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gliphyartfan · 1 year

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@stars-for-thought @linked-heroes @screaming-until-god-hears-me @crestfallenmermaidan @ice-cream-writes-stuff @imprisioned-in-the-hole @yandere-linked-universe @justanerd1

Hey folks! Happy holidays and merry new year! I hope you all are enjoying yourselves! Sorry for the wait, inspiration does NOT come when I want it to, but luckily I have my muse to always inspire me! (You know who you are~)

TTAU Wild gets his time to shine with this rework! I hope you all enjoy this bit! For those who read my old version, I hope this is a good upgrade! And for those who are new to this blog, I hope it leaves you wanting more!

Enjoy folks! Let's get started!

There was something to be said, being alone with one other person in a place that was normally lively with the living. Alone within the plaza,two stood before the memorial statue of a beloved princess, a rare moment of isolation within an area that is usually occupied by others in one capacity or another.

"I wonder...Sidon.."

"Yes Link?"

"Would Mipha have accepted that my heart would never accept hers?"

"..."

Link did not look away from Mipha's statue, did not bother to glance at his companion beside him.

Link could see Sidon out of the corner of his eyes, but kept them locked firmly on the sculpture. His own mind lost in thoughts that have plagued him greatly since awakening in this period once more.

The images still vivid enough in his memory that Link was almost physically unable to shake them off. Memories of a time that no longer existed in anyone's memory but his and one other. Memories of a time that had once been so dear to him, that had ended so cruelly.

Link sighed slowly, pushing down any emotions that could possibly cross his face.

It didn't escape Link's notice that Sidon had chosen the silence. Not a questioning of his words or question asked. A simple acknowledgement that there was more to be said.

He knew it wouldn't do either one of them much good, but perhaps, Link could use some company in order to help gather his thoughts.

"I know she would not have wanted me to mourn her forever." Link said quietly after several minutes had passed, his voice barely audible.

"Nor would she have blamed you for rejecting her feelings." Sidon countered gently, ever so carefully placing his hand on Link's shoulder, giving him gentle support.

Link looked away from the statue, his gaze fixed on his reflection in the pool of water beneath him. His expression unreadable. Sidon watched him from the corner of his eye for a few moments before turning his gaze back to Mipha's statue.

"Her heart...would have felt…much anguish, knowing she would never have that special place in your heart," Sidon said softly, quietly, his gaze locked onto the face of the statue.

"But never would she have cursed or shunned you." Sidon added, his gaze still trained on the face of his sister's likeness.

Link said nothing.

"Your heart would be in the right place, Link. I am confident in that fact. You seem to feel that you have made many mistakes in the past," Sidon started.

"You, as well as I, certainly will make many mistakes in the future, both near and far. Of this, we both can agree."

Link frowned, but did not reject his words.

"I think...I have made mistakes that, in other circumstances, would be deemed irredeemable." Link mumbled, his gaze moving briefly from his reflection to Sidon's.

Sidon nodded.

"I have no doubt that you have my friend. You did not know what was true, what would happen when you made the choices you did, said the words that you have said."

"Yet, the things you saw, have said, have done... I do not need to know them to know they changed you Link. The results of those things did something you couldn't even understand until the truth appeared before you." Sidon finally turned to look at his friend.

"Now you must learn to forgive yourself and walk forward."

"...How can I forgive myself for the unredeemable..." Link murmured. Sidon shook his head slowly.

"That cannot matter right now. What matters is forgiving yourself."

Link frowned, the expression etched deeply upon his handsome features. He looked up at Sidon. "What if I cannot?" He said.

"Then, my friend, that is where you must take a leap of faith and prove to yourself that you can." Sidon responded. "Walk forward, make amends in the only ways you think you can, perhaps those actions will be enough towards whoever or whatever you wish to repent to.”

Here Sidon shrugged.

"Perhaps they will never be forgiven. But whatever redemption you seek, whatever punishment that you feel must be had, it would no longer be up to you."

Link closed his eyes for a few moments, his hands tightly clenched into fists at his sides.

"Forgiveness does not always come easily Link,” Sidon continued. “ For anyone, especially if it is from within, but if you truly wish for it, then it shall come easier than you can imagine. Even if you do not realize when it arrives."

Silence.

Link took in a slow breath, exhaling through his nose.

"Do you wish to know what it felt like...waking up within that shrine?" 'Again' Link added silently.

Sidon looked at him.

"Tell me…”

Link's gaze fell upon his feet. His fingers flexed a few times before relaxing again.

"There was nothing but darkness...a sense of numbness, a type of heavy fog, both in mind and body." Here, Link chuckled bitterly.

"And...forgive me, but I could not bring myself to believe when my mind gathered itself. Bring myself to believe that I had awoken in such a place, believe that whatever circumstances," That pulled me away from My swordbrothers, the few that I could trust with my most precious.'

" would have brought me there, would curse me to awaken within that ancient tomb in the guise of a healing facility."

"Link..."

"And when I knew nothing, nothing about anything. all I could hear was HER voice." Here, Link could not stop the venom that escaped passed his lips, pointedly ignoring how Sidon flinched in surprise.

"...The princess." Link could feel the bitter chuckle bubbling in his chest and did not bother to resist it's escape.

"It's how I even knew what my name was." He let out a humorless laugh. "I knew nothing in the beginning, did you know, still know nothing, but back then? when it all came back to me? it was all too much." He closed his eyes.

"It was all too much Sidon and it broke something in me."

How it started an crashing tsunami of memory after memory, of their precious (y/n), of Her beautiful eyes, of Her beautiful smile and of Her warm kindness.

To wake up and find himself back within that shrine. back where it all began for him.

Hearing Hylia's heir whispering in his ear. his sword brothers nowhere in sight. His beloved nowhere within reach..

How the fogginess of sleep left him and memories came back.

The clarity started to eat away at the fragile self control that he had painstakingly tried to hold on to.

How he closed his eyes and tried, tried to wake up from what he hoped was a cruel dream, but every moment he opened his eyes and saw the interior of the shrine. It only fueled the despair inside him more until it consumed him.

How long had he stayed within that shrine? how had he screamed to block the goddess blood's words, that had soon become frantic, from reaching him.

Patches of darkness between moments of hazy clarity and pain. the scent of blood, his own, invading his senses as he hoped beyond hope that he would wake up.

Separated from his most trusted, separated from Her. What Will was there to push him forward now? What purpose could be enough to pull him from that place of death and revival and lead him to the open world?

All he had wanted to do at that very moment was to go. back.

'Take me back.' He whispered in the depths of his mind, could hear his heart pounding against his ear drums.

'Take me back. They need me. She needs me. They could be in danger, they all need me. Take me back.' He pressed his head against the side of the healing bed, raising it only to let it fall against it with a thud.

'Take me back. Take me back.'

'Link...'

'Don't force me through this burden once more. Don't make me Hylia's pawn again, take me back.'

'Link, you must get up...' 'Worthless witch, you who selfishly shunned Her kindness when she held out her hand to you, I would claim your head if I could, force the soul of your precious father to watch as the life drained from your eyes.' Link thought darkly to himself, clenching a fist tight enough that his nails bit deep into the palm of his hand.

'Please Link, you must-'

"SHUT UP! JUST TAKE ME BACK!" Link screamed aloud at last as he raised his head and slammed it down against the bed, His hands were shaking with fury and hatred. Why wouldn't that witch shut up? He should have strangled her when he had the chance. Why wouldn't she shut up and let him wake up?

His vision was blurry. but if it meant that Zelda would shut up, would finally be silent. He would not 'stop'.

"Take me back, I don't belong here." Link's voice wavered as he spoke, to whoever or whatever could have possibly brought him back to this place, his throat tightening in desperation.

"Take me back. Please....Take me back." His voice began to grow weaker by the second as each word spilled forth, falling like rain upon the white linen sheets and soaking deep into its surface, leaving behind streaks of color to contrast the otherwise monotonous white background.

"Take me back." Thud

'Link, please...!'

"Take me back." Thud

'Link-!'

"Take me back." Thud

'Li-'

"Take me back." Thud

'You-'

"Take me back." Thud

'...'

"Take me back." Thud

Over and over, he brought his head back down against the healing bed, his eyes unseeing, tears unending as they poured down his cheeks. His movements mechanical as he chanted his plea over and over again, uncaring of the blood that poured from the open wound on his forehead to the healing bed and floor below.

He had to go back. He needed to wake up. they were all waiting for him. They had to find Her, She needed them. If he was here, the others could be in danger as well. She could be in danger, he couldn't be here, shouldn't be here, She needed them to protect Her. He had to go back.

Why wasn't he waking up? This was a cruel dream, he hated it. In a time when he was alone, without Her warmth, her protection, So why wasn't he waking up?

He didn't deserve this torture, did he? He didn't want this. So why?

"This isn't real, Take me back...this isn't real...Please take me back..." He repeated over and over, hoping against hope that his would come true.

Why wasn't he waking up from this? He didn't want to do this, not again. never again.

'Link...Please...'

Why was the only voice that answered him hers?

Where were the others? Where was his Beloved? Had he done something wrong? Why wasn't he waking up?

'Link...'

He was sorry if he had. He was sorry and he'll do better. Just let him return to the others.

'Link...'

Just let him return to Her.

"Take me back...This isn't real...Take me back.."

'You must get up, Link...'

"Take me back," He begged, his voice hoarse. "I'd rather die than be away from Her. Just take me back."

'Link...'

“Please just kill me if it means I can be with Her again.”

___

He did not know, nor had he even cared to find out how long he had stayed like that before finally accepting that he would not be waking up from this torment. If only to silence the witch's voice as quickly as possible.

The stars had greeted him as he stumbled out of the shrine. The swirling malice consuming the destroyed castle in the distance.

He took it all in with heavy numbness weighing his limbs down.

He hadn't cared to look at the old man, former king and father to the unworthy blood, simply turning and walking the opposite way.

It became all too clear as soon as he made the decision to face his first camp of monsters how weak his body had become, if he had compared it to his former strength.

His mind moved faster than his body. He stumbled when he would have dodged, the darkness of night not helping him. His weapons, so weak and fragile, heavier in his hands than they ever were before.

The way the bokoblins mocked him as they landed blows that he used to easily evade. It made him physically ill to see how weak he now was as he eventually made a run for it, the laughter of the monsters following behind him.

It forced him to accept the inevitable fact that he would need to approach the king and gain his paraglider and return his slate back to working order once more.

A part of him wanted to simply get it over with, to part ways with the king as quickly as possible. yet he abstained from approaching him for a few days, a desperate part of him hoping that this truly was a dream and he would finally wake up.

But the truth of the matter eventually settled around him, after waiting one more day, he reluctantly accepted the reality he had to face and went to announce himself to the king.

Constantly having to remind himself of his need to get his items back was what kept him from lashing out at the princess' voice and her father's constantly prattling.

The shrines upon the plateau were child's play compared to the ones that he would inevitably face again down the line, his focus solely on regaining his items and getting things over with.

He had chosen to focus solely on the shrines first and foremost, knowing he would need to grow stronger to reclaim the Master Sword.

'Follow the hero's duty and bring peace to the people of Hyrule'

He performed his duty efficiently, if only to silence the trapped princess who would speak to him from time to time. if it meant that Zelda wouldn't speak to him, rarely staying in once place as he wandered from shrine to shrine was a simple enough task.

Tackling the divine beasts afterwards was less of a bother in some ways. Yet cruel in others.

He hadn't known how to feel when gazing at the incorporeal forms of his late companions.

He had thought he wouldn't feel anything when he saw them again. Yet a sense of grief echoed through him.

He supposed his former reputation of being a silent knight benefited him during such moments. His late companions would not know of the changes within his heart.

He supposed, given his silence, some of them were easier to deal with more than the others.

Daruk and Urbosa merely took his silence in stride, saying their piece and sending him on his way.

Revali had been a bit different, as if the rito champion discovered something in Link's eyes as he gazed upon him, but said nothing on the matter and did not deny him his power.

Mipha...she had been a bit more difficult to meet once more.

He barely remembered her as it was, and in a way, he felt shame as he listened to her words and felt nothing.

Shame because he would gladly bring ruin to this land, to the domain, her home, if it meant he would return to the only people he trusted.

He could not even apologize for those thoughts, she would not understand why, and the words simply wouldn't come out.

Perhaps that was why he was standing before her statue. Perhaps he was hoping to convey his remorse in some shape or form.

Because in the end, she chose to pilot Vah ruta for his sake, not because Zelda asked her, not because it would bring honor to her people, who loved her so, but because she merely wished to be by his side.

And was he not the same in a way? Would he not fight ganon countless times if it meant a future by (y/n)'s side?

Mipha did not deserve his animosity. He could accept that fact better now.

Yet it still felt so hollow in his heart.

"She...should have chosen someone more worthy of her heart..." Link said quietly, though it seemed so loud in the empty plaza.

Sidon sighed beside him, looking up at his sister's statue with sad eyes. "I'm sure she knows of your thoughts Link...She chose you. And despite that you do not hold her in your heart in the way she wished, she is still someone who has a special place in your heart regardless. That is the greatest gift you can give her now.

Link turned to look at Sidon. "Sidon..."

"My sister is...dead..." The zora prince's voice quieted for a moment before regaining it's normal volume.

"She is dead and whatever possible future she could have hoped to have with you is gone as well. She would now only wish for your continued happiness Link."

Link release a breath, his shoulders sinking as he allowed Sidon's words to wrap around him.

"But you must continue on, Link, my sister would not be proud if her feelings prevented you from staying true to yourself, I cannot imagine any other outcome."

And with that Sidon gave Link a small smile and moved to turn and walk off.

"Wait!" Link called.

Sidon stopped, turning back toward him curiously.

"...Thank you."

It was all he knew to say. He was thankful for everything that was said, Thankful that Sidon did not scoff at his words nor did he brush them aside. Sidon would never know what plagues his heart, but Link supposed he didn't need to know in order to give advice.

Sidon smiled and nodded, returning to his own trek back toward the upper floor fo the domain, leaving Link there staring up at his late friend's statue, her eyes gazing down on him with an echo of compassion that he vaguely recalled.

"I'm sorry I could not return your feelings." He whispered softly, bowing his head slightly.

"But thank you for your kindness..."

Raising his head, he turned around, taking a deep breath of the cold moist air. Allowing the sounds of the waters surrounding the domain to flood his ears. There was no point lingering here anymore, even he could tell that. It was only wasting time if he did.

He began heading towards the entrance, his heart heavy, yet lighter than it had been in a while.

A piercing howl greeted him as he made his way across the bridge. He chuckled, a tired smirk crossing his face.

"So much work to be done..." He sighed, pausing briefly.

He stared forward onto the path before him.

"But I will fulfill my duty, I'll make my way back to everyone. Soon." He mumbled under his breathe.

"Until then..." A nudge against his right hand brought his attention away from his thoughts, looking down, he raised an eyebrow.

"You don't have to wait on the outskirts every time you know. They do know about you." A huff and whine were his answer. He sighed.

"Alright Wolfie, sorry for making you wait."

---

"She was real, It was all real." He muttered between clenched teeth, hands gripping at his hair. The trees and flora concealing his curled up form, giving him the illusion of privacy in a time period where there was none.

"How do I wake up? What do I need to do." He whispered, he didn't care who heard, he would kill them even in his weakened state. He didn't need weapons to tear their throats out with his teeth.

All he needed was to wake up, that was all. If he could wake up...It'll be better...right?

He could almost hear Her voice, his fingers twitching as if him reaching out would allow him the blessing of holding Her in his arms once more.

He needed a way to return to them, to Her. He needed Her. No amount of torture or distance could change that fact, anyone who assumed otherwise were fools.

He just needed to go back.

So lost in his despair, he did not notice he was being approached until a wet nose pressed against his cheek.

Startled, he jolted upright, blinking back his tears.

"Wha-!?" He snapped, reaching towards his rusted sword.

Hearing a soft whine he halted his actions. Taking the time to look at the unexpected invader of his space.

"...Wolfie...?" The wolf slowly padded closer, pushing its muzzle underneath his chin gently. Link closed his eyes, burying his face into the familiar fur.

"...Why are you here? How did you find me?" He questioned, voice thick with unshed tears. The wolf yapped quietly, leaning up against his leg affectionately, as if to comfort him.

"...Huh..." Link murmured with confusion. His body sagged from the sudden onslaught of warmth, allowing his body to relax against the beast form of his sword brother. Wolfie licked at his cheeks, prompting Link to let out a few quiet tears, which caused the wolf to let out another whine.

"Tell me it's a dream." He whispered into the fur. Wolfie stilling at his words.

"Tell me this is all a dream. Please. Tell me I'll wake up and we'll be with the others." He whimpered, pressing his face harder against the wolf who whined again.

"Tell me this isn't happening." He muttered weakly, voice breaking.

The wolf whined once again, nudging Link again with its nose.

"You're real aren't you? You found me." He choked out, his throat raw with emotion, causing a fresh wave of tears. But he didn't care. Not at that moment, in that place.

Because he needed Wolfie, he needed something real in a place that no longer felt it.

"Tell me you're real..." He whispered, squeezing his sword brother tightly.

"Please tell me it was all real." That She was real.

There wasn't a reply. But when he looked up, Wolfie was watching him, his eyes trying to convey the words he could not speak.

Link sniffled as he released his grip, allowing himself to sink against Wolfie. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against Wolfie's chest.

"It hurts." He admitted to Wolfie who remained silent, waiting for Link to gather himself before beginning to lick along his hairline.

"I don't know how I could possibly do this again."

Link whispered, closing his eyes, letting himself enjoy the feeling of the warm fur on top of his face.

For a moment, he allowed himself to pretend everything was ok, they were all ok. That they would all be able to reunite one day.

That they were as real as he remembered them to be.

"I...you.." He swallowed, absentmindedly stroking wolfie's fur.

"I won't ask for anything more, I swear to you. But please, please tell me the truth. Just this, and I won't ask again. But please," Wolfie looked at him, waiting.

"Please tell me it was real." That they, She, was real.

He asked his question in a whisper, afraid that if he spoke it any louder, the answer would be something he couldn't handle.

He wouldn't ask for anything else. He just needed to know. He needed to know that one answer.

Wolfie barked once in order to gain his attention, and to make it clear, he slowly and deliberately nodded, confirming Wild's query.

Whatever tension that had held his muscles taunt, any worries or fears that wrapped his heart, left him as he allowed the answer wash over him.

It was real. They were real. She was real.

Relief is all he felt at that moment. His tears reflecting the feelings welling inside him.

"Thank you...thank you..." He breathed out, soon sobbing quietly into Woflie's fur, slowly relaxing against the wolf, feeling the exhaustion of the past several days finally weighing on him as he let himself forget for a brief moment of the path he would have to walk once more.

It was all real. She was real. That's all he needed to know. He was fine with everything now. Everything was alright now. She was real and that's all that he needed to keep going.

Everything would be okay now. She was real and that's all that mattered.

---

Wolfie whined again as he walked ahead of him. he paused, looking back at him, before proceeding with his journey.

"What am I going to do with you?" He murmured, sighing heavily yet a small smile on his face, walking forward to follow his companion.

The glow of the domain behind him illuminating the path ahead.

#linked universe #yandere linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #loz #lu wild #lu wolfie #ttau #TTAU rewrite

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yolowritter · 1 month

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A Case of Ladybug Luck: Chapter 3

Hello there everyone, and welcome back to Hell! Listen, I've used up most of the good intro analogies in the actual fic, so that's all I got. But hey, I'm back with chapter 3 of ACOLL! Mind you we have 26 of these as of right now, so my blog has catching up to do! Anyway, I figured I'll give you guys the link for each one of these and a snippet, as before! Again, if anybody wants to ask questions/chat, comments and anon asks are always open!

As always, snippet is below the cutoff!

It was well past midnight, and Shadowmoth stood in his lair, waiting. Barely any moonlight lit up his lair, but he did not mind. The mood was quite perfect for the emotions he could feel. Yes! He’d known the opportunity would arise again! He was sure!

“Ahh…a soul broken beyond repair by betrayal and deception! A shattered friendship and a heart in torment! Fly away my little Akuma, and evilize Marinette Dupain Cheng! Let us give Princess Justice the justice she so craves!”

His insane laugher echoed through the lair, but not a sound escape into the outside world. Here, he was alone. Here, he was powerful. Here, he was a king! And soon, so very soon, his dear Emilie would be joining him! At long last!

He could sense Nooroo in the back of his head. Always preaching caution, warning, advising him to stop, just for a day. Duusu was faintly present also, but she was barely a whisper. He ignored them. The Kwami had never wanted him to use their powers, but even if it had been an evil cause he was working towards, what consequence could that possible have on him?

He’d taken the legal precautions, he almost never left his lair, his home. Ladybug and Chat Noir would never find him. The Grimoire, the two Miraculous were his. What was the consequence? Nothing more than Nooroo’s feeble attempt to protect himself, as if it would ever make a difference! As if! Nothing would stop him! Nothing could stop him! He was Hawkmoth, he was the scourge of Paris! He was… he was…

Who was he?

What was he?

What was happening to him?

Shadowmoth shook his head, sharply turning to the skyline. No matter. The Akuma edged ever closer; he could see it! Through the butterfly’s senses, he felt the world around him. Rain pouring down from the sky, slamming against his wings. Desperation, worry and despair from two souls who ran amok in the dead of night, searching. Pain. Heartbreaking, endless pain from his target.

There she is…

A vivid image entered his mind. Princess Justice, wet to the bone, standing on the railing of a bridge, the waters below bashing against the stone and nearly escaping to the streets. The turned suddenly, and looking directly at the Akuma. At him.

He heard her scream in fear, or maybe he felt her panic spike. The others were drawing closer. It was not or never. Thoughts were running through her head endlessly, creating a myriad of wonderful negativity that he would use to destroy Ladybug and Chat Noir!

Lila, she’s laughing at me. She- she’s won.

A-Adrien, I’m sorry!

Mama…

Papa…

Goodbye.

He saw her form begin to lean over, he heard the sound of shattered glass, he sensed her despair. His connection with the Akuma snapped. He couldn’t feel Princess Justice anymore. Ladybug wasn’t there. She couldn’t have reached the butterfly. Impossible. Then-

Then Princess Justice was dead.

Princess Justice was dead.

Dead.

Shadowmoth’s transformation fell, his mind too exhausted to keep up. Gabriel tried to lean on a cane that wasn’t there, and fell to his knees. The last thing he had felt…was fear. Absolute existential terror, at the mere idea that he would get to her. That he would make her fight her loved ones. That he would make her hurt them. He’d seen her jump.

He just killed someone.

#miraculous ladybug #a case of ladybug luck #ao3 fanfic #marinette dupain cheng #gabriel agreste #adrien agreste #marinette f*cking died #...again #miraculous fanfic #these are old chapters btw I promise I've gotten much better #but anyway #mental unhealth #in...excessive amounts #gabriel agreste is insane #and just killed the main character #wonderful!#now what?#depression I guess...#hope you enjoy

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theworldisquietheretooquiet · 10 months

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Brushstrokes

AO3

2118 words

“Ugh!” Nienor drops her brush, and it hits the table with a clatter, rolling off and under the desk.

She stares at the easel, her brows drawn together tightly in frustration. She cannot get the princess’s portrait right. This time she swears the eyes are too far apart, and no matter how hard she tries the gold of her hair is never vivid enough.

As she walks over and bends down, trying to reach her runaway brush, the door opens. Nienor hurriedly clambers to her feet and comes face to face with the subject of her painting.

“Princess Finduilas!” Nienor quickly brushes the dust and dirt off the front of her dress and attempts to wipe away the worst of the paint smudges on her face. “Good day to you.”

Finduilas smiles widely at her. “Good day, Lady Nienor. I am glad to find you here! I had hoped to come and ask you something. Is now a good time?”

Nienor walks back over to her stool and stares at the ground. “Is it about your portrait?” She says quietly. “I am trying to get it finished as swiftly as possible, my lady.”

Finduilas sounds surprised. “Oh, no, it isn’t about that at all. Although you have reminded me how excited I am for it! I saw the one you did for Lady Egleriadis, and I am sure it will be just as beautiful.”

Nienor feels herself becoming angry, but she isn’t sure at what. “Well, I am sorry, but it likely won’t be.”

There is a pause. “Should I be insulted?” Finduilas laughs. “Is my face difficult to render pleasantly?”

Nienor does not return her good humour. “You are too lovely, Princess.” She exclaims in annoyance. “Even the paints of the Noldor cannot sufficiently capture the radiance of your hair or the brightness of your eyes. Every time I try, the imitation seems insulting!”

There is a long silence, and the air seems hotter. Nienor feels embarrassed and stifled, and looks determinedly at anything but Finduilas. She should not have said that.

“I beg your pardon, my lady. I am not sure what came over me. Do not worry, your portrait will be completed promptly.” She leaves the room and half runs down the stairs, without giving Finduilas a chance to reply.

Nienor stares out at the plains around Nargothrond and lets the rush of the river fill her ears. The weather is fair today and a fresh breeze is coming from the west. But the season will change soon and before that she must return to Doriath. She sighs heavily and rubs at her eyes. She does not know why she dislikes the idea so, after all she does very much want to see her mother.

Well, that is not quite true. If she is honest with herself, she can make a good guess at why she longs to stay in Nargothrond.

“Hello, Nienor. Do you mind if I intrude on your peace?”

She turns, surprised, and there is Finduilas, smiling at her hesitantly, the sun picking out the whitest strands of her hair.

“No, I do not mind at all. And I think I owe you an apology.”

Finduilas draws up next to her and shakes her head. “I cannot imagine what for, my lady. All I heard was the true compliment of one who has an eye for beauty.”

Nienor glances at her sideways and smiles. “Thank you. Like all craftspeople, when I cannot replicate the image I see in my mind’s eye, I become a little frustrated.”

The princess nods. “That is fair, and a trait not uncommon among my people.” She turns to face Nienor. “When you are stressed, do you often seek the open air? I had assumed as one who resided mostly in Menegroth, you would have little trouble with the caverns of Nargothrond.”

Nienor sighs and looks away from her, towards the horizon in the north. They are not entirely alone; the guards who accompanied her out the Gate stand a little way away, joined by Finduilas’. But she feels secure in the safety of the princess’s confidence, and she wants to tell her.

“I am thankful for the beauty and protection of both kingdoms. But where I grew up, our freedom was heavily restricted. I could not go outside when I wished, and even crying too loudly was dangerous.” She smiles bitterly. “I learnt early on the benefit of screaming into a pillow.”

Finduilas is quiet. Nienor digs the heel of her shoe into the soft, mossy earth.

“So yes, when I feel my temper rising, open skies often do calm me, and I take joy in my easy access to them.”

“I am sorry you had to suffer such confinement. One so fair being cruelly contained is a great wrong.”

The princess’s words are kind and understanding, and Nienor feels warmer for them. But she detects an undercurrent in them as well, and when she turns to Finduilas, she is staring unseeing, ahead.

Nienor moves slightly closer to her, so their shoulders are brushing. “I believe you had something you desired to ask me?”

“Oh, yes!” Finduilas bestows her golden smile on her. “I am aware the time of your departure is no longer far off and that the plan had been you return to Doriath before the end of autumn.”

Nienor nods.

“Well, I wanted to ask that you do not leave until spring instead. I know your mother and friends must miss you dearly, but I thought to selfishly have you here over winter.” Nienor notices the princess’s cheeks have gone slightly pink.

“I have so enjoyed your company these months and conversing with you on many matters. Oh, and we have such a lovely celebration for Yestarë! I had planned to teach you some Noldorin dances.”

Finduilas falls quiet and smiles hopefully at her. Nienor thinks she is probably grinning back, but she can’t be sure as she feels rather lightheaded and distracted by joy.

“That would be… that would –” She shakes her head, laughs, then tries again. “I am so happy you ask this of me, which I will fulfil with delight. Yes, my lady, I will stay here for as long as the maiden of Nargothrond will have me.”

The princess reaches out and entwines their fingers. “That brings me great happiness, Nienor, thank you.”

Nienor smiles and squeezes her hand in answer.

“Of course,” says Finduilas after a moment. “It is only so you can finish my portrait.”

The princess’s eyes are bright with mirth, and Nienor wishes she had her paint and easel, so she could capture that face, as it is right now, forever.

She laughs. “Yes, of course. I can think of no other reason.”

The hour is late and Nienor knows the dinner bell will be ringing soon but she must finish this section. She had been so sure that once she blended the shadows on Finduilas’ neck, it would fix its length, but she is beginning to have serious doubts.

“I can hear you getting frustrated from all the way over here.”

Nienor glances across the room to where Finduilas sits, working on some embroidery. Without looking up the princess continues, “I thought it was going better?”

Nienor sighs and then looks at the half-finished painting. This time around it had seemed so promising but now… She lets out a string of Taliska curses.

“Bëor only said those when he dropped something heavy on his foot.”

Finduilas’ expression is amused, but when she is met with brooding silence, she sighs and says, “You must be aware it isn’t as bad as you think it is. The artist is their own worst critic.”

Nienor scowls. She knows she is being contrary, but she can’t help it. It feels as if she has been working on this portrait for an eternity. Last time she went outside the leaves had turned to deep reds and ambers.

“I think Morgoth has cursed it.”

“That is not funny.” Finduilas replies seriously, but Nienor sees her lips are twitching.

“Come here,” the princess says, and Nienor walks over and slides in next to her on the divan. She curls up close, leans her head on Finduilas’ shoulder and sighs.

After a few moments of quiet and Finduilas gently massaging her tired hands, she says, “I do not even know why Elves have portraits. You will always look the same.”

Finduilas laughs and pokes her shoulder. “Well, I am not sure why Men do! You will look different in a year anyhow. I am surprised your people don’t spend their days painting.”

“I would have said we might be happier if we did, but now I’m not so sure.”

She can feel Finduilas’ soft chuckle where their bodies touch and the tight knot of annoyance in her chest loosens a little. Nienor watches the fire. The change of the seasons is not felt in some ways, in the deep of Nargothrond. But it is colder now than when she arrived.

After a while, just as Nienor feels herself becoming drowsy, Finduilas speaks. “Perhaps I am glad you are struggling with my picture so. What would you think if I told you that?”

She twists so she can see the princess’s face and raises her brows. “I would wonder if I had done something to upset you.”

“You have not.” Finduilas frowns and she automatically reaches out to smooth the lines away, but the princess catches her hand and holds it tightly. “You were right when you said the Eldar stay like our portraits forever. Yet I am thankful, for it means you have forever to keep trying. Then if you keep failing, Nienor dearest, it makes me dream that perhaps you will stay here, forever with the subject.”

Nienor does not know how to respond and there is a lump in her throat.

After a few silent seconds she says, rather helplessly, “You believe it will take me until the breaking of the world to complete one picture?”

That had been an attempt at humour, Nienor thinks. But as she speaks the words and sees the flicker of grief in Finduilas’ eyes, the effect is lost even on her. She exhales and tries to work out how best to communicate what she wishes to say.

“Because I do not have the same forever as you, beloved. If it takes me until the end of my time in Arda to finish your portrait, it matters not. For there will come a day when you and it remain exactly the same, and even my bones are dust.”

Finduilas’ eyes are shining, and she attempts to pull her hand away. But Nienor holds on and presses it to her lips.

“And that image feels me with bittersweet joy! It makes my heart ache, but it is joy, nonetheless. The idea of my love for you lingering on, here and beyond the edges of the world, where I will take it. That is forever, enough, for me.”

Finduilas’ voice comes out a little choked as she says, “I would not need a portrait to remember the artist. There are not ages of this world long enough for me to forget her.”

Nienor smiles. “Good. And it means a great deal to me that you wish me to stay. I am happy beyond words about it, beloved, please do not let my morbidity confuse you!”

The princess chuckles wetly and Nienor pulls her into an embrace.

After a few moments of playing absentmindedly with Finduilas’ escaped hair, Nienor starts to grin.

“Darling! Perhaps you gave me luck with all your talk of taking forever. For I have thought of an excellent way for me to work towards improving my painting.”

“Oh?” Finduilas pulls back and looks at her shrewdly, eyes narrowed.

Nienor bites her lip hard to keep from laughing and nods seriously. “You see, although you have been generously modelling for me, even skilled artists like myself, often feel unfulfilled by a still, fixed subject.”

“Do they?” Finduilas raises an eyebrow.

“Yes! For it does not tell us so much of what is important. The feel of features, textures, how they look in certain positions, and it is very hard to get close enough…”

The princess laughs. “Oh my, Nienor! You are awful.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she protests. “Perhaps it is all this time spent with the Noldor. I will do anything to elevate my craft.”

“And pray tell, what sacrifice did you have in mind in this case?”

“Well…” Nienor leans in and presses her lips to Finduilas’. She feels the princess smile and deepens the kiss, pressing her into the cushions.

#I wanted to write my faves being loving and cute #(and dwelling on their impending eternal sundering)#the very vague idea behind this is that Túrin never came to Nargothrond so it's still going strong #but Nienor was able to get to Doriath anyway #and Thingol and Melian have sent her to visit Orodreth and practise her court and art skills #finduilas #nienor #finduilas/nienor #finduilas x nienor #nargothrond #fanfic #my post #children of hurin #silmarillion

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pacificwaternymph · 1 year

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Fanfic writer ask game, sorry that this is a long list:

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

🙋‍♀️ Do any irl people know you write fanfic?

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback?

💖 What made you start writing?

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

🧐 Do you spend much time researching for your stories?

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

Any parent-child dynamic, especially of the found family variety, makes me go weak at the knees. Something about the unconditional love of parents, man. It just gets to me. So like any of Shrub and Xornoth's interactions in the Wolf Mother.

The chapter after the full moon detailing the aftermath, where Shrub learns that Xornoth jumped off the balcony and gradually grows more and more horrified as she realizes that once this kid actually becomes more comfortable being himself she is going to have her hands full? Had me dying.

I'm sure you'll notice hurt comfort is my BRAND. A lot of my works have themes of healing, dealing with complex emotions and trauma, and reconciliation, and put a heavy emphasis on deep interpersonal connections between the characters.

A good deal of my family does, actually. They've known about my writing ever since I've started. I've never let them, you know, read any of it, but like yeah they are aware of it. And as for friends, a fair number of my friends are also consumers and producers of fanfiction, so yeah they all know.

Not really? Whenever the motivation strikes. Which just so happens to be... right before I tell myself I'll go to bed.

Love love LOVE!! I adore hearing what you guys think of my stories, all of your ideas and suggestions and predictions, it's so so so wonderful to see that so many people read my stuff and like it, it's so surreal.

I had a really vivid image for a story in my head and was frustrated that I didn't have the art skills to draw it out. So I turned to using my words as an alternative. I've been doing this for about 5 years now.

Characters fearing being hurt in some capacity, only to be treated with kindness. This usually takes the form of a child character who is used to cruelty being adopted into a loving family, but also fairly frequently shows up as an antagonist I'm attempting to redeem expecting some sort of harsh punishment for their actions and instead being faced with, if not forgiveness, then at the very least a willingness to hear them out and a demonstration of the heroes' goodness.

Depends. Sometimes I'll completely wing it, like me not doing any research for my pirate au and just going by vibes alone, but for some specific things as well as topics I want to be able to give an accurate and respectful depiction of (such as disabilities, different cultures, religions, etc.) I'll go a little more in depth with my efforts.

Snippet beneath the cut:

Having wings was… different.

Xornoth wasn’t quite sure how he felt about them yet. Growing another pair of limbs overnight wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience, to say the least. He could only remember vague flashes, a searing pain in his back that wouldn’t abate no matter what he did. He remembered a hand in his hair and concerned voices surrounding him. But other than that… nothing.

He’d faded in and out of reality the entire time, horrific flashbacks so lifelike Xornoth almost could have sworn they were real plaguing his every moment. But the one thing he knew for sure was that his mom had been there the whole time.

- The first couple of paragraphs from chapter fifteen of the Wolf Mother

#ask game #she speaks!!#kid xornoth au

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noxiatoxia · 2 years

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hi its me the dead anon and i would like to share that maybe 2 nights ago i was up rlly late. and i was figuring out what i was going to write back to ur last response to my other ask when i got really tired

in my strange sleep deprived state i was hit with 'inspiration' and opened google docs. within a matter of a couple hours, from 1-2 am, i wrote a pages long fic where kaoru kills himself and hikaru was so upset and made myself cry so hard i passed out.

when i woke up i looked at it and it really wasn't that good?? but at the same time it was and it made me cry again so. theres that. if you were wondering what ive been doing instead of responding

anyway very sorry about dying. ive really wanted to send u asks but ive been stressed out so im not great at coming up with hcs. very uninspired (besides my weird kaoru suicide fic but. yk)

maybe this says something about my current mental state. maybe not. idk

NOOOOOOOOO HAHSJSOKDFJ I SHOULDNT LAUGH BUT THE IDEA YOU WOKE UP FROM A HALF AWAKE DAZE AND WERE LIKE "FUCK I GOTTA WRITE KAORU KILLING HIMSELF" CRIED, THEN PASSED OUT IS SUCH A FUNNY MENTAL IMAGE.

But like I GET IT!!! same shit happens to me. I'm about to sleep but inspo STRIKES and I HAVE to get it on paper. It actually happened last night... Idk if I'll turn the idea into a full fic I'll post but it was a comedic concept nonetheless

The idea of one of the twins dying always kills me bc it's like... SO fucking sad.... the heartbreak is too much for me... i like happy endings... But like, I get it. Sometimes you just gotta write super depressing stuff. I have before.

The idea tho of one of the twins having a nightmare abt the other dying... Oughh. Like some super vivid nighmare that has one of them bolting up in bed panting on the verge of tears, immediately seeking the other twin and hurriedly waking them up to make sure they're still alive.

Like for example, maybe Hikaru waking up a month after Kaoru had his really bad depressive episode that scared the shit out of him. In his nightmare though...things don't have such a happy ending. And Kaoru does what he worried so much about every night in that dream, and he loses his little brother, and it feels so real.

Hikaru wakes up with a really startled jolt and is on the verge of a panic attack. His first immediate course of action is to turn around and nearly shake Kaoru off the bed, panickedly saying his name.

Kaoru of course wakes up sleepy and confused, barely awake as Hikaru begins to squeeze the air out of him with a bear hug. He's mumbling some things Kaoru can't piece together in his tired state, but Kaoru can tell he's really upset...so he just holds Hikaru and sleepily mumbles some reassuring things to him, and it does make Hikaru feel better, just to hear him alive and well...

Also since I'm a sucker for close physical affection between the twins I like to think Hikaru sometimes kisses Kaoru on the cheek. He did it more when they were younger, but he still does it I think under special occasions. I think this would be one of them... He was just so broken up in his dream and it scared him so so badly, so as Kaoru is stroking his hair lazily and sleepily murmuring reassurances to him, Hikaru sniffling as he's trying NOT to burst into tears, he kisses Kaoru on the cheek. Kaoru makes a small confused noise because he isn't expecting it, but he gives Hikaru a kiss back. He basically ends up passing out after that bc he's barely awake as is but Hikaru stays up long after that, holding Kaoru and just listening to his steady, deep breaths and resting heartbeat. Just taking in the fact his brother is still here and alive.

He eventually falls asleep once dawn begins to filter through the curtains.

Also it's okay for not sending asks!!! Life is tough and busy. Your health & happiness is far more important!!! I really love your hikakao and ouran asks in general they are my day's highlight. But I'm here if you just want to send general asks about whatever :) DMs are always open too!

#ILL GET TO UR OTHER ASK A LITTLE LATER I HAVE THOUGHTS ON IT... MUCH TO SAY...#hikakao #ohshc #;noxiatalks2ya

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wildernessuntothemselves · 1 year

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Ooooh that chapter was a 10/10.

The failed betrayal scene was so so satisfying to read. I knew that dagger would come into play again in a pivotal moment. It's almost funny how Oc supposedly knows Beomgyu better than anyone else in the world and still makes the mistake of taking him for dumb just because he is impulsive and viscerally emotional sometimes. He is devoted, not stupid. She has more than enough evidence to never forget his scheming ways and how far he is willing to go... and yet she does every once in a while. She keeps trying to outsmart him, but she is not smart enough for that.

I did however feel bad for Oc in some parts. The game has never been in her favor, but at this point she really is looking more like the ball than like one of the players. Nothing ever goes the way she wanted it too... either she gets the opposite of what she wanted, or she gets it only after paying a ridiculous price that makes her regret asking for it in the first place.

And don't get me started on the smut scenes! You kept saying it was too much for one chapter but it felt just right. It's hard to say which one was the best honestly - i am inclined to say it was the first one for how gone, just gone, he was and the bits of humiliation thrown his way. You're so good at painting such vivid mental images, I could imagine every detail of each scene. Such a smut artist ♡♡♡

Oh, and I still maintain my opinion on Soobin. I wouldn't call him spineless... it's just that while everyone else is playing a game of power, he is playing a game of survival. He does what he gotta do to save his skin and stay alive in the middle of all that madness. Not the most honorable modus operandi, but fuck honor when your is neck is on the line.

(sorry for disappearing, I was busy literally almost dying... again)

~♡anon

welcome back babe! i'm sorry to hear you're sick again 🥺 i hope you're better now ❤️

oc thinks she can pull the same tricks she used before on him (like when she escaped) but while gyu is obsessive and acts pitiful towards her, he's arguably the smartest character in the fic (though wony is also very smart). even though oc herself calls herself stupid for having believed he might leave tyun alone and for believing she could pull one over him, it was more wishful thinking on her part as evidenced by her attempting to have a backup plan if he betrays tyun. it's just that she doesn't have a lot at her disposal. she doesn't have allies. she doesn't have power. she doesn't have any influence. what can she really do? she wanted to believe that she could do something because the alternative is just so depressing. she knows gyu has been controlling her life all this time, even when she left with tyun, he was still controlling her life. she wanted to believe that she could stop him or even just make him falter for a second because fuck not even tyun can stop him? that's soul crushing

"either she gets the opposite of what she wanted, or she gets it only after paying a ridiculous price that makes her regret asking for it in the first place" that's basically the theme for the next chapter lol just oc realizing that it's hopeless and that she's just making it worse every time she tries 😬

thank you 😭 it definitely felt too much but i just couldn't sacrifice any of the scenes because first of all they're hot, and second of all i feel like each scene represents a different plot point. the first one is oc letting her anger out and attempting to dupe gyu by using his love for her, the second one is her letting him get his anger out to try to control him and also to demonstrate how angry gyu is still about her leaving him, and the third is her giving into him and him in turn trying to get her to just let him in

idk i feel like both are true. he is trying to survive and by doing so he is betraying the woman he is in a relationship with, and more importantly, his queen that he has sworn to protect. if that's not spineless idk what is.

#ahhh i missed you babe #love you #mort talks #yamqn #♡anon

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haruhey · 3 years

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Mind If I Join You?

check out my masterlist!

buy me a coffee ¿?

Word count: 13k (i am SO SORRY i got carried away and this fic turned out SO FILTHY but i hit 300 followers so consider this a gift??)

Established Relationship Fluff | Smut

There’s only one bed shower, and Daryl Dixon is an opportunist.

the request:

every single fic of yours is seriously amazing. ur a great writer!! can i request a daryl shower smut bc wooweeeee

There’s always a giddiness inside Daryl when he returns from runs. No more sleeping in the RV for nights on end, no more eating cold canned chicken soup and - as much as he liked Aaron - no more hearing him talk about how much he missed Eric and making him miss you, too. He’s exhausted, his muscles sore from overuse, but the fact that you’re probably curled up in bed makes him so damn excited that all the ailments of his aging body are swiftly forgotten with each step he takes.

Houses fly by in a blur as he ramps up into a jog, his feet taking him to the dim light of a moving lantern in your shared bedroom window. By Daryl’s estimate, it couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11pm, but time meant little in the apocalypse - it was either dark out, or light and with the days getting shorter, he noticed you using the lantern more and more frequently. Just a few days ago, you had fallen asleep curled up on his chest, the soft orange light filling the room before he strained his body trying to turn it off without waking you. The next morning he had a terrible cramp running from his rib up to his bicep, but he never complained. Not even a wince in your presence since he thought the soreness was worth it. He would rather die several times over than lose the image he saw - of your pillowy lips taking soft, steady breaths of air while you slept against his bare skin.

Smiling, he lets himself remember the way you looked when he first gifted it to you, a grin that spread to the apples of your cheeks and crinkled at your eyes plastered on your face. It wasn’t a perfect replica, but it looked close enough to the one you would both light on nightwatches in the prison - which he thinks was when he first realized he loved you. Daryl also remembers the first night he saw you use it, the memory so vivid in his mind that he felt like if he reached out, the soft fabric of your pajamas would welcome his touch.

He could picture it now, your back against the headboard, reading one of the books that littered the shelves he never touches. Your face bathed in the lantern’s hue while your eyes scanned the pages and drinking in every word of whatever you were holding. He plucked that book right out of your hands that night and pulled you onto his lap, kissing the pout off your face until you weren’t annoyed at him anymore, rendered down to just laughing against his lips.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get home and see you again.

Daryl curses under his breath as he fumbles a little with the doorknob, but the profanities are quickly replaced with a huff of accomplishment as he practically sprints to the bedroom, boots shucked off haphazardly at the front door. He skips every other stair with long strides, desperate to feel you in his arms. When he enters the bedroom, he places his crossbow on the dresser and is surprised to see the room as dark as it is, the only source of illumination being the moon as it streams through the windows. The bed is empty and the blankets are strewn to your side, but neither you nor your pajamas are anywhere in sight. Panic flies through him before he registers the unmistakable sounds of the shower running, and he scoffs at himself when he sees the dim orange light peeking from beneath the bathroom door.

Had you known how worried he was for a second, you would have laughed at him. He was already so protective of you before the two of you got together, but it was another level entirely when you both made it official. It wasn’t just losing you to the dead anymore - it was also losing you to other people. Daryl knew you could take care of yourself, he had seen you hold your own on runs in the prison and trips outside the Alexandrian gates, but, God, if anything happened to you he wouldn’t know what to do. Being apart from you once when the Governor attacked was already almost too much for him to handle, but the thought of losing you and having to be okay with the fact you were never going to love him again? That was something he never wanted to experience.

Leaning against the wall, he pulls off his belt and places it next to his crossbow, his vest following not long after. The mattress squeaks slightly when he makes his way over to it and lies down, his body feeling almost instant comfort at the feeling of something other than the hard leather of his bike’s seat. Days like this made him think that maybe you were right in jokingly telling him that his motorcycle was a dumb choice for long runs - his tailbone was probably shaped like a rectangle from how long he’d been sitting on his ass.

A few moments pass as he allows himself to indulge in some rest, eyes closing and already in the first stages of a slumber before he shoots up, pushing himself to the edge of the mattress and sitting straight. Fuck, he needed to shower. He had given you his word that he would. Each time before he fell asleep after a run, he’d said; and Daryl Dixon was not one to break promises. Especially not to you.

Getting off the bed, he sheds his shirt and throws the old fabric onto the dresser, grimacing at the knowledge he would have to scrub at the dried walker blood come morning. His socks are next, pulled off by impatient hands and left on the floor, not even given a second glance as he then pulls open a drawer and grabs a pair of boxers from his meager pile. The only thought in his mind being the feeling of smooth sheets and your body against his skin. He’d pick up his clothes after his shower - if he could even muster up enough energy to.

Step by step, he makes it a good few feet out of the bedroom before he realizes the other second floor bathroom doesn’t work. If his memory served him correct, there were some plumbing issues and, before anyone could buy replacements, the world became, well, what it is now. After all, it was the only reason you and Daryl even took this house - nobody else wanted to have only one shower and, after becoming a couple, sharing one between two people didn’t seem all that bad. At least, that’s what he thought until now. Groaning, he rubs his eyes in an attempt to rub out the fatigue in them before his whole body lights up with an idea. Maybe he could have some fun with this. And if you asked, he could always blame the missing pipe or whatever it was that the Alexandrians couldn’t fix.

Practically thrilled, he mentally pats himself on the back and rushes back to the bedroom. Tired? Not anymore. Daryl can’t be if he wants to fulfill what just popped into his mind. Years of hunting leave his footsteps nearly silent when he enters the bathroom, but he’s not exactly at a disadvantage in terms of noise. The rhythmic beating of water against the tiled floor drowns out the slight squeak of the door as well as the hitching of his breath when he notices the gap. With how the room was designed, just standing at the door led his gaze in a nearly direct line of sight to you, the shower curtain lying an inch or two from the wall and offering him a vision which he doesn’t hesitate to indulge in.

It’s not like he's never seen your body - far from it, actually - but there was something about you that made him hesitate when it came to stuff like this. You deserved sweet and soft, affectionate with declarations of love between his kisses, and while he enjoyed giving that to you, sometimes he wanted something different. Sometimes Daryl wanted to act on impulse - to feel a different type of desperation - and tonight, he wanted to act out one of his long-hidden fantasies. One that involved you on many, many occasions.

Truthfully, he couldn’t fucking stop thinking about it since Merle and his buddies showed him that damn VHS as a hormonal high schooler. He never really had a committed girlfriend or anything like that to ever even pluck up the courage to ask, but that fantasy remained like a phantom in the back of his mind, lying just outside his finger’s reach. One that haunts him late at night and renders him withering in his own palm. At least, that was the case. Because he has you now and how he managed that? He didn't know. But he felt confident enough around you and trusted you enough to pursue the desire in him.

A shiver courses through him, running along the tip of his spine when he considers the possibility you might like it as much as him - and if you did, maybe he would divulge to you more of these secrets he’s always kept hidden so well.

With silent movements, Daryl unbuttons and unzips his jeans as he leans against the door of the bathroom, just barely suppressing a groan when his fingers graze the zipper. He curses himself, chastising his sensitivity at the mere image of you doing something as mundane as taking a shower, but he knew it was an inevitable consequence. Ever since the prison, anything you did got him riled up - even just seeing you sitting on his motorcycle made his skin light up with goosebumps. Left in only his boxers, he steps out of the denim pooling at his feet and picks it up, throwing it haphazardly onto the cream coloured counter as he waits for you to take notice of his presence. The metal button clashes against the smooth marble of the vanity, and its noises sound across the room, your eyes opening and your fingers catching the edge of the plastic curtain as you dart your head out, searching for the source.

Your body tenses up, no doubt the experience of living out on the road for so long, but the fighting instinct drains from you the moment you see the affectionate boyish grin playing on Daryl’s lips. It’s barely visible as he stands so far from the meager light source, but it sends an eager smile onto your face. Like all those times he’s returned to you, you want to run to him, feel his arms wrap around you and inhale his scent as you plant those incessant kisses he ‘hated’ everywhere on his face, but that urge only serves to remind you that you’re standing naked in a shower and he’s just staring at you.

“Daryl! What the- I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

Embarrassed, you speak, voice pitched higher than normal from the shock and excitement coursing through your body. However, he stays put, leaning against the door as he drags his eyes up the expanses of skin afforded to him; that is, until you pull the plastic curtain to cover yourself and run your free hand through your hair, tilting your head ever so slightly in order to urge his eyes to meet yours. You wait for his response as you brush the wet strands back from your face, but it never comes, him instead choosing to stride towards you and send you a pout before pulling petulantly at the shower curtain, trying to coax you to let go of it. Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, your grip loosens and he can barely hold back his excitement when you really do let go, tongue peeking out for just a second before he hooks his lip between his teeth.

Throughout your relationship with Daryl, you learned he loved looking at you, gawking at and admiring each angle, birthmark and curve until you felt heat flush through your body. Even before the two of you got together, his gaze stuck on you, longing and soft when you weren’t looking, only hardening if your eyes ever met his. Each time he saw you it was like he was still in disbelief that you were his, forever suspended in the wide look he had when you first confessed to him, hence why you didn’t pay much attention to his stare as you moved to pump out some shampoo. You didn’t really know why he was in the bathroom and he made no effort to tell you, but you were here to clean yourself. So that’s what you’ll do. He’ll probably leave sooner or later after making sure you weren’t hurt anywhere, anyways.

The way the light from the lantern bounced off your glistening skin made you look like some sort of goddess. Like an otherworldly being he shouldn’t be looking at. Or like a succubus, sinfully tantalizing, except you didn’t know what you were doing to him as you raked your hands through your hair again, bubbles forming already between your fingers as you scrubbed. Shit, this was way better than he expected, and he’s gladly taking in everything it was offering. Shifting his weight, he clenches and unclenches his fists - commanding himself to keep them at his sides - but then you turn around, allowing the water to rush down your back and his resolve withers away as he tries not to envy the path along which it’s falling.

Soon, the little space between the shower curtain and the ceramic tiling isn’t enough for him. He needs to feel you against him, his trembling hands and suffocating boxers egging him on like this was the first time he’s ever seen you naked. Clearing his throat, he urges himself to move, building his confidence which had seemed to dissipate nearly immediately as you locked eyes with him. What he wanted to do wasn’t sweet or affectionate, and even though he knew you would tell him if you didn’t like it, he just didn’t really want to risk even doing something you didn’t like in the first place.

“Sorry I, uh, I’ll go rinse out my hair somewhere else. Here, I’ll get out so you can-”

This was it. He had to act now or he’ll lose the opportunity. Running his thumb across his bottom lip, he watches as your hand reaches for the shower valve, but your movements and voice stop when Daryl shoots his dominant hand out, the calloused skin wrapping around your wrist in a warmth that makes you snap your gaze to his. While firm, he never applies enough force to hurt you - he knows what kind of men there were in this world, and he didn’t know what he would do if you ever thought of him like that. On the contrary, the feeling of his fingers around you is welcome, especially after what felt like years away from him. Giving him that same inquisitive look, except this time laced with a small smile, you can tell by the way he’s gnawing at his lip that he has something to say. Something that has him hesitating in a way you’ve never really seen him hesitate before, well, besides the first time you both kissed.

“Actually, mind if I join ya? ‘Cause ya see, the other shower don’t work and there’s this girl - my girl - she’s amazin’, but she doesn’t let me into our bed ‘til I shower and I’m damn tired.”

Oh.

Noticing the way you tense up slightly at his suggestion, he offers more, another reason to sway you into accepting as if the pursuit of his little fantasy would both begin and end with what drops from his lips. This definitely felt more daunting, like a much larger leap than him asking for permission to kiss you.

“I also heard showerin’ in pairs saves water.”

Oh.

Yeah, you get why he was hesitating now.

Honestly, Daryl really couldn’t give a fuck about the water he was talking about. What he had in his running mind had little to do with his environmental footprint and more to do with feeling your skin on his and the image of you coming undone for him. He hasn’t been home - been with you - in what felt like weeks, and he thought the generator could stand to work a little harder after running for one person for a few days. With a slight upwards twitch of his eyebrow, you can feel what little apprehension you had leave your body and his heart pounds in his ribcage with the anxiety of what’s to come. At least, he thinks that’s why its beating at 100 miles per hour.

It surely can’t be the residual hormonal anticipation or excitement from his youth.

“And who exactly did you hear that from?”

The slight joking edge to your voice causes him to smile, but it’s a mischievous one, one that holds promises and sends a shiver through your body. Daryl really had no clue what he did to you when he looked at you like that, his piercing blue gaze hitting you as his head tilts down almost sheepishly to the grip he has on you.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a glint residing in them that draws you to look at nothing but him as he runs his thumb along the bone of your wrist. With a tilt of his head, he speaks, muttered as he gnaws once more at his lips and lets go of his hold.

“It matter?”

So nobody, probably.

The amusing thought sends you shaking your head ‘no’ as you smile, pulling open the plastic curtain in invitation while trying to suppress the idea that just popped into your head. Daryl just wants to shower and the only reason he wants to shower with you is to fulfill that promise he had made. Because he just wants to go to sleep. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, he’s hopeful that you would be watching him - and he’s fully prepared to make a show of stripping his last piece of fabric - but he’s sorely disappointed when he sees your eyes closed in an attempt to keep the bubbling shampoo from burning at them.

Why weren’t you looking at him? Was he not overt enough?

Wow, he really wasn’t very good with… whatever it is he’s trying to do, huh?

You shuffle forward from the steady stream and he takes that as his cue to step in, gladly placing his body just a few inches from yours and sighing in relief when the water hits his sore muscles. The sounds don’t go unnoticed by you, and your heart sinks a little with each suppressed groan of pain Daryl lets out. He always worked so hard for Alexandria, and they still treated him like somewhat of an outsider, questioning his true intentions with harsh looks when he even so much as walked too close to them. But they didn’t seem to mind him much when they were eating the animals he hunted, though, and that sent your blood boiling.

Turning around, you try not to let your gaze drop too low as you place your hands on his shoulders, frowning when you feel the stiff knots that have burrowed their way underneath his skin. Almost immediately, Daryl submits to your touch, an all too familiar warmth bubbling in his heart as he, too, turns and exposes his scar ridden skin to you, allowing your thumbs to rub circles into his upper back. He always loved this - the domesticity of these moments, the wordless communications, your love and affection directed solely at him - and he’s starting to forget the real reason he crashed your shower in the first place, lulled into relaxation under your nimble fingers and the water beating down on his overworked muscles.

“Does that feel better?”

Your question warrants a response landing somewhere between a grunt and a groan, but then you laugh and he swears his heart swells tenfold. He missed hearing that. Even if you got embarrassed of it sometimes, or hid it muffled behind the palms of your hands, he loved hearing it. Because you glowed when you did, your eyes crinkling up at the corners with a smile that almost always brought him to his knees, and perhaps almost selfishly, the knowledge that he doesn’t want to be away from you any longer dawns on him - as well as the knowledge that it’s inevitable that he has to leave again soon. Whether it be with Aaron or Rick, or some of the poor bastards that piss their pants whenever they see him.

When you stop your ministrations, he feels himself frowning as you tap him once with your thumbs, but he elates almost immediately when you speak promise of a better massage come morning. He’s slightly ashamed of the way his whole body lights up in goosebumps in anticipation, but it’s not unwarranted. Spending late mornings with you was something Daryl never knew how the hell he had lived so long without, and they were his favourite types of mornings by a long shot. Especially when it ended up more often than not with you on him or him on you, the both of you thankful for the misfit house you had all to yourselves and away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

“You’re too damn good to me.”

But he deserves it, you think to yourself, He deserved to be cared for like this.

His praise drips with a softness he didn’t even know he was capable of until you came along and Daryl turns back around to face you, smirking lopsided when he sees a shy smile worm its way onto your face. He had to have known what he was doing when he said stuff like that - especially when he used a voice like that. Seriously, how long had the two of you been together? It felt like an eternity already, but he could still make you flustered from a simple compliment. Shaking your head, you rest your wrists at the nape of his neck and use the leverage to pull his lips to yours, thumb swiping at the blood dried at his cheek and hoping the distraction of your tongue on his will keep him from teasing the warmth crawling up your neck.

A ‘hm?’ noise falls from him, small and surprised as his eyebrows raise for just a moment before his hands loop around your waist by instinct. When you pull away, another noise falls from Daryl, but this time it’s more disappointed than anything, and he chases your lips with his bottom one jutted out, taking full advantage of the strong arms he has wrapped around you. Holding you in place, his eyes plead with the now perfected ‘one more’ look you’re all too familiar with and you can’t bring yourself to deny him - he knows you can’t. Closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he waits patiently, he hums when you finally kiss him again, his satisfaction vibrating down to the hollow center of your collarbones before begrudgingly letting you go when you pull away again.

The water runs a brownish red from the dried walker blood being washed off his body and he scrubs furiously at his arms, trying to gauge the right move that will get your thighs shaking and your moans bouncing off the ceramic tiles he’s seen less than he’s willing to admit. Should he just… go for it? Just pull you against him and push you up against the walls he wants your noises to echo off of? No, he should come up with a better idea. You deserved a better idea.

Running his thumb along his jaw, Daryl sneaks furtive glances at your body - who the hell he was hiding them from, he didn’t know - and picks even more skin off his chapped lips as he watches you twist at your waist ever so slightly to comb through your hair. Swallowing down his spit like some teenager, he watches your shoulder blades protrude and disappear, intently following the droplets of water as they fall along your neck and down the muscles you’ve developed. He had to hand it to the sorry rich prick who had designed this house because, all things considered, they did a pretty good job; there was just enough spread of it between the two of you to pass as a decent shower. Even if you or him had to oddly angle yourselves to warm a cool patch of skin.

Reaching towards the shampoo bottle, his arm brushes against your waist almost feather-light, but it sends a shiver through you, rattling your ribs and making your cheeks flush all the same. Daryl lingers for a moment longer than you expect, his body leaning as he stretches over and you think he’s going to step forward - wrap you up in him - but dutifully, respectfully, anxiously he stays put. You want his touch, especially after nights alone with only the scent of him on his side of the bed to keep you company, and, having caught a quick glance at his straining boxers before he joined, there’s little room for doubt in your mind that he wants you. But still, it exists.

Your own arms begin to sore when he finally pulls away, his hands now raking through the hair he seemingly never wants to cut. Clearing your throat, you turn around, eyes screwed shut as you face Daryl, fearing for both the shampoo you’re washing out stinging at your eyes and the fact that if you looked at him, your gaze would probably drop. God, was all it took just a few days without him to have you craving him like this? The close proximity coupled with the knowledge he’s standing next to you naked makes you tense up before a shiver runs up your spine, your thoughts causing your breath to hitch for barely a second. Despite your efforts to suppress it, your subconscious prays that he picks up on the little noise. Please let him pick up on it.

And he does, ever observant as he connects the dots, the initially surprised look on his face melting into a small anticipatory smirk before he all but races to lather his hair in the coconut - or was it grapefruit? - scent. This was good. This was damn good.

He dares take a step forward, tentative, testing out the waters as if he was unsure of your desire, but he knows he can read you, and that he can do it well. This was when he should do something, right? The subtle confirmations - a tense, a shiver, a hitching breath - beg him to. Under the streaming shower, Daryl impatiently scrubs at his scalp, teeth hooked permanently atop his lip as he watches the rivulets of watered-down shampoo catch along your skin, his fingers and mouth itching to replicate its path down your neck to your chest. He knows that path well, and perhaps that’s what makes him even more envious.

Thank God for the fact you’ve closed your eyes because if anybody saw Daryl right now, they would take a step back, maybe even several thinking he was angry. How could they not when he was glaring at you as if you had done something horrible? It’s a surprise to him, the fact that it seemed like you really could not feel the burn of his stare, but then a thought pops into his lust-fogged brain. Maybe you did know. And maybe you were toying with him, playing coy and pushing him to a teetering edge, letting him taste the tension on his tongue until he could hold back no more.

To say he’s impatient is an understatement. He isn’t simply impatient, no, he’s impatient. He wants to do something. He wants you to do something, to initiate the flurry of hands and lips he’s craving so desperately and, seemingly blind to that triad of signals, he scrubs frantic at his hair in an attempt to control himself. As he rinses out the shampoo, he manages to cling onto what little restraint he had over his body until you turn back around. It was like the universe was egging him on, trying to break his resolve by showing him those dimples on your lower back, reminding him of the way he gripped them when he took you that night before he left - and it works. Jesus fucking Christ does it work.

Daryl’s body crowds you then, muscular arms wrapped around either side of your waist and rough hands palming at your chest before sliding down to your stomach, pulling you flush into him while he grinds his hips experimentally against your body. The feeling catches you off-guard, eyes widening in surprise as you let out a gasp into the steam of hot water and you grip harshly at his forearm, attempting to steady yourself from the sensations blossoming from your thighs. He can feel them tense and begin to snap closed against him, but you hear the corners of his mouth twitch upwards with satisfaction.

“What- what are you doing?”

Restless, his fingers travel downwards, hooking a strong thigh between your two legs as he ignores your question, them parting immediately to accommodate him. Daryl’s veins thrum with adrenaline, feeling the all too familiar effects of your warm skin when he realizes you’re letting him do this - enjoying him, even - your hands pawing at his to beg him to speed up, to bring you that nirvana he loves to be the reason for. Heat flushes your body, knowing full well what he’s capable of, but despite it, your skin erupts into goosebumps under his touch, desperate for more.

“What’s it look like ‘m doin’?”

Your neck comes under his affection next, his lips meeting it as he mumbles the words against your pulse point, tongue darting out when he feels it speed up. Almost methodically, Daryl finds the marks he’d left days prior, darkening them with unadulterated determination and rolling his hips against you once more. The heavy motion draws a whine from you, short and needy as your nails dig into his wrist and he all but basks in it. God, this felt good. How the hell had he spent so long without you? Without your skin under his? Everything about you feels like a fucking drug to him.

“D-Daryl- what would your girl say.”

He smiles against your neck, a warm pride bubbling in his chest when he hears the slight shake in your voice. It always got like this when he was touching you, and he liked to think it was the anticipation raking through your body. All the possibilities he could bring to you. He loved listening to your voice as it was, but hearing it quaver as it bounced off the ceramic walls, mingled perfectly with the rhythmic thrum of water crashing against the two of you? It was almost alarming how quickly it made his head spin.

Submitting to your urging, he lets you slide his hands down to the apex of your thighs, groaning guttural into your ear when he feels your hips lift and rut into his touch, unintentionally grinding your ass onto his cock when you push yourself back onto him. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, you hear his breaths as he digs his palm an inch below your pelvis, thick fingers gripping harsh at your inner thighs as he nudges his further between them. It feels like fucking magic, whatever he’s doing, and a plea tingles at your lips before you bite it down. Daryl’s never been this bold, and this is new territory for the two of you. Very new. So you were going to let him take his time - let him explore every inch of your skin as if he didn’t already have it memorized - despite the fact every cell in your body screams for you to sink down on him right here and now.

His grip disappears too quickly for your taste, but before you can even register the decadent sear that marks his blunt fingernails and calluses, his palm makes home just below your stomach and he swipes two fingers against you, spreading you for him but avoiding that bundle of nerves you want so desperately for him to touch. An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips as he gathers evidence of your arousal, and the sound of him makes you claw at his wrist, your hands still blanketing his as you try to angle him to do something other than coat his fingers and smear you across your inner thighs. Amused, his middle finger curls, breaching you just until his first joint before pulling away, relishing in the way you clench as if trying to keep him in you.

“Hm, I dunno. What do ya think she’d say? I think she likes it.”

You can hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he feels your body react and you can practically see it behind your closed eyelids. Daryl knows all your buttons, every single movement that renders you down to a puddle of mush, but he’s avoiding them. His jaw clenches and unclenches as you buck your hips up to try and meet the talented fingers only getting further and further and further from you. Skin warm from the streaming water and the sheer amount of lust coursing through him, his left arm snakes upward, resting just under your breasts before pulling your shoulders flush against him. His teeth sneak out from behind his lips, grazing against that spot that made your thighs shake the first time you slept with him, and you become putty in his hands.

A gasp of Daryl’s name falls before a staggered whimper erupts from your throat, his hands moving so fast and sure along your body as if he had molded you to his perfection. Everything hits you at the same time, his sharp canines right below your jaw bone before they melt into the caress of slightly chapped lips, the hand at your chest palming and tweaking and toying like there was no tomorrow, his fingers swirling, nudging at that tiny bundle of nerves you’ve been silently begging him to touch just once, and you can’t stop the noises falling from your lips. No matter how much you try, they escape.

“Or d’ya think she’s too busy moanin’ for me to tell me?”

Oh, that fucking prick.

To make it worse, you can’t even bring yourself to be angry for that long because his voice drops into that low, husky whisper that makes your knees go weak. Had Daryl not essentially smothered you against his body, you just know you would be a puddle, pliable and aching after just a few days away from him. A jolt of pleasure rockets through you the moment you realize what he wants - to make you as desperate as he is for this - and you know he knows exactly how to get it. Biting your lip, you trap your sounds in your throat just to spite him and you dig your fingers into his forearm, seeking in any way to find another outlet for all the compounding stimulation he just keeps giving you.

Your heartbeat drums through your ears and you can barely register the growl against your skin, but the vibration of it is inescapable. He feels the crescent shapes already forming from your nails on his tan skin and he pulls his face from you, breath fanning your ear in preparation to express how disappointed he is at you robbing him of your noises, but you beat him to it, freeing the words that burn at your tongue to knock him off his high-horse. Daryl was never a very confident man, but fuck if it does not make your skin tingle.

“I think she’d tell you to- to shut up.”

The rebuke is futile, a stutter brought on by the push and pull of his deft fingers and he laughs. Daryl chuckles into your skin before everything from him detaches, only for him to grab at your waist and spin you around to face him, adjusting his hold to crowd you once more. Your back hits the ceramic tiles, a sharp whine escaping you at the contrasting cold, and you can see that smirk you had envisioned on his face when you open your eyes, taking in every inch of the swept back hair now falling into his face as he tilts his forehead slowly to yours. Running your non-dominant hand up from his arm to his face, you push the strands back, smiling slightly at the way he melts as his eyelids flutter shut for just a second. As much as he said he hated how damn soft you made him, he sought after your touch, your hands much too intoxicating for him to deny them.

You glow a ring of delicate orange from the lantern shining behind him, the light bouncing off your glistening skin and those sparkling damn eyes that shine with unguarded affection despite your ‘annoyance’ from just moments ago. Creating shadows over your body with his broad figure as he blankets you, Daryl nearly groans with delight at the image - the realization that you look impossibly better with the warm hue making his head spin. And when he remembers that you’re his to love? He tries to hide just how much it makes his mind run, but his voice comes spilling out without much thought, everything about you shrinking the filter between his brain and mouth that he so tenaciously keeps on during the day.

“That so? ‘Cause if I do then I can’t tell ‘er how much I missed her. Or what I was thinkin’ when I thought about ‘er at night.”

Daryl was already so worked up at the thought of doing this to you, you didn’t even need to actually do anything to him to have him throbbing against your stomach, begging to be touched after days of only imagined scenarios to keep him company. So you indulge him, tracing your dominant hand down the V-line of his pelvis and biting your tongue when his hips snap into your grasp, his grip at your waist tightening as he tries to still himself. He wants you to touch him, to let you give him what you want to give him and he tries his damndest to control himself, instead using his words to try and rile you up.

“Nothin’ I do feels as good as her. Nothin’ I’ve tried’s ever been close.”

Your whole body shivers at the insinuation, the ceramic sandwiching you to Daryl ceasing to feel as cold as it did when he first pushed you against it. He feels like centuries have passed when your hand finally wraps around him, running your fingers in a stroke that has him groaning and nearly keeling over you with how much that simple damn action makes heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Everything about this feels heightened, the steam of the shower failing in comparison to the heat pinging between the two of you. His eyes seek yours, cock twitching and catapulting him much farther to his climax than he would like to admit when he sees you watching your grasp, lips parted ever so slightly, pleading with him to lay his on them.

Heart thrumming in his chest, another groan of an expletive followed by your name drops from Daryl before his hips jerk forward, stuttering into your grip with no real rhythm as he pushes a rough kiss onto your mouth. When you let out a little surprised squeal, he pulls himself back immediately, as if shocked by his own lack of self-control, but your hand never stops, and your face leans closer towards his, the feeling of his ruined sounds vibrating along your tongue making you chase him. This must have been how he felt when he had you whimpering for him on those late nights and early mornings. No wonder you both loved them so much.

Twisting your other hand from the side of his neck to his nape, you pull him to you with equal fervor, the stroking of his cock forgotten in favour of his chapped lips turning into something more sinful with each movement of his talented mouth. His fingers begin to wander now, eagerly grasping at the two dimples at your lower back before his palms find all too familiar territory kneading and massaging your ass. Knees nearly buckling, you remember the leaking heaviness twitching in your grip and you nudge him between your thighs, your legs spreading just a bit wider as you inch him closer and closer and closer to where you need it most.

“N-no, wait- I gotta-“

His hands shoot downwards to still yours and he pulls his hips from you, his statement stuttered through a sharp, shaky breath. Whining, you nearly beg for him before you realize he succeeded in what he set out to do - and he was only gone four days, your subconscious chastises. Your head is swimming in desperation for him as you shake it, hair whipping into your face and onto the wall while you vehemently disagree with both his words and your own internal mocking. All coherent thoughts leave your mind, washed away in the stream of water running down your body and you come to the conclusion that you don’t fucking care if he would poke fun at you come morning, you need to feel him.

“Daryl you don’t need to- you can just- I can-“

You don’t need to keep-

You can just-

I can-

God, you sounded pathetic, your voice barely breaking above breathy through the heavy beating of water, and he loves it, it’s enticing him; he could die right now and he would feel nothing but satisfaction. Daryl was never a very confident man - well, with people at least - but around you, he felt wanted. Not just in moments like this when you craved him so debaucherously, but in moments when you would pull close to him while you were sleeping or hug him from the back. Just giving him your affection so freely and not expecting any back. It made his heart damn near break everytime he had to leave. Adjusting his grip on you, he digs his knee into the wall, perching you on either side of him and leaning closer and closer to your burning skin.

“Gotta get ya ready. Jus’- jus’ be a good girl an’ be patient. Don’t want ya limpin’ tomorrow ”

Despite his words, Daryl can’t help but think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be so bad to linger beside you the whole day, a constant reminder of the real reason you needed him to get you things, or why you would grip his arm as a piss poor substitute for a crutch when the two of you walked along the street. Nobody else would know - at least, neither of you would ever tell - but the satisfied puff of his chest and the fact he stands just a little bit prouder might make them connect the dots. That, and the lovebites that creep out from underneath the neckline of your shirt which, coincidentally, only seemed to darken after he came back. Nah, he thinks to himself, it wouldn’t be so damn bad.

“I thought you were tired.”

There’s a hint of concern in your voice, peeking out from between the teasing and he grunts, acknowledging your words before his hands wrap around your wrists and urges them to loop around his neck. He knows he needs to do this, the action a silent beg for you to just relax and let him treat you right in the way you know he always will. With his neck flush in the crooks of your elbows, you tug him, pulling his face to yours and raking your fingers through his wet hair.

“Never too tired for you.”

His stubble scrapes against your nose as he mumbles his confession between kisses down from your forehead, a delicious burn leaving a trail that makes your heart beat impossibly faster between your ribs. Grip falling to your waist, Daryl’s rough fingers inch towards the apex of your thighs, but he moves them so fucking slow you're tempted to just reach down and push them into you like you intended to do with his cock. Before you can entertain the idea any longer, he catches your lips in a clash of tongue and teeth and knowingly smirks against your lips. He’s dedicated, attentive, and what kind of man would have the heart to deny you? He would do anything for you, all you had to do was ask.

Daryl eagerly swallows the moan you let out against his lips when his middle finger curls into you, the vibrations spreading along his tongue and consuming him from the inside out. Your thighs spread wider for him, welcoming him - no, begging him - for more and it riles him up almost comically well. Whether it was intentional or not, he would never know. He pulls his face away just inches, breath heavy against your parted lips before he sends you a small smile, an underlying mischief peeking out from the tiniest sliver of teeth he exposes. Leaning more of his weight onto his knee, his left hand travels around your waist to your ass, digging his dull fingernails into the flesh and pulling towards him, bringing your hips off the cold ceramic and snaking that arm into the curve he’s just created.

Before you can even brace yourself, he pushes a second finger in, curling languid with accelerating speed, revelling in the heat you bring him with an audible groan that reverberates off the shower walls. Already so desperate, the feeling nearly makes your legs shake under your own weight, but Daryl’s prepared - he could keep you up with the hand he has splayed across your upper back and he’s secretly proud of it. His mouth returns to you again, tongue surging to meet yours as if just the taste of your kiss would satisfy his desire to taste what’s beginning to coat down his palm.

It doesn’t, but it’s a damn good substitute.

Nails scratching pathetically at his scalp, your lungs beg for oxygen, but you ignore your body’s pleading for as long as you can. You need Daryl. Just him. Just him. His fingers are ardent, all of them pushing and pulling and toying and touching you in a way that skyrockets you into an overwhelming nirvana and it feels good. It feels so good to be with him again, surrounded by his scent and his heat, that you start to entertain the thought of begging for him. You try to do just that, but every sound coming from your lips is only absorbed greedily by his before you pull him away by his hair, taking large gulps of oxygen as he does the same.

Not even a second passes before you’re grinding down into his palm with pleas falling into the steam of the shower, all your words going straight down to his cock. Gritting his teeth, he growls at your desperation, lips shooting down along your collarbone before catching the skin between teeth. He has your whole body memorized, proof of that fact littered across your body in the form of lovebites, memories seared into your mind of his everything and it’s almost too much to handle. Almost. But you need more. And Daryl knows, much too perceptive in all senses of the word.

His left arm snakes up to your neck, the nape of it secured in a grip firm enough to pull your hips down onto his muscular thigh, spreading you and rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves with his rough skin. Something between a swear and Daryl’s name chokes through your throat and he curls his two fingers just enough for you to repeat the sound, the movement perhaps pulling your hips forwards toward him. With the way you grind down so readily on him, it wasn’t easy to tell whether the roll of your lower body was from his fingers or the lust running through your veins. A satisfied smirk worms its way onto his face that you want to kiss off, but your head is stuck against the ceramic tiling by his hand tugging securely on your hair. Not enough to hurt you. Never enough to hurt you.

He can feel it now, the fact that you’re close, and it only makes him work harder. Maybe it was selfish of him, expediting your pleasure so he can finally seek out his, but he’s damn near shaking with the thought of finally being able to be with you in one of the ways he always wants to be. Sometimes Daryl felt like a teenager with all this certain enthusiasm he can’t seem to control with you around, but you had never complained - you made him feel alive in all the best ways - and he thanked whoever was pulling the strings in his favour for bringing him to you. Circling his thigh, he pushes everything he can up into you, the pressure making you feel like you’re floating. Fingers carding through his hair, your whole body tightens around him in a silent plea, and he's pretty sure he would have to be just about the biggest idiot in existence to ever deny you.

“Give it to me. C’mon, give it to me. Ya wanted my cock didn’t ya? Jus’ give it to me an’ I’ll make ya feel even better.”

Give it to me.

Daryl’s voice makes your mind swim, the growl rough and dangerous like everyone always tends to think he is, and incoherence drops from your lips, echoing against the confines of the walls as his breath fans your ear. Rutting your hips up to his hand, the knot in your abdomen snaps, the proclamation of it escaping you in a broken moan of his name. He can feel your body’s reactions before you start to get those familiar sparking waves of pleasure, the clench of you around him growing sporadic as he continues to unravel you with his teeth gritted, the unrelenting precision of his fingers sending you clawing and tugging at his scalp with no regard of your strength for just a moment.

His groan at the sensations edges out the haze of your climax and you immediately detach from him, pulling your body back from his so abruptly that he slips from you. Scrunching his nose in disappointment, his large hands cling at the back of your thighs, bringing your chest and forehead to his as if he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even just a few seconds.

“Sorry- sorry if that hurt I didn’t mean to-”

Face inches from yours, he shakes his head and cuts you off with a series of hungry pecks. One to your sinfully soft lips, then to the corner of your mouth, then one to your jawbone, devouring your apology right then and there as he overtakes your senses.

“‘S alright. It felt good.”

Then he kisses you again, urgent all the same, but he only pushes a firm brush of his mouth against yours. The movement is like a signature, as if it were his name scribbled easily along at the bottom of a letter - a soft possession that you wear along the tingles of your lips. It makes you claw at him again, tugging on the sides of his hips to pull him flush against you, fingernails digging crescent shapes he wants to see come morning, and your apprehension all but dissolves into the hot water of the shower. You were his, he was yours and in his mind, there was nothing he wanted more than for you to show him just what he does to you.

“Anythin’ ya do feels good.”

It’s stupid, how you could be in the middle of something so intimate and a simple compliment from him could leave you flushed from the neck upwards, but he loves it. He loves the little whimper you let out at his words and he smiles that lopsided boyish grin that makes your heart skip a beat. When he smiles at you like that, it makes you feel like the only person in the entire world. No walkers, no Alexandrians, no runs or patients at the infirmary to steal you or him away from the other. There was no one except you and Daryl - and it’s been too damn long since it was like this.

Body flush against yours, he snakes a hand down between his legs and the other grips at your thigh, hooking it around his torso and begging with a roll of his hips for you to rest your leg there. Each breath he takes sends a jolt of pleasure blossoming against your ribs, his skin rubbing against your chest so deliciously it makes your mouth fall open in silent pants of air. You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but they open when Daryl says your name, broken by a curse that falls somewhere after the first letter. He looks good like this - eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched.

Gritting his teeth, his mouth can barely form a coherent sentence with how much excitement is coursing through him, and he’s trying his fucking best to hold back from slamming into you until you give him a nod or a pull or anything, but then something in him breaks. The feeling of just having you so damn close worms its way into his brain and he takes himself in his fist, dragging along to gather the remnants of your climax and notches himself, all the while groaning from the heat emanating off you.

“‘S this okay? Need t’know if this’s okay.”

Slurred speech. It was so uncharacteristic of the Daryl everyone else knew - the Daryl who was so sure of himself, the Daryl who wore a permanent scowl on his face, the Daryl who was so mysterious, never speaking anything above a growl - and you think you could have laughed had it not been for the fact the words themselves dig up memories of all the times he had said them to you before. Every cell in your body lights up, high alert now that he’s in you, but he’s not moving. He’s not inching into you or filling you in the only way he can and you push your hips towards him, greedy movements making you swallow more of him. Taking a sharp breath, he lets you rut against him, but still, he doesn’t fucking move.

“God, Daryl- yes. Yes, it’s okay. More- more than okay.”

Sometimes you hated him, and then hated how stupid you felt for hating him.

He waits for your words. He always does. Without fail he checks on you before he slides into you. He never wants to take because he always wants to be good for you, but sometimes you wish he would. Sometimes you wish he would just take from you - take everything you have. There is nothing in this world that is not shared between the two of you. Daryl’s wholly yours as you are wholly his.

Curses drop from his lips, your name thrown in once or twice as if he’s reminding himself you’re real as he feels you around him. They fly out of his mouth like the bolts from his crossbow and ricochet off every wall as he begins to move, slow at first, experimental maybe with his hand secure against your thigh, then he starts building and building into a heavy, sinful rhythm. Shakily, Daryl groans, the breath he lets out tendrilling at your chin before he sucks frantically at your bottom lip, your noises meeting his as they hit the ceramic wall.

He wants to live in this moment forever; immortalize the way you look and sound on one of those VHSes, write the damn date on it, and hide it away for his and your eyes only so it’s rewatchable and revisitable and reliveable. It's not enough to just sear you into his memory like he’s done so many times before because you’re damn near perfect. Like you were made for him - for him to give you everything he wants to give to you.

“Fuck- fuck- you feel better’n I remembered. How’s‘at possible?”

The words escape him, rushing out as if you’ve put a spell on him, and they almost escape you, too, your pulse beating in your ears. But he’s so close to you, growling out through gritted teeth into your ear and pushing his lips to the curve of your jawbone like they need to be on your skin. He pulls his body away, chest leaving yours, and you pull at his waist to bring him back, whining lewd for him and only him, shameless and betraying the blush you feel as you register his stutters, but he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl smiles, that same damn grin with his teeth hooked along his bottom lip and eyes hooded as he watches every change in expression. You groan, half in the way he rolls his pelvis just enough to rub against that small bundle of nerves that beg for him, and half in annoyance at the way that lascivious expression seems to make every electron in you buzz.

“Shut- shut up.”

He lets out a sharp breath, a singular amused ‘ha’ following it, cock hardening and twitching even more at the fact he’s making you blush like that first night he had lavished every inch of your body with his lips - like you didn’t deserve every single damn word escaping from him. Leaning his weight against his left forearm that lies on the side of your head, Daryl brings his face to yours, nipping at your lips and seeking your tongue before he starts speaking.

“You should see yourself like this, y’know. Fuckin’ perfect for me.”

For a man who only ever growls and mutters, he certainly liked to talk a lot when he was pounding into you the way only he knows how and you’re just so damn unbelievable for him. For him. You’re his to love and it sparks something within in him that makes his tongue fucking run and his hips speed up involuntarily. Hell, you probably heard more of his voice in this shower tryst than the whole first nightwatch you had with him. You’re not even sure the water is beating down onto you anymore because the heat of your body makes the shower pale in comparison.

The sweat accumulating on his back and chest and everywhere is washed away almost immediately as it forms and you’re grasping for something to hold onto. Clawing, you wrap both your arms under and around his shoulders and scratch desperately at his back, grinding up against him and making jumbled noises of moans and Daryl’s name when he drags against that spot he knows so well. It’s skin on skin, the ceramic wall ceasing to feel cold as you screw your eyes shut and let yourself mount and mount with each roll of his hips. You hear a nearly feral growl, feeling your leg being hiked up higher by the elbow hooked underneath your thigh, and a loud noise breaks from your throat when his thumb swipes where his cock meets you.

“C’mon, we ain’t got all night.”

You’re close and he knows it. It was like he was rubbing it in your face, the fact he could make you like this - how quickly he could reduce you into the incoherent, ruined state you always seemed to become for him. Attentive. He’s always attentive. You can tell by the way he’s memorized everything that makes you shake and capitalizes on them, thrusts coupled with the tight circles pulling you closer and closer to that precipice of pleasure, but he says those words anyways, hoping to get a reaction from you. Daryl’s not an impatient lover - he would spend hours buried in you if you let him - but he’s so damn close and perhaps almost selfishly, he wants to watch you succumb first. He wants to watch the water race down your body as you writhe for him against the wall, and he wants that to send him over the edge.

“Then- then do better, Daryl.”

You bite back, your breath grazing against his neck and a wet heat rushes through him, making him groan nearly wrecked as his hair tickles your cheek. Reaching behind his muscular body to his shoulder blades, one of his large hands is more than enough to wrap around both of your wrists and he takes them in his grasp, moving them until they’re secure against the ceramic wall behind you. You’re warm for him. Pliable for him despite the veil of distaste in your voice and he can’t get enough of it.

Daryl’s so fucking happy you bite back.

His hips stop and you let out an almost childish cry, but he stays buried deep, filling you up to the brim as the water beats down on the both of you and holding you against the tiles by the weight he’s pressing from where you meld to him. His face is so close to your ear now. So much so that you can feel the breath when he speaks, a dangerous growl resounding through your body before his teeth graze along your neck.

“Hm? I ain’t never heard a complaint from you be- before. That a- fuck- are ya challengin’ me?”

An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips when you clench around him, no doubt from the sudden crash of your mounting pleasure, and he pushes impossibly further into you, firmly pinning you down until he knows you won’t be able to move anymore. He wants to show you he can stop at any moment, that he can make you work for it, but you both know he’ll give in. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of which you have him wrapped around your finger, but if you even knew half of it, you would know he would never stop. Not when he was so desperate for you he can barely think of anything except the way you look and feel. At least, not unless you wanted him to.

“Are you g-gonna take it up?”

Although your mouth ceases there, your brain runs, pleas tickling at the tip of your tongue, but you can barely manage to form the meager few syllables that have already escaped you. Eyebrows knotted at your forehead, you try desperately to coax more movement from him - a whine, a whimper, a thrash of your pinned hands flattened by his strong grip - but Daryl’s so damn still and it’s driving you crazy. When your body settles for only ragged breathing and shaking thighs, he takes it as his cue to lean down, lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s so affectionate you forget that, just moments ago, he was relentlessly pounding into you.

“Don’t know. Seems like you might be wantin’ it more’n me.”

Smiling against your mouth, he pulls away just enough to speak. A challenge in his words so obvious to you that you try in vain to buck your hips to his. If he didn’t sound so good and look so good and feel so damn good, you would have denied it, but you’re strung so taut, so close to the peak, that you can barely form a retort. A stupid, handsome smirk rests on his lips as he waits. Patient. Like it wasn’t affecting him, being buried in you. He’s just waiting for your words - goading you as he watches from underneath his lashes.

“Daryl, I swear to God if you stop right-“

The insincere threat is enough to spur him into action. Partly due to the fact you sound so desperate and ruined for him, and partly because he just needs to feel you again - he would lay you down and take you the way you deserved on the bed come morning, but right now was a different matter entirely. Swearing, his smirk drops in favour of a scowl, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he snaps up into you in quick succession. The hand at your thigh is roaming now, massaging and palming wherever his nimble fingers can worm their way onto before it splays across your ass, using the grip to pull your body impossibly closer to his. Daryl would have made you beg for him - he wanted to - but he can’t stop himself. Not when you look so pretty up against the wall and you’re taking his cock so well.

“Been gone four days an’ you’re already so damn needy.”

Whether that statement was directed at you or himself, you would never know.

An abashed whimper escapes through you and you want to deny it, perhaps just to see what would happen, but you can’t. You can’t because Daryl’s right. He knows he is, and you know he is. You thrash your arms so you can touch him, feel his skin underneath your fingers, but his grip around your wrists keeps you firm against the ceramic tiling - just enough to keep you pinned so he can admire the way you squirm for him. Grunts and groans of your name escape from him with each thrust, the feeling of your body melded to his much too intoxicating for him to keep his mouth shut.

“What, you embarrassed now? Wanna cover your mouth? Keep them noises from me when you’re soundin’ so damn pretty? Ya better not be thinkin’ about it. ‘Cause ya damn well ain’t gotta.”

Daryl tilts his head, eyes squinting in faux-concern and mocking you as his hips relentlessly hit up into yours, pushing out the breath from your lungs which escape in tantalizing gasps with each roll. You’re so close, and the only thing you can do is moan at the sound of his rough voice, the coil tightening in your abdomen because of his determined thrusts. You just need a little more - just a little more - and he reads you like a book.

Without warning, the hand pinning your wrists frees itself, his finger pinpointing back between your thighs with an unadulterated eagerness to pull your climax from you and you damn near cry out Daryl’s name as you claw at his back. It’s like second nature to him, the way he can touch you and make you crumble for him. Practice does make perfect, and he’s always been a persistent man.

“Ya sure as hell weren’t when you were bein’ a brat.”

Everything he’s doing to you is almost effortless. It makes your legs shake and without warning, your thighs tense up, a white hot surge of pleasure erupting from the base of your stomach and you gasp a broken moan of Daryl’s name as you clutch at his neck in an effort to keep yourself from collapsing onto him. He holds you close, chest pushed up to yours and breathing ruined into your ear as he works you through your climax with dextrous fingers, chasing his own as his rhythm begins to falter. Sporadic thrusts meet each flutter of your clenching warmth. until he can’t hold out anymore.

Screwing his eyes shut, a stuttered chanting of profanities mixed in perfectly with pleads of your name fan out from his mouth and he pulls out, rubbing himself harsh against your thigh before your fingers wrap around his cock. Fuck, Daryl nearly crumbles right then and there, a ragged groan rushing from him before his hips jerk upwards to your touch - nothing could even compare to it and he thinks nothing could ever come close. Nothing except you. Pulsing in your grasp, both of his rough hands dig into either of your thighs and he stills, teeth gritted as the evidence of his pleasure hits your stomach before being washed away in the steady stream of water.

Satisfied, you smile and lean towards him, your head coming off the ceramic wall, and he parts his lips immediately for your tongue, but you pull away after giving him a quick peck. Scrunching his nose, Daryl pats lightly at your thigh for your attention and seeks your lips once more, moving his with the same amount of overwhelming love and affection he always does. It makes you feel warm inside, like you were the only one in the world for him. And you were. At least, in his mind you were.

He releases the grip he has on your thigh and slowly lowers it, his hand still ghosting close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Both legs still shaking slightly, your foot hits the floor of the shower and you lean your weight on it, tentative and experimentally at first before you overestimate its security and half-fall-half-stumble into him. Daryl notices, of course he does, and he swallows down the pride welling in his chest as his sure grasp steadies you against his body.

“Hey, hey, I got ya. Jus’- jus’- I got ya.”

By instinct, he speaks, the rumble of his chest against yours making your heart well up with the familiar fondness you always experience when it comes to him. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words even though you had managed to break him out of his shell a little - at least with you - but there was no doubt in your mind that he genuinely and wholeheartedly cared about you. In his eyes, you had strung the stars into the sky and he always treated you with a softness he never thought himself capable of.

With one hand on his waist and one on his shoulder, you use Daryl as a crutch, continuing to lean your weight on your legs until they cease to shake. When you can stand on your own, albeit with wobbly legs, you link your fingers in both of his and meet his protective gaze - alert as if prepared to catch you again if your body gave any type of signal. He smiles when he sees the expression on your face and brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto the back of each of your hands before letting go and reaching for the bar of soap you two had ignored in exchange for something more riveting.

“Here, let me- I’ll help ya wash up.”

It meets your shoulder and it’s cold as he trails it down, lathering your right arm before moving across your chest and to your left. Smiling at his concern, you hum, nodding your head and content at the feeling of his tenderness as he continues to dutifully run the suds down along your body. Daryl unabashedly goes about copping a feel or two when his hand just so happens to fall onto your chest or your ass, a boyish grin meeting your quirked eyebrow when you question his intentions with a look. If you actually, truly cared to ask him, he would say he was helping you wash your body and making sure he was doing it to the best of his ability - quality assurance or some shit like that.

He helps you lather, too, calloused fingers rubbing off dead skin much better than yours could as he focuses the showerhead on him. You laugh when he pulls you into him, water streaming down your body along with his hands as the bubbles wash off your body and you run the bar of soap along the broad expanse of his shoulders, doing your fair share of subtle… touching too. Daryl all but melts into your caring hands, revelling in the way your attention is solely focused on him before he grunts, as if signalling you to look at him. When you do, his hands loop around your waist, head tilted to one side as he gingerly rubs those little shapes he always love to draw onto your skin.

“Y’alright? Was, uh, was that alright, I mean.”

Allowing you to maneuver him under the shower, he begrudgingly lets go of you to rinse off all the soap and feels genuinely clean for the first time in what felt like days. Smiling, you respond, saluting playfully and laying a small peck onto the corner of his lips before you spin around, pulling the curtain open just enough to reach for the towel lying just a few inches away on the towel rack but still keeping the warmth from the water in.

“Yes, sir!”

His cock twitches at the name, betraying the slur of fatigue in his voice and he sighs at himself, turning the shower knob off and opening the curtain fully, reaching for his own towel that hangs next to yours. He always did feel like a teenager when it came to you, and usually he didn’t mind it, but he really was tired before this and his back is killing him, so maybe another time.

Drying your body, you turn your head towards him and smile before making quick work of your wet hair and stepping out, pulling your underwear on from where you left it on the bathroom counter. It’s a small smile, one fully innocent and only ever reserved for him, but that look makes your words replay in his mind. A shudder runs through him as he tries to ease a smile onto his face too, admiring the scene of you for a moment. It’s domesticity, showing him a homelife he could actually feel loved and safe in; reminding Daryl something like that actually existed for him.

He imagines meeting you in a different world, wooing you like you deserved through coffee dates and Radiohead concerts, not through killing reanimated corpses or guarding Alexandria’s walls together, and his whole body calms down.

But then you pull on a shirt that’s much too big for you - one of his shirts that you said you liked wearing because it smelled like him - and he swallows his spit as if he hadn’t seen you naked just moments ago, a familiar shudder running through him again. Definitely another time. Near future, preferably.

Hopefully.

“You coming?”

Your voice breaks Daryl out of his daydream and he grunts an answer, smirking at the joke that just popped into his head as he replies with a curt ‘I just did’ and catches the pair of boxers you throw at him in response. Rolling your eyes, you comb your fingers through your hair and try to dry it as much as you can with the towel before reaching for your toothbrush. He follows suit, dressed in only his boxers as he brushes his teeth and shakes his wet hair at you like a dog, causing you to whip water at him off your fingertips after you wash off the excess toothpaste dribbling at the corners of your mouth. Smiling internally, he spits, tasting mint on his tongue that he'd much rather replace with the taste of your lips, even though he knows full well you’re just as minty as he is.

“Thank you.”

Meeting his eye in the mirror, you give him a confused look, eyebrows raised in an expression he thought was much too cute on your face for your own good. Your hands don’t still as you continue to rub out the water in your hair, determined not to go to bed with it too wet and risking it to clump up and dry tangled.

“For lettin’ me, uh, do that.”

His naturally gravelly voice clears up, turning slightly more timid than you were used to and you notice the shift in his behaviour. He avoids your gaze, waiting for your response as he fiddles with the lantern he now has in his grasp, unsure of what you would say and you decide your hair is dry enough. Hanging your towel back onto the rack next to his, you grab his free hand and lead the two of you back towards the bed, smiling affectionately as you turn off the lightsource and place it onto the nightstand. Wide-eyed, Daryl stares at you, as if waiting for you to tell him to leave - that you hated what he had done - but you break him from that train of thought as you slip under the covers and welcome him to join you.

Relief washes over him and he happily climbs in, groaning at the feeling of your body next to his and he succumbs to the comfort of the mattress. Pushing yourself into his side, his arms automatically open for you and he swears he could cry when you brush your thumb against his cheekbone and lean up to him.

“Anything for you.”

He feels the words as you whisper them just inches away from his lips, and he relishes in them when you pull away from the quick peck and dig your face into your pillow, closing your eyes and just looking so at peace. You’re so close to him Daryl’s in awe and he can’t help but stare. Wanting to hold onto the feeling of his skin a little longer, your finger draws a little heart over where his beats in his chest and you speak again, voice so warm and sincere.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Home. That’s what it is to him now, too.

“Glad ‘m home too.”

With a final kiss laid on your forehead, Daryl echoes your statement and pulls your body closer into his. A small smile tugs at his lips and his arm slings lazily at your waist before he, too, closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into the lull of sleep.

It was good to be back.

Back to a home he had made with you.

──── ⋙

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

best laid plans, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: It’s the middle of the night. You’re asleep next to your model boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook, who is jacking off while touching your tits. Wait. Hold on a second. What? (He is still your model boyfriend though, even after all that.)

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; established relationship; playful banter and shitty jokes; actually low-key crack and fluff; smut (fem reader, m-masturbation, handjob (while sucking on JK’s balls, lucky guy), tiny bit of nipple play and pussy slapping, edging, cowgirl, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS; the parenthesis are the reader’s inner thoughts and i did make a Dynamite lyric reference with JK’s dick and you can’t stop me

yes, the title is a pun, channeling my inner seokjinnie it’s what you think it is and it’s also not

–

Your dreams were always vivid and intense.

Was it normal to have movie-level, hyperdetailed, sometimes not even involving you or anyone you knew (at least consciously), insane storyline dreams on a constant basis (without medication causing them)? You know, maybe not. You should get that checked out. But not today, because this is not the story about that (you really should get that checked out).

This is the story about you dreaming about your boyfriend jacking off next to asleep you and then realizing it was not a dream.

At first you were like, man, that sure sounds like Jeon Jungkook breathing hard. Was he working out? Why are you having dreams about Jungkook working out? That's literally the most pointless, mundane dream you could ever have. Also, you weren't seeing anything, just blackness. What was the damn point of this dream you couldn't even look at him?

(To be honest, that’s very rude of you, brain.)

Jungkook always asked you to work out at home with him but, one, he was annoying as fuck to work out with because all he did was stare at you ("oh yeah, my bad for thinking you're sexy, holy shit, what a crime to think my girlfriend and future wife is hot!"); two, you literally had zero motivation to work out (not lazy, just, you know, didn't give a shit and Jungkook called that your great flaw of being his perfect girlfriend – but he loved all your soft bits so he was sending you mixed messages, tsk tsk); and finally, three, it always led up to fucking, so why go through all that trouble hyping yourself up in your leggings and sports bra, only to spend five minutes in them and forty-five doing a whole different kind of workout that didn't require clothes?

Exactly.

Just skip that shit and get to the naked part.

Oh, right, back to the whole deep-breathing Jungkook and you seeing darkness thing.

Sometimes you had dreams with only sound and very little visual. It was disorienting, giving you the feeling of being trapped in a maze with no way out (dream analysts would be all over that shit) and once the images returned, you were usually naked (psychologists would have a field day with that). But this time, you were unmoving. Listening to tense inhale, drawn-out exhale, over and over, and you only recognized it as Jungkook because he did that thing where he sucked on his teeth a little, making that almost inaudible hiss noise.

You felt heavy, tired, sluggish, as if you were dragging yourself through mud, in between the brink of conscious and subconscious, in that brief moment where you could control the dream but not your body, that little pocket of utopia. You searched for Jungkook in the darkness, curious to find him, and you couldn't, but he seemed to be beside you, to your right, where he usually was when you slept. Next to you, sometimes snoring so you'd have to smack him in the chest and he'd snort and stop (for a hot second, then you'd roll him to his side so at least he wouldn't be snoring in your ear). His pectoral muscles were bigger lately (you hated working out but you sure as hell didn't hate Jungkook working out) and the slapping sound was pretty satisfying now, palm to hard muscle.

Kind of like the sound right now.

Wait.

You weren't slapping Jungkook's pecs.

You furrowed your brows. Huh? Why were you hearing that soft smacking sound over and over, Jungkook's low hiss and then your name in a deep hazy whisper and why was your front cold? You usually slept with only panties, no bra, but you weren't usually cold up top – that's what the linen duvet was for (you paid way too much for that, but you saw it on Instagram and, hey, it's your money, go off) and, to be honest, you used to be a cute pajamas person but, ever since you started living with Jungkook, he wanted you to wear as much as he did when he slept (read: literally only his boxer briefs). Lots of begging (and him being on his knees for you) later, and now it was your habit to strip before sleeping.

Anyway, back to being cold.

You scrunched up your face and listened to the labored breathing in your right, a hand drifting on your stomach, tracing your bellybutton, moving up, light, delicate touches, the sound of skin on skin. A gentle fingertip brushed your nipple.

You cracked your eyes open.

There was a tiny bit of light from your computer, the RGB keyboard casting a faint rainbow. You shifted your eyes to your right.

Jungkook's left arm was in an awkward position, softly caressing your nipple as he violently pumped his dick.

On the bed.

Underwear gone.

On the floor? Probably.

He looked pretty damn hard. (Nice.)

Your eyes floated to his face and his eyes were closed, mouth open, trying not to make any noise, gasping your name. Shapely jaw, soft cheeks, dark lashes, ash blond hair framing his handsome features, so beautiful it was unreal. His head turned towards you and his dark brown eyes slowly opened, purring your name lovingly.

"Yeah, Jungkook?"

You saw the single blissful second it took for Jungkook's brain to catch up.

Then he choked.

On air and his dick by squeezing it far too hard in complete and utter shock.

"HOLY FUCK!"

He yanked his hand back, off your chest (feels bad man) and released his cock, causing it to bounce a little in the air (kind of sexy, not gonna lie), both of them shooting up to cover his rapidly reddening cheeks, one tattooed, one not, his inked right arm tense and his hand glistening with points of pre-cum.

You blinked innocently at him.

"Oh, shit, fuck, I'm so sorry, um, l–listen," he sputtered, dick still sticking straight up, completely oblivious to Jungkook's embarrassment (ignorance is bliss). "I... I have a good reason, I s-swear."

You rolled onto your side and squished your tits together. Jungkook's brain seemed to implode a little, staring at your squashed breasts and hard nipples like it was the first time (even though you knew he literally sees them at least once a day).

"You're horny?"

Your voice cracked a little from sleep and you coughed to clear your throat (not sexy, but such is life).

Jungkook's shaking pupils were too busy staring at your titties. "Y-Yeah, I just woke up randomly horny as fuck, but I know how much you hate having your sleep disturbed so I was just going to edge myself a little... well, maybe finish…"

"You masturbating while touching my tits is not going to disturb me?"

"I... I've done it before..."

???????

"Uh..."

"I don't touch you very much!" Jungkook blurted, grabbing your hands. "P-Please don't be mad! I only touch you a little and always very carefully! I never try to take advantage, I'm just horny, please, please, please don't be mad!"

He grabbed you by the shoulders and hugged you tightly. You grimaced, not because of the hug (Jungkook’s hugs were top tier), but because his hard dick jammed right into your thigh and smeared a giant line of pre-cum onto your skin (a little cold and not nearly as sexy as internet smut stories make it out to be, but maybe that was because you literally woke up to Jungkook jacking off without giving you so much as an invitation, rude). You gasped and retreated a little, but that made Jungkook try to grab you tighter and his cock bent upwards and jabbed you in the lower belly.

Still leaking everywhere, by the way.

"Oh shit–"

"Look here Excalibur, I'm not the stone waiting for the king," you winced, swiping your hand across your skin and wiping it on the side of his ass (hey, it's free real estate). Jungkook yelped, letting go of you.

"Hey!"

"If you're horny, let's fuck, not joust. I don't have the proper equipment for that and I'm not an undercover Lancelot, as dope as that would be."

"I should be turned off by now," Jungkook muttered under his breath (probably cursing your poorly timed King Arthur jokes – you did have a tendency to wear your mind on your sleeve). "But I'm not because, fuck, look at this body..."

His hands were already running all over your skin and, if there was one thing Jungkook had an extra zest for, it was fucking you – all the time, twenty-four seven, rest in peace responsibilities if you ever decided to become a nudist, but thankfully you had self-control (not when it came to terrible jokes at inappropriate times though, that was your vice). However, sleepy you had less self-control and let him do whatever he wanted, running his fingers all over your chest, making you shiver and slide closer to him, rubbing your thigh against his length and he sucked in a breath, whispering your name hotly against your cheek.

"S-Stop, I'm going to get horny..."

"You're already horny," you hummed into his chin, running your fingers through his blond hair, closing your eyes again, listening to his soft moan against your cheek (he always sounded so good, so fucking sexy, it was sinful), your left hand sliding down between you both. his palms pressed into your breasts, squeezing them roughly as you cupped your hand around his length and balls (Jungkook was really warm and your hands were kind of cold, this turned out to be a win-win situation, sweet). You wound your fingers around his length with two fingers hooked around his balls, bouncing them lightly as you rubbed his velvety skin, sighing against his neck.

"Pog."

"Do not Twitch chat talk to my dick," Jungkook muttered. "Also, what kind of weak-ass handjob is this, are you just warming your cold-as-fuck fingers–" (well, shit) "–oh, fuck!"

You gripped his cock with your left hand and buried your fingers in his hair, tongue between your lips as you roughly stroked his length, making Jungkook squirm and gasp above you, jerking back. You kept your hold on him, tighter, feeling him swell and get harder, grinning, your eyes still closed, working him fast and firm.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jungkook swore repeatedly, pinching your nipples and rolling them between his fingers (damn, he was making you work to keep this smirk on your face, but it was worth), tendrils of pleasure snaking through you. You bit the side of your lip, increasing your pace, squeezing just under the head the way he liked, pre-cum pooling around the pocket of your index finger and thumb, adding lubrication.

"Stop, s-stop, I'm gonna e-explode," Jungkook moaned, planting his hands onto your tits and sinking his fingers in the softness once more (hello? where's the titty love, this ain't all about you, Jungkook).

"I like dynamite," was you answer, cracking one eye open. "Light it up."

Jungkook growled in his throat, glaring at you. "I swear to God, if you weren't so fucking hot, I'd be so fucking limp right no–aah, d-don't, oh fuuuck, please..."

You slid down the bed, switching hands, attaching your mouth to his balls (he was probably grateful for that, can't talk with a mouthful of nuts, sad) and put your breasts on his thigh, rubbing your nipples all over his hard muscle as you sucked, starting off slow, then faster and faster, one to the other, tongue all over, Jungkook loudly rambling nonsense above you (you weren't paying attention, you had a dick to jack off and some balls to rearrange with your masterful tongue) until Jungkook squealed at your firm grip on the head, cutting off his orgasm once again.

"Stop edging me," he hissed angrily above you.

You blew a raspberry on his nuts.

"A-ah, fuuuuuuuuck!"

Oh, that turned out to be more pleasurable than either you or Jungkook imagined, because his eyes were gigantic and his hips were furiously humping your hand, but you weren't holding him tight enough for him to cum. You raised your eyebrows at him and Jungkook gave you the most displeased expression he could muster (he looked cute as fuck, a complete fail), ash blond strands clinging to his forehead, nose scrunched up.

"That was for jacking off without me," you tutted.

"You would have gotten pissed if I woke you up to fuck," he pouted.

"I need beauty sleep to be beautiful."

"I hear facials actually help quite a lot."

You burst out laughing and Jungkook followed suit, his rich, full, almost wheezing laugh, until he realized you had swiped a condom from the nightstand (yup, they were casually in a little moon-shaped dish by the bed next to the chap stick and phone charger, says a lot about you two), fitted it on him, and then you sat on his dick.

"W-Wait – oooooooh, fuck!"

You waited a second for your body to adjust, forcefully stretched out by his thick girth, but it wasn't that bad when you were controlling your muscles and expecting it, so you started rocking your hips after the second, sighing in satisfaction. Jungkook's eyes rolled back into his head, his long fingers bunching up on his chest, raising his ass to get deeper with every slap of hips to hips, your body talking to his, heat rising through you, branching out your spine and to your limbs, the best kind of workout (your only workout, be honest here), clenching your core, making Jungkook snap his head back in panic, shaking his head furiously.

"I'm g-gonna cum if you keep going l-like that..."

You leaned down, brushing his hands away and spreading your fingers over his pecs, running your nails over his hard nipples. Jungkook whimpered, chewing on his lip, you turning the tempo from a fast one to a longer, slower, more complete stroke from head to base, soft ass smacking his soft balls. He looked up at you, moaning softly, pupils blown wide, rainbow shadows over his face (damn, he's pretty, eleven out of ten, for sure), gasping your name, his hands finding your forearms and caressing them, eyelashes fluttering.

"O-oh, fuck, p-please... faster... wanna cum... you're so fucking sexy... ah, fuck, wanna cum for you..."

No one could say no to that, especially not you.

You slid your arms down to the bed, right beside his head, and increased the force, intensifying it all, Jungkook's fingers flying up and holding onto your nipples, the sheer wildness of your own pace tugging and pulling on them, your breathing deepening, panting hard, wispy and hot, his name on your lips, pleasure all over, passionately fucking him into the bed, and him jutting his hips back into your soaked walls, throbbing against the tightness, so hot, fire coursing through you, your juices soaking his crotch and balls.

“Jungkook, oh, fuck, yes...”

You squeezed him hard and Jungkook thrust into you with a groan, all hardness and thickness violently burying itself into your overwhelming heat and you moaned lustfully, pussy shuddering around his wonderful cock, feeling it shiver repeatedly, his orgasm filling up the condom so much that you felt the latex stretch inside you, jarring jerks with each of Jungkook's soft cries, his head shoved into the pillows, blond hair fanning out like a halo and practically wearing out your name with how many times he was chanting it.

You reached and held down the condom as you unsheathed (the beast), collapsing against the bed and laying down, wheezing a little, greatly satisfied at your work.

"Boom."

You weakly reached up and mimed a firework with one hand.

"Like dynamite."

"Oh, my fucking God," Jungkook muttered, peeling off the condom and immediately snatching the towel next to the bed (also says a lot about you two) and another condom, yanking off the other one (trash can next to the bed already, again says – never mind, you get it) and cleaning himself off before putting on the new one. "On your back."

You rolled on your back, snickering. "Three parts dynamite, with a nitroglycerin cap–"

Jungkook clapped a hand on your mouth and it smelled a whole lot like his cum. "This is not the time to be quoting the Addams Family, you animal."

You nuzzled out of it, grinning. "I'm just saying I want an orgasm equivalent to blowing up a small house."

"Oh, you'll get it," Jungkook growled, yanking your hips to the center of the bed, pushing your legs up to your chest, almost bending you in half. "You ready?"

You bit your lip, still grinning. "Of course."

One hand left your leg and you were confused for a split second.

The next you were gasping, Jungkook rapidly smacking his hand into your clit and pussy, not hard, but constant, swift smacks that got you wetter and wetter, quivering and struggling for breath.

"J-Jungkook, oh f-fuck, Jungkook..." you whined, fingers digging into the sheets, twisting them, bouncing your hips towards him. He inhaled sharply, fitting his finger onto your clit and raising himself.

"W-wait – oh fuck!"

Jungkook chuckled and thrust into your wet warmth, rubbing your clit at the same time. Your body squirmed, trying to alleviate the sudden high rush of pleasure, but Jungkook was stronger (was this the reason he worked out? no complaints here), his free hand pressing your leg down into your chest, your other leg crammed against his shoulder, his hand snaking in between and stimulating your clit, not having to move because you were moaning helplessly, rutting against him repeatedly, pulsating all around him, so good, so good, throbs of desire against his callused fingertip, eyes rolling back. Hard cock, engorged clit worked into a frenzy, your own hips fucking him back so hard that Jungkook was moaning with you, your name tumbling out from those pink lips.

"Cum for me, fuck, you sound and look so sexy, come on, come on..."

You would have praise for him too if you could breathe, but you couldn't, pleasure so overwhelming that your eyes closed, getting there, getting so close, and Jungkook he kept going until you wailed his name, back arcing, your tits hitting your thighs, forearms taut and straining, lower body lurching towards him and leaking out slick juices all over his crotch and yours, so much so that his finger slipped and his nail nicked your clit, turning your moan into a howl of ecstasy.

"Oh, shit, are you ok–"

You grabbed his hips, ignoring whatever the fuck he was saying, and slammed him down into your pussy, making Jungkook lose his balance and put his hands on the bed, yelping, and you hissing in his face, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, please, Jungkook, give me your cock, and Jungkook was saying something but your body gave no fucks, ears mysteriously broken at that specific moment, raising your hips to meet his as he sank down, Jungkook's face scrunching up and his pleas finally reaching your ears.

"H-Hold on, I want to last, stop, stop, stop..."

"Who cares about that, I need dick," was your very impatient response, but Jungkook grabbed your thighs and pinned you down, stopping you and him from moving, you whining and clenching around him.

"This is not p–"

Jungkook immediately fitted his hand over your mouth, narrowing his eyes at you. "No. Bad. Shush."

(How did he know you were going to say 'this is not poggers'?)

You wiggled your ass and Jungkook growled, pulling out and slamming back in, not fast, but powerful, cock getting harder and harder with your whines and cries behind his palm.

"This is what you need," he panted, deep and gravelly, one hand on the bed and one on your mouth, fucking you so hard that your ass was bouncing on the bed, creating a wet spot on the sheets with how drenched you were for Jungkook's lust-filled, husky voice. "Need me to fuck you silent, fuck, you're so tight and wet, come on, cum for me, cum for me, you sexy, sexy woman..."

Your body was already complying, pleasure wrapping all around, body so hot from the fire within, tongue pressed against his palm, moaning lewdly around his fingers as you came again, and he was so hard, fuck, Jungkook was so fucking hard right after he woke up, always, (a fucking mystery and eighth wonder of the world and your pussy was thoroughly investigating), so deep and so thick, your muscles clutching him tight, sucking him back in. His fingers separated a little, loosening his grip, and you heard your needy whimper mildly muffled by his digits.

"You're so good Jungkook, I love you, fuck, I love your cock, Jungkook..."

You looked up into his eyes, at his long hair hanging around his face, jaw clenched, smirking as he saw your gaze, biting the side of his lips in concentration.

"I love you too," he breathed. "You're the sexiest, most beautiful woman in the world."

You clamped around him and Jungkook groaned, eyelids fluttering, grunting as he forcefully thrust into you, your name mixed with a moan as he came again, fully sheathing himself in your quivering, abused heat, warm pulses soothing him and you all over. The sheets stuck to your ass, covered in your sweet-smelling cum.

(Good thing that was on his side of the bed.)

His hand glided up your face, pushing back your hair, shuddering as he rutted into your core a few more times, savoring your tightness.

"You alright, my dude?" you whispered nonchalantly, gasping slightly.

Jungkook cracked one eye open. "Yeah, I'm fucking fantastic, bro."

"Pog-"

Jungkook shoved two fingers into your mouth and you choked a little, pouting around his fingers (you weren't surprised though, you knew it was coming).

"I will whip this dick out and slap you in the face with it."

"That's kinda nasty, but also sounds kinda hot," you gargled around his fingers.

"... You're right. Damn, he's asleep. Shit."

Jungkook pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the towel, frowning as he glanced down.

"Only him and not us, something seems a little inverted here."

Jungkook chuckled and leaned down to kiss you (another reason why he was the perfect partner, still being affectionate, regardless of your loony antics).

"I love you."

in which you anger jjk by being annoying - wait, that’s every day well, he still wants to bang you counter point

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut

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gojology · 3 years

Text

Let Me Spoil You. (18+) (NSFW)

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 | I AM FEEDING U GUYS SO GOOD ???? holy mother of a goose i poured my blood sweat and tears into this, bumping to yung gravy as i write this so u alrdy know this is gonna be a banger!!! also i didn’t edit at all and i got so lazy at the end n i didnt wanna scrap this so uhh sorry if its bad 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | Dom Gojo x Sub Female Reader 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 3683 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | Dub-Con (I think?) Inexperienced Virgin Reader, Somnophilia, Degradation, Dom/Sub, Edging, Begging, Spitting 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | It’s your one month anniversary, and you really don’t like Gojo spoiling you, Gojo gets frustrated, he teaches you a lesson. A soft orange filter glazed the bathroom, a humid breeze blowing in weakly from the window that was always open, no matter what. The shower head lightly sprinkled on you, mumbling curses to the shower head, you swatted, and lightly tapped it a few times before you realized you had to change the water pressure. Facepalming, you hadn’t realized that you had changed the water pressure to ungodly levels. It was too late when you had realized, the water shot at your face, practically pushing you back. Water droplets adorned your cheeks, and your hair suddenly decreased in volume. Gasping for air, you used your arm to wipe your eyes and quickly turned the temperature up to anything other than the freezing bitter cold, you stretched, indulging in the refreshing, hot water. You had just gone out with Gojo for a luxurious dinner, even though it wasn’t quite your style, Gojo had insisted on taking you out to a fine-dining establishment. Small cuts of steak, with absurdly expensive champagne on the side, and of course, Gojo’s favorite, absurdly expensive desserts. It had been almost a month since you had began to go out with him, and he had tried treating you like a princess ever since. Anything you set your eyes on, he offered to buy it, whipping out a black leather wallet that was close to snapping. Thick wads of cash sat untouched, and you always politely declined. He had always argued with you, telling you that it was a given for significant others to spoil their loved ones. You always brushed it off, but in the latest argument between you two, Gojo was persistent, insisting that you were to dress in your finest and so that he could, “finally spoil my babygirl.” You could still remember how the conversation went. “No, Satoru.” you scoffed, turning to face him, leaning on the counter. Your arms crossed over your chest, “We can get JUST as good food if we order take out or some shit.” “Listen, sweetheart,” he immediately rushed over, his hand on your ass, rubbing up and down, his other caressing your neck. “It’s nothing on me financially, I can handle it, I want to spoil you princess.” You shook your head, looking down. He took his hand off your neck and rubbed his. “I rarely get to spend time with you, between the meetings and the missions and training Yuuji, so let me do it just this once, is that okay, pumpkin? Besides, what do you lose from this? I made the reservation too, so we don’t have to wait. It’s a win win~” You glanced up, before looking down again, ruffling your hair. An awkward silence grew between you two. What did you lose from this? Even though Gojo was absolutely loaded, you still felt terrible spending money for unnecessary shit. He looked at you, placing his hand on his chin, he looked like he was thinking, which was unusual, because the guy was as dumb as a snail sometimes. He let out a small “hm” stroking his chin as if he was debating with world renowned scholars before finally opening his mouth, “Oooooooooh, I get it now!” You sighed, so dramatic. He leaned forward, you always forgot how ridiculously tall he was, and how much he loomed over your figure. “Babe, don’t feel bad.” he tipped your chin upward so he could look you in the eye, even though he was quite literally wearing his blindfold, “this has been our 1 month anniversary, and what’s an anniversary without spending money on unnecessary shit?” “I mean, I guess..” Hesitantly agreeing, he shoved you upstairs into his room (and yours as well!) to throw on the best formal looking outfit you could find last minute. Digging through the drawers, you found a skin-tight black sundress that you had paired with a layered delicate necklace Gojo had gifted you on your second week of dating. Hastily throwing on gold rings and a gold anklet just for the fun of it, you fluffed up your hair. You looked at your black high heels. Hey, if you were gonna be so lavish looking, why not go all out? You regretted that train of thought later on, and wondered why you didn’t just pull up in a simple white t-shirt. Regardless, it was worth it at the end. Gojo looked stunning that night. Swapping out the regular blindfold for a pair of black sunglasses, it accentuated his chiseled features even more. His hair wasn’t what it was usually, it wasn’t spiked up at all. Instead, he wore it down. It looked much softer, and it framed his face perfectly. He wore a buttoned down dress shirt, and you felt your heart swell when other woman watched him walk by, their faces faltering when they realized his arm around your waist. He even went to the extent of pulling the chairs out for you, and opening the car door, as if you were truly a princess. Admittedly, you found yourself enjoying the fine dining, even with the ridiculously small portions. The atmosphere, and the pampering from the waiters had grown on you. While thinking about the events of your anniversary, the door creaked opened, Gojo’s head peaked just above the foggy glass doors of the shower. You slightly slid the door open just a crack, you knew that most couples would immediately open the door and have their arms out, waiting for their significant other to immediately pleasure them in the shower, but you hadn’t done anything like that with Gojo yet. Instantly met with his incredibly toned body, glowing in the hazy amber light from the window, you gulped. A towel draped over his veiny arms, and an incredibly large t-shirt with panties in the other. You quickly realized the t-shirt as the one Gojo often wore, you had never worn one of his t-shirts before. The endless missions had obviously done him well, he looked like he was sculpted from marble, a gift from heaven. Arms strong enough to hold the world, you wondered what it would be like to have him carry you around. Your face flushed a bright red, you didn’t even know what it was like to be carried by him, the furthest you both went was making out, and even you had found yourself being too bad at it to do it consistently. Lost in thought, you didn’t even realize what Gojo was saying. “Sugarplum? I got your clothes.” he murmured softly, setting the towel and clothes down. Your breath hitched, watching his head turn to face the shower. Instantaneously looking down at your face peeking through. You were never gonna hear the end of this one. A small smile spread across his face, before disappearing into a large cocky smirk, now that he had realized what you were looking at. “It’s okay, I understand, pumpkin. Not many have the courage to tell me face to face that I’m the best. In terms of strength, and looks, and everything.” You stuck out your tongue, blowing a raspberry. “Fuck off, idiot, I’m trying to shower!” “Ouch! I didn’t say that when you were ogling at my body, didn’t I? That really hurt my feelings, weren’t you ever taught the golden rule?” His hand wove through his hair, and you couldn’t help realize how soft it looked without all the gel holding the iconic spikes together. “Treat others how you want to be treated.” he winked. Your mouth sealed shut, accepting your defeat, you slid the glass door shut loudly. You heard loud booming laughter go down the hallway, gradually getting quieter and quieter before exhaling a sigh of relief as you continued to shower. You couldn’t help but think about your boyfriend’s body once more, it seemed like a dream. Was he really yours? He had the body of a super model and he settled with you and not some ridiculously pretty girl? Anyone would take advantage of such a handsome boyfriend, showing him off for the world to see. You felt an unfamiliar throb between your legs, you looked down, head tilted to the side while also simultaneously furiously washing your hair. You hadn’t felt this throbbing too much, it was almost like a yearning, and you were almost sure you knew what it was, but you didn’t quite want to admit it yet. Shaking your head furiously, you wanted to finish your shower before anything else. Ignoring the obvious. ‧₊˚✩彡. Rubbing your hair with your towel, you had thrown on the t-shirt and panties, cursing Gojo silently for not giving you a pair of shorts. Rummaging through the drawers in your room, Gojo suddenly appeared in the hallway. “What are you looking for, love?” he leaned on the doorway, cocking his head to his side with a mischievous grin. “Why don’t you ask yourself, considering that you were the one who gave me my clothes.” you scoffed, pushing the drawer you were searching for back and moving on to the next. You had forgotten which drawer had your pants, vivid images of Gojo’s body echoing through your mind. “Your pants are on the left of the drawer.” he strode over to the king-sized bed, the mattress sinking down as he sat. “What are you thinking about?” You scoffed again, looking at him with a side eye. “I’m not thinking of anything? What are you talking about?”

“Whenever you think, you forget literally everything around you.”

Cursing the Gojo clan for ever birthing such a smart yet stupid child, you twirled around with a pair of shorts now in hand. “I do not!”

“Yeah? Okay lil girl. Oh no, you’re not wearing those.”

You felt a throb yet again when you heard him call you lil girl. He snatched the pair of shorts up, dangling it just above your head. “Can’t I ever have my girlfriend wear something remotely sexy? I love your body. I want to see it all in its glory.” He placed it back into the drawer neatly.

You froze. He was being incredibly straightforward, which wasn’t unlike Gojo, but you didn’t think he would make such large advancements. His arms snaked around your waist without you even realizing, breathing heavily as he placed your ass on his lap.

Readjusting to the new position, you looked up, fear and excitement brewing inside of you, was this going to be your first time having sex? You leaned in for a kiss.

Just as he was about to give you a taste of his lips once again, a loud ringtone sounded.

“Fuck.” he cursed to himself, digging into his pockets and whipping out his phone, he gestured for you to be quiet. You whined a little, you had now realized what you were throbbing for.

“Hello?” Gojo cocked his head to his side, placing the phone right next to his ear as it dangerously rested on his shoulder. A disgruntled look in his face, one hand squishing your ass.

“Mmmmmm, yeah, okay.” he placed the phone down on the covers, looking down to you, eye to eye.

“That was a call from Ijichi, there’s some crazy shit going on somewhere, I have to take an emergency business trip.” he kissed your forehead gently, “I love you okay?”

Disappointed with the outcome, you nodded. He gave you a gentle few pats on your back before standing up, gently rolling you over on the bed, and rummaging through the drawers for his work uniform.

“As he casually undressed in front of you, you obviously stared, savoring the last few minutes of his body before he would disappear for the next few days, or maybe even weeks, or a month.

He looked back on you, just as he was entering the hallway.

“You forgot to say I love you.”

Looking up, you cursed to yourself, he didn’t have the usual playful cocky grin, now replaced with a worried one.

“I love you too.”

‧₊˚✩彡.

It had now been a week since your 1 month anniversary, you had been blue balled so badly, it almost hurt. You were laying down on your bed, looking at the curtains flutter as a casual wind blew into the room. The sun was setting, and a beautiful dark blue canvas dotted with stars was sure to appear.

You had tried holding off, ignoring your walls desperately wrapping around something that wasn’t there. Constantly looking down, seeing that your panties were obviously soaked. The dreams weren’t helping either, Satoru had been appearing in your dreams and doing things that even he would be weirded out by, and he had seen some shit.

Your arm snaked down to your panties, hand underneath the fabric. You breathed a sigh of relief as your unexperienced fingers circled your entrance, enjoying the slight tease. You heard the slight suckle of your walls around your fingers, enjoying the full feeling.

Yet you knew that this wasn’t the extent of things, you knew that there were much bigger, capable of reaching places you wouldn’t even dream of reaching. But you enjoyed the small amounts of pleasure anyways.

You pulled your panties down, throwing it into the laundry basket and cursing yourself for making it so wet. Slowly thrusting in and out with the finger, you sighed a breath of relief.

“Fuck.” you gasped, as a white fluid pooled out of you onto the sheets. You cursed harder to yourself, realizing now that you had to wash them.

“Shit.” you couldn’t quite stop there though, you had even more aching between your legs, and you had to satisfy your cravings, you didn’t even know when Gojo would come home.

You gasped more, a second round of white fluids flowed out of you. The yearnings now gone, you yanked a tissue out of the tissue box, wiping your finger on it, too lazy to get up, you would worry about the cum later. Drifting off into a heavy sleep, dreaming once again about the ungodly things you wanted Gojo to do to you.

‧₊˚✩彡.

“Gojo, s-stop.” you looked up at him as you sat on his lap, his fingers coated with your slick. His other hand played with the hem of your skirt. Not responding, he continued to quietly fingering you.

You quickly put a hand over your mouth, letting out a muffled moan, he snickered a little, before pulling out his fingers.

You whined a bit, earning a stare from a few people. Looking up at him with puppy eyes, you felt yourself wrapping around air.

He sadistically smiled. You wondered how his eyes would look right now, unable to look at him because of his blindfold.

“Beg for it, slut.” he silently whispered, teasing your entrance. You let out a little whimper again, how were you to be quiet when he was doing all this to you?

You opened your mouth slightly, about to beg, before being shut down completely as he shoved 3 fingers into you.

You let out a loud squeak, the whole restaurant now staring at you, eyeing you even across the room with displeased faces. You looked down, embarrassed.

He was now laughing at you, you looked up to him about to silently chew him out. Before opening your mouth, you were transported into a bright room.

‧₊˚✩彡.

Your eyes blinked, readjusting to the brightness. You realized that your legs were slightly colder then your upper half, realizing that you were completely naked down there. You blinked furiously, looking around, seeing someone’s incredibly muscular chest, with unmistakable white hair.

Rubbing your eyes, making sure that you weren’t seeing things, you mumbled, “Gojo?”

You felt something squirm around inside of you, letting out a loud moan as it pulled out.

“Hm?” he murmured sleepily, you looked down.

Putting two and two together, his incredibly long fingers were glistening with a wetness. He shuffled a bit before finally sucking and licking his fingers, looking at you directly in the eye while doing so.

“What’s wrong, slut?” he smiled deviously again, resting his chin on your shoulder before thrusting 2 fingers back inside of you again. Curling them inside of you, indulging in the toe curling scream you made.

“Gojo! You’re...” he pulled his fingers out before you could finish, adding another finger, he was now up to 3.

“FUCK, SATORU!” With a lustrous glint in his eyes, he shoved his thumb and index finger into your mouth. “That’s daddy to you, and look at your body. It’s practically begging for my cock by now. Oh princess, did I play with you for too long?” he slipped his fingers out of your needy pussy, smiling into your hair. “Want daddy to fuck you?” Your mouth suddenly dry, you looked at his neck. Not knowing how to respond, you nodded vigorously, sucking on his fingers. He tipped your chin to look upwards at his face, staring directly into his aquamarine eyes. “Use your words, whore. Or you’re not getting shit.” he pulled his fingers out of your mouth. You coughed and spluttered into your arm, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. His eyes went softer, pulling you into his chest. “Oh sweetheart, did I go too rough on you?” You shook your head, before shakily replying, “I-I was just surprised y-you came e-early from the mission a-and...” you took a deep breath in, “I was... unp-prepared. Before he could reply, you blurted out, “P-please, daddy, use my tight l-little holes. I’m all yours to u-use.” He smiled, “What a cute slut. You want me to spoil you, don’t you?” You nodded, now rubbing your thighs together. Your slick coated your inner thigh and your breathing was getting hot. “How come when I offered to, you didn’t want to obey me?” “Y-you can’t compare the two-” He spat into your open mouth. Smiling a bit when he realized that you had swallowed it, looking at him with even wider puppy eyes. “No talking back, repeat after me, lil girl. When daddy wants to spoil me, I will let him spoil me.” “W-when daddy wants to s-spoil me, I...” you took a shaky breath in, “I’ll let him spoil m-me.” “That’s a good girl. Now turn to look at the wall.” he calmly replied, you obeyed, looking at the wall, anticipating for whatever happened next. You felt something big touch your entrance. Something unnecessarily big, you whimpered. Realizing it was Gojo’s dick. He chuckled a bit, smiling into your neck and then giving it a light suck. “It’s okay princess, this is your first isn’t it? I’ll make you into my cumslut afterwards. I’ll go nice and easy.” Heaving a bit, he thrusted a little inside of you. You held your breath. Strangely, it didn’t hurt at all. Even with the contrast between his incredibly thick and large cock, to your inexperienced, tight walls. “Missy, you’re so wet.” huskily muttering into your ear, “almost like you’re milking my cock. So tight.” He grunted, repositioning myself and letting out a small, “Fuck.” as he did so. You whined as he gradually put more and more of him inside of you. You tightened around his cock, drooling as you did so. You didn’t realize your mouth was open. “Babe, I can barely fucking pull out.” Gojo said, while he played with your hair, stroking your cheek. “W-why not?” “Nothing other then the fact that, a) you’re too tight around me, and b) you’re clenching incredibly hard for no real reason.” he once again, shoved his thumb and index finger for you to suck on, the other playing with your breast, his thumb rolling over your nipple. “Just relax, baby. Let daddy do all the work, okay?” You weakly nodded, as he finished shoving the last of his length inside of you. Whimpering, and yanking your pillow out from its normal position to hug it. You felt him pull out, and he slammed back inside of you once again. You swore to God that you saw the light, a wave of pleasure and your body going numb as he did so. Letting out a shrill squeak, you hugged your pillow as hard as you can, your juices flowing down into the bed now, leaving an evident trail of where it once came from. Gojo grunted, snuggling deeper into your body. There was barely any space between the two of you, but you still didn’t feel close enough. The room was filled with the sound of sticky skin against stinky skin, panting, and moans. You felt every. single. bit. of him. Now, he had begun to quicken his pace, slamming into your body more often, sending waves of pleasure inside of you. His hair stuck to his neck, sweat pouring down his body, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck, I want to cum inside of you so badly, love.” he panted out of breath. You whimpered, still unable to speak due to his fingers you were harshly sucking all this time. He laughed in response, before finally pulling out. In a blink of an eye, he shot ropes of cum on your stomach, panting. You had finally gotten a good view of his cock, big was an understatement. Veins decorated the side of it, and the tip was a rosy pink. “Lick some cum off of your pretty stomach, princess. I wanna see how pretty you look while doing so.” Both of you breathing heavily, sweat dampening the sheets, his eyes bore into you. You gulped, even though you had done something so intimate with him, dominant Gojo was nothing to mess with. You scooped some of his cum up with your finger and sucked on it, looking at him the whole time. He grunted with approval, giving you a nice headrub. “Well would you look at that.” he glanced at the wall, “it’s already morning. Wanna take a shower together, lil girl?” On any other day, you’d make up an excuse, but you figured that you’d get fucked even harder if you told him you didn’t want to. “Okay, daddy.” “Good girl.”

#gojo satoru smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojou satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #dom gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojou x you

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starks-hero · 3 years

Text

Riptide - Chapter Two

Pairing: Merman!Loki x Reader

Summary: Loki's curiosity had always drawn him to the shore, despite his father's warnings. And when he meets a young woman at the waters edge, he takes a risk that will change everything.

Word Count: 3,925

Warnings: None

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The waves lapped gently against the dock as you sat and waited. You'd been perched at the edge of the water since the early hours of the morning, desperately waiting for any sign of him.

But there was nothing. You were still fairly shaken from yesterdays incident, not remembering much after you'd gone under. Yet the vivid image of a pair of piercing blue eyes glancing down at you remained at the forefront of your mind.

You sighed in slight frustration, tapping your foot against the wood beneath you but remaining mindful of the plank that had given way yesterday. You glanced out across the harbour but there was no sign of movement or anything out of the ordinary. Standing, you shook your head in disappointment. Doubt crept into your mind and you began to think that maybe it had all been a hallucination as a result of all the stress you'd been facing lately. It was certainly the more logical answer. You just couldn't believe your own immaturity and childishness had led you to such a ridiculous conclusion to begin with.

You turned and started to head back towards the sand. But a sudden stir at the edge of the water stopped you. You turned towards the waves and were met with a familiar pair of blue eyes glancing at you wearily from the dock.

You gasped, surprise taking hold of you. You blinked a few times to make sure that what you were seeing was real. He didn't disappear when you opened your eyes, rather he remained at the end of the dock watching your every move intently. You swallowed and exhaled fraily.

“Hi,” you said breathlessly as your eyes locked with his. There was a beat of silence between you as you tried to find something to say. “Do you remember me?”

He nodded silently and you dared to take a step towards him. He didn't flinch away or appear afraid which you considered a good sign. “And you can understand me?”

Another curt nod.

“Can you-do you speak?”

He hesitated slightly before nodding again.

‘But I'm not supposed to,’ Loki firmly reminded himself as you drew closer.

You carefully approached him, rotten wood creaking with each step. He inched away slightly as you neared him and you stopped, not wanting to frighten him off or make him uncomfortable.

You slowly took a step back and the wood groaned again. Loki did his best to bite his tongue. You were stood at the edge of the dock where the wood was at its weakest. He did not want a repeat of yesterday when he'd dragged you from the water, unconscious and injured.

“You shouldn't do that.” He said timidly. “The wood could give way.”

The words had left his lips before he could stop them and he silently cursed his own recklessness as you froze and looked at him wide-eyed.

“W-what?”

“It's not safe,” he added, pointing to the rotting wood. You cautiously stepped away from the edge and stopped in the middle of the dock.

Your eyes landed on him again and you retraced every small detail you'd caught a glimpse of under the dock all those days ago. His hair was raven black and hung in ringlets around his head, falling well past his ears. His pale skin was damp and his body toned. As your eyes wandered down to his tail, he pulled away from the dock sheepishly.

“It's rude to stare.” He chided.

“Right, I'm sorry. It's just-” you cleared your throat. “I've never seen anything- anyone like you before.”

Loki tilted his head, eyes roaming over you and lingering on your legs. “I could say the same thing about you.”

You smiled slightly, feeling the situation had lost at least a fraction of its tension.

“Are you alright?” You risked asking. “Your tail. It looked pretty painful.”

“It's fine,” Loki said after a slight hesitation. “I should thank you for helping me out of the net. I don't know how to express my gratitude,” he continued.

You took a seat a few feet from where he was resting at the edge of the dock. “Well, maybe you could start by telling me your name?”

He seemed to shrink back slightly at the request. He knew he shouldn't. Daring to meet you at the waters edge out of sheer curiosity was one thing. But telling you his name was crossing a line he couldn't come back from. But there was something about your kind smile and gentle, soothing demeanour that made him want to tell you.

There was a few seconds of delayed silence before, “My name is Loki.”

He watched as you lit up, a bright smile finding your lips. “It's nice to meet you. I'm Y/N.”

Humorously, you offered him your hand. He hesitated, glancing between you and your outstretched palm a few times with curiosity. He slowly pulled his own hand from the water and placed it on the side of the dock.

“Woah.” You failed to hide your surprise at the sight of Loki's own arm. He immediately recoiled at your reaction, all but sinking entirely back into the water.

“No, no! Loki, I'm sorry,” you rushed. “It's just mine is different, see?”

You offered your hand back out for Loki to inspect. He glanced between you and your hand again before hesitantly reaching out and gently tracing your palm with his fingers. It was a stark contrast. Your hands were soft and delicate compared to Loki's whose hands were webbed and calloused with large claws extending from the ends of his fingers.

He pulled away after a moment, his eyes still fixed on your hand as you placed it down by your side. Physically, you didn't seem to appear all that different from him. You seemed more fragile but other than that, there was no vast difference Loki could note other than the fairly obvious tail. Or lack thereof.

“Thank you for saving me,” you said suddenly and Loki glanced up at you. “That was you, wasn't it?”

He nodded wordlessly. “I was simply returning the favour.”

He knew he shouldn't have said more than he needed to, he shouldn't have said anything to begin with. He should have dived into the water and swam home the moment he saw you coming. But at this point, he was finding it difficult to end the encounter. He'd even dare to say that he was rather enjoying your company.

“Are you alright?” He found himself asking. “That was quite a dive for a human.”

“I-I'm fine.” You said, appearing slightly taken aback. You struggled to find a way to best word your next question as you shifted uncomfortably. “Loki, are you not human?”

He recoiled as he realised he'd said something he most definitely shouldn't have. But his growing anxiety began to lessen when he reminded himself that you had already seen his tail on more than one occasion. He'd already broken the rules. He'd been seen, touched and now he was willingly speaking to you. There was no turning back and there was certainly no point in trying to fool or trick you.

“Evidently,” he answered your question with the smallest hint of snark. He suddenly pushed away from the dock and swam out from the planks of wood that had been hiding his full form. You slowly stepped closer to the dock's edge and barely withheld a gasp at the sight of Loki's tail.

It looked nothing like the mangled mess you'd found trapped in net and rope a few days ago. The gashes and wounds seemed to have healed up for the most part. Small discoloured scars seemed to serve as the only sign that he'd been injured to begin with. You took a moment to take in just how fascinating Loki's tail was. It glided effortlessly through the water as though it weighed nothing, despite its impressive size. It was bright, colourful and utterly beautiful.

“Don't fall in,” came Loki's voice as he swam back towards the dock and you backed away slightly. “I mean it. I've rescued you once and I'm not doing it again.”

Amidst the threat, there was some twisted and strange attempt at humour. “Understood.”

Loki chuckled quietly, surprising himself. Realising that he had let his guard down and become far too comfortable in his current situation, he began to slowly swim from the dock.

“Wait!” You called just before he could sink beneath the surface. “You'll come back, won't you?”

“What?” Loki asked, questioning if he'd heard you correctly.

“Would I be asking too much if I asked you to meet me here again?” You dared to ask and Loki stared at you like you'd lost your mind.

“I'm not supposed to-” And he really wasn't. The punishment for being seen by a human let alone speaking with one was a massive cross to bear. If his father were to find out about you Loki had doubts he'd survive the hiding he'd receive.

But besides the logical voice screaming bloody murder in the back of his mind, there was something else. A spark of curiosity and a pull in his chest that told him returning to the dock wouldn't be an entirely bad idea. Because when it came down to it, Loki was just as curious about you as you were about him.

“Fine,” he quipped, glancing up at you and noticing the hint of a relieved smile ghosting your lips. “Tomorrow afternoon, but I cannot make any promises.”

The moment he saw you nod in agreement, Loki hurriedly turned and disappeared beneath the waves, leaving you stood alone on the dock.

Regardless of what he did to try and busy himself, Loki couldn't get you out of his head. He debated not going back to the dock. He considered going home and pretending the past few days had never happened and to just carry on as usual. But the nagging thought in the back of his head wouldn't allow him to follow through with any of his plans. He knew the only way to silence it would be to give in to what it was asking.

Which is why he had left home in the early hours of the morning to avoid any questions being asked. He had successfully made it out of the open water and onto the reef without any trouble. He was now only minutes away from the harbour.

“Where are you sneaking off to?”

Loki's heart almost leapt out of his chest as a strangled yelp of surprise made it's way regrettably past his lips.

“Thor!” He hissed as his brother circled him, eyeing him disapprovingly. “You nearly frightened the life out of me.”

“What are you up to Loki?” Thor asked warningly, already tired of his little brother's games. As far as he was concerned, it was far too early in the morning to be dealing with any mischief.

“I'm not causing trouble if that's what you're insinuating,” Loki bit back.

“You'll forgive me for not taking your word for it.”

Loki shook his head, doing his best to put on a calm facade and not arouse any suspicion.

“Relax, brother. I'm just heading to the old ship wreckage near the cliffs,” Loki answered nonchalantly, nodding in the direction to further his point. But it would appear Thor wouldn't be so easily fooled.

“Why? That place interested us when we were children. What could you possibly find so compelling about it now?” Thor's voice was dripping with suspicion and Loki's patience began to wear thin. One wrongly timed subconscious glance up was all it took to give Loki away.

“You're going to the surface, aren't you?”

When Loki didn't answer Thor groaned.

“Loki, you know it's forbidden! If father finds out-”

“That's why father isn't going to find out.” Loki cut him off quickly, swimming closer to his brother and lowering his voice to a harsh whisper.

Thor shook his head, less in anger and more in disapproval. “I won't lie for you, Loki.”

Loki scoffed at his brother. Ever the golden child. He'd rather beach himself than lie to their parents and Loki couldn't tell if it were admirable or ridiculous.

“I don't expect you to lie, brother. Just don't say anything at all.” Loki practically begged, his tail impatiently swishing beneath him.

Thor clenched his jaw. Loki had always been impossible to deal with and he knew any attempt to talk to his brother would only end in failure. With few other options, Thor gave in.

“Just be quick.”

“Really?” Loki's eyes widened slightly at his brother's sudden change of heart.

Thor huffed before nodding reluctantly. “There's nothing I can do to stop you and as long as father doesn't know it's neither of our problems.”

Loki smirked. “Finally, brother. A little common sense.”

“But be careful.” Thor cut in again before Loki could leave. “You know how dangerous the surface can be.”

Loki nodded over his shoulder as he turned and swam away. A horrible feeling set in on Thor's chest as he watched him go. Loki's curiosity would be the death of him.

“I was starting to think you weren't going to show,” you grinned as you spotted Loki surface a few meters away from the dock.

“I just got a little held up.” He glanced over his shoulder, almost worried that Thor had decided to follow him. A quiet sigh of relief left his lips when the coast seemed clear. As he turned back to you, his eyes fell to what you were holding.

“What's that?” He asked cautiously, motioning to the novel that lay open in your lap.

“Oh, it's a book.” You held up the hardback for him to see. It was only when Loki's expression shifted into one of further confusion did you realise that books probably weren't in plenty full supply under the sea.

“Well, somebody came up with a story and then wrote it down here for other people to read and enjoy.” You explained as simply as you could. Loki pulled himself a little further up onto the dock as he listened to your explanation. He craned his neck to get a better look at the pages of the novel. He was more than a little intrigued.

Noticing Loki's interest, you offered him the book. “Do you- do you want to have a look?”

His eyes met yours questioningly before he cautiously reached out and took the book from your hand. He placed it on the wood beneath him before propping his elbows up on either side to keep him from slipping back down into the water. He tilted his head in an adorable fashion as he used a clawed hand to flip a page. After a thorough examination, he slowly closed the book over, eyes widening as he took in the cover.

It was nothing too dramatic, a silhouette of the main character with the title etched across the middle. It was a romance story, nothing too clique but nothing too extravagant either. Just enough realism for the characters love to come across as believable. You'd read the book before, many times actually. Some of the pages were worn or faded, with small pencil markings underlining your favourite quotes.

Yet the imperfections didn't seem to deter Loki who had already flipped past the cover and appeared to have begun reading the first chapter.

“You can keep it if you'd like.”

Loki's eyes snapped up to meet yours in surprise as he fumbled to respond. “No, I couldn't possibly.”

You breathed a soft sigh and shook your head. “I want you to have it. I've read it a bunch of times anyway.” You shrugged. “Besides, I want to know what you think of it.”

Loki's expression softened as he looked at you, almost waiting for you to quickly snatch the book from his grasp. He wasn't prepared to believe that a human could be so selfless and giving. When your kindly expression didn't falter, Loki couldn't help but smile slightly to himself. He glanced down at the book in disbelief and traced its cover with his hand. Cradling it to his chest, Loki held it as if it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said softly.

“Does that mean you'll keep coming back?” you asked with a smirk. “Until you finish the story?”

Loki glanced back between you and the book he now held in his hand. He knew he didn't need another reason to continue to return to the dock. The curiosity and joy you sparked in him was enough. But the book would certainly serve as a good excuse should you decide to question his motive.

“I suppose,” he said eventually, doing his very best to keep the excitement out of his tone. But the smile pulling at the corner of his lips gave him away. You didn't say anything and instead watched fondly as he turned the page and began to read.

You smiled as you stepped onto the beach, noticing that Loki was already patiently waiting for you at the end of the dock. You quickened your pace a little, readjusting the bag slung over your shoulders.

The smile that spread across Loki's face when he saw you sent a fluttering feeling through your chest.

“I've been waiting here since dawn,” he said, surprising you slightly. “I was starting to worry.”

You couldn't tell if Loki was being genuine or not so you simply shrugged his comment off with a smile.

“I just had to pick some things up,” you stated, removing the bag from your shoulder and pulling out a pile of books.

Loki's eyes widened, his expression mirroring that of a child in a candy store. You smiled knowingly.

“Considering how much you liked the last book, I thought I'd bring you some more.” You offered the books to Loki who eagerly grabbed hold of them once they were within his reach. “This time with a bit more of a variety.”

You had decided to branch out a little bit more than just works of fiction. Poetry books, nature magazines, news articles; anything that would help give Loki a glimpse into the human world and feed his ever-growing curiosity. The National Geographic magazine seemed to have piqued his interest, the vibrant photograph of the Amazon on the cover drawing him in. He immediately began flicking through the pages, drinking in the new information he'd been presented with. You crossed your legs and watched him.

“What's that?” He asked with excitement, pointing to a photo of the Alps.

“A mountain range,” you answered with amusement. “You've never seen a mountain before?” You knew Loki spent his entire life in the water but you'd assumed he'd seen one along the coast.

Loki shook his head, not bothering to lift his gaze as he turned to the next page. “It's not often I get close enough to the shore to see anything. My family prefers to stay in deep water off the reef.”

“Family? You mean there's more like you?”

A look of fear caught hold of Loki's features as he realised what he'd just told you. “I-I shouldn't have said that.”

Noticing his discomfort, a pang of guilt struck you. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have reacted like that.” You apologised, though your guilt only grew when Loki's expression remained troubled. “I'm not going to tell anyone about you or your family if that's what you're worried about.”

Loki glanced up at you, his worry ironing out into something between relief and wonder. His gaze remained on you for a moment longer before his lip quirked up in a smirk.

“Are all humans like you?”

“Like what?”

Loki shrugged slightly before ultimately motioning to all of you.

“That's not very specific,” you mused. “And for the record, there really isn't anything that unique about me.”

Loki tilted his head, entirely unconvinced. “Unique people generally don't have to clarify that they're not unique,” he countered and you scoffed playfully.

“With all due respect, if either one of us is unique, it's the one with the tail.”

You almost immediately regretted the words as they left your mouth and you cursed yourself for bringing it up. You feared that you'd offended Loki but when you noticed the small smile tugging at his lips, you relaxed.

“But thank you,” he started quietly. ”For promising not to tell anyone. My father always says our existence relies on our secrecy. If people knew about us...” Loki hesitated, his expression darkening slightly.

“Hey, you don't have to worry.” You comforted him. “Your secrets safe with me.”

He nodded with a quiet sigh. “Thank you, Y/N.”

A peaceful silence gradually settled over you as Loki turned his attention back to his article. As he focused on the pages of the magazine in front of him, you took a moment to observe just how stunning Loki was. His raven hair had dried ever so slightly and lay atop his head in an abundance of curls. His eyes reflected the ocean itself, the perfect mix of bold blues and greens. And his smile, soft and tender, yet still displaying two particularly sharp canines. Upon closer inspection, you noticed a faint blush dusted across his cheeks.

Loki turned the page and his eyes widened with astonishment when he saw what was on the next page.

“What's that?”

“It's snow. It happens when it gets really cold and the temperatures drop. It falls from the sky, kind of like frozen rain, and when it lands it looks like that,” you explained as simply as you could, smiling as Loki traced the photo of a snowy street somewhere in Denmark.

“Is it dangerous?” he asked adorably.

“No, not as long as you don't get too cold. It's rather fun actually.”

Loki excitedly turned the next page, his smile growing wider and wider as his eyes fell on all the strange and wonderful things he'd never seen before.

“How about this?” he asked, turning the book around for you to examine the page he'd taken an interest in.

“That one is dangerous,” you stated as Loki's eyes widened and he immediately pulled the book back to re-examine now that he had the new information.

“It's a volcano. It's kind of like a mountain except this one shoots lava out of the top.”

“What is lava?”

You hesitated for a moment as you tried to find the right wording. “I suppose it's kind of like liquid fire-”

“It breathes fire?” Loki asked incredulously.

“Not exactly,” you managed between giggles but Loki had already turned the next page, muttering a quiet ‘fascinating’ under his breath.

You spent most of the evening like that. Loki made his way through multiple books on multiple topics, stopping and asking you to explain more about the ones he found particularly interesting.

The sun was just starting to slip below the skyline when you decided it was probably best to start heading home. It was freezing this close to the water and the wind was cutting through you.

“You can't leave yet,” Loki stated as you stood. “We've still got two more books to read.”

“Loki, it's almost seven o'clock. I need to go home.” The look he offered you was almost enough to make you give in but a particularly strong and chilling gust of wind convinced you otherwise. “We'll finish them tomorrow.”

“Promise?” he asked, catching you off guard. You nodded promptly with a smile.

“Promise.”

Riptide tag list: @asirxrowena @austynparksandpizza @grippleback-galaxy @the-chaotic-cow @mylovelysnowflake @mysticunicorn7 @jester2407 @caduba18 @fancytravelerbird @the-queer-dungeoneer @dreamalittlebiggerdarling @queen-of-asgard6

tag list is open! Just ask to be tagged :)

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #merman loki x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x y/n #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki imagine #loki fanfic #loki fic #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #marvel fic #marvel imagine #merman loki #mermay #Riptide

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