#rock n sock connection | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

therealhousewifeofharrystyles · 2 months

Text

Harry’s Home

Part III.

Read Part 1 Here!

Read Part 2 Here!

Pairing/AU: Roommate!Harry // Roommate!Y/N

Word Count: ~ 4k words

⚠️ Content Warnings: Adult Language, Pining, Sexual Desire, References to Body Weight (“Chubby” Reader), Fantasies of Rough Sex, Breeding Fantasies, Exhibitionism, Explicit Depictions of Masturbation(M&F), Dirty Talk, ~Slow Burn~

So, yeah. Harry and I have successfully become somewhat close. We’ve put up with each other’s shit for long enough and eventually bonded—or whatever the hell you call it when a pair of sex-starved adults live in close quarters and they decide to play nice so the walls don’t come down on them.

Even though it’s the time of year when I can see my breath and I have to wear socks to protect my chilly toes when I’m lounging around the house, when I’m around Harry…I might as well be a tea kettle on the verge of squealing in steaming agony. I guess you could say I’ve been in heat.

I’m catching myself spacing all the time, hypnotized by his comfortable routine. He grasps my attention like it’s second-nature to him, and I have no other choice but to relent—to surrender. How fucking pathetic is that? Like, get a grip, woman.

But seriously, I can’t take it anymore. I turn powerless and my body betrays me, simply from the man meeting my eyes with his from across the room. For someone to hold this much control over another human being by just existing…not only is it completely unfair, but it feels otherworldly. It’s as though a connection has been birthed out of the rawest, most sinful form of lust, with its sole purpose to fuse a pair of unwed and horny humans. Thus latching itself onto the two of us, melding an incubus with a siren.

I guess it could just be some crazy-intense sexual tension, too. There’s no fun in that explanation, but whatever. The point is that I can’t fucking take it anymore. Me being so mesmerized by him performing the most mundane of tasks—unscrewing a new jar of jam, rubbing the sleep out of his face as he stumbles out of his bedroom, sneaking little peeks at me from across the room and smirking to himself after he looks away. God. That smirk keeps me up at night…my hands groping myself and massaging my clit to lull myself to dreamland.

Right…so about that…

For the past few months, Harry’s been able to hear me fucking myself through the thin wall that separates our two bedrooms. The divider does absolutely nothing to silence me and my explicit acts of self-pleasure. These walls couldn’t muffle a mouse, let alone an ambitiously horny, and impressively vocal young woman who’s desperate to get her rocks off…hard.

And I’m certain he can hear everything—every gasp, every whine, every slick plunge of my fingers—or a toy—as they’re used in a merciless attack on my own body in order to chase an unattainable high…It's loud. It’s filthy.

It’s pornographic.

And yet Harry indulges in my songs. I know he does. The only way I’m able to get myself off is to picture him on the other side…to close my eyes and astral-project my way into his room and assume the role of the voyeur…as the exhibitionist. I’m a walking oxymoron.

I imagine my waves of ecstasy seeping through the walls to awaken his neglected cock in his tight briefs.

I think to myself,

…I bet he’s wondering whether or not I'm messing with him...if I know he’s listening to me…and if, perhaps, I want him to listen…

If only I were just playing a sick game of tease…Such a possibility would be utterly humiliating for Harry. He loathes feeling like his control is in the hands of another. Said power landing in my hands? Oh…No, no, no. Lest we forget the towel incident? Don’t let the sensitive late-night talks, the apology hugs, or the sleepy cuddles fool you; a switch, Harry is not. Not that he’s told me or anything, but it’s a feeling. When he drags his eyes down to slowly assess me…there isn’t a doubt in my mind that he’s in charge.

He has a limited threshold for teasing and babying, which is precisely why he shooed his own mother out the door after a mere 5 minutes of her jests. Harry spent his entire life as the baby. I sense he’s needed a release for quite some time…and it probably doesn’t help matters that my playful antics are sure-fire triggers for his dark dominance to take over. I think he’s struggled to find the right mate to unleash that part of himself with. At least completely, that is. And I hope I’ve been pressing just the right buttons to experience it all for myself.

But yes, I’ve been fucking myself with lotsa gusto knowing he’s in close earshot of the action. Hopefully, he’s come to successfully make sense of some of my muffled ramblings beyond his wall as, “Yes, Daddy!” as well as the occasional gasp or moan of “Harry.” What? I like it…

Although I’d love to exacerbate the narrative that this has all just been a cruel game started by yours truly—a game that I’m winning, to be clear—I'm actually not messing with him. This had begun purely by accident, and now I'm just continuing to provide some adult entertainment for my, uh...housemate and…good friend.

Before you scold me for being a perv, let me just finish explaining the situation. Because if Harry had a problem with something I did, he’d tell me. And he never complained about this. Never.

Quite the opposite, actually.

The first time I did my private deeds with Harry eavesdropping in the next room, I'd initially felt horribly embarrassed. I hadn't realized how shameless I was, or how loud and desperate the noises were as they came out of me. Once I finally caught myself, it was like space and time had spun to a stop, and I was painfully aware of my raw indecency.

I wasn’t watching porn, reading erotica, or listening to naughty audio recordings. Nope. Only my lustful thoughts fueled the eagerness in my fingers as they played with my pussy. I’d also been blatantly inconsiderate of Harry and his right to privacy whilst they did. I felt dirty. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Pfft, I was hardly thinking of anything. It reminded me of the time just before we moved into this house…when I lurked on his social media pages for the images of his slick, half-naked body which burned themselves into my memory, all just to use him for my own personal, sick, sexual gratification.

And there I was again—now cohabiting a space with the very inspiration for my filth and frustration—lying comfortably atop a spacious, girly pink towel to protect my bed linens from succumbing to my wetness. My knees were spread apart and my dripping cunt was on full display for my closed door across the room. If anyone walked in, they'd unknowingly be entering what many theme parks tend to call a “splash zone.”

Luckily, Harry was in the living room watching some melodramatic video essay on YouTube…Or at least that’s where I’d left him before ending up in the not-so-innocent position atop my mattress.

I hadn’t thought about the fact that the house wasn’t empty until I heard my own whiny sighs combined with unmistakable slippery pussy-rubbing echoing throughout the room. My cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink once I’d realized the extent of my elevated volume. There was no way Harry couldn’t have heard all that. And I had no idea how long I’d been up to it, or for how long at that high of a frequency.

The click of a door closing nearby interrupted my nervous internal monologue—Harry’s door. He was mere meters away from my partially-nude body, but my private quarters kept me safe from any judging eyes. The wall our bedrooms shared stood as the only barricade between our two bodies. For a while, I dismissed my initial self-awareness and I slowly, and carefully, swirled my drenched fingertips over my clit. More of my liquid arousal coated my petite hand. For some reason, the idea of Harry walking in on me like that had me feeling hot. Realistically, that would’ve meant immediate, devastating humiliation. Did that mean I was into that? I’d say yes judging by the way I was pulsing around nothing whilst staring at my door, picturing the man himself standing there smirking at me…tilting his head and patronizing me.

…Aw, would you look at tha’…Does that feel good, Sweet Bunny?

“Mmhmm.” I found myself nodding with a sigh, my eyes relaxed and veiled. My mind refused to backtrack, and instead doubled-down. I probably should have stopped myself right there, but fuck, could self-sabotage feel good.

My brain directed me towards thinking about how pretty and sweet I was on the outside. My body, soft, and my features, so delicate, but so grabbable. Every part of me had an ample amount of plushness to squeeze. To manhandle. My tiny wrists and my elegant neck, the perfect size for a pair of big hands to wrap around. I bit my rosy lip on a whine, then brought my thumb up to rub and tease it before sucking on it. The sinful acts my mouth performed were a secret I kept with the few lucky men who’d experienced it for themselves. I wanted so badly to share that with Harry…I wanted to share all of myself with him.

“Mmm…Harry.” I moaned aloud, releasing my wet thumb and sneaking it under my shirt, swiping the slick pad back and forth over my sensitive tit.

It was hard for me not to think about Harry whenever I touched myself. I thought about his fingers playing with my hair, him burying his face into my neck the times we cuddled…feeling his hard-on against my ass on the couch…the times when he’d hugged me…and catching his gaze drift down to my tits…I bet he’d thought I’d never notice, even after having done it multiple times in a single conversation. Hmm…was Harry Styles an ass man or a tit man? Or was he something else…? He certainly liked looking at my boobs…and I'm able to confirm that his body has a very positive reaction to pressing up against my butt…

Honestly, I didn’t even care what parts of the body Harry liked the most. All I cared about was how badly I wanted to feel him use mine. I wrapped my small hand around my throat and arched my back up off of the mattress, gasping as I mindlessly pushed two hooked fingers inside my tight opening, picturing a certain tall, curly-headed British man molesting me instead. The sound of my own moans enhanced my pleasure as I rode myself towards peak bliss. My modesty had become non-existent as my hands worked each sensitive spot between my legs and teased at my pebbled nipples. A part of me needed him to hear me that night. I was getting off on that taboo. But that’s all it was…my imagination.

It was just a silly little fantasy. Harmless exhibitionism. I wasn’t actually being that loud…—but that’s when I suddenly heard more feedback beyond the wall. It’d been some time since I’d heard the door click shut. My personal distractions got in the way of keeping track of time.

There was an urgent fumbling. A repetitive clinking. The sound resembled a bit of metal hitting other metal. But it was light. Small. Following that, I heard a rough yank and a soft plop as whatever the item was had dropped heavily onto the carpeted floor. An unmistakable hum of a zipper quickly came subsequent to the discarding of the first mystery item—but it was no longer a mystery to me as my sex-clouded mind pieced together what I was hearing. The hands nestled between my thighs slowed at the realization.

Well, Harry’s just changing into his pajamas for the night, right?

My audible x-rated activities bouncing off the walls for several minutes whilst my roommate innocently removed his pants next door…maybe I was overthinking this…I remembered calling out our "goodnight"'s to each other around 10 minutes before I slipped out of my panties and began to shamelessly pleasure myself. He was still in his business-y work clothes when I left him in the living room…and I knew I just heard his bedroom door click shut in the middle of my alone time. And at that point, Harry was right there. He was just trying to unwind, yet happened to be in the room adjacent to mine. It was probably too awkward for him to ask for me to quiet down.

Poor guy…ugh. I was disgusted with myself. I felt I needed to end my “session” right there, and

I was mentally preparing a nice apology text to send him. There was no way in hell I'd bring this up in person to Harry the following day. Surely I’d be in tears before I could even form the right words. I didn’t even want to imagine the scenario of Harry, himself, mentioning it to my face. Every possible, horrible consequence of my selfishly lewd deeds played out in my mind. There I was, lying there with my knees bent up and spread wide open—my fingers frozen against where I'm most sensitive. The silence made the throbbing in my clit feel even more desperate.

And then Harry flicked his white-noise machine on.

Oh, God…This was so embarrassing.

I wanted to sink into a black hole and never be seen, nor heard, ever again. The severity of the situation felt devastating to me. Was I truly so grotesque that the beautiful man I lived with had to tune me out with the highest setting of his old, rattly sleep machine?!

Hell, I was more than embarrassed, I was fucking humiliated. For real, this time. And it was all my fault.

I just wanted to disappear.

But just as I was readying myself to book a flight back home to move back in with my parents to spare myself from ever having to look Harry in the eye again…

I heard it.

I heard him.

“…Mmmhh…”

Beyond the hum of the wimpy white noise, there was a raspy moan on the other side of the wall. I thought I was just imagining it, or that maybe it was Harry quietly retching in disgust, but then it happened again.

No, yeah. It was definitely a moan.

I held my breath as I focused upon the sound of an abrupt curse followed by the distinctive sound of spitting.

“...Ahhh, fuck—”

*ptuh*

The grunting and other lewd noises continued. I could only imagine Harry’s tightened fist, wet from his own drool, working diligently at his neglected cock.

“...Mm…h-hm…ugghhh…”

It seemed like Harry's white-noise machine had some impressive competition. My lips curved into a smirk and my embarrassment exponentially subsided.

His growls vibrated right through the layers of paint and drywall—sliding their way under my shirt, swirling around my perked nipples before bolting straight down to my fingertips, coaxing them to push deeper into my heat. Squeezing my thighs together and arching my back, I curled those digits and gasped out audibly. Feminine arousal leaked from my center and down the crease where my ass met my thighs. Everything was so slippery. I’d made a mess of myself within seconds. Not to mention, the pornographic squelch of my fingers echoed shamelessly beyond the slick walls of my cunt.

If Harry’s spit-covered palm was loud enough to hear over the white noise, then I knew the splashy reservoir between my legs was audible too.

Another series of grunts and huffs sounded beyond the wall behind me and the white noise machine was switched off. I retracted my fingers and slid them up and down my slit, teasing myself and picturing Harry rubbing the head of his dick along my entrance. My brow pinched hedonistic agony. Oh, God, did I want him inside me…I needed something…anything…

With my less-saturated hand, I reached over to open my bedside drawer and lifted the lower compartment to retrieve the silk satchel that encased my dildo. My sticky-slick fingers fumbled impatiently with the ties until the toy comically launched out of the bag and bounced itself smack down onto the inside of my splayed thigh. I could just picture Harry laughing at my lack of grace even though he was busy with his own deeds next door. The thought of Harry teasing me about the dildo made me blush a bit, and I smiled to myself, imagining his hand reaching out to brush my hair out of my face, his pupils dilating as he’d sit on his knees next to the bed and lean over me until his lips grazed my ear…

Be a good girl and show me what filthy things you do with this, Bunny…Show me where it goes…Show me how you fuck yourself…

I hadn’t realized I’d done it again. I’d gotten lost in that depraved little world of mine, and I whimpered aloud in response to the Imaginary Harry who was speaking in my fantasy, “Y-you want me to fuck my pussy for you, Daddy?” Maybe it was the Imaginary Harry again, but I could’ve sworn that I heard a silky British voice nearby react, “Goddd…dammit, Bun’…Ugh, fuuuck, yes. Fuck that sweet little pussy f’me, baby, holy shit…”

Laying back down, I brought the silicone cock up to my lips and sucked it into my mouth. I slowly bobbed my head on it and soaked it with my saliva after deepthroating it several times. The sloppy blowjob I gave to my dildo seemed to have been loud enough to be heard by Harry next door, as he voiced out, “Oh my god, Y/N…I wanna fuck that pretty mouth.”

I pulled it away from my tongue, a string of drool dripping from the tip, and rubbed the head of the toy against my sensitive clit whilst I responded, bringing me right back to where I needed to be.

“Mmhh, but you can’t put a baby in me that way, Daddy.”

My own eyes widened and I gasped. I couldn’t believe I’d actually fucking said that.

“Shit! Ughh…Ahh…Ughhhh…Fuck you, Bunny…Almost made me…c-come…Christ—Ohhh, fuck me…”

With my free hand, I sucked on my index finger and let my eyes flutter closed as I pulled it out from my lips, trailing it down my neck, all the way to my breasts. Groping myself as best as I could with the rest of my hand, I used my forefinger to tease my nipple whilst the dildo swirled and swiped around my slickened slit. My breathing picked up quickly. The dildo had eventually disappeared inside my clenching hole. The only audible sounds I remember hearing were those of my own—my high-pitched gasps, the pornographic swishing and squelching of the dildo fucking my drenched cunt, the wet flicking noises of my fingers moving rapidly against my clit…I don’t even remember how loud Harry was at that point, I was too focused on my fantasy—my fantasy with him—to notice. I was so focused, in fact, that I had once again lost all sense of self-control and consciousness, succumbing to whatever had come naturally to me at the time and practically singing out my song of ecstasy for the whole goddamn neighborhood.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod…Harry, please. I need your cum…Oh, god, please come inside me. Fuck all your cum d-dee–oh g…–ah! Yes! Yes! Don’t stop!”

As I begged for my climax, Harry seemed to have been on the edge of his orgasm as well.

“Jesus Christ, you’re gonna kill me, Y/N…You want me to fill you up? Be my little breeding bunny? God…You dirty girl…Fuuuck…oh fuck, I’m gonna come…”

“Yes! Yes, Daddy! I can take it! Please! Yes, yes, yes, yes! Aaahhh!”

I unraveled with a squeak followed by a series of breathless sobs, my hands, wrists, and arms working frantically and my eyes rolled back whilst the kaleidoscope of pleasure poured through my body. Immediately after my explosion, I collapsed like a ragdoll with the dildo slowly pushing out of me, and my fingers slipping around on my clit to prolong my high. As my breathing recovered, I listened to the tail-end of the orgasm taking place from Harry’s side of the wall.

“Holy shit…Fucking take all of it f’me, babe—ohhhh, yeah…uhh-uuggh…mmhh…hm…Damnit…’So much…I wish all this was inside you, Bunny…fucking hell…”

I’d slept like a rock once I finally passed out. I wasn’t even worried about what would come the next morning. Nah, I had the upper hand on this one for once. As a bratty submissive, I’d gotten used to being teased and controlled. What an interesting feeling to exist on the other side. God, it felt fucking fantastic. Unfortunately for Harry, he wasn’t as confident…or at least that was what I’d been able to interpret in the days following. Nights after the first one, I’d carry on fucking my cunt until I was physically too exhausted to move my pretty little hands anymore. I swear I’d heard Harry finish at least thrice in one night once. (Impressive, Styles.) As for myself…well, I usually lost count.

That first morning, I awoke with sore arms, a rogue dildo laying on the floor, my limbs tangled inside my sheets, yet a ridiculous smile was perma-glued onto my sleepy, orgasm-spent face. I tried my best to tone it down, as I didn’t want to prance around the house like I’d just risen from a deep sleep induced by a gazillion-and-one pulsating firecrackers of pleasure. Too obvious, you know? Had to act nonchalant. Unbothered.

Who was I kidding—I was the most chalant person I knew. Harry would see right through that charade. But there honestly wasn’t much need for pretending on my part since Harry had actively avoided any and all eye contact with me anyway. I’d never seen the man be so meek. It was truly a sight.

Things would eventually loosen up as the days progressed, especially if it was a work day which meant Harry had an excuse to be miles away from me for several hours. It was somewhat of a bummer because I thoroughly enjoyed this sampling of power I newly held over the man. I reveled in the way our typical roles would reverse the mornings after our little bedtime serenades. They weren’t a nightly occurrence, as I preferred to keep him on his toes; however, they’d happen often enough that I tended to daydream in the middle of my work meetings. I’d even begun to retreat to my bedroom an hour or so earlier in the evenings, giving Harry some lame excuse like tiredness or a headache. In reality, it was me signaling that I needed to get myself off sooner rather than later. Whenever I’d announce my departure, I could feel how much he’d been aching for it all day, too. Harry eventually utilized the same approach to speed up the fulfillment of his own needs. I’d changed up my tempo, my method of pleasure, the filth of my words, even my own positions whilst touching myself. It seemed like it had become almost like a routine for him to wait for me to fall into bed late in the evening. (Yet another one for me to be distracted by…)

Nothing’s changed. I still imagine that he patiently lays atop his soft duvet with an anxious throb booming against his eardrums…That minutes will go by with him training his ear to follow each soft pad of my feet. And then I shut my door. I waste no time before diving my pretty fingers inside the waistband of my underwear and playing with my sensitive little petal—allowing all the filth to freely escape my lips. And every single time we do this, I’m in my room picturing him naked from the waist down, one hand eagerly pumping his dripping length whilst the other massages his balls and perineum. To this day, the waves of simultaneous pleasure are still trapped only by the few measly layers of drywall that stand in between us.

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

I know, I know…it’s been a while…but I’m back:-) and this isn’t the end of Harry’s Home—the final part is basically finished, but I wanted to post this chunk of it since I’d been kind of neglecting my account for months now. I hope y’all like it! Xoxo ~ Régan 💋

Tags: @daphnesutton @victoria-styles @pishhhh20989 @heyyyloverr @youdontcaredoyou @jerseygirlinca

138 notes · View notes

omwife · 8 months

Text

Sanji Vinsmoke

woooo okay we back at it again with this lil series read part one on my blog (this is part two!)

summary: another moment you have with sanji, only building your connection with him.

notes: the translation for any french words will b at the bottom from now on to prevent spoilers lmao.

it was late. too late for shit thoughts like these. you got up, immediately feeling the breeze on your bare arms. you were wearing long and warm pajama pants you'd taken from ussop, with black fluffy socks, and a stolen top from nami to top it off.

"fuckin' stupid sea weather." you muttered as you wandered your way through the ship, careful to keep your steps light to not wake the light sleepers, or just nami, up.

coming up onto the deck you looked over the ships railing to see the water passing by slightly, rocking your boat hut not moving it due to the anchor. you stopped for a moment to feel the wind blow past your body, cooling you down from the drowning heat that came with your late night thoughts, before you continued to walk into the kitchen and over to the pantry.

"mmmm." you hummed in question to yourself as you looked between your two options of tea, honey or green?

"i find honey is more soothing on a sleepless night." his smooth voice whispers into your ear, causing you to jump from the unexpectedness.

"sanji!" you jumped back, hitting him in the chest with your elbow in the process, but he didn't move at all and only smiled at you.

"sit, i'll make us some cups." he said as he lightly pushed you towards the bar stools from just between your shoulder bones.

you smiled at him before you sat down, while he pulled out two mugs, putting water on the stove to boil.

"so what's keeping your pretty mind up maddam?" he said as he his eyes flickered down to your bare collarbones before returning to your eyes.

"i could ask you the same, cook." you slightly raised an eyebrow in question, while a small grin formed on your lips.

"c'mon mon amor, speak your mind." he smiled at you sweetly, before turning around and pouring the tea into their mugs and handing you one.

you wrapped your hands around the mug, debating on saying the truth or continuing the lie.

"nothing, just felt a little restless today." you smiled, as he raised his eyebrow in question to this, not believing you.

"well what's on your mind now sanji?"

hearing his name come from your smiling lips makes him melt even more for you. "couldn't stop thinking about a pretty lady." he grinned.

you snickered at this, "really, does she go by the name of nami?"

"mm i think it was something more like y/n." he smiled as he reached his hand over and grabbed at your chin lightly with a couple of fingers.

tilting your head more upwards, to face him because of the height difference, the teas between the two of you forgotten as he stared down at your lips and then back up to your eyes.

he watched as you blinked, your eyelashes fluttering with every movement. you stared back into his blue eyes as they seemingly battled between grey and blue, his pupils turned slightly in at the middle making a subtle heart shape.

you smiled at him before standing, and leaning forward into his hand and pursing your lips as you approached his face. he closed his eyes, expecting a kiss, only to get a peck on his cheek.

"thank you for the tea sanji, have a great sleep." you winked at him as you skipped out of the room earning a "that damn woman." in response to the stunt you had just pulled.

he laughed to himself lightly before turning to tidy up the pot he made the tea in thinking about the calm and peaceful sle-

"SANJI ARE YOU MAKING DESERT?"

"GO BACK TO SLEEP LUFFY."

#sanji x reader #one piece sanji #one piece #sanjionepiece #vinsmoke sanji #op sanji

215 notes · View notes

starryeyedadmirer · 10 months

Text

Ross Lynch: After the Show

-Ross x Reader-

!!CW!! — Belly Worship (Playing, Rubbing, Kissing, Licking), Navel Worship (Fingering, Kissing, Kissing, etc.), Smells/Odors

Synopsis: The Driver Era has just concluded another show… and, after doing his thing onstage, Ross is a complete wreck. As his assistant, it’s your job to get him dressed and ready for the band’s upcoming fan meet and greet… but, while you’re fixing him up, the two of you get a little carried away with one another.

Words: 4.83k

A/N: This writing is SUPER fan-fictiony… like, reads like the stuff that they make fun of on TikTok fan-fictiony… but I figured that I’d go ahead and tweak it a bit, and post it anyway. It’s not my best work… but it’s one of my first serious writings, and I do still enjoy reading it (for what it is)… and hopefully you do too.

Wattpad Link — “Celebrity Worship Fics” Series

_________________________________

The Driver Era's show in Houston, Texas, has just wrapped up — and, as per usual, it was spectacular! The band, the crowd, the music, the vibe... everything was just perfect... but, as always, Ross was a total standout — rocking out like a beast, in the middle of it all. It's such an unparalleled experience, watching on as he loses himself on stage. The way he performs... it's like he becomes a different person — at one with the music, and deeply connected with everyone in the crowd — and tonight's show was no exception. Like always, he got super worked up, an slipped out of his shirt halfway through the set... then, toward the end of the night, he rid himself of his shoes and socks — tossing them into the crowd. By the end of the act, he was half naked onstage — dancing around, in only his pants and underwear... and sweating his perfectly round ass off, in front of hundreds of people.

Now that the show is through, the only thing left for him to do is get dressed, and head off to a private room, for a short meet-and-greet backstage. It shouldn't take him that long to get himself situated... but after the incredible performance that you've witnessed this evening, his fans may have to wait just a little longer for their chance to speak with him.

———

"That was incredible!" You call out to the band, from your chair — a tattered, metal barstool, sat just offstage. "You guys killed it! Yeah! That was amazing!" You could almost pop a lung as you join in with the crowd's wild chanting of the word 'encore.' After screaming like a crazed fan all night, echoing every word that the symphony of voices says, you just can't contain your excitement. It's only natural that you let it out. "Encore! Encore! Encore! Woo!"

Waving their goodbyes to the audience, and blowing a few frenzied kisses out into the packed venue, the guys come puttering down off the stage — walking shoulder-to-shoulder, with their guitars dangling at their hips, and their bodies heavy.

"That was fucking awesome, Dude!" Ross shouts into Rocky's ear as the two of them approach you — competing with the roaring horde to be heard. "The crowd was great tonight! I think this may have been our best show all tour!" With his muscle-bound arms held above his head; his bare chest dripping with white sweat; and his hairy pits, and thick treasure trail out on full, wet display, Ross looks absolutely unreal to you... like some sort of bad-boy angel, stepping down from heaven's stairway.

You've had the entire span of the front end of the boys' national tour to get used to the sight of Ross's body... to shake the nerves, and tame your mind, whenever you see it... but after being with him for so many weeks — working as his assistant — you're still an anxious wreck. Every time you catch even the slightest glimpse of his exposed flesh — whether it be his toned, hairy underbelly, his bulging biceps... or even something as inconsiderable as his ankles — you're overcome with that same old fluttery, sick feeling... the one that makes your tummy turn, causes you to lose control of your body, and clouds your mind with nonsensical thoughts. You become a zombie — a dumb, clumsy mess.

You've embarrassed yourself in front of him more times than you can count — ran face-first into closed doors... tripped and fallen, over your own two feet... dropped everything in your hands — though he's never taken too much notice of your awkwardness. No matter how hard you try to shake them, the nerves just won't go away. Ross's allure is too strong to resist, you simply cannot fight it.

"Yeah... sure, bro." Rocky replies, pulling Ross's guitar off from his side — visibly exhausted. "Hey... I'm gonna take this from you and skip ahead, alright. Maybe meet with the fans a bit earlier than we planned. That cool? I know we've got, like, half an hour before the thing starts... but I'm super tired... and I think it'd be cool for some folks to get a chance to hold our guitars. Plus, I figure it'll give you time to change into some new clothes. No offense, but you look fucked up right now."

You feel yourself getting anxious with every step the boys take... too uncoordinated to get up from your seat without falling over, but far too excited to stay sat. It's like you could burst at any moment... scream at the top of your lungs, and spill your guts all over the place. The sweaty, disheveled rockstar is already messing with your head... and he hasn't even looked your way yet.

"Sure. No pro—"

"Yeah! That's no problem at all, Rocky." You butt in, awkwardly rising up from your seat — your knees wobbling like those of a newborn horse. "That's totally fine. You go ahead, and start early. I'll take Ross back to the room, to go change. I should have him back to you in about... ten minutes. Shouldn't be too long. Is that Cool?" You have no idea what you've just said... why you even opened your mouth. Once again, you've made a fool of yourself... and this time, Ross has taken notice.

Staring at you with a twisted brow, Rocky nods his head, and places his brother into your custody — pushing him onto you. "Yeah... whatever. I'll see you two in a couple minutes... I guess. Don't take too long."

"Alrighty then, Ross. C'mon... let's get you changed." Careful not to be too handsy with him — in such a jittery state — you take a loose hold of his left wrist, and toss his arm across your shoulders... smearing his thick sweat all over the back of your neck. "Uggh." You mutter to yourself, getting your balance as you watch Rocky walk down to the greeting room. "You're soaking wet. This all sweat? Or did you pour water on yourself again, when I wasn't looking?" His putrid body odor swiftly rushes into your nostrils — a sour musk... like cheese and onions, or an old bag of sour-cream-flavored chips. It's an odd smell to process... a disorienting stench , that takes you aback. "Woah... and you stink too."

Your nerves slowly begin to settle — halting their restless dance, at the mere inspiration of Ross's B.O. — allowing you to calm your mind, and regain control of your movement. It isn't at all what you had imagined his scent to be, when he and Rocky were coming down from the stage... not the same fragrance that he had before the show. He smelled strongly of fruit-producing flowers, and expensive cologne at the top of the band's set... soaked with the cologne that you'd been asked to spray onto his clothes, prior to him going out onstage. You breathed him in at least a thousand times before he took his place behind the microphone — burned his flowery, pre-show scent into your mind — and, although his post-performance musk isn't as pleasant, you waste no time to file it in your brain as well... deeply inhaling his air, until it no longer stinks.

It doesn't take much time for you to come to enjoy the odor... to love it the way that you've come to love every other unsavory smell that his body produces. His musky armpits, after a full day's work... his horrible breath, before you've brushed his teeth in the mornings... his silent farts, that he thinks go unnoticed — you've endured them all... and, with time, eventually grew to enjoy them. This odor of his — though it's new to your nostrils — is no different from the rest... it's heaven. Taking deep breath after deep breath, you walk him back to the prep room — reveling in the atmosphere of his new aroma.

"The greenroom is just up the hall." Ross guides you — staggering at your side, as you uphold the brunt of his bodyweight — beginning to come down from his emotional high. "Just go down these stairs... then it's the third door on our left. First two are janitor's closets. Learned that the hard way." In his half-dreamy daze, he seems to have forgotten that you'd been hanging out in the greenroom with him before the show — standing idly by, while he prepared himself for the performance. He must not remember you being in the room at all. The loud sound of your nervous gulping; your shoes squeaking against the polished concrete floor; and the curiosity of your wandering eyes, examining every inch of him... it's all vanished from his recollection. Good.

"Um... thanks for the pointer." You reply, going along with his direction. "God knows I would've been lost without it. I've got no mental map of this place. It's like a... like a huge maze."

———

The two of you squeeze through the narrow doorway together — leaning hard against one another, until you're nearly glued at your sides, by his sweat — and situate yourselves just behind the threshold. "Alright." Ross groans. "I'm not gonna lie to you, my arms are fuckin' dead right now... and my legs are killing me. There are some clothes over there, on that wall in the back... okay. I'm gonna need you to help me put on a decent shirt." He nods his head in the direction of the old rack of clothes — slanted up against the wall, and full of stuff that you could've sworn you've seen him wear already.

"Okay... sure." Hesitant to let him go, you make your way over to the shabby bar of metal. "Hey, um... I know you don't need to hear it from me... but, you guys were really great up there tonight, Ross... especially you. I know I say it a million times every show, and I should shut up... but I totally agree with what you said to Rocky... about tonight being your best performance by far. You weren't wrong."

"I know, right?" He giggles, like a shy child. "Everything was perfect tonight. Things couldn't have gone any better."

"Yeah, well... somehow, you always manage to top your latest show. Who knows how good tomorrow night's gonna be, huh?"

"Out of this world, I hope... if tonight's anything to go by. Ya know, I never knew you were such a fangirl... that's kinda funny."

"Yeah... I guess I am." Your hands start to shake as you browse through the limited selection of shirts. For the first time since you started working for him, you feel seen, and present... like you're not just taking up space in the room anymore. "Can you really blame me though? You guys are great!"

"Thanks."

"Now... um... my only suggestion for you, Ross... and I'm serious about this... is that you could start making an effort to keep your clothes on. Let me know if I'm out of line here, but you've had to change your outfit after almost every set. That's a little crazy, don't you think?"

"So what? It's just a couple of shirts... and maybe some shoes, here and there."

"I know. I'm just saying... as your assistant... you should really try and keep your clothes on next time. I feel like I spend more time watching you... change... than I do watching you perform. Maybe you could take them off when you're meeting with your fans! Strip out of your shirt... maybe show your feet in photos. I know they'd pay top dollar to see you shirtless... and barefoot. It's just a thought, though."

"Hmmm... I guess that's not a bad idea. I'll sleep on it tonight."

"Yeah... yeah, okay. What... uh... what do you wanna wear tonight though? Looks like there's a white, plain shirt over here. This pink one? Hawaiian flowers? Leopard print? Oh, and about your pants? You may need to throw some on, unless you're fine Donald-Ducking it out there."

He looks at each piece of clothing as you list them off, and takes a second to think. "Yeah... I'm gonna need a fresh pair of pants too. Between you and me... I'm kind of a swamp down there right now. My ass is like a fucking river... and my balls are swimming. I could use a pair of jeans... to cover it all up. I'm gonna need another set of socks and shoes too. Oh, and grab me that pink shirt... with those ripped denims, please. The distressed ones, on the other side of the rack."

"Sure." Careful not to shake the long rod from the wall, you pull the pink shirt and ripped jeans off of their hangers, and hold them up together. "Here you go." You call out — giving Ross a heads up as you pitch his outfit to him. "Your shirt, and pants. I'll grab these black socks from the floor... and these checkered slip-ons, over here. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Toss 'em my way."

"Cool. Here you go." You sloppily tuck a single sock under the tongue of each shoe, and chuck them in his direction. "Coming at ya!" Confident in his ability to catch the flying footwear, you continue looking through the selection of clothes — double-checking for any other pieces that he may want... though nothing looks too promising. Aside from his typical choices of shirts, pants, and shoes, there are a few cool jackets hanging on the rack — made of leather, and what you can only assume is some sort of chainmail. Curious, you grab one of them off the rack, and hold it up too. "Hey, Ross! Think this jacket would look good with that outfit? It's black... it could match!"

"N—No... I'm good." He replies, sounding as though he's struggling with something. "This stuff'll work just fine."

"You sure? You could... wear it around your waist... or, throw it over your shoulder, like fur. I used to do that back when I was a kid. I thought it looked cool."

"No. Mmmph... It's all good. I don't need anything else." Ross is too busy messing with his pants to realize that the checkered shoes have landed at his feet — having not made a sound upon coming back down to earth. He looks like he's having trouble with the button... fumbling it around with his fingertips, so that they appear to be getting the job done.

"Having trouble over there?" You ask him, sauntering his way, with a newfound confidence. "Do you need help? I can fasten it for you if you need." You don't give him a chance to answer before reaching out for his waist... your hands are just too curious for their own good. "Let me do it for you."

"No. I'm fine." He answers, moving away from you. "I got this. I don't need you to do anything."

The two of you tussle around for a short while, playing an unfriendly game of Tug of War, before he finally lets go. "Woah." You gasp as his pants drop to his ankles — just narrowly missing your fingertips. "You do smell like a swamp, Ross. That's... that's awful." The musky stench of his sweaty, unclean ass, and sticky balls wafts into your nostrils... radiating into the air, along with the heat from his body. He smells like an over-crowded sports locker room... or a dirty bathroom... an odor that takes you completely by surprise. "I can... um... give you some privacy if you wanna change into some underwear that aren't sweaty. They're right over he—"

Again, your body takes over... and, this time, it's leveraged control over your eyes. You can't stop yourself from peeking at his bulge... the impressive lump of mass at that protrudes from the front of his underpants. Though it doesn't smell the best, it looks rather shapely, and it takes up a decent amount of space in the room. Its bigger than you would've ever imagined it to be... and, as if it couldn't get any better, a thick, dark trail of curly hair peaks up over the waistband of his boxers — meandering up his stomach. "Sorry." You mumble under your breath. "I... uh... they're right over here."

Regaining your self control, you break eye contact with his meaty bulge and crouch down — grabbing hold of the fallen trousers. Before you can sneak another peek, you hike his pants up over his waist, button them as quickly as you can, and zip them up — trapping the raunchy odor within it's denim prison once more. "Okay... there." You mutter to yourself. "Wow... that was... really something. Um... let's put on your shirt now, Ross. Give it here."

Wasting no time, he hands the pale pink shirt over to you, and holds his arms up over his head — waiting for you to lower it onto his shoulders. His armpits smell almost as awful as his nether regions, but it doesn't bother you. His stench his been sitting in the air just long enough to establish itself... and, now that it's left its signature in the atmosphere, you're senses are growing used to it. You lift the shirt up over his head, breathing in the smell of him, and drop each sleeve over their respective limbs.

"Thanks." Ross says to you, dropping his arms to his sides — his voice low and throaty. "I got it from here, okay. I can button my shirt and put my shoes on by myself."

"Alright... good." You let out a sigh of relief... feeling like you can finally breathe again. You don't know what you'd do if you would've had to put his shoes on for him... what your eyes would've fixed themselves onto, or where your hands would've wondered. You can give him all of the space that he needs and escort him back to his brother's side once he's ready, all without jeopardizing your integrity. "That's great."

"Damn... I know I stink, but is it really that bad?" He laughs. "You're sighing like you couldn't wait to get the hell away from me. Does my ass smell that bad?"

"No... no. It's not that."

"That's not it? What is it then?" He looks at you as if he knows exactly what's in you're head... like he can see all of the intrusive thoughts that are running through your mind. You're losing your composure with every passing second... crumbling under the influence of your dirty imagination.

"I don't... I don't know." You answer him — your voice trembling. "I just think I need some space right now... to... to get myself together. I don't know what's going on, but I really do think it's best you dress yourself." Your hands shaking, you make your way to the door and try to twist the knob to leave, but it won't budge. "Shit! Really? It's locked." Your skin is on fire as you continue to tug at the static doorknob. It feels like the room is burning down around you, and there's no way to run away from the flames.

"Dude, don't be so dramatic." Ross chuckles. "You're embarrassing yourself right now. You're not so good at pretending, you know. If you wanna touch me, just say so. And don't even try to deny it... cuz you're not good at hiding it at all."

"What? No! I—"

"You think I didn't notice you gawking at my cock a minute ago? I know you, man... I let you brush my fuckin' teeth every morning. Can't fake it with me. You looked like your were gonna bite it off while you were down on your knees. I thought it was pretty hot, if I'm being honest."

"No, Ross. That's not— was it that obvious?" Your hands still wrapped around the metal grip, you can't help but to laugh along with him. You must look so foolish right now, trying to break out of the room, with your tail so obviously tucked between your legs. It's almost shameful. He's right... there's no point in trying to pretend. You do everything for him, whether he realizes it or not... and, of course, he'd eventually start to pick up on even the smallest of your mannerisms. It's only natural. You can only imagine how Ross is perceiving you right now... especially now that you know what he thought of you... that you were hot.

"Yeah... it was. You can do whatever you want to me, okay. I literally give you all of my consent. I'd kill to feel anything else but exhausted right now... and I haven't cum all day... so go ahead. Have your way."

"Oh... okay." You quickly swallow your laughter, as the fiery heat pours out of you like molten lava, and the flames cool down. It's almost too good to be true, him giving you permission to have your way with him... a free pass, that you've been dreaming about having since the night of the first show. "I guess... if it's alright with you."

He meets you by the door — walking toward you with a lazy sway. "Yeah. It is. Now... you gonna touch me, or what?"

Unsure of where to begin, you reluctantly rest your hand behind his left ear, and drag your fingertips along the side of his neck. Almost instantly, he melts away at your touch... a big lump of putty in your hands. It's even more clear now that he's just as desperate as you... desiring more than anything to feel something other than perpetual drowsiness. "C'mon." He groans — his eyes half-closed. "Is this all you got? We've got less than half an hour before I have to be back out there. If you're gonna do something to me, you might as well do it now."

"Oh, yeah. I completely forgot, for a second. Rocky's waiting." Following his lead, you do exactly as he wants, and fast-track right into the action. You tighten your grip on his throat and force your lips against the other side of his neck... breathing in his stench as your mouth scatters a chain of sloppy kisses down to his chest, and leaving red love bites all over his skin. His diaphragm expands and collapses against your lips, in quick succession — inflating with anticipation at the crest of every breath. Your tongue flicks out between your teeth like that of a snake — gently brushing against his pointed nipples, one by one — and then makes its way down to his slutty little waistline, that you've spent weeks eying. You have a clear idea of where it wants to go... all the way down to that musky swamp, to get a mouthful of those smelly waters... but, just like before, the thick trail of hair on his stomach catches your attention. Your eyes lock onto it for a second time — and then, without a further thought, you flatten your wet tastebuds against it, taking in all of its salty bliss. Ross's stomach convulses — rising and falling in little bursts as your tongue wanders into his belly button. "Ugh," he moans, taking in a huge gasp of air, "That... that feels so good."

"Does it?" You ask him, wanting to hear him say it again.

"Yeah it does. You're... talented with your mouth. It's like you're inside me right now... like, licking me from the inside." Ross smushes your face harder against his stomach and pounds his hands on the door. His breath is picking up again, quivering like you've just hit the g-spot on his stomach — the center of his navel. "Fuck!" He can't keep his body still anymore... even as he leans over you. His legs won't stop trembling, and his back is like a wet spaghetti noodle. "Oh my god!" He cries out — his eyes rolling into the back of his skull. "W—Why does that feel so fucking good? Yeah, yeah... get in there! Use your finger."

"Mmm... okay." Slowly, you pull your tongue out from his belly button, and replace it with the top of your index finger. It feels like a rubbery little stud against your fingertip, a hard spot on his tummy.

"Ya know, I think I'm in love with your outie." You tell him, entranced by how strange it feels to the touch. "It's just so... weird... and sexy. I wonder if it stinks like the rest of you do—"

Just before the final word can jump out from your lips, Ross shoves his body hard against your face — smashing you between his stomach and the door, and overwhelming your nostrils with the sour stink of his sweaty navel. Each and every part of his person seems to excrete its own unique odor, all with their own variation of a potent sweaty stench, with the additional notes of something more... something that no other area shares. His armpits had an onion smell to them, like a bag of sour cream chips, or something like that; his crotch smelled of swampy waters; and his neck smelled like perspiration and weak cologne. His belly button, though, smells different... like it's sweat has been festering there for ages, there's nothing else to it. It's the most foul stench that you've encountered all night... something bitter... and yet, you enjoy it's aroma the most.

"How's it smell," he asks you, flexing his belly outward, "It stinks, right? How does it smell?"

"I don't know." You answer, grasping for the right words. "I... I can't place it."

"That bad, huh? Uhhh, that's hot."

With a sleazy smile fixed onto his face, Ross grabs your head and takes full control over you, moving your nose in and out of his belly button... nose-fucking it. "Woah!" He yells. "Fuck! Uhhh, that feels amazing. Ughhh, that's great."

"Yeah? You like tha—"

Just as he gets into his rhythm, on the 1s and 3s of his own beat, a sharp knocking sound echoes throughout the room. "What the fuck is going on in there?" Rocky's muffled voice calls out, "You guys fucking or something? We got two minutes 'til this thing is 'sposed to start, Ross! Unlock the door! Let's go!"

"Uhhh, fuck." Ross mumbles, letting go of your head. "Alright! I'll be out in a minute, Rock! Just... give me a sec!"

You immediately rise up from your knees and help Ross button up his shirt. "Okay, okay, shoes." He mutters to himself as you fasten the last few buttons. "There they are! I can put my own shoes on. Look...go hide somewhere. Behind that couch, maybe. I don't want to look too suspicious if Rocky comes in here. Go! Go!"

"Wait, but I haven't finished!"

"I know."

As quietly as you can, you duck down behind the couch, and listen out as Ross unlocks the door for his brother. You can just barely see it open from underneath the couch... the only thing that your eyes can make out are the bare backs of Ross's feet, and the fronts of Rocky's black sneakers. "Who were you talking to in here," Rocky asks him, sounding as though he knows what's going on, "All that screaming "Go, go," and shit? The banging on the door, and yelling "Fuck!" What was all that?"

"Nobody, it was a bug. I... was shoo-ing it away."

"Oh... okay."

"I'm gonna throw on some socks and be out in a second, alright."

"Good. I can literally smell your feet right now... and I'm not even kneeling down..."

"Yeah... it's bad, isn't it?"

"Just... get yourself together, and c'mon. You can bring that bug along with you too. I'm not that gullible, dude... they're in here somewhere. We're gonna need them there to take photos."

"Okay. I'll... un-shoo them, then." Nearly slipping out from the backs of his shoes, Ross closes the door as softly as he can, and turns around. "Well... you heard him." He says to you — just speaking into the open space. "You're coming with me."

"That's a good thing, right?" You get up from the floor, feeling somewhat embarrassed. That was a close one... you both know it... but you have no clue what you would've done if Rocky saw you. "You're cool with that?"

"Sure. You can snap a few photos... get people moving... and then, we can come back and finish up. I still wanna bust that nut... and, uh... apparently, my feet could use a good tongue-cleaning too."

"Okay..."

"Like I was saying, I'm just gonna put on some socks, and then we can go. Won't be too much longer."

You stand idly by as he slips on the socks that you'd tossed him earlier — forcing his beautiful, stinky feet into both pockets of fabric — and then, you escort him out of the room. You feel so dirty, like you've crossed the line with him somehow... and yet, you're so fulfilled. Your job isn't over until Ross sprays his load... and, by the looks of it, you'll be working for the rest of the night.

_________________________________

Thanks for reading❤️❤️❤️!!!

#starry eyes #ross lynch #ross lynch belly/tummy #ross lynch navel #smut fic #ross lynch smut

201 notes · View notes

darklyndivinely · 4 months

Text

Let Me Love You

Pairing - Lucifer x gn!reader

Warnings - angst, fluff, talk of death, alcohol use.

Wordcount - 900+

A/N - Doomed by the narrative but choosing to keep going? I eat that shit up every time! Headers by @cafekitsune.

OM!Masterlist • Leave a tip! • Taglist Form • Lucifer Masterlist

“How long are you going to pretend?” you whisper, tracing the shadows the lapis lazuli-coloured fire casts across his face, sleek and wild and volatile in their density. “That this thing between us doesn’t exist? That I’m not hopelessly in love with you?”

Lucifer takes a hearty swill of the Demonus cradled in his hands. His eyes, lidded and opalescent red, connect with yours with the soft, lingering start of a violin solo in the background, and he tongues at the aftertaste of alcohol that lingers on his lips before saying, “Is this not enough? Being serenaded by my beloved music? Bearing witness to my delicate state?”

“What are you so afraid of?” You burrow deeper into the plush of the sofa, the conjoined dynamic heat of the fire, liquor and the outline of his body pressed against yours keeping your lips loose. “Death?”

"Only yours," he replies, voice deeper than usual. "Mine would be a miracle gone rogue.”

The cold of the floor has started to nip at your toes, seeping into sock and skin like algae embracing wet stone. The hearth sputters a burst of blue flame as if to soothe you. “Before or after mine?”

He answers in silence, loud and unsurprising. You shake your head and take a sip of your human poison to quell the uncertain thrill of your next words.

“...Do you, though?”

His eyes are frothing drops of blood in a sea of fire. They flicker infinitesimally downwards to your lips, then straighten, boring intensely into yours like a tantalizing still of the dawning sun that causes harm to the eyes yet coaxes the body to halt anyway.

“You know it.”

“And yet you dare not utter the words.” Disappointment unfurls in your chest like a weed in a flourishing farm.

He roughly pulls at his bottle, only to discover it light and empty. “Are you truly so greedy for those frail utterances to deliberately shy from actuality?”

"I'm only human," you spit, emptying your glass sharply, perhaps to draw attention to the liquor that evades his own flask. The subsequent burn in your throat then that seems to mimic the knot in your sternum comes across as irritating and deserved. "Spare me the condescension on days I grow tired of mute pining."

Lucifer swallows harshly, seeming to push down the words already half-formed on his tongue, setting his lacking bottle aside neglectfully. He abandons his seat and trudges towards his beloved liquor cabinet, plucking forth a bottle of Devildom whiskey which he then uncorks with his teeth and takes a burning swig from. The muscles of his shoulders, clad in his regular black shirt, are bunched from sitting in a cruel wooden chair gazing at papers all day. He lingers by the cabinet for a long while, head turned left to stare in a reverie at the creamy Devildom moon looming beyond the glass windows of his office, a psychedelic rock-esque orchestral piece providing the soundtrack for his musings. The hand clasped around the fresh bottle remains limp by his side, the neck tilted at a dangerous axis.

When he turns, there is an expression of resolution in his eyes. He rests the bottle carefully on the farthest edge of the table and kneels by your socked feet. You straighten in surprise, the sudden movement disorienting to your inebriated senses, and stare at the odd image of him there.

"What are you doing?"

He clasps a hand of yours in his and tugs it towards his lips, feathering upon your knuckles a sweet kiss, then presses the back of it to his forehead, where his black diamond might shine if he were to switch to his more primal form. It seems the thought of it occurs to him too for there's a gust of air that buffets you, two massive raven wings unfurling and curling around your lonesome figure, and the mass of his horns emerging to face you at an exposed incline.

He does not look up as he speaks, voice hazy with an encompassing mixture of regret and realization, "I did not say it, perhaps because it was I who lost sight of actuality within the confusing folds of past and future. You're here, you're real, and though you might say that you shall stay forever we both know you lie. We've wasted too much time already and I apologize for how much of that is a fault of mine."

Lucifer raises his head, his eyes just the littlest bit shiny, and slides your palm to rest over his chest, his beating heart a staccato of vulnerability and discomposure.

"Would you go on a date with me, my love?"

It takes a few moments worth of weighing the significance of the scene that has unfolded before your very eyes before the words come bubbling out of your parted lips:

"Yes. Yes, always."

He shifts forward, retracting his wings and horns and nudges his head into your lap. "Do not worry, I'll ask you again tomorrow."

"The answer will remain the same, Lucifer." You entangle your fingers in his silky black strands, bending over to press a kiss to the naked skin of his nape. "I would love to go on a date with you."

He smiles then, partially hidden by the turn of his head. If he circles a hand around your waist to trace a vague symbol against your lower spine and doesn't detangle from the heat of your body for the next fifteen minutes, then it's no one's business but yours alone.

Taglist - @w01f2 @bookoffracturedescapes

#lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me shall we date #obey me #lucifer x gender neutral reader #lucifer x gn!reader #darkly and divinely written #obey me x reader #lucifer #lucifer fluff #lucifer x you #obey me!

83 notes · View notes

silverzoomies · 11 months

Text

Sunlight

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: shameless smut, fingering, kissing, first time, loss of virginity, female reader (sorry), mutant/clairvoyant reader, porn with (slight) plot, clunky writing

word count: 5,908

a/n: got a couple requests for a virgin/inexperienced reader. apologies if this one's kinda weird, idk !!! aaaaaaa !!

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

You were surprised to find someone you clicked with, after dipping your toes into the metaphorical dating pool. He was an incredibly nice guy, who wasn't bothered by your lack of experience with relationships; nor did he mind your bizarre, clairvoyant mutation. With him, you began your first, serious relationship.

He seemed to respect that you were a bit...inexperienced. Being a virgin, you were fearful of sharing yourself intimately. And growing up, you always lived a fairly sheltered life. In fact, you were so withdrawn from all things sexual; you barely even masturbated much. Somehow, you never figured it out. Embarrassingly enough.

Despite this, your new boyfriend never pressured you. He waited patiently, and didn’t seem to mind doing so.

At the six month mark, you felt comfortable enough to take things a step further. For once in your life, finally, you were going to do it. To 'go all the way,' as they say. Just as you’d always imagined doing, in your lonesome, teenage years. Sex was one of the many experiences you felt you missed out on back then.

But out of nowhere…

He cut you off.

Your first boytoy (since however long, you couldn’t remember) gave you no word of warning. The only reason you discovered the truth behind why, was through your mutation. You came to his apartment for answers. And the moment your knuckles connected with his door, the unfortunate knowledge swarmed your mind. You saw everything.

He found someone else. A prettier girl he’d taken into his bed. She was more than willing to sleep with him. After only a few, short dates behind your back.

Your heart shattered to pieces.

Spending the day in a melancholy state; you went about your business as normal. During training with Charles and the other X-Men, you struggled to exercise your abilities. But Charles could tell something was keeping you distracted. Whether or not he looked inside your mind to see for himself, you didn’t know. But after offering his usual, warm-hearted reassurances; he let you off for the rest of the day.

Sometime at the end of the night, the X-Men returned from that day’s mission. And after everyone in the mansion had gone off to bed, Peter found you. He came speeding by with his goggles hanging from his fingers. And he clumsily slid to a stop behind the couch, his shoes skidding along the hardwood floor.

"You know Charles can't stand it when you scuff up his floor like that." You teased in gloomy montone.

You were curled up on the sofa, in one of the X-mansion lounges. A thin blanket covered your form, as you watched reruns of Fraggle Rock on TV. Of course, Peter instantly knew, the moment he laid his brown eyes on you. Something was wrong. He could always see through any smile you forced.

In mere seconds, you were surrounded by boatloads of your favorite snacks. Several stacks of books in various genres appeared on the coffee table before you. As well as a wide selection of VHS tapes and TV-show box sets. And without tearing your gaze from the TV, you laughed, shaking your head.

Peter sat at the opposite side of the couch, giving you your space. He leaned back against the armrest, with his legs stretched in front of him. And you adjusted in your spot, letting Peter rest his sock-clad feet in your lap. Gazing over his form, you stared blankly at the Alice Cooper shirt he wore. And for a moment, you wondered why Peter was always so nice to you.

He joked around with you for a short while. Doing his best to take your mind off your shitty ex-boyfriend.

And sure, spending time with one of your best pals gave you some sense of relief. Peter was a master at using his goofy charm and clever wit to cheer you up.

But your heart ached too deeply, and he knew. He could see it in your eyes, in the way you avoided his gaze.

“Hey, babe, look at me.” He threw you a nod of his head, insistent. And you cast a sorrowful glance in his direction, “Seriously, don’t sweat it over that guy. Yer wastin’ yer time. Dude doesn’t know he’s missin’ out on the coolest girl this side of the Mississippi!”

A force so faint it was barely noticeable, made itself known in the back of your mind. Clairvoyance strikes again. And in its metaphorical palms, it handed you a piece of knowledge you couldn’t make sense of. Something warm. Like shimmering, summer sunlight on your skin.

Unsure as to what it meant, you chose to ignore its warmth. Surely, it would come to you again later. As it always did.

Smiling sadly, you dropped your gaze to the Star Wars logo pattern on Peter’s socks. Absent-mindedly, you tugged on a loose piece of lint sticking from his foot.

“Thanks... I really do appreciate you sayin’ that, dude.” You shook your head, sighing again, “Guess he just got tired of waiting.”

“Waitin’ on what?” Peter asked with a brow raised.

You shot him a serious look. And Peter seemed to catch the hint then. He nodded his head in understanding.

“Ohhhh…the virg-...yeah. I kinda forgot about that, sorry.” He shrugged, chomping into a Hostess Ding Dong cake, “That’s really fuckin’ uncool of him, though. Dude’s a total dick! Not that you need me to tell you.”

You nodded, fixing your gaze to the flickering TV screen across from you. A cheesy, romantic 7-UP commercial played in low-resolution quality. And Peter repeated the commercial’s silly lines in a mocking tone, making you giggle.

Throwing your head back, you groaned.

“Today was gonna be the day, dude! I was ready! I was finally ready to open myself up like that to someone, and…” Your words trailed off into silence, as you were too embarrassed to continue. And you shook your head once more, “Uhm…so, I’m feelin’, like, totally discouraged now."

Peter sat up, pulling his legs from your lap. He scooted towards you on the couch. And as he did, you followed, inching yourself into his space. The blanket fell from your torso, and Peter moved close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

You felt it again then. Summertime warmth. Rays of light on your skin. A cozy sprinkle of something unknown in the back of your mind. Glimmering faintly, so indecipherable.

“Aw, what? All cuz ‘a that guy? Babe, you really don’t gotta-”

“No-uhm…I mean, I feel like-” You snorted, covering your face with a hand. And you bashfully laughed, “Not to sound dramatic? But it feels like it’s all over for me, Peter! I’m a grown adult! I still haven’t had my cherry popped! Did you know, I never even had my first kiss until my late twenties? Ain’t that, like, super embarrassing?” You groaned, running your hands through your hair.

Peter blew a raspberry, waving a hand at you dismissively.

“Whaaaaat?? Pfffbbt! Dude, that’s not-...lots ‘a people don’t get to bang ‘til they’re way past their prime ‘er whatever. It happens! People 're late bloomers! What’s the rush?” He snapped his fingers suddenly, “Hey, check it. Did you know, I didn’t lose my v-card ‘til I was like…what? Twenty four?”

You blinked, and Peter held a box of Ding Dongs in hand. Like magic, it seemed as though the treats appeared from nowhere. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he was a magician. Though, he probably grabbed it from the pile of snacks he left littered around you. You laughed, skeptical of his confession. And reaching forward, you slipped your hand inside the box for a chocolatey, snack cake.

“Oh, get the hell outta here! No way!” You giggled, gently slapping his chest with the back of your hand, “It took you that long? You? I don’t believe that for a second, Peter!”

“Hey, believe whatever you want!” He held up a hand in mock surrender, and set the box of snacks on the floor, “I was a total loser then, babe! Fuckin’ A, I’m still a loser! I’m just a loser people recognize on the street!” Peter chuckled, biting into another Ding Dong, “Look, my point is - you’ll get there someday! And fer what it’s worth?”

Peter placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. And you nibbled on your own chocolate, Hostess treat.

“The one who gets to share somethin’ like that with you? He’s the luckiest guy in this whole stinkin’ world!"

Warmth again.

Sunny yellow, blissful pink. The comforting sensation eased itself to the forefront of your mind. And though you still couldn't deduce where it was coming from, or what it meant...you found peace in it.

And a little something else.

Feeling your cheeks steadily burn, you swallowed nervously. Peter’s hand on your shoulder seemed hotter and weightier where it lay. And somewhere between your legs, a pleasant ache stirred to life. Causing you to instinctively squeeze your thighs together for relief.

“Y-You’re way too sweet to me, dude. Thank you!” You shook your head again. A sudden sense of mild frustration boiled in your blood, “If I can be honest? I’m, like, soooo tired of waiting! I wish I could just…get it over with! I know I shouldn’t want to, but…it’d be nice to stop wonderin’ about it all the time! Auuughh…”

“I get it, dude. I do! But, like, you really don’t want yer first time to be disappointing.” Peter said in a soft tone, swallowing down yet another cream-filled cake, “I know it sounds totally cliche. But you should wait fer the right person! Isn’t that wayyyy better than givin’ yerself to any ol’ creep?” He smiled sincerely, squeezing your shoulder a bit tighter, “And trust me. You’ll know the right person when you meet ‘em. I-it’s like…a feelin’ in yer gut.”

Peter paused then, stopping to nibble his lip in thought. And he awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Sorry, that sounds-...ahaha…that’s super cheesy, huh?”

“Not at all, actually!” You said, giving Peter a sweet grin. Scooting a smidge closer, you leaned your head on his shoulder, “I think that’s very nice of you to say, Peter. I mean, I know you’re right! I definitely want it to be with someone I trust. That’s for sure.”

A tiny splotch of cream decorated the corner of Peter's lips, and you brushed it away with a thumb. Without thinking, you sucked that thumb into your mouth, running your tongue over it. Sugary sweetness greeted your tastebuds. And Peter swallowed hard, raising a brow.

"Gross." He passively mumbled through a smile. And you giggled again.

Dreamy, summertime warmth swarmed to a blazing fire.

On a normal day, your clairvoyance allowed you to see clear images and concepts in your head. Anything to help you better understand those around you, as well as their intentions. A sixth sense, one might call it. But at this very moment, you could see only colors. Summery yellows and warm oranges, as well as lovey-dovey pinks. All mixing together on an emblematic painter's palette. Blurs of incoherent thought.

And in your body, surging through your veins; you felt heat heat heat.

Peter stifled a nervous cough, and tilted his head down. He rested his cheek against the soft locks of your hair. And you thought you heard him inhale, as though breathing in your scent. But perhaps, you only imagined him doing so.

“Don’t worry so much, though. You’ll find someone! Yer a total catch, babe! I don’t just think so. I know so.” Peter casually moved to wrap a strong arm around you, pulling you even closer into his body, “Ya just gotta be patient, is all! I know that sounds, like, majorly hypocritical comin' from me, but...”

Another pause, and Peter hesitated to continue.

“Until then? You have me. I’m here fer you, kay?” Peter nuzzled his nose into your hair, “Hurts me to see you like this. All sad ‘n stuff, cuz ‘a some dumbshit douchedick. Wish there was somethin’ I could do…”

Cozy, warm colors all collided in your mind, like cloudy nebulas merging into one. They formed a beautiful spectacle of vague, blurry images. Romantic in nature. Conjoined hands. Linked pinkies. Brushing lips. You sucked in a sudden, light breath. A feeling of foreign desire flickered in your lower belly.

Tilting your head up, you observed Peter's face.

Oh.

Had he…always looked so handsome? He was most definitely stunning like this. With his dark eyes heavy-lidded and exhausted, after a long day’s work. Silver stubble barely showed its presence across his sharp jawline. And his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Peter was in such close proximity, that you could feel every breath of air he took. Breaths smelling of sweet, sugary, snack cakes. And you wondered if his lips would taste as nice.

Feeling uncharacteristically bold, you reached up to gently grab his chin between your fingers. Peter’s stubble felt rough under your fingertips. And for some reason, the touch made your body burn even hotter. You brought Peter’s head down to meet his pretty, doe-eyed gaze. And coyly, you smiled.

“I have you, huh?” You playfully teased, “You’re not…suggesting anything by that, are you, Peter?”

Something shifted in his gaze.

A ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ sort of moment. And with that shift; sunlit warmth and romantic imagery shifted in your mind. Those summertime hues of yellow, orange, and pink became born anew. Blossoming to life, as deep purples and dark, lustful reds. Suddenly, that subtle spark of heat flickering in your core set itself ablaze. Your cunt reacted, tingling and dripping wet. A sensation so alien, you weren't even sure what to make of it.

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.” Peter playfully shrugged, holding a mischievous gaze. His tone fell hushed as he spoke, an octave lower, “Who’s to say, huh?”

Biting your lower lip in conflicting thought, you slowly dragged your hand down from his chin. Your fingers trailed unesteady lines across Peter’s chest, feeling his toned body under your fingertips. Sucking in a breath, you felt your pussy flutter with a budding yearn for…him? Was it him your body wanted, and ached for so desperately?

And curiously, you wondered, was Peter the source of your clairvoyant confusion? No...he couldn't be...could he?

“For what it’s worth, Peter? If I trust anybody that much…I trust you.”

Peter kept his cheshire grin. He brought his hand up to pull yours from his chest, cradling it. His own hand dwarfed the size of yours by comparison, and Peter grazed a thumb gently into your skin.

“Do you?” He whispered, speaking in a more suggestive tone, “Y’know, babe…I could be wayyyy more than just a shoulder to cry on. If you catch my drift.” Peter pressed a delicate kiss to your knuckles, “I wouldn’t mind doin’ you a solid.” His voice fell more hushed, “And you know I’d take such good care of you, baby…”

Your eyes widened, making you appear all the more vulnerable and innocent. His sensual implication made you tremble with unfamilair need, and you reacted with an inaudible squeak.

“Y-You’d do that for-uhm…for me?” You stammered. A bit embarrassed by your own flourishing lust, you struggled to whisper, “P-Peter…would you-uh…would you…kiss me? I really want you to kiss me…"

Looking down into your pleading eyes with a half-lidded gaze, Peter taunted you in a teasing hum.

“I might…if you ask me nicely.”

His salacious tone could've softened you into putty, easily moldable in his vascular hands.

“Uhm-...would you kiss me, Peter? Pretty please?” You fluttered your lashes, pure innocence painted across your blushing features, “Pretty please with lots of snack cakes on top?”

Peter snickered, huffing soft breaths, ghosting your lips. A needle-fine hint of understanding peeked its way through his mischievous gaze. And despite his fast-paced nature, he took his time with you.

The moment his lips connected with yours, your mutation reacted.

Hazy images, misty with erotic lust, became slightly more crisp. Like opening one's eyes to the dim light of dawn, and sleepily rolling over to find a lover in bed. You saw again, conjoined hands in heated passion. Linked pinkies making private promises. Brushing lips followed by intertwining tongues. Faintly, you heard a distant whisper of...something. You weren't sure what. All you knew was that it hinted towards loving fondness, and sultry devotion.

Peter kissed you as gently as he possibly could, allowing you to take the reins completely. Never before, had you kissed anyone beyond a simple peck on the lips. And Peter knew.

But as sweltering, lecherous desire surged through your veins, you suddenly found your courage. Oh, you wanted Peter so badly, and to feel the touch of his masculine hands on you. You kissed him back with heated eagerness. Timid, cautious movements of your soft lips turned quick and heavy. As you let your tongue meet Peter’s in a warm, wet embrace. Mimicking those scandalous visions brought upon by your mutant gift.

And, thank heavens, he tasted just as sweet as you imagined.

He leaned further in with a hand to your chest, inching you slowly backwards on the couch. Peter pulled himself from your kiss for a few, short beats. And you chased after him, seeking the feel of his skillful tongue in your mouth again.

“Shhh. Hold on there, eager beaver-” He laughed, breathing a whisper into your lips, “Let’s take this slow, okay? Just tell me if you wanna stop, baby. Seriously.”

"Mmmm...don't stop. I never wanna stop." You hummed, pulling him back in. And he chuckled, huffing soft breaths from his nose.

Peter kissed you passionately for a few moments longer, letting you explore his body with your hands. He was careful not to touch you too intimately yet. Keeping his own hands on your face, Peter cradled your cheeks. But the longer he avoided trailing his fingers downward, the more you ached for his touch. Breathlessly, you pulled away. And you looked into Peter’s eyes, your own sparkling with lubricious intent.

“C-Can you please touch me, Peter?” You begged, your voice high-pitched and needy, “I don’t even know what’s goin’ on with me right now. But…I know I want your hands on me.”

“Oh? Where do you want me to touch you, baby?” Peter asked, his tone hushed and teasing, “Here?” He lowered one of his hands to your neck, hot fingertips dragging across your skin.

You shuddered, feeling sparks pepper throughout your body. Shaking your head, you squeaked a disapproving sound.

“No? Awww…” Peter continued to taunt you, lowering those same fingertips to the valley between your breasts. Your top was low-cut, allowing him easy access, “Here?”

“Nooooooo~!” You giggled through a more desperate whine. In another fit of unexpected bravery, you grabbed both of Peter’s wrists. And you guided his hands under your shirt, letting his palms cup your breasts, “Here! Stop teasin’ me!”

“Wooooahhh-” Peter groaned, lifting your shirt up over your head, "Hell-o, mama..."

His half-lidded, dark gaze settled on your tits. Instead of unclasping your bra, he simply tugged it down. Letting his teeth sink into his lip, Peter reached out to palm your breasts again. Fondling the soft plush of them in his big hands. He brushed your nipples with his thumbs, pinching the hardened buds every few beats.

“Am I, like-...would it be weird to say yer tits are totally slammin’?” Peter mumbled, moving in to kiss you again.

You bashfully chuckled, shaking your head. Running your hands through his hair, you tugged gently on soft locks of silver.

The two of you made out on the couch, in the middle of the X-mansion, like a couple of troublesome teenagers. And the subconscious fear that someone could walk in at any moment, made you all the more lustfully excited. You moaned quietly into Peter’s hot mouth. Submitting to him entirely, you allowed his hands to explore every inch of your untouched, virgin body.

“This okay?” He politely asked, his fingers meeting the button of your shorts, “Just say the word if you want me to stop, 'kay?”

You nodded, a little too enthusiastic. And you spread your legs more open, allowing Peter to crawl further in between.

“I-I’m a little-uhm…nervous…” You whispered in a shy breath. And you braced your hands on Peter’s broad shoulders, “...but I trust you.” Peering up at him with a beady eyed, innocent gaze, you mumbled, “Make me feel good, Peter.”

His cock throbbed in his jeans, straining underneath the suffocating fabric. Peter helped shimmy your shorts down over your thighs, along with your delicate, lace panties. Bringing his hand down to your leaking pussy, he toyed with your clit under deft fingers.

Having your clit played with felt like an entirely new, alien sensation. Blissful tingles fired through your sensitive bud, causing a tightening tickle in your gut. You gasped, squirming under the skilled touch of Peter’s fingers. He circled your delicate, little clit in careful motions. With his brows furrowed, Peter watched you intently. As you reveled in a newfound feeling of euphoric pleasure.

His fingers inched down through your lips, and Peter braved a single finger into your virgin walls. Your cunt squeezed tightly around his one, lone digit. And as he fucked you with his finger, he leaned in to capture you in a sweet, soft kiss.

“Want me to take us somewhere else? Just real quick? I can take us somewhere more private.” Peter suggested, peppering your neck in hot, mouthy kisses. Keeping you somewhat distracted with his hushed words, Peter inched a second digit into your pussy. Stretching you just a smidge wider, “I know you probably don’t wanna risk anyone walkin’ in when-”

Rocking your hips greedily into his fingers, you shook your head. Your hands dug blunt nails into Peter’s shoulder blades over his t-shirt. And you softly whined, feeling your cunt clench tighter around his thick digits. Peter knit his brows together. He groaned under his breath, feeling the warm pulsation of your pussy against his skin.

“N-No! No, right here, please? Right now. I want you so bad, Peter, baby. We can just hide under the blanket! No one’ll see!” You insisted, keeping your voice quiet.

As you pleaded with Peter so desperately; you eagerly fucked your virgin pussy on his fingers.

Surprised by your boldness, Peter raised his brows. He smirked, dragging his lips teasingly across your jaw. When his lips met yours once more, he kissed you wet and rough. Peter moaned, letting his tongue swirl with yours in a thirst for your cute whines. His fingers fucked their way skillfully through your slick walls, stretching you open even further. Allowing your pussy to become accustomed to his intrusion.

“Yeah, baby? You want my dick that bad? Want me to fuck you right here, princess?” Peter moaned through a smirk, his teeth playfully nipping at your lip, “Yer kinda bad, aren’t you?”

Blushing profusely, you found yourself at a loss for words. Peter laughed into your lips, his grin spreading wider. Adjusting positions, he moved to spoon you on the sofa. Peter concealed both your heated, lustful bodies under your blanket. A less than favorable attempt, since the flimsy thing barely kept the two of you covered. With your soft, round ass pressed against his crotch; Peter let his palms feel the smooth skin of your thighs. Dancing fingertips across every, etched-in stretch mark.

He fumbled with his belt, undoing his jeans and tugging them hastily down. Turning in your spot, you reached for Peter’s crotch. Brushing timid fingers over the bulge in his underwear, you pulled your lip between your teeth. A damp stain of precum peeked through the fabric, wetting your skin.

"Can I-...can I touch it?” You asked in a courteous, careful tone. And Peter's cock visibly twitched, pulsating under your bashful fingers.

Grinning confidently to himself, Peter pulled his heavy, leaking cock from its confines. Upon seeing such a girthy dick in person for the first time, your mouth instantly watered. Drool pooled over your tongue, and you swallowed it down. You awkwardly reached out to wrap a hand around the twitching length, giving his cock a cautious stroke.

Peter brought his hand up to yours, engulfing your fingers as he guided you. He helped you build the perfect amount of pressure, as well as the most ideal speed to stroke his cock. You followed his motions carefully, pleasuring him in the exact way he showed you. Careful not to squeeze too hard.

At least until he uttered the hushed, sinful words, "Harder, baby."

You followed suit, increasing pressure. Peter dropped his head, his forehead meeting your chin. Frazzled, silver hairs tickling your face. He groaned, his burning cock pulsating with soft vibrations in your hand. Precum wept from the tip. And Peter nudged his hips a little, coaxing his cock through the firm squeeze of your fist.

“Ohhh…just like that, babygirl.” He moaned, the corner of his lips quirking up in a grin, “Yer a fuckin’ natural.”

“I-It’s so big, Peter…” You whispered, skittish and embarrassed. Experimentally, you stroked his thick cock in a tighter grip, “I dunno if it’s gonna fit.”

Bringing his head up to meet you in a heated kiss, Peter growled a low sound.

“Mmmmm…we’ll make it work.” He hummed hotly into your lips, "I'll be so careful, I promise."

Nodding, you turned in your spot, letting Peter spoon you again. With your ass cheeks pressed against him, Peter directed his cock to your dripping entrance. Giving himself a few generous strokes, he pushed his smooth tip into your cunt. Peter alternated between glancing down, watching his cock slide inside you; and he checked your reaction for any obvious signs of pain.

“F-Fuck, you okay?” Peter asked quietly, squeezing his cock through your plush, wet walls. With a vunerable, little whimper; you nodded. And Peter let his lidded, dark eyes roll back, "Ohhhhhhhhhh - damn, that's tight."

Peter moved with a level of careful patience you never imagined he had.

Feeling a girthy cock force its length through your pussy was painful at first, and extremely unfamiliar. But as Peter edged in at a cautious, slow pace, careful not to hurt you; you felt your cunt adjust. Until you were so lubricious and wet, Peter’s entire length finally bottomed out deep inside you. The bulbous head of his dick brushed your cervix. At last, you were on cloud nine.

It was a sensation unlike any you’d ever experienced, one you could feel so deep in the pit of your stomach. A gnawing, carnal pleasure. Like electric shocks of static through your core.

Finally, Peter let himself fuck you. Thrusting into your unbearably tight cunt at a more consistent pace. He angled his movements in just the right way, allowing his hard length to collide with those most sensitive, squishy bits inside you. Your stomach tightened, and you felt your gummy walls suffocate Peter’s cock. Peter reached under the thin fabric of the blanket, his fingers finding your clit.

“P-Peter, oh my god!” You squeaked his name, “I-I feel so…oooooooh~” Instinctively rocking your ass into Peter’s thrusts, you moaned a little louder. Bracing a hand on the couch tightly, you dug your fingernails into the plush of it, “Oh fuck! Oh god! Y-You feel so good! Feels so good, but soooo - ah - so weird!”

Breaking your own train of thought to mewl another flurry of moans, you bounced your ass cheeks into Peter’s pelvis. Confused about your own needs, you couldn’t help but seek that tightening feeling deep in your core. You wanted to chase it like an addictive high. To get drunk on the sensation of a thick cock tearing through your innocent cunt.

“AH!” You whined a little too loudly, “P-Peter, it f-feels like you’re gonna break me!”

Peter plunged his hot length deeper inside your pussy, fucking you harder and faster with every passing moment. Keeping his fingers occupied with your clit, he rubbed quick, but light circles into the bud. Maybe adding a little, subtle vibration here or there. Just to tease. And you squealed, covering your mouth with a hand to conceal your desperate noises.

“Ohhhhhh, babygirl, you gotta be quiet, okay?” Peter whispered, his voice breaking into a choked moan, “Fuuuuuuuuuck! Yer so fuckin’ wet. Takin’ me so easy.”

Overwhelmed by the pleasure Peter gifted you, your eyes pooled with heavy tears. They spilled over in glistening streaks down your burning, scarlet cheeks. Thick drool dripped from your tongue, dribbling down your chin as your jaw went slack. Your pussy followed suit, weeping hot slick with every thrust of Peter’s cock.

His nonstop stimulation to your sensitive clit made you feel on the verge of bursting. An explosion of ecstasy waiting just beyond the horizon of your first, carnal fucking.

“F-Feel like I’m-” You cried, squealing little moans through your tears, “O-Oh! W-What the fuck? P-Peter, I feel like I’m gonna leak all over you! I’m sorry! I-I’m so sorry!”

“No no no no no, princess. Yer doin’ so fuckin’ good. Yer gonna cum, baby. Just – ohmygod – let it happen. Let it go, baby.” Peter groaned, fucking your innocent, little pussy at a less forgiving, more relentless pace, “Cum fer me, please.”

“OoooooooohHHMYGOD!” You bit your lip with a bruising force to keep yourself quiet. Your body trembled, uncontrollably shaking as you unraveled on Peter’s cock, “Peter, your cock feels too big! Too big, it’s breaking me! Fuck! FUCK!”

Something brand new, scorching hot and lustfully exotic ripped through your body. With a sensation unforgiving and so intense; you came. Spraying your succulent nectar all over Peter’s cock, you drenched him in a fierce gush of ecstasy. In that instant, you broke free from the shackles of innocence.

And he felt every last, filthy, wet moment of it.

“Sh-Shit! Yeah???” Peter cursed, dropping his sharp nose into your neck. He whispered hotly, “God, I can feel you fuckin’ cum, babygirl. Feels fuckin’ outrageous. So tight. Soooo fuckin’ tight-” Squeezing his eyes shut, Peter threw his head back with a deep, choked groan, “F-FUCK! Can I cum inside you? Huh? Wanna cum inside this cute, little pussy. Please please please please please-”

Nodding frantically, you shifted in your spot. And you pulled Peter down for a messy, clumsy kiss.

“Whatever you want! Please!” You begged.

Enthusiastically meeting each of Peter’s rough thrusts, you fucked yourself hard on his cock.

Mindlessly drunk on the unyielding allure of your pussy, Peter lost all control of his actions. He drilled his cock inside you at a pace so beyond humanly fast. Sending you on a collision course towards complete submission. After a few more chaotic thrusts, he spilled his thick heat deep into your needy pussy.

Peter buried his nose in your neck again, mumbling soft praises into your skin.

“L-Love you so much. Love you. Love you. Love you. Never gonna let anybody hurt you again. Yer mine. All mine. My good girl. Sooooo fuckin’ good.” Peter senselessly muttered in a speedy flurry of words, spilling the last of his hot cum inside you.

A flash of scorching light burst within your mind. Every intimate vision you'd seen before, along with each, summery sensation...became suddenly clear. Crisp and bright, like sunlight through a glassy window. In that instant, at last, you knew. Clairvoyance had been trying to pass you the secret, forbidden knowledge that Peter cared for you. On a deeper, much more intimate level than buddy-buddy friendship.

And your stomach erupted in gleeful butterflies.

Coming down from his rapturous high, Peter slowly raised his head. He threw you a cheeky grin, giggling and looking into your eyes through his own, lazy gaze. He appeared completely unaware of the fact that he'd just confessed his most personal feelings.

Romantic feelings. For you. Holy shit.

“Y-You okay? That feel good ‘er what?” He hummed, leaning in to kiss you passionately, “You were so fuckin’ amazing, babe. Sure yer okay? No pain ‘er anything?”

Uncertain, overwhelmed, and completely spent; you nodded. With blush burning in your cheeks, you pressed a soft kiss to his nose.

“I-I’m wonderful, Peter. Thank you.” And you giggled, avoiding his eyes, “That was…fantastic. Thank you for-uhm…for doin’ that for me. I-...I couldn't have asked for anyone better. You're perfect.”

Peter snorted, laughing doubtfully in response to your kindly words.

Your body continued to tremble uncontrollably, and you felt sticky tears staining your cheeks. After pressing playful, loving kisses to your temple, Peter disappeared for half a second. By the time he returned, in the blink of an eye; you were all cleaned up and refreshed. Your shorts were tucked back into place, your shirt covering your torso once more. And Peter threw that flimsy blanket over you, tucking you in as he held you close.

"Oh my god...wow..." You gasped, surprised at his careful, caring treatment, "How many times can I even thank you, dude?"

And he scoffed, waving you off.

"Fer what? Basic human decency? Nahhh, don't worry 'bout it, babe." Peter dabbed at your remaining tears with a cool, wet rag, "I'm hopin' to god nobody heard what kinda nasty stuff we just did...because damn...that was...phew." He exhaled a breath for comedic effect. Peter shook his head, appearing shocked at himself.

"Too late." A deep, rough voice called quietly from the hall. A groggy, shirtless Logan came walking by, only stopping to address the two of you. With a large hand pressed to the doorframe, he pointed to Peter with his other, "Might wanna take that shit somewhere else next time, bub. There’re kids sleepin’ upstairs, fuck’s sake.”

Logan sauntered off then, grumbling in low whispers to himself. You sank further into Peter’s arms, covering your heated face with your hands. And Peter snickered. He mouthed a hushed 'shit', his own cheeks tinted in a rose-y hue.

"I might like you too, by the way." You suddenly muttered, your quiet voice somewhat muffled by your hands, "In a more-than-buds kinda way, I mean."

Another spark of joyous sunlight shined through your mind. And this time, you knew exactly where it came from.

Peter.

"Oh, fuck, wait-" Peter closed his eyes tightly, cursing himself. He remembered, in that moment, what he'd mindlessly confessed while busting a nut, "Shiiiiiit. I'm just embarrassin' the hell outta myself tonight, aren't I? Haha…" He paused, and realization appeared to dawn on him, "Waaaiit wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait-"

"Yeah?" You peeked shyly through your hands, "I'm waitin'..."

And Peter smiled, as warm as the sunny visions he'd been unknowingly sending you all throughout the night.

"So, does that make us, like, a thing now? Like, a thing thing? Because that'd be really fuckin' awesome."

You reached down to the floor, grabbing a box of snack cakes you kicked off the couch at some point. It was lying in a pile of other snacks, each an unfortunate victim of your lustful scuffle with Peter.

Ripping open a cake and turning your attention back to Fraggle Rock on TV, you playfully shrugged.

"Maybe. Maybe not." You bit into the sweet dessert, "Who's to say, huh?"

Abruptly barking a laugh, Peter attacked your cheeks in kisses galore.

#peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x y/n #smut #fic requests #txt

389 notes · View notes

rawiswarr · 4 months

Text

Rock 'n' Sock Connection

#wwe #wwf #the rock #dwayne johnson #mick foley #mankind #wwe gifs #tag team #00s #funny

77 notes · View notes

wroteclassicaly · 1 year

Text

A/N: This has no title, it’s unedited, I started writing it last night because I’m just a slut for Joe K’s hands. And I’ve been in a Steve mood for a few days, so here is this trash… lol.

Warnings: Language, NSFW, smutty content, & grinding.

Steve Harrington’s hands are gonna be the ultimate undoing of your young adult life. The prominent veins that path across the top of them and through his defined forearms. The tendons that flex with each movement the limb makes, whether it’s to grip your hand in his, hold onto a weapon to defend your formed family, or even use a pen at work. Then there’s how his fingers taste, depending on whatever he’s eaten, today, however, they like the sugar off his cinnamon twist donut he’d previously scarfed down, as they press on your tongue, wiggling, while his fat sock is nestled against your thighs, pushed into your swollen labia, not yet venturing inside. His tip is red, cock throbbing, jumping at every brush your dripping slick makes, catching on his member and stretching between you two with a sticky shine. His jugular looks deliciously snack worthy, as his tongue is bared to glide atop his bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth to bite down, his hand (that isn’t in your mouth), paused around your thigh.

You’re practically purring like a little kitten, rocking into that hefty palm of his. “Stevie, touch me. Please?”

You fumble to find your top and tug it off with a bra cup, lacing your fingers through his left hand, hoisting him into a splayed caress. Your nipple immediately hardens against his stimulating touch, and you lose all self control, his fingers popping free from your tongue. “Yeah, daddy?”

Steve’s pupils are blown so wide, it’s a mere hazel ring, flecks of cinnamon floating within his pupils. “Oh, honey, please.” He’s begging, fighting every carnal urge not to take hold of his cock and fuck you until your muscles are sore, body weak, and your cunt full of his spend for the rest of the day.

You leave his guided hand on your breast, your hands pushing beneath his shirt and sweater combo, running through tufts of thick chest hair. He moves to cradle your jaw when your nails pinch his nipples, mouth lowering to attack his neck with your littering bites. He tosses his head back against the headrest, swallowing into a particularly warm flick of your tongue over his adam’s apple. His windows have long since streaked with winter’s condensation and shared panting breaths. Steve isn’t even inside you yet, but he’s close to coming before anything begins.

You smirk as he places a meaty hand across your lower back for further support, his spread legs stretching out beneath you, hairy thighs tickling the backs of your calves, his pants and boxers around his ankles, his belt buckling clinking with his movements. “Swear m’ gonna cum if you don’t stop that, sweetheart.”

“Already? You’re not even inside me, baby.” Your hands remove themselves from his sweater, greedily messing up his chocolate tresses, tugging, making his cock jump against your clit, a sopping wetness spilling from your cunt and slicking the curls at the base of his shaft with your cream.

It’s an audible noise within the confines of his fancy car, and it has you both looking down to see where you’re close to connecting. Steve’s mouth is swollen and shining with spit, a thoughtful consideration indenting a pout into his lips. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen your pussy this wet before. Fuck.”

“I want your hands all over me. Need you so bad, Steve.”

Like a dose of electrified endorphins, Steve is squeezing your breast, rolling it within his heavy handed vice, his other curling at your neck’s nape. “Yeah? Only me?”

It’s always him. Only him.

#my writing #my work #kristenwrites #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things smut

451 notes · View notes

lemondemonpickuplines · 1 month

Text

happy Damn Skippy birthday! here's a pickup line for each song on the album:

are you my brine shrimp pals? because I love you and you're my friends.

i wish we were construction paper dolls, connected by the hands with tiny little faces

if I'm the King, you're the pumpkin pie that fills me with glee. I'd offer a castle for your recipes.

I'd like you to destroy my robot...? ok they can't all be winners

if we were together we'd be so far out it'd be creepy.

be the Jimi Hendrix Jr. to my rock n' roll soccer mom <3

you make me remember there are days to wake up for and dreams to be had.

you could call my "kitten" Random Pieces of Lint if you're wildly attacking it... ;)

I'd like us to devote all of our time to the floor, but not exactly because we're looking at the ceiling 😩

when you kiss me I become completely lost upon your eyes, completely crossed, and hypnotized

I'd like you to put your body on display with your jedi costume on...

you rock the stripes right outta my socks!

every crayon color is like an old friend, but only you're a godsend to me

-i'd like to be gargling your saliva in my mouth like Neil does during the bridge of rainwater

If you put vanilla behind your ears I'll be smelling your cookie all day 🤤

let's close our eyes and spin in our chair together

you make me feel as out of breath as if I'd sung the whole bridge of Word Disassociation in one breath.

meltdown is an eventuality, but you're my eventuality.

BONUS:

I'd like for you to come by at Seven o Clock and ask if I'll go out for a walk.

when you put down one mother, you're putting down mothers all over the world, but, uh, if you were my mommy, I'd be okay if you put me down.

if you left me I'd feel as if the Sky Blue Up.

#lemon demon #damn skippy #also i realized while looking at the lyrics for the songs I realized how many christian lyrics are in Dead Sea Monkeys? hello? very odd #finally i know i've been a bit on autopilot with this blog but i'll come back soon i think because i still enjoy it #it's just been a busy semester and I don't really have time to come up with new stuff all the time... ignore the hour i spent on this

37 notes · View notes

askaalaska-vdeppressed · 7 months

Text

Eskel X Reader Kinktober: Squirting

The small cracks and pops from the fire mixed with the serene babbles and splashed from the river as Eskel and Y/n set up camp for the night. The two danced around each other fluidly, in the type of manner that only comes from motions practiced over and over with one another. Eskel would set up a fire and count supplies while Y/n unpacked the bed rolls and tent. Eskel would tend to Scorpion while Y/n cleaned weapons and tack. Eskel would fetch water as Y/n started dinner. On and on this dance would move till the pair were tucked away, asleep.

“Alright” Y/n stood up, riffling through bags and pulling out various pieces of clothing. “I’m going to go do some washing. As she made her way out Eskel couldn’t help but watch her back as she left. A mix of love and lust mixed in his gaze. Y/n had been an unexpected in his life for sure. A young traveling woman, an herbalist by trade, she had quite literally stumbled into his camp and just never left. Her unorthodox lifestyle led her to being not only tolerant of witchers but enthusiastic about them. Things had turned intimate recently between them.The tension of being around one another constantly had finally snapped. Ending up in a completely ruined night's sleep for every unfortunate soul who was staying in the same inn as them that night.

Eskel busied himself around camp, before the boredom set in. He didn’t want to eat without Y/n and the two of them had already prepped everything for the night. After impatiently tapping his feet for a minute or so Eskel rose to join Y/n by the river. Many hands make light work after all. And if the hole he felt in his chest everytime y/n wasn’t near him was an indication of any deeper feelings, he was certainly going to ignore them.

As Eskel got closer his hearing picked up on the slight splashes and ripples in the water caused by Y/n. He could hear her humming a small tune while the dripping of a wrung out shirt hit the moving water of the stream. He finally cleared the brush of the forest, coming out into the clearing of the stream and his mouth went dry. There you were, perched in the center of the stream, shirt wet and now see through clinging to your breasts. It appears you had decided to forgo pants, the shirt just long enough when pulled by the weight of the damp fabric to cover your front. Emphasis on front as the sight of your bare ass peaked out from the bottom, the water of the stream running around it.

Eskel wasn’t aware you knew he was there as he sat and gawked at you for several moments. You focused your eyes ahead of you, counting your breathing to make sure he wasn’t broken from his trance. Then as a sock drifting away from you, snagging on a rock you got a sinister idea. You turned away from the witcher, standing up and positioning yourself perfectly in his eye line. Then you slowly bent over at the waist, going lower and lower to reach the sock.

Eskel could feel his pulse quicken and palms sweat as you rose. The water cascading off of you. His heart just about stopped as you turned from him and began to bend. He flexed his hands at his sides. Swallowing loudly. Your pussy slowly unfurled before him. Lips glistening, pulsing as you took your sweet time retrieving you lost item and wringing it out.

You stood up, still going slowly and measuring your movements. You bit your lip as you heard his ragged breathing behind you.

“Are you going to come join me or?” You let the question die off as the connection clicked in Eskel’s mind that you did that on purpose. Your question was not answered with words but with the splashing of feet as they crossed over. You felt his presence at your back as he swiftly picked you up and took you to the bank, pressing your back against a tree. You looked up at his disheveled appearance, a smirk on your lips and devilish intent in your eyes.

“Oh you don’t know what you’re playing with” Eskel growled. Before you could respond his lips were on yours, domineering and powerful. The rough skin, worn between worried teeth, dragged deliciously over yours. A moan escaping your mouth as you felt his hands caress your sides. He seized this opportunity to breach your mouth with his tongue. Licking up into you as he began fiddling with the clasp of his belt. Just as you were about to open your eyes to see what he was doing he grabbed your legs. Yanking them up and pinning your back against the tree. He slotted his hips into yours, you could feel the heat of his member sitting at your entrance.

Still your cocky smile didn’t waver as you pulled away from the kiss, looking at him from your perch against the tree.

“Really couldn’t go an hour without me could you hmm?” you looked coyly at him as his gaze turned flustered and sinister. He didn’t say anything which struck you as odd before he began breaching into your walls with his cock.

You kept eye contact with him instead of throwing your head back, bit your lip instead of moaning, you really wanted to play this game.

And who was Eskel to deny you a good challenge?

He pulled out almost completely before thrusting back in brutally. His pace was blinding, The bark of the tree dug into your back, the pressure of his legs bounced yours, his head was tucked into your shoulder. You felt ecstasy building in your core from his blistering pace and the friction from the course hair at the base of his cock rubbing your clit. Your arms came up to wrap around Eskel’s shoulders, gripping onto him for support. You could feel his smirk against your skin and you fought further and further to keep your noises and reactions at bay.

Your nails began to dig as you wound tighter and tighter.

“Esk” You all but whispered, but your low town was no match for witcher hearing as Eskel heard you changing the angle of his thrusts to hit that sweet spot in you.

That sent you over the edge, a high pitched whine escaping your pursed lips as you felt your walls pulsate around him. Eskel did not stop though. As you felt yourself become overstimulated you felt Eskel smirk into your skin once more, somehow picking up the pace even further. You came again in record time, and again, and again.

Despite your moans turning into whines Eskel was on a mission. Thrusts still as hard and fast as when he started, sweating forming on his brow but just barely. You both evenvied and cursed his genetically enhanced stamina in that moment, wanting him to keep going but also stop at the same time.

“Eskel I don’t think I can-”

“One more baby-girl, you can give me one more” His voice graveled in your ears.

“Esk I can’t I, I can’t I” You felt your end build up once more, but this time a second pressure built with it. Eskel bit down on your shoulder as you grew tighter and tighter. Finally your felt the coil snap in you once more, the pressure releasing with it as it soaked the ground below you and Eskel’s pants. Eskel gave a handful more thrust into the wet mess that was your heat before spilling, a groan pressed into your neck.

You both sat there a moment, catching your breath. You willing your legs to turn from there jelly state back to bone and skin. You looked into his yellow eyes after a beat.

“I should tease you more often”.

#alaska writes #eskel x reader #eskel my beloved #eskel x y/n #the witcher fanfiction #witcher eskel #eskel smut #kinktober

71 notes · View notes

daryl-dixon-daydreams · 2 years

Photo

Words: 13,742 (SHE'S A BIG 'UN!) Pairing: Teen!Daryl x Teen!Reader and Daryl x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Requested by: anonymous! thank you so much for your kind words about my writing, love! I hope this is everything you envisioned and more! fic inspired by a song (Riverside by Agnes Obel) that happens to be on my favorite playlist and is one of my faves to sing and play on the guitar—not even kidding, I was SO STOKED to see this request in my inbox. *heart eyes* I'll probably share a little cover of the song soon just for fun! Era: pre-apocalypse, outbreak day, Post-Negan Alexandria—specifically the time after Rick's "death" Warnings: language, child abuse (physical and verbal), violence, injury, gore, blood, frightening scenarios and imagery Summary: Bonded by shared trauma in their childhoods, Y/N and Daryl share a deep connection. But when life begins to distance them and later the cataclismic outbreak causes everything to fall apart, Daryl wonders if he'll ever see Y/N again and whether she is even alive.

Your name: submit What is this?

“Ya got any nibbles yet?” Daryl drawled, glancing over at where you were perched on a rock, line drifting a little in the faster current in the center of the river. The sun shimmered on your hair when you turned at the sound of his voice.

“No,” you said. “I thought you were supposed to be teaching me how to fish, not how to waste time,” you teased him.

Daryl rolled his eyes at you, but a boyish smirk graced his face. “I can’t make the fish bite,” he snarked back.

“No, but you said this was your best spot. I’m now a little skeptical of your abilities overall,” you joked.

He stuck his pole down in the sand on the riverbank and climbed to his feet. “If yer havin’ problems, dun ya think it’s prob’ly more likely that yer doin’ somethin’ wrong and the problem ain’t my spot?” he asked you.

You shot him a look with your eyes sharply narrowed, but you were smiling too. “Come over here and say that to my face.”

He let out a low laugh. “I just said it to yer face ‘n I’ll say it again.” He continued his way over and stopped beside you. “Gimme that,” he drawled, taking the pole from your hands. His fingers brushed yours and the tips of them were rough and callused. You didn’t mind. Comparatively, your skin felt like silk or like wet rice paper that might tear beneath even his lightest touch. Both of your hearts responded with abrupt jumps and Daryl was very conscious of the fact that his palms immediately started sweating. He ducked his head, suddenly unable to look directly at you, and focused on reeling in your line. The hook popped up out of the water finally and it was bare of bait.

He glanced over at you with one eyebrow raised. “Ya ain’t got no bait on here anymore. No wonder ya can’t get a bite. Somethin’ prob’y already bit it off…”

“Or maybe someone didn’t put the worm on securely enough,” you retorted. He watched with curiosity as you bent and started untying your shoes, slipping one off followed by the sock, which you shoved inside the discarded sneaker.

“What are ya doin’?” he asked, watching as your bare foot sunk into the sand at the edge of the water.

“I’m bored of fishing. I’m going in for a swim. You coming?” you asked him. “It’s hot.” He had already noticed the beads of sweat rolling down the side of your neck and catching in the cotton of your shirt collar.

It was hot. And Daryl was feeling warmer by the second. “Uhh… guess that means ‘m done fishin’ too. Ya go in and any fish that were hangin’ around will be gone.”

“Yep. So, I guess you better just come in,” you said with a smile. You moved your shoes to the top of the rock you’d been sitting on.

Daryl hurriedly and pointedly looked away as you suddenly started slipping off your shorts. He gulped again, averting his eyes anywhere but in your direction. “What are ya doin’?” he asked again, focusing his eyes up toward the rustling leaves in the sun-soaked canopy overhead.

Your response was a light, careless laugh. “I’m not going in swimming in jeans! But don’t worry. I won’t lose any more layers.” There was the sound of soft splashing as you slipped into the river.

Daryl rolled his eyes and hazarded a glance over at you. “I wasn’t worried…” he murmured to himself. He reeled in his own line and set the discarded rods up on the shore before ambling back over to the edge of the water. You were drifting lazily in the current, your hair floating out around your head and wavering in the water.

You were humming something, a low and melodic song that drifted to him and seemed to keep time with the breeze and the little waves lapping at the shore.

“What is that yer hummin’?” he asked you.

You didn’t even look over at him, arms outstretched and toes pointed up toward the trees as you floated on your back. “Some song my mom likes. I think it’s called ‘Riverside.’ Probably why it’s in my head.” You slipped completely underneath the surface for a moment and then stood up again, wiping water from your eyes and pushing your hair away from your face. It clung to the graceful curve of your neck. “Aren’t you coming in?” you asked him.

Daryl hesitated and you watched him wring his hands a little anxiously. You started back toward the water’s edge again with long, lazy strokes. “We’ll be dried off already before we have to go home. It’s a furnace out here today,” you said. “Or maybe even an incinerator.” There were still tiny droplets clinging to your eyelashes, like morning dew.

Daryl hummed a vague noise and chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “It ain’t that…”

“Mmm,” you hummed back, understanding cresting over you. You walked slightly back toward where he stood on the shore. “Daryl—” you said softly. His name leaving your lips snapped his eyes back to you. “It’s okay. I already know. It’s okay…” you reassured him. Your expression was soft and sad, your eyes clear and shining, and it produced an ache in his chest and a desire to throw all his timidity away and go press his hand to your cool cheek.

Instead, he simply ducked his head for a moment before he nodded and reached for the hem of his shirt, sweeping it off and dropping it on a nearby boulder. He hurriedly toed off his socks and shoes and barreled into the water as if he was hoping to hide beneath it. The river was tea-colored and although a little murky, there was still no hiding his faintly pink scars and recent bruises beneath its waters. Besides, as you’d said, you already knew. You’d already seen them before. Hell, you’d helped patch him up a few times after a particularly bad episode with his drunken asshole of a father.

He dunked himself under and the deeper and cooler layer of water beneath the surface was refreshing and reviving. He came up shaking out his shaggy hair, eliciting laughter from you as the spray showered you again.

“There. See? It’s nice,” you said, smiling at him.

“Yeah… yer righ’. Like always,” he drawled, mopping more water off his face. He tried not to stare at how your shirt was alternately plastered to your curves and then billowing out around you depending on the way you turned in the water. You were ethereal, like if he reached out to touch you his fingers would pass right through you, a shape of only light. He stood still, his toes finding purchase in the sandy bottom only to keep him upright and in place against the current. He watched you take a few more strokes up the river and back, humming to yourself all the while, but you caught sight of his expression again and your brow furrowed. You made your way back over toward him, reading something on his face he didn’t know was written there.

You stopped squarely in front of him and his blue eyes lifted and met your gaze. “Want to see my latest?” you asked him. His brow furrowed in a question, but he didn’t have to wait long. Beneath the surface of the water, you pulled the cotton of your shirt aside and even through the cloudiness and tannin-stained hue he could see the bloom of a bruise near your hip that wrapped around toward the front of your stomach.

He felt a spasm of anger run through him. “What happened?”

“Geoff shoved me into the edge of the counter,” you said matter-of-factly, referencing your stepfather. “Held me there for a minute and—whatever…” you trailed off, dodging his eyes for a moment, a role reversal.

“Fuckin’ prick,” growled Daryl, scowling down at the dark mark on your skin, a surge of rage welling up inside him. When he let himself focus on it, he felt more anger toward your stepdad than he did even to his own father, regardless of whether that was logical or not. It entered his bloodstream and burned like poison, but another glance at your face and it melted away.

You dropped your shirt back into place below the water. “Yeah… Still—” You reached out and touched Daryl’s shoulder with your fingertips, your eyes going to a round scar near the end of his collarbone that looked like a cigarette burn. He almost shuddered under your fingers, but he would have mourned them had they left. No one touched him with anything other than violence, except for you. That alone was enough to make him fall for you… You moved around to his side and your fingers walked toward the back of his shoulder. “Not as bad as yours,” you said sadly, your eyes traveling over the puzzle of marks on his back, in various stages of healed and healing. Your stomach knotted into a pit.

Daryl felt strangely safe with you seeing this most painful part of him. ““I dun think it works like that…” he drawled. “One ain’t worse than the other. S’all bad.” It was almost a gift to be able to share his nightmare with someone else, though he wished you didn’t understand it as fully as you did under the hands of your stepdad.

You moved back around to face him again, and this time you were standing even closer. “You want to know what I think?”

There were no sharp edges to you in that moment—you were all of velvet and folds of fog over a beach of silky sand; he wanted to sink into you. You could be his escape. He gulped, and nodded in response to your question. He thought he could almost feel the warmth of you drifting toward him in the water that ebbed around your body and continued to his.

“I think you’re beautiful. No one tells boys they’re beautiful, but they should—especially you.” You reached up and smoothed a strand of his wet hair away from his forehead with the pad of your finger, your lips curving in a smile as you did so.

The only thing he could do was stare back at you, stunned. He wished he could unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and say what he was thinking, which was that even if what you had just said was true, he was nothing compared to you. To him, you were the most beautiful damn thing in existence, inside and out. You were his best friend, his complement, a kindred spirit of a kind he’d never dreamed existed until he met you. If he could have summoned up some buried courage from somewhere deep inside him, he would have bridged that small buffer of space between you and kissed the soft pillow of your slightly pouting lips, tasted the river water still clinging to your skin. He would have rested his hands on the indent of your waist as he sometimes imagined doing late at night when he was home and couldn’t sleep and anxiety was eating him alive and every creak in the trailer was perhaps his father coming to drag him out of bed by his hair and beat the shit out of him for no reason and—just the thought of you stilled everything. And sure, he was a teenage boy, and sometimes his mind went to wholly lustful places, but more often he thought about gentle moments with you that were far purer, and for a while everything was good as he sunk into those recesses of his mind, indulging in a dangerous hope, inhabiting an innocent kind of fantasy.

But he didn’t say any of that, or do any of that, and then you were moving away as if you hadn’t just said something that went straight to the center of his heart. He watched as the curve of your eyelashes fanned out as you shut your eyes and floated away from him on your back, paddling softly with your arms and your feet against the current. You were humming that song again and it was like a soundtrack for the day.

Not long after that, you waded out of the river and sat on the sun-warmed stones and dried in the summer sun, side by side. And Daryl felt safe and whole. For once in his life, he inhabited the present moment with no worry or fear of what was possibly coming next.

He turned and glanced over at you where you were lying next to him, your eyes closed as the sun warmed your skin and damp clothes. “Did ya really mean what ya said earlier?” he asked you suddenly, not even really meaning to speak it out loud.

“About the fishing? Yeah, you suck,” you said, looking back over at him, a crooked smile on your lips. He loved that mischievous glint in your bright eyes.

He rolled his eyes at you and directed his attention back up toward the blue sky, framed by the billowing willows and cottonwoods. His fingers drummed anxiously on his stomach.

You laughed lightly and rolled onto your side facing him, propping yourself up on an elbow resting your head on your hand, wet strands of hair still clinging to your neck. “You mean the other thing,” you said. “When I said you’re beautiful.”

Daryl gulped and used all his courage just to look over at you again, still lying flat on his back, his skin against the warm sand and smooth stones. You read his doubt easily and sighed, your expression turning serious again. “Of course, I meant it.” There was no trace of sarcasm in your voice.

Daryl felt an electric shudder run through him and pulled his eyes away from yours, staring up, unseeing, too distracted by your words to fix his gaze on anything. “Ya shouldn’t say stuff like that,” he drawled.

You pushed yourself up on the palm of your hand, folding your legs beside you. “Why not?”

“Because.”

“That’s not a reason,” you countered, your brow furrowed now. You sat cross-legged facing him, dusting the sand from your palm.

“Ya just shouldn’t,” he drawled. He licked his lips nervously.

“Why?” you asked again, more strongly. “You can’t just say that and not explain.”

He leaned up on his elbows, his ribs outlined in shadow on his skinny frame. “Nah, you can’t,” he snapped. “Ya can’t just say that to me and then—then just act like ya ain’t said somethin’—somethin’—” He let out a frustrated noise, unable to find the right words to fit. How could he tell you that those words would consume him, would take up the entirety of his mind? Your brows were still drawn low over your eyes, fixed on him.

“You think I said that without any thought behind it? Is that it?”

He tore his eyes away from you again.

You scooted closer to him. “Sit up,” you said. He was still only leaned up on his elbows.

“Y/N—”

“Sit up,” you said again, and your tone compelled him to look at you. He pulled himself into a cross-legged position, mirroring you, confusion painted on his face. Your eyes flickered over his features. Suddenly, your hand, cool and light, was resting on the side of his neck. “Can I kiss you?” you asked quietly.

“…what?”

Your lips twitched into a small smile for a moment. “I’m asking you, Daryl Dixon, if I can kiss you. Do you want to kiss me?”

He stopped breathing. His heart stopped, suspended from your words, maybe floating somewhere outside his body, up with the fluttering willow leaves or even beyond. The only thing he could do was nod. He watched in amazement as you leaned in toward him, your head tilting slightly, your eyes closing just before the soft pillow of your lips met his. His eyes shut just as the space between the two of you vanished. You kissed him softly, so gently it was as if you were worried that he would break beneath your lips. It was all over too fast—before Daryl could even be sure that it was real, but when you pulled back the weight of your hand stayed on the side of his neck. Your eyes were again traveling over his face, this time trying to read his expression.

“I didn’t say it like it was nothing, with nothing behind it.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Two weeks later

Daryl stood up abruptly from the steps of his dad’s dilapidated trailer, already nervous just from the sight of your approaching silhouette. As you came closer, the light above the door of your mobile home, where you lived with your mom and stepdad, cast you in a warm, orange glow that somehow seemed a little dingy. Even in that shitty lighting Daryl still thought you were the most beautiful fucking thing he’d ever seen. He tugged absently on the hem of his baggy t-shirt. “Hey,” he said, taking a couple quick steps toward you.

You broke into a wide smile like you always did when you saw him and his stomach somersaulted. “Hi,” you said. “Were you waiting out here for me?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, just—knew ya would be comin’ home kinda late and wanted to make sure ya made it inside alright,” he drawled. You were working a job after school to help your mom and to save a little money for whatever you decided you wanted to do in the future—mainly get the fuck out of that shitty trailer park.

You nodded and bit your bottom lip. “Thanks. But honestly, it’s probably inside that’s more concerning than out here,” you said darkly.

Daryl’s face fell. “He—he been givin’ ya a hard time?” he asked in a low voice.

You nodded, readjusting you bag over your shoulder. “More than usual.” You eyed the dark trailer behind him which you knew held the vast majority of his demons. “What about you? Are you okay?” You didn’t need to mention his father for Daryl to know what you meant.

“Me? Ah, ‘m fine. ‘M always fine…” he drawled. You gave him a sad, soft look. Fuck. Those big doe eyes you had seemed to turn him to an incoherent pillar of stone.

“You don’t have to be,” you said, stepping closer to him. “It’s okay to be—not okay.” He could smell the sweet scent of your shampoo, and he wanted to reach for you and kiss you right there. He couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you ever since that day by the river... He’d been trying to figure out some way to ask you about it, to bring it up, to find out what exactly it meant, but he never seemed to be able to take that scary step.

Daryl was about to reply when the screen door to your mom’s mobile home slammed open and rebounded against the siding. “What the fuck are you doing?” Your stepfather appeared at the threshold, drawing in a long pull on a cigarette. He paused and took a deep drink out of a glass in his other hand. “Get in the fucking house. You know how long I’ve been waiting for fucking dinner?” he spat.

“So, cook it yourself!” you snapped back. “You’ve got two hands!” You knew you’d probably pay for that but you were so incensed by him trying to tell you what to do while he sat around all day getting loaded, drinking and smoking your mom’s money away.

The look he gave you was cold and severe. His eyes landed on Daryl and a smug smirk broke across his face. “What are you lookin’ at, boy? Got something to say?”

Daryl hadn’t realized it, but his hands were clenched into fists and his blue eyes were sharp in a glare.

Your stepfather laughed and leaned casually on the doorframe. “Well, I guess when she comes home knocked up, I’ll know who’s to blame,” he said, taking in Daryl’s furious expression.

You felt your face and chest flush with humiliation. “It’s—it’s fine,” you murmured to Daryl. “I’ll just—I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Are ya sure yer—”

“Get in the fuckin’ house!” he roared again.

“Fine,” you said, already turning around to leave. “I’m fine.” And Daryl knew you meant ‘fine’ in the same way he’d just used it about himself.

It was maybe two hours later, while Daryl was sweating on his cot in the back of his dad’s trailer, sleep elusive as usual, when he shot upright at the sound of arguing from next door. That wasn’t uncommon, but this sounded worse than normal. Your stepfather was letting loose with a torrent of abusive language hurled at you at a volume that surely had all the surrounding neighbors awake. Daryl swiped a hand over his sweaty face and listened as your voice sounded back. At first your tone was also confrontational, but that all changed quickly when he heard loud bangs and crashes punctuated by fearful shouts. Daryl kneeled on his cot and squinted through the crooked blind slats at the trailer house you were in as if he’d be able to see through the walls. He could vaguely make out a moving shadow on the blinds of one window, but that was about it.

Your mother worked the night shift at a manufacturing plant. You were in there alone with him…

Another crash and the sound of shattering glass. More yelling from him. Then, a yelp. That was you letting out a yelp of pain and then a cry that stopped short suddenly.

Nah. Nuh uh. Not tonight, fuckface. Daryl’s own father had been passed out drunk by eight pm, but Daryl still yanked the screen out of his window and boosted himself through instead of going out the front, fear of somehow rousing his dad so ingrained that Daryl didn’t even think about it. As his feet landed softly in the dried grass below his window, he could now clearly hear you crying and pleading with your stepdad. Nausea and anger rolled his stomach.

Without even really thinking, Daryl burst into the mobile home and found you cowering on the floor of the kitchen, your back pressed against the cabinets, one arm up as if to shield yourself from more blows. Your stepdad had a fist raised, clearly getting ready to strike another blow even while you cried where you were cornered, eyes wide and panicked, begging him to stop. There was broken dishware and glass all over the laminate floor of the small kitchen area. You had tears pouring down your face. Half your face was already red and swelling and your eyebrow was split open. A cascade of blood flowed down your cheek.

Your stepfather lunged toward you again and Daryl reacted reflexively, rushing in and grabbing hold of his arm before he could bring his fist down to make contact with you again. “Hey! Don’t touch her!” he yelled, tugging Geoff’s arm back and away from you with all his strength.

Even from your place on the floor you tried to stop Daryl from getting involved. “Daryl, don’t!” you managed through a staggered breath, syncopated from your crying. “D—don’t! Just go!”

Geoff spun around, tossing Daryl off and locking his eyes on the teenager, who was simply standing there with his fists clenched, dwarfed by the towering man in front of him. He was a kid of sixteen challenging a violent bully twice his size. Your stepfather let out a cold laugh. “Oh, I’ve been lookin’ for an excuse to get my hands on you,” he growled to Daryl. “Your old man has told me what a piece of work you are, boy.” Behind him, Daryl saw you trying to pull yourself to your feet, grabbing onto the edge of the counter, but you slid back down, clutching your arm around your middle. Your knees seemed to give out and your eyes squeezed shut tightly.

“N—no, Daryl, go!” you yelled desperately, trying to stand again and managing to pull yourself partially to your feet this time, gripping the edge of cabinets hard.

“Shut the fuck up, you little bitch!” Your stepdad whipped around and back-handed you across the face so fast it was over before Daryl could do anything to stop it. You were splayed out flat on the floor now, stunned, your palms and knees pressing down into the broken glass scattered across the peeling laminate. Daryl had had enough.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch her!” he roared, drawing Geoff’s attention again. That was fine. If he could just keep your stepdad’s attention on himself instead of on you…

Geoff only laughed again. The level of enjoyment he seemed to be getting from this was disturbing. It was as if he fed on the fear permeating the air. “What the hell are you gonna do, boy? Yer just a dumb kid who’s landed himself in a man’s game.”

What the fuck was he gonna do? His mind was working so quickly now everything around him felt like it was crawling along in slow motion. You were still prone on the ground, trying to get your bearings. His eyes hurriedly scanned the room for something he could use as a weapon. His eyes landed on the knife block on the counter. Right when he was working himself up to lunging for it, grappling with the reality that he might be about to pull a knife on a grown man, hurt him if he had to, maybe even kill him to protect you, there was a pounding on the trailer door behind him. Then he realized blue and red lights were flashing through the slats in the blinds, lighting up the entire inside, bathing the chaos in garish color.

“Sheriff’s office! I need everybody to come out of the house slowly with their hands where I can see them!” The voice was urgent and demanding.

Someone, one of the neighbors, had called 9-1-1. Daryl had never been so glad of the close quarters in the trailer park before.

Geoff let loose a string of expletives and shoved Daryl aside carelessly, not even sparing you a glance, going to the door and already yelling at the officer who was standing there with his flashlight raised and a hand on his gun. Daryl rushed to where you were stirring on the floor, lifting your head where a small pool of blood had formed from the gash in your eyebrow. Part of your hair was stained crimson. His stomach twisted.

“Y/N—Jesus, what the fuck did he do to ya?” He helped you sit up and fumbled for a kitchen towel hanging behind you on the fridge handle, pressing it to your wound. With the other hand he clasped your face. “Hey—hey, can ya hear me? Y/N, look at me.”

You were disoriented and seemed only vaguely conscious. “D—Daryl?” you finally stammered.

“’M here. ‘M right here. Yer okay. The cops—somebody called ‘em. Yer okay.” Behind him, Daryl could hear your stepdad arguing loudly with the police. The sound peaked and then stopped altogether. They seemed to have hauled him away to calm down, probably to cool off in a squad car. There was another series of knocks on the door.

“I need anyone else in this residence to make themselves known! Sheriff’s office!”

“Here! We need help here!” Daryl called over his shoulder. You seemed to be coming around and you fixed your eyes on Daryl’s face.

“Daryl,” you murmured. A fresh wave of tears began to pour out of your eyes. The swelling on your face seemed to be getting worse by the second. Daryl realized there were specks of glass ground into your cheek and forehead from your fall to the floor and his rage made his hands shake, all while he tried to speak softly to you, tried to calm you.

“It’s okay. ‘M righ’ here.”

Two officers moved into the small mobile home and found the two of you huddled on the kitchen floor. “Is anyone else in the residence?” one of them asked anxiously, edging toward the doorway that led into the rest of the trailer.

“No,” Daryl answered, not breaking contact with you. His hand was warm against the side of your neck. “No, there’s no one. We need—we need an ambulance—a medic, somethin’,” he urged them. They reassured him that one was outside. As soon as they were satisfied that no one else was lurking around or involved in the unfolding nightmare, they helped Daryl get you on your feet and ushered both of you to the door and out into the night.

Daryl had an arm around you, supporting you as an officer escorted you both to the waiting ambulance. The EMTs hurriedly sat you down on the back and rushed to action. Daryl tried to step away to give them some space to help you, but a look of terror seized you and you grabbed his hand and clung to it. “S’okay,” he soothed you. “S’okay. ‘M here. I ain’t leavin’ ya…”

He sank down beside you and wrapped his arm around your back again. Your fingers found his other hand and quickly laced between them. You moved toward him until your side was pressed against his. He could feel you trembling slightly. The medic recommended that you travel to the hospital to get checked more thoroughly for a concussion and broken bones and several times there were mentions of shock, though you seemed to be more aware of what was happening now, less disoriented. Of course, the police needed to talk to both of you, get statements, ask questions… and get evidence.

Evidence. The word stuck between Daryl’s lungs. It held a heavy weight and dredged up the horrific reality. Jesus Christ. He could have killed you. He might have, if Daryl hadn’t—

An officer was talking to you both. “Is there someone else we can call for you? Your mom?”

You gulped. “My—my mom is working… we—we can’t call her. They’ll fire her if she has to leave the factory floor.”

The officer frowned. “Another relative then?”

You shook your head. “My dad isn’t around. And we don’t really have family here.” You drew in a shaky breath. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine… If Daryl can come with me, I’ll be fine.”

“We’ll call a social worker for you. They’ll meet us at the hospital. And then I’ll need to talk to both of you separately. I’ll ride with you there,” he said, climbing into the ambulance and sitting alongside one of the EMTs.

As they closed the ambulance doors, Daryl was vaguely aware of his own father standing back at the edge of the reach of the flashing blue and red lights, watching with a scowl on his face that sent a shiver up Daryl’s back.

The ride to the hospital was silent. You and Daryl sat side-by-side on the stretcher and you leaned into him again. His thumb moved against the skin on your upper arm softly, up and down. Up and down. Up and down. You wavered beside him a little, fighting the upwellings of pain that seemed to shoot through your entire body. The weight of you against him grew. He tightened his arm around you reassuringly. Finally, you arrived and were helped into a room in the ER. Here, you had to separate. You looked almost frantic as a nurse led you away to change into a gown, accompanied by complete strangers; the social worker and the hospital staff. He felt nauseous at the sight of your injuries, the worsening swelling on your face, the limp in your walk, and the desperation with which you glanced back at him. Daryl watched as you disappeared behind a closed door.

He became aware that the cop was asking him something. “Huh?”

“Your relationship to the victim?”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. “The victim?” he repeated. He hated the sound of that.

The cop cleared his throat. “Sorry. Y/N. Your relationship?”

It was a simple question but Daryl was puzzled about how to answer. I’ve been in love with her for years and we kissed two weeks ago, and maybe she loves me too, but I don’t really know what we are still. Stupid. That was stupid. He’d sound like an idiot kid. He was an idiot kid. But he still couldn’t say that. “I live next door and we go to school together. But mostly, she’s… my best friend,” he said.

The cop scribbled on his note pad, surveying Daryl afterwards. “Alright. And why don’t you just tell me what happened tonight?”

He recounted all of it as accurately as he could remember, starting with waiting for you to come home after work. The verbal altercation outside. The argument inside your mobile home later. Hearing things being thrown, crashing. Hearing you scream. Rushing in and seeing—all of it.

The police officer’s expression was grim. “Has this happened before? With her stepfather?”

“Yeah. But this is the worst it’s ever been. I mean… that I know about.”

“What about her mother? Any… concerns there?”

Daryl shrugged. “Her mom is good people. She’d never hurt Y/N. But I’m pretty sure that piece of shit—uhh, sorry—I think Y/N’s stepdad hits her mom too.”

That was pretty much the end of Daryl’s statement, except for one last thing that scared him so much his blood ran cold. The officer looked him right in the eye and stuck out a hand for a handshake. When Daryl grabbed it, he said, “I think you may have saved Y/N’s life tonight. You and the woman who called this in. It’s just a feeling. After you’ve been a cop for a while, sometimes you just know. You did the right thing, even though I wouldn’t recommend you make a habit of this kind of thing. You could have been seriously hurt too.”

Daryl shrugged. “I didn’t think ‘bout it. I just knew I had to get in there and do somethin’.”

And that was it. He sank into one of the stiff green chairs outside your room and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, the door opened and he was immediately on his feet. A nurse was standing at the threshold.

“Are you Daryl?” He nodded. “She’s asking for you. Come in.”

He gulped and chewed on his bottom lip as he stepped into your room. You were lying on a bed in one of those gowns that feel like they aren’t quite made of fabric but aren’t paper either. A doctor was beside you, prepping something. Nurses were standing around. Your eyebrow was still bandaged. There were dotted red marks on your swollen cheek from the glass. Your palms had some light bandaging around them too. He wondered how badly you were bruised in places he couldn’t see… Even now there were glaring marks forming on your arms, clearly places where your stepdad had grabbed you.

You seemed more alert, maybe as a result of the passage of time or from the IV fluids minimizing your pain and rehydrating you after such a traumatic shock. But seeing your swollen face was still a punch in the gut. Daryl moved around to your bedside. He felt small and useless in that place, with doctors and nurses rushing around.

“You look like shit,” you said suddenly, and one corner of your mouth tugged upward briefly. Daryl’s expression didn’t change, didn’t ease. “Relax. It’s a joke,” you said dryly.

All he could do was reach for your hand. He held it gently, keenly aware of the bandage around it. His brow was deeply furrowed, casting a shadow over his blue eyes.

“They’re about to give me a shot in my face and stitch my eyebrow up,” you explained. “I could use the moral support.” Your voice had an unusual rasp in it. Daryl sat silently next to you and held your hand as they stitched you up. You barely flinched.

Afterwards, once the nurses and doctors had told you that you could get dressed again and departed, you sat up and glanced over at him.

“That was really stupid, you know,” you said. Tears burned in your eyes again. “Running in like that… He could have killed you.”

Daryl shook his head. “I was worried he was gonna kill you,” he drawled. “I did exactly what I shoulda.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I saw your dad standing there, when we were leaving in the ambulance. …Are you gonna be okay?” you asked him.

A dry laugh of disbelief left him. “Are ya kiddin’? Y/N yer in the hospital and yer worried about my old man?”

“Of course I am. It could be you in the hospital next.”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine… He’s probably just worried I’m gonna say somethin’ to the cops about what a piece of shit he is...”

“Maybe you should,” you said. Daryl didn’t respond. You’d had this conversation endlessly together before, much more often about the abuse against him than for you, and it always ended the same way. Neither of you told anyone anything, too afraid of the fallout. But tonight it wasn’t your choice. Someone else had made the call, and it had gone far enough that you knew it couldn’t be undone… You wanted your stepdad gone, of course, but this would be messy.

“What’d the doctor’s say?” Daryl asked.

You shrugged and gulped, avoiding his eyes for a moment. “Fractured cheekbone. Fractured rib. Concussion. But they said I don’t have to stay overnight. And I don’t need surgery or anything, just the stitches. They gave me some painkillers.” You paused and glanced back up at him. You could read turmoil behind his eyes.

Daryl felt lost sitting there, still holding your hand, his eyes drifting over your battered face. He would have taken it. If he could have exchanged places with you, he would have. He would have taken it to stop you from having to go through this. He’d have taken all of it and more. That son of a bitch better rot in jail.

Merle or his dad would probably mock him for being “soft” if they knew the whole of what had happened, or rather how Daryl felt about what had happened, how sick it made him, how it seemed to have opened an achy blackhole in his chest that was seemingly filled with both emptiness and rage. But Daryl thought that even if nothing else in his life turned out, at least he’d been there to keep you safe that night.

He stepped outside so you could change back into your clothes. Your shirt had bloodstains on it that immediately drew his eyes when you stepped out again. His chest swelled with anger again. But you stepped forward and gently grabbed his hand again, lacing your fingers together as you had done all night. “Come on,” you said softly. “My mom should be here soon to pick us up.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

One Year Later You slowed as you caught sight of his familiar broad-shouldered frame across the parking lot. You sighed and continued your walk, crossing toward him. Most of the spaces were empty now. You’d lingered behind after school for a little while at the library. Daryl was parked on his bike, his curtain of dark hair ruffled around his face from the wind. He climbed off as you approached and you stopped next to him, fiddling aimlessly with your keys.

“Hey,” he drawled.

“Hi,” you said, surveying his expression carefully. It was unreadable.

He shifted his weight a little anxiously. “Can I—give ya a ride?” he asked.

“Is that why you’re here?”

He shrugged. “Not exactly…” he drawled.

You sighed, your brow furrowing heavily. “Daryl—you’re making this too hard,” you said softly. “You can’t just keep showing up here…”

“I just wanna give ya a ride. Tha’s all. Since you and yer mom moved I never see ya anymore and—” he broke off.

You shook your head, a distinctly pained expression on your face. “That isn’t why we don’t see each other anymore.” He ducked your gaze, staring down at his boots for a long moment and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “If you hadn’t dropped out—”

“If ya didn’t hate my brother so much me droppin’ out wouldn’t be a problem,” he interrupted. “We could see each other all the time.” Heat was flaring in his chest and he looked up and met your gaze again. You still had that wholly aggrieved expression on your face, like this conversation was physically hurting you. He didn’t realize that in a way it was. Every time you had to rehash this with him it was a tug of war between your feelings for him and your deeply ingrained past trauma. The scar on your eyebrow was still pink. If your nose or cheek got bumped on accident it still brought you to your knees from the pain if the all too recent fractures. It hadn’t been that long since Daryl had stopped your (now ex-)stepdad from beating the shit out of you. Just the mere mention of your stepfather still triggered a wild panic that you had no control over—and Merle? Merle Dixon reminded you of your stepdad when your mom had first met him.

“Your brother isn’t a safe person,” you started. “And the other people he runs around with aren’t either. I don’t want anything to do with it. Do you really want me around them? You really think that’s a good thing for me?”

“He ain’t a psychopath,” Daryl argued, pacing closer to you, emphatic as he tried to convince you for the umpteenth time. “Sure, he gets in bar fights and pops pills but he ain’t—he ain’t—”

Suddenly, there were tears running out over your cheeks and Daryl stopped short. “Why can’t you see that that isn’t what I want for you? And it definitely isn’t what I want for myself! I don’t understand the choices you’ve made! You could do so many other things and you’re following Merle around getting into shit so far beneath you—”

“He’s my family,” Daryl argued back. “What am I s’posed to do? Just turn away from that? He’s the only thing I got left. He’s my blood.”

You hastily wiped the tears from your cheeks. “So was your dad,” you pointed out.

Daryl flinched at the mention of his father and a shadow passed over his face.

“Family means something else, Daryl. And if you still don’t understand why I can’t be around all the shit you’re getting into then—I don’t know what else to say.” You studied him for a moment and then stepped forward and cupped his face. “You’re worth so much more than all of this.”

He felt desperation swelling in between his lungs. He wanted your hand to stay there on his cheek forever. “Look—ya ain’t gotta be ‘round it. I can just—we can just see each other, just us two, when we can, ya know? We can figure it out.”

You wiped away another tear that had escaped and let out a dry laugh. “What, you want me to share custody of you with Merle?” you said. “Daryl…”

“We can figure it out!” he insisted. “Y/N—the way I feel about ya—”

“Daryl, stop! Don’t say it! Don’t… okay? That’s not a life! Seeing you, what, every other Friday? Worrying myself sick all the time that something horrible is gonna happen to you when Merle shorts a drug dealer or picks a fight with the wrong MC? I just—with what’s happened to me, I can’t. You’re making this too hard showing up here all the time… And I feel like I’m torn in two. I can’t… If this is what you’re choosing, you’re going to have to do it without me. I’m not saying we can’t still be friends but I just—I can’t…”

Daryl saw your walls closing in around you again and his heart sank into the bottom of his stomach and laid there heavily, like a brick. He tore his eyes away from you again and tried to breathe. It was hard to get his lungs working again… “Can I at least just give ya a ride to work? Please?” He just wanted to feel your arms around him again one more time.

You nodded.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“I’m tellin’ you, boy—that’s about the dumbest shit you could do, headin’ that way!” Merle said loudly, following Daryl back over to his bike where he continued strapping down his hastily gathered gear. “Use yer fuckin’ head! All that shitstorm in the city is gonna be spilling out every which way.”

“Shut the fuck up, Merle! I don’t give a shit what ya do, but ‘m goin’ back that way and ya barkin’ at me ain’t gonna change a damn thing!” Daryl roared back.

“Yer gonna wind up dead, goin’ back toward the damn city! And I ain’t gonna cry for ya. ‘M just gonna tell ya I told ya so,” Merle spat.

Daryl straightened up and fixed a hard glare on his older brother. “How the fuck ya gonna tell me ‘I told ya so’ if ‘m fuckin’ dead?” he growled. He swung his leg over his bike. “Do whatever ya want—I don’t give a shit!” He started his bike and made ready to leave.

Merle let loose with a string of expletives. “Go get yerself eaten by one of those freaks walkin’ around, or better yet—shot by some amped up pig tryin’ to ‘keep the peace’! I’ll be settin’ up shop out by the old gravel pit catchin’ myself some fat fish for dinner!” he roared over Daryl’s engine. “All this for some broad who ain’t givin’ ya nothin’ more than a—” Daryl didn’t even respond, just took off, letting gravel fly behind him, drowning out whatever final spout of bullshit Merle was spewing.

Daryl quickly lost track of how many wailing sirens and emergency vehicles he passed, speeding back toward Atlanta. If he hadn’t been on a motorcycle, he would have hardly been able to go a mile before he would have joined the gridlocked traffic clogging the highways or the tangled masses of crashed vehicles, some still emitting steam or even actively burning, flames licking out from under the hoods, billowing black smoke swirling overhead. Disoriented and wounded people were standing aside dazed. He wove his way through all of it, his heart pounding so hard it was running wild. Scenes of horror occasionally flicked past him as he rode; staggering infected still walking with missing limbs, or others bent over unidentifiable piles of gore and slowly chewing, looking up at the sound of his bike blankly. And there were survivors—blood pouring down the sides of their faces or some walking without shoes, clutching dirty bags as they tried to flee from nowhere to nowhere. Shit, they’d really hid just how bad this really was… until they couldn’t hide it anymore. Daryl didn’t really know who the “they” was that he was thinking of—the feds, the state, the media, the military, all of them—but it was obvious no one had been telling the full truth on the nightly news. Fifty percent of the population was dead from the disease and infected straight away, and with what he was seeing now another half of whoever was left would probably be gone within another day. He tried to keep himself focused, keep his head down and his bike speeding along. If he didn’t, waves of panic threatened to swamp him under.

In the distance, black columns of smoke rose up from the city and Daryl could see what looked like dozens of helicopters circling. Everything was chaos. It was like he’d suddenly been transported into some warzone. But he didn’t pay any attention to any of it. His mind was bent solely on getting to that little bar and café where you worked. He took the final turn onto the gravel road so quickly that he nearly skidded out on his bike. He left a hazy brown cloud of dust behind him as he hit the accelerator and the engine rumbled. There were no cars in sight on the rural road that led to the lonely little building, save an old farm truck in one ditch.

Daryl didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. He couldn’t decide if the quiet and deserted scene was ominous or not.

He raced into the little parking lot, which still had some cars and trucks parked in it like any normal day. The lights were on inside the building, but when he glanced through the big front window as he jogged up to the door his stomach sank. He didn’t see anyone, and the place looked like a tornado had torn through it. He pushed inside and stopped on the mat, his eyes surveying the scene. Stools and chairs were overturned. The bar was in complete disarray with broken bottles of booze smashed on the tile floor. Glass crunched beneath his boots as he took a few more hesitant steps in, the door slamming behind him in the wind. Worse still, there were dark, rusty spots glaring horribly on the tile—blood. Some were small circular droplets but others were large swipes and smears, all in various stages of dried or drying... His stomach twisted. God, no. Please, let her be okay.

Suddenly, he heard some clattering in the back room, and his hand went instinctively for the gun he’d stowed on his hip. He raised it, adjusting his grip so it was secure, and strained his hearing. “…Y/N?” he called out hopefully.

The only answer was more banging from the kitchen area. Daryl moved slowly toward the sound. As he passed the bar, heading for the swinging door to the kitchen, he glanced to his right and saw an unmoving bloody body sprawled on the dingy rubber mat. Part of it had been—there was no other word for it—eaten. His stomach responded with an automatic swell of nausea and he had to shut his eyes for a long moment to prevent himself from vomiting. Daryl was no stranger to blood. Beyond his fucked-up childhood, Merle was quite good at getting into fights when he was high or drunk that Daryl had to help finish. They’d been in plenty of tight spots. But this—this was something else entirely…

He refocused on the noise ahead and pushed the swinging door open with the toe of his boot. The kitchen seemed to be less ransacked than the front room, with the exception of plates of food and dishes left where they lay, as if the whole restaurant crew had just walked out a moment earlier. There were a large number of flies buzzing around, however. The banging was coming from a supply closet and Daryl edged his way toward it, reaching out a somewhat shaky hand to grasp the knob. A sudden, horrific thought seized him: what if he was about to find you as one of those—those things.

No. No… a stronger voice inside him answered. No. Not possible. It isn’t her.

He readied his gun and pulled the door open wide.

There was an infected… zombie? (He didn’t know what else to call them) inside, but it wasn’t you. It ambled toward him as he backed up, its rotting fingers reaching for him. The sickly sweet and repulsive smell of decay was overwhelming and another swell of nausea hit him.

Daryl fired his gun squarely into the chest of the advancing zombie. The shot knocked it back, almost off its feet, but amazingly it only started toward him again. “What the fuck?” he murmured, narrowing his eyes. He squeezed off two more rounds, which both hit the infected squarely in the chest, but it hardly staggered. Panic started to seize him as he backed up and it continued forward. “You piece of shit,” he growled. He emptied five more rounds into the zombie and it fell backwards to the floor. He only had one shot left and the damn thing was still moving. Daryl rushed forward and slammed his boot down on its chest to hold it to the ground, took aim at its head, and fired the last bullet in the magazine. Finally, with a sickening spray of gore, it was still and silent.

Daryl was gasping in tremendous breaths as he lifted his boot from the still corpse and turned his eyes away to scan the scene again. He found himself searching for some trace of you, but what? What was he even hoping to find? He hadn’t seen your car in the front of the lot. He pushed out through the rear door and scrutinized the dirt, hoping to see a footprint that was your size, some proof that you’d gotten out of there safely, alive. He found nothing but some scuffs in the gravel and tire marks from a large truck or SUV.

He cut through the kitchen and into the main room of the café again. His empty gun still hanging by his side, clutched tightly. Daryl’s eyes returned to the stains on the tile floor—so much blood… And no sign of you. He was too late. Whether you were dead or alive, he was too late…

His hurried back to his bike and kicked it in gear, turning it back toward the gravel road and zipping along, kicking up a steady brown trail of dust in his wake. Your house. The little farmhouse you rented. That was his last chance of finding you, or getting you out, of making sure you’d be okay. His mind was racing… he wished now more than ever that he’d listened to you those years ago after he’d dropped out—wished he’d done whatever he could to stay by your side and to be more. Instead, he’d wasted all this time running around with Merle, seeing you only every once and a while when he stopped in at the restaurant for a meal as an excuse to see you again. And now when it really mattered, when the entire world seemed to be ending, he hadn’t been there with you…

He knew something was very wrong as soon as he pulled up to the little house. The screen door out front was hanging on by one hinge. The wood was broken and dangling by the remaining metal screen. He stopped his bike and squinted at the windows, praying that he’d see you looking out of one, scared but here.

His train of thought was broken when a flood of infected, attracted by the sound of his engine, suddenly began pouring out of the house.

Terror seized him. “Son of a bitch,” he swore under his breath. His hand fumbled for a knife he kept in one of the saddle bags, but as he watched the dead continue out of the house and slowly amble toward him, he knew there were too many of them for him to handle. If you had been in that house, Daryl knew you were either dead or one of these things now. The awful thought struck him cold…

He felt tears burn in his eyes as he turned away, speeding in the direction of the gravel quarry to find Merle. The hopelessness that blanketed him was heavy and all-consuming. He had no thoughts, his eyes were nearly unseeing, and he felt empty the entire ride, surprising himself when he arrived and suddenly looked up to see Merle’s bike parked beside a tent. His brother was perched on an overturned bucket, a small metal camping dish in his hands. Daryl pulled to a stop beside Merle’s bike and turned off the engine. His body felt heavy and moving seemed to take a great effort as he climbed off and began to pull his gear free from the back of his motorcycle. He could feel Merle watching his every move, but did his best to ignore it.

Daryl dumped his gear in a pile and began to pull his own tent from its pack. Merle finally spoke.

“No broad,” he commented, his mouth twisting into a half-smirk. Daryl’s fist clenched but he simply continued laying out the poles for his tent. “I told ya,” Merle said. “She dead?”

That was too much. Daryl stood and paced over to his brother, his expression hard, his jaw clenched. “Y/N ain’t just some broad. And if ya ever say anythin’ else ‘bout her, one fuckin’ word, even if ya just say her name, I’ll break yer jaw.” He turned his back and returned to setting up camp. Merle, in classic Merle-fashion, only laughed and let out a low whistle.

“Oh, I’m really scared, baby brother. Shakin’ in my boots,” he said. He shoved another forkful of fish into his mouth. “Guess it’s still just you and me…”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl rose before the sun. The morning air was chill and heavy with moisture as he pulled on more layers and revived the fire, setting a pot of leftover fish and broth over it to heat. He rubbed his hands together and turned an ear toward the forest and listened to the chattering and singing of the birds. They heralded that autumn was approaching. The raspy croak of a raven. The melodic lilting of a thrush.

Dog moved closer to the fire and laid down to bask in its heat. Daryl’s eyes went to the river. This section was unfamiliar to him, but it wouldn’t be after today. He and Dog would spend all day combing the banks, pushing through rushes and cattails, scattering puffs of seeds that would drift on the wind, hoping and yet dreading any sign of Rick. It was a lonely task, but he was determined to do it for his friend, his brother.

The liquid in the pot rolled to a boil and Daryl used his spoon to hunt the remaining chunks of fish from the day before. He tossed one to Dog who gulped it down so quickly he could hardly have tasted it. The warmth of the broth helped Daryl shake off the rest of the morning’s chill.

He gathered his gear and whistled to Dog, and set off down the bank, scrutinizing the little areas of mud flats which tried to wrest his boots from his feet. He saw only sign of deer and rabbit and raccoon. He looked for trails in the long grass that nodded and bowed toward the brown water and he found them—but they weren’t made by boot or foot.

By the time it was near noon and Daryl was preparing to ford across to the other side his heart had sunk and he began to lose momentum. What could he possibly hope to find this far away from where the bridge had blown apart? A corpse.

Suddenly, Dog let out a high-pitched bark and fixed his gaze across the river. His tail began to wag furiously and he let loose with a few more excited yips.

“Shhh!” Daryl quieted him, squinting across the river, scrutinizing the shadows on the other side. That was no bark to signal a walker… Dog sat perfectly still, except for the tip of his tail continuing to wiggle. That’s when Daryl heard it; a soft humming, drifting across the water, rippling to him in faint phrases that were sweet and smooth.

There was something familiar about it. His heart stirred in his chest and rose from the depths it had sunk to. It quickened. Daryl stared, watching the shadows for the shifting of a someone. He saw nothing. But that song… It was bringing uncontrollable sensations of warmth and sunlight and sun-dappled stones, of long summer days and water droplets on skin and—

The next moment, Daryl waded into the water, leaning on the sharpened stick to steady himself, and crossed to the other side. The music seemed to float between the trees. He had trouble determining where exactly it was coming from. His heart was hammering in his chest as he attempted to trace the melody like he was tracking an animal. It grew steadily louder over the sound of Dog’s panting behind him. As he felt he was nearing the point where he’d be able to see whoever was humming, words suddenly drifted to him, in a voice low and sweet, and his stomach somersaulted. He silenced his steps and crept closer and closer, moving from one shadow to another, straining his eyes and ears desperately.

Finally, there. The figure of a woman, knee deep in a bend of the river that had been out of his view from the other side, with a fishing rod in her hands. She hummed and sang aimlessly as she recast her line into deeper waters, bouncing the tip of the rod to attract fish and then letting it all still. She was all patience, a statue as the current swirled around her. She seemed part of the river herself, dressed in olive tones and muddy browns, adopted into the scene as a quiet wild thing herself. Her back was to Daryl, but the longer he watched from his place tucked beneath an ancient cottonwood tree, the more certain he was, until he couldn’t wait any longer.

He stood and quietly stepped out from his hiding place, striding toward the small opening that was soft with grass at the edge of the water.

He watched as the figure suddenly jerked the rod and began to steadily reel in line. The tip of the rod was bent beneath the weight of a fish that eventually broke the surface in a riot of splashing. Daryl was now at the very edge of the water behind her and paused as she grabbed hold of the fish and carefully removed the hook.

“Yer better at fishin’ than I remember,” he said suddenly. His voice was gravelly from disuse.

The figure spun around in shock and fixed her wide eyes on him. He saw her brow furrowing and her eyes hurrying over him, from his heavily patched pants to the poncho draped over him to his curtain of wavy brown hair.

She was stunned into silence, the fish still dangling from her hand, the rod in the other.

“Y/N—” He could see the distinctive scar that cut across your eyebrow, the spot that still never grew any hair.

You stared up at him where he stood on the bank, feeling your shock finally pass and be replaced by a wild wonder and disbelief. Your eyes flickered over him again and your lips parted slightly, as if you were about to speak, but nothing came out.

He shifted nervously and held his hands up palms out in a sign of goodwill. “S’me. S’Daryl,” he drawled softly.

He was surprised when this elicited a sudden laugh from you, and he saw tears burning in your eyes when you finally spoke.

“I know it’s you, Daryl Dixon,” you laughed. The tears broke out and ran down your cheeks.

Daryl’s heart thudded away in his chest. You saying his name seemed to bring back a dizzying rush of memories and sensations and hopes and he felt like his damn knees almost gave out. You were alive. And you were here, standing right in front of him. And you were just as beautiful as he remembered. Maybe even more so… The passage of years seemed to have imbued you with a steadiness and a strength that was unmistakable.

Dog suddenly bounded out from where Daryl had made him wait, barking and prancing around him happily, tail a blur of movement. “Friend of yours?” you asked.

“Huh?” Daryl was still just staring at you, dumbfounded. “Oh—yeah. This is Dog,” he said, grabbing him and making him sit, patting him on the head and turning his blue eyes back to you, where they fixed on your face and didn’t stray.

“Dog?” you repeated. “Well, it’s accurate anyway.” There was a pause that seemed filled with tension. You were staring right back at him, your eyes still a little glassy. “…Are you going to help me out of here or do I need to embarrass myself trying to climb out?”

“Righ’. S—sorry,” he said hurriedly. He went to the riverbank and took the fish from you, tossing it on the bank where Dog immediately inspected it and gave it a few eager licks before testing his teeth on its head. “Dog! Leave it!” Daryl scolded him. “Sorry… he likes crunchin’ the heads for some fuckin’ reason,” he murmured. He extended a hand to you and helped pull you up onto the bank. Even when your feet were firmly planted on solid ground, he didn’t step away and he didn’t let go. The two of you were just looking at each other up close, both afraid to glance away in case the other would vanish.

Daryl cleared his throat, which felt constricted. “Ya were singin’ that song. From that day at the river,” Daryl drawled, his deep voice resonant in his chest. “I heard it and—I thought it couldn’t be—” he broke off, suddenly struggling with emotion rising up in a turbulent torrent. “But I knew it was…”

You nodded, unable to speak. You studied his face. He had scars he didn’t have before and he was weathered from the passage of years, but you thought he was even more beautiful than ever.

Finally, perhaps realizing the time he should have let go of your hand had long since passed, Daryl gulped nervously and stepped back, and his fingers slipped from yours.

“Come on. This way,” you said, gathering up the fish and retrieving a bag from nearby. Daryl followed you on a game trail that led through the trees. In a short while, you both came to a little cabin, not more than a shack really. You began setting down your gear and reviving some flames in a fire circle ringed with smooth stones.

“This is yer place?” he asked, peering around. Minimal gear and belongings were organized carefully inside.

You were stirring the coals with a stick. “For now, it is,” you said. “I keep on the move. Follow the game and stick close to the river and its tributaries.” You tossed more dry wood on and the fire danced and crackled.

“Smart,” Daryl said, one corner of his mouth twitching up reflexively as he watched you busy yourself about camp. He sank down onto a round of wood and pet Dog who sat next to him.

You straightened up, dusting your hands off, nodding. “Are you hungry?”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Night had fallen in earnest and you and Daryl were still side-by-side, warming by the fire as the blue shadows wrapped around you like a cloak. You’d covered a lot of ground, sharing the larger points of what you’d both gone through since the outbreak. Then a lot of time had passed in silence, both of you turning memories and questions over in your minds, but as Daryl watched you sip some hot tea from a tin mug, he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I looked for ya,” Daryl said suddenly. “When it happened, that day. I went to that little farmhouse ya were rentin’. And I went to the restaurant and—I was too late. And—” he shook his head and gulped, remembering the fear and panic and horror of those early days, “—it looked bad. I—I thought ya might not have made it…”

You read pain in his eyes and nodded, your eyebrows drawing down low over your eyes, which seemed striking to Daryl even just in the glow of the firelight. “I had been at the restaurant that day—when they started calling for all the evacuations and then the bombing started… Things went bad so fast. Some people came in and just started looting the place, being violent, and then some of the walking dead got in. I made it out with some of the other servers, the kitchen staff, but—we didn’t stay together long. I honestly don’t remember too much from the first few weeks. I probably blocked it out,” you said with a wry laugh.

Daryl turned to face you more fully. “I shoulda been with ya,” he said forcefully. “I shoulda been there when it all happened. ‘M sorry I wasn’t.”

You gave him a questioning look and shook your head. “It isn’t your fault you weren’t. I was the one who couldn’t—who stayed away, who put the distance between us.” You ducked your gaze now, showing the dark fans of your eyelashes to Daryl. The fire cast shadows of them on your cheeks, gray half-moons. “I have a lot of regrets about that,” you said, lifting the mug to your hands, breathing in the fragrant steam. “I should have—” you sighed heavily and shut your eyes for a moment. “But I was just scared. After that night, I was scared of everything back then.” You stared into the coals of the fire, watching the heat move over them like waves in the ocean.

Daryl nodded and chewed on his bottom lip. “Ain’t like ya didn’t have a reason to be.” He shifted next to you, shaking his hair out of his eyes. It made you smile. He used to do the same thing when you were kids. “Besides,” he went on, “ya were right ‘bout it anyway. Got into a lot bad shit because of Merle and his crew. And even after shit went to hell, Merle kept findin’ ways to make things worse, and for a while I just went along... until I met some people who showed me that ain’t how it has to be.” He shook his head, obviously upset at his past self. “Stupid…”

You nodded. “Well. It doesn’t matter now.”

Daryl watched the look in your eyes grow a bit distant and vague as you returned to watching the fire lick over the logs. Night was getting on. Dog was dozing by the fire, flopped over on his side to warm his belly.

The last thing he wanted to do was leave, but he was suddenly struck by the thought that he would overstay his welcome. He stood and your eyes flew to him. “Well—s’late. I should prob’ly get outta yer hair,” he said. “My camp ain’t that far from here.” He paused, coming to a sudden realization. “Though it is on the other side of the river…”

“Oh—” you responded, looking up at him, your eyes big and—was that disappointment? “You’re going?”

Daryl scratched at a non-existent itch on the back of his neck. “I dun wanna—overstay my welcome is all…” he trailed off.

You were suddenly on your feet too. “You’re not.”

He gulped. There was suddenly electricity in the air.

“You should stay,” you said. “I have spare blankets and stuff inside. And… it’s been over a decade since we’ve seen each other,” you added with a laugh. “And you already want to go running off into the dark?” You felt the air crackling like it did before a lightning strike.

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully, nervously for a moment and then shook his head. “Nah, I dun want to…”

And you smiled at him. You fucking smiled. And Daryl’s heart skipped a beat the same way it always used to when you smiled at him. “Good. Come on,” you said, tipping your head toward the little building. You shifted some things around and produced a second bed roll. “I usually layer with this one when it gets really cold, but it’ll work just as well as a spot for you tonight.”

“Hold up,” Daryl said as you started laying down the spare blankets. “Put mine by the door over here.” You straightened up and were giving him a queer smile he couldn’t entirely decode. “What?” he asked, shifting his weight anxiously.

“Still trying to protect me, Daryl?” you asked softly. That was exactly what he was doing. He didn’t know if he should apologize or— “I will, but you should know I’m a lot less helpless these days,” you said.

“Oh, I—I didn’t mean to imply that—” Your laugh interrupted his stammering.

“It’s alright. I know you can’t help it. That’s just who you are,” you said. “Some things don’t change. Besides, it’s sweet…” You finished laying out the spare bedding and straightened up to look at the two bed rolls next to each other. “Sorry it’ll be a little close in here.”

Daryl was thinking it wasn’t close enough. Since he’d let go of your hand by the riverbank he was mourning the loss of your touch. Every second he was just trying not to do or say something that would be off-putting. You were practically strangers now, weren’t you? But in his mind, all he could think about was hugging you tightly and not letting go, of breathing in the scent of you—wondering if it was the same as it had been then, like warm maple syrup. You still felt like home. You still felt safe. And he wanted so badly to collide into you, to kiss you and put all those feelings that had had nowhere to go for 13 fucking years into it, to sweep you into him, to tell you over and over again how much he’d missed you, how he’d thought of you every fucking day—at his lowest and at his highest. How could he still feel so instantly connected to you after all this time? Fuck, what if you didn’t feel the same thing? Should he—

“Daryl?”

“Uhh—sorry. What?”

You had a questioning look on your face. “Are you alright? You look a little flushed.” You actually reached out and pressed the back of your hand to his cheek and then his forehead. Goosebumps rose on his skin at the contact. You were absently biting your bottom lip and the drawing of his attention to your mouth was only making him feel warmer.

“Nah, ‘m—‘m good,” he said as you withdrew your hand, still looking concerned.

“Are you sure?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘m good…” You seemed to yield to his reassurance and peeled off your outer layers before settling down on your bed roll. His eyes roamed the shape of without the bulkier layers and he gulped again. You looked up at him expectantly where he was still standing a little awkwardly just inside the door.

“Does Dog want to come in?” you asked.

Daryl’s hands were fiddling anxiously. “Nah. He’ll guard the door all night outside.” You nodded and then propped yourself up on your elbow.

“Are you… uncomfortable? I mean, being in here with me?”

Daryl shook his head in a hurry. “No. No, it ain’t that… S’just—tryin’ to wrap my head around this. Last time I saw ya, ya were waitressin’ at Lou’s, ya know. Pouring that shit coffee into my mug and giving me this damn look like—like ya wanted to tell me to go to hell and ya wanted to hug me at the same time.” You let out a small laugh. Daryl went on. “And then all these years I thought—I dunno,” he murmured. “Part of me thought ya were gone that day, but another part of me just held onto hope. Or maybe I knew somehow that ya were out here somewhere… I know that dun make any sense.”

You were giving him a half-smile, a soft look in your eyes again, illuminated by the brightness of the lantern you’d lit in the corner. “I knew you were alive. I knew you’d beat all this shit. You’ve always been a survivor.”

Daryl sank down on the bed roll you’d laid out for him finally, prodding the makeshift pillow into the form he wanted before lying down on his side. You were facing each other, only six inches apart. “Yeah, well, so were you.”

You let out another dry laugh. “No, I just got lucky. My best friend was fierce.” There was something in the way you were looking at him now that was drawing him in. He felt the pull of you like a magnet and that electric tension was hanging in the air again like humidity. It was there—humming, buzzing, and then it was gone all of a sudden as he ducked your gaze and rolled onto his back.

Fucking coward, he thought.

You shifted beside him and clicked off the lantern, plunging the interior of the little cabin into blackness. Outside, a few lazy crickets chirped. The silence stretched for a minute before he dared to speak.

“Y/N…”

“Hmm?”

“I dun ever wanna lose ya again…” He heard the rustling of fabric as you moved beside him, and he sensed somehow that you were closer.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” your voice came back in a whisper. There was something strained in it and he turned toward you again.

He leaned up on his elbow. “…are ya cryin’?”

“No,” came back your stubborn answer, but he could hear it in your voice.

Daryl knelt and fumbled for the light, managing to hit the switch in the dark. There was no denying it now as he saw the tearstains on your cheeks. You sniffled and drew in a shaky breath, looking up at him with an almost ashamed glance. “…Why’re ya cryin’?” His expression was pure worry.

You shrugged and laughed sardonically. “I don’t know! Just—this! You! Here! And I—Daryl, I can’t even tell you how much I missed you. It was like walking around with part of me gone. And maybe that’s—maybe that’s fucking stupid because we were kids… We were fucking teenagers, but I don’t think that’s just it! I think when you meet someone that’s your soulmate, who understands you on some deep level you can’t even describe, it doesn’t matter if you meet them when you’re ten or when you’re forty!”

His brow was drawn over his blue eyes.

“And I—I think I’m still as in love with you now as I was back then and I’m really sorry if that’s weird for you to hear, and maybe I shouldn’t have said it but—we’re practically strangers now but—”

Then he was kissing you. His fingers were in your hair and he was tugging you into his body, and you were sinking into him, surprised at first but then softening beneath his hands, melting into it. He kissed you desperately, like he needed you to breathe instead of air. His hand clasped your face and then drifted to your shoulder and then to your waist and you were arching into him, gripping on to the lapel of his shirt and pressing your other hand flat to his strong chest and almost melting into a puddle of sensations as his strong arms were around you, holding you up.

Your eyes flickered between his, still a little wide, but now crinkled slightly at the corners in a smile. “I wanted to kiss ya since the first second I realized it was you standin’ in the river,” Daryl said. “I just thought—s’been so long… maybe I was the only one feelin’ what I was. But s’like we ain’t spent a day apart. Even though I know I’ve sure put a lotta damn mileage on since the last time I laid eyes on ya…”

You ran your fingers through his hair and he leaned into your fingers, his eyes closing. Every worryline on his face relaxed. “Shush. You’re still beautiful, Daryl Dixon.”

His blue eyes opened again and he clasped your face gently, studying all the ways you were the same and different. His thumb swept lightly across the pillow of your lower lip. “Ain’t nothin’ compare to you.”

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #daryl angst #twd angst #teenage!daryl dixon

616 notes · View notes