”

Hero took a long, shaky breath, trying his best to stay awake as he waited for her to return. His mind was feeling hazy again—sluggish and foggy from fever and exhaustion, but a question nagged at him. How had Zoey known he was sick? Yes, she was very perceptive, and there had certainly been times he was almost convinced she had to be a mind reader but…he hadn’t been that ill when he talked to her last. He supposed Kyle could have said something, but as far as Hero knew, Kyle had just assumed he was napping not battling with a flu.

“Here’s your tea,” said Zoey, swiftly reappearing with a warm mug, a gift from his fraternity brothers that read ‘World’s Best Mama.’ Hero laughed every time he saw it, though this time it came out more like a breathy wheeze then a cough. “It’s lemon and echinacea since you’re sick. I put a little honey in it for you too.”

Hero smiled as she handed him the cup. He probably shouldn’t have been surprised. Zoey was one of his best friends. She probably knew more about him than anyone else—of course, that would extend to knowing how he took his tea. But it wouldn’t extend to knowing he was sick, would it?

“Thank you,” he mumbled, taking a sip of his cup of tea before he took a long, shaky breath. “Hey…Zoey?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know I was sick?” Hero swallowed hard—then coughed again. Zoey tilted her head pointedly at him.

“It’s kind of obvious,” she quipped—deflecting. Hero sighed. He knew a lot about that himself.

“Yeah…but did someone tell you? Ask you to check up on me?”

Zoey sighed heavily, but she finally admitted. “Yes. Scotty mentioned it when he called me earlier. He said you were too sick to drive home this weekend so you had to cancel your trip.”

Hero blinked at her. It took a minute for the words she had said to register. Scotty was her nickname for Kel, some reference he had never quite gotten himself, but it seemed to make his brother happy to have a nickname. Hero’s head ached. His brother…? “Kel?” he asked in a weary confusion. “Kel called you?”

Zoey nodded. “I helped him with his math homework.”

Hero swallowed hard. Somehow he knew that wasn’t the entire truth. The thought made something twist in his chest. He bit his lip as he quietly asked, “Is he worried about me?”

“What do you think?” Zoey paused, but from the look she was giving him now, Hero knew the answer, if he hadn’t already. “You two are a lot alike you know—you both worry about each other but won’t really say.”

“I don’t want Kel to worry...” The words slipped out without him really thinking about them—honest, vulnerable, real. The feverish haze was loosening his tongue, it seemed. Hero’s brow furrowed. He didn’t like it for the same reasons he didn’t like drinking. It felt like losing control—only this time, he didn’t have the energy to care too much.  

“Then I don’t think not telling him anything is the answer,” Zoey replied. “Kel’s pretty smart, you know? He knows something’s wrong even when you won’t say—knew you were way sicker than you let on. He asked if I could stop by and check on you.”

Hero’s face flushed. He couldn’t really process what she was saying, “Kel did that?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

Hero swallowed hard. He met her eyes—hoping the look in them would say louder than any words that she already knew why. Ever since their fight, he had felt Kel slipping away—walking on eggshells around him like he was scared he was fragile and would snap again. No matter what he did to try to reassure Kel that he was okay and that he would never lash out at him like that ever again, Hero couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing his brother. He tried his best to stay connected—talking to him all the time, planning trips home to visit him, even letting him stay with him in the city, and even though things had been getting better since they had learned the truth two years ago, Hero knew that they would never be the same. They could never be the same, not anymore. Not after…

“I really hurt him…” Hero’s voice cracked—breathy, dazed, but heart-wrenchingly guilty even all these years later.

He hadn’t realized he had said that aloud, until Zoey gently reassured him, “And you apologized and moved on. That’s all, in the past now. I don’t think Kel holds it against you at all.” She paused, sighed. “What if he’s sitting around, saying the same thing—worrying the same thing…?”

Hero’s chest ached, but he shook his head. “No, I…”

“Hero,” Zoey sighed, cutting him off. “If there’s distance between you and Kel, it’s only because the two of you won’t just talk to each other. If you did, maybe you’d realize you’re both scared of the exact same thing, and that it’s not worth being worried about. You had one fight. It doesn’t mean your relationship is just broken forever.”   

“It was a really big fight,” Hero gently protested, swallowing hard before he tried to catch his breath. “There are some things you just can’t come back from.”

“And I can promise you, this is not one of them.” She reached out and took his hand again, holding it tightly until he looked up at her and her reassuring green eyes. “You should hear the way Kel talks about you. It’s constant—all the time, no matter what we’re talking about. We’ll be working on polynomial functions and suddenly he’ll just start going on and on about how you always got all As on your report card or how you jumped into a lake to save Sunny and Basil or how you won some hot dog eating contest. He polishes all your trophies while you’re away at school. He’d be the first to tell you that you are the kindest, most amazing person he’s ever known, and he wants to be just like you. You’re his hero—no pun intended. And nothing you could possibly say could change that—could change how much he looks up to you.”

Hero’s face flushed red—he could feel the tips of his ears burning as he turned away from her staring down at his duvet. “He…he said all that?”

“He didn’t have to. Scotty wears his heart on his sleeve. It’s obvious, and honestly you only have to talk to him for five minutes to know how important you are to him. It honestly makes me wonder a little about what Jared and Lorraine say about me—probably nothing nice,” she chuckled teasingly with an affectionate roll of her eyes. “I can almost guarantee you; most people are not talking about their siblings like they’re actual saints behind their backs.”

Hero chuckled lightly, but his expression softened—something warm spreading through his chest as he thought about Kel. Could that really be true?

He sighed, pushing the thought away—grateful for the opportunity Zoey had given him to change the subject to her own family. Hero knew that wasn’t her intention, but he was taking the opportunity anyway. No matter how easy Zoey was to talk to and how many private and difficult things he had told her about himself, he still didn’t like to be the center of conversation and would never enjoy talking about himself. Zoey didn’t enjoy that either, so he wouldn’t want to put her on the spot, but this was about her siblings, right?

Hero didn’t know Zoey’s younger brother Jared very well, but he didn’t really seem like the type to have many nice things to say about anyone, but her twin sister, Lorraine, was also a good friend of his. They often knitted or did arts and crafts together during which time Lorraine tended to gush about her sister in a way Hero found very sweet and endearing. He hoped Lorraine wouldn’t mind if he told her that.  

“Lorraine has nothing but nice things to say about you,” he admitted with a slight smile. “She’s always telling me how smart, driven, and beautiful you are. How you’re strong and honest but so kind, so much softer than you want people to know. She says you’d make a great girlfriend.” Hero blushed. That last part had just slipped out—he probably wouldn’t have said it, if he wasn’t so feverish, but Zoey just laughed.

“Lorraine said that to you?” She sighed, rolling her eyes somewhat affectionately but the look in them was genuinely guilty. “Sorry. I’ll talk to her.”

As he coughed, Hero shook his head. “No, it’s…it’s okay. She’s right…” His voice trailed, distant and breathy, but he couldn’t stop the words that tumbled out of his mouth, “You are all of those things, and if you did ever want to date someone, that person would be very lucky…”

“Not nearly as lucky as the person who gets your heart, Mr. Prince.”

Even though Hero was sure she was only teasing him, his face flushed anyway—burning to the tips of his ears. He pursed his lips together, then stared down at his hands on the duvet. “It’s pretty broken…I’m not sure it’s much of a prize anymore,” he mumbled, trying his best to play along despite the sadness that crept into his words.

He bit his lip, but he felt her warm, gentle hand reach out to take his. He couldn’t look at her face, but he felt her squeeze his hand, heard her voice—quiet but sincere. “I don’t think that’s true.”

As he took a long, shallow breath, Hero shivered, but he wasn’t sure it was from the fever. Zoey let go of his hand immediately.

“You’re trembling. Let’s get you another blanket,” she said, turning towards Kyle’s bed. “You can have Kyle’s. He won’t mind.”

“It’s okay. I have a quilt…It’s under the bed.” Hero struggled to catch his breath as he leaned forward, trying to pull himself out of bed to look for it, but Zoey gently reached out her hand to stop him.

“I’ll get it,” she insisted; then she pulled the quilt out of one of the plastic bins under Hero’s bed—unfurling it then tucking it around him, all the way up to his chin. With a sigh, she ran her hand across the carefully stitched pattern of bright orange and yellow marigolds. “It’s beautiful.”

“My Tía Gloria made it for me after Mari died.” The words just slipped out—automatic, unfiltered. Hero flushed. He hadn’t meant to say that—probably wouldn’t have to anyone else, maybe not even to her if he was a better state.

“Oh Hero…” Zoey began quietly, but Hero cut her off with a fit of coughing that upset his blankets. Zoey pat his back again, but he could feel her tender hand running across his shoulders long after he had stopped coughing.

“Zoey…I…” he began, hoping the words would come to him if he just started talking, but thankfully she cut him off.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything—unless of course, you want to,” she paused, blinking at him with a soft expression in her eyes. “But I don’t need explanations, especially not now when you’re sick.”

Hero sighed in relief, and hoped the look in his eyes would convey the gratitude he didn’t quite have the strength to express at the moment. “Thank you...”

“Don’t mention it,” shrugged Zoey. “You look tired. You want me to go?”

“You can stay if you want—maybe watch a movie…?”  

Zoey smiled, but as she glanced over at the tv and shelves of tapes which, naturally almost all belonged to Kyle, she teased. “Let me guess: the choices are raunchy comedy or sports biopic?” 

Hero chuckled, lightly, breathily. Zoey certainly knew Kyle and his movie collection very well. He supposed he would expect that given how long the two of them had been friends. “We rented The Godfather from Blockbuster.”

“That’s not bad,” hummed Zoey. “But if we’re talking about Brando’s mob movies, On The Waterfront is better.”

A smile twitched in the corners of Hero’s mouth. “I have that one.”

“Really?” Zoey asked, her brow furrowing, and Hero nodded. “So you really do like old black-and-white movies after all, huh? Here I was thinking you were all talk.”

Hero let out a few chuckling heavy breaths, then swallowed hard. Finally, he took a sip of water trying to cool the burning of his hoarse throat. “I only have a few tapes. Most are in color, but I have some black-and-white.” He paused—shutting his eyes as he tried to clear his head—sifting through the fogginess to focus on his tape collection until he could picture it in the feverish haze of his mind. “Casablanca, Roman Holiday, It’s A Wonderful Life, 12 Angry Men, Christmas in Connecticut…”

“You do not have Christmas in Connecticut over there,” Zoey interrupted in disbelief.

Hero took a deep breath, but he nodded. “It’s on the bottom shelf.”

“I’ve never met another person who has even heard of that movie,” laughed Zoey, but Hero just shrugged, pulling the quilt up around his shoulders again.

“It’s one of my favorites. Always makes me laugh. I love the scene where she tries to flip the flapjacks and the pancake sticks to the ceiling.” Hero laughed then, par for the course, coughed.

“It’s one of my mom’s favorite movies too,” Zoey said as he handed him his water, giving him a firm but gentle pat on the back for good measure. “I used to wonder if that was because the main character falls in love with a navy guy.”

“Like your dad…?” asked Hero, worrying only after the fact that it was a prying question. He didn’t know much about Zoey’s father except that he was an admiral in the navy, and, according to Kyle, particularly stern, serious, and somewhat frightening. Zoey, however, only shrugged.

“I don’t know. I think my dad is a lot rougher around the edges than Jefferson Jones.” Her lips curved into a smile. “Jefferson’s pretty soft—quite the catch actually: sincere, generous, kind, domestic…and he can play piano.”

Hero’s brow furrowed, and he stumbled in confusion, “Is…that a…?”

“Perk?” Zoey finished for him. Then she chuckled dryly and nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Are you just saying that because you know I can play?” asked Hero dryly, but his mouth twitched in the corners.

“You know I’ve never actually heard you play before,” she teased back. “You could be terrible. In which case, it wouldn’t be a perk at all—more like a deterrent.”

Hero chuckled lightly. “I probably am terrible. I’m really rusty, and out of practice.”

“Well, we’ll never know for sure will we.” Her mouth curved into a lopsided grin before her expression softened. “Though Scotty told me you used to be quite the pianist—had a lot of fun with it. What did you used to play when you were in practice?”

“Nothing too complicated. I…I think my favorite song to play was ‘Vienna.’”

“Billy Joel?” asked Zoey, and Hero hummed. “That has a great piano part.”

“Yeah it’s pretty fun. I’ve always been a fan.”

“I can see that…” teased Zoey glancing over at the stack of CDs on Hero’s bedside table. Cold Spring Harbor was on the top—probably because Hero had been listening to a particular song on it on repeat. His face flushed as he thought about why, but he swallowed hard and shrugged his shoulders, trying his best to push the thought away.

“I used to annoy Kel with it a little, I think,” he admitted. “I played it over and over. He once threw a pillow at me while I was practicing and yelled ‘Don’t you know any other songs?’” Hero chuckled breathily, and Zoey laughed.

“When was the last time you played it?”

“I dunno. It’s been years…had to have been before Mari died.” He paused—catching his breath, but he kept talking, almost like he couldn’t stop. “I haven’t really played anything since then. I played a few bars on her piano before her family moved away, but…” His voice hitched, and his chest ached—panging in that all too familiar space in his heart that Mari had left behind. “You know I…honestly I learned to play piano because she loved it. I enjoyed it sure—it was fun, but Mari…Mari was the one who had real passion for music and I guess…I just wanted to be part of that. After she died, I just…I didn’t want to play anymore—didn’t want to play without her.”

Hero stopped—his face flushing. He hadn’t meant to say all of that. Talking about Mari with Zoey was getting easier—clearly, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, just like he wasn’t sure if he would have even said all of that if he hadn’t been sick or feverish. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, to know that he made the smile disappear from her face, made something sad pass over her eyes.

“I’m sorry…” he began to apologize. “I keep talking about her…” Swallowing hard, he stared down intently at his quilt—running his hands over the thoughtfully embroidered orange and yellow marigolds—a symbol of hope, remembrance, a connection that endures even after death.

“It’s okay, Hero…” said Zoey, quiet, gentle as she reached out to pat his hand. “And it’s okay if you never want to play piano again either. You don’t have to. It’s nothing to feel guilty about.”

Hero took a long breath, watching as Zoey’s fingers slipped between his. He curled his hand catching hers—intertwining their fingers, holding on tightly to her. “I’d play for you if you wanted…”

“I know you would,” Zoey replied with a tilt of her head and a kind smile. “And as much as I would love to hear you play piano, I’d only want you to play because that’s what you wanted—not because you felt obligated. Someday if you see a piano and you just feel like playing, I hope you will and then you can call me and play for me, but don’t force yourself. It should be something that makes you happy, like it used to.”

Hero’s chest ached, but he managed the twitch of a bantering smile as he asked dryly, “How else will I pay you back for taking care of me when I was sick?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Our debts are paid,” she insisted with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You took care of me first remember, and besides I’ve already gotten my reward which is getting to see you in your grandpa pajamas,” she teased winking playfully at him.

“Zoey!” Hero burst into a fit of laughter mixed with intense, nasty coughing.

“If you’re going to have a coughing fit every time you laugh, do you really think we should watch this movie?” she quipped, but Hero shrugged.

“It’s fine. I’m probably just going to fall asleep anyway.”

Chuckling, Zoey got up from her seat and put the tape into the VCR with a “Okay. Whatever you say” then she curled up on the edge of Kyle’s bed—pulling her knees to her chest as she leaned back into his mountain of throw pillows.

Hero chuckled a little himself before his weary eyes started drooping again. He had been right, of course. He started nodding off during the opening credits and was sound asleep before he even got anywhere close to his favorite flapjack scene. He wasn’t sure if he had dreamed it or imagined it in a half-asleep daze, but he could have sworn that once the movie had ended, he had felt gentle fingers tangling in his hair as it was pushed out of his forehead and Zoey’s voice whispering, “C.J.’s back now and will keep an eye on you, so I’m going to head out. You take care of yourself, Henry…”

*-*-*

Two Weeks Later…

“You made it!” exclaimed Kel excitedly as Hero walked through the front door with his suitcase. Kel threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Sorry it took so long,” Hero chuckled lightly as he scratched the back of his neck somewhat sheepishly.

“Are you feeling better at least?” asked Kel with a kind smile, and Hero nodded.

“Yeah…I was only sick for a couple of days, and my friends looked after me.” Hero paused, meeting Kel’s eyes with an expression that said more than his words, “Thanks for that, Kel.”

Kel flushed a little, but he laughed. So Hero had figured that out after all? He should’ve expected that from his brother. He was always so smart. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind too much that Kel had meddled, not that he’d really tell him if he had. Still Kel smiled and teased, “Hey, no problem. You’re lucky I didn’t drive up there myself.”  

“Your father and I almost drove up too,” said their mom before she pulled Hero into another hug herself. “It was horrible thinking of you so sick in the city all alone.”

Hero’s face softened, as he pulled away from their mother to look her in the eyes. “I was fine, Mom. Please don’t worry.”

“Hero! Hero! Wanna play zoo?” exclaimed Sally, twirling around him with her favorite plastic animal toys until he scooped her up into a hug.

“Of course, Sally, but uh…”

“Give him a minute,” Kel interjected with a good-natured laugh. “He hasn’t even taken his coat off yet.

“Oh let me take that,” said their dad—patting Hero heartily on the back as he slipped his arms out of his coat. “It’s good to have you home.”

“Good to be home, Dad,” Hero replied with a kind smile.

“Let me take your bag upstairs,” exclaimed Kel reaching for the suitcase Hero had brought with him, but his brother reached out a hand to stop him.

“Oh…you don’t have to do that. I can get it.”

Kel waved his hand at him. “Don’t be silly. It’s just upstairs. Come on. You can freshen up for dinner too.”

“I made all your favorites,” said Mom. “And I even ordered a hero sandwich for you from Gino’s.”

Hero scratched the back of his neck—the slightest tint of pink in his cheeks. “Thanks, Mom, but you really didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

Kel snickered and was still snickering as Hero followed him up the stairs. “You know Mom’s just going to make a big deal out of every time you visit even if you tell her not to, right?”

Hero sighed conceding, “Yeah…”

As Kel opened the door to their room, he set Hero’s suitcase down on his bed—still perfectly made from the last time he had visited, but as he turned back to his brother he paused, tilting his head curiously as he watched Hero staring wide-eyed at their old keyboard, pushed up against the wall next to the door.

“Oh uh…yeah…we found that when we were cleaning out the garage—” Kel shrugged, scratching the nape of his neck. “Thought we might as well set it up again.”

“Are you going to start playing again?” Hero asked, and Kel laughed.

“Nah. I don’t think I can even read music anymore, but maybe Sally will want to. She likes to come in here and bang on it sometimes—doesn’t sound much like music though.”

Hero chuckled, but before he could say anything, Kel said, “Or you could…if you wanted. I found a bunch of your old books and sheet music and stuff.” He motioned to a box on the ground near the keyboard, but he twisted his mouth to the side. He didn’t want to seem pushy. He knew Hero hadn’t played since Mari had died, and he probably wouldn’t want to ever again. Kel supposed, it was just one of those things his brother just couldn’t bring himself to do without Mari.

Kel sighed—blinking at Hero’s unreadable expression. Had it made him sad? He couldn’t tell. Maybe he should have given him a heads up about the keyboard or hidden it in the garage or something while he was visiting?

“Yeah. Thanks, Kel,” shrugged Hero, clearly putting this conversation to rest.

“Well uh…” Kel began to stumble before his mother’s voice called for him.

“Kel, can you come give me a hand for a minute?”

“Sure, Mom!” he yelled before turning back to Hero with a somewhat helpless shrug of his shoulders. “Hey, uh…I’ll be right back okay?”

Hero nodded, and Kel disappeared through the doorway. He shook his head. Why did everything have to be so awkward?

Kel sighed, and his chest ached. He knew why. But he swallowed hard—pushing the thought away, focusing instead on helping his mom set the table. As he was setting out some silverware, he stopped abruptly—his ears perking up at the sound of distant music, a familiar progression of notes he recognized.

“Do you hear that?” gasped Kel in disbelief, but it seemed his mom could only blink at him with wide, surprised eyes as Sally gushed and giggled.

“So pretty!”

Kel nearly dropped the silverware he was holding—fumbling around with the forks and spoons until he finally dropped them in a disorganized heap on the table and raced up the stairs—that all-too-familiar song growing louder and louder. As he burst through the door of his room, he could scarcely believe his eyes. Hero was sitting at the keyboard—his hands gliding across the keys playing music again.

“Hero?” Kel choked in a breathy disbelief which must have startled his brother because he stopped playing abruptly—clearly bumping the wrong keys in surprise creating a dissonant chord.

“Oh uh…sorry…” he mumbled, his face flushing somewhat sheepishly as he fidgeted—recoiling his hands away from the keyboard. “I just uh…I saw the keyboard and…wanted to play…”

Kel could only blink at him with wide, dark eyes. “You wanted to play piano?”

Hero’s blush deepened, but he nodded. “Yeah…uh…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I know you don’t really like that song but the music was on the top of the stack and…”

His voice trailed, and Kel’s expression softened, brightening into a wide smile. He supposed Hero was right. Once, what felt like a lifetime ago, he had given his brother all kinds of grief for playing that particular song over and over, but in the years that had followed, he would have given anything to hear him play it one more time, would have given anything to hear him play again. And now that he hadn’t heard it in so long—now that their room, their home had been quiet and empty for so long…

“I…I can try to play something else…” Hero chuckled awkwardly, but Kel cut him off.  

“No, I’ve never been happier to hear anything in my whole life.”

Hero laughed lightly, and his mouth curved into a smile—a real one that reached his eyes.

Kel’s chest ached. He had missed that even more than the music. He rushed forward—throwing his arms around his brother and hugging him tightly, hoping that gesture would say more than his words ever could.

“Kel!” Hero gasped quietly, leaning backward in surprise, his shoulders stiffening a little before he relaxed. He wrapped his arms around his brother, running his hand across his back as Kel pressed his chin to his shoulder.

Kel shut his eyes tightly, but he whispered with the brightest smile on his face, “It’s so good to have you back.”

He could feel the chuckle reverberating in Hero’s chest before his brother patted him on the head and whispered, “It’s good to be back.”

[ominous-mist]

Hello new moot! :3

I’d love to hear about your wip(s). Who is it about? What’s happening? What’s cool about it? And anything else you feel like sharing.

Hi! I'm so glad you asked!

My current WIP is titled "Whisper", and it follows my OC- Fiore Delman and her (mis)adventures through the fantasy world of Koman!

In Koman there are three major landmasses, and among them Aradia is the oldest and largest.

It is home to all human and humanoid races, with any others being driven out due to war, and is ruled over by the Warsayan Imperials.

The current Emperor is obsessed with hoarding knowledge and slowly over the course of his life, cataloging and compartmentalizing all bits of information and folklore from the human-like races, one of which is the Verani – peaceful, compassionate healers who can sense and manipulate the flow of energy in the body, often times using herbology to aid them in speeding up the process.

My OC is human, adopted by a family of Verani and that's how her journey begins!

What's cool about it is that this is going to be a story that covers not only the very real costs of being good and kind in a world that would rather damn itself, but also the need for self preservation against the well being of the masses, of getting up and healing but changing into something different along the way and picking at shards of yourself with bloodstained hands.

This is something self indulgent mostly, considering that I wanted to read a story where the main character does not forgive; choosing to break themselves into kindling to burn the world for what it did.

Thank you again for asking! Take care!

[acacia-may]

Thank you so much for the tag @lyranova! I was a little embarrassed to add my picrews to the chain (since I’m not super happy with how they turned out), so I’m making this separate post and putting everything under the cut instead. But I do appreciate the opportunity to be a little bit cheeky and completely self-indulgent (plus I'll never, ever pass up the invitation to scream about my sweet, sweet murder prince 👑💖) so thank you very much for that, Lyra! 💜

If anyone else wants to play, please see this post! 😁

(Warnings: silly self-indulgence under the cut. I would recommend not looking at this, if you don't want it to change the way you see me, friends. Please know that while, yes, admittedly, I probably am a simp for the murder prince on many some level(s), it's mostly a running joke between me, my sister, and my friends (irl), so I am at least 97% kidding around about all of this and, I promise, I actually have standards somewhere...probably...😉😂 And I definitely have actual, serious thoughts about the Murder Prince as a character beyond just "marry me already" lol)

All that said, since I have been asked, tagged, and given the opportunity, why yes, I would absolutely love to take a lovely afternoon stroll with my sweet, sweet murder prince! 👑💖 He probably would not want to go on a stroll with me, but eventually I will win him over by giving him pointers and advice on how to reconcile with his sibling. In return, he will serenade me with his beautiful music as a show of his thanks. 🥰 I considered actually dressing him as a prince, but he just wasn’t vibing with any of the clothing choices (even the one with striped sleeves). In the artbook he wore a coat that kind of looked like this so it was the best I could do, and I had to go with his natural hair colour before he added any of those fun carnival stripes. 😁

picrews link: 1 2

A/N: I think the picrew of me actually kind of looks like me. Unfortunately just going to have to use my imagination that the murder prince looks like himself. 😅

[hollow-prey]

I'm not jealous of my f/o and their canon ex I'm not jealous of my f/o and their canon ex I'm not jealous of my f/o and their canon ex I'm not jealous of my f/o and their canon ex I'm n-

[theostrophywife]

poison paradise.

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: toxic by omido.

author's note: smutty unhinged theo won the poll. here’s your silly little treat. this came to me in a dream proving that even my subconscious isn't safe from theodore. this is pure filth, but ya'll already know that that's what i do best 🤪

The taste of cherry chapstick lingered on your tongue as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Lost in euphoria, you cried out just as a wave of pleasure crashed over you, dragging you to the depths of sensual self-indulgence. 

Back arching off the bed. Fingers gripping the sheets. Moans echoing off the walls. 

This was hedonism at its finest. 

The heady scent of sweat, skin, and sex permeated in the air long after your orgasm passed, inducing you into a foggy haze as you scrambled to anchor yourself back to the present. Between your legs, your girlfriend lifted her head up with a pleased smirk and pressed a chaste kiss against your lips. 

The kiss tasted like cum and cherries, a sweet and intoxicating combination that sent your head spinning. Hannah hummed, her pretty doe eyes focused on you while your own fluttered open. 

“Babe, I’ve really got to get to practice now,” she whispered softly. “I’m late enough as it is.” 

You chuckled, twirling a strand of her red hair between your fingers. “Whose fault is that? You’re the one who dragged me in here, love.” 

Hannah grinned sheepishly as she pulled your red and gold skirt down. “Can you blame me? I can’t control myself when you’re strutting about in your cheer uniform.” 

“Then go out there and give me something to cheer about, babe. I expect a win against Slytherin tomorrow.” 

“If Potter doesn’t kill me first for being late,” she said with a final kiss to your cheek. “See you after practice?”

You nodded as you tossed her jersey over. “I’ll be here.” 

After taking a much needed shower, you sat in front of the vanity and blasted music as you diligently adhered to your skincare routine. The best thing about having a girlfriend was that you shared everything. Since dating Hannah, your makeup, clothes, and shoe options doubled overnight. 

As you combed through your hair, a sudden knock at the door caught your attention. You figured it was just a courtesy from Hannah’s roommate. Merlin knows that the poor witch had walked in on you and your girlfriend in countless compromising positions. 

Tightening the scarlet robe around your waist, you sauntered over to the door, fully expecting Emma to greet you from the other side. Instead, a looming figure eclipsed the doorway. You were surprised to find none other than Theodore Nott staring back at you. 

While you two weren’t exactly the best of friends given the rivalry between your houses, you and Theo were civil. You sat beside each other in Herbology and occasionally shared a laugh every time you caught him muttering sarcastic remarks under his breath about the ridiculous bloody plants that Professor Sprout had you wrangling during class. 

“Well, what do we have here?” you teased, cocking your head at the dead eyed Slytherin. “A serpent in the lion’s den? What brings you behind enemy lines, Theo?”  

Theo smiled back in response, shuffling a bit and allowing a glimpse of the wine bottle and bouquet of roses cradled in his arms. “Waiting for my girlfriend to leave so I can set this up for our anniversary.” 

You grinned. “Oh, how romantic!” You had always been a sucker for cheesy gestures. It was the hopeless romantic in you.  “Come in, then.” 

To his credit, Theo kept his eyes firmly on your face as you ushered him inside the room. Taking the hint, you quickly excused yourself to the bathroom and changed into something a little less revealing than your silk robe. When you came out, Theo was sprinkling rose petals on the bed. 

“Those are gorgeous,” you fawned over the flowers. “You’re definitely getting laid tonight.” 

Theo smirked in response as he set the vintage wine bottle into a fancy crystal ice bucket. “That’s the plan.” 

Slipping into your fuzzy slippers, you cocked your head at the arrangement. “Wait. I think you set it up on the wrong side. Emma’s bed is over there.” 

Theo nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know. This is for Hannah.” 

Whatever warm, fuzzy feeling his sweet gesture invoked suddenly soured at the mention of your girlfriend’s name. “What do you mean it’s for Hannah?” 

“Hannah,” Theo repeated slowly. “As in, my girlfriend, Hannah.” 

The words hit you like the Hogwarts Express. Surely, Theo was mistaken. He had to be. That was the only explanation. “This can’t be right. I’m sure I heard you wrong. You can’t be dating Hannah.” 

The confusion in your face was mirrored in Theo’s features. “And why is that?” 

“Because I’m dating Hannah.” 

Theo stared at you. You stared back. The room fell silent as the declaration hung heavy in the air. 

“Wait,” he backtracked, furrowing his brows. “What? That’s not possible.” 

“We’ve been dating since term started.” 

“We’ve been dating since summer,” Theo countered. Disbelief dawned over his handsome features. “This is for our three month anniversary.” 

Desperate to make sense of the situation, you pulled out your phone and scrolled through your photo album. It didn’t take long to find a recent picture of you and Hannah. “See?” you said, pointing at the screen. “This is us sharing a hot fudge sundae in Hogsmeade just last weekend.” 

Theo’s mouth gaped open as he pulled out his phone in response, scrolling through his pictures just as you had done moments ago. “This is us swimming in the lake last July.” 

The photo of your girlfriend smiling up at the camera while Theo’s arms wrapped around her bikini clad body made your stomach plummet. The confirmation left a bitter taste on your tongue. There was no reason for Theo to be making this up, which left only one possible conclusion. Hannah was dating both of you. At the same time. 

You pursed your lips. “Hannah played us both.” 

Theo looked about as dejected as you felt. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it,” he muttered to himself. 

“All that tension between you during the quidditch match,” you recalled. The lingering looks that Hannah and Theo shared during last month’s scrimmage flashed before your very eyes. In hindsight, it was obvious that there was more to it than rivalry. 

“You know, I think I saw her kiss you on the cheek in the halls once, but she said that the two of you were just really close.” 

“Oh, we are,” you said rather bitterly. “She’s kissed a lot more than my cheeks. Gods, how could I have been so stupid?” 

“You’re not stupid,” Theo said softly. “How could we have known? Outside of Herbology, the two of us don’t really interact. We’re in different houses and our social circles rarely overlap. If you think about it, it’s actually the perfect plan.” 

“Yes, bravo to our girlfriend for being the cleverest fucking liar in the castle.” You winced at the title. "Correction, ex-girlfriend."

Nott nodded in agreement. "Definitely ex-girlfriend."

"What a bloody mess."

Theo rubbed his temples. “Well, fuck.” The sentiment of total and utter confusion was one you knew all too well. “I am way too sober for this.” 

Without a word, he swiped the bottle of wine from the crystal bucket and popped it open. You stared at him with slight bewilderment, which he responded to with a nonchalant shrug. “What? It’s not like I’m going to drink this with Hannah now after I found out that she’s been lying to me for three whole months.” 

While Theo was taking the perfectly understandable approach of getting absolutely pissed off his arse, you weren’t willing to take the hit so easily. You were angry. Correction, you were fucking livid. Seething in the heat of your fury, you snatched the wine bottle from Theo’s grasp and chugged a good amount. 

“That’s a vintage from my family’s vineyard. You’re supposed to sip slowly to really appreciate the flavor—“ Theo grimaced as you leveled him with a glare. “Or drown yourself in it. That’s fine, too.” 

You swayed on your feet as you gestured dramatically. “I can’t believe she cheated on me!” 

Who the fuck did Hannah think she was? You didn’t need this bullshit. She was the one who chased after you. Before she pursued you, you were perfectly fine ruling this school under your thumb, flashing pretty smiles and innocent doe eyed looks to the unsuspecting masses. You were head cheerleader, for fuck’s sake! You could’ve had your pick of boys and girls in this whole bloody castle. Even worse, Hannah dragged Theo into this too. While the Slytherins certainly had a reputation, he seemed sweet if not a little sardonic and cynical at times.

”I can’t believe she cheated on you.” You added, surveying the now tainted roses and wine. Indignation weighed heavily on every word. You and Theo were both hot as fuck and a complete catch. Neither of you deserved this. “We can’t let her get away with this.” 

Theo sighed in response, taking the bottle from you and drinking a decent amount before wiping his wine stained lips with the back of his hand. “If I’m being honest, this isn’t the first time a relationship has imploded on me. Usually, it’s my fault. But I can’t say I’ve ever gotten cheated on. My ego’s taken a little bit of a blow, but what can we do? She fooled us both.” 

“What can we do?” You repeated incredulously. “Obviously, you haven’t dealt with a Gryffindor’s wrath before. This is a matter of pride, Theo. She hit us where it hurts the most. I say we hit her back.” 

Theo blanched, his watercolor eyes glazed from the alcohol. The wine was no joke. You never would’ve known it from the smooth taste, but this shit was strong. “As upset as I am, I hardly think violence is the answer. My mum told me to never raise a hand against a lady and I don’t intend on breaking that promise. No matter how angry I may be.” 

For the first time in that fucked up night, you managed a laugh. Something about that was so endearing to you. “Relax, Nott. I don’t mean we hurt her physically. That’s not really my style. I have a much more effective way to enact revenge.” Your lips curled into a smile as Theo hung onto every word. “We’re going to wage psychological warfare on our ex-girlfriend, Theo.” 

“I’ll confess I’m a little bit scared,” Theo declared as he gulped down the last of the wine. “And a little bit turned on. Guess that says a lot about me, huh?” 

You smirked as you retrieved the wine bottle and gingerly set it on the nightstand. Theo glanced up at you curiously, anticipation evident on his handsome face. “What exactly is the plan, dolcezza?” 

Whether it was the alcohol or your anger, a devious plan started forming as you looked over your ex-girlfriend’s now ex-boyfriend. “Hannah comes back from practice in an hour,” you stated, toying with the neck of the bottle. “She’s expecting to find me in bed waiting for her.” 

Mischief danced in Theo’s eyes. Up close, you could see flecks of green swimming in his blue irises. Those mesmerizing eyes—the very same ones that had the entire castle weak in the knees—locked on yours. Now that you were single through no fault of your own, you had no reason not to ogle Theo and ogle you did. Your gaze flickered over his lean physique, examining his solid chest and broad shoulders before snagging on the sliver of skin that revealed the hard abdominal muscles beneath his light grey shirt as he stretched. A cocky smirk graced his handsome face when he caught you looking.

Merlin, he was fucking pretty. 

How had you not noticed that before? Oh, right. You were too busy being a good girlfriend. Well, fuck that. 

“Oh?” He murmured, his gaze flickering over you. 

Though you changed into a baggy shirt and cotton shorts, you might as well have been naked with the way Theo was looking at you. His dead eyed stare burned holes into your skin and a shiver crawled up your spine as he gravitated closer. 

“And she will,” you said with a smirk, closing the gap between you. “You’ll just be in it with me.” 

“Oh,” Theo hummed salaciously. 

“Wouldn’t wanna waste those pretty roses you got, do we?” 

The low rasp of your voice seemed to entrance Theo as he shook his head, appearing dazed as you pulled him in by the front of his shirt. “No, no at all. We should…” The nervous bob of his Adam’s apple sent a thrill through your body. “We should definitely make use of them.” 

With a grin, you led him towards the bed. Theo walked backwards, his eyes never leaving yours even as he landed on the mattress. The golden glow of the lamp kissed his sharp cheekbones, its warm hue coloring the slope of his nose, which were smattered with moles and freckles, before emphasizing his wine stained lips. The red roses fluttered around him as the bed dipped, soft petals tickling his skin as he settled against the headboard.

Theo felt like he was under a spell as you crawled over him. He couldn’t tell whether he was dizzy from the wine or if it was just the effect you had on him, but either way, he wasn’t complaining. There were worse things to suffer from than a pretty witch straddling his lap. 

Instinctively, Theo gripped your waist while you settled over him. The sight of you leaning over him, your face mere inches away from his felt like a fever dream. One that he had no desire of waking up from. 

“I thought you liked girls,” Theo whispered softly as your lips brushed over his. Teasing, taunting, tasting. Fuck, what he would give to have you devour him whole. 

“I do,” you replied, tickling his cheek with a rose petal. Theo shivered as the low rasp of your voice pulled him in. “But I like boys too. Especially pretty ones like you.” 

Theo couldn’t help but blush. Obviously, he was aware that he was attractive, but he’d never been called pretty before. He was surprised to find that he really fucking liked it. 

“Don’t flatter me, dolcezza. Not unless you plan on following through.”

“I’ve never been with a Slytherin before,” you whispered huskily. “Tell me, Theo. Will you sink your teeth into me tonight?”

A part of him pondered the slightly fucked up situation that Theo managed to get himself into tonight. Was he really about to fuck his ex-girlfriend’s ex-girlfriend in her own bed? Yes. Did he feel an ounce of guilt over what he was about to do? No. 

Honestly, fuck Hannah. But more importantly, Theo needed to focus on fucking you. 

��Fuck yes.”

When you leaned in and pressed your lips against his, it was over. There wasn’t a single trace of self control in him as he kissed back, his mouth hot and eager against yours. The infamous Gryffindor boldness didn’t disappoint as you moaned into his mouth, your fingers threading through his silky brown waves before tugging in a way that made Theo weak in the knees. As he parted your lips with his tongue, you grinded against him and laughed seductively when he whimpered in response. 

“Yeah?” you purred as you rolled your hips. “You like that, pretty boy?” 

“Bloody fucking hell,” Theo groaned before he kissed you again, rougher this time. 

There was something satisfying about the way he grabbed you, his big hands guiding you to grind over him, providing a delicious friction between your clothed sex. Theo was hard and throbbing underneath you. By the feel of him, you knew you were in for a ride. The sheer size of him was going to absolutely destroy you. 

You pulled away and a glistening trail of spit extended between you as a result of your sloppy make out. Theo panted as you tugged at the hem of his shirt, keeping your eyes trained on him while you licked a path down his abdomen. He watched hungrily as you grazed your teeth over his hard muscles, flicking your tongue expertly while he shuddered underneath you. 

“I can see why Hannah went for you,” you hummed against his tan skin. “You’re hot as fuck. Your abs are unreal and your happy trail,” Theo groaned as you pressed soft kisses along his torso. “It leads to something delicious, doesn’t it?” 

“Fuck, bella. You’re killing me,” Theo groaned as he fisted your hair in one hand. The whimper that slipped past his lips as you palmed his cock was utterly shameless. “You’ve got a filthy fucking mouth, Y/N.” 

“Yeah? Shut me up, then.” 

His head lolled back against the headboard as you released his cock from his boxers, stroking purposefully and savoring the filthy moans that echoed against the walls. Those pretty eyes of his were nearly black with lust as he looked down at you, biting his lip while your tongue swirled over the head of his cock. Licking up his precum, you smirked before fully wrapping your lips around him. 

Theo tugged at your hair and bucked against your mouth as you sucked, licked, and pumped every inch of his thick, hard cock. You knew you were good, but the desperation in Theo’s voice all but confirmed it. 

“Dio mio, right there. Fuck, you’re perfect. Your throat was made to be fucked. You can take it, bella. Choke on my cock, just like that.”

You gagged as he hit the back of your throat. Sucking dick had never been your favorite, but sucking Theo’s dick was something else. He looked so pretty with his waves plastered to his forehead, rosy cheeks flushed as he fucked your face with a dominance that had you growing wetter by the second. Tears streaked down your cheeks as you choked on his cock, but it was worth every second to hear Theo moan your name. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” hissed Theo after a particularly rough thrust. You could tell he was close by the way his body seized underneath you, but you weren’t done with him yet. You wanted more and so did he. “So fucking close, but I don’t want to come yet. I need…Fuck, I need more.” 

You released him with a pop, but kept stroking him with your right hand. “Use your words, pretty boy.” 

“I want to feel you,” Theo whined. “I need to feel your pussy clenching around my cock, principessa. I need you so fucking bad. I’d get on my knees to be inside of you. Please.” 

“You sound so pretty when you beg,” you said as you kissed his temple. “Who am I to refuse?” 

Theo watched as you shuffled above him, barely breathing as you slipped out of your clothes. When you threw your shirt off, Theo cursed to find you completely bare before him. He cupped your tits, flicking his thumb over your nipples before wrapping his lips around them. You could tell he was eager to please and that alone was a huge fucking turn on. It was rare to find a man who cared about pleasure beyond his own, which is why you usually preferred women. Theodore Nott seemed to be the exception. 

With rapt attention, Theo helped you lower down onto his length. He kept his eyes on you as you adjusted, gasping when your walls stretched to accommodate his size. 

“You know, I thought the rumors about you were exaggerated,” you groaned as you sank lower. “But I’ve never been so glad to be wrong.” 

Theo smirked as he nibbled at your earlobe. “What kind of rumors, dolcezza?” 

“That you had a huge dick,” you responded, sounding slightly winded once Theo was finally fully sheathed inside of you. “And that you fuck like a—“ You moaned when Theo shifted his hips to rut into you. He was so big that the minuscule movement felt like you were being split apart. 

“That I fuck like what, bella?” 

Never one to be outdone, you tugged at his hair and grinded against him. “That you fuck like an absolute demon.” 

“Yeah?” He drawled, sliding in and out of you with a cocky smirk. “Well, you’re no angel either, Y/N.” 

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Theo.” 

The sight of you bouncing on his cock and riding the fuck out of him was almost too much. Theo was mesmerized as you used him to get off, head thrown back as you placed your hands on either side of his legs before bending in an angle that he wasn’t even sure was possible for a human to contort to. 

Damn, he should’ve fucked a cheerleader sooner. He should’ve fucked you sooner. 

“I guess you’re not the only one who listened to the rumors. They said you were flexible, but goddamn, this is something else. You’re something else, Y/N.” 

“Oh fuck, Theo,” you keened as you gripped the sheets. “You’re so big. It feels so fucking good, baby.” 

“I like the way you moan my name,” he said. “Gods, I could’ve had this all along. Why was I even wasting my time with Hannah? Sei una fottuta dea.” 

“I have no idea what you just said,'' you panted, picking up the pace. Your legs ached from the effort, but it felt too good to stop. “But I’m soaked now.” 

“I said,” Theo grunted as he fucked up into you and tugged your hair back. “You’re a fucking goddess, Y/N.” 

When he rubbed circles on your clit, you absolutely lost it. The room spiraled around you as you came hard, creaming Theo from tip to base. He pulled out suddenly, making you whine at the loss of contact until he replaced his cock with his mouth. Theo flattened his tongue, licking up along your soaked folds. His nose brushed against your already sensitive clit and you cried out as he lapped you up like a man starved. 

“Can’t take anymore,” you whined, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes as you pushed against Theo’s broad shoulders. “It’s too much. I’m so sensitive.” 

Theo gripped your ankles and spread your legs wider. “Where’s that Gryffindor bravery, bella?” He chuckled, tracing circles on the inside of your thighs. His mouth glistened with your cum and rose petals stuck to his skin as he looked up at you. “Surely you can take more. We barely just started. I want you drenched in tears. Shaking, crying, and moaning my name. Right now, you’re not even close.” 

He sucked on your clit and you swore to Godric your eyes rolled back so hard that you saw heaven. Theo was determined to drive you to the brink of insanity. “I know you want it, baby. Let me make you feel good.” 

“Oh gods,” you cried out as he filled you with two fingers. It wasn’t as much of a stretch as his cock, but the way he curled them inside of you, touching that sensitive spongy spot within your walls made you whimper all the same. “Fuck, yes, gods. I want it. I want you, Theo.” 

A satisfied smile graced his handsome face before Theo flipped you over, pressing you headfirst into the pillows as he feasted on your pussy from behind. There wasn’t a single thought in your head as he unraveled you with his tongue and fingers. It was a deadly combination that had you on the edge quicker than you thought possible. 

“Turn around, principessa,” Theo cooed. “Come ride my face.” 

For Godric’s fucking sake. The man was absolutely insatiable. You liked to think that you had excellent stamina. Most of the time your partners struggled to keep up with your pace, but Theo was seriously challenging that. You didn’t know if you could come three times in a row without passing out, but tonight was as good as any to find out. 

Theo rewarded you with a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss before positioning your thighs on either side of his head. You held onto the headboard above him. Part of it was for balance, but mostly to keep yourself from collapsing all together. You felt so overstimulated that the line between pleasure and pain was blurring by the minute, but still, neither one of you had any plans of stopping. 

At this point, you actually couldn’t give less of a fuck about revenge. Hannah had long become a thing of the past. It seemed ironic that you and your ex-girlfriend were in this exact position mere hours ago yet you couldn’t even recall anything past the Slytherin fucking you with his tongue. 

“Theo, oh my fucking gods,” you cried out as you grinded against his mouth. “Right there. Yes, that’s it. So good.” Theo squeezed your thighs in response, which elicited a hoarse laugh out of you. “You like when I praise you, pretty boy?” 

Theo hummed against your clit and squeezed your ass in confirmation. “You’re so pretty when you’re eating my pussy,” you cooed, brushing his wavy locks back. “But you’re even prettier when you’re fucking me.” 

That seemed to be all the encouragement Theo needed. Before you knew it, your back was against the mattress as he hiked your legs over your shoulder. Theo slipped in easily, thanks to the juices coating both his tongue and cock now that he was filling you up again. 

“How’s the view now, principessa?” Theo asked with a cocky smirk. 

You bit your lip as he pounded into you, holding your gaze with every sharp thrust. His tanned skin glistened with sweat and his muscles flexed while he buried himself inside of you again and again, watching you take all of him with rapt attention. His balls slapped against your ass every time his hips snapped to yours, drilling so deep that you struggled for words.

“The best in the castle,” you quipped back, putting on a serene smile as Theo grunted and fucked any and every coherent thought right out of you. 

Neither one of you noticed the door opening nor the sound of the broom hitting the floor. You were too busy staring into Theo’s pretty eyes to care. 

He turned your head towards the door, but didn’t stop fucking you as Hannah watched with her mouth hung wide open. Theo made sure that your ex-girlfriend had a clear view of the money shot as he claimed you with his mouth, moaning your name against your lips as he came with a loud cry. He filled you to the brim and you could feel him leaking out of you and onto the sheets as your eyes rolled back.

Theo collapsed on top of you, sweaty and sinful. As you lay boneless and blissed out of your mind, you couldn’t quite believe that you’d just fucked your ex-girlfriend’s ex boyfriend. In her own bed, nonetheless. If that wasn’t poetic justice, you didn’t know what was. Merlin, you hadn’t gotten shagged like that in—well, ever. The Slytherin really knew how to slither in. You lifted your head to find Theo already looking at you. When you made eye contact, the two of you burst into laughter.

Your ex-girlfriend, on the other hand, was not as amused. “What the fuck!” Hannah screamed. 

Her shrill voice brought you out of the post haze aftermath of your earth shattering orgasm. Completely unbothered, you stretched lazily and waved your fingers at Hannah. Theo smirked as he tugged his sweatpants back on, but opted to remain shirtless as he pulled his oversized shirt over your head like a proper gentleman. You were grateful, since you had absolutely no desire to walk around in your ex-girlfriend’s clothes. Plus, it didn’t hurt that Theo looked absolutely delicious from the afterglow.

You bit your lip, already thinking of all the ways you’d like to have him. Again and again. As often as possible.

With a little smile, you met Theo’s gaze. It was clear that neither of you had any intention of calling it an early night. You had a feeling that you had a lot of sleepless nights ahead of you. Theo looked like he wanted to tear you apart and you were more than willing to let him. “My dorm?” 

“Whatever you say, dolcezza,” Theo said as he slipped his fingers through yours. “You could lead me off the astronomy tower and I’d follow.” 

Theo didn’t bother looking at Hannah as the two of you passed her. You, on the other hand, couldn’t pass up the chance to get the last word in. 

“By the way, we’re breaking up with you. Have fun cleaning up the mess.” 

Theo chuckled darkly as he tugged you out into the hallway, smacking your arse as the two of you raced back to your dorm. Behind you, your long forgotten ex-girlfriend gaped as she watched her ex-girlfriend and ex-boyfriend walk away hand in hand.

[palmtreesx3]

Deeper for You

Summary: (5.1 k) It's your annual beach trip with the crew from Hawkins, something you've all been doing together your whole adult life after life forced everyone to part ways. You're all close, but this year, an accidental encounter in the outdoor shower makes you get a little closer with one person in particular.

This is self indulgence at its finest. Fresh off my last week at the beach this summer, I needed a little Beach Steve in my life to tide me over.

Steve x Reader, NSFW 18+ Accidental exposure, friends to lovers, breast play, female oral, fingering, dirty talk encouraged, a little orgasm denial, maybe a spank and unprotected intercourse in the shower.

Crystal water. Crystal skies. Beach chairs circled around umbrellas and coolers. Crisp beers slipped in aging koozies and passed around like old times. You and your friends have been doing this for years. Ever since goals and lives and even some wives have taken the group here and there, Nancy started organizing this annual beach trip for the group from Hawkins. Years and miles have nothing on deep seeded trauma, she said once, in a too cheerful voice despite it's truth.

The heat of the sand between your toes and the smell of suntan lotion have become a comfort to you, just knowing you're back there with your closest friends. As you all creep closer to thirty than you'd like, this week never fails to make you feel nostalgic, youthful and forget all of your problems because it never feels like an ounce of time has passed with any of these people.

This year Nancy had to upgrade the rental - more rooms for yet another married couple in the mix, Eddie adding a wife - a little too sweet but just enough sass for him - into the fold. It was your first time meeting her, really meeting her, because no bride has the time for new friendship on their wedding weekend, and you've had such a nice week spending time with her. Chairs in the sand by the waterline together with a book most afternoons, leaving the raucous energy that comes after some morning beers as background noise to your fantasies.

"What are you two ladies reading over here anyway" Steve pokes at your shoulder on his way down to the water to cool off.

"They're fantasy novels, Steve. Naughty books, if you must know." You tease back, Eddies wife blushing beside you at your brazen honestly.

"Naughty books? Like love stories where they kiss and share a bed?"

"No Steve, like '... And then she felt the tips of his finger circle her clit before toying with her folds and the wetness pooling between her thighs. Edging her, pulling her closer but never giving her cunt what she really wants'" you read in an exaggerated and breathy voice direct from your page, picking up right where you left off. "That, Steve, is Naughty Books. "

"Shit. Okay. Well I'll leave you two to it, then. What the fuck." and he trots off into the waves. Sunkissed skin a perfect contrast to the white, foaming waves he's now floating in.

"So, that… you guys have a thing before or something?" Eddie's wife asks softly. So sweet, you can't even be mad at her for it.

"Steve?" You laugh, "No-no no. Just go way back "

"Oh I'm so sorry" she squeaks out, "I just thought… I mean you guys. Nevermind."

"Don't worry about it. We're all a little too close for comfort sometimes. I get it. We just have always gave each other shit as long as I've known him, that's all."

Later that night, the whole group gathers in the back of the house around a huge built in fire pit, all taking turns sharing, giving updates about life and work and families.

Late nights have been happening all week around this pit, but tonight is cool, and the Sangria Robin and Max mixed up is keeping you chilled.

"Hey, honey. You finally quit or do you want to join us over here?" Steve calls over to you, beckoning to the group of smokers over on the bench seat to the left of the fire.

"Every time I try… someone like you offers me a smoke and here I am again." You shrug as you lean over to snag the pack of cigarettes from Steve's outstretched hand before taking a seat. You slide out a slim cigarette and pull the lighter from it's spot in the back, lighting up and passing it back, kicking your feet out on the coffee table in front.

"Someone like Steve, what's that supposed to mean? You hurling insults again?" Johnathan teases.

"No, no. Byers, shut the fuck up. Lemme enjoy this sweet nicotine with my friends in peace, okay?" You roll your eyes, not actually knowing what you meant either, before shooting a look at Max sitting with the group. "Since when did you sit on the smokers bench? Huh?"

"Don't start with me mom. You've tried to quit four times a year for the past 10 years, so I don't even wanna hear it from you." The redhead sasses back.

Such a beautiful, self assured young women she's grown into, despite having such poor eyesight from…everything that happened…you have always had a soft spot for Max, and she for you. The glasses she wears are thick, despite years of corrective surgeries, but they don't take an ounce away from how lovely she's grown to be.

"Yeah yeah, just shut up and enjoy it. I bet Lucas hates it. Doesn't he? Goodie two shoes." You quip back and Max giggles in agreement, both of you taking a long drag as a follow up.

"You two man-eaters are trouble." Steve jabs.

"Excuse me, man-eaters? The one who has been dating the same guy since middle school and me, who goes on what, maybe 4 dates all year? Yeah total man-eaters, Steve."

After finishing your smokes, you all rejoin the group, playing dollar games of cards and dice, laughing the night away at bad luck and bad jokes. El has been banished to watching over participating and when Eddie's wife asks why, the mutters and mumbling of a wide variety of excuses poured out.

"It's uh - against her religion!" straight from Dustin's mouth won out, mostly because it was the loudest. So now you're all pretending El is Muslim, and that's definitely not going to last the rest of the week.

It's nearing two am as you pad up the stairs, pockets 10 dollars deeper, sand still clinging to your feet just barely and Steve's button up on your shoulders from when he passed it to you to quell your chill. Just like every other night of the trip, you sleep like a baby, tucked in a soft mattress with softer sheets and the blanket of a decent buzz still coursing through your bloodstream.

The next day is the last on the shore and after a late start and breakfast cooked up by Nancy and Johnathan to sop up the hangovers the day goes on much like the rest before it. Relaxing in beach chairs and blankets, music softly humming from a boom box in the shade of the umbrella, balls being tossed in a friendly game of touch football in the loose sand by the dunes.

The tide was rough today and swept you and Eddie's girl away on your chairs once before you slipped your books back in your beach bag and decided if you can't beat it, join it. Frolicking in the waves together, the rest of the group is shortly behind you joining in.

It's not five minutes until Eddie is tackling his wife into the crashing waves, rolling her dramatically in the lapping waves and sand. Max and El are jumping through crashing waves, hand in hand trying to make it past the crest and to where it is calm. Some of the boys are sitting in the sand watching and enjoying the cool breeze you catch when you're closer to the sea.

You, well, you were enjoying yourself wholeheartedly. That is until you're making your way back to shore and a huge wave creeps up behind you and slams you to the ground. Water currents tossing you around a bit like a ragdoll, it's a moment before strong arms pull you up and out, wiping your hair out of your face and brushing the wet globs of sand off you as you regroup. It's Steve who's got you and brings you back to shore, where you flop down on the sand together and burst out in laughter after you're both sure that you're alright, making it even harder to catch your breath.

The day at the beach was way more sandy than usual because of it all, sitting in the sand, being thrown around by gritty waves and soupy sand finding it's way intermingling with your bathing suit. You just can't wait till the end of the day to shower and hose off, so you dip away to hop in the rinse shower along the side of the property. Door swung shut, you run the water cold so it's as refreshing as it is a welcome rinse to your body where the sand is sticking and scratches.

Hair slicked back by the cool droplets, you're realizing quickly that a simple rinse won't rid your swimsuit of all of the caked in sand. Maneuvering your emerald green one piece to shake free the grit of the ocean, you're making progress as you drop your wide set straps off your shoulders and start working out the sand from your upper half.

It's just then that Steve must have had the same idea, and he's traipsing through the door of the shower himself, only to find you, strap down, left breast fully exposed, tan lines of your right crisp and leaving nothing to the imagination the way the suit is bunching down, and your hands coaxing the water over them from the low pressure showerhead to work off the sand.

"Holy fuck!" You both yell at the same time.

Yours an exclamation. A "Holy FUCK!" A barked out reaction to the surprise. The admonishment of your friend who doesn't seem to pay a goddamn mind to anything going on around him or he would have heard the shower tap on and running when he approached.

But his… Well, his was a statement. A "Holy. Fuck." Drawn out. A deep and gravely comment made to acknowledge the surprise he's found. More of an interest than an intrusion.

So when you reached to cover yourself and hide from embarrassment as a knee jerk reaction, he didn't make quite as quick a move to leave you be. He lingered, just enough for you to notice and under his breath whispered out again "Holy fuck."

Adequately covered, or at least enough that you can feel functional at this point, you look at him to quip "Are you just gonna stare or what?" And you expect him to snap out of his titty haze and leave you be to shake out the rest of your sand trap, but he doesn't.

Instead he asks, "Well, is that an invitation?"

Your eyes narrow at him, and he shrugs in reaction. "You can't be serious, Steve. Get outta here."

"I save you, and this is the thanks I get?" He teases, and you can't help but see how his eyes, blown out and black, don't move from your body when he says it.

"Steve." You say, quietly.

"Yeah?"

"I can thank you later." comes out just above a whisper.

"I think I'd rather you thanked me now."

When you don't argue back, or say anything for that matter, he takes that as enough of an answer as he needs. He knows you, and he knows that you have no problem telling someone to take a hike, so if you're not yelling at him like he's a small boy who got his hand caught in the cookie jar, he knows you're inviting him to take a bite.

So he's inside the shower quicker than your mind can even catch up to what's happening. He's crowding your space and reaching backwards to do the one thing you forgot to do yourself, hook the damn lock. You're pretty sure this man hasn't moved his eyes from you since the moment the door opened and at this point, you're meeting his gaze.

A sweeping hand, under your ear and landing on the nape of your neck is what shakes you out of your daze and before you know it his lips are on yours. It's a bruising thing, the way he presses them into yours, pulling you closer still by where his hand is cupping your head with his broad hand. You come up for air just a second before he backs off and you find yourself, open mouthed and smiling into his lips, still pressing into you. "Fuck. Honey. I- you okay? With this? I don't wanna… "

"I know I tell you this all the time, but this is different. Steve, you fuckin talk too much. Shut. Up." You say, emphasizing your words with two little tugs to his own hair where your hands have snaked around, too.

And he takes this welcome advance as an opportunity to wrap his other hand around you, up and under your arm, resting at the center of your back. Pressing together, you're so close. Impossibly so, and every little tick of the hip or twitch of the lips can be felt by the other instantaneously. He's testing you out but getting bolder by the second when he experimentally rolls his hips just a bit before coaxing your legs a bit wider to slot his knee in between. You gasp out at the feeling of him against you and involuntarily find yourself rolling your cunt against his thigh.

"Ah-oh fuck. Shit. Steve." You squeak out, as you look down to see that he's tucked up his swim shorts high enough that your grinding on his exposed thigh. Bristly hair on his legs commingling with the scratch of the sand and sea salt on your own thighs.

"C'mon, honey. You came in here to get clean. Me too. Lemme help you, yeah? '

Nodding your permission, he gently slips his fingers under the still loose straps of your suit, coaxing them down further, fingers ghosting over your arms as he works them down.

You've been doing this trip for years, and you swear the last thing you ever thought would happen was having Steve fucking Harrington peeling off your wet swimsuit in the shower. "You sandy all over, huh? Me too. Gotta rinse you off." he says, as he's reaching up for the shower head, detaching it from its base and bringing it down in between the two of your chests. Holding it there for a moment, he seems to consider this whole thing for the first time. "You-your good, right? I mean, I trust you. Do you trust me? "

"Yeah Steve, I do." You say, pressing your forehead to his and blinking away droplets gathering on your eyelashes.

He pulls the rest of your swimsuit away from where it's suctioned on your tummy and works it down your body, dropping heavy and wet on the shower floor. Once it's out of his way, he's back on your lips, sucking in your bottom lip just as you feel the cool water hitting your clit. Steve moves the shower head gently but purposely around your whole cunt, paying attention to your sensitive bud between passes through your folds. "Gotta get you cleaned up, huh? Need you clean for me. For what I'm gonna do next." He teases and you moan at his words.

Not exactly sure what he has planned just yet, you let him keep working your pussy clean and with every second of the pulsing jets of water hitting your clit rhythmically. "Yeah, baby I think you're all set." He states, replacing the shower head where it belongs and reaching his free hand down to rub through your folds, checking to be sure you're comfortable and free of that pesky sand.

When he's met with yet another whimper he's immediately dropping to his knees on the wet planks of the shower floor "Can I please, please taste you. Please."

"I didn't take you as one to beg, Harrington." You whisper out the tease.

"I will for this - for you. God, would you just answer me?"

You look down at him and nod but he wants your words instead, commanding you to speak up. And so you do, you gasp out confirmation just as his lips latch on to your already sensitive clit. He suckles there a little bit, before moving to make his tongue wide and flat coaxing noises from you that he doesn't want to forget the sound of.

He throws your thigh over his shoulder, giving him deeper, more angled access to your cunt, working you, moving it in and left to right. You cry out as his nose nudges at your clit while he slips a finger in up to his second knuckle and the cry turns silent as he keeps up his ministrations. Droplets of water are tickling down your chest and stomach, soaking his hair and face where he stays tucked in between your thighs. He shakes his head back and forth tapping at your clit with his movement and making you see stars.

Adding in another finger, he keeps lapping at your pussy, taking breaks to nip at the place where your thighs meet your sex and back again. He licks off a trail of water along the seam of your leg before making his way back to your center. Scissoring his fingers, he groans right into you and the vibration of it all drives you wild. "God, you fuckin taste like heaven. So good." And he dives back in, running his wide tongue along your entrance, drawing it front and upward toward your clit.

This time he pauses and presses his tongue up into the base of your clit, holding it there just as he presses both long fingers up and into your spongy spot, freeing the most wanton sound yet from deep within your throat. It spurs him on to keep going, pulsing that tongue and stroking that spot within. You're tensing and shaking under his strong grip and soft tongue, leg still hiked high over him, water cascading around the both of you. You're tumbling over the edge quickly after that.

In a bit of a daze and with wobbly knees, you swing your leg back down off his shoulder and bring him up towards you by his ears, wanting to taste yourself on his tongue in ways you never have before, and he looks beautiful like that. Eyes wide and wanton, hair dripping wet down his hair spattered chest, jaw slack in his own lust and pleasure, lips a deep pink and swollen from working you up down there. You bring him up fully to meet your lips and groan into his mouth, your taste heady and salty and beachy.

"I think you're clean" he laughs out as he pulls back just slightly and you can't help but bark out a laugh back. He takes the opportunity to latch on to your neck and bites at the skin under your ear.

In that moment you decide you're not done with him.

Tugging at the ties of his swim trunks, Steve pulls back to look at you. "N-no, we don't have to."

You hear his words but you also feel the hardness underneath those trunks, "Steve, it's - it's no big deal. You started this. Let me… let's finish, yeah?" You eye him teasingly, eyebrows raised, "Something tells me you want to."

"You're a menace, you know that right? Always have been."

"Yeah, but you're into it, apparently." you stand on your tippy toes to whisper in his ear.

"Fuck. Fuck. Yeah." He gets out as you lick the water droplets up "Seeing you here every year. Highlight of my trip. Swear to God."

And as his soaked trunks hit the floor, the pair of you are both fully exposed standing under the running water together. Running your hand along his chest, playing with the tufts of hair there, you hook your finger though the thin chain hanging from his neck and pull him closer. "Steve." You whisper into his mouth.

"Yeah, whaddya need, honey?"

"You. God just, please fuck me. Okay?"

Clutching you close by the waist, he hikes your leg up and around his hip, reaching down along your ass to rub at your pussy from behind, working you up again. Almost teasing. The rock hard length of him is pressed up between your two tummies, begging to be paid attention to, so you break your bodies apart for just a second to angle him down, slipping if wetly between your lower lips - a mix of water and your hot dripping slick letting him slip through your folds.

A whimper slips out of your lips as his head catches your clit and he takes the opportunity to press into you, sounds something like a growl falling from his own lips at the feeling. Your mind is going blank, but the one thing you're sure of is that Steve Harrington's dick is huge. "Ohmigod, you're, bi- oh" you moan as he adds another few inches, moving slowly for you. "Fuck, you're huge. Jesus, Steve."

"Yeah? Biggest you ever had? God, tell me it's the biggest you've ever took."

"Shit" you hiss, as he bottoms out inside you, yelping out as you both finally meet at the base. "Yeah, shit. No one's ever been that fuckin deep, Steve. Holy shit."

"Fuck, yeah. I'm gonna move now, okay? You're good, right?" And you nod, enthusiastically. Almost too enthusiastically.

You've known Steve almost your whole life. You've played on playground swing sets growing up, rolled your eyes at his antics at your friends' parties in high school, cheered him on at basketball games and worked alongside him as lifeguards at the country club pool. You give him shit, he gives it back to you. You share comfortable silences and close friends. He's had your back in the face of monsters and raging fires… But right now, all that's on your mind is how he's pounding into your pussy in this shower and why this has never ever happened before in all these years. Because Jesus Christ, it's feeling euphoric.

The slapping of skin echoes loudly in the wooden and metal enclosure of the shower, bodies slick with water , hands gliding along your back and along your ass, keeping that knee hiked high for him, yours clutching the front of his shoulders and digging crescent moons into his skin. He's making noises, has he thrusts up into you at a bruising pace, hitting your cervix and making you cry out…but he's holding back all the same and all you want is him to let go a little more.

"Fuck, wait. Holy shit. Lemme just… " you drop your leg down and hear his small whine as he slips out of you, but you're quick to flip your body around, leaning forward and bracing yourself on the beams of the wooden door frame, shaking your ass at him in an invitation to get close to you again. "Wait. Wait… " you gasp out as you feel his tip nudge against your entrance from behind.

"What's wrong? Are you .. are you okay? I can stop." He gets out through heaving breaths.

"No. I'm good… but if you wanna finish me off, you gotta do one thing for me." Looking over your shoulder, giving him a playful but serious look.

"What'dya need. Honey. Anything. What do you want?" He holds his cock, pulsing and screaming to be let back inside your warm and velvety walls, dots of precome rinsed off by the droplets of water as fast as they emerge.

"Don't hold back. Just… .let me hear you. I wanna hear you. Talk to me. Don't shut up. And fuck - fuck me harder" you hiccup out.

"Yeah, yeah okay. I'll … I'll - fuck" he pushes in fully in one slide, no resistance from you in the least. "You wanna hear how good you make me feel huh? Always so cocky. Jesus."

His fingers are pressing into the tops of your thighs, purple mottled marks already blooming there under his fingertips as he pulls you backwards, spearing you on his cock, meeting him thrust for thrust. His other hand is wrapped around your waist, reaching for the soft of your belly, snaking up your chest until he finds your tits, nipples peaked with the chill of the air now that you're not directly under the stream of water. He runs his thumb along your nipples, giving them a playful flick back and forth before massaging them and pulling you up to meet him, back to chest.

In this position, you can drop yourself down as you meet his upward thrusts, bouncing on his cock and you feel his tip nudging a particular spot inside you that makes your walls constrict. "Oh honey, yeah? That's it. That's the spot isn't it?" And you can tell that has Steve's mind going off the deep end, making good on his promises to let you hear him, he's babbling, water splashing and raining down on you both, his grunts getting louder, and your name slipping off his lips in a whisper, like it belongs there.

Reaching back and around his neck, you turn so that you can see him and tilt his down to meet your gaze. Mouths both open, panting into one another, lips touching but never connecting because you can't quite sync up with the way you're both grinding on each other. "Jesus Christ, hnng fuck, I'm gonna… honey. Where do you want me? C'mon. Tell me."

You hear his sharp intake of a breath and feel his lips latch on to your throat, leaving sloppy kisses and sucking a bruise into it that you know you'll have to explain to your friends later. "Nnn-no. No. Not yet. I told you, lemme hear you. You're holding back I can tell."

"Oh-okay yeah. Gimme a sec. " He breathes through his nose taking in the scent of whatever vanilla soap you were using before he barreled in, maybe a little coconut still left over from your sunscreen, too. He exhales as his hand drifts down your front, settling over your mound and expertly finding your clit once again. He's rubbing figure eights, before sliding it between his two fingers, giving it pressure and pull from the sides as he continues to thrust into you from behind, bouncing you with very little effort because of how wet and slick you are from the shower.

"You're a fuckin' piece of work, you know that. Shit - taking me like this… fuck. " He growls out as he bends you forward fully now, holding you up by your chest as he rams into you. Leaning over just enough to get close to your ear he whispers in "Ya gonna let me come now? Fuck - ya gonna let me put it on your back? Huh? Your tits? Where do you wanna have it, honey?" He hisses as you grind your hips backwards and clench down hard on his shaft, squeezing on him and making his thrusts slow down, become more meticulous, more purposeful.

You're gasping in air and squeaking out noises of all kinds in time with his thrusts, telling him just how good he's making you feel between breaths. Just how deep he is hitting you. Just how much you wanna hear him when he comes. He's huffing out breaths and promising you things like next time as he's incoherently babbling praises at you as you ride back on his dick.

"You like when I talk about coming for you? You wanna have it, yeah?"

"Y-yeah I wanna. Inside. Do it inside, fuck!" You shout out, water from the showerhead beating on your back as his thrusts are jolting you forward where you're braced against the door. The janky little rusted metal latch holding on for dear life as he continues his pace, chasing his high and praying to God you let go with him.

He's feeling bold now that his brain is only chasing your orgasms. He groans the loudest moan you've heard from him this whole time as you feel him tense behind you, keeping up his movements but, just barely. His hips are stuttering and his hand falls down on your ass in a loud smack. "Ohhh shit. Honey. Yeah. That's what I'm talking about."

Your walls give him one last squeeze and you grip him tight, legs shaking under you as your orgasms rushes over your whole body. He has to hold you up as it rolls through your body, flashes going off behind your eyes as you cry out with pleasure. The pain from the smack to your ass being washed away with the cool of the water trickling over you.

It takes him only three firm thrusts more to fill you up, stuttering sounds falling from his lips. Incoherent blabbers and praises and gasps of your name spurting out along with his come.

You're both absolutely breathless, heaving chests and deep sighs filling the air while still connected to one another. Steve pulls you up slowly as he slips out of you, and spins you around. Still cradling your body and wrapping you into him, he pulls you both under the water to rinse off and come back down from wherever you both are floating off to right now. As you stand there swaying under the cascade, he brings his lips to your temple with a kiss as he mutters "I did mean it. I love seeing you here every year."

You hum along with him, because you do love seeing him too. You just never thought about it like this before. And now that you have, you're pretty sure it's the only way you can from here on out.

"We should probably get back down to the beach. I'm sure at least one of those nosey dipshits have noticed were both missing by now." Steve says against your skin.

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. But you are the one explaining these marks you left on me. I'm not saying a peep."

"Aw, c'mon sweetheart. You had a lot to say when I was in-"

"Stop that right now. If you wanna even think about doing this again, you're gonna stop right now." You roll your eyes at him while wrapping yourself with a towel and unlatching the door. As you back out and start up towards the house to grab a new swimsuit, he sees the grin on your face.

"Yeah, okay honey. Shutting my mouth now...so I'll definitely see ya later, then." He says with a wink, just as the door shuts and your left naked, wrapped up in Steve Harrington's towel with all your friends gathered round the grill out back making lunch watching you as you make your way around the path.

Eddie snarls a wide grin at you as he brings both thumbs up, his wife slapping his chest when she notices. "Hey Nance!" He yells out. "I think Harrington's got himself a new roommate for next trip!"

[docwritesshit]

Them reacting to you just chilling in a new dress

Authors note: I have this tendency to just chill in new outfits I really like and feel good so self indulgence at its finest. Also I’m not dead, hooray! Might be by the end of this semester tho

Wukong

You should have grown accustomed to his drop ins. You keep the window unlocked for him anyways

So it’s to no one’s surprise that when your celestial menace of a significant other hauled himself though the window while whistling a jaunty tune as you scrolled through your phone

“Hello Wukong”

“Hello, my dearest- …”

You look up to see this man just… staring. At you.

You raise an eyebrow at this

“Wukong?”

“… you’re really pretty this evening”

He clears his throat and tries oh so hard to play it cool but the shivers along his tail give him away

You just chuckle and stand up

“I see we like the dress”

“… we like the dress very much”

Macaque

Ok, no one can blame you for just breaking in the new dress he stole got you fro. The theater

And he only has himself to blame when he walks in to see you tidying up while wearing said dress

But blame himself for long, he does not.

As soon as he walks in, he is at your back with hands on your hips. A smile is on his face as his chin rests on your shoulder

“Breaking in the new dress, darling ~?”

You smile and greet him with a kiss on the cheek

“Yup. You like?”

He just buries his face in the crook of your neck and purrs

“I like very much”

Redson

This ma’am

This ma’am thanks the heavens quietly as he sees typing away at you laptop with that lovely masterpiece gracing your skin

They come right up to you and just sit next to you, resting their head on your shoulder.

You reach up to comb your fingers through their hair

“Like the dress”

“Do you?”

He nods against shoulder, his fingers playing with the fabric

“Very much so”

Ao Lie

“My pearl, I came back early and-“

He stops in his tracks when he sees you reading a book on the couch, quietly turning the pages. This won’t do for him

He immediately goes over to the back of the couch and leans over, making you look up to face him

You giggle when you see him do this and lift your face up to meet his gaze

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. You can help by letting me get a full view of my beautiful partner in a new dress they haven’t shown me yet”

You laugh and put the book away, standing up and smiling as he is and haha over everything

“You look so pretty! How am I so lucky to be able to walk in on sights like this??”

That’s all, folks!

[writella]

Trinkets; The Gifts of Gold He Gave You

Synopsis: A detailed record of all the special objects Daryl has found for you while hunting, riding, supply gathering, and living in the various places he has in the new world. These objects often lead to sweet moments of kindness, joy, and understanding between the two of you, deepening your connection. Although they are things others might not think much of— they were simply small gestures or trinkets after all— you believed these memories and mementos to be gifts of gold; they would shine in your mind forever onward.

Details: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader, mutual pining, kisses, lots of love and ♡ sweetness ♡ (true self indulgence at its finest), but there are also descriptions of trauma, abuse, and self-hate. Though other than that, it’s nothing else except Daryl being an endearing friend and future loverboy to you. This travels across the plot and setting of season 6-8, but it might not be a perfect fit. Lastly, even though these can be read anthologically, I did write them in a storyline as if there was an order in which Daryl gives or does these things with the reader as their relationship grows, so some past trinkets might be mentioned in the next story, but it truly isn’t too big of a deal; this is one you can have fun with! ♡

Author’s Note: My dearest reader, this one took much longer than I intended, but I think it’s because I put so much of my silly heart-filled imagination into it— truly one of my favorites to write thus far. I’m just so happy to give it to you. Feel free to read these all at once, one at a time, or pick the ones that best fit who you are. with love, writella . ♡ ⋆ ☽

Trinkets moodboard & visualizer here!

Trinket No. 1: The Ribbon ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ ⟡.•

A Bow from a Bowman

Daryl was out on a hunt one morning when he found it. It’s like he was compelled to pick it up, he did it without even thinking. It was nothing, honestly: kind of silly really, and flimsy, slightly covered by grass blades— it was dirty and discarded. But there was something about it, something tender… it reminded him of you, even though in some ways still, he hardly knew you at all.

It had been over a month since Daryl came back home to Alexandria; just a month since you entered what was supposed to be your new home. But also a week or so long journey it had been to unexpectedly find you and bring you back.

He remembered it well: you were covered in dirt, tired and hungry, running for your life from the past group you were with. He was going to let you go and mind his business— you looked scared of him anyway when you crashed into him. But most importantly, he had just lost his crossbow, his bike, and maybe even a little bit of his dignity to Dwight who stole them. He didn’t feel like getting tricked again, especially since it takes a lot to trick him; he wasn’t letting that happen again. Especially not the day after. And most especially not for a seemingly young and innocent-looking girl like Dwight’s wife, Sherry or that kid they were with, Tina.

But then, he heard the yelling, the hollering, the men– they wanted you, and none of it was for the right reasons. Very wrong and scary reasons they were indeed, ones he would soon come to understand were things you’d never want to live out or discuss again. He understood that feeling, so he stayed. He hid behind a tree. He decided to help again. Who knows of your innocence, but what was definitely true was that you were a lost and lonely girl in the woods. He knew a thing or two about those unfortunately, those stories ended badly.

Sad enough, the hiding and helping— or attempting to— led him to become a prisoner with you and your ‘group.’ He barely got scraps of food, and every night was just another day of seeing your tears, your face in a permanent state of desolation and misery; staying ever silent even when you were yelled at— even when you were forced to do things you didn’t want to do. You looked scared and small.

It was only when you all reached a hospital, one you burned to the ground just to get away from them, that Daryl saw the fight in you. You didn’t even ask for his help and he tried to save you, but in the end, you saved him. A silent soldier, you were. He returned the favor with the least he could do: he took you home.

And now there you both were. You sat by Rick’s fireplace. No one was home yet, and you had just put Judith down for the night. Daryl found you there on the floor with a book. He quietly sat near you. All you two said was hello.

And this was normal, actually– the being around each other, showing up unannounced, sitting beside each other– talking or not– or you, trying to help him with whatever work he was up to. He tried to fight it at first, but it became a regular thing. It’s what helped Daryl get to know you, and you to him.

You were equally as fierce as the fire you created not long ago, but just as gentle. Just as desiring to smile and create friendships. He knew that now. And he— he was just as rock solid and straightforward as the crossbow he once carried, but just delicate. Just as easily hurt and as quick to hide, yet so deeply desiring of loyalty and acceptance. You know that now too.

It’s still so soon, but you admired him, so deeply. You wanted to learn from him. You thought he was strong, and you wanted to be strong. All that anguish and pain and he came out a fighter, a leader.

Little did you know that is exactly what he thought of you. He went from seeing you cry yourself to sleep every night to becoming the kind and generous friend you were to almost everyone you met. Always offering to care for Judith, or allowing Carl to come to you to talk, or learning about guns and shooting with Rosita. And of course finding a way to go on supply runs, or learn to hunt, or fight walkers with Daryl as much as you could. As always, he pretended not to care that much, but he did. He couldn’t help it. He values his independence, but it was nice that there was someone who wanted to be around him so much. And he admired you for his own reasons as well: You’re someone who fills others up with lightness when such dark things have happened. He felt like that every time you two we’re together. He wanted to learn from you too.

As he sat there, thinking, he wondered if maybe that’s why he thought of you when he saw it. Maybe it was the brightness and softness of it, despite finding it on the ground, despite it being dirty. He cleaned it up, and it still shined, that’s like you but… he was still unsure. Maybe it truly was nothing, maybe it was stupid.

He looked to his side, watching your figure for a moment as he decided what to do. You were on your stomach, laying on the small rug that sat in front of the fire. You were continuing the chapter you were on, paying little attention to him. He only said ‘hey,’ after all. And you did wave back, you asked him how his day was, but all he gave you was a typical response, ‘fine,’ he had said. You thought maybe this visit wasn’t about talking so you left it. And all of this was typical anyway, for Daryl to come by Rick’s, or for you two to sit in peaceful silence, but then you started to see him fidget in his spot in your periphery, like he couldn’t decide how he wanted to sit, hands adjusting his jeans, moving things in his pocket.

“Do you wanna go to the porch?” You thought maybe he was reaching for a smoke. “I can put on the baby monitor…” He just shook his head at the suggestion.

You decide to move to the spot next to him, leaning your back against the wall. “Did something happen today?” Your voice was soft as you tilt your head, trying to reach his eyes.

“No,” he shook his head again, he was facing forward. “It’s just…”

“What?” You asked calmly.

He found it hard to speak, “Just- just brought something.” He reached into his pocket one last time, his hand in a fist as it made its way closer between the two of you until he started to release his fingers from his palm slowly.

It was a ribbon. A pearly light pink one. Just scattered in his hand. “It’s stupid,” he grumbled quietly, trying to shove it back down his pocket, but you stop him.

“Wait,” your hands gently cupping the other side of his and then you pick it up, letting him go. You wrap the ribbon around your finger and you tie it into a bow, examining it in your palm now. “This is for me?” Soft disbelief enchanted your voice. You made sure not to sound too excited or too surprised. You didn’t want to scare him, especially since he replied with:

“It's nothin’.” He was feeling slightly embarrassed.

“It's so nice,” your voice continued in its understated tone despite your smile becoming uncontainable. You couldn’t help the way your lips were curling upward, it was even hurting your cheekbones to try to make your teeth shine through a little less— Daryl Dixon just gave you a gift. And it was a little pink thing at that. Perhaps miracles are real. “It's perfect,” you say, “I can wear it in my hair.”

“It's stupid.” He repeated, brushing you off, but you saw right through him. Daryl doesn’t do anything for no reason at all.

“It's not.” Your words are so kind as your interject, “You know, sometimes it's the smallest things that mean everything. They become our favorite things even.” Your lips pressed together, forming another smile as he meets your gaze, “Like your vest that needs to be patched up.”

“It's fine,” he almost sounded defensive. It made you laugh.

As messed up as it is, it truly was fine. It was his and he loved it; that made it so. And he didn’t only have the vest, he also had his cut-up button-downs, and those ties he laced on the bottom of his jeans— you knew those were probably because the pants available didn’t always fit all the time, but nonetheless— these were all things that made him and his clothing unique from the others. Even in the apocalypse, Daryl was one of the few that maintained a personal style. You couldn’t help but love it. He could, and often always was, the guy covered all in dirt and grim and blood but he still had something about his look that was simply just him.

You missed that. Having those personal touches, and now here Daryl was with this. The simplest thing, but he brought it for you. It was your special piece, your special something. It truly was perfect.

“C’mere,” Daryl gestured, taking the ribbon from your hand and moving your shoulders so your back faced him. He undid the bow and cuffed your hair, he actually almost yanked your head with the way he gathered the ponytail, honestly– he forgets his strength, but you said nothing. Only giggling slightly, but you were mostly quiet. You tried to keep it down, afraid he might stop if he thought you were making fun of him. You wanted to reel at the closeness for as long as you could. You couldn’t believe the fact that he was doing something so domestic— you almost couldn’t breathe. He tried to detangle some pieces with his fingers and then he tilted his head to the side to leave some shorter pieces out at the front. He didn’t know what he was doing and he probably was doing it badly, but he tried his best to be delicate. He’s never touched you like this before. Every time his fingers accidentally brushed against your ear or your neck he relearned just how soft you are. And every feeling of his skin almost made you shiver; like when someone whispers in your ear, it always feels so sensitive, traveling down until you feel it everywhere. His touches felt like that. You always end up feeling his everywhere. He’s entrancing, filling you with hearts and stars.

Finally, he ties the ribbon into a bow right at the top of the ponytail he created. He’s done. He lets go. They shapes and colors fade. Everything is cold again.

But to him, everything looked warm and vibrant. Looking at you was a sight so sweet and so gentle among all this dark wreckage of the world— it was precisely how he saw you: the way the ribbon now laced around your hair looked like an angelic embrace.

You turn to him, “Thank you, Daryl.” Your smile is so sincere, so lovely, there might as well be a halo and hearts invisibly drawn all around you.

A moment passes as you continue to look at each other and your heart jumps. He’s still looking directly at you. There are moments that he looks away and you can’t help it, the bashfulness creeps up on you two, but he’s giving you all his attention; it feels great. You decide to take the chance, you can't help yourself, you hug him, you have to. It has been so long since someone gave you something. So long since someone thought of you so specifically and intimately.

He’s caught off guard, his hands don’t wrap around you until a few seconds later, but when they do, they are sure, and tight, more sure of it than you surprisingly.

You breathe him in, giggling again, “I’m surprised you smell this good.”

“Fuck you.” It makes you laugh just a bit louder, it’s the nicest ‘fuck you,’ you’ve ever heard. Its tone has a hint of sincerity in tandem with humor in just the same way you delivered your line. He shakes his head, “You’re silly.”

He lets you go and you turn away, but it’s only just a little. He watches how the ribbon lays right where he put it again, seeing the side of your face light up with your rosy smile as you sway your head. You’re trying to not make it obvious that you want to feel the wag of the bow and your hair back there so you do it slowly, it just feels so cool and so pretty. You liked it so much. You didn’t even know what it looked like yet, but it already made you feel more like yourself. Like a part of you that had left before this world began— it fit well like a missing piece finally snapping into place. It was your unique touch and he found it for you. He did it for you. Just for you.

For me, you repeated it in your mind, he found it just for me.

Trinket No. 2: The Lesson ō͡≡o˞̶ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Turnpikes, Gunshots, and Dreams

You had asked and asked for weeks with no let up. It made you start getting creative with your pleas: “You know, Daryl, we really should be teaching each other our skills,” you had insisted, sarcasm lining your voice. No one else in the group knew how to ride yet they were doing just fine, but you were incessant, “You never know what kind of situation we’ll be in where we might need it… I could die,” your hands raise as your voice does, “and your bike could be my only escape but I wouldn’t even know how to ride it!”

He would always just stare at you blankly, ignoring you, especially when you got dramatic like this right before you two were leaving. “Get on or stay,” he would say, “go help Rosita or somethin’.”

You’d grit your teeth and get on regardless.

But then one day, one lucky, lucky day for you— it was your earnest approach, and your silly smile, and sun-filled eyes that got the best of him as they looked up to meet his darker ones. “Please,” you said, stretching out the word, it was just as cheesy as your smile. He looked back at you from his front seat as you continued, “I just want to feel capable and- free… I don’t know,” but you did, you meant it and felt it from deep inside you. “To know I have the option I wanted to… I… I didn’t really have those before.”

He was still for a moment and then he nodded, restarting the ignition. You guessed that was another no until you started to ride past the walkers that lined the outer gate. “An hour,” he said, his eyes forward as the trees became a blur to both of you, “then we gotta get work done.” You wrapped your arms around him tightly, you only used to cup his waist or hold his shoulders, but you felt fearless today, head leaning against his back and neck, arms hugging around his torso. He finally said yes.

As time went by, you had gotten comfortable with completing your drills. You learned the controls, how to shift gears, how to waddle and power walk with the bike, operate the clutch, throttle, and lift your feet up, riding on a straight path all by yourself. Turns were still hard though, and the fact that Daryl always insisted you think about the worst-case scenario wasn’t the greatest either. He’d look you dead in the eye, his voice clear and unrestrained from his usual grovels as he said, “If a herd is comin’, or people are shooting, or if there’s something tryin’ to crash into you, you need to think about how you’re going down. Decide on what won’t fuck you up completely, then do it. ” He always got way too close to your face without realizing it in those moments, his finger almost crashing into your nose as he vigorously pointed to get the idea across.

“If something goes down, I’m not arguing,” you say. “You'll be in front.” You meant it, your voice was quiet, you understood.

But really, you didn’t: “If something go down, either of us should be able to do it.” He paused to make sure you got it this time, “That's the point.”

As if you didn’t already sense it, this was the first time you absolutely understood that Daryl was serious when he decided to do anything. Full commitment. Start to finish. You said you wanted to learn, that you wanted to be capable, then that’s exactly what he was going to teach you. You would take it seriously too.

Soon enough, Daryl allowed you to ride out of the gates of Alexandria first instead of switching off after you got a few miles out. You were getting better. So much so that today would be a different day, he explained. Daryl wanted you to ride to the Hilltop. This would be the longest distance you’ve ever rode. A whole 23 miles. But before you guys got there he would steer you in the direction of a turnpike: he wanted to practice speed, and most crucially for you, right and left turning.

His weapons and guns were strapped to his lower body, some on his thigh holster, and a machine gun over his back, all just in case, and his hold on your waist was fixed as you rode. It made you feel like a child and such a little teenager all in one with how excited you would get. Not only were you becoming skilled at riding a whole fucking motorcycle, but you were the one he was holding onto this time and it was the longest amount of time he was holding you at that.

As you reached the turnpike, he guided you around the semi-circular road. Continuing on, you saw a few walkers in the distance. He told you to speed up, there was enough space on the road and there were only four of them, they were far away anyway.

You looked back at your surroundings, other than those four, the road was pretty clear other than some broken down, discarded cars. This accidentally became a lesson on tight turns and swerving too.

Some of your turns were abrupt as you tried to go around the cars, it made you nervous. You knew it was okay not to be perfect, but it was still a little stressful to make mistakes when a master was watching behind you.

“Relax,” he’d tell you, sometimes putting his hands over yours on the handles and helping you out. “You got it.”

You went on and as the walkers approached closer, an idea arose. It was probably irresponsible, but you joked anyway, “Daryl,” you whisper-shouted with fake suspense, getting his attention. “We’re on a mission. Got to take those guys out before they get to Rick!”

He chuckled a bit, shaking his head. He leaned in closer as you leaned forward, gaining speed. One arm wrapped around your hips in totality, hand placed firmly there as the other reached for his gun, extending his arm out as you two got closer to the walkers. You two turned to face them as Daryl pulled the trigger: one shot each, straight in the head, “Got ‘em.”

You gasp, your laughter sounding so wild and fun and unrestrained in a way it hasn’t been heard by either of you before. “Is it bad if I say I hope we find another one?!”

“No, that was fun,” he agrees understatedly, trying not to fully give in. You couldn’t even see his face, yet he was trying to hide a smile.

And you were too. It was all too much honestly. You were balancing riding and having Daryl right behind you, holding onto you, trusting you to do something he’s never let anyone else do before; and you just proved you both could probably kill it in a high stakes situation. Well, maybe not, this was very, very low stakes, but still, it made you believe. You decided to ride the high, quite literally as you kept going, shouting back: “Imagine us in battle?”

Oh, wait— your grin fades slightly, you immediately regretted it after you said it. The point of this life was to try to find a way to live, not always fighting to survive. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say.

The silence makes you feel like an idiot until Daryl speaks up, both hands now on your hips, thumbs pressing into your back, “If we were in battle,” he almost whispers into your ear, “we’d be their worst fuckin’ nightmare.”

You feel your smile practically reaching your ears. “We’re a team,” you say, the humor coming back to your face now, the shine in your teeth reflecting the sun as it always does. “A dream team.”

A dream… Maybe. You definitely were at least, but that is a thought he doesn’t let come to the forefront. He let it go. But it was true… something about you felt unreal to him. The way you wanted to be around him this much, so interested in the things he does; he still didn’t get it, it almost felt unbelievable. He wondered when it was going to stop. When he would wake up. He didn’t want to wake up. The thought grows, he can’t avoid it now: you are a dream. One he didn’t even know he wanted.

Trinket No. 3: Lucky Charms ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Flying Away With You

You gasp excitedly, “The Eiffel Tower!” You hold the bottom up to the light as he still holds the top. “Nice,” you say with bright eyes, “I found the Statue of Liberty in the mom’s jewelry box and a few others that weren’t on her charm bracelet.” You showed him the mother’s sterling silver and he showed you the daughter’s that he found. “I guess they were traveling family… or wanted to be.” You feel a heaviness behind your eyes after you say it.

You loved collecting these charms, but sometimes there was a sadness to it. Like you were collecting other people's tokens, little pieces of their personalities and their stories, keeping it as your own. It almost felt invasive. But it was something that you and Daryl did together. You liked that. Another thing that made you feel close to him… Maybe this was like keeping their memory alive? You may not have known them or know what happened to them, but you were giving something that they loved new life. The charms did make you happy, after all. Especially because it was Daryl that got you into it. But it was also you who got Daryl into it too.

You both can recall the first day it all started: He found it incredulous that you cared more about a little piece of jewelry you saw in the dirt rather than the bigger thing that was right by it: the deer Daryl just shot, the one that you two had been tracking for what felt like hours.

His face twisted up to you as he collected his bolt from the body, “We just caught a deer, and you’re lookin’ at that?”

“We just caught a deer for the first time in months and this was right by them… it’s literally good luck!” You held the gold sun charm to the actual light source it was designed after, “Look at us… Lucky charm, dream team, remember?” Your smile was just so wide after you said it, he let his slight irritation go. It was easy actually, he was always taken aback by that smile. It still wasn’t that long ago when he thought you weren’t the type to do so, like him most of the time. He had only seen you sad, but now, I’m Alexandria, you just glowed. Eyes and an essence as bright as the sun, and that smile, all teeth and just as pearly as the moon… The charm was perfect for you and it needed its match. Maybe a star too. He would find it.

He still remembers where he found those. He came across a silver crescent moon necklace discarded on the floor of a girl’s bedroom. It was simplistic, like one or those expensive necklaces that shouldn’t even be that expensive because of how small it was, but it was a perfect charm size, and it shined, there were no scratches. In the other girl’s room in the house, probably the younger sister, there was a charm bracelet on the desk. It was kind of childish and clunky, like one you could get in those supermarket toy vending machines. He took the first charm he touched and removed the clasp from it for your moon. It was hard to do it with his fingers on something so small and dainty but after a few tries, he managed.

As for the star, he found it on a walker in the woods. It was a little girl, it almost made him feel bad to do it because he knew you’d feel bad about it, but her and what looked like her mom and dad went straight for the two rabbits he just caught, ripping their skin, eating them. He shot them all in the head. The thud of their bodies to the ground only seconds apart. Oh well, were his thoughts, their fault for messing with his catch. After that is when he noticed the gold charm bracelet on the kid’s wrist. It was different from the one he saw last time in that other girl’s room, it wasn’t a fake toy, it was more refined. Maybe they were a well-off family.

There was a star was at the center. It’s all he wanted, but he thought you might want to see the others she had too— they were all nature themed, he kind of liked it— so he tried to take the bracelet off but it wasn’t working. The thing fit her wrist perfectly and the bracelet clasp was stuck so, in typical Daryl fashion… he just chopped the girl's hand off.

Kind of gross, and he would definitely have to keep the red off of everything now, but the star charm was gold, it would match the sun charm and the moon would stand out at the center, he assumed. He thought it could look nice… and beggars can’t be choosers in the apocalypse anyway. After he took the bracelet he discarded of the hand, tossing it to the ground like it was nothing. (He’d leave that part out if you asked for the story later). Now that he had the bracelet, you would also have a gold owl, a bunny, a bird, and if it couldn’t get any better, there was a deer charm too. That’s what was most important about the account anyway.

That night, Daryl crawled into your bedroom from the window while you were asleep. He placed the star and moon on top of your journal that was on your desk, and after that, he left. That was it. He just wanted to surprise you. He’d give you the rest later. You only realized he did it and how he did it when you closed your window that was slightly left open the next day. There were scuff marks on the window sill. They were from his shoes.

After that it became a game; a little side quest. Like how people would count red versus blue cars or shout ‘punch buggy,’ when they are out with their family. An activity that took you out of your boredom, or really, for you in the apocalypse, it was an activity that made you feel oddly sane again, since you always dealt with the insane everyday anyway.

That was what today was about. At least on the down low; at least after you found anything of value for the community; at least to you two. You guys had found what seemed to be a wealthy neighborhood a while ago, when you passed that turnpike. The houses there were so big there, but all you had was his bike at the time, nowhere to put supplies and you were expected at the Hilltop, you couldn’t stay and look around.

It had been a little while after that and you had a plan now, a few Alexandrians backing you up with cars. You two finished your portion of houses to sweep and now you were waiting on the others, sitting in one of the house porches. That’s why you both were showing each other your finds from this place and the others.

You continued to hold the Eiffel Tower charm in your hand, “Maybe we should go to Paris…” Your voice was wistfully, then a quietness lingered in the air, it made you laugh awkwardly, releasing the tension. Your suggestion was one of those silly things you say where you mean it, but you pretend it’s just a joke, knowing it won’t have any outcome. “All of us, I mean,” you do mean it, but at the same time you we’re just talking about him right now. “That would be nice.”

“What would I do in Paris?” He asks it while he fixes his weapons, you’re sitting back, looking at the trees. He thought it was a ridiculous idea. He’s never been anywhere. He hadn’t even been to Virginia or D.C. before this and there’s no way he could go anywhere else now.

“Well I guess we’re never going to know unless we find out… you can eat!” You laugh, “You do like eating.”

He snorts, “Who knows if there’s food left there.”

Pessimist. “Again— we’re never going to know unless we find out.”

“Have fun tryin’ to become a pilot,” his drawl comes out strong on that last word. “Or a plane.”

“I guess that’s the next charm we need to find, an airplane or a captain’s hat. I am a pilot… or I can pretend to be.” There’s that smile again, “I can do anything.”

“Bet you could.” He meant it.

You nod, your next words making you laugh at yourself, “I’m Barbie.”

“Better,” he mutters. You can barely hear it. You don’t know if it was real so you say nothing until—

“We’re going to travel the world some day, Daryl.” You say it so surely, breaking the moment of silence, “We’ll find a way.” As long as we’re together. As long as you want me.

That’s all you wanted, truly. Even if this world really couldn’t take you to Paris, or New York, or anywhere out of Virginia. All you wanted was him. All you wished and hoped for is that he wanted you… but did he? You still weren’t sure.

Trinket No. 4: The Flower and the Photograph 𓇢𓆸

Back Pocket Memory

You two were almost near Alexandria, only a few miles left to drive. “Do you think we can just sit down over there before heading back?”

Daryl continued driving, “Dangerous to leave a good van with supplies just put.”

You pointed to the clearing you were referring to ahead. The trees were sparse in that area, it might have been a meadow, but you didn’t know the difference. There was a little pond near the center. “Can we just drive the car a little bit closer? Just for a few minutes?” You look up at him, your eyes doing that little sunshine thing as it always does, “I just want to sit in the grass,” you say, putting your hand out the window, feeling the wind through your fingers, “the sky feels so nice today.”

He huffs, but does as you ask. “Get out,” he says, gesturing to you to walk over to the area you pointed at. “Pick your spot.” You run over and he follows. You have this wonder about you, it was almost childlike, but not childish, more— sweet, innocent perhaps.

You jump down to the ground and cross your legs on the grass, looking out at the pond. Daryl parks the car a little behind you and comes out to sit on the hood. His legs spread, knees almost to his chest, his elbows lay on there, arms extended.

You look at him, “You’re really not going to sit down?”

“If someone comes up behind us and steals our shit then that’s gonna be your fault.”

Fair. You gesture at him to move over and you sit to his side on top of the car.

As you settle, you close your eyes and you raise your face to the sky. Feeling the warmth of the sun on your closed eyelids. There was a majestic kind of wind that blew in the air today. It made everything look effortless, especially Daryl.

His ever-so disheveled hair had pieces flying on both sides, brushing some parts out of his face, and pushing others in. As always, it was just enough that they didn’t completely cover his eyes. How does that always happen? Thinking about it makes you giggle lightly as you look at him.

“What?” He asks, becoming a little self conscious.

You shake your head, your eyes looking at him kindly, hoping to ease his nerves. “You just look nice.” Your voice was silvery and sweet as you said it.

You get up and skip toward the pond, picking a flower and coming back to him. You sit down and try to put the tiniest white flower behind his ear.

“What’re you doin’?” He tries to swat it away, playfully hitting your other hand that tries to hold him in place and he takes the flower from your other hand. He successfully places it behind your ear instead. “Better,” he says.

As he looks at you, he notices light pieces of your hair frizzing up at the top from the wind, other pieces at the bottom still moving around slightly. It didn’t look bad, to him, your hair looks more like that invisible halo he sees when you’re around, and with that flower in your hair, you look like a true angel or maybe even a fairy with all the greenery surrounding you. You’re just lovely.

You give him a closed smile, your head falling to your knees. “Pretty day,” you sigh contentedly.

Pretty girl.

Handsome man.

Then a thought comes. Your smile turning to a grin.

“What?” He asks sharply. He knows the look you get when you’re up to something at this point.

You grab your backpack from your side, slowly bringing out the polaroid camera you found earlier today.

“No,” he pushes the side of your face, already detesting the idea.

“Daryl,” you whine.

He says it straight this time, “No.”

“But…” your eyes trail his face for a moment before continuing, “you just look… I don’t know. It’s like I said, you just look so- nice.” There’s other words you could use, but you don’t, not yet. “I just think it would be nice to have a nice picture. All we take pictures of is the houses and work. It’s boring and a waste.” You pause, “Daryl… Please?”

He rolls his eyes, grumbling, “You first.”

He’s glad no one was around when these moments happened. Someone might think you had him completely whipped. His brother definitely would think so if he was still around. Daryl was almost embarrassed of himself because of it. But you don’t ask for much. Other than the bike thing, you really didn’t. You trusted him and you were patient. You went along with his plans and you could sit for long car rides and periods of time in quietness if that’s what he wanted. You never pushed him to tell you his story. He only knew a part of yours circumstantially and he didn’t push you for more details after he brought you home, so you did the same. He could feel you wanted to ask more questions, but he also saw you stop yourself, move on, you were creative with your conversation topics: you asked him about what the best thing he hunted was, or what his favorite things were about your friends. You were so gentle with him. Maybe you could get him to do almost anything you wanted without you even knowing, but it was worth it for someone like you.

You look down shyly, “I’m not good at pictures,” you admit.

“You’ll look fine.” He wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. You’re so alike, more than you know.

He tilted your jaw with his thumb. It was too quick for you to melt into it but the feeling lingered, it made you buzz with excitement and it was easy to smile after that. He looked through the viewfinder, seeing you do that pretty sunny smile, matching the yellow bud of the white flower. He clicked the button. Beautiful.

You snatch the camera instantly, “Your turn!” You were too eager but you didn’t care.

You take the flower from your hair and bring it toward him. He sucks his teeth, saying your name as he does so, “No!”

“Yes, Daryl!” You push it over his ear, but not before he pushes you knee, just to do it. He didn’t even know why he was fighting, he knew he was letting you have your way right now. “Look,” you sound like a school teacher, “very nice.”

You even out some of the frizzy parts at the top of his head, the light wind was still blowing through it, it was futile so you left it, he looked great anyway. A perfectly imperfect mess.

He crossed his arms over his knees and looked into your eyes. You held the camera to your face and snapped the shot. “Beautiful.”

You stare at him for a moment longer. If anyone else was here that could see those all to familiar hearts and stars around you and in your eyes, it was so hard to hide. “I’m keeping this,” you said, placing the polaroid delicately in your back pocket. He said nothing, he wasn’t going yo let you know he cared about a dumb picture. “Okay, thank you for indulging me,” you start, taking the flower from his ear, “let’s go home.”

Later that night, past one am, he came through your window again. But this time you saw. Your head was almost covered by the blankets, your eyes slightly open. He didn’t even look in your direction. Maybe he wanted to be quick.

You saw him go into your bookbag. It was hanging on your desk chair. He took the picture out. He wanted it. He wanted your picture. The one that matched yours of him. Maybe this was something. Maybe he did want you.

You closed your eyes quickly when he started to turn around, then watched as quietly as you could as he neared the window, starting to climb out but not before he placed the polaroid in his back pocket, just like you did. Now you both had a piece of each other, forever.

Trinket No. 5: The Music Player and the Wish on an Eyelash ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻ ♬♪

Never Fade Away

It’s official, in all the ways it possibly could be: Alexandria was truly your home. More time has passed: you live in a house, you have a job, you have family— it’s your friends. In some ways things are better than they have ever been… yet you still think about the night and the dark just as much as you used to. You tried to hide it, you wanted to be grateful and you were. But the things that used to happen to you, and the people that hurt you… they still lingered like ghosts when night came.

In the closed and guarded walls of your community, you hoped night could be a time and place that was peaceful. But thoughts of an attack, thoughts of losing your first real home, it left you apprehensive and paranoid of what could happen in your vulnerable state. And when you close your eyes, sometimes the past visits your dreams. It all felt inescapable.

It makes you so fearful that despite keeping your window’s curtain open, a battery-powered lantern resides practically glued to your nightstand— always on when the sun goes down. You knew it was a waste of a resource, but at least you kept it on low, at least when you woke up in the middle of the night, closer to morning really, you remembered to turn it off— the sun making its way back around soothed your nerves; it was always that initial getting-to-sleep part that made you need it anyway.

And of course, you’ve tried to calm yourself down at night using different methods to see what stuck: You do read— your neighbors were always kind enough to lend whatever books were in their houses— and you did daydream— letting your mind wander to happier, more wondrous places when you wanted to escape— and it did help sometimes, but on other nights, it wasn’t enough.

You miss watching tv in bed. There was something about the buzz of the box, and the voices of humor and romance and relatability that miraculously took you away, and helped you stop thinking, even allowed you to drift to sleep… it was a luxury you didn’t have anymore, and not only did you not have that luxury, you also had an overabundance of dead or deadly issues to worry about. It all haunted you.

You sat with your back against the headboard of the bed. You’ve yet to put on any night clothes. You had already read the next chapter of your book, and you would have read another, and possibly another after that, but tonight you knew it would have just kept you awake as something to do instead of worrying about sleep. You were tired though. That’s why you stopped, but you also weren’t ready for trying to catch sleep that wouldn’t come.

Part of you hoped Daryl would stop by, but he doesn’t always, and he probably won’t tonight. Some nights he’s out until the next day or the next week, who knows how far he went this time, you didn’t go with him and he left too quickly to ask. It had been a few days since you saw him last.

When he was here though, he did start to make it a habit of stopping by to see you, especially when it was time for Alexandrians to settle into their homes for the night. He stopped being so quiet through the window and only dropping things off. He would start coming through the door. It was just a light chat for a couple of minutes at first, then there were the times when he stayed an hour or two. He always sat on your floor, by the window, or by the door. You never understood why until you insisted he sit in your chair by the closet. It was only until a few more visits later you realized the chair's light color becoming just a bit visibly darker. It was soot and hard work and the air, he worked outside all day and usually visited before he called it a night. You made sure not to mention it, you just cleaned it yourself. No need for him to feel embarrassed.

Besides, you didn't mind, anytime he walked through your door or jumped in from your window, that was his chair, at least that’s what you called it in your head. You liked that. You liked that after he brought you home he didn’t move on and let you be. In his defense, you didn’t let him be either, but he could have always distanced himself if he wanted to, told you no, but he didn’t.

You two have gotten so close quite quickly. You both felt it and you didn’t know why, but at the same time, you did. It was something left unspoken, even in your mind, always on the side toward the back of your brain. That part knew you could fall in love with him, but why admit it to yourself if the other person might not feel the same? You were still feeling that way. Despite all the moments you’ve shared thus far. His silent nature was endearing at times, but it could also be a very confusing gripe of yours. There were moments when you knew exactly where his mind was, but there were other times when you simply did not. Especially when it came to you. Daryl always gave you just enough, and maybe tonight, it would be nothing at all.

At least that’s where your thoughts resided until you heard the creak of your door slowly pushing inward.

Daryl’s hand holds the doorknob, meeting your eyes as he steps in further. Your window casting just enough light on his face.

“Hi,” you meant to be clever, ask him if he knew how to knock, but only wistful, subdued surprise is all that came out in your one-word greeting.

“Hey,” he replied, it almost seemed like he was surprised too, you couldn’t tell it from his voice but from the way he cut the word short. “Didn’t know if you were awake.”

You laugh somberly, “You didn’t?”

“Didn’t see you in the window.”

His voice is low, your house is quiet, and people are asleep in the other rooms. You match his tone with your own quietness, “Right,” you say. The window did hit the bed end, not the top. But he knew you were a late sleeper. He even came and sat with you for longer the night before he left because you had told him about it— he knew, he had to, but you didn’t question it.

“Um,” he’s looking down, “Was just gonna leave somethin’.”

He starts to walk to your nightstand but you stop him, your hand reaching out, not touching him, but it’s just enough to pull him to your gaze. “You’re gonna leave without showing me?”

Daryl positions himself toward you and you sit up. Gingerly, he takes something small out of his front pocket, it was covered in one of his bandanas. He looks at it for a moment, almost unsure before placing it on the bed, right in front of your lap.

It was an MP3 player. One of those slim rectangular ones with a digital rectangular screen to match and a big circular button with the controls covering the bottom half. There were some small scratches in the screen corners and some dent marks in the back. The arrow buttons were starting to fade too, but he handed you some headphones out of his back pocket as you continued to examine it, it must have worked.

You look up at him, eyes wide, shining just a bit in the dark just like the little silver miracle that was in your hands. You remembered having one of these, the thought made your lips curl, a light open-mouthed smile forming as the nostalgia set in.

You move closer to the edge of the bed, the sky illuminating you more in your semi-darkened room. You place your hand on the other end of your bed, “Come,” you say as your tap the spot. He’s hesitant before he finally accepts the invitation, sitting down. You would have insisted anyway if he didn’t.

You flip the switch on the side then and the music starts instantly in your right ear where you set one of the earbuds in. You tried to put the left on him, but he shook his hand, “You listen.” You let him be for now, you were too excited to see what the previous owner was into.

The songs are scattered from different decades, but what you notice the most of as you skip through were various 90s and 2000s rock, pop-punk, pop, and the like. There was Nirvana, but also Fiona Apple to Blondie, and even Elvis. It was a little all over the place, really. This definitely had to be a teen’s in the early or late aughts. You thought maybe Carl would like this. There was even some stuff that you were sure had to have come out in 2010, right before the apocalypse began… Another kid who wouldn’t get to spend the rest of their teens, or young adulthood, or adult life like they were supposed to, like you were supposed to.

Having these thoughts while Aerosmith’s Fly Away From Here played was not helping, especially since it made you think of your lost family, and those from your found family that were gone now too, so you decided to skip, but the button seemed to fidget. You tried again, then again, even touching the screen. You accidentally made the shuffle icon come onto the bottom corner.

“Don’t like Aerosmith?” Daryl read it on the screen, but he also recalled the melody, even from just the soft buzz produced by the headphones, the volume was accidentally turned all the way up, you set it down.

You give him a light smile, “Aerosmith’s fine. Just have to be a little more careful with this, I guess.”

You continue to press forward to see what else is there until you shriek, color coming back to your face as you shake your head at the memory emerging as you listen. “Oh my god, my sibling used to love this song when we were younger.” It was Avril Lavigne’s Girlfriend that was playing. “We used to put on the radio or look up the music videos on the tv and dance. They loved doing that…” Your voice was soft, both sweet yet desolate, “I knew all the popular songs and all their favorite songs whether I liked it or not.” You giggle, “I can lie this one is fun.”

You knew Daryl would probably scoff, but you lightly place the left earbud near his ear for a few seconds so he can hear what you’re talking about.

“Definitely a chick’s.”

“‘Chick’?” It was funny, and you did laugh, but you still decide to protest, “It’s just one song and…I don’t know, I think it’s a pretty eclectic mix of artists…” You continue to press forward as you ask, “Were there kids? Or- did there used to be?”

“Based on the rooms.” He nods, “Boy and a girl.”

“Hm,” you say curiously, flipping through the songs: the next one that played was by Linkin Park, then Alanis Morisette… you wondered if the kids shared it or shared interests. Suddenly, the player starts Lit’s My Own Worst Enemy. Your eyes are starlit as you gasp, “Oh, this one is so you.”

This time you fully push the headphone into his left ear, turning the volume all the way up as the first verse plays, his face is fixed, “This ain’t me.” There is silence as the music continues and he scorns, “You think I used to just get drunk all the time?”

“Daryl,” your laugh is light, “no.” It was a ridiculous thought and he should know it, but nonetheless, you console him, “Of course not.” Your hand reaches forward onto the bed, nearing where his own resided, but not touching. It saddened you to see Daryl always react like this to small things. He was never judgmental, but he was always so quick to believe others would judge him. “Maybe not that part,” you smile, slightly mischievous, “but- okay, this-” you sing-speak along lightly, remembering to stay quiet, “it’s no surprise to me I am my own worst enemy, cause every now and then I kick the living shit out of me- that's you! That's literally you.”

He shakes his head, ‘Whatever,’ the gesture says with his grunt.

“No, you’re actually a little bit self-deprecating, I think. At least internally.” You continue, “Oh, and this part— I didn't mean to call you that- you see?” You say, humor still in your smile, “That part is you.”

Daryl gives you another small grunt indicating ‘no’ as he shakes his head again. “If I say something to someone, then I mean it. Wouldn’t say it if I don’t.”

“Well, you also mean a lot of what you don’t say,” your eyes trail to the side. You knew that didn’t make sense, but it did to you. There was a part of you that was still in denial of your feelings or if there was a possibility he had any for you either. You’d never see him talk or treat anyone in a more than friendly way– or whatever Daryl’s version of friendly was. You wanted to protect yourself by not admitting you adored him, even to yourself, but really, you knew. And there was the way he kept giving you these things, these little moments: the ribbon, the picture, the charms… It made that smaller part of you that believed something was there, glow and warm inside your heart.

You look at him, there was a sorrow placed on both of your faces, but he just looks at his hand that is placed on the bed through his hair, the one that's so close to yours. “You really don’t think there is anything you don’t regret saying?” Another song passes, you didn’t recall it, but then the playlist shifts to something slower, it’s the Beatles. “I just think you keep a lot inside… It’s okay though. But it is just something I notice.”

Normally, a comment like this or something similar to it would sound trite and judgmental, there are a lot of things people don’t talk about now, but you say it with understanding, a little sad because you can’t help it, but your voice is kind, like gentle fingers through his hair, evening it out; a voice that shows you care, you see him and respect him even if you do want more. “It’s okay,” you whisper as Paul McCartney’s voice sings softly, “I’m not half the man I used to be, there’s a shadow hanging over me.” It felt like he was speaking right to Daryl as he continued to look away from you.

It’s moments like this where he wants to say it all. The sad stories from his childhood that he has never been able to tell anyone before. Stories about his brother… the bad, yes, but even some of the good ones. He knows he could talk to Rick if he wanted, or Carol. His group was loyal to him as much as he was to them– he knew that, but they probably wouldn’t care to hear about Merle, it would probably make them angry to be reminded of all the bad things he’s done to them. He wouldn’t blame them. In many ways, and for more reasons then all of them, he will always be angry at his brother too. This is why he didn’t even like to let himself think about the past, but in other ways, it still sucked. It makes him feel alone, like talking about himself or his brother or the past was just a gateway to hurting himself and scaring others, scaring you.

You wipe him away from those thoughts even though you didn’t even hear them, your voice pulling him out of his trance, “Things are harder now, Daryl, but I think you’ve only gotten better.” There is still so much you don’t know, but nonetheless, it’s like you can read his mind.

“This is the only me you know.”

“And even then I don’t think you’re the man I met when you found me… We’re definitely not the same people.” Your hand is just inches from his fingertips now. “We all have things to improve on, even if we think we’ve already grown up. I think that’s a part of growing up actually… just realizing that you never do, or at least not entirely. You’re always going to continue to grow.” Your words linger in the air as the next song starts, it’s Paramore, it’s The Only Exception— something still laced with melancholia but it has a sweet gentleness to it. It's just like you. This is how you were trying to be with your words. “It’s better if you allow it though, or work toward it instead of against it, I think.” You laugh at yourself then, “But I'm far from perfect so I should really stop talking.” Blush creeps onto your cheeks, you’re hopeful the night’s light doesn’t show it too much.

He wishes he could tell you he thinks you’re perfect, or at least something close to it. At least for him. You truly were like an angel. Maybe Radiohead is on this too.

The chorus continues to play, leading to the song’s ending and his jaw tightens. It’s annoying that you were right, your words from before echo to him. They weren’t nonsensical, he did get it: he does mean the things he never says as much as the things he does, but no one will ever get to know. Not that everyone has to, but maybe for you, maybe just a little, maybe you can be the exception. And he can tell that you’re trying to me: who carries around a silly little ribbon anyway? Or who keeps their window open almost every night, even on cold nights? He felt like he was failing you. Maybe these gifts and these small moments weren't enough. Maybe they were just trinkets; meaningless, giving you false hope for a love he couldn’t provide.

You both hear the outro, “Oh, and I’m on my way to believing,” and his heart pangs at that. Maybe he doesn’t have to fail, maybe he can try, at least right now, “It’s just…” he speaks up, his voice clears, “It made me think of you when I saw it.” He was talking about the mp3, “That’s why I brought it back… You’re always humming under your breath. Now you can stop annoying me with the same old thing.”

Your eyes roll, but you aren’t mad, in fact, you can't help that it makes you smile. “Oh, okay, Daryl,” you say through quiet bits of laughter.

“Also thought it could help you sleep… I dunno.”

You nod intently at his words, “Thank you,” and that wistfulness in your voice returns. “That's really kind.”

He nods back. He’s so gruff and straight-faced all the time, but was it bad to say that there were moments when you can't help but see him as adorable? He was always trying not to meet your gaze through his hair, and it was always messy like a kid’s, just like when you took that photograph.

Muse’s Starlight starts playing as you brush some of the hair out of his face. It's an awkward transition, but it's what you get from accidentally pressing shuffle so many times. In the end, though, the words make it seem perfect for the moment. The singer spoke of desire and escape, about missing loved ones and wanting to keep someone special, someone that's like starlight, close by. You understood that. He did too.

You giggle lightly, “Daryl, you- you have something…” You point at your face in reflection of his.

“What?” He wipes his nose.

“No, it's- it’s here,” you say, taking your finger to lightly catch the eyelash that threatened to slip away from his face and onto the bed. “Make a wish,” you whisper. Your face is nothing short of innocence and wonder.

His snorts, “I’m not doin’ that.”

“Daryl,” you eyes widened with apparent prodding and pleading annoyance, but your words still have a sense of amusement to them, “I think we need all the luck we can get.” Your head tilts as you say through your smiling teeth, “I’ll do it with you…?”

“Fine.” He can’t help that your squeal makes his lips curl but he’s trying to hide it.

“You have to really do it.” You turn the music down, it's in the background now. Your usual sun-filled eyes are currently wide like the moon as you look into his, coming closer to his face.

He nods, “Okay.”

“Promise?” You sing.

“Promise.” He meant it, he even closed his eyes before you to prove it.

You closed your eyes too, “Okay, I’m trusting you.” Squeezing them tightly, you whisper, “Think about what you want, and then I'm going to count to three and we blow.”

Instantly, your heart foolishly thinks of Daryl. You know you could be thinking about the safety of your group, the stability of Alexandria, or hoping that the threat everyone feels coming subsides into nothingness, but all your thoughts are just of him. It makes you feel like a silly little girl, waiting for that big romantic confession of love that you dream about, the one that will probably never come.

I wish for you, you think. You can’t help it, you can’t say anything else, this is the only thing that’s true, I just wish to stay by your side, forever.

The song echoes your hopes too, I’ll never let you go if you promise not to fade away.

You agree, never fade away, please.

“Okay,” you say softly aloud, “1… 2… 3…” And then your wish flies into the air. You two stare at each other afterwards, eyes starry like the sky from your window.

You wished for each other.

Trinket No. 6: Scars, Marks, Tattoos, and Internal Wounds ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The Things I Only Trust You to Know

It’s another night. Another visit. It wasn’t intentional this time, but your curtains were drawn. They’re almost never drawn, at least not completely. The window was still open though, the night’s breeze ruffled them backwards. Daryl became concerned, so he climbed up, opening the window wider and pushing the curtains to the side to get through.

He saw you crying.

Hearing the thud of his boots stomp lightly to the ground triggered you to turn, body facing the closet as you were curled in your bed. You didn’t want him to see you. “I’m tired tonight, Daryl.” Your voice was low, you tried to keep in neutral. For the most part you were doing well, but it was still obvious you weren’t fine— he saw your face before you covered it.

He sat down on the edge of your bed, his legs hitting by your feet. He didn’t feel like asking if you were okay if you were going to lie and say no. “You can tell me to go if you want,” was all he said, rubbing your arm as he did and then let go. You starting sniffling involuntarily because of the touch. You realized you were holding in a breath, the shaky exhale came out louder than you wished it did. “I’m sorry,” your voice blubbering. You were embarrassed. You hadn’t done this in front of him since before he brought you home.

“Don’t gotta be.”

“I feel stupid,” you say under your breath. You’re still trying to hide your face.

“Stop.” He puts his hand over your body now, on the bed, and he faces you. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head slowly, looking at him, “I don’t know how to say. I can’t-”

“Just say it,” he said calmly.

You felt heat rising from your throat, it was like the words were trying to come out, but it felt scary to do so, it made your teeth grind against each other. Your head shakes harder, “I don’t think I can.”

He brings a hand to your face and wipes some of your tears with his thumb, “What would you tell me?”

You would tell him to speak, that it’s okay, you both knew it. The thought makes you sit up in your bed, tears still running down your cheeks, but you were going to try.

“You’re just going to get annoyed,” you wipe some of your tears with your wrist, “think I’m dumb, like a little girl.”

“You’re not dumb,” he spoke over you before you finished.

You pause, you shake your head again. The words are on your tongue but you just feel so bad and so embarrassed to admit it. “Sometimes I just…” your voice hitches and your hands goes to your head, more tears fall, “it’s just one of those days, I guess.”

One of Daryl’s hands goes to your shoulder and your upper back, he pats you until it quickly becomes a soft, swaying motion.

Your voice doesn’t go above the lightest whisper as you try to start again, “Sometimes- I just look at myself and I-” a sob erupts from your throat and tears roll much quicker, “I know you’re going to think I’m stupid, but sometimes I just wonder if anyone could love me.” It doesn’t even feel good to finally admit it, but you continue, “I feel like there’s something wrong with me. Like maybe I’m not enough. Or I’ll never be.”

Daryl’s face heats up. How could you ever feel that way about yourself? How do you not see yourself as anything less than everything he’s seen in you since the day he met you? You’re not stupid. Never. He feels stupid for not seeing this in you. He feels stupid for it being so hard for him to tell you everything wonderful about yourself in the way you deserve.

He thinks for a moment, he wishes he was more poetic, but he wasn’t and there are still certain things he’s not ready to say. So he decides on something else as he calls your name, “You’re telling me you can’t see you’re a tough son of a bitch?” The phrase makes you laugh involuntarily through your tears, he always says it like it’s one word. “One that found a way to burn down a hospital and kill a bunch of dickheads in one go just to stay alive?” He huffs, “Prettiest arsonist I’ve seen.”

You gasped but it made you smile lightly, it was funny. “I’m not an arsonist! And it was only part of the building.”

“Coulda fool me.” He tilts his head, “But you’re also probably one of the best scavengers we got. And you’re a good friend.” His hand travels to your knee, “You’re really good at talkin’ to people… and to me.”

You try to let his words fill you up but there is still doubt. “I don’t feel like pretty and really good are the right words.”

“Then you’re wrong.”

You shake your head.

He doesn’t get it, “Well, what do you see that I’m not?”

Your heart beats ferociously, you don’t move, you’re hesitant, you don’t know if this is right, but there is a part of your that wants to. “Can I show you something?” You asked.

He nods.

It’s scary, but you decide to trust him, showing him the part of yourself you felt most ashamed of. The part of you that you thought was unloveable.

But he sees nothing shameful, nothing bad, he just holds onto it or another part of you, caressing you gently. “You’re perfect,” he says, shrugging as if his words aren’t a big deal, but he knows they are. This is the first time he doesn’t keep a thought like this in his head anymore. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

He turns his back on you now, and he takes a breath, sighing deeply. You’re confused until he sighs and starts to speak; “When you were with those guys— and I know it ain’t the same, but— I know what it’s like. For people to use you.” He swallows hard, “I don’t like myself all the time neither.”

Your eyes widen. He was taking off his shirt. The first thing you see are tattoos, until your eyes travel to the other side, you see what he meant; the scars. “My dad. He was a drunk and a loser and an asshole.” Daryl's voice hitched, you couldn’t tell if he was crying or not, but you had never heard him like this before. “He did it to my brother too, Merle. But then he just left when he was old enough. Didn’t even give a shit that our dad was gonna do it to me,” there was anger in his voice. “He said he didn’t know,” and then he chokes on his words, “but how can I believe that? Thought it’d just skip a generation? He never changed. Neither of ‘em.” You wanted to hold him, but you didn’t know if it was too soon. He was still speaking, “Then when I got old enough, I left too. Some time later I started drifting ‘round with Merle, like that was gonna be any better… Two fucked up kids doing nothin’ with their fucked up lives.” His face turned to the side, you saw his profile, his eyes were red, “That’s what I did before Rick… You all were going to do good things with your life and I was gonna be nothing.”

“Daryl…” you were crestfallen, “I’m so sorry.” You held his arm, stroking it softly. “But you weren’t going to be nothing.”

“Yes, I was.”

“There is no thinking about what could have been. This is how life is. Maybe this was always going to happen,” your voice falters as you say it. “You’re not nothing. You’ve become everything to so many people.”

He turns his face back around and you look at his back again. It was difficult to look at, you won’t lie. Your heart sunk low, like it was being squeezed and brought down to the pit of your stomach to know that someone put him through this. Someone who was supposed to love him. Another tear escaped your eye at of the thought.

“Daryl,” you stutter meekly, “Is it okay if I hold you?”

His nod is so faint you barely see it, but he doesn’t say anything else so you believe it is a yes.

Your fingers ghost over his back until you let the tips of them finally lay on his skin.

His eyes wince and squeeze as he shutters despite your fingers trailing so tenderly. Your palm is now flat on his back as you move downwards and back up again. You kiss near his shoulder, right on the tip of his highest tattoo and then you wrap your arms around him, under his arms over his waist, and he holds your hands there.

You stay there for a long while, you don’t have a recollection of time. The moment feels like forever, although it is sad and you wished you weren’t discussing the things you were to get here, you don’t want it to end. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met,” you tell him.

It’s quiet until he says, “No,” disagreeingly, “You’re not brave just because you go through some shit.”

“But you still are,” you insist. “This happened to you and you chose to be the person you are now despite it. You became someone invincible.” You pressed him against you tighter, “I’m proud of you. Every day.”

Finally he turns around and takes you in his arms, your head now resting over his shoulder as your chests touch, closing the gap. You lay down on the bed and he stays on top of you. One hand plays with your hair and you continue to caress his back.

“I really like your tattoos,” you whisper, almost a giggle in your voice. “They look really good on you.”

He smiles a little. He never takes off his shirt so people barely see all the ones he has. He liked that you liked them. “Thank you,” he says.

“Do you want more? If you could?” You also want to ask why he got the ones he did, but the crying has made you sleepy and him being on top of you is making your mind hazy. “I wish I could,” is all you add.

He looks at you, “Maybe that’s the next thing we find.” He was talking about a tattoo gun, “That’s the kind of junk people don’t need now, we’ll look.”

He plays with your hair again, both your smiles are so innocent and lazy, you two would knock out soon, but it was nice to talk about something that used to be mundane for a moment.

“What if we do it and it turns out bad?”

“We’re not gonna find it tomorrow.”

“Right,” you say, moving on. “You know… I remember I used to be so scared of that stuff— needles and blood. I can imagine wincing just thinking about a needle touching me at the doctor’s… But now, I think that’s a pain I’d actually prefer… Rather than the other things we’ve gone through… If there ever was a choice like that.”

He agrees, “If there was a choice, I’d be covered by now.”

You two laugh at that, letting go of each other. Your bodies are on your sides, parallel to one another as you lay down. You’re on the side that faces the window and Daryl’s back is to it. He sees the moonlight illuminate your face because of it, the glow makes you look enchanting.

He wonders if you would get one— a tattoo, or another one, of this: of the moon; of the night where you showed each other parts of your bodies you wanted to hide, thinking they were flaws; of the night where you accepted each other fully despite it. Where he laughed and felt happy even after he shared something so dark. He almost never laughs or feels happiness in its totality, but with you, he does. It happened right now as he’s looking at you.

You see his face glistening in tandem with the white light that shines on you, it’s darker, but it’s still there. You were wondering the same exact thing.

Your eyes feel heavy now. They slowly flutter shut, but you try to keep them open. You don’t want him to leave. But he sees that your face dozing off, you’re tired, your eyes keep trying to close and close fully. He quietly gets up to go, but you stop him. Holding onto his forearm, sliding down to his hand. “Just stay,” you murmur, “please,” it’s light and dream-like. So he does. He doesn’t want to let go of your hand. He doesn’t want to let go of you.

You both stay at your sides, your intertwined hands at the center. He continues to look at you and you smile softly as your body finally allows your eyes to close shut. You drift swiftly to sleep. And he stays awake for a while longer, fixed on you and your slowing breath until sleep finds him too.

Daryl being right there, and you being right next to him, made everything infinitely better.

Despite it being vague on details, feel free to skip around areas of this one if you are not comfortable with reading about the reader being imprisoned at the Sanctuary.

Trinkets No. 7 & 8: The Second Ribbon and the First Kiss ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ જ⁀➴ -`♥︎´-

Confessions From a Broken Bowman and a Battered Beaut

It had taken a long while for you and Daryl to talk again after you escaped the Sanctuary.

The last time he saw you was through your tears as Negan’s men threw him in a van, your eyes bloodshot, wanting to scream and plead. He felt it was his fault that he didn’t fight harder; he felt that it was his fault that you were in there for so long; felt it was his fault that you were taken there in the first place. He couldn’t save Glenn— a burden he still carried so deeply, even after talking to Maggie— and that led to not being able to save you. He felt like he left you, not knowing you would have been in the same place he was if he didn’t escape before you got there. But what choice did he have? He didn’t know. And he doesn’t even know if it’s a good or bad thing to admit that in a heart beat, he would take another day of torture, of abuse and pain, if it meant he was with you, and you could make it out together. One more day for him would have been worth your days only adding up to one hand if it could. It would have been better than just waiting for you on the other side. Having to hide just so Negan wouldn’t find him and kill him and more of his friends because of it.

And even worse, what if he threatened Daryl with you instead? Especially since you were still there, with him. That’s part of the reason why Daryl wanted to blow up the Sanctuary. It would have just been one side. Just enough to cause the chaos you needed to run away from your captures and back home. You were fast enough, he knows you are, and you must have known all the exits by now. He tried to convince himself of it. Rick told him it was a bad idea, dangerous to do that to the workers, and most importantly to you— it too many what ifs if it didn’t work out— but what else was he supposed to do? He needed you out, and the Saviors to be gone. It felt like the only choice.

But then, Daryl saw your face. You got out, you didn’t need another fire. It must have been their first attack against the Sanctuary that helped.

Your breathing was so heavy when you finally stopped, you were running so fast, there were patches of dirt all over you, sweat dripping from your neck. It must have been fate that he, Tara, Micchone, and Rosita were right there on the other side, ironically trying to go back to the place you just escaped from.

All their guns were pointed in your direction. They heard the gunshots, they heard someone running. They instantly dropped everything when they saw that it was you.

It felt like the world turned in its full rotation in seconds, coming into a halt all in this moment. The woods, the running, the chance encounter— him; it’s like you were brought right back to the start.

He was speechless, stunned in a way he didn’t expect, mouth agape and yours the same. You didn’t know what to say and he didn’t know how to apologize in the way he felt he should, so you both just stood there. Tears started to well in your eyes. All he did in the end was look down.

This exchange of stares happened only in a mere matter of seconds until Rosita brought you in for a hug, cursing leaving even though she knew you didn’t have a choice, being so happy you were back, but for you it felt agonizingly long.

And for Daryl, it all felt endlessly hopeless. The reality that his plan probably could, or most definitely would have killed you sunk in. He was stupid for thinking that it could work. And seeing you in that wife's dress? A black bow tied to the back of your head? It was unbearable. He hates that he found it hard to even look at you.

The two other women welcomed you back, Michonne even looked teary eyed. The sight made some of your own tears fall because of it. She took you by the shoulder and Rosita took your waist, guiding you to the trunk. Tara went back near Daryl, she wanted to ask if their new plan at the Sanctuary was still a go but waited when she noticed Rosita sent a glare Daryl’s way. It honestly did more to Tara than Daryl. He didn’t even bother meeting her face, he was already punching himself for his silence, for his inaction. He just got in the driver’s seat and took off.

After that, you watched him, waiting to see when his eyes would finally meet yours, but he tried to avoid them as much as he could. The only time he spoke to you was to ask if you were okay when Alexandria fell and you were all in the sewers, and when he entrusted you to take care of Judith as he guided everyone to the Hilltop afterwards.

This treatment was excruciating, but you said nothing. You didn’t feel like yelling at him, you just wanted him. And there was no time between when you came back to right now when you could speak alone anyway if you did want to yell. If you asked why he probably would just shoved you off and you’d get more sad and upset than you already were, or maybe you’d pester, demanding some kind of answer and he'd be the one that might yell… no reason to fight in front of people, especially since there are so many other things to worry about.

But you remember when you finally got to the Hilltop, and how you saw the way he embraced Carol almost right after he saw her. You weren’t upset about that specifically. You admired Carol, even if you didn’t get to know her that well yet. You knew they loved each other, you thought they had a beautiful relationship… It wasn’t that. It was the fact that you fought all the way to get back to your family, to him, and it felt like it was all just so he could act like a stranger again. He didn’t even say hello when he saw you, or ask how you got out, or that he missed you. Maybe he didn’t. That was the real reason you said nothing. The thought broke your heart.

You could at least say that Negan talked to you, and didn’t keep all his feelings inside– whether they were real or not, you were only half sure somtimes– but your time at the Sanctuary, becoming a soon-to-be-wife, it was a hardship only you endured. No one would understand the humor of that sick joke, and it especially wasn’t the time nor would it ever be when everyone hated him and wanted to kill him so desperately.

The next day came by, you all prepared for the Saviors to attack at Hilltop. You were on a break, sitting in the cellar. It was dark, but it helped relieve you from the incessant heat that beamed outside.

Daryl was looking for you. This happened to be the third place he went around. He had just spoke to Rick, apologized for their fight. He felt awful that it took until after Carl passed for them to talk about it, and that his passing made Rick start to believe all the killing might be the only option like Daryl believed before. He still wasn’t sure what he felt now. All he knew is he couldn’t let you two go on like this any longer. It was time to talk to you.

As he opened the cellar door he kept it slightly open, letting the light emanate through.

He sits down next to you, bringing his knees up as he usually does. You don’t bother looking at him. Maybe he would just ask you to do him a favor like last time.

There is silence for a moment. He doesn’t know where to begin. All he decides to say is, “You got Judith here safe, I made sure Rick knew. Thank you.”

“You’re the one who led us here.” Your voice says quietly.

“You helped chop a lot of those walkers down in the swap.”

You sigh, not answering him right away. “This isn’t a competition.”

“I know,” he mutters.

Silence is all that hangs in the air again. With each second that passes it makes your throat swell, bubbling up to your tongue and brain as it usually does until you’re trying to hold back tears.

Daryl was feeling similarly. All his words were caught in his throat too, wanting to be said out loud but he can’t, it’s like someone is squeezing and choking him right there. And he can see your teary eyes, it could almost make his eyes match.

He says your name low and slow, “Do you hate me?”

You’re stunned at the thought. Your words are hushed but vehement, “How could you ever think I’d hate you?”

“I left you-”

“You didn’t know.”

“I could’ve fought harder when they put me in that van, you grabbed onto me and I still let them take me—”

You speak in between his words, “Why are you acting like you had a choice?!”

“—I could’ve went back right after they told me that’s where you were. Not leave you! I coulda done that.”

You shake your head, your voice a sharp whisper, “If you tried either of those things you would have been dead. Everything would be worse and this probably still would have happened.”

“I could’ve done something,” is all he repeats. Quietness fills the space again. You’re never going to agree on this. He’s stuck on what happened and you’re upset about what’s happening.

You breathe in shakily. He’s still finding it hard to look and it hurts, it makes you sad and angry.

Your voice becomes stifled, almost weepingly as you ask, “Daryl… Why can’t you even look at me? Why have you barely talked to me since I came back?”

His voice raises strainingly, “Cause I left you.”

Your voice cries as your head shakes again slowly, “You didn’t leave me, they took me. You left me now.” That makes him turn. You see his eyes, they’re puffed and the whites of his eyes are a faint red, and yours are still watery. “It’s not your fault.”

The backs of your fingertips brush against his cheek, feeling the bristles of his beard and you go down further, continuing to shake your head sadly, moving back to your face to wipe your own tears.

“Did they put you in that cell? Take your stuff?”

“Only the first time I came there. And then the two other times I tried to escape. After that I was sent to sleep with the other girls.” Your voice is quiet, “I don’t think it was the same for me like it was for you.”

“Did he,” he almost can't say it, “Did he hurt you?”

You knew what he meant. All you could do was shake your head slowly, it was a gesture of no.

He nods, his mouth fixed. Some relief is finally released from that, but this doesn’t change anything. They still took you away, they probably put you in a cell, they don’t deserve mercy. He wants to tell you that you all are still going to kill Negan and how he still plans on killing Dwight, but he holds his tongue. This wasn’t what being with you was about right now. His mind races with plans, just thinking of how to get close to them, how to commit the final act, until you speak, reading is mind again.

“I-” you stutter ashamedly, “I think- I know that my time in there has changed me and maybe I see things differently or know more than I used to but… it doesn’t change that I’m with you. I never let that go.” You whimper, “It just hurt when you didn’t say anything to me. Like you were disgusted by me.” You can’t help the string of sobs that come out.

“No,” Daryl holds your face close to his. The bottom of his palm reaching your neck, his fingertips extending over your cheeks, his thumb caressing over the area under and behind your ears. “I fucked up. I was going to try to blow up a part of the Sanctuary… even before I knew you got out… If you got hurt that would have been my fault. That would have been on me. I’d never see you again- Would’ve hated myself.” His voice hitches, it’s rasp so coarse and grating.

You hug him instantly. Your hands go under his arms and one of his goes in your hair, holding your head so tightly as it presses into his shoulder. He cries, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop” You breathe him in, “It’s okay.”

“It aint.”

“It doesn’t matter now.“ You wait a moment, telling him quietly into his neck, “I only want to be with you.”

“And what if it goes bad? What if I hurt you again?”

“We’re going to hurt each other, Daryl. What matters is we try and we stay. That’s it.”

He faces you now. His nose brushes against yours, your foreheads connect, it makes your eyes flutter shut. Your tears are drying the longer he holds you like that and everything feels so warm. Your heart, your brain, your cheeks and his fingertips against them. It makes you feel it again, that fearlessness— you kiss him. Gently touching his jaw, your chin moves upwards, your mouths opens, your lips twist so softly with his, you already can’t breathe, and then you let go.

As he looks at your face, he smiles, realizing he’s seeing the girl he used to know again. His sunshine girl with the stars in her eyes. They’re shining up, still half sad and glossy, but the bright lights are slowly coming back on. His dream is back. She’s real. You’re real. You’re trying, you’re staying, so will he.

He takes your neck and kisses you this time. His tongue slips in, you’re so surprised, you gasp into his mouth. It makes you both smile into the kiss. You come closer and he helps you into his lap, allowing you to lean in. His hands go to your waist and yours to his shoulders. Then one of his hands runs up to your hair and your opposite hand does the same to him. You want to touch each other everywhere now.

Then he feels the ribbon, the black one. It makes him stop.

You’re worried, “What happened?”

He holds the piece of hair that the ribbon is secured to, it’s only a little part, the rest of your hair is down, and he undoes the bow, discarding it to the ground. Your hair falls messily over your ears and down your neck. “You don’t need that anymore.”

Daryl pushes your hips and you sit on the floor again. He’s reaching in his pocket, and you can’t believe it, it’s another one. A dark ruby, maybe a silky burgundy one it was in color— it was another ribbon.

“How long have you had that?”

“Since I found the other one.” He shrugs, “I thought the first one was better.” This one had fraying on one end, unraveling just a bit.

You would have said that you could sew it later, but you didn’t, you said only what mattered: “It’s perfect.”

Daryl doesn’t argue. This is him trying, he takes the win.

He doesn’t know how to put it nicely in your hair, how you do it with the different styles, so he just wraps all of your hair in a ponytail, just like last time, tying it into a bow.

It feels like a gift, not just because he gave it to you and not because it looks like a decoration on top of one, but it is all of it— this moment, the conversation— it all feels like breathing new life into something you worried might be slowly withering and dying. You exhale, it felt so nice to feel him so close, to feel his fingers run through your hair, to feel his breath on your skin.

“Think maybe this suits you better now,” he says, and maybe it always has.

He leans back against the wall and you lay your head and back in the crux of his knees and chest. You look up into his eyes and he does the same right down at you. There was more work to be done, more fighting to endure, but for now, you lay there as if you were the only two in the world. In a moment of sweet understanding; in a moment of love. You could finally admit it to yourself now, you were absolutely and monumentally in love.

… I could go on forever ♡ perhaps this can be a mini-series where I post one when I think of another and you can feel free to request a trinket you think Daryl would give the reader and I’ll post it and respond or even write a blurb for it and add it to the list if it’s a good fit! Thank you for reading. ⋆｡°✩

[coupsie-daisies]

Kinktober '23: Pussy Eating | Kim Taehyung

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut (minors DO NOT interact), friends to lovers

Summary: Getting high with Taehyung was a very common occurrence. Him getting jealous and eating you out while you're high off your ass is most definitely not

WC: 3.3k

Warnings: Explicit use of weed, shotgunning, oral (fem receiving), mentions of alcohol maybe, overstimulation if you squint, multiple orgasms, jealousy, Jungkook is touchy when he's high

A/N: Self indulgence at its finest. Let me know what you think, reblogs and comments are appreciated!!

Tags: @dragonofthenorth0726 // @wooyussy // @burningupp-replies // @bunnypig18 // @decaffedthoughts // @brownieracha // @ferrethyun // @snow-pegasus // @wonuqrtz // @mixling-blog // @wonwooz1

Main Masterlist

Kinktober '23 Masterlist

This fanfiction is property of @/coupsie-daisies, reposting on any other platform is prohibited

You didn't like parties. They were loud, and every surface was contaminated with some sort of inexplicably sticky...something. But you did like getting high, and you especially liked getting high with your favorite smoking buddy. Unfortunately for you, that generally meant crashing one of Hoseok's parties on the weekends and pushing your way through sweaty crowds and spilled drinks to find him.

So yet again, here you were, wasting a Saturday evening as you stepped through the doors of Hoseok's unreasonably large house. You knew his family had money, but was it necessary to flaunt it all the time? The music was heavy, and the haze of smoke filled the room as soon as the door swung open to welcome you in. It wasn't Hoseok that opened it, instead you found a glaringly sober Yoongi standing there with an exhausted look on his face. He didn't like these parties either, but he loved Hobi, so you supposed he ended up getting roped into them for the same reasons you did.

His expression changed to one of relief when he saw you, welcoming you inside and closing the door behind you.

"Didn't think you were coming tonight," He said, leaning closer to you to be heard over the music. He guided you through the crowd with a barely there hand on your back. You shrugged.

"Didn't plan on it, but I had a shit week and I'm out. Gonna steal some of Tae's good stuff," You said. Yoongi nodded knowingly. You tried really hard to keep your feelings to yourself. After all, Taehyung wasn't the settling down sort. He wasn't a manwhore like people seemed to think, but he made it exceedingly clear that he wasn't ready to be tied down, and as his friend first and foremost, you respected that.

"He was out back last time I saw him," Yoongi said. "Do you want me to look for him?"

You shook your head, giving Yoongi a half hug before parting ways and diving even deeper into the crowded sitting room. You could see the beer pong table set up in the corner like always, spying Seokjin and a few of his friends gathered around it, clearly a couple of rounds deep. You decided to avoid that chaos, making straight for the kitchen, and squeezing out onto the patio past the couple that decided that the doorway was the perfect place to suck face.

Even though you'd only been in the house for a matter of minutes, the warm summer air was a welcome sensation, freeing you from the stuffy, alcohol fumed house. You scanned the yard, spotting Taehyung and Jungkook with a handful of others over by the pool. You didn't want to interrupt, and fully considering saying fuck your goals of getting high off your ass in the guest bedroom and just going home. But then he saw you, and his flirty smirk turned into a full bodied grin. He waved you over, and then it was over. Your legs were moving before you could even try to argue. You'd never been good at arguing with him anyway.

He slipped out of the way, making space between himself and Jungkook for you to settle between them. The younger boy grinned, wrapping an arm around you in a half greeting, clearly having already indulged in something or other to loosen him up. Then he was back to flirting with the pretty girl beside him, arm falling to half sit on your waist. You disregarded it, knowing how he was when he was intoxicated.

"You said you weren't gonna come," Taehyung said, immediately passing you the half burnt joint he'd been puffing off of. You took a hit before answering, letting the smoke curl in your lungs and re-introducing yourself to that familiar burn before letting it out again.

"Didn't plan on it. But I'm out of weed, and you're here, so it's not like I had anything better to do." You said. You tried to pass back his joint, but he just waved it off, and you took that as permission to keep going. By the time it was gone, you could already feel your body relaxing, your mind slowing down just the way you liked.

"Well, it's a good thing you came. I was gonna be bored if you didn't. Thought I was gonna have to come to your house after this,"

You rolled your eyes.

"Like I'd let you in, high as hell at four in the damn morning." You scolded him. You could feel your body giving out on you, letting you lean slowly towards Jungkook who was so far gone he didn't even notice. But that meant Taehyung was getting further away. Or it should have, but maybe he was shifting with you, moving until your hips were pressed together, until he was slinging your legs over his lap. That was nice.

"You would. You always let me in." He said. If you were sober, maybe you would have been mad that he'd call you out on your absolutely whipped behavior, but you weren't sober, and it was so much harder to stay mad at him when you were high. He just looked so pretty through your hazy eyes, dark curls around his head like a halo, and big brown eyes that you got so lost in.

"Yeah, maybe. But only you." You confessed, a bout of giggles bursting out afterwards. When had he lit up again? You pouted. "I want some,"

He took a hit, holding out his hand. You took it and let him pull you up. Then his face was getting closer to you, and you almost started away, but his hand was behind your head, pressing you closer. His lips slotted over yours. The hand that had been steadying your head came down, stroking his fingertips along your jaw, then thumbing at your bottom lip, guiding your mouth open. You closed your eyes, letting him exhale the smoke past your lips, slowly breathing it in.

When he pulls away, it feels like all the air in your lungs has been sucked out, and you're not sure if it was from him or the smoke. You let it out again, closing your eyes and trying in your fogged up brain to process what just happened. He was touchy when he was high, overly affectionate and maybe even clingy, but you'd never shotgunned before, never been that close to tasting him. It was fucking with your head. But then he was letting you go, and you leaned back against Jungkook again and the moment had passed. You were too high to notice the way his eyes flicked to his best friend, who was too high to think much about the way he was touching you. Jungkook reached around you again, an arm around your waist, slipping against the skin where your shirt had ridden up ever so slightly. The touch made you jolt, eyes opening again before you giggled and relaxed.

Taehyung, however, couldn't relax. Well, not really. No more than the two joints were letting him. He had thought you'd been getting his hints, that you were reciprocating. But there you were, high off of his shit, and cuddled up to his best friend as if he wasn't the one who you spent all your time with. Taehyung wasn't a jealous person, not really, but sometimes it would bubble deep in his stomach, and rise in his throat and make him feel sick. Only sometimes, and always with you. He stood up, not saying a word to anyone as he headed for the house. He didn't really have a plan, maybe grab a drink? Even though he really wasn't a fan of being crossed. It didn't matter, he just needed to get away.

You felt him move beside you, heard the sound of his footsteps walking away. And as if on instinct, driven by something deeper than conscious thought, you flung yourself to your feet, knocking Jungkook's hand away. He looked at you, but he didn't say anything, just went back to his conversation. The first few steps you took felt as if the world was shifting ever so slightly under your feet, but you caught your balance fast.

"Tae," You called out to him, but he didn't look back, so you called him again. "Taehyung, wait a second."

He didn't. He was a good few strides ahead of you, being swallowed up by the crowd. You huffed, pressing back into the overheated, crushing crowd of bodies in search for him. He never left you like that, especially not at parties. He knew you hated them. Knew you only ever came for him in the first place.

The music was making your brain vibrate in your head, and you had to blink a few times to register the faces in front of you, but before you knew it, there was Yoongi, still looking sober and bored and leaned up against the wall.

"Hey, did you see Tae?" You asked, reaching out for his arm. He wordlessly pointed towards the stairs, and your questions were answered. You thanked him, or at least you thought it, and then you were hauling yourself up the stairs.

It was quieter upstairs. Most people moved towards the basement instead of the upper levels, leaving the personal rooms alone. Only your friend group tended to come up here during the parties. You knocked on Hobi's bedroom door, then opened it to find it empty. The bathroom door was wide open, and empty, so you moved on to the guest room. You knocked, but again there was no answer. You tried the door handle. Locked.

"Taehyung," You whined, knocking on the door again. You could hear the shuffle of the bedding. "Open the door. I don't wanna stand up anymore."

You could see his shadow under the door as he came over, then the lock clicked and it swung open. He had the cutest pout on his face, and you were overwhelmed by the longing to kiss it away. You gathered up all of the self control that you had to not do that.

You didn't speak, just used the weight of your body to nudge him out of the way, pressing your entire self against him until he gave way and you both stumbled in the door with a burst of stifled giggling. You flopped back onto the bed and waited for him to sit down beside you.

"Why did you run away?" You asked, closing your eyes. He didn't answer right away, just traced his fingers against the skin of your forearm. You let him, let each movement sink beneath your skin and join the quiet hum that your body always seemed to let off when he touched you.

"You were with Jungkook. Gave you space," He answered. You opened your eyes, giving him a confused glance.

"I came for you. I always do." You told him. It wasn't like he didn't know that. He must have known the power he held over you, the power he'd held for so long that you couldn't even remember when it started. No, your Taehyung wasn't stupid.

There was another long pause as he laid down beside you, arm slinging heavy over your waist and pulling you closer to him. You turned your head, your noses brushing and his big brown eyes trained on your face. You couldn't breathe then, and you weren't sure if that was the proximity or the way the weed was weighing down your entire body.

"I don't like when other people touch you," He said, shifting so he could prop himself up on his elbow, his face hovering over yours. You watched his gaze drop to your lips, then climb back up to your eyes. "And you were just letting him. Should have been me. Always should be me,"

You couldn't fight off the impulses any longer, your self control slipping through your numbed fingertips, and then you were pulling him down to kiss him. His lips were softer than you imagined, and you could taste the warmth of him under the heady layer of smoke on his tongue. He kissed you back as if it were the last thing he'd ever do. His hand gripped at your waist, pressing you closer to him as he devoured your mouth. It was hungry, but lazy, slow licks and presses of his lips and the occasional suck against your tongue or your lip until you had to pull away. Your mind was fogged up, and you felt dizzy as you tipped your head back against the pillows.

Taehyung couldn't seem to leave his mouth idle, leaning down to suck a mark into the sensitive spot under your jaw. Then he was just kissing your skin, tongue gliding against the skin and swallowing down the closeness you were sharing. His hand didn't move, anchoring you to him and keeping the both of you grounded in the moment.

"Tae," You whined, guiding his mouth back up to yours and he was happy to give you more. You moved your hands down, pushing and tugging at his shirt enough to move it up his stomach, then your hands roamed beneath it, tracing the planes of his stomach, up his chest. He hissed when your fingertips carved slow circles around his nipples.

"Sensitive," He muttered against your lips, and you hummed your acknowledgement, teasing them anyway and soaking up the low hums and moans he let out. It didn't last as long as you wanted, especially considering that feeling the way his body reacted to you was something you'd be more than happy to spend days doing. He sat up, pulling his shirt over his head and then helping you take yours off in turn. His stared at you, eyes dark and heavy as he admired you. Then he was taking your bra off, then stripping your bottom half. Despite the desperation that was so evident in his actions, every move was slow, unhurried, until you were bare underneath him.

His lips spread slow and steady into a grin, and you laughed, the sweetest sound to his ears.

"Can I touch you now?" He asked. You nodded, guiding his large hands back to your skin and letting him explore. He ran them up your stomach, then down to your hips, kneading at your thighs and pushing them open to expose your core to him. He groaned, a look of pure disbelief taking over his face for a moment before he was touching you. There was very little wind up, but he took his time once his fingers brushed against your already glistening folds.

He stroked up and down your pussy, letting his thumb press between your lips to gather more of your arousal. He dragged it over your clit, reveling in the broken sounds you made, in the way your hips pressed closer without even realizing it. He rubbed slow, steady circles on it. Not nearly fast enough, but not slow enough to stop the steadily building need.

"Taehyung," You gasped out, lost in the feeling of him familiarizing himself with your body.

"Say it again," He said, voice lower than you'd heard it and zapping through you like a shockwave. "Say my name again."

"Taehyung," You whined again, this time pressing your hips harder into his touch, rocking against his fingers and moaning at the feeling. Taehyung gave you exactly what you wanted, pinning your hips down and rubbing your clit harsher.

"Again,"

"Taehyung," This time it was a full bodied moan, louder than you really realized, not that you cared. He grinned, shifting so he was laying between your thighs.

"Gonna make you scream my name, yeah? Gonna make you feel so good, promise."

He kissed at your thighs, mouth dragging up one, then down the other while his fingers continued to build you up. You melted into the bed, year hand curling into his hair and giving it the slightest tug. He grunted softly, nipping at the skin of your thigh and then dragging his tongue over it to soothe the sting.

Then his hand was gone, and you almost had enough time to process the loss before his mouth clamped over your pussy, tongue flicking over your clit. You gasped, back arching off the bed before pressing back to roll your hips against his warm mouth.

You hadn't expected this, but you probably should have. It wasn't like you'd never sat through one too many rants from Taehyung about how eating pussy was a dying art, and he was more than happy to single handedly rekindle it. But you had underestimated his skill, the way he found the most sensitive spots to poke, and prod, and suck at. You were dripping, though you couldn't tell if it was from his spit or your own arousal, probably a decent amount of both given the way he was diving into you.

His tongue dipped into your eager hole, his nose bumping against your clit. You wailed, voice too loud and echoing in the room around you, but it didn't matter when all it did was spur him on. Your fingers tugged at his hair, hips grinding into his mouth until you were practically grinding on his face, but he didn't make any move to stop you. He let you use him, let his tongue fuck into your desperate hole, slurping and moaning against you in the filthiest show of desire you'd ever seen.

"Taehyung," You gasped out again, trying to warn him, but he didn't seem to hear, or maybe he didn't care, and your body and mind felt too heavy to try over again so you let your orgasm wash over you, a cry of his name filling the room as your thighs twitched shut around his head. He kept going anyway, palms pressing on the insides of your knees and tongue working your clit in fast, sharp circles. You couldn't tell if your orgasm lasted forever, or if he was able to spiral you into another one in an instant.

His fingers joined the mix, sliding into your pussy to feel the way your walls pulsed and clenched around him, and his entire being was taken over by the taste of you on his tongue, so warm and sweet and driven home by the scent that was surrounding him.

"I can't," You sobbed out, hips wriggling away from him, but he pulled you back to his face. His tongue was slower now, more languid as he cleaned your juices from your core, easy and deliberate and not seeking your pleasure anymore, but seeking just a little more of your taste overwhelming everything else in him. Even still, with the oversensitivity, and the intoxicated, fuzzy state you were still in, it was enough to push you under the waves again. This orgasm was significantly gentler, but it left you dripping and trembling in his hold until he finally sat up.

You blinked at him, trying to see through the film that felt like it had been pulled over your vision. His hair was a mess, his already plump lips swollen from the work they'd put in and glistening with your essence. He smiled, smug and so very satisfied as he crawled up your body to press his lips to yours once, twice, then a third, much longer time. Your hand cupped his cheek, noting how he was still covered in you, until finally he pulled away. He laid down at your side, wiping his face on his arm and then tugging you against him.

"Don't leave me for someone else," He muttered, nose brushing against your neck and breath tickling your skin. You giggled, and then he giggled, and then you were dead serious again.

"I couldn't leave you even if I wanted to. I'm all yours, Tae. For good."

copyright 2023 coupsie-daisies, all rights reserved

[fionarara]

+ cherry bomb .

+ GOJŌ SATORU x READER .

+ T W ⇾ 18+ only . smut . sugar daddy!gojo . dilf!gojo . f!reader . implied ddlg dynamics . adult age gap (the amount is your interpretation) . aquaphilia aka underwater sex . praise . a bit of a baby bimbo reader so um dacryphilia, no rly, like i’m talking actual tears, yeah . gojou has a dumb joke (or two) . mention of divorce (not yours) and of gojo’s child (also not yours) . slight size kink if you squint . i feel like both flaunted capitalism and vapid self-indulgence needs a tag here ?? we be explorin dark kink of all kinds on this here blog, right? (｡>ω<｡) . reader has a few nicknames . no beta . and lastly, probably goes without saying but daddy kink, i repeat, daddy kink . oyasumi ✌︎ .

+ A N ⇾ um, istg i totally did not mean to post this dilf!gojo on actual father’s day, h-whoa? but the universe just always has my back i swear, an amazing coincidence as i only realized right before posting, and somehow it feels *symbolic* ?? - this is for the sugar daddy collab by @sleepysnk, ty for letting me join last minute summer ♡ 

+ W C ⇾ circa 5,500

Zz Zz Zz.

Within your skirt a vibration kicks off. 

The ringing of a phone tucked into the waistband against your tummy chimes out its soft little tune where you withdraw it to peek at the screen. Flashing vibrantly across its surface reads ‘DD Gojo’, and the smile unveiling on your face shines as brightly as the reflected device in your palm.

From where you stand on the sidewalk in elegant heels, all dolled up for the occasion, the twilight of dusk is visible on the horizon. The vision of picturesque dark multi-colored hues harmonize nicely with the wafting scent of warm pastries and tea in the air nearby, out from the cafe of the luxury shopping center you’ve been waiting in front of: Gojo’s favorite meeting spot. Whereby inevitably, has become yours as well. 

A place you have both frequented together before, where he has showered you with many gifts, many times over, treasured in both of your memories. Cherished adventures built here upon wining and dining at the finest restaurants, playing dress up at the shops amongst extravagance, the cavalcade of glittering jewels and lavish garments–all the things you deserve as far as he’s concerned. He is of the belief that whatever you receive should be nothing but the best the world could ever offer, or at least his wallet, he figures. 

And since life has been really tough on him lately–divorce is a bitch, the entire ongoing legal process has been one drawn out migraine–you and your overall companionship are so highly prized, not only in his day-to-day, but because of the new glow you’ve supplied his life. Especially during the last several months of regularly seeing one another after the separation from his marriage. 

Unabashed in his absolute fondness for you, he has deemed you his little crème de la crème angel.

You pick up the jingling phone in your hand.

Gojo Satoru seems to be in an especially exuberant and silly mood when his voice forces a notable husky tone, answering your greeting with a fun-loving tease, a low murmur on the other end of the call.

“Ring-ding-dong—is baby ready for my dong, sweets?” He finds himself hilarious, goofy, a laugh ripping out of his throat with audacity, clearly and thoroughly enjoying his own terrible joke.

Wow. There’s that classic on-a-whim, lively, larger-than-life bluntness that comes along with Gojo’s Sagittarius energy you have come to know well: he’s innately playful and comedic, fun, loud, has got a charmingly sharp tongue with no filter—it can sometimes come back to bite him in the ass if he’s not careful—and all of that is blanketed by a sort of fiery sense of passion for the things he loves.

The fact remains that his way of being has always been able to find a kind of carefree humor within you, something so inexplicable. He brings out in you a sense of total ease or lightness you weren’t even sure you were capable of. A kind of untapped, unfettered joy no one has ever been able to touch in you before…

So you’re halfway snickering at him now, amused, but with full-blown sarcasm you reply, “Ha–ha, Satoru, you’re so classy…” then you’re truly giggling, “...just shuddup and get over here already.” You try to restrain the crack of a too-wide smile from spreading across your cheeks, but fail, gloriously.

So you give in to it. Deciding to oblige him, you press the mic of the phone closer to your lips with a hand cupped over your mouth, shielding your next spoken words while you avert your head downward in a play of secrecy. It’s almost a whisper when you respond. 

“But…yes, I think that…just maybe, I am ready for it. Got it?”

He’s unable to actually see the minxy raise of your brow shown on your face, but the gesture is not lost on him from the tone in your voice. He hears it loud and clear.

“Jeesus, baby, I’m comin’, I’m comin’...”, the subtle rise of anticipation within him giddy and excitable. "Listen, I’m almost there. My GPS says I’m two minutes away.”

Late afternoon air has you rubbing away chilly goosebumps alive on your skin, particularly your upper arms, to bring you warmth. “Ok, good. Please hurry, it’s getting nippy out.” 

“Oh?” Here it comes… “Mm, ya better have nipples out…see you soon.” The sound of a bold chuckle is distorted by the phone speaker before it’s cut off by a prompt click. He disconnected the call in that way.

Already, it is your second humored eye-roll of the evening from his cheeky Gojo-behavior and you haven’t even seen him yet.

Your chest is lighter because of it.

The shopping bags in your grasp shift from two hands into one, your free hand thumbing to find the golden credit card Gojo lent you in the pocket of your jacket. Assuring yourself that it’s still there is important. 

Over a month ago, he had broken the news of how meetups between the two of you would soon become more of a challenge, due to court and custody hearings surrounding the finalization of his divorce. You’d be spending a considerable amount of time apart, he’d said. It would be longer than usual, by a whole month, and offered to grant you some form of consolation in return. So the very next day, an express-shipped credit card appeared at your doorstep in the fine afternoon with a letter enclosed. In it, he expressed that you were to use it and shop to your little heart’s content. The only deal was that you would hand it back upon the arrival of this date.

The car that pulls up to double park along the curbside beside you is, without a doubt, the most expensive car you will have ever ridden. It’s new. Gojo had mentioned it last week, making the purchase to lift his spirits and also as celebration for the court case he’d won against his ex. They’d granted him equal joint custody of their child. Actually, his final stop prior to fetching you this evening had been dropping off his baby daughter.

The door swings open on its own, remotely controlled by electronics. In view and resting on the front seat is a tatty teddy bear belonging to his child that was forgotten.

“Oops, lemme move that for you.” Somehow the sight of this tiny plush toy in his large hand brings about the sweetest rush in you for him. The stuffed animal is laid to rest onto the back seat where you also note a hollow purple baby bottle leaking a dribble of spilt milk from its nipple and onto the cushion. 

Nineties grunge-rock plays soft on the radio when you climb in. The air is filled with a sweet and peppery, woodsy scent, one you recognize immediately–it’s him, his comforting cologne so greatly missed, only making you that much more aware of just how profound the ache has truly been for this moment to be by his side. 

Crawling towards him, you pelt your eager arms around his neck, a way that communicates it has felt like an eternity apart. Both of you have a greater sense of it now, from being in the other’s presence. You can hardly keep your exhilaration in check, not with the soft squeals you let loose on his shoulder. For a moment, together you melt, breathing into each other.

It hangs in the air of the moment as you embrace. 

The weight of the wait. 

He then cradles you deeper, pulling you into an assertive kiss so welcoming, so sloppy with intention, it’s as if he’s blissfully unconcerned with how messy it is because, finally, you’re here. Letting you know it’s been far too long for him when he’s matting your cheeks with numerous pecks and taking in the scent of your hair.

Withdrawing to observe you, his eyes alight with radiance at the full sight of you, your energy. “God, I almost forgot just how stunning you are. Look at you! Just…incredible.”

The praise washes over you and after exchanging a few more greeting words, of how you’ve longed to see each other, he shifts the car gear into drive. 

Buildings whip across the dark sunset and late dusk settles in. The spectacle of nightfall on this ride, of the city through the windshield, excites him enough to ignite a sudden curious stir in his pants. Maybe it’s the prospect of what night can bring with you along after so much distance that has his dick twitch at the thought alone.  

And with that, his hand is creeping over to your lap. It should be almost comical when you believe for the quickest moment that his approaching hand would be innocent. One only of affection, to caress you, a gentle expression only in missing you…

But consequently, their energy becomes different—turn into those fingers, the kind you know well that are wanting, possessive. And being able to even think another thought is lost on you before he is squeezing at the thickest part of your inner thigh then slipping under your skirt.

“Satoruuu…wait…” you swat his arm with a light tap, dissuading him from getting too distracted. It’s happened once or twice before he’s lost control of the wheel when attempting something as naughty as this, but it is half-hearted when you breathily urge, “…pay…pay attention to the road…” 

Not a moment later, out from the speakers the bass booms more loudly, the volume amplifying higher by the second where the music thumps heavy throughout your body. You locate the outlandish crystal-eyed culprit and his thumb pressing the ‘+ volume up’ button on the steering wheel.

Not only does he have the music blasted, but has the gall to flash a cutesy grin of mischief at you, a most sinful and impish face. That expression is followed up with a playful mocking yell, where the holler of his voice competes and cuts through the music. 

“HUH, baby?-! WHAT? I can't hear you!” he teases, then carries on anyway with the slide of his fingers between your pressed thighs. It’s difficult for you not to part them a smidge while the electric feel of his three fingers reaches for your clothed cunt. They press flat against your mound at the first touch, then begin to fondle lightly at the grooves of your pussy, tracing the outer shape of it with his fingertips. 

Having some restraint here had been your aim, but tonight you seem to be failing plenty at not completely succumbing to his whimsical charm–it's just been so long since you’ve been near him–you’d almost forgotten how magnetic his presence truly is. 

Attempting to keep your desire hidden, you try stifling the puff of air that escapes your throat, turning your head away towards the window, but it is futile. On full display to him now is how unable you are to withstand his spellbinding touch, and he’d spotted it. That little starved expression tells Gojo how badly you’re fiending, it has him lowering the radio, the amplitude of the loud song descending and funneling out of the small space, volume all the way down so he can very clearly hear what his defiance has wrought on you. 

Listening to your tiny constrained moans sends heat straight through his abdomen. You do not want to be condoning any of this while he’s driving, but unfortunately for your willpower, you act on instinct when you begin pawing desperately at the muscular forearm connected to strong fingers massaging over the wet spot of your panties.

“Yeahh…you like this, huh? Knew it.” 

But, in a moment too soon, he is cut off by an abrupt swerve of the car and you gasp.

“Shit–” he grips steadfast onto the wheel, gaining composure of the vehicle.

“...Alright, alright, you were right. Let’s save this.” Punctuating the final word with one reassuring pat down onto your pussy, it's honestly more like a gentle spank.

You’re pouting, but of course you nod, agree, and settle into the electrically warmed seat produced by the suave leather chair, feeling loosened up.

Safety first.

. + .

The door to Gojo’s opulent estate, only a fraction of what sits on a 22-acre property, welcomes you by the greeting of a polished and suited butler. Warm lighting casts down from the expansive ceiling and it’s the first time this evening you’re able to catch a true glimpse of Gojo’s eyes. They look a bit tired, a tad worn from his recent circumstances, but it is truly a wonder how he can make even a light touch of under-eye bags look sexy.

Walking past the foyer toward the candle-lit living room, you extend him your comfort. Wrapping your arm around the bulk of his bicep, the other palm reaches for the hard pec on his chest to rub soothing circles of understanding. 

Here you are at long last, approaching the grand sofa, both of you plopping yourselves atop the plush expanse and seamlessly locking on to one another. He relishes in the beautiful body flush against his. 

Encircling his waist with your arms, you find it rather cute in taking note that he is marginally plumper around his middle than before, having developed a more modest weight around his butt and love handles. Though abs of steel still ripple his shirt, the overworked dad you hold in your arms seems to have relaxed a little from the recent stress and you are filled with a sudden pride for him. 

A light-hearted joke flickers in your mind of his natural ability to take up space from his energy alone anyway–how you admire it, a part of you secretly wishing you could embody more of that in yourself–but mostly in how you appreciate this bigger physical development in him, because it now means there's a little more of him in the world.

“Shall we toast?” he suggests, so he whips you up a nice pink drink while he sips hard gin on the rocks, leaning back, thighs spread open like an empowered slut. 

Curiosity then strikes him when the haul of shopping bags sitting on the floor from your spree earlier this evening catches his eye. “Ooo, lemme me take a peek at what you got.” he sits up and nods, face gleaming. 

One by one each item is showcased and he is enthralled by every piece, because of course he is—it’s part of why he adores you, chose you, your keen eye and clear level of taste has always been impeccable, distinct and unique, highly attractive. 

Then his heart is increasing in size as you confirm, right here, right now, that those aren’t amongst your only positive qualities when you’re showing him you’d also picked up something for him and had been thoughtful enough to do so. An ornate watch is pulled out of a fresh bag by your delicate hands, that then with a snap is on his wrist, handsome as it glints and refracts in the candlelight of the room.

Your body reaches over the littered items on the elaborate rug, clasping the final shopping bag which houses the bikini you had bought for this reunion by his request. 

He whistles at it. “Superb. Model it for me, will you, babe?”

You do. Twirl, shimmy, joke with an exaggerated runway catwalk, giggle, then there’s something visible written on his face and you’re able to anticipate what his next move might be.

Gojo had developed a pension for bestowing you with a few cutesy nicknames in the time spent getting to know you. Amongst his favorites and most frequently used is that of ‘cherrybomb’. Must be a fan of The Runaways, you figured, but it truly came about when, almost exclusively, you began wearing rouge-shade lipsticks in his presence. Perhaps you could make yourself seem a little older, you’d hoped, give yourself a closer touch of sophistication in his world by presenting yourself in such a way. 

But mostly he’d donned you with the specific moniker because a smattering of the red tends to end up around the lower half of his dick after he's had his way with you, a faint painted crimson over his pelvis near where it meets the shaft. 

You’re halfway through striking a faked model pose when he lifts himself off the couch and approaches. With an index finger so sensual, he presses up into the cushion of your ruby lips, holding tight to your gaze, coaxing you with a query, “So, gonna help daddy feel better now, cherrybomb?"

Then, far into the depths of crystalline aqua you swim, deep into the mesmerizing eyes that lock onto yours and you say nothing; nothing except for an exhale of hot moist vapor releasing onto the firm finger that baits you. The slow lick you give it afterward, dragging your tongue up along the column of his digit, landing at the tip, answers any and all of his questions. He can already feel the swell of blood trickling in to fill up his cock.

The time has come for his hand to guide you through another hallway toward the recently completed construction of a large-scale naturesque onsen the size of a massive pool, installed in the outdoor area beyond the sliding doors. Intending to experience it tonight for the first time was on his agenda, professing his desire to christen the new space with you, right before he glides a magnificent lustered glass door to one side, letting you through.

You step into the open atmosphere: water bedazzled by moonlight, submerged light fixtures softly illuminating a mint-aqua azure-blue glow, steam rising thick as fog. A plethora of tall bamboo trees enclose the surrounding space, a waterfall cascades off a giant boulder just around the bend and beneath your feet and everywhere is an assortment of gorgeous stones varying in shapes, sizes and sorts.

Gojo leans into you from behind when you approach the onsen’s outer edge, planting kisses along your neck. A clean tug at the string of your bikini top by his hand has it flopping off your breasts, exposing them to the crisp night air, amongst the sprinkle of stars hanging in the heavens. Bikini bottoms hit your ankles next and he strips completely, down to his boxers, then to nothing at all. Already he’s rock hard, a cock so upright, it seems it could nearly touch his abs.

A large hand links to yours, leading you down into the inviting water.

"God, you’re tiny next to me." He tells you, loving how much his big build towers your frame, admiring your body from behind as you descend into the blue, bare feet hitting each lowered pebbled step.

Submerging into warmth, it cradles you as you dip in. Vapor floats off the lapping surface where your joined bodies bob together in water, all of your limbs wrapped around him. He wastes not another second longer, gripping you impossibly closer, making out with you, ardently; proving himself to be ever the great multitasker with one hand gripped on your asscheek and another kneading at your breast.

Now the sizzling of your skin isn’t from the heated water alone, for beneath the very surface you simmer for him, a robust flame of aching arousal so unbearable it has you trembling. Shaky and flustered by lust, from how strong hands grope every inch of your body, how his tongue intoxicates you as it rolls fluidly against yours, he senses it all—how overcome you are by need—making him groan with a fire in his belly, as do you, too. 

Desire has your spine arching. Legs still grasped to his waist, your ass pops backward as far as it will reach, creating easy access for him where he can trace fingertips along the crack of your ass as a guide, down to the ‘X’ which marks the spot of your slick hole.

Two thick fingers dip up, curl inside you, and plumes of oxygen off your light moans release between whimpers. Like your third eye opening, the instant clarity you receive in understanding how these fingers are able to create such powerful sorcery is made evident now, by his digits making literal magic in you as they fuck you filthy beneath the water. 

“Missed you like hell.” He murmurs, then you grip tighter, moaning, sucking a quick bruise on his neck. 

Yet all too soon, he notes the angle of his wrist is not ideal, nor the slight pushback from the water. All of it provides much resistance for him to thrust into you at the necessary speed that he knows would truly have you unraveling for him.

A light bulb flicks on in his head.

“Turn for me.” He commands, gentle and true.

In favor of getting you back to the onsen steps without letting you lose arousal, he whips your body around, directing your arms to wind behind his neck, your ankles to wrap around his. With your back meeting his chest, exposed nipples sting wet in the cold bite of the air, wading you through the water. His goal to keep that hot coil of desire burning within you also means his own cravings run high right now, to have you squirming on his fingers from this position, knowing where that button can be pressed upon. 

“Thaaat’s it, baby, keep it up for me…” He entices, approvingly, an eager hand reaching from around your hip to the front, massaging over your clit in winding motions of expertise. His game is won when your hips begin to stutter, rocking and chasing for more of his touch and he can sense the steady rhythm of your thighs tensing against his.

Soon, your feet hit the stony steps. Placed on a higher level than him, it gives him reason to bend you over as planned, to hike your ass up above the waterline where it collects just around your thighs. It’s there you are instructed to hold steadfast on the edge of the onsen.

“Good, baby. Just like that.”

He reckons it’s his turn to make you pliant and easy access for himself. From where he stands below, waist deep in water, his face is lined with the entirety of your raw nether-region, anxiously awaiting to eat you out from behind.

But first, the sight of you like this is truly something to behold.

Here is a quick moment of pause for Gojo, caught in admiring the beauty of pearlescent vapors casting heat off of every bit of your skin, dancing upward through the shine of moonbeams contrasted against the darkness.

“Mmm.” There’s a tone of carnal wonder—and just a touch of light playfulness—in his humbled voice. “Your pussy is steaming hot, baby. Literally.”

You whine from the unfavorable lack of contact as he purrs his sweet words. Air is blown over your bare steamy cunt by his lips, cooling it down, watching it clench, eyeing heat vapors disperse around it. Then he gingerly pries the petals of your pussy open, lingers in admiration for another moment longer before finally tugging your thighs backward to strike his face onto the wet folds. He impresses a deep open-mouthed kiss onto it, sucking your pussy slow and deep into his mouth, and you snap—out comes your ungodly cry in ecstasy. He makes it sloppy, purposefully a bit disheveled, all wicked slurps and licks of passion, and a huff from his nose hits your asshole in a stimulating sensation. 

The taste of the mineral water mixed with the sweet drip of your cunt thoroughly quenches his thirst for this christening.

Light daddy scruff from his lower face can be felt against you as another slow upward lick nearly grazes your anus. He wants to create a plateau of his tongue stretching across the whole of your pussy, so he’s scooping under to search for your clit and press there, toying with the nub for several long languid beats. 

That is until he makes a quicker decision to swap it in favor of shoving his fingers inside you and pump them with force from behind. When you thrust back to help his fingers reach deeper, he already misses his face being trapped and pressed to your cunt, so he moves back to slurping your clit too. 

Your head falls forward as you crescendo from tiny whimpers into staccato groans, then sensing him pause for the smallest of moments only to catch a breath where you can feel his rapid draw of air.

He is attuned to when your hips begin gyrating harder onto his sucks, it’s a signal you’re close to your finish. So he doubles down, grabbing hold of your sides in a bruising grip, fingertips digging deep into the flesh of your hips where he forces you tighter onto his face. All that’s left to give is a tiny sting of pain to send you reeling and crying out his name, so his large hand cracks down on an asscheek, several filthy slaps, with the swirl of his tongue still on you.

He alternates, working and circling open your tender hole to motioning down onto pulsating clit-sucks in such perfect rhythm, it’s like the epic beat of a hit song—and in an instant, it must be your favorite tune, because now you’re singing out along with it, belting out with a searing vibrant orgasm that courses through you.

Your elbows and knees wobble, near to collapse, but he’s caught you just in time with a slide of his arm underneath your tummy, holding you up with another hand by your outer thigh. 

And you feel entirely supported by him, in many more ways than one.

You’re weakened and topple sweetly into the water, flopping backward into his broad chest. He draws in your back from behind, whispering warmth in your ear. “Daddy’s turn.”

The way your cheeks beam in post-glow daze has him tender-hearted. “Aw, my little cherrybomb…” he brushes away clumped strands of hair plastered to your face, “...like how only I can make you feel?”

Being older than you means he’s more experienced. No one other than Gojo has even remotely had you cumming as hard, so you can't deny his accuracy. You’d never dream of denying it anyway.

“Without question, daddy,” a little raspy voice so sincere, your body twirling in the clear blue liquid to face him outright, telling him point blank, “you’re the only one that has the power to make me feel this good.” Nearly sung like a lullaby off your tongue, you stare up at him with the most earnest eyes.

The sweet innocence of your praise is so astounding it raises his eyelids to widen so greatly until the appearance of the moon’s reflection fully shines in his eyes ; a genuine response to your unwavering devotion. Then it’s gone in a flash, because his eyelids shut when he’s peppering a line of kisses over your forehead and his dick is forcibly throbbing against you.

“Mhm yeah, you feel that?” He sucks on your earlobe, it’s still between lips as his whisper vibrates on the sensitive skin. “Want you bad. Help your daddy out now."

It’s nearly impossible to contain yourself when the all consuming thought and need in this moment is his grown cock in your hand, to supply him with anything and everything that would satisfy him, service him with the utmost amount of pleasure possible it’s as though he would never again know of pain.

Plunging forward and splashing further into the water, you hurl yourself onto him, a hand wrapped around his cock, an arm thrown around his nape. You pull him into another session of sucking one another’s faces, feverish mouths echoing moans into each other while you fist him below the water.

Gradually, the motion pushes him further and further backward until his spine hits an eventual rocky wall, arms-length away from the flow of the waterfall.

Gojo hauls you up by your thighs to wrap over his hips, simply wanting you to feel how hard he is from the outside, skin against skin, tenderly outlining the full protruding length of himself over your folds. Teasing between velvety lips, he’s grinning at how much of your slick can be felt through the water as he rhythmically runs his hard cock to bump up against your clit. Pleasure erupts through you with uncontrollable shuddering, from the remembrance of how unbelievable it could be just to have Gojo rubbing over you, the rush of the hazy memory all comes flooding back to you now.

Your head cannot withstand its own weight any longer, dropping dead into his fragrant shoulder, the scent of his neck driving you to delirium, inducing an almost intolerable desire for him.

 “Enjoying yourself?” He chimes, but you are barely able to muffle out an agreement with your mouth muted against his skin. The best you can give is a tiny nod and it feels you’ve mildly blacked-out behind closed lids. “Tell me how much you need it.” He commands.

“I-I…” you start, but it dies in your throat, “...I...I–”

“Come on, baby,” he coos, a little smug, a bit more pride in his request, “I wanna hear it.”

You're at a loss, struggling to form coherent sentences, already helplessly weak from his cock and it's not even inside of you yet.

“...so...s-so bad, please…I–”

A wordless understanding soon emanates between you both, suspended in the air surrounding you. It’s a palpable exchange of etheric empathy. He understands–identifies, since you have never spent this much time apart before and seeping into the gravity of that is also beginning to make him feel dizzied. “That's it…that’s it…you can do it, sweets, you can tell me...” He rocks his taunting hips, hypnotizing your needy hole from the outside with the prodding head of his cock as you try once more to formulate a sensical sentence.

“D-don't think…I've ever…wanted anything–so badly–I-I–” 

The more you babble, the harder he throbs.

“Daddy, I just–!” You feel actual tears starting to well up in your eyes, “–missed you so much-!”

An unexpected pang in your chest induces a flood of tears from your lower lash line. It’s only obvious to you now that you’ve been harboring this specific avoided emotion for a while, possibly even weeks. Trying to keep “strong”, convincing yourself you’ve been fine, or shoving down anything that would surface from within you about making the distance a bigger deal than you thought it ought to be.

Feeling so foolish, naive, to be crying with a mix of anguished pleasure for him, you lightly choke on your resistance to all of it, but without any ability to stop it.

He slows, then halts to observe your face, detecting the moisture below your eyes. It catches him by surprise. Concerned for you, he speaks with care. 

“Aww, angelll…” 

A tear streams down your cheek where he stops it with his lips, kissing it away, and Gojo feels his cock swell harder.

Undeniably horny by your undeniable ache for him.

A hand swipes over your face, shushing you to calm. “Shh…that's alright, okay baby, shh, you did good–so good speaking up for me–letting me know how much you want me…” soothing tingles by gentle scratches of his hands along your back quell you, “...re-laaa-x…shh…that was good enough for me now.”

Your cheeks are burning, born out of the pit of stupidity you feel as it pools in your stomach. Yet still, you continue to tear up, subtle quivering comes in waves over your body and has him offering you more words of comfort.

“...Nnnm…I missed you too, hey, hey–” he cups your face, making sure you’re truly hearing him. “–I did too, I really did…I know, baby, I know…” since you’re already crying, he might as well give you a better reason to, in the only way he knows to make it better, “...missed you somethin fierce…here–lemme show you how much. Come’ere–”

Lining up with your drenched hole, he guides you down onto the smooth stretch of his thick cock and your breath constricts. It has your face contorting from the dizzying nature of it all, denting your nails into his broad back. Gojo’s glimmering eyes connect with yours, reflecting back a shared intensity. Your gazes mirror one another as two pairs of eyelids are drooping together in unison, carefully examining each other’s faces as you adjust to him and he finally bottoms out inside you. But he grants you mere moments before the overwhelming thirst for you is far too irresistible to bear any longer. 

He surrenders to the will of his body as if possessed, chasing more of the sweet suck of your cunt in every thrust and now you’re crying from something else entirely. Strong, effortless, determined pumps of his length drive into your core, the way he knows you’ll always end up begging for, although now, no longer does he want to ask that of you. 

In this instance, his sole purpose becomes your unspoken bliss, to anticipate your desires without you needing to word them, yearning to spare you any further trace of strain or exertion. He intends to allow you the full sensation of simply craving his strong presence, pistoning into you, to let you relinquish control, entrusting him to tend to every remaining detail of your pleasure.

“Does this make you happier, baby? Hm?” Still carrying you, he turns a 180, switching spots to push your back against the flat rocky surface and ram you up against the wall. “Does it? H-huh? Ngh. Does it make you ha-happy?” 

The splishing of the waterfall and his fierce rhythmic grunts are the only sounds filling your ears. You nearly match the waterfall as more tears spill and that’s when you’re sure he doesn’t require a verbal reply. The confirmation of your entire body responding to him renders sufficient, like how your fingers instinctively entwine with his hair, gentle tugs at snowy locks for extra support, you then give a few wobbled nods.

But now he needs a little more support and leverage, gearing up for that one ideal angle in you. 

Hanging low and tilted just overhead, rests a bamboo tree. Reaching that one sweet gummy spot inside of you will mean reaching one of his arms up to grab hold of it. Gojo steadily raises both of your connected bodies so both waists together are just a hair above the waterline. He is up on his toes, tight grip on the bamboo culm, when he pounds you to perfection, deep and generous, positively wrecking you ‘till you’re wailing from your finish in blinding satisfaction. 

And daddy fucks you raw into the night, again and again, through to the edge of dawn; then later on, when the birds begin to chirp and you are fully spent in his bed – so fucking cute when you’re fast asleep – Gojo realizes he won’t ever grow tired of the faint traces of cherry smeared across his pillows.

. + .

+ link2masterlist .

[apollodarling-writes]

I've being wondering about this for a while. I didn't think it, but turns out silva and kikyo do actually love each other. So killua probably grew up seeing those expressions of "love" and thinking that's normal for a relationship. How do you think that would affect his relationship with reader? And if it isn't too much, how do you think his overall experience with his family effects it? Because I highly doubt after everything he's gone through that his relationship with the reader would be perfectly normal. What're your thoughts?

before i delve into killua’s experiences, i wanna go into the psychology of a developing brain. especially during the most critical stages — from birth to five years old. according to vygotsky’s theory of child development, a child’s environment and external factors play a huge role in how a child develops as a person. he proposed that as a child, your brain is continuously learning and soaking up information. for example, right from wrong, how to treat other people, whats socially acceptable, etc etc. essentially, vygotsky believes that this stage of development is critical for how your brain functions as an adult, and that external influences play the biggest role.

now that we have that mini psychology lesson out of the way, let’s hop into how i think killua’s environment and seeing how his family treated each other affected him.

i dont know much about kiyoko and silva’s marriage so i can’t really speak on that, but based on the fact that they love each other and their kids, i can assume and speak on a few things.

firstly, killua grew up in an assassin family. he was trained from a very, very young age — most likely from when he could walk — and was required to develop an immunity to all poisons and be able to complete missions quickly and efficiently. from that, i can gather that he was trained very harshly and most likely learned to associate love with pain of some sort. i have no doubt that developing an immunity to all poisons was painful and extremely distressing for a child. this would likely shut down some pathways and cognitive processing that a child in a normal household would have.

i would also like to take illumi and kiyoko’s influence in killua’s life into consideration. illumi was extremely overprotective and manipulative, and even placed a needle in killua to control him. kiyoko was overbearing with her love for killua and, to my knowledge, always had an eye on him in some form.

now that we’ve taken developmental psychology into account, his family’s influence and behavior, and his assassin training, i can now go into how it affects him in his love life.

it has definitely affected him in some form, but also he now has gon to show him whats healthy. killua very clearly has expressed his distaste for his family, but i think that this is so deeply rooted in his brain that it would affect him for the rest of his life. and even if he did realize that it was wrong, i don’t think he would want to stop — self-indulgence at its finest. i think he rationalizes it as “my family did it this way so why would it be that bad” and “different people have different tatses”.

as for how it affects his relationship with the reader, he would be completely out of reach. both on a physical scale and a psychological scale. as an assassin, hes immune to all poisons and the reader has no chance of physically overpowering him — the only option would be to run but even then you wouldn’t be able to forever. you also have no hopes of “fixing” him. theres a very clear distinction, depending on how the reader was raised and their own tastes for love, between his views on love and theirs. at that point, you would have to live with his overbearing, self indulgent, over protective, and manipulative behavior. you’d honestly be trapped. just hope stockholm syndrome kicks in fast.

[whichbasketwitchbasket]

What do you need to do this August + Prediction PAC

♡﹒ ♡﹒ ♡﹒ ♡﹒ ♡﹒ ♡﹒♡﹒ ♡﹒ ♡﹒ ♡﹒ ♡﹒ ♡﹒ ♡﹒ ♡﹒ ♡﹒ ♡﹒

images sourced from pinterest. take what resonates, leave what doesn't. My Masterlist

Pile 1, Beetle Ring:

Own your room. Own your space. You need to take action. What do you want? Think about it. What do you really, truly want? No shame in your answer at all. Yknow how when you clean your room, you end up not cleaning because you find something from your past that you just have to indulge in? It's like that. Find your old photo album, camera, art set, whatever it is and USE IT. You don't deserve to put yourself on the wayside.

Prediction: You'll be offered some kind of promotion in work or school that you may not feel qualified for. Take it easy, but take it.

Pile 2, Butterfly Hairpick:

Take a bubble bath, turn on your feel-good tunes, and do a face mask. This month, consider dedicating your energy to pampering yourself. Self-care at its finest. When's the last time someone hugged your inner child? Hug that kid. Let them know that things are gonna be okay. Ugly cry while you do your nails. Be a pretty pretty princess day in and day out.

Prediction: A maternal figure in your life will call you. Answer the phone. Listen to her wisdom. She misses you too.

Pile 3, Shell Necklace :

Giveaway! Declutter! This month, consider engaging in charitable activities or acts of kindness, whether it's volunteering, donating to a cause you care about, or simply offering support to those in need. Helping others is a surefire way to help yourself. Do you really need so much stuff? Donate it to a thrift store. Give it away. Your soul is lighter when you're not carrying so many possessions. Materialism will be the death of us.

Prediction: You'll get a call from someone who needs help with a life transition (whether it be a move, or a haircut). Go with them. You'll be paid.

[stxrmxtsu]

The Matsu brothers with a thicc mildly chubby S/O

thanks for the ask anon! as a mildly chubby, ‘thicc’ person myself, this was very nice to do

tag(s): mild nsfw, matsus bein pervy virgins, slight yandere tendencies on choro’s and ichi’s part, chubby!s/o (obviously)

to be fair (and as to not repeat myself), ALL of them would fucking love your chub. even more so, they would love you regardless of what you even look like. buuuuttt, if we’re getting into specifics, let’s see how they would ‘react’..

osomatsu

i think osomatsu would be the one who would prefer having a thicc n chubby s/o more, i just think that’s something he would like in a man/woman, especially your thighs, oh my god those fucking thighs. he could lay on those things all damn day if you let him/if he could. sometimes he likes to pinch your tummy or legs, not to make fun of you but, because 1. he can and 2. because he fucking adores you so much that he HAS to have a hand on you at ALL times. i think his favorite outfit of yours will always be the ones where you decide to wear thigh highs and those cute clothes that involve skirts or shorts. speaking of shorts, fucking man LOVES your ass. the plushiness of your booty and your thighs make this man absolutely feral and oh my god are those literal hearts in his eyes..? how..? you know what, you weren’t gonna question it..

karamatsu

i strongly believe kara doesn’t care what his partner looks like, like at all. if you’re skinny, you’re skinny. if you’re chubby, you’re chubby. looks really don’t matter at all to kara! i mean as long as you’re nice to him he’ll be all over you and smother you with his affections. he’s also the type of person to have his hand on you at all times but it’s more on your waist or the small of your back. i think the only time he’ll acknowledge your body is when you’re dressing up and you’re like “how does this look?” and he’s all like “aaahhh!~ you look as beautiful as ever!~” or somethin cheesy like that, you know how karamatsu is! 

choromatsu

(im gonna be self indulgent a little but i think its lowkey canon) 

so you know how in the show, choromatsu seems to like the ‘cutesy’ and maybe the traditional japanese girls (you know the ones), yeah, i honestly 100% believe that he’s putting up a front because 1. his brothers and 2. to hide and swallow the fact that he’s into partners like me and you. now, that’s not to say he’s embarrassed to admit it or he would be ashamed to be around you, its more so on the fact that he’s afraid that he won’t be able to control himself around you because of how absolutely gorgeous you are to him. when he first met you, he immediately thought you were so fucking beautiful, you were perfection at its finest, but since its his life and how shitty it is, he thought you were gonna reject him and then maybe spit on him, be upset at him, the usual when he got close to girls. but… you were so nice. you welcomed his virgin ass into your life and you were so….you were so…PERFECT! he was ECSTATIC when you accepted his confession and ever since then, he’s worshiped the ground you walked on and he just can’t get enough of you. your squishy cheeks, your tummy, your legs (oh god your LEGS), your chest, everything. 

he also kept you a secret for so long because he didn’t want the world to see his perfect little gem and he didn’t think the world deserved to see your beauty. he likes to keep you to himself and that’s that. 

ichimatsu

ichimatsu is another one that doesn’t really give a fuck how you look, i think as long as you accept him and his cats, he’s good. and also as long as you can handle him, he’s good. simultaneously, i think he also worships the ground you walk on and would be so afraid to lose control of himself when it comes to you. i think his favorite things about you are your love handles and the pouch of fat on the side of your boobs when you wear sports bras and tank tops (you know what im talking about baby). his inner demons are always fighting for THEIR LIFE when you wear certain clothes that outline every curve of your body, they’re always clawing at him and telling him to just grab you and keep you to himself, but he holds back. but once you tell him to go all out on you, be prepared [name]

jyushimatsu 

biggest hype man fr. he’d be all over you, i mean its jyushimatsu, he’s such a good person. the only thing that’s a ‘downside’, is that he’s horny easily but you know what, you love that too about him. i think he’s the kind of person that squishes your every body part because you’re just so fucking cute to him that he NEEDS to squish you constantly. another one who needs to have his hands on you at all times 

todomatsu

cmon, you wanna look me in the eye and tell me he ISN’T gonna fucking drool over pictures of you every chance he gets? 

that boy may seem like he wouldn't but totty doesn't fucking care who you are or what you look like. as long as he knows you're there for love and him, he's fine.

todomatsu would adore putting you in cute outfits. he may not have the best fashion taste, but he knows what'll outline your every curve and that boy will soak it up like a sponge.

don't even get him started on your legs and thighs.

and belly.

because FUCK [name]....what are you doing to me...

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and that's thaaaattt! i kinda got through my inbox, thank you to everyone who were patient with me.

love,

jarvis <3

[the-s1lly-corner]

Laughing Jack x reader w/ curly hair

Something something self indulgent writing

Notes: reader is GN, heavy projection from the writer, self indulgent writing at its finest

CWs: canon typical violence, brief/mention of bullying

he thinks your hair looks really pretty, he likes how bouncy it is!

sometimes likes to take a lock or a curl and play with it, gently tugging it and letting it bounce back into place

though if you dont want him playing with your hair he keeps his hands to himself if you ask him to

likes giving you random bows and hair accessories he finds so you can try them out

need help tying your hair up or tying a bow?

just let him know and hes going to get that done for you!

headcanon that hes really good with styling hair and stuff, will go too hard on a simple ponytail if you allow him to

understands that you may need to give your hair more maintenance, knowing him he probably... "borrows" products from shops and stores... just dont ask how he paid for them!

will target anyone who decides to try to make you feel bad for your hair, from tormenting them for days on end to just giving them a good quick scare... he doesnt tolerate that kind of thing when it comes to you- even more so if it cuts you deep

very verbal in letting you know that he loves you and your hair

side note i like to think he would sometimes ask if you two can have care days where its.. well just self care stuff! loves it because it gives you both more time together